A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  “It looks rather as though they're preoccupied at the moment,” Hugh pointed out.

  I took a big gulp of my drink. “Yes,” I agreed. “It does rather, doesn't it?”

  There was silence for a few seconds. Not proper silence—the music was still throbbing and people were still shouting into other people's ears—but the kind of silence when you realize you don't have anything to say to the person you're supposed to be talking to. I felt Hugh's eyes on me and blushed slightly. I'd never been good at talking to people in bars and clubs. Or anywhere, to be honest. This had been a bad idea. I should just go home, get an early night, try and work out what the hell I was going to do the next day. I'd turned my phone to silent but I could feel it vibrating angrily in my bag. I was going to have to face Max. And to do that I was going to need all the strength I could muster.

  “This being upset with people,” Hugh said eventually. “It rather suits you, you know. There's something wonderfully tragic about you this evening.”

  I hadn't expected that. I looked up warily. “Tragic?” I said, rather irritably. “I'm not tragic. I'm fine. I'm great, actually.”

  “Oh, I don't doubt it.” Hugh smiled. “But still, there's something about your eyes …”

  I looked down. They were bloodshot, I knew they were. I took another sip of my drink, then decided one sip wasn't enough and downed the rest.

  “Fine,” I said, “so I look a bit rough. I've just had a bit of a day, okay?”

  Hugh's brow wrinkled. “Rough?” he said, sounding surprised. “Oh no, you don't look rough. Far from it. You look lovely. Just slightly … I don't know … sad. Like a Brontë heroine or something. Like you've been wronged but you're putting a brave face on.”

  I stared at him. Was it that obvious? Did I really look like a Brontë heroine? Which one? I mean, some of them weren't exactly lookers, but I liked the sentiment. I liked that Hugh knew who the Brontës were.

  “Maybe I have been wronged,” I found myself saying. “Is it really that obvious?”

  Hugh nodded sympathetically, but there was the hint of a smile. “You do. But it suits you. I think you should adopt this look permanently.”

  I looked at him uncertainly. “You mean I should be wronged on a regular basis?”

  “Perhaps, if it makes you look this good.” His eyes were glinting now. “Although it depends how you're wronged, wouldn't you say? Also depends who's doing it, I should think.”

  I stared at him for a moment. He was flirting. Not that I knew much about flirting, but I was pretty sure I knew it when I saw it. And I was seeing it. Directed at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly no words came out. I hadn't realized we were flirting. I was a terrible flirt. I had no idea how to do it. I didn't want to know, either.

  At least I didn't think I did.

  “Sorry,” he said, after the pause got slightly unbearable. “I shouldn't laugh at your pain. Are you in pain?” He looked at me carefully, like a doctor inspecting his patient.

  I found myself smiling. “Are you here with anyone?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Hugh said, looking at me intently. “They're over there.” He waved toward the corner without taking his eyes off of me. Then he leaned in closer. “They're not very good friends, though. More acquaintances, if you know what I mean.”

  I nodded knowledgeably “Oh yes,” I said. “I know all about them.”

  “You do? How very interesting.”

  “Not really,” I said quickly. What was he talking about? What were we talking about?

  Hugh laughed. “You crack me up, Jess, you know that? I'm not sure I've ever met anyone like you.”

  “No?” I asked weakly.

  “No. So come on then, tell me what all this ‘wronged’ business is all about. Who dared to upset the future Mrs. Milton. I mean Wainwright.” He pulled a face. “Oops, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean. Mrs. Milton Advertising. Boss's wife. Woman of influence.”

  He winked as he said “influence” and I found my lips pursing together tightly.

  “Or not,” I said.

  “Not?” Hugh frowned. “Not what?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head. I knew I shouldn't be talking to Hugh about this. I should be talking to Max. But he should have been devoted and faithful and look how that turned out.

  “Actually,” I said suddenly, “I'm not sure I am marrying Max.”

  “No?” Hugh's eyes widened in surprise. “Really? How very interesting. And why have you changed your mind?”

  I gulped. “I just … well …”

  “Yes?” For a second I felt like Jemima Puddle-Duck being seduced by her handsome stranger.

  “I'd rather not say,” I said, moving back slightly.

  “Fair enough. God, he must be gutted though.”

  “Really?” I sounded much more surprised than I'd intended to.

  “Really.” Someone pushed past us, forcing Hugh closer to me; he didn't move back when they'd gone by. “So are you telling me that you're young, free, and single now?”

  I didn't know where to look. He was too close, his eyes just inches from mine, the top of his chest right there at my eye level, too intimate, too available.

  “Would you like another drink?” I asked, turning to the bar quickly. “Let me get you one. What are you drinking?”

  “Bloody Mary. Same as you,” he said lightly. “Here, let me.” He signaled the bartender for me and waited as I ordered. I was a bit tipsy, I realized, as I fumbled with my purse and mistook a five-pound note for a ten-pound one, resulting in a standoff between me and the bartender until I realized that I had, indeed, underpaid him, just like he'd said I had. When I turned around, Hugh had disappeared. I looked around awkwardly, and my first thought was one of relief, because I knew that somehow I couldn't trust him. But my second thought was of disappointment because I was enjoying myself, because trust had proved to be an elusive concept, because maybe what mattered in life was enjoying the here and now and not expecting anything of anybody, and if I wanted to enjoy myself, Hugh struck me as a pretty good person to do it with. And now he was gone, which meant that I would have to stand here like a lemon because I wasn't ready to go home, and Helen was still rather preoccupied with Mick.

  “Jess!” I looked up with a start to see Hugh madly waving at me. And my spirits lifted because I realized he hadn't left at all. He'd found us a table.

  “Nice, huh?” he said triumphantly when I reached him. “This couple was just moving and I swooped in before anyone else could.” I raised an eyebrow and he grinned. “Okay so I wrestled a few people out of the way first.”

  That was the Hugh I knew. He'd wrestled promotions off a few people when he'd been at Milton Advertising, too. He'd been known as the blue-eyed boy; charming, handsome, but waiting to take your chair the moment you got off it. Your desk, too. People used to joke that he'd take your whole family if you gave him half a chance. Still, at least he was open about it. At least you knew where you stood with him.

  “So were you serious?” he asked once I'd sat down, leaning closer toward me, a serious expression on his face. “About you and Max?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Wow,” he said, whistling. “Poor Max.” He caught my eye. “I mean, and you, obviously. But you'll be fine, right? I mean, you could have anyone you wanted. But Max …” He shook his head. “How's he taking it?”

  I didn't meet his eyes. I just shrugged again.

  “That bad,” Hugh said, nodding. Then he lifted his head. “Ah well. Water and bridges come to mind, along with all sorts of other clichés. So let's get on to the serious stuff. Tell me all the gossip from Milton. Is Gillie still in reception?”

  “Still there,” I confirmed.

  “Still the hub of all that goes on?”

  I smiled. “Pretty much.”

  “Of course she is,” Hugh said, rubbing his hands together before taking another sip of his drink. “And what about Gareth-the-cre
ative? Is he still having hissy fits every five minutes about the difference between turquoise and blue-green?”

  I laughed. “Oh God, you have no idea.” I told him about the time a few weeks ago when Gareth had stormed out of a meeting with a client because they'd called his favorite shade of cerise “that awful pink color.” And then we dissected the rest of the creatives, bitched about Marcia for a good hour, and eventually, gossip exhausted, got back to me. Only by this time I'd had three more Bloody Marys. Frankly, I felt on top of the world.

  By midnight, we were huddled together like the oldest of friends and I realized I'd totally underestimated Hugh. He was a lovely guy. A little shallow, perhaps, and nakedly ambitious, but what was wrong with that?

  “So you're going to be okay? About this Max business?” he asked, wrapping his arm around me.

  “Me? Fine!” I nodded, letting my head fall against his chest. I was going to be fine, too. I was strong. Right at that moment, I felt invincible.

  “But you're going to carry on working there? For him?” Hugh pulled away slightly so he could look at me.

  “Well no, probably not,” I said uncertainly. I hadn't really thought about that. I realized I hadn't really thought about a lot of things.

  “So where are you going to work? If you're going to work at all. Didn't you come into some huge inheritance?”

  “Of course I'm going to work,” I said indignantly. “I'm not going to stop working just because I've got some money. I just don't know where yet. But I'll think of something.”

  “Seriously? You're not tempted to bugger off around the world or something? Buy your own helicopter? That's what I'd do.”

  “You'd buy a helicopter if you inherited some money?”

  “Not just some money. Word is you inherited millions.”

  I felt myself redden. “Not many millions,” I said awkwardly. “Anyway, it's with my lawyer, most of it. I don't really know what to do with it to be honest.”

  “You don't?” Hugh's eyebrows shot up. “I can help if you want. I'm very good at spending money. We could go shopping. Have you ever been to Prada?”

  “No!” I shook my head sternly. “I'm not going shopping and I'm not going to buy a helicopter. Okay?”

  “Suit yourself,” Hugh said lightly, then he leaned forward, his eyes shining. “Come and work with me, then.”

  I looked at Hugh uncertainly, waiting for the punch line, but he looked dead serious.

  “Noooo. Don't be silly,” I said halfheartedly.

  “I'm not being silly. Scene It needs good people and you're one of the best. I heard about the Project Handbag pitch. Everyone did. You come to Scene It, and Jarvis will come with you. You know it's going to be an award-winning campaign, don't you?”

  I glowed. “You really think so?”

  “Of course I do. Is it true you've got Princess Beatrice lined up to help promote it? I mean, that's a stroke of genius. How the hell did you manage that?”

  I smiled. “Oh, that was my assistant Caroline. She has friends in high places.”

  “And you had the insight to hire her. Jess, you're going places, and Scene It can get you there quickly. Come. Work for us. Just think of all the finance clients we'll be able to bring into the fold! We'll steal them from right under Milton's nose.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said firmly. “No, I won't steal clients. Not even Jarvis.”

  “What? Jess, don't be ridiculous. You won the pitch—he's your client.”

  “No,” I said emphatically. “He's Max's client. Anyway, there are lots of other banks around.”

  “Which Milton will get because they have Jarvis,” Hugh said patiently, as though talking to a small child. I shook my head and downed the rest of my drink. “No,” I said seriously. “They won't. They're going to be busy now that Jarvis is …” I stopped suddenly.

  “Is what?” Hugh asked curiously.

  “Oh, nothing. Although my glass seems to be empty” I said, grinning as I handed it to Hugh. He took it and gave me a little bow.

  “Of course, madam. But come on, you can't leave me dangling like that. What, is Jarvis merging with someone? Taking someone over? Sponsoring the Grand Prix? What?”

  “I can't tell you,” I said, my attempt at being enigmatic slightly ruined by my slurring voice. I realized I'd had one drink more than I should have had. Maybe even two or three. But I didn't care. I was enjoying myself. “My lips are sealed.”

  “Suit yourself,” Hugh said, moving closer, his eyes twinkling into mine. “Although if you're going to come and work for my firm, your loyalties should be to us, really.”

  “They should?” I asked teasingly.

  “Oh yes, they certainly should.”

  “I see,” I said. “Well, I'll have to think about that.”

  “Good,” Hugh said, so close now I could feel his breath on me. “Because we get jealous, my firm and me. I'd hate to think you still had … loyalties toward Max.” His lips touched mine so lightly it almost felt like it didn't happen.

  “Jealous?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “Well, I wouldn't want that.”

  “He caused you that pain, didn't he,” Hugh said, his voice more earnest all of a sudden. “Max, I mean. You can't let people do that to you, Jess. You can't give them the satisfaction of hurting you. Screw him. He's not worth it. Leave him, leave Milton Advertising, and come and work with me. And bring Jarvis with you. I'm serious. Really serious.”

  “You are?” It seemed so easy. So straightforward, as though the whole Max incident could be put behind me, a page ripped out of my journal, a bad dream woken up from. Or rather, a wonderful dream with a shattering ending.

  “People like you,” Hugh continued, “you're loyal and you work hard and you give. But you never get anything back. It sucks. But it doesn't have to. You've got to look out for yourself, Jess. That's what I do. You've got to think about number one; damn the others, do what makes you happy, do what gets you ahead. You worry about someone else, and you've lost, straightaway. Live for now, Jess. Live for you.”

  I nodded. He was right. Of course he was right. I'd known it all my life. It's what Grandma had told me, day after day. Well, that and “you'll never be a beauty, Jessica Wild, mark my words, so I suggest you study hard because there'll be no man to keep you.” But she'd been wrong about that. Maybe I wasn't a beauty, but I wasn't doing too badly. Max wasn't the only one meeting other people, wasn't the only one capable of having an affair. And Hugh Barter was quite the catch. Marcia, my former boss and Anthony's girlfriend, had fancied him rotten when he'd worked at Milton Advertising.

  He winked at me flirtatiously and took a sip of his drink. Emboldened, I did the same. I was going to get seriously drunk, I decided. For the first time in my life I was going to throw caution to the wind and have some fun. In fact, forget some. I was going to have a lot of fun.

  Chapter 8

  THE NEXT MORNING I woke up tentatively, the way you do when you know instinctively even before you've opened your eyes, that you probably want to hold off doing so for as long as possible. Usually it's when you've been drinking and you know that the minute any light gets under your eyelids you are going to be hit by the most almighty hangover.

  I opened one eye first, as a precautionary measure. My head was throbbing, but it was bearable; a couple of Tylenol and the day would be manageable. Kind of. But it wasn't the hangover or threat of one that was causing me concern. It was my whereabouts. It was who might also be with me. I edged myself up the bed slightly and took a look around with my one half-opened eye. A white duvet. That was all I could see. I opened the other eye, closing it swiftly when the light hit it like a punch to the head. Holding my hand over my eyes protectively, I opened them once more and took a proper look around.

  The good news was that I was alone. There was, as far as I could tell, no one else in the bed with me; the other good news was that I was wearing a T-shirt. The bad news was that this was not my bed. It was not even my apartment.

&nb
sp; The room was quite nice, as rooms went—harmless off-white walls, a comfortable bed, some oak shelves in the corner straining under piles of books. On one shelf was a book titled Bluff Your Way in Literature; on the shelf below were larger books with titles like Losers Get Nowhere and No More Mr. Nice Guy. To my relief, there was no sign of Hugh. No telltale clothes on the floor, no indent on the pillow next to mine. Sighing, I pulled myself up.

  The door opened suddenly—too suddenly for me to have dropped back and feigned sleep. Instead I was face-to-face with Hugh. Hugh in a robe. Anxiously I edged backward, pulling a pillow behind my back.

  “I didn't want to disturb you.” Hugh smiled. “I always get up early.”

  “You didn't?” I looked at him uncertainly. Had we … Had anything happened between us the night before? I racked my brain but couldn't remember a thing.

  “I brought you coffee.”

  “Thank you. Really, thank you,” I managed to say, taking the coffee, and spilling it immediately; he took it back quickly and placed it carefully on the bedside table.

  “Don't mention it,” he said easily. “So can I give you a lift?”

  I frowned. “A lift?” Were we meant to be going somewhere? Had I missed something?

  Hugh didn't say anything; he just kind of smiled expectantly. And then it hit me. “Can I give you a lift” was the code for “it's time to leave now.” Of course.

  “Oh, no,” I said, forcing a bright smile onto my face. “I mean, I'll just … get dressed, then I'll be on my way. Lots of things to do, actually.”

  “I'm sure,” Hugh said, his expression unreadable. “I'll just leave you to get ready then. Shower's in there.” He pointed to a door and I nodded gratefully. He didn't seem to be moving.

  “Great!” I said. “I'll see you in a bit then, shall I?”

  He nodded and started to turn around. Then he popped his head back through the door. “Last night was … unexpected,” he said.

  “Yes.” I gulped, still rather hazy on what had actually happened. “And by ‘last night,’ you mean …”

  “You and me getting on, I mean. Having fun. It was fun, wasn't it?”