Past Secrets (54 page)

‘I know,’ he’d replied.

So Syd had talked to Michael Levin about Amber and asked for his help in getting her a job and a place to live.

Karl, on the other hand, had done nothing.

He’d barely spoken to her since the day after her mum left.

He’d come home in the morning as usual to find Amber packing up her stuff.

‘You’re going,’ he said flatly.

‘There’s nothing for me to stay for.’ Amber shrugged, still packing.

‘What will you do?’

‘There’s a street corner on Sunset Boulevard for me,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Since you’ve

been treating me like little more than a prostitute, I might as well go the whole hog and make money from it. Hopefully, Richard Gere will see this Pretty Woman and rescue her, although I forgot you already rescued me from my boring life. Nobody would be so lucky to have it happen to them twice.’

‘Amber, don’t talk that way,’ Karl said. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen like this, but it sorta did. I’ve got to think of the band …’

‘You’re thinking of Karl,’ Amber shot back, ‘as usual. Number one. Nobody else gets in the way. I was useful when I was your muse but as soon as another muse came along, I was history.

I hope somebody tells Venetia that you run through girlfriends pretty quickly. Although she’ll probably last longer than me. She’s more useful.’

‘It’s not like that,’ he said. ‘Don’t be bitter, Amber. You had a blast. Nobody forced you to come.’

She glared at him. ‘You did.’

‘Did I hold a gun to your head and make you get on the plane at Dublin airport? No. So don’t go all “you made me, Karl”! Right?’ There was no point talking to him.

‘You’re right, Karl. It was all my fault. I should have known better. I will in future,’ she said.

She was quickly running through the money her mother had given her, and for the past few days had been working as a receptionist in a hairdressing salon close to the Beverly Center, although she guessed that her entire wages were less than the tips some of the stylists got from their wealthy clients. Because she was working illegally, she’d been lucky to find such a job. Most illegals ended up chambermaiding and cleaning but Amber’s Irish accent had touched a chord with the salon owner and he’d hired her on the spot.

The salon staff were friendly and Syd seemed determined to keep in touch every day, inviting her to parties and gigs so that she felt as if she had some social life in LA. He’d also given her some more money.

‘I can’t take this!’ she said. ‘It’s the band’s money.’

‘You were a part of the band, Amber,’ Syd said sadly. ‘I feel bad about the way Karl’s treated you.

I’ve known him a long time, I should have warned you. I thought it was different with you because you’re not his usual type, you’re smart.’

‘That’s something.’ She grinned.

‘I told him not to make you leave Ireland in such a hurry, but you know Karl, once he sets his mind on something, he does it.’

‘You said that to him?’ she asked.

‘It’s important to think things through,’ Syd muttered.

‘I wish you’d said it to me,’ Amber replied. ‘But I wouldn’t have listened, would I?’

She thought about home a lot: her mother, Ella, Gran, the life she’d left behind. The longer she

was away from home, the more she wanted to go back.

But after the way she’d run off, nobody would want her there, would they?

And then Saul came back into her life.

He’d simply turned up at the salon one day as they were closing, and said, ‘Hello, Amber.’

She stared at him in shock, remembering that it was at his beautiful house, at his party, that she’d finally realised Karl didn’t love her after all.

‘We’re closing, sorry,’ she said. ‘Do you want to make an appointment?’ Pen poised like the professional she was, she smiled at him.

‘I don’t want an appointment. I wanted to talk to you, Amber. Syd told me you were here,’ Saul said. ‘I’ve a proposition for you.’

It took ten minutes before Saul managed to convince Amber that he wasn’t a sleazy guy trying to take advantage of her now that she was penniless and alone. They sat in a health food cafe nursing smoothies while Saul explained.

‘You know I’m an art collector and I think you have great talent,’ he said. ‘I’d like to invest in your talent. No strings attached,’ he’d added for what had to be the tenth time. ‘You know I’m a collector: you saw the paintings in my house. I’m interested in your talent as an artist. If you spent a year out here or in New Mexico, just think of the work you’d produce. I’ve still got the picture you drew in my house. You left it behind that night. It’s only a sketch but it’s more vital and alive than a lot of the work that’s going for thousands of dollars in local galleries. So, what do you think?’

Amber was speechless.

‘You still want to paint, right?’ Saul asked. ‘You don’t have to go to art college to do that. You could make a damn good living right now.’

Still, she said nothing.

‘You could go home and do the art college thing too, and then come back,’ Saul went on. ‘We’d have to hire a lawyer to sort out your immigration status first, though. There’s nothing stopping you from making it. You’ve certainly got the talent.’

In her head, Amber repeated his words ‘there’s nothing stopping you’.

There was nothing stopping her - except her pride and fear of facing the people she’d hurt.

What she really wanted to do was go home, be with the people she loved and go to art college.

And she could do that. All she needed was her plane ticket.

‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ said Amber earnestly, ‘but I’m going to learn my trade first. You need to learn how to paint an apple straight before you can paint it abstract. I want to go home. Then, I’ll be able to paint.’

James had been gone over a week and Christie, who’d often thought that her beloved dogs were

the best companions in the world, found that Tilly and Rocket’s adoration didn’t mean quite as much when James wasn’t around.

She tried hard to be her old self, but it was almost impossible. Her hands shook sometimes for no reason, as if her body was trying to express the shock she was desperately trying to suppress.

She felt exhausted every evening and fell into bed early, drifting into a heavy sleep and then waking in panic in the middle of the night. She could never go back to sleep and lay alone in the big bed she and James had shared for so long, her whole chest aching with sadness as the dawn rose. She couldn’t even cry. Tears weren’t enough to express what she felt.

During their married life they had spent so little time apart.

James had gone off on a few fishing trips and she’d gone away on school trips a couple of times, but all added up together, it wouldn’t account for more than a few months apart, over thirty-five years. She told nobody what had happened, she felt too ashamed and embarrassed.

Shane and Ethan still knew nothing, for which she was eternally grateful. At least James hadn’t decided to destroy her totally by telling their sons how she’d cheated on him with another man. But Christie knew that if James never came home, the boys would have to learn someday. Which was the scariest thought - James never coming home or Ethan and Shane learning about Carey Wolensky?

Ana had dropped in unexpectedly one day, smiling as usual, full of chat about what she and Rick were up to.

Christie hugged her longer than was necessary, feeling the familiar remorse at how she’d betrayed her sister. If Ana ever found out … Christie paled at the thought of that. She’d lost her husband, please let her not lose her sister too.

Citing James’s working too hard and ignoring her was not a valid excuse for what she’d done to Ana. She hoped she would never have to tell her.

Living with the guilt of it was punishment enough.

‘Rick says we should downsize,’ Ana was saying as they walked up to the Summer Street Cafe. Ana was mad on the new lemon muffins there. ‘The house is big and so’s the garden, but it’s got character.

Not as much as your house, but still, I don’t fancy moving into something characterless, even if we made money on the move.’

Christie ordered coffee and cake, although her mouth was so dry she might as well have been eating ashes.

‘Did you ever go ahead with seeing Carey Wolensky?’ she asked finally.

Ana gave the irrepressible grin that reminded Christie of what she’d been like as a child, with her fair hair tied in pigtails, a dimple on either cheek.

‘No,’ admitted Ana. ‘It was wishful thinking really. It’s not as if we ever had anything to say to each other when we were going out, so what

would we say now, twenty-five years down the line? And I saw a photo of him in the papers. He looks about a hundred now, you know. I suppose you always have a thing for the ones who dumped you.’ Ana took another bite of her muffin and looked thoughtful. ‘And he gave me a great bit of advice.’

‘What did he say?’ asked Christie lightly. ‘That I should stop going out with men like my father, tough, controlling ones, and find a decent, nice man who’d appreciate me.’ Ana beamed. ‘He hit the nail on the head there - that’s what you used to say to me too. But you were both right.

So I went off and before long I met Rick, who turned out to be the love of my life and still is.

And there aren’t many people my age who can say that, now, are there? Well,’ Ana added, ‘apart from you and James, obviously.’

With an absence of anyone to talk to and with no work, now that school was closed for the summer, Christie did the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She set up her easel on the terrace where the pergola gave her shade and began to paint. She’d planned to do one of her botanical pictures, the detailed representations of irises and orchids she had always loved to draw, but found she couldn’t concentrate on them. Perhaps she could only work on them when she was happy.

So she gave up and began painting a portrait instead.

For her, painting was like therapy: as she painted, she thought of the mistakes that had brought her to this point.

She and Carey had had two days of a love affair.

Two days of pure, joyful pleasure when they made love on the day bed, and curled up afterwards talking, Carey smoking the unfiltered cigarettes he adored, the ones Christie hated.

It was like being in a dream, one where none of her actions could hurt either herself or anyone else. A lovely dream from which she would awaken with a pleasurable memory and no guilt.

‘If I were your husband, I would wonder where you were every day,’ Carey murmured in the late afternoon of that second, glorious day.

‘My husband hasn’t even noticed I’m not at home every day,’ Christie said bitterly. ‘It’s as if I don’t exist for him. Right now, he’s only interested in his work. I’m just someone to look after his children and cook dinner each night.’

‘Is that why you did this? To get back at him?’

Carey asked, like a scientist probing a rat in an experiment.

‘No,’ said Christie. ‘That’s not why. He never notices me these days, but you do. That’s why I wanted to be with you …’ Saying it out loud make the words sound feeble. Her husband was busy so she’d betrayed him.

It was more than that, wasn’t it?

‘We need to talk,’ Carey said. ‘I am going to

London next month. I have an important commission, it could make me rich. Christie, leave, come with me. Bring your little boys. I can love them too. I love their mother.’

It was talking of the future that made Christie’s daydream crumble. The future. Life without James, life ferrying her beloved children back and forth between them. Anger, hurt, betrayal. Ana hating her. James hating her more.

The dream shattered and she felt the iron grasp of guilt around her soul. What had she done? She must have been mad.

‘No, Carey,’ she said, getting up. She was naked, and she found her clothes where he’d thrown them on the floor after ripping them from her in the heat of desire.

‘I can’t. This was a mistake. I have to go. I can’t see you again, sorry, but it has to be that way.’

Shoes, where were her shoes? She couldn’t see them for tears.

‘You don’t mean this?’ he demanded, uncurling his body from the day bed and grabbing her by both arms. ‘You have to come with me. We were meant for each other, you know that. This is not tawdry sex between an artist and his model, this is real love, true passion. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before,’ he said, almost in wonderment. ‘You can’t go.’

‘I can,’ said Christie wildly. ‘I’ve got to. I’d lose so much, I’d lose all the people I love if I go with you. I’m sorry.’

She found her shoes, put them on, flung her coat over her shoulder and went to the door. She made herself take one last look at him standing there, looking bewildered and hurt, and so devastatingly attractive. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘You’ll be back,’ he snapped. ‘I won’t,’ she said.

When she’d emptied her head of all the tumbling thoughts, Christie painted quickly and furiously.

The next day, she was outside, standing putting the finishing touches to her painting when she heard footsteps in the hall, moving into the kitchen.

The dogs, who’d never been much good in the watchdog department, leaped to their feet, yapping happily and ran into the house. She could hear a man’s voice, James’s.

She could imagine him bending down, petting Tilly’s ears, rubbing Rocket’s soft belly. But Christie stayed where she was. He mightn’t want to see her, he might have just come to pick up more things.

‘Christie?’ came his voice.

‘I’m in the garden,’ she called, not knowing what to expect. She put her brush down and sat down on the chair. She thought she might need to be sitting for this. James walked over towards her, then hesitated. The easel stood between them.

‘How are you?’ she said tremulously, her eyes glued to his face. He looked tired, pale.

James gazed back at her steadily, and Christie

wished she knew what was in his heart. Please, she prayed, please.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. The too,’ she answered quickly.

‘Thinking about our lives then. How hard I was working, how hard you were working. It must have been difficult, with me so busy and you coping with the children and work and everything at home. We had no time together, no time at all. I wasn’t the best husband ever at that point.’