Little Lady, Big Apple

by Hester Browne

  ‘Jonathan, are you insane?’ I laughed. ‘I wouldn’t let those two run a scouts’ jumble sale! No, that’s just temporary!’

  ‘So you’ll just close it down altogether? OK, I can see the sense in that.’

  ‘I don’t want to . . .’ I stopped walking, as the reality of what I was saying dawned on me. ‘I don’t want to close it down, not just like that.’

  Jonathan pulled a slightly impatient face, then smiled reasonably. ‘But, honey, why not? You can’t be flying back and forth every couple of days, now can you?’

  ‘You fly back and forth!’ I protested.

  ‘Yes, but that’s for business!’

  ‘And what do you think my work is? People rely on me. I provide a service that people want! It’s not so different from what you do.’

  I was trying hard to keep it light, but something about the strained patience in Jonathan’s eyes was starting to tick me off.

  ‘Come on, Melissa, it’s very different. Anyway, it’s not like you’re really doing the same things you started out offering now we’re together, is it? Aren’t you moving more into shopping advice and such like?’

  ‘No, but it’s not just about shopping . . .’

  ‘Isn’t it? Face it, Melissa, you’re just acting like a glorified nanny to these guys, and, you know, I think that’s kind of beneath your abilities. I mean, in terms of value for your time? I don’t think so! I didn’t want to say so before, because I know you’re loyal and kind, and I love that about you, but guys like Godric? They need professional help, and they need to shape up. And, honey, I don’t want to sound arrogant, but you won’t need to work once we’re married.’ He took my hands. ‘I mean, that’s the point about being run off my feet – I’m pulling in a very decent salary now, and with bonuses . . .’

  I stared at the ring on my finger, then looked up at Jonathan’s face. I wanted to see the laughing boyfriend I’d rowed across the lake with, but in his dinner jacket, his hair smoothed neatly down, suddenly he looked much more grown-up than I felt. ‘But I want to work. I enjoy helping people.’

  ‘Then do what you’ve been doing for Diana!’ he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. ‘Run showers! God knows they need a bit of help in the taste department! And she loves what you’re doing for her baby shower. She can’t stop telling everyone how cleverly you’ve arranged it all, and how sweet you’ve been with her mother, and Steve . . . I was so proud of you.’ He shook my hands to emphasise his pride, but suddenly I felt babied.

  ‘Jonathan, I think we need to talk about this some more,’ I said, feeling the moment start to slide from under me.

  ‘What’s to talk about? You can’t run your agency hands-on when you’re living in New York, I don’t want you to start up doing the same thing over here.’ He lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. ‘Anyway, I was meaning to tell you – I’ve had a rethink on the house plans?’ He beamed, as if this was his trump card. ‘Forget the conversion. I think we need to make it one house. For the two of us. Two of us . . . for now?’

  I gaped. Why was it that this was everything I’d ever dreamed of, and yet it felt so wrong?

  Jonathan took my silence for emotional speechlessness, and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Don’t want to let Steve and Diana get too far ahead of us, huh?’ He checked his watch and grimaced in apology. ‘Darling, I know this is an awful thing to say but I really do need to get back to the event.’ He looked at me appealingly. ‘We can announce it! Most of our friends are here!’

  Most of our friends. Our friends? What about Nelson? And Gabi? And Roger? How would my friendships feel when I was living in New York? And how would it be when all my friends were also friends with Cindy?

  I started to feel sick.

  ‘But Jonathan, this is important to me! My agency isn’t just about shopping! It’s about working out what’s missing in people’s lives, seeing what I can help to fix! I mean, take Godric,’ I said wildly. ‘It wasn’t so much that he was rude, or mean – he just didn’t have enough confidence to be himself! And I’m not saying I’ve waved a magic wand, but he needed someone to talk it out with, and understand. And now look at him! He’s got his girlfriend back, and everything!’

  ‘Melissa, if you need men to fix, you can start with me,’ said Jonathan, and to my amazement, he said it with a straight face. ‘God knows I need someone to run my life for me, better than I do.’

  ‘But that’s the whole point!’ I wailed. ‘You don’t need fixing! You’re perfect just as you are! Perfect! And I can’t be the sort of wife you need by your side at these things . . .’

  ‘Well, maybe I’m just better at faking it than you think. Why else do you think I’ve got a cleaner four days a week, and I never buy my own clothes? You ask Lori how perfect I am.’ He ran his hands through his hair im-patiently. Clearly this wasn’t going to plan. ‘What sort of wife do you think I need?’

  I searched Jonathan’s face for some clue, but the stoniness had returned, shutting off any emotion.

  I bit my lip, not wanting to give the answer I knew I had to, in all honesty. The reception was stuffed with immaculate, glossy women, working the room like a formation dance team of charm, devoting their whole lives to charity events, and networking, and having lunch with each other but not actually eating anything.

  I thought of my mother, worn to a frazzle trying to maintain the social face of country Conservatism while the private face of knitting stress created deformed hippos. My father, driving her mad – driving me mad with his manipulations. I couldn’t end up like that. Not with a man I loved as much as Jonathan.

  But was Jonathan really the man I thought he was? Because he was glaring at me with an expression that seemed awfully Daddy-esque right now.

  I wasn’t just some bed he could ship out to New York, and put in a museum to be admired and never slept in. I had a purpose in life!

  I controlled myself as best I could. ‘You need a woman who can stand at your side at these events, like a First Lady. A woman like one of the fundraisers in there, someone who knows how to work the room and look perfect all the time. And I can pretend to be like that, if that’s what you want,’ I said in a small voice, ‘but it’s not really me. I don’t look perfect all the time. That’s Honey. And I thought you didn’t want Honey any more. I thought you wanted me.’

  Jonathan stared at me for a long minute, then exhaled slowly.

  ‘Melissa. I do want you. But I’ve had one wife who put her whole life into her career, at the expense of everything else,’ he said, apparently ignoring what I’d just said. ‘At the expense of me, of our home, our family. Are you really telling me that you’re weighing me in one basket, and your damn agency in the other?’

  I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t about the agency, it was about me, and who I was. But if he couldn’t see that – why should I have to tell him?

  ‘Are you asking me to choose one or the other?’ I demanded.

  Because you asked him the very same question, and he couldn’t choose.

  We glared at each other, surrounded by cold marble statues. I was just glad that I was in my very best black tie dress, because the tight corset and stockings at least made me hold my spine up tall.

  ‘I guess I am,’ he said, and rubbed his chin.

  My heart broke inside my chest. I could feel it leaking misery right through me. But I struggled to muster up all my dignity. The situation demanded that I keep my head held high, even if everything inside was shattering into little pieces.

  ‘You’re asking me to leave my family and my friends, and move halfway across the world, to be surrounded by your friends, your ex-wife, your ex-wife’s dog, and all the . . . baggage that goes with that,’ I said, in a voice that didn’t sound like mine. ‘And I would do that, Jonathan, because I love you. Even with the sort of schedule that means you never see me. But you’re asking me to give up the one thing I’ve found in life that I do really well, and come here with nothing of me, and honestly, that’s imp
ossible. I wouldn’t be the woman you fell in love with. You would get frustrated with me. And it wouldn’t work.’

  I made myself look at him, and the beautiful, familiar lines of his face made me ache, because I knew what I was saying was true, and it meant it was all ending. I’d walked across hot coals to get away from one controlling father in my life; I owed it to myself not to fall straight into being controlled again.

  ‘I couldn’t bear to have this turn sour,’ I said, biting back the tears. ‘It’s been too wonderful. I’ve never been so happy in my life. But you’re right – I don’t know New York. Maybe you need someone who does.’

  I struggled to remove the ring from my finger. It hurt as I dragged it over my knuckle, but not so much as it hurt inside.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘I can’t take this.’

  ‘You’re breaking off our engagement?’ said Jonathan faintly.

  I raised my eyes to his, and now they were filled with hot tears. It only added to my misery to see his were too. ‘I have to,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t bear to have you divorce me.’ I gulped. ‘I couldn’t bear to have you realise you’d made another mistake.’

  And before he could speak, I turned on my heel and walked briskly down the corridor, leaving him standing there, as motionless as the marble statues.

  I don’t know how I found my way back, since the place was a maze of glass cases and roped-off areas, but somehow I was back at the coat-check, in a cloud of scented lilies and expensive ladies’ perfume.

  A steward tried to direct me towards the reception, but I mumbled that I didn’t want to go in, and as I was stumbling out, my head down in case I saw Cindy, I bumped into a couple.

  ‘Sorry,’ I started to say, as they cooed, ‘Melissa! Melissa!’ at me.

  Kurt and Bonnie Hegel.

  Oh, God. Just what I didn’t need.

  ‘Melissa?’ said Kurt, taking my arm. ‘Are you all right? You don’t look all right. You look as if you’ve had a terrible shock. Do you want to sit down? Bonnie, don’t you think she should sit down?’

  ‘I’m OK! Honest!’ I managed.

  ‘Kurt, go and get a glass of water for Melissa. Go on!’ She flapped him away, and peered at me with a professional rigour. ‘Are you actually OK?’

  ‘Um, no, not really.’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve . . . I’ve had some bad news. I’m going to have to go home. Right away.’

  ‘Home to Greenwich Village? Listen, let me call my car service, we can have you home in no time.’ Bonnie got her tiny cell phone from her tiny clutch bag and had it to her ear before I could stop her. ‘Hello, yeah, I need a car from the Met to . . .’ She looked over at me, and whispered, ‘Where to, honey? I forget Jonathan’s new address?’

  ‘To Kennedy Airport, please,’ I said dully.

  Bonnie’s face registered such shock that I could see white all round her big green eyes. ‘Hold the car, I’ll call back,’ she said, without taking her gaze off me, and clicked the phone shut. ‘Where’s Jonathan, does he know? Why isn’t he taking you home? Jesus, he is so stupid about his priorities! Let me go and get him.’

  ‘No, please,’ I said, stopping her. ‘He knows. He’s busy with the fundraiser. It’s going really well. I don’t want to spoil it for him.’ God knows how I was keeping all this together, but my voice was turning posher by the moment. It must have been the Stiff Upper Lip coming out. Much more stiff upper lip and I was going to look like Beaker from The Muppet Show. ‘It’s . . . a family matter. I have to fly back tonight. I should get to the airport.’

  ‘But your cases?’ Bonnie asked. ‘Don’t you need to go home and pick up your stuff?’

  It would look too weird if I refused. Besides, I could hardly sit all the way back to London in a cocktail dress, fancy underwear and stockings. I mean, there were dramatic gestures, and there were dramatic gestures.

  Oh, and I’d need my passport.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, dragging what remained of my self-control around me like the English royal armour that I’d just marched past. ‘I’ll get a cab home. Um, if you could tell Jonathan I’ll be fine, and . . .’ I gulped, as the self-control slipped. ‘Tell him I’m sorry for messing up his seating plan for dinner. At such short notice.’

  ‘Melissa, won’t you let me help you?’ Bonnie looked hard at me. ‘Because if anyone’s said anything to you . . . Even if it’s Jonathan?’ She pulled a face. ‘He can be kind of dumb sometimes, I know. Don’t be fooled by that poker face.’

  I shook my head again as another little needle pricked my heart; they would always know him better than me. ‘No. No, it’s nothing like that.’

  ‘I hear Cindy’s here tonight,’ Bonnie went on. ‘Is that it? Is she being—’

  I didn’t let her finish. I didn’t want to hear whatever it was she had to say, and I could see Kurt returning with a glass of water and a first-aid official.

  ‘Bonnie, you’ve been very kind, but I really must go now.’ I smiled at her. ‘Thank you.’

  And I took my fake fur jacket, ran down the beautiful steps and managed to hail a cab in seconds. I guess the dress might have helped.

  Part of me hoped that Jonathan would leap into a cab and follow me, just like in an old-fashioned movie, but the other part of me knew he’d give me a gentlemanly distance to recover myself. He gave me such a gentlemanly distance that when I turned my phone on at JFK, surrounded by my bags, he still hadn’t left a message.

  24

  I tried really hard to find three positive things about my early arrival back in London, where the skies were a dull elephant grey and a dank October chill hung in the air. I was in such a trance state that it actually wasn’t so difficult to be objective about my situation; as soon as I stepped onto the tarmac at Heathrow and felt the rain soak through my open-toed sandals, it seemed as if the past few weeks, in all their Technicolor New York film set glory, had happened to someone else.

  Whether I liked it or not, I was back, and the best remedy was manic busy-ness and a positive attitude that made Gabi demand to know what drugs you could buy in K-Mart. Never mind that I had to bite back tears every time I saw a small white dog. Leaving Braveheart stabbed my heart nearly as much as leaving Jonathan. He really did need me. Still, I’d made my choice. Doing the Right Thing would be heaps more popular if it wasn’t such a monumental pain in the arse to live with.

  The first positive thing was that I was able to chivvy along the decorators putting the final touches to Nelson’s flat. Well, they weren’t really final touches, as it turned out – more halfway-through touches. Gabi hadn’t been supervising the various workmen with the sort of rigour that builders require, even with Nelson’s alarmingly specific plan of action to hand, whereas I needed a place to sleep, and had nervous energy to spare. With Nelson due back in days and the new bath not yet plumbed in, let’s just say that the project swiftly acquired an urgency usually seen in the latter stages of a tele-vision makeover programme.

  And that was the second positive thing: I was able to meet Nelson at the quayside, to welcome him back off his voyage of charitable discovery.

  Obviously, I had to drive Roger and Gabi there with me – with the accompanying emotional pea-souper that would suggest.

  I’d offered Gabi the use of my car, on the noble assumption that she’d want to share a private moment with her long-lost sailor boy, but she wriggled and looked shifty.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be nicer if we all went tomorrow?’ she suggested. ‘I mean, Roger’s missed him too, and so’ve you.’

  We were sitting on the dust-sheeted sofa in Nelson’s sitting room, waiting for the painters to come back off their lunch-break. I’d persuaded them to work Saturday in return for three follow-up jobs for clients who needed their flats de-bachelored, strictly cash-in-hand. As far as the office went, at least, I was firing on all cylinders. I had to be; if I stopped and thought how much I’d given up for my feckless clientele, I’d probably march round to their flats and make them do their own decorating.

  I gl
anced at my mobile. Jonathan still hadn’t called.

  ‘Stop it,’ said Gabi. ‘A watched mobile never boils.’

  I gave her a dark look. ‘Gabi. Tell me the truth. Have you been seeing someone else while Nelson’s been away?’

  I didn’t want to use the R word unless I absolutely had to.

  She squirmed some more. ‘Well, not exactly . . . Anyway,’ she added, in a blatant subject change, ‘I thought it would be kind of insensitive to have a big emotional reunion, in light of current events.’

  I ignored that. Gabi had been hugely sympathetic, insisting that I’d done the right thing and that Jonathan’s workaholism would only get worse, but it was totally unacceptable to use it as a sneaky way out of whatever she’d got herself into here. ‘Have you been seeing someone else?’ I repeated. ‘Because if you’ve been messing Nelson about, then . . .’

  We stared at each other, gripped by sudden fear. The consequences were too ghastly to speak aloud, and we both knew it.

  ‘I haven’t been messing Nelson about,’ she said, fiddling with a set of paint cards. ‘But, um, I think perhaps I’d better have a quiet word with him when he gets off, or whatever you call it.’

  ‘Disembark. I think that would be a good idea,’ I said firmly. I was horribly torn between wanting to help, but then again, since I was so close to them both, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know the gory details. ‘Do you want to talk about it? I mean, you’re sure? Nelson’s . . .’ I hesitated. Gabi had always maintained, erroneously, that I had a crush on Nelson myself, and I didn’t want her to think I had vested interests in splitting them up now. I grabbed her hand. ‘I want you both to be happy.’

  She gave me an ambiguous half smile, half frown. ‘Mel, I know what I’m doing. You of all people should know how hard it is sometimes.’

  ‘It’s not that I want everyone to be single, just because I am. I’d just hate to see him hurt,’ I said quietly. ‘Or see you hurt too.’