What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (22 page)

I’ve been here a week now, and the time with James has been
wonderful.  He has taken remarkable care of me.  The only fly in the ointment
has been the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds.  I can tell she hates me, and I don’t
know why.  I can’t think what I have possibly done to upset her.  I’m now up
and about; my bruises are still awful and unsightly, but I am healing well. 
Every time we are in the same room I can feel her eyes on me, watching
everything I do, everything I touch.  I try to discuss it with James, but he
brushes it off and tells me not to be so silly.  So now I just feel awkward.  I
try to clear up after myself constantly, but that just gets James irritated
with me, and he insists I sit back down and let Mrs Reynolds help me.  James
has to work quite a bit, so I spend long hours in the house with just Mrs
Reynolds, and frankly it’s a nightmare.  Fortunately the house is big enough so
I can avoid her a fair bit, but it could never be big enough for me unless she
wasn’t in it in the first place.  This morning I have miraculously managed to
avoid her entirely, which has been heavenly.  I am just sitting in the corner
of the brilliantly stocked library, curled up in one of the large armchairs,
when she sticks her head around the door.  I know she hasn’t seen me because
she would have scowled if she had.  I’m about to say something to alert her to
my presence when something stops me.  I hear her go out into the hall and pick
up the landline phone to make a call.  I can’t hear everything she says, but
what I do hear makes me curious:

“I’m sorry to bother you at work ...........................
yes, very well, thank you.................. so are you planning a trip here
soon?............................. we have one of Mr Lattimer’s
guests..................seems very settled here...............no, I don’t think
she does.....................yes, I think that would be best, I hope you didn’t
mind me calling..................no, quite, that’s what I
thought..................yes, whatever you think best.  Goodbye, goodbye.”      
                          

I wonder who on earth the person on the other end of the
phone could possibly be, because I know from what I heard Mrs Reynolds say on this
end they can only be discussing me.  It bothers me a lot for some reason to
think she’s talking about me, and I resolve to call Emma and get her to drive
me round some of the bedsits I have found so I can move out straight after
Christmas.  James keeps telling me he wants me to stay, but I don’t think I can,
given the current climate in the house. 

Emma is delighted to help when I call, and we agree to go to
a couple of shops while we’re at it so I can pick up gifts for James and the
boys.  I’ve already got Emma’s present; a beautiful handbag I saw online that is
big enough to hold stuff for the baby but means she won’t have to sacrifice
style entirely.  I can’t really afford much else, given my current predicament,
but I decide it would be best to save money after Christmas; I want to enjoy
the here and now.  Fortunately work have been very kind and insist I should
take as long as I need, giving me extended paid sick leave – I guess being
a reliable employee for so long has finally paid off.  They even sent me some
beautiful flowers and a ‘get well soon’ card that everyone had signed.  The benefit
of being as accident-prone as I am is that I have had very little challenge to
my story about falling down the stairs at home. 

Emma and I have a wonderful day; we are a right pair with
her enormous bump and my ribs, so we can’t walk far.  We see three different
bedsits, which are all fairly grim but will do at a push, and then head to the
shops.  We pretty much only make it to one department store and stay there,
given our combined invalid status.  But we find everything we want, and the
rest of the day we have coffee and lunch and chat like we always used to. I get
the boys a shirt each from the designer I know they like, and I buy James two
gifts: a first-aid kit that I figure he’ll need if he’s going to spend any time
with me, and a book of walks in the Peak District.  I hope he’ll take me back
there one day and we can do some more walking together.  Emma laughs a lot at
the first-aid kit.  The shop agree to wrap all my parcels for me which is a
bonus. 

By the time we get home my mood is much lighter.  James
comes to the door when he hears Emma’s car in the driveway, and my heart does a
little flip when I see him again.  He’s pleased to see the smile on my face and
tells me so as we stand there holding hands while we watch Emma drive off.  She’s
offered to drop the presents for the boys off at the house on her way home as it’s
Christmas Eve tomorrow; I want the boys to have them before Christmas Day, but
there’s no way I want to go near the house yet.  I know I’ll have to soon, but
just not yet.  I realise I’m going to need to find a lawyer after the New Year
and start to sort my life out properly, but I decide I’ll worry about it ‘tomorrow’.

“Is Mrs Reynolds here?” I ask as we turn to walk into the
house.

“No, she’s already gone home.  Just you and me,” he says
with a smile.  We haven’t made love since Buxted Park – I’ve not been well
enough – but when I look at him and he smiles at me, I feel the heating of
my body that only he provokes in me.  He senses it and laughs. “You seem to be
feeling better, Lily.”

“I am,” I say, giving him a coy look as I walk up the
stairs.

We have to be careful; he can’t lie on me at all, but we
find a way.  And when he’s inside me at last, having touched and kissed and
licked me to the point of climax, it feels so good that neither of us can last
long.  I have missed this closeness with him.

“God, Lily, I’ve missed being inside you,” he says as if
reading my mind.

“I love you James,” I say, looking into his beautiful blue
eyes.

“I love you too,” he says
simply. 

We spend the rest of the evening
making dinner and planning what food we want to buy for our Christmas dinner –
he promises to go out and buy it all in the morning – and he gets excited
when I show him the two parcels I have bought for him.  He looks like a little
boy again when he gets excited, rather than the 42-year-old man he actually
is.  When we finally fall into bed again, close to midnight, my heart is much
lighter.  I’m up for a replay of earlier, but James insists we need to take it
carefully so that I don’t end up hurting my ribs again.  I grumpily agree, only
cheering up when he proceeds to kiss and cuddle me until I proclaim I’m finally
happy with him again.  I fall asleep in his arms, and it’s heaven.

I’m disturbed in the morning by the sound of a door
slamming.  James is still wrapped around me, in the same position we fell asleep;
I don’t think we have moved all night.  I assume it’s Mrs Reynolds arriving for
the day until the bedroom door is slammed open, causing James and me to sit up
quickly.  I wince as my ribs protest about the sudden movement. 

A vaguely familiar blonde woman is standing in the doorway
staring at us.  She is stunning, and I become acutely aware of what a wreck I
must look. I realise I am naked beside James and pull the sheet up to protect
my modesty.  James is staring at her, his mouth open.

“Close your mouth, James,” she says in clipped tones.  Her
accent is American.  I realise she is familiar because I recognise her from the
photo in the Peak District; it’s the woman James was with who he mentioned was
his ex-partner.  “Can I suggest you get your clothes on and pack your bag,” she
says to me coldly, “you’re not welcome in my house.” 
Her house?
I
think.  “I’ll see you downstairs,” she says to James before sweeping out.

“Amanda,” I hear James saying as he gets out of bed,
grabbing his robe and trying to follow her while putting it on at the same
time. 

I sit there for a moment after they leave, and then I slowly
get out of bed and begin to dress as quickly as I am able in my clothes from
yesterday, which are the first things I can find.  I need to know what’s going
on.  I throw my things into my case but struggle to carry it, as my ribs are
just too sore.  When I see the little wrapped parcels for James I pause for a
moment, wondering what to do.  In the end I leave the little gifts on James’
pillow.  Eventually after the pain of trying to move my case becomes too much, I
decide to leave it at the top of the stairs and make my way down towards where
I can hear raised voices in the kitchen.  Mrs Reynolds is standing in the
entrance hall, a smug expression on her face, just watching me as I descend the
stairs.  I hold my head up and walk past her, determined to uncover what is
happening.  When I walk into the kitchen I see James by the table.  He has his
hands on it, and he is leaning heavily on them; he looks like a broken man, and
my defensive hackles immediately rise.

“Ah, here she is,” Amanda says as she sees me walk in. 
James lifts his head briefly, and the look in his eyes nearly breaks me; I have
to stop myself from running to his side.  “I must say, James, you’ve lowered
your standards somewhat,” Amanda continues, giving me a scathing look.

“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”  I say
quietly.

“Why yes, dear, I’d be delighted,” Amanda says.

“Amanda, don’t do this,” James beseeches her.

“Why, James? The poor girl deserves to know the truth, don’t
you think?”  I look at her expectantly, knowing she’s delighting in her little
performance.  I try to hold my head a little higher in order to retain some
shred of dignity.  “In case you don’t know who I am, my name is Amanda
Lattimer.  I’m James’ wife,” Amanda announces grandly.  My head swivels round
to James, whose head has dropped even further. 

“You’re married?” I say, shocked, my mind trying to process
what I’ve just heard.

“Yes, he’s married,” she answers for him.  “Has been for
nearly fifteen years.  I live in America.  I’m an actress – you probably
recognise me?” I shake my head absently.

“I don’t watch a lot of films,” I murmur.  She seems annoyed
by this.

“Well, anyway, while I’m over there, James seems to prefer
to spend all his time in this godforsaken little country; for the love of God,
I have no idea why.  We have an arrangement.  It suits me to have a handsome
English husband to roll out when I need him – they’re quite the
fashionable accessory these days, you know – and it suits him to have
access to my money,” she says, gesturing to the room around us.

“All this is mine, you see.  James has burned his way
through his own money, it seems, what little he had to begin with.”  I look at
him, hoping to hear his side of things, but he won’t even look me in the eye.  I
realise Amanda is still speaking, “So you see, while I am quite modern enough
to tolerate the odd dalliance with some local slut, something James has always seemed
so fond of, I will not tolerate one of his sluts moving into my house,” she
says, looking at me.  She looks at James now when she hisses.

“I will not be made a laughing stock of, James.  The maid
had to call me to let me know what was happening.”
I knew Mrs Reynolds was a
snake.
“You’re only lucky the paps didn’t get wind of this; you know how
they lap up sordid stories like these.  So anyway,” she says imperiously, turning
back to me, “please say your ‘goodbyes’ and crawl back under whichever stone
you crawled out from in the first place.  There’s nothing more for you here.”

“James,” I whisper, unable to believe he’s just going to
stand there and let her talk to us like this.  No matter what has happened, I
have to believe he loves me enough to defend me.  I wait, but he still doesn’t
even look at me.

“Oh, how sweet, she thinks you’re going to choose her over
me!  Oh, that’s delightful.”  She actually laughs like I made a funny joke and
claps her hands, before she leans forward again.  “Now listen to me, darling,
because I’m getting tired of having you in my house and I want you gone: James
will never leave me.  He’s too fond of the money, you see, and he knows if he
leaves me he gets nothing.  Now I know you’ve had your fun, but it’s over now,
and James knows he needs to be a good boy again, so get your bag and get out.” 

I’m mortified, mostly because I realise James’ silence means
I was merely a meaningless dalliance to him; he can never really have cared for
me if this is how he treats me.  I rush out of the room and up the stairs.  I
grab my case, dragging it down the stairs and ignoring the protests my ribs are
making. 

I have no idea where I’m going; I just know I need to get
out of this house and away from this shit.  I open the front door and, only
then, as I am leaving, I finally hear an agonised voice say: “Lily.”

I turn to look at him.  He is standing there in the hallway
watching me leave, his face twisted in despair. “Where will you go?” he asks.

“I don’t think that’s really your concern,” I say as I lug
my case out the door, tripping along the gravel until I am beyond the gates.  I
must look a complete sight with my face covered in bruises, my hair ratty and
un-brushed, my clothes creased from yesterday.  I stand on the pavement for a
few minutes until I collect myself enough to find my phone and call a cab. 
When it arrives I give him Emma’s address.

I sit in the back, dry-eyed.  I really thought he loved me. 
I thought he was different, but it seems it was all a lie.  So much makes sense
now I think about it; his caution about being seen even after Ethan saw us, his
reluctance to invite me to his home.  He was so clever telling me she was his
partner but that they were separated. It was all technically true, but the more
salient points, like the fact he was still married, he omitted to mention.  I
never questioned him, more concerned with righting my own wrongs first.  Well
it sure all came back to bite me. I feel such a fool. 

As if a man like him would ever choose someone like me
when he had a beautiful, rich actress like her at home
,
I think
.  I
was exactly what she described; a stupid little slut, and now I have nothing
. 
The cab pulls up outside Emma’s, and I climb out, pulling my case with me.  I
throw a ten-pound note at the driver, not waiting for any change, and then
stumble up the path to the front door.  I don’t know what I will do if she says
I can’t stay.  I ring the bell, and when the door opens she is standing there,
all pregnant and beautiful.  She takes one look at me and my case before
opening the door wider and pulling me into her arms, where finally my tears
begin to fall.