A Time for Friends

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Not the best. I’ve to have a bypass.’ He played the sympathy card but didn’t say it was a triple. He didn’t want to make out he was a complete crock.

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ she said as though she was speaking to a stranger, and not someone she used to wrap her long shapely legs around and beg to make love to her.

  ‘Look, can we talk? I want to be with you. I miss you very much,’ Des said softly.

  ‘What’s wrong? Did your wife kick you out?’ Kaylee sneered. ‘Well it’s like this, Des, you had your chance with me and you didn’t take it. I’m never going to be a second choice for anyone and especially not for you. Don’t call me again.’ For the second time that day his phone went dead as an angry woman hung up on him.

  If he was lucky he might die under the knife, Des thought dejectedly. Because he didn’t want to have to deal with what was facing him when he left the unlikely haven that his room in Lennox Hill had become.

  Kaylee lay curled up on her bed and cried her heart out. Great gulping, heaving sobs that wracked her body. She could have had the man of her dreams. He’d practically thrown himself at her just now, and for one moment when she’d heard Des say that he missed her she’d almost weakened. But in her heart she knew that if she’d taken Des back he would only have been with her because his wife had given him the boot. The knowledge would have been a malignancy in their relationship that would have eventually destroyed it. She would have despised him even more than she did right this minute.

  She’d just have to endure the heartache and get through it and never, ever have an affair with an unavailable man again. She wiped her eyes and got off her bed and went to the fridge. There was cold mac and cheese. That and a glass of red might help. She took the repast and sat in front of the TV and channel-hopped until she came across an old fifties weepie with Lana Turner. Perfect, Kaylee thought miserably, curling up on the sofa for a weep fest as the skies darkened out over the Harbor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ‘So you’ve made up your mind, you’re definitely going back to London,’ Hilary said to Colette on their last night together before she flew to meet Niall in Toronto the following day.

  ‘Yup! There’s nothing for me here. I’m done.’ Colette knelt on Hilary’s case for her while she struggled to close the zip. Hilary had spent the day in Macy’s buying bargains in the pre-Christmas sales.

  ‘And will you stay there for Christmas or will you come to Dublin?’ Hilary sat back on her heels.

  ‘I thought I might invite the parents over for Christmas. They always hold a big New Year bash so they’ll want to be home for that.’ Colette stood up.

  ‘And will you come over for it?’ Hilary wiped her brow as the familiar and unwelcome prickles of heat made her scalp so hot she felt she could fry an egg on it.

  ‘God, I couldn’t think of anything worse. The soon-to-be-divorced daughter. On her own. I don’t think so.’ Colette grimaced.

  ‘Come over, and stay with us on New Year’s Eve then. We always have a trad night. It’s great fun,’ Hilary invited.

  ‘I haven’t been to a trad night in years!’ Colette declared with a hint of a smile.

  ‘That’s cos you got too posh and sophisticated,’ teased Hilary. ‘Come on, we’ll have a laugh!’

  ‘I suppose Queenie Harpur will be there.’ Colette sniffed.

  ‘Ah stop! Jonathan’s the best. I don’t know why you never took to him.’ Hilary stood up and rubbed her back.

  ‘He thinks he owns you. He’s always telling you what to do.’ Colette scowled.

  ‘He organizes me. Someone has to. He’s a great friend.’ Hilary had forgotten how childish Colette could be sometimes.

  ‘Well I’m your oldest friend,’ Colette declared. ‘Let’s open a bottle of Pétrus to celebrate friendship.’

  ‘Maybe not, Colette,’ demurred Hilary. ‘It might give Des another heart attack when he comes home to find his wine cellar has been raided and the most expensive ones are gone.’

  ‘That’s not all that will have been raided,’ Colette said with a gleam in her eye, going in search of the corkscrew.

  Niall was waiting for her in arrivals when Hilary landed at Toronto Pearson International Airport the following morning and she abandoned her trolley and flew into his arms, kissing him soundly.

  He laughed when he drew away. ‘Did you miss me then?’ he teased.

  ‘Oh I did,’ she said fervently. ‘We are so lucky, Niall. I know we have our ups and downs but nothing like what’s going on with the Williamses. I just feel sorry for every single one of that family.’

  ‘Even Des?’ he asked, surprised, as she linked his arm while he pushed the trolley through the terminal.

  ‘Even Des, the prat! I really think he panicked when he tried to get Colette to sign that document. That’s my reading of it, but Colette doesn’t want to know. She just wants out. She couldn’t bear to “slum it” around New York without her Town Cars and charity committees and the like. I hope you’ve booked a Town Car for us to bring us to the hotel,’ she joked.

  ‘Sorry, it’s your common or garden taxi,’ Niall grinned. ‘But we have got a lovely room in the Ritz-Carlton with stunning views over Lake Ontario, and a massive bed!’

  ‘Excellent!’ Hilary exclaimed happily. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  ‘What indeed?’ agreed her husband. ‘Little did we think we’d be having a second honeymoon in Toronto this December.’

  ‘Here’s us having a second honeymoon and Colette and Des are on the skids,’ Hilary said sombrely.

  ‘You were there for them. You did your best for Colette – no friend could ask for more,’ Niall approved.

  ‘They’re going to divorce. Colette’s adamant about that.’

  ‘That’s tough and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Poor Jazzy.’ Niall manoeuvred the trolley through the doors and they emerged into a crisp, cold, blue-skied morning to queue for a taxi.

  ‘Oh it’s freezing,’ Hilary gasped. ‘Much colder than New York.’

  ‘Never fear, I’ll warm you up soon enough,’ Niall promised as a cab drew to a halt and minutes later they were cuddled up together holding hands in the back seat, heading for downtown Toronto.

  A week later, the day before Des was due home from hospital, Colette Sellotaped a bubble-wrapped parcel tightly, and laid it carefully into the inlaid drawer in the pedestal desk. She turned the key, locked it, and then put the key in her pocket. She walked into the formal dining room and studied the paintings and antiques she had stuck coloured labels on. She glanced at her watch. The shipping company was due at nine. To transport the items she was taking with her to London she was using a specialist company that the gallery employed to ship fine art and antiques around the world. Before they arrived she had ten minutes to herself to sip her green tea and walk around the apartment that had been her home for so long.

  ‘Do not get sad,’ she warned herself aloud as her lower lip trembled when she saw her Vuitton cases in the foyer. ‘Remember what he did to you!’ She had given Encarna the morning off. Colette couldn’t bear to say goodbye to her housekeeper. It had been bad enough saying goodbye to Jazzy a few days previously. Jackson had invited her to Boston for a long weekend before Christmas because Jazzy wanted to be in New York when her father got home from hospital.

  ‘So what day are you leaving?’ she’d sobbed.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure yet. I want to wait and see when your father is being discharged,’ Colette said gently. ‘But I will be gone before you get back. There’s less that ten days to Christmas and your grandparents are coming over to London. I need to have the house prepared. I’ll tell you what, depending on what’s happening, I’ll come back in February and stay with you, how’s that?’

  ‘Oh please promise me you will,’ Jazzy implored as they walked through the foyer of Le Parker Meridien.

  ‘I promise,’ Colette said, hugging her tightly. If there was one good thing to come out of this fiasco it was the strengthening of the
ir mother–daughter relationship, Colette reflected, waving her daughter off in a taxi to meet Jackson, after their farewell brunch in Norma’s, one of their favourite restaurants. Colette had cried, walking home along Fifth Avenue, and never felt more miserable in her life.

  ‘Don’t think about it now,’ Colette told herself, standing in what was once her marital bedroom. She had stripped the bed and it looked bare and unwelcoming. Encarna could change it later, for when Des arrived home the following day. Colette would be spending her last night in New York in the Plaza, courtesy of her husband’s credit card. She had booked her room online with it. She would be travelling first-class to London on the same card and had ordered, and paid for, a car to meet her at Heathrow.

  She gazed out at the corner view of Central Park in the distance. She loved that park; she’d miss her daily jogs around the reservoir. She would get into a routine in London, she comforted herself. The Serpentine would be just as beautiful to run around.

  The trees were grey and skeletal, their long, bony branches bare and forbidding. She was very glad she wasn’t leaving in the spring when the buds were bursting into bloom and the warmth of the sun hinting at summer. Would she ever summer in Nantucket again? she wondered sadly, remembering blissful days when she was alone and not entertaining, lying on the deck listening to the roar of the ocean, sipping Pimm’s and reading Elin Hilderbrand novels under the shade of the canopy.

  Those days were gone. The past was the past. She had to move on, Colette told herself sternly, her heart giving a leap when the concierge rang to tell her that the removal men were on the way up.

  Colette took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders and walked out to the door and stood waiting for them in her lobby. ‘Good morning,’ she greeted the team of men. ‘Everything I’ve labelled is to be packed. They are antiques for the most part. And you know to be particularly careful of the paintings. I want my walk-in closet cleared of everything. And I have some linens to go also and some books. You can start now and if you’ve any queries ask me.’

  ‘You heard what the lady said. Let’s do it room by room.’ The man in charge gave the thumbs-up and the packing began.

  Two hours later, with the paperwork all in order, Colette watched the container carrying all their antiques, paintings, costly linens and most of her clothes, shoes and personal items disappear down the city street below on the first leg of its journey to the UK. She had deliberately undervalued the contents hoping that UK Customs and Excise would not see them as more than normal removal items for a relocation. It was a risk she had to take.

  She stared around at the bare walls and the space in the den where the desk used to be. Des would miss that desk more than anything else she had taken. The thought, strangely, gave her no pleasure. She walked through the hallway to Jazzy’s old room. It was the only room in the apartment that had nothing removed from it. It was exactly as it had always been, even to the line of cuddly toys on the bed. Her daughter would be able to close the door and pretend everything was the way it used to be.

  The phone rang. ‘Mrs Williams, your Town Car is outside,’ the concierge informed her.

  ‘Thank you, Davy, can you have my luggage collected, please?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘You go down and send the lift back up to me. I just have one little chore to do,’ Colette instructed the young bellboy who loaded her luggage into the lift. She walked into the kitchen and placed two envelopes on the counter, side by side. One addressed to Encarna with a letter of thanks and a hefty gift voucher for Saks, purchased on her husband’s card. The second envelope, addressed to Des, was bulkier. She was sorry she wouldn’t see his face when he read her note.

  She closed the kitchen door behind her and stood in the hall surprised at how bare it was now that the console table and the paintings were gone. She wondered how long Des would stay in the apartment. How long could he afford to? That wasn’t her worry. It was time to go. Colette lifted her chin, draped her Chanel faux-fur coat over her shoulders and picked up her bag. Without a backward glance she strode out of the door, locked it, and stepped into the elevator. She took a fifty from her wallet. Davy was her favourite concierge. She was glad he was on today. ‘Thank you for all your help, Davy. Take care.’ She discreetly pressed the note into his hand, as he was on the desk phone, and an elderly man was waiting to speak to him.

  ‘Thanks to you, Mrs Williams.’ He raised his hand in farewell and she was glad he was busy, it made it easier to leave. She tipped the bellboy who held the door open for her and walked out of her building for the last time. She would never come back to this place.

  Her driver was waiting with the car engine running and soft snowflakes drifted down from the sullen sky. ‘Lennox Hill Hospital,’ she instructed, keeping her gaze averted from her building. She was surprised at how calm she was. No doubt she would fall to pieces at some stage but for now Colette was relieved that she felt quite numb.

  ‘I’ll only be in here ten minutes, max,’ she said when the car pulled up outside the entrance to the hospital. Des was dressed, sitting in his chair by the window reading the Wall Street Journal when she knocked and walked into his room. He looked surprisingly well. The colour had returned to his cheeks and he appeared rested. He had made a good recovery from his bypass.

  ‘This is unexpected.’ He stood up to greet her, a watchful expression in his eyes. Not sure if her visit was an indication that full-blown hostilities were on the wane. ‘Let me take your coat.’

  ‘It’s just a flying visit, actually. I’m not staying.’ Colette felt an almighty and bewildering wave of sadness and it shocked her. She hadn’t expected it. Now that her departure was imminent, the reality that her marriage was over was like a cold shower. She had shared half her life with this man and now they were like polite acquaintances. When she left this hospital room she would be on her own. Was that what she wanted? Her emotions roiled like a raging sea. Stay or go? Stay or go? All the actions she had taken could be reversed. And then she remembered Mamie Winston’s fate: social oblivion. Failure!

  ‘Are you off to lunch somewhere? You look very glam,’ Des complimented her.

  Colette took a deep breath. ‘No, Des. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to London, for good. I don’t want to be in the apartment when you get home tomorrow. Encarna will have the bed changed for you and a meal cooked. I hope you recover well.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Des pleaded. ‘I need you. Please, Colette. I’ve made some terrible mistakes. But let’s at least talk about it. Don’t throw it all away.’ He gazed at her imploringly.

  ‘You have made some terrible mistakes,’ she agreed tiredly. ‘I won’t argue with that. But you threw it all away! And you might need me, but I don’t need you, Des. My divorce lawyers will be in touch.’ The devastating memory of her mind-numbing shock at seeing the loan application he’d already signed helped keep the steel in her heart. ‘Goodbye, Des,’ Colette said tonelessly and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ‘Let me carry that, Mr Williams.’ Davy took Des’s case from him and wheeled it across the lobby.

  ‘No need to come up, Davy. I can manage fine,’ Des told the concierge, slipping him a note.

  He felt strange being back out in the world. Vulnerable, nervous even. He’d got used to the nurses coming in and out, doing their checks, settling him for the night. It was a comfort to know someone was there if his ticker went funny again. Tonight he would be on his own. His fleeting dance with his own mortality had dented his confidence. He was a mere mortal like everyone else, Des sighed. Anything could get him – the heart, cancer, brain tumour – he’d been getting a lot of headaches lately . . . The knock on his door had served to remind him that he was no different from anyone else, and he didn’t like it.

  A wave of self-pity overtook him as the elevator rode silently upwards. The man he had been the last time he had stood in it was a far different man from the one standing here now. The sands had shifted
. His circumstances had changed radically. His financial safety net tattered and torn. He let himself into the apartment and went to drop his keys in the bowl. Something wasn’t right about the place, he thought distractedly. The keys fell on the floor. Des did a double take. The bowl was gone, as was the console table, and the three large paintings that Colette had insisted they buy as an investment. ‘Another egg in another basket,’ she’d said when he’d moaned about the price of them.

  Had they had a robbery? How could that happen? The thought flitted through his mind. Through the half-open door of the den he saw that more paintings had gone and there was an empty space where his desk used to be. Realization began to dawn. No wonder Colette had wanted to be gone before he came home. The little thief had stolen everything of value. He went further into the room and stared around. It felt alien to him. No longer a haven.

  ‘Welcome home, Mr Williams.’ Encarna stood at the door, eyes downcast.

  ‘Not much of a welcome, Encarna. I see a lot of bare walls and empty spaces,’ he said bleakly. ‘Were you here when this happened?’

  ‘No, sir. Mrs Williams gave me the morning off yesterday. When I came in at 2 p.m. she was gone and so was the furniture. She had left me a note to say she was getting a divorce and would not be back, and to make up your bed and prepare a meal for you today.’

  ‘What else is gone?’ He dropped his case and flopped down on the sofa.

  ‘The dining table and chairs and the sideboard. Some of the bedlinen and glassware and flatware. A TV—’

  ‘The Bang & Olufsen?’ He was stunned.

  ‘Yes, sir. And some of the ornaments and rugs.’

  ‘Everything of value.’ He spoke almost to himself.

  ‘Shall I serve you lunch? On a tray in here, perhaps?’ Encarna tried to hide her embarrassment.

  ‘I don’t think I’m very hungry, Encarna. Go home – I can get something later. I’d just like to be alone,’ he said heavily.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ His housekeeper looked concerned. ‘Miss Jazzy will be back from Boston tonight. I have her room all ready for her. Mrs Williams told me that she’s staying with you for a couple of nights,’ Encarna said comfortingly.