A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  Colette couldn’t help but be proud when she saw her daughter striding towards her, long blonde hair twisted up loosely on the back of her head, with tendrils falling around her face, emphasizing her high cheekbones and wide blue eyes. She was wearing flared Prada jeans – very bang on trend – Colette noted, remembering the bell-bottom flares of her youth that were now back in fashion, albeit more cutting edge. A preppy navy-plaid D&G jacket, a red woollen scarf wound around her neck and a red Prada bag gave her a fresh, trendy, youthful look that Colette would never be able to carry off any more. Flared jeans would be very mutton dressed as lamb on her, she thought regretfully as she stood up to embrace her daughter. ‘This is a treat, what brings you here?’ Jazzy exclaimed, shrugging out of her jacket and dropping it onto one of the polymer seats.

  ‘I had a meeting with Helena Dupree about a charity event in the gallery.’ Colette smiled at her and wondered how was it possible that she had a daughter in her twenties.

  ‘Oh Mom, trust me, this is a lifesaver. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning – Jackson and I slept it out. We were at this really hot new club that’s just opened downtown, called Greenhouse. It’s all about being environmentally aware. It was completely awesome! Hilary would love the lighting. It’s all LED, and so much more ecologically friendly, and the couches, the coasters, everything is made from recycled material. Really cool,’ she exclaimed as the waiter laid her salad before her. She tucked into it enthusiastically, spearing smoked bacon and chicken and Vermont Cheddar onto her fork, and rolling her eyes dramatically as she ate. ‘Yummmmmeeee.’

  ‘I ordered you a glass of the Pinot Blanc – here it comes.’ Colette laughed at her daughter’s antics.

  ‘Thanks, Mom, wait until I tell you where Jackson took me at the weekend,’ she prattled on, and it was only when she had placed her knife and fork on the plate and sat back in her chair, replete, that Colette leaned across the table and took her hand.

  ‘Darling, I wanted you to enjoy your lunch before I told you, but Daddy’s in Lennox Hill. He had a heart attack last night. There was no point in worrying you. I was with him for several hours but he was out of it after having a procedure, so they told me to go home.’

  ‘Oh Mom!’ Jazzy paled and held Colette’s hand in a vice-grip. ‘Is he going to die?’

  ‘Of course not! We wouldn’t be sitting here if he was. He’ll be fine,’ Colette said reassuringly. ‘Lennox Hill has a good name for cardiology. He’ll just have to start living a healthier lifestyle and cut down on his work, I expect.’

  ‘Can I go and see him?’ Jazzy jumped up from the table.

  ‘I’m just heading over myself with a case for him. I used a Town Car today. I told the driver to give us until two, so relax and finish your wine.’

  ‘Mom, you should have told me. I would have come to the hospital,’ Jazzy remonstrated, sitting down again.

  ‘You were in a nightclub,’ Colette pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t even have heard your phone, and besides there was no point in the two of us hanging around waiting. If your dad had been critical of course I would have left a message, but he wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh poor, poor Dad!’ Jazzy started to cry.

  Colette handed her a tissue. ‘Shush, sweetie, he’ll be fine. Come on, it’s almost two anyway. Put your jacket on and let’s go and see him.’

  The black sedan was waiting when they emerged onto the pavement and they settled back in the luxurious interior for the fifteen-minute drive uptown along Madison.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Jasmine flew into her father’s arms when they entered Des’s room.

  ‘Hey, baby!’ Des broke into a smile when he saw her and hugged her as best he could with the IV drip taped into his hand, and his heart monitors on his chest.

  ‘Dad, what happened? Is it painful?’ Jazzy asked, concern etched across her features.

  ‘It was a bit when it happened, but not now. I have a respiratory infection though so that’s going to delay things a bit. I’ve to have a triple bypass,’ he said, glancing at his wife over his daughter’s shoulder.

  ‘Omigod!’ Jazzy was horrified.

  ‘That’s very routine surgery these days, Jazzy, a dime a dozen. It sounds worse than it is,’ Colette said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll just unpack your case, Des.’ She didn’t even look at him, engrossing herself with hanging up his dressing gown and pyjamas in the closet.

  ‘Did you bring my phone and charger?’ He lay back against his pillows.

  ‘Yes. I just brought the BlackBerry. If you want the iPhone, that’s in your briefcase. I can bring that too,’ she said pointedly. ‘Although there’s no need for you to have two in here now.’ Des flushed under his pallor but was saved from responding by the arrival of a nurse to do his TPR check.

  ‘By the way, Hilary’s coming over to stay with me for a few days, to support me,’ Colette remarked casually when the nurse had filled in the chart and left.

  ‘That’s brilliant, Mom. I won’t have to worry about you, or come and stay with you, then. I would have if you’d needed me,’ Jazzy declared, relieved that she wouldn’t have to leave the comfort of her boyfriend’s arms to nursemaid her mother at night.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me at all, sweetie,’ Colette said drily. Jazzy could be decidedly self-centred and did not like to be put out. They had raised a spoilt child, she admitted.

  ‘So where were you when you had the heart attack? Were you at home? Did you pass out? Did you think you were going to die and see your life passing in front of you?’ Jazzy wanted the gory details.

  ‘Eh . . . not exactly,’ Des fudged, looking at Colette.

  Colette stared back at him coldly.

  ‘Hey, you two! What’s up? There’s definitely an atmosphere.’ Jazzy stared from one to the other. ‘You didn’t even kiss Dad, Mum. What’s going on here?’

  An awkward silence descended on the room. Des looked to Colette for support. But she couldn’t give it. It was too difficult to play happy families. She just couldn’t carry it off. Seeing Des in his hospital bed had not elicited sympathy, just fury and more fury, which she was finding hard to suppress. Helena Dupree’s revelations about Mamie Winston had put the iron in her soul. Colette wanted out, now, before the cat was out of the bag. She wanted to go on her terms and not have people talking about them and their altered circumstances behind her back. ‘I suppose you might as well tell Jazzy where you were when you had your attack. She’s going to find out soon enough anyway,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Daddy . . . Mommy, what’s going on?’ Jazzy asked agitatedly as the realization hit that something was seriously amiss. Colette remained mute. She was damned if she was telling Jazzy. Des could break the news of his betrayal himself.

  ‘Daddy?’ Jazzy persisted anxiously.

  ‘I was with another woman,’ Des muttered. Jazzy paled and stared at him, speechless.

  ‘Where, who?’ she eventually demanded.

  ‘Battery Park City. She’s . . . ah . . . someone I know through work.’

  ‘Did you know Dad was having an affair? How long has this being going on?’ Jasmine jumped to her feet, glaring at Colette.

  ‘What do you think? The answer is no, and I have no idea,’ Colette retorted angrily, picking up her bag. ‘I’m going now,’ she said tightly, afraid she would lose control and erupt into a furious rant. ‘I have to call in to the gallery.’

  ‘Mom, are you OK?’ Jazzy’s face betrayed her shock and she dissolved into tears.

  Colette’s fury melted when she saw her distressed daughter. ‘Darling, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Stay here with your dad for a while and we’ll talk later.’ She hugged her daughter and patted her on the back until Jazzy composed herself, then kissed her on the cheek, and walked out without a backwards look at her husband.

  It was a cruel way for Jasmine to find out about her father’s infidelity but at least she knew now. There would be no need for pretences. Weary to her bones, Colette texted her driver to meet her out fr
ont and walked to the bank of elevators. She had a lot of phone calls to make and a lot of business to attend to. As the car swung on to East 77th Colette tapped in a phone number and when a receptionist with a plummy English accent answered, she gave her name and asked to be transferred to her property maintenance manager. ‘Hello, Ms O’Mahony. Good to hear from you. How can I help?’ came the reassuring voice from the other side of the Atlantic.

  ‘I’ll be returning to London within the next few weeks. Please open up the flat and have it cleaned thoroughly and prepared for residency. I’d like the interior doors, ceilings, windows and skirtings given a fresh coat of cream paint. I’ll be in touch nearer the date,’ she said briskly as the driver turned left onto Park Avenue towards the rental apartment she now no longer considered to be home.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Jazzy, tearfully staring at her father in horror.

  ‘These things happen, you know that,’ Des said wearily. ‘Lots of your friends have parents who’ve done the same. This is Manhattan. It goes on. You’ve seen it often enough. I didn’t murder anyone,’ he said defensively.

  ‘But you never seemed unhappy. You did things together all the time. You get on well. Mom always supports you,’ his daughter remonstrated indignantly.

  ‘Jazzy, this isn’t the time or the place to go into it,’ Des protested. He started to cough, and she looked scared.

  ‘Do you want a nurse?’ she demanded. He shook his head.

  ‘Don’t panic, it’s just a cough,’ he said reassuringly when he caught his breath.

  ‘Do you think Mom will divorce you?’ she asked miserably.

  ‘Right now it’s on the cards, I’d say,’ he answered truthfully. ‘But perhaps when things have calmed down and she has time to think, and not act emotionally, we might be able to salvage our marriage. The most important thing for you to know is that we both love you very much, and that will never change.’

  ‘Yeah well right this minute I think you are the biggest asshole going,’ Jazzy said furiously. ‘Just when I was like, totally happy with my life, you ruin it for me. What a bummer, Dad. What a bummer!’

  ‘I surely can’t argue with that,’ Des grimaced. ‘I can’t argue with that at all.’

  ‘What are Jackson’s parents going to think?’ Jazzy raged. ‘They’re very conservative.’

  Frankly, I couldn’t care less, he wanted to say, irritated that, as usual with Jazzy, it was me, me, me.

  ‘It will blow over,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yeah well not in time for Christmas. They are supposed to be coming to New York and I was going to ask Mom to invite them over for dinner. That’s so not going to happen now.’ Jazzy burst into fresh tears.

  ‘Look, we were thinking of going to London for Christmas anyway. I don’t want to worry you but I’ve lost money with Bernie Madoff. We’re going to have to cut back and tighten our belts considerably.’ Des reached out and grasped her hand.

  ‘Are we poor?’ she exclaimed, horrified. ‘Are we going skiing in Aspen even?’

  ‘No, Aspen’s out this year.’ He closed his eyes, exhausted.

  ‘Omigod! We are poor!’ Jazzy felt sick to her stomach. This was the worst day of her entire life. Thank God she had rich grandparents to fall back on if the worst came to the worst. That at least was something.

  ‘If you would please transfer this amount from our joint account into this other account. Our wealth manager has advised us to do so for tax reasons.’ Colette slid the teller her account number and a signed withdrawal docket.

  ‘Certainly, Mrs Williams.’ The teller keyed in the account numbers and moments later handed her the stamped stub.

  ‘I also wish to pay off the balance of my card from the joint account.’ Colette put her Platinum card under the glass partition.

  ‘No problem.’ He tapped away on his computer and returned the card. ‘Anything else, ma’am?’

  ‘No, that’s it. Thank you.’ Colette slipped her card back into her Gucci leather wallet.

  ‘Have a nice day,’ he said before turning his attention to his next customer.

  ‘Indeed I will,’ muttered Colette, hurrying out to the car. ‘Next stop Mercedes Benz.’

  ‘My folks might be divorcing.’ Jazzy cuddled against her boyfriend while they sat on the sofa having a pre-dinner beer. She had ordered Indian takeout because it was his favourite.

  ‘That’s the pits. Why?’ Jackson said, surprised. He’d thought Jazzy’s parents were a cool couple and he was impressed especially with Jazzy’s mother, who was a very cultured lady. The gallery she ran was ultra exclusive. His parents had checked it out online and were very happy with what they saw.

  ‘My dad’s having an affair. He was with the other woman when he had his heart attack down in Battery Park City. She works in finance too.’

  Jackson gave a long low whistle. ‘Badass!’

  She longed to tell him the even worse news about her father’s financial losses but that was a step too far. She didn’t want to scare Jackson off completely. He was the nicest boyfriend she had ever had. He didn’t do drugs; he was generous and thoughtful, unlike some of her exes who were tight with money, letting her pay when they were on dates. If Jackson left her she would be devastated.

  ‘Would you ever cheat on me?’ She raised tearstained eyes to him.

  ‘Nevah, evah,’ he said in the soft Bostonian twang she loved.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she probed, wishing she could believe him.

  ‘I aam! Absolutely,’ Jackson assured her with all the fervour of youthful principle as he held her in his arms.

  ‘So I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ Hilary said comfortingly. She had just emailed Colette her flight details and had got an instant phone call back.

  ‘There’ll be a car and a driver waiting at JFK. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so horrendously awful.’ Colette burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ Hilary said sympathetically. ‘Try your best to rest and sleep tonight.’

  ‘OK,’ sobbed her friend, hanging up.

  ‘I’m glad I said I’d go. I’ve never heard Colette in such a state.’ Hilary plonked down on the sofa beside Niall.

  ‘Just one thing, Hil!’ her husband said warningly.

  ‘What’s that?’ She looked at him warily.

  ‘Don’t get involved and don’t give advice. It’s not your drama. They have to sort it out between them. Knowing Colette of old, I’d imagine Des will pay dearly for his transgressions,’ he added cynically.

  ‘Well he deserves to, the skunk,’ Hilary protested.

  ‘Whether he deserve to or not, that’s not your call to make. Support Colette by all means but stay out of their business is my advice to you, for what it’s worth.’ Niall looked down at her and smiled his familiar smile that always lifted her no matter what.

  ‘Sound advice, hubby dearest,’ she sighed. ‘Do you want a ride before I go?’

  ‘No I’m saving myself for that young blonde Swedish au pair down in No. 184, when you’re gone,’ he teased, sliding his hand up under her jumper.

  ‘If you think Colette would be a tough cookie, she’d be nothing compared to me if I caught you with another woman.’ Hilary began to open the buttons of his shirt.

  ‘Why, what would you do?’ Niall grinned.

  ‘I’d slash your bodhráns and break your banjo into smithereens. Over your head probably,’ she teased.

  ‘My bodhráns! You sure know how to scare a musician. I’ll never stray,’ he murmured, kissing her with soft, lingering kisses until she moaned underneath him, tugging his belt open as he raised her jumper over her head and unhooked her bra.

  ‘I love you, Niall,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘Just shove a cushion under my back or I’ll be creased on the plane in the morning. The sofa’s too soft for us to be carrying on like this at our age,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘Speak for yourself, I’m in my prime, and now I’m going to prove it, if I can straighten my knee out, that is.’ He smiled down at h
er, placing a cushion under the small of her back and tightening his arms around her as the firelight flickered in the stove and the rain lashed down on the Velux window above them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘I feel like getting hammered!’ Colette confessed, topping up Hilary’s wine glass.

  ‘That’s understandable. Go for it, I say.’ Hilary ate some of Encarna’s feather-light pastry and chicken.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind us not going out for dinner. I’m completely wiped.’ Colette took a slug of chilled Chardonnay.

  ‘I’m tired myself. I was up early and the flight was very bumpy. This is perfect. And besides we can talk and get tiddly and not have to worry about getting home. We can just tumble into bed,’ Hilary said reassuringly. ‘And you can rant and rave in peace. Get it off your chest, Colette, because it must be hard not being able to have a go at Des. That’s what would drive me mad, if I were in your shoes,’ Hilary said sympathetically.

  ‘Exactly, Hilary. It’s doing my head in,’ Colette fumed. ‘I want to scream at him, curse at him, pummel him, and I can’t. It would be good enough for him if he had another heart attack and died. At least I’d get the insurance.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’ Hilary pointed her fork at Colette’s plate. She had hardly touched the chicken pot pie.

  ‘I can’t! I feel sick. My stomach is tied up in knots.’ Colette pushed the plate away.

  ‘What are you going to do? Have you made any plans?’ Hilary asked gently.