by Jane Moore
Kate said nothing for a while, executing a few more circling maneuvers, and raising her arms in the air. “Well, all I can say is . . .” the music rose to a crescendo then died away again “. . . it’s not like you to give up easily. If she was a business deal, you’d keep on trying until you got what you wanted.”
The record finished and Tony started to leave the dance floor, indicating for her to follow. “But that’s just it . . . I’ve always treated relationships like business deals in the past, seeing something and getting it without even considering the possibility that I might fail . . .” He stopped halfway back to the table. “But this is different. When I asked her out, I felt really nervous. And when she said no, well . . .” He was lost for words.
Kate broke into a huge grin. “Well, well, well . . . I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed.
“What?”
“At long last Tony Hawkins is truly, madly, deeply in love! Properly in love,” she emphasized with a smile. “About bloody time too.”
Saturday, October 11
8 a.m.
Tony opened his eyes and rolled over to look at the clock. It was early on Saturday morning and he was wide awake. Despite having a blissfully free day ahead of him, he couldn’t get back to sleep, his head already filled with thoughts of ongoing business deals, tasks to be done around the flat, and . . . there she was again . . . her.
It had been three weeks since Mark and Kate’s wedding and he’d done nothing about Faye. If it had been anyone else, Tony wouldn’t have hesitated in calling again and again until she agreed to have dinner. But this was different: not only did she stir unusual feelings of apprehension in him, he also knew he had to make up a lot of ground after France.
He swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge for a few moments, staring out of the window at the impressive view of London. His flat was in a spectacular location and stuffed with fine art and expensive furniture, but on this clear autumnal morning, it all felt meaningless and empty.
During the week, he could throw himself headfirst into his work schedule, barely raising his eyes to look at the time before he flopped into bed and started again the next day. But weekends were different, and he missed having someone to share them with. Throwing on a cotton robe, he wandered into the kitchen and started to cut up oranges for the juicer. When the phone rang his fingers were covered in the sticky liquid and he cursed. Cupping the receiver between shoulder and ear, he ran his hands under the tap. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me. We’re back.” It was Mark, newly returned from his honeymoon.
“How was Mahé?”
“Fan-bloody-tastic, I wanted to stay there forever. Thanks again, by the way.” The trip to the Seychelles had been Tony’s wedding present to them.
“Don’t mention it.” He dried his hands on a tea towel, then folded it and placed it neatly in a drawer.
“Listen, I’m not due back in the restaurant until tomorrow lunchtime and Kate’s off out with some girlfriends tonight, so I was wondering whether you’re free for dinner?”
Tony gave his empty wall calendar a quick glance. “I am indeed. That’d be nice.”
“Great,” enthused Mark. “I’ll bring the honeymoon snaps along.”
Tony groaned. “On second thoughts, there’s a documentary on tonight about the intestinal workings of the fruit bat—”
“Very funny. Zilli Fish at eight-thirty. Be there.”
The phone went dead and Tony put the receiver back on the cradle. Oh, well, he thought, that’s filled up some of my rather empty weekend.
Zilli Fish was a popular hangout on the corner of Brewer Street and Lexington Street in London’s vibrant Soho. It was walking distance from Tony’s flat and he left a little early so that he could enjoy a leisurely stroll and stop at a cash machine on the way. He arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early and settled into a chair by one of the huge plate-glass windows. It was perfect for watching the world go by but, typically, Tony chose to bury his head in a newspaper. Untypically, he ordered a glass of champagne to kick-start the evening.
He was looking forward to seeing Mark and hearing all about the honeymoon. Ever since he’d returned from New York and they’d gone into business together, their relationship had improved no end and regained some balance. They were still close, but it was no longer a case of Mark hero-worshipping him while he played the protective older brother. They were more like equals now.
Mark had learned to stand up to Tony and, in turn, Tony had found that the business didn’t fall apart if he wasn’t involved in every single decision. He made a silent vow to himself that tonight he wouldn’t mention the restaurant at all, sticking to Mark and Kate and the wonders of the Seychelles.
Sensing someone approaching his table, he looked up from the newspaper and his heart leaped into his mouth.
“Hello.” It was Faye.
He half stood up, but she gestured for him to sit down. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, inwardly kicking himself for such a hackneyed remark.
“Fancy.” She looked down at him and smiled enigmatically. She looked stunning in a simple white shirt and black trousers, with a jeweled belt resting loosely on her hips.
Tony was about to ask how she was when a thought struck him and he went cold. “By the way, I’m meeting Mark . . .” He glanced nervously over her shoulder at the door. “He’s due here at any moment, so if that would be awkward for you—”
“He’s not coming,” she interrupted.
“Sorry?” Tony prided himself on his astuteness, but he was flummoxed and looked it.
“Mark’s not coming. He never was.” She sat, down in the chair opposite him. “It’s just you and me.”
He absorbed what she’d said, and his pulse began to race. “How come?” He was careful to keep his tone friendly rather than confrontational.
“Because he phoned me and asked me to have dinner with you instead,” she said matter-of-factly.
Unusually, Tony felt his face flush with embarrassment. “What exactly did he say?”
“Exactly?” She thought for a moment. “Let’s see now, his verbatim comment was, ‘Please will you go out for dinner with Tony as I can’t stand seeing him so miserable for much longer?’ ” She gave him a quick smile.
“I see.” Tony’s voice was clipped. “And he thought having dinner with you might cheer me up?”
She gave him a mildly mocking look. “He told me everything.”
“Everything,” he said flatly, not wanting to give anything away. “And what exactly is everything?”
She beckoned to a waiter who was pouring wine at another table. “He told me that you can’t stop thinking about me.”
Tony let out a long sigh. “Faye, as I recall, I told you that after the Visage party. You seemed incredibly underwhelmed by the declaration.”
“That’s because I thought it was just a line to try to get me into bed,” she said, taking a cigarette out of her pack and offering him one. “When I found out you’d told Mark the same thing, I realized you were serious.”
Tony lit her cigarette, then his, and blew smoke into the air. “So, Mark asked you to come along tonight?”
“Yep.”
“Well, please don’t feel you have to stay.”
Faye, scowled at him. “Stop being so bloody pious. It doesn’t suit you.” The waiter appeared at their table. “A gin and tonic, please. We’ll order wine in a minute.” She turned back to Tony. “I’m here for the simple reason that I want to be.”
“You do?” Tony felt like a child who’d just been told his school had been closed for repairs.
“Yes. I wanted to say thank you for the book and the lovely inscription.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “That’s it, is it?”
She laughed. “You’re such a child. No, that’s not just it.”
Tony sensed a slight change in her attitude towards him. He might be mistaken, but he thought she was being mildly flirtatious. With nothing to lose, he lean
ed a little closer to her. “So what else has brought you here?” he murmured. He noticed she was wearing meticulously applied makeup that enhanced her striking eyes.
She stared back at him, clearly editing what she was about to say. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said cautiously, “about you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. Most of it was about what an arrogant control freak you are.”
Placing a hand against his chest, he pulled a wounded expression. “How you misjudge me.”
“Oh, I think I’ve got your measure perfectly,” she said, blowing smoke sideways from her mouth. “It amazes me that you and Mark are brothers because you’re so different.”
“Very true. He’s a much nicer person than me.”
Her mouth turned down at the corners “Oh, I don’t know. There’s a nice person lurking inside you too, but it’s buried under a pile of crap.”
“So poetic.” He drained his glass.
“I’m the same,” she continued. “But I’ve been doing a lot of self-analysis since France.”
“And what have you concluded?”
“It’s a long story and one that requires my tongue to be loosened by alcohol. Let’s order and I’ll tell you later.”
Two courses and two bottles of Chablis later, Tony had filled her in on Mark and Kate’s wedding, the restaurant, and the ups and downs of the sportswear trade. When he had gone into too much detail on the latter, she had crossed her eyes and pretended to fall off her chair with boredom. As he was used to women looking endlessly fascinated by his business talk, Tony found this rather refreshing.
She, in turn, filled him in on the buildup to the Visage contract, Adam’s love life, and how her relationship with her mother was better than ever. Then they moved on to the subject of her father and Tony asked if she was curious to find him.
“I have no desire to trace him whatsoever,” she said quietly, and smiled at the waiter as he took her empty main-course plate.
“Do you think you’ll change your mind?”
She shook her head. “No, not while Mum is alive anyway. She’s done so much for me, I wouldn’t want to upset her.”
Tony noticed that her left eye looked watery. Instinctively, he reached across the table and held her hand. She made no attempt to pull away.
“Does she ever talk about him?” he asked her.
“Not often, but yes. In fact, we talked about him at one of our Saturday lunches recently. She told me I was very like him.”
“In what way?”
“Looks and personality. Apparently, he was very outgoing and confident too.” She shifted in her seat. “Anyway, I hate talking about him. Tell me more about Mark and Kate.”
Tony wrinkled his forehead. “Well, it’s early days, but you just know with those two that they’ll be together forever.”
“I remember when you said to me that if Mark was marrying Kate, you would never interfere.”
“And I didn’t. Don’t meddle with perfection, that’s what I say.” He smiled.
“Where are they living?”
“She’s been promoted again, and the restaurant is ticking over nicely, so they’ve scraped enough together for a two-bedroom flat in Clapham. They move in at the end of the month.”
She let out an almost imperceptible sigh. “France seems like a lifetime ago now. I never think about it, unless of course someone mentions it to me.”
“You weren’t right for each other.”
“I know,” she said softly. “And I’m thrilled he and Kate are so happy, I really am. It’s just . . .” She trailed off.
“Just what?” He squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured. “It sounds so selfish, but I just hope that I can achieve that level of happiness one day.” A tear ran down the side of her nose and plopped onto the tablecloth. She used a finger to wipe under each of her eyes. “God, sorry, I sound so self-indulgent. Alcohol always makes me rather maudlin, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Tony. “We all need a little weep now and then.” He took a sip of his wine. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you’re not such an independent, obstructive so-and-so as I thought.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and smiled. “I’m trying hard to be less of an island.”
Tony refilled their glasses. “Is that part of the self-analysis you were talking about before?”
She took a sip of wine and stared out of the window. It was dark now, but the street outside was still crowded with people walking to and from bars and clubs. “I spent all my life watching my mother manage on her own, abandoned by the man she loved,” she said. “I guess I grew up thinking that the way forward in life is to do everything for yourself, then no one can let you down.’
Tony gave her hand another squeeze. “That makes sense.”
“Yes, but it’s not very good for finding a balanced relationship. I always ended up with either men like Rich, who were intimidated by me, or men like Nat, who were so selfish they attempted to do little for me in the first place.”
“And what about Mark?” said Tony quietly. “Where does he fit into this self-analysis?”
“He was the man who would never leave me. The dead cert, if you like.”
“Unlike your father?”
“Correct. My impression of my father was that he was this charismatic, handsome live wire, an emotional flibbertigibbet, as my mother once described him.” She smiled. “He was the kind of man who you had fun with, but who would never settle down.”
“So when it came to settling down, you decided to play it safe?”
She looked sad again and stared at the table. “Yes, without thinking too deeply about the consequences of spending the rest of my life with a man who I found a little dull.” She looked up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that about your brother.”
He shrugged. “This is just between us. Besides, Kate doesn’t feel that way about him and that’s what’s important now.”
“True.” She perked up. “And he sounded so happy when we spoke on the phone.”
“As I said, he is.” Tony was anxious to get off the subject of Mark and back on to Faye. “So, what’s the longest relationship you’ve had?”
She looked taken aback by the question and pondered it. “Um, Mark, I suppose. It was nearly a year. The others were a matter of months, sometimes weeks.” She withdrew her hand from his and stretched her arms behind her head. “The trouble is, I never witnessed a long relationship when I was a child, so I’m not sure I know how to handle one.”
“I think you’ve probably just chosen badly.” He grinned.
“Let’s hope that’s all it is. But it terrifies me that I might allow myself to really fall in love with someone—then they might leave me.”
“No pain, no gain,” he said, and regretted sounding so flip. “I’m exactly the same because of the control-freak tendencies you spoke of earlier. I married Melissa because I thought I’d always be in control of the situation. I thought she’d never leave me.”
“And then she did exactly that,” interrupted Faye. “It just goes to show that nothing is ever completely in our control.”
Tony felt his insides churn and shivered. He placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. “I’ve never told anyone this before . . .” He stopped and stared at her, trying to assess whether to carry on.
“Told anyone what?” This time, it was she who took one of his hands, placing it flat on the table and entwining it with hers.
“I forced her to leave me.” He screwed his eyes up with the pain of what he’d just admitted.
“What? But I thought she left you for another man . . .”
“No, I threw her out. When I discovered her at the gym, having a drink with that man . . .” he chewed the side of his thumbnail “. . . it turned out that they had shared a couple of kisses but nothing else.”
“And?”
“And when I confronted her about it, she sai
d he meant little to her and that she wanted to stay with me. She said she only spent time with him because she felt so alone all the time.” He looked desperately sad. “But my ego was so bruised because she’d even looked at another man that I told her to get out. I was so pathetic.”
He looked up at the ceiling, trying to compose himself. “For good measure,” he added quietly, “I told her that I’d never loved her and regretted marrying her. No wonder she ran to him.”
Faye cupped his chin in her other hand, tugging him to face her. “Tony, listen to me. We all say things we don’t mean in the heat of an argument. It’s human nature. Do you wish now that you’d asked her to stay?”
He shook his head. “No, the marriage had long been dead. I just wish it had ended in a less acrimonious fashion, but it was my fault that it didn’t.”
Faye sat back in her chair. “God, what a pair of fuck-ups we are.”
Tony picked up his glass. “Here’s to my mirror image,” he said, taking a swig. “And thanks for listening to me drone on.”
“Any time.” She smiled. “That’s a hell of a burden you’ve carried around for all these years. Have you seriously never told anyone?”
“Not a soul. They might have thought I wasn’t perfect.”
“Well, in that case, I’m honored.” She tickled the inside of his palm. “But you do know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“You know all about my fears of a fatherless upbringing . . . and I know yours about how you treated Melissa.”
“Er, yeeeesss.” He was puzzled about where this was going. “So?”
“So . . .” She stroked the side of his face. “We can’t ever fall out again. We know too much.”
He smiled, and some of the old twinkle returned to his eyes. “I have many things I plan to do with you, but falling out isn’t one of them,” he said, brushing his face against her hand.
“Tony?”
“Yes?”
“After the Visage party, when you said you wanted us to go out together properly, did you really mean it?”
