‘Bastard,’ she swore at him. He’d even cheated her out of a scene. She wouldn’t be able to rant and rave at him for fear he’d have another episode. She’d have to swallow it all down and probably give herself a stroke or a heart attack, she thought bitterly, bursting into tears of anger and frustration.
‘Don’t cry, Mrs Williams, your husband is stable. He’ll be fine,’ a nurse said reassuringly, mistaking the reason for Colette’s distress when she came into the room to take a note of her patient’s vital signs. ‘Why don’t you go home to bed?’ she urged. ‘Mr Williams will sleep for most of the night anyway because of his sedation. There’s nothing you can do here. We’ll have him ambulatory tomorrow and he’ll be more with-it so you can talk to him then.’
‘Right, thanks.’ Colette struggled to compose herself. She picked up her coat and scarf where she’d thrown them over the side of a chair and took a tissue out of her bag and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ll bring his pyjamas and toiletries in tomorrow,’ she managed to say.
‘That’s perfect.’ The nurse smiled at her and held open the door for her and Colette walked out into the corridor wondering was she in some sort of surreal nightmare or could all this be really happening.
The icy blast of a needle-sharp breeze blowing off the East River hit like a slap in the face when she stepped outside, and Colette knew her life had changed completely and there was nothing dreamlike about it. The nightmare was very real indeed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
At least Des’s clothes weren’t rolled up in a Macy’s carrier bag, Colette thought wearily when Arun produced her husband’s coat, briefcase and a Bergdorf Goodman bag from the small office behind his rosewood desk. Des’s bit on the side had some cop on, Colette noted caustically. The woman had placed a layer of white tissue paper on top of the bag, concealing what lay underneath. Top marks for discretion.
‘Let me get the bellboy to carry this up for you, ma’am,’ the concierge offered, carrying the bags to the elevators.
‘Not at all, Arun, just put them on the floor beside me, thank you,’ Colette said, pressing a twenty into the young man’s hand. She just wanted to be by herself to try and absorb the multiple shocks this evening had walloped her with. She let herself into the apartment and dropped the bags onto the marble floor in the hall. She’d deal with them in the morning. For now she just wanted to fall into bed with a large glass of brandy.
A thought struck her as she divested herself of her coat and scarf. She should charge Des’s phone. He’d be wanting it ASAP to make calls to work. In fact she supposed she should ring his secretary first thing to let her know to cancel his appointments. Not that he deserved that she should go to such trouble, Colette thought grimly, carrying his briefcase through to the den. She flung it on the sofa and poured herself a measure of brandy and took a slug of the amber liquid, grimacing at the kick of heat at the back of her throat. She’d be taking a sleeper tonight too. If Des decided to kick the bucket that was his tough luck.
She opened the Montblanc briefcase and found the BlackBerry that he always used. Would that woman’s phone number be on it? Colette wondered. She knew his password. Jazzy12. Their daughter’s name and birthdate. She knew it because, when Jazzy was younger, Des would always let her play games on his phone. He had kept the same password for all his upgraded phones. She keyed it in and scrolled through his text messages. Most of them were business ones. A couple from Jazzy, and two from herself. A few from friends. But otherwise nothing untoward. She checked his call log. The last phone call was to her. The call that woman had made to tell her that Des was in hospital. She scrolled through the other calls he had made that day. Every number came up with a name. Only one, to a woman, and Colette knew by the name that she was a Wells Fargo trader. Colette had met her a couple of times. A woman in her mid-forties with two children, and divorced, who wouldn’t have time for an affair even if she wanted one. She didn’t even colour her hair any more, Colette remembered, thinking that the grey, though superbly cut, was ageing. Hardly her. Des liked stylish women who were well maintained. She switched the phone off and went over to the Victorian pedestal desk and plugged the phone into the charger. She could do with charging her own BlackBerry too; she’d charge it in her dressing room.
She flicked through the pockets in the briefcase and saw the white padded envelope that Des had taken the papers from that morning and as she lifted it out she saw an iPhone tucked in a leather case, nestled snugly in a phone pocket. She took it out, flipped it open, slid the screen across and was instructed to enter a passcode. She keyed in Jazzy12, but no luck. She tried several combinations of birthdays, names, car regs, but the phone would not give up its secrets and she knew this was the one he used to make his assignations. Were there photos of him and his mistress on it? The woman’s name? Address?
‘What bloody difference does it make,’ she muttered, flinging the phone back into the case. The white envelope lay on the sofa and she pulled out the pages to flick through them. Her eyes widened in mounting horror as her attention was caught. She stiffened and sat up straight and studied the typescript with growing concern. He wouldn’t do that to her, would he? But his signature was on the last page. The line with her name blank underneath his. No wonder he hadn’t wanted her to read it, and just sign it unseen. This was unambiguous proof of how her husband had planned an even greater betrayal than the ones she had already learned about this day.
Stunned, she reread the papers just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken, and what she read spelled the death knell of her marriage. She had to take action, had to take desperate measures or her future would be even more uncertain than it was now.
Colette stood up and paced the room. There was no one she could talk to or confide in. She couldn’t tell her parents. They were elderly and far away and she knew they would insist on flying over to New York to be with her. She would end up having to take care of them. And besides she didn’t want Frank knowing the depths Des had sunk to.
She wouldn’t tell anyone here in New York about what had happened. How mortifying would that be? It was bad enough that her husband had got screwed by Madoff, and proved that he was not the financial hot shot he thought he was, and that he was having an affair, but this last wounding duplicity was one none of her American friends would ever know about. And she certainly couldn’t and wouldn’t tell their daughter. Jazzy idolized her dad. It would be bad enough that she would learn that her parents were divorcing and that their wealth was no longer secure.
Colette glanced at her watch. Ireland was five hours ahead. It was 5.30 a.m. in Dublin. There was only one person in the world she could share the horrendous details of today with, but even 5.30 was too early to ring Hilary. She’d get into bed and wait for another half an hour. She’d take a Xanax instead of a sleeper. She would need all her wits about her tomorrow without having the cotton-wool head sleeping tablets gave her. She went out to the kitchen to get a drink and a water cracker to take with her tablet. Des’s side of creamy mash was still in the fridge, she remembered, having the sudden urge to eat something comforting and hot, even though she didn’t feel particularly hungry. She shoved the dish of potato into the microwave and when it was heated dropped a dollop of butter into it and spooned the mash into her mouth. It was completely comforting and so very tasty and easy to swallow. There was a dish of mac and cheese covered with cling film; that would slide down easily too, Colette decided, putting that in the microwave. And toast! Hot buttered toast! How good was that?
An hour later, sickened after her binge and purge, Colette lay against her fluffy pillows, fingers trembling, as she dialled Hilary’s number. It rang and rang, and then, relieved more than words could say, Colette heard her oldest friend say a groggy, ‘Hello?’
‘Hilary, I’m in trouble. I need to talk to you,’ she managed before bursting into tears.
‘What’s wrong? God, I thought it was my mother. It’s very early, Colette.’ Hilary struggled to wake up, mouthing the word Colette to
Niall who had shot up in the bed when the phone rang.
‘Sorry, I just don’t know who else to turn to,’ Colette gulped. ‘Des has had a heart attack. I found out from his mistress, with whom he was in bed when he had it. And he had it because he’s lost a mint of our money with a guy called Bernie Madoff who’s been arrested for running a Ponzi scheme. And I didn’t know about it. And just when I didn’t think things could get any worse I found out that he tried to trick me into signing a document that would put our London home, the property my aunt left me, up as collateral for a massive loan he had planned to take out without telling me. Hilary, please, please come over to me. I really need you.’
‘Oh my God! Colette, that’s horrendous. I don’t know what to say. Will Des be OK?’ Hilary ran her fingers through her tousled hair and made a face at Niall who was resting on his elbows looking at her through bleary eyes.
‘I think so. He’s in Lennox Hill. He had an angioplasty. I’ll know more tomorrow. Could you come over?’ Colette pleaded. ‘Hilary, our marriage is over. I’m going to divorce him. I might have coped with the affair and losing the money but trying to trick me into signing over the flat is just devastating. I’ll have to tell Jazzy some of it and I’ll have to shore up whatever’s left of our finances so that I won’t be left penniless. Thank God I didn’t sign that document without reading it or I’d have lost everything.’ Colette’s heart was doing double flips, and she thought she was going to be sick again.
‘Don’t do anything hasty,’ Hilary cautioned, horrified at what she was hearing. She didn’t particularly like Des Williams but he seemed to have played a very underhand game with Colette.
‘I won’t but I know exactly what has to be done and I’m going to do it. I just don’t want to be here on my own when I’m doing it,’ Colette wept. ‘Please say you’ll come.’
Hilary’s heart sank. But what could she do? Her friend was in the worst trouble possible, and even though Colette could be a fair-weather friend at times, when the chips were down she had turned to Hilary, and she would feel an utter heel if she turned her back on her. ‘OK, I will,’ she agreed. ‘Go to sleep and I’ll suss out flights and I’ll talk to you later.’
‘Oh thanks, Hil, you really are the best friend ever. I’m so grateful to you,’ Colette said with heartfelt gratitude.
‘Go to sleep, get some rest. I’ll call you later.’ Hilary threw her eyes up to heaven at Niall who was earwigging.
‘OK and thanks. And, Hilary . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t say a word about this to anyone,’ she warned.
‘Of course not!’ Hilary exclaimed. ‘Now try and get some sleep.’
‘OK, bye,’ Colette said tiredly and hung up. She replaced the receiver and switched off the lamp. Hilary was coming; she wouldn’t have to do what she was going to do on her own.
‘What’s going on?’ Niall turned over and put his arms around Hilary as she lay back against him. ‘It sounds pretty grim.’
‘It is, Niall. It’s unbelievable. I don’t like the chap but I never thought Des Williams would be such an underhand creep.’ Hilary nuzzled in against her husband’s shoulder and related the sorry saga to him.
‘You do have to go, I suppose,’ he said gravely when she came to the end. ‘Although I’m not sure she’d do the same for you,’ he added acerbically.
‘Ah don’t be like that, Niall,’ she chided. ‘I’m sure she would. Friends are friends when all’s said and done. Colette’s in a bad way. As if the affair wasn’t enough to have to deal with.’
‘He was always a very cocky guy. So superior, especially about the financial stuff. So Madoff stung him! I’m glad I didn’t take any of his financial advice. We were hit bad enough with ISTEC and the bank shares, but at least we didn’t borrow to speculate.’
‘Yeah well that bloody bank regulator has a lot to answer for and so does that Seán Quinn and his greedy gambling that we’re paying for,’ Hilary grumbled, still smarting over the amount of money they had recently lost in the banking fiasco.
‘At least we haven’t gone under like some people.’ Niall stretched.
‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘It was horrible making the lads at work redundant; if we’re able to hang onto the showrooms we’ll be doing well. There’s a long, hard road ahead of us. Thank God the girls are finished college.’
‘And doing well for themselves.’ Niall smiled at her. ‘If you’re going to Noo Yawk you can get them some Christmas prezzies in the sales. I’ll get them some when I’m in Toronto.’
‘That’s what I love about you, your positivity. Even after all these years and all we’ve been through.’ She caressed his stubbly cheek tenderly.
Niall kissed her and got out of bed. ‘I’ll go down and make us a mug of tea and some toast – we’re hardly getting back to sleep now.’ He yawned.
‘Breakfast in bed will be a treat.’ She snuggled down under the duvet. The heating hadn’t timed on yet and there was a seasonal nip in the air.
‘And we might even have conjugals after brekkie if we have time,’ he grinned.
‘God be with the days when we’d have conjugals first and then breakfast,’ she teased, laughing as he went out the door.
She was so lucky, she thought gratefully. She and Niall had weathered a few storms to be sure, especially when she had been up to her eyes in work and feeling fraught and pulled in every direction, but they still loved each other and looked out for each other. Although the mad passion of the early years had been replaced by loving familiarity, she would say they were still in love with each other. There were couples she knew that loved each other but weren’t ‘in love’. She had always felt that Des and Colette were in that category. But even that wasn’t certain after these revelations. Des appeared to have no feeling for his wife whatsoever. Trying to trick Colette into signing away the London flat was horrifying. He must have been extremely desperate because of the money he had lost. There couldn’t be any other reason, she thought with a pang of sympathy for her friend’s soon-to-be-ex-husband.
‘Brekkie for my lady, and I’ve just had a brainwave!’ Niall arrived with the breakfast tray, a broad smile creasing his stubbly face.
‘A brainwave! What’s rare is wonderful,’ Hilary teased, taking her mug of tea from the tray. ‘Tell me.’
‘Nope, I’ll bring someone else on a second honeymoon, for being so smart.’ Niall grinned.
‘What?’ She spluttered her tea.
‘Let’s use Colette’s dilemma to our advantage.’ He offered her a slice of buttered toast. ‘I’ve to go to Toronto in a couple of days. Why don’t you fly to New York, and then fly up to join me? It’s only a short hop, and we can stay a couple of nights and fly home together?’
‘You’re a genius, Niall!’ Hilary exclaimed excitedly. ‘It sounds fantastic! I’d never have thought of it. I always think Canada’s much further north.’ She made a face. ‘It will cost an arm and a leg though and it’s very close to Christmas.’
‘It won’t cost an arm and a leg. My flights are covered because it’s work, and so is my hotel room. So we only have to pay your flights and the difference in accommodation expenses. And we can do our Christmas shopping together and have it all done and gift-wrapped. Now that’s an offer you can’t refuse. Come on, we deserve it. It’s ages since we’ve been away together. Say yes before you come up with an excuse.’ He eyed her expectantly over his mug of tea, brown eyes gleaming with anticipation.
‘You’re on! New York and a second honeymoon in Toronto! And you’re right. We do deserve it. Christmas has come early! Lucky, lucky me.’ She felt like a kid in a candy store.
‘Every cloud has a silver lining. Let’s get some practice in,’ her husband murmured, placing his cup on his bedside table and leaning over to kiss her buttery mouth.
Unfamiliar sounds roused Des from his stupor and he lay for a few moments between waking and sleeping. He felt rough, groggy, and his mouth tasted like sandpaper. Where was he? He wasn’t in his ow
n bed. The sheets were hard and the pillows were scratchy against his cheek. He opened his eyes and blinked when he saw the monitors and felt the cannula in his hand. ‘What the hell?’ He sneezed. It hurt. He didn’t know if he was hot or cold.
And then he remembered!
Had he dreamed that Colette had stood by his bedside? Had he dreamed that she had said his ‘lady friend’ had called her? He groaned. He remembered arguing with Kaylee, telling her he couldn’t afford to keep paying the rent on the neat studio he’d rented for them down on West Street. And why would she want to give it up with the views of the Harbor and Battery Park, the roof garden, and the fitness centre? He loved it himself. Skylar had dropped him without a backward glance to go off and marry an older, best-selling, much married author – who was far wealthier than Des – whom she’d met at a publishing party. He still smarted at how fast she’d dropped him to become a trophy wife to a man she didn’t love. He’d decided that if he ever had another extramarital relationship he’d make sure to rent a smaller, cheaper apartment nearer to work. When he’d met Kaylee Hamilton, an administrative compliance analyst at Citigroup, at a Christmas drinks party, she had been living with a boyfriend in Brooklyn Bridge Park.
‘I won’t be going to see you in Brooklyn,’ he’d flirted, half joking, even though he was very taken with her curvaceous, dark-haired, green-eyed, sultry looks. She’d left the boy friend at New Year, and he’d set her up in a studio on West Street in Battery Park City. She was sparky, intelligent, very knowledgeable about the financial world, and ambitious in her job, but not socially ambitious, which was very refreshing for Des. He’d grown tired of the rounds of parties and events he and Colette had to attend. Now he loved nothing better that pulling on a baseball cap and a pair of shades and strolling hand in hand with Kaylee in South Cove on the Esplanade, exploring the winding walkways and quays, and necking a beer, watching the evening sun glittering on the Hudson and the wide vista of the Harbor. Or sitting up on the roof garden of their building, sipping a cocktail and just looking out at the panoramic views with the unmistakable, iconic Statue of Liberty, always a reminder of where he was and how far he had risen since he’d left the North East of England.
A Time for Friends Page 39
