The Other Half (12 page)

“No, I approached them,” she admitted.

“I see. And why was that, if you’re so happy here?”

There was nothing else for it; she would have to be honest. “I’ve been developing another magazine concept.”

“A women’s magazine?”

Chloë knew exactly what Jean was driving at. “Yes, but it’s not a competitor to
Babe
, Jean, honestly.”

“If you say so,” said Jean, sitting back. “I overheard Vanessa talking about it and I expected as much. I presume you kept it from me until it was definite. I want the whole story, beginning to end. And quit buttering me up.”

Lord—as if Chloë was going to tell Jean everything! She related a highly censored version, emphasizing her work had all been out-of-office hours, and playing up Vanessa’s role. (Vanessa would like that, so no harm there.)

When she’d finished Jean said, “It sounds very exciting. Though you know a lot of these projects come to nothing, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I suppose I’ll have to keep your job open for you.” Jean did not even try to disguise how much this put her out.

“That would be great.”

“Not for me it won’t be. But it’s UK Magazines’ policy, so I’ve no choice.”

“I’m sorry,” she ventured.

“No, you’re not!” retorted Jean, spot on as usual. “Though I do understand. It’s because you’re good that I don’t want to see you go. So, from a selfish point of view, I hope you fall flat on your face and have to come back to me. But for yours, I wish you luck. I can’t begrudge you your ambition, given mine’s got me where I am today. Now off you go, before I throttle you!”

*   *   *

Another fortnight, and a couple of snatched clandestine meetings later, Chloë was longing for the opportunity to spend more than a few hours at a time with James. Especially as she was taking the next week off to use up her leave before starting work with Vanessa. She wanted to get to know him better, to discover if the connection that promised so much ran any deeper. In spite of her best efforts not to think of him too seriously, she was beginning to hope and believe that it did. As they lay curled up together at her place one Wednesday evening—this time James had used the hackneyed working-late excuse, believing he genuinely ought to play squash with his friend the next day—he said, “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to manage this next week.”

Chloë could scarcely conceal her disappointment. She’d hoped to persuade him to take an afternoon off with her. “Why not?”

“I’m going away.”

“Oh.” I suppose he’s going on vacation with his wife, she thought. It’s only to be expected. Still, the idea made her feel left out and rejected. It was a familiar emotion—she’d experienced it watching her parents bickering, too preoccupied to be aware of the impact on her; and with men she’d been involved with in the past, as well. Because she didn’t expect her feelings to matter to James either, she said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m off to?” he asked, idly stroking her arm.

“Mm,” she said quietly.

“New York. For a week.”

She couldn’t help it. She was so jealous—it was somewhere she’d always wanted to go. “You lucky thing,” she said, trying not to sound envious and turning her arm so he could stroke it from a new angle. “Where are you both staying? Do you know people out there?” Yes, of course he did—Beth. She didn’t suppose they’d be staying with her. Though one never knew—perhaps enough time had passed that she and Maggie were friends by now.

“Both? Ah!” He laughed, realizing her mistake. “I’m not going with Maggie.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m going on business, and Maggie’s got to stay here and look after Nathan.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling stupid for not thinking of this.

“I’m going to visit US Magazines. It’s the annual conference.”

It was obvious he’d be attending. UK Magazines sent their key people to the parent company event every year.

“I’ll miss you,” she said.

“And me you.”

“It’s a shame, actually.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m off work next week.”

“You are?”

“I have to use up my vacation days before shifting departments. I’d kind of hoped … you might have taken a day off to spend with me or something.”

“That would have been nice.” James sounded regretful.

“Oh, never mind.” Chloë changed the subject, unwilling to seem overly keen. “Better make the most of this, then.” She kissed him persuasively. “Fancy giving me a massage?”

*   *   *

The next day Chloë was at her desk when an e-mail popped up from James. She read it at once.

Have you opened your internal mail yet?

She hadn’t bothered with any of her mail. With only forty-eight hours on the magazine to go, she hadn’t been able to get excited about anything to do with
Babe
that day. She riffled through the pile until she located the thick brown manila envelope tied with string those at UK Publishing still found occasional use for. Her name was scrawled at No. 15, the last on the list. It contained another smaller envelope labeled
Chloë Appleton
and underlined
Private and Confidential
. She tore it open and caught her breath.

Inside was a plane ticket. To New York. Leaving the following evening (Shit! She’d have to leave work early on her last day at
Babe—
Jean would be even more cross) and returning a week—a whole week—later.

She screamed in excitement.

“What?” asked Patsy.

“Oh, er, nothing,” said Chloë.

Patsy clearly didn’t believe her. “What
nothing
? You’re just screaming out of the blue?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” Chloë knew this would drive Patsy nuts.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s confidential.” Chloë thought quickly. “To do with this new magazine. Vanessa would kill me if I disclosed it.”

“Oh.” Patsy pouted.

“When I can say, I promise you’ll be the first to know.” Chloë simultaneously clicked
Reply
on her e-mail.

she typed in 72 point font, and then smaller

That is the best surprise I have ever had!

And before Patsy saw what she was doing, she pressed
Send
.

15

That evening Jamie got home from squash earlier than he had recently, yet he bolted his supper without asking Maggie how her day had been. Mindful of their argument, she waited until he had finished both courses before clearing his dishes, but he didn’t notice, simply racing upstairs to pack, leaving Maggie standing in the kitchen, reeling.

What is going on? she thought. Is something up—something serious? It’s not just a question of day-to-day niggles—after nearly ten years, I suppose they’re only to be expected. It’s more than that, though I can’t put my finger on it.

She cast her mind back to the incident with the hall closet. At times Jamie can be downright immature, she thought, although maybe he has a point. People do say I can be a bit serious sometimes, and we are very different … I’m nowhere near as gregarious—Jamie seems socially at ease almost anywhere. And I’ve always been more radical politically, more passionate about aesthetics, but aren’t those differences what make our relationship work? We complement one another, surely.

Certainly the idea of being with someone who was exactly like her didn’t appeal to Maggie—Alex had also been different from her in many ways. As for the prospect of two people together like Jamie … She shuddered. What an overwhelming duo they would be!

Nonetheless, we aren’t spending enough time together; Jamie seems to be working harder than ever—and though that’s to be expected with this new role, recently he’s been very quick to criticize me. She frowned, assessing; yes, he seems most critical of those things where my behavior differs most sharply from his own. It’s not just my tidiness that seems to irk him, it’s the way I treat Nathan. What was it he said a few days ago?
“You’re so damn traditional—can’t you be a bit spontaneous for once?”
Only this morning he said,
“Why don’t you branch out and do something more exciting? You’ve been doing the same sort of articles for years,”
when he’d been getting dressed.
“Thanks for the insight,”
she’d replied, cross because she was depressed by the style of features she wrote already. No wonder it had provoked another argument. Jamie was even critical of my clothes, she remembered, and on a day when I thought I looked particularly nice! Again, he suggested Maggie try something new and bold, “sexier” was how he put it. Yet when she’d tried dressing up in that way on the night of the dinner party, he didn’t even realize she’d had the basque on.

And now he’s going away on business for a week, she thought. Being thousands of miles apart is the last thing we need.

However desperately she wanted to go with him, Maggie couldn’t: she had to stay and take Nathan to school. I wouldn’t want him to feel that his mum and dad would rather be off gallivanting together than with him, would I? she reminded herself.

She leaned against the kitchen sink, gazing out of the window into the dusk, recalling the visions she’d once had of her future. I used to think I’d be running a chain of health-food shops by now, she thought. Alex used to joke I’d be “the queen of green cuisine,” with a string of eco-friendly cookbooks to my name. I’m not even a proper vegetarian anymore—these days I eat fish and chicken, albeit free-range. Worst of all, I seem to have ended up a walking cliché—a bored, sexually frustrated housewife in Surrey. How has that happened? Who is to blame?

Tears pricked behind her eyes; she blinked them away and mounted the stairs after her husband. Jamie had just finished packing when she entered the room.

“I’m whacked,” he said. “I should go to bed—I’ve a long day ahead in the morning.”

“Yes.” Maggie was able to read the signs all too clearly. “We’d better go straight to sleep, hadn’t we?”

16

“Oh my good God! He’s taking you to
New York
?”

“Yes.” Chloë was frantically emptying the contents of her wardrobe onto the bed while Rob stood by.

“For how long?”

“Just over a week.”

“A week! A whole
week
? Why isn’t his wife going?”

“She has to stay and look after his son.”

“Poor cow,” said Rob.

Chloë felt a sharp stab of guilt.

“Did it occur to you to say no?”

“Are you mad? Turn down an invitation to the place I’ve wanted to visit my entire adult life?”

“You’re right. You absolutely have to go. It’s a one in a million chance. So I take it this is a business trip. All expenses paid?”

“Yeah,” said Chloë. “He’s going to the annual conference at US Magazines. We’ll be back next weekend.”

“He needs to be there over a week? And has to go on a Friday?”

“It runs Monday to Thursday, but, hey, I’m hardly going to argue, am I?”

“I guess not. Still, if I was his wife, I’d be a mite suspicious.”

“He said he hated being jet-lagged for meetings so he likes to arrive a day or two early to recover.”

“And shag you.”

“If you must put it like that, yes. Though he was going anyway—I’m just coming along for the ride.”

“Some ride!” Rob laughed. “Well, firstly, I’m jealous as hell—’cause you know I love, love, love that city, and September’s a fabulous time to go. Secondly, let me help you decide what to take ’cause I know the scene and you obviously haven’t a clue, and thirdly, allow me to give you one piece of advice.”

“What’s that?” Chloë was sure she wasn’t going to like it.

“Don’t, whatever you do, ask him if he is going to leave his wife.”

“What makes you think I would?” Chloë had studiously avoided anything too heavy so far.

“Because I know you, Chloë. You’ve been seeing each other—what? Once a week for a month, roughly? So far, it’s been great fun. But it’s been mainly about sex—”

“It hasn’t!”

“Aw, c’mon, hon—have you ever seen him without shagging?”

“No…”

“Right. Which means it’s still at that rampant stage, but when you go away, you’ll be entering a different phase. You’ll talk more, do things together, just the two of you … You’ll develop your own set of romantic memories … You’ll get closer … Then, wham! You’ll fall in love with him.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Chloë, but she knew she was already more involved than she was prepared to acknowledge.

“Because all the ingredients are there. Only remember what your dear friend Rob said to you: you’re a long way from home, you’re also a long way from reality. Back here, this man has a wife and kid. Whatever you feel while you’re out there, this is where you live, where your work is, where your friends are but, more important, it’s where
his
commitments are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Chloë, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“And remember, if it goes hideously wrong, I’m on the end of a phone for you.”

I wish he hadn’t said that, she thought. It’s not going to go wrong. There’s nothing to go wrong. It will be fine. Nonetheless she said, “I’ll remember,” just the same.