A Wild Affair: A Novel

by Gemma Townley

  She sniffed lightly, and Max immediately put his arm around her. “Of course there is. And you should be very proud. Jess is running our biggest campaign, for our biggest client. Project Handbag. It's going to be huge.”

  “Is it?” She looked at me admiringly. “How wonderful.” Then she turned back to Max. “So look, I was thinking the three of us could go out. For a late breakfast. Another brunch. It was so much fun yesterday, wasn't it?”

  Max smiled ruefully and winked at me. “There's nothing I'd like better, Esther, but I'm afraid we're a bit tied up. We've got a meeting in a few minutes, so sadly breakfast isn't going to be possible. But how about later?”

  “Later.” My mother nodded understandingly “Of course. You're busy. I should have known that. I should go anyway; I have lots and lots to do. But later sounds lovely. I'll call, shall I?”

  She flashed me a smile and I felt my frozen smile returning. When I'd told her I was busy she ignored me; Max said the same and she decided she had to go?

  “Sounds great,” I said, ushering her toward the door. “You've got my number. After work would be good.”

  “After work.” She smiled. “That sounds …”

  But she never got to finish her sentence, because at that moment the main doors opened and three men swept through, talking loudly to one another, one of whom had an unmistakable accent.

  “Chester!” I said. “You're early!”

  “Early bird catches the worm.” He grinned, then stopped dead when he saw my mother. “And who is this?”

  “Not a worm,” my mother said, stepping forward, her face suddenly lit up by a magnetic smile. “I'm Jessica's mother. And you are?”

  “Chester Rydall, at your service.”

  “Chester, if you want to come to the meeting room,” I said, “I can get Max …” But he wasn't listening to me; I don't think he even noticed I was speaking.

  “Jessica's mother,” he said, not taking his eyes off the woman who was supposed to have left the building ages ago. “Well, I am very pleased to have met you. Very pleased indeed.”

  He turned to me and smiled. “So is your father in town, too?”

  “No, he …,” I started to say, but my mother immediately cut in.

  “No, he's not,” she said, with a slightly sad smile. “He and I are … well, we're no longer together.”

  I stared at her—she was saying it like they'd got divorced a year ago or something.

  “Shame,” Chester said.

  “Not really,” my mother said, her smile a little less sad now.

  I raised my eyebrows indignantly. This was my father she was talking about. He deserved a little respect. Maybe. I mean, not that I really knew, but …

  I watched my mother look for a wedding ring on Chester's left hand. There was none. “Well anyway, it's wonderful to meet such an important client of my daughter. I've heard so much about you. Project Handbag sounds absolutely fascinating.”

  My eyes widened. Since when did she know about Project Handbag?

  “It certainly is,” Chester said, apparently mesmerized. “So, Jess's mother, do you have a name?”

  “Esther. My name's Esther,” my mother said, holding out her hand.

  “Well, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Esther,” Chester said in a low voice. “And if you're so interested in Project Handbag, perhaps you could join me for dinner sometime and I'll tell you about it. The client side, that is. I'm sure you know all about the campaign from your talented daughter.”

  “Absolutely,” my mother breathed. “That sounds … very tempting.”

  “Just tempting?” Chester asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Why don't you call me,” she said, seamlessly taking a card out of her bag.

  “I'll do that,” Chester said, not missing a beat. He took the card and looked at it, then put it in his jacket pocket. “Thank you.”

  “And I'll look forward to it.” My mother held his eye for just a bit too long, then smiled sweetly and turned back to me. “Darling, lovely to see you.” She kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my shoulder, then, shooting Chester one last smile, she finally walked toward the doors and left.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, immediately rushing over to Chester and his two colleagues who had been having their own conversation for the past few minutes. “So we've got lots of information for you today. Schedules and budgets and …”

  “Sure,” Chester interrupted, putting his arm around me in an avuncular fashion. “I'll just bet you have. But listen, Jess. Tell me about your mother. She going through some tricky divorce? Anything I should know about?”

  I smiled tightly, not entirely sure why I found the prospect of Chester so obviously fancying my mother so incredibly irritating. “Not that I'm aware of,” I said. “Now, about Project Handbag.”

  “Ah Max,” Chester said, as Max appeared out of his office. “How are you? And why have I never before met Jess's gorgeous mother?”

  Max grinned. “Chester. Good to see you. You met her, did you?”

  “I surely did.” Chester twinkled. “Shame she couldn't stay.”

  “Isn't it,” Max agreed jovially, as I stared at him indignantly. It was as if as soon as my mother appeared, I ceased to exist. “Oh, Jess, did you get the message about Hugh?”

  My heart skipped a beat as my head shot up guiltily. “Hugh? A message? No. What was it. Hugh … he called me? What did he want?”

  Max looked at me strangely. “He agreed to cater for the launch.”

  “He … did?” I felt my mouth go dry. “But why? Why would he cater for us? I don't …”

  “Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall,” Max said to Chester who also had a rather blank look. “He's a celebrity chef. Wonderful cook.”

  “Hugh Fearnley…” I gasped, forcing myself to smile, to laugh. “Oh, right. I knew that. I was just joking. Before. Just now …”

  I could feel Max's eyes on me and cringed inwardly. “I thought you meant … we were trying to get Hugh Grant for something,” I said weakly.

  “Hugh Grant? Guy who was caught on Sunset with his pants down?” Chester asked, raising an eyebrow. “No thank you very much. I'm a family man, Jess. May not have a wife right now, but there's no need for that kind of behavior. Am I right, Max?”

  “Absolutely,” Max said, still looking at me curiously. “Chester, why don't you make your way to the meeting room and we'll be in there in five minutes?”

  “Sure.” Chester started to walk and his colleagues followed.

  “Jess. You okay?” Max asked then, walking over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders.

  “Oh yes. I'm fine,” I said lightly.

  “You're sure?” He was looking right into my eyes, so tenderly it made me want to wrap my arms around his neck and never let go. “Look, I know this whole Esther thing is a bit of a shock to the system, and I blame myself. I should have told you, should have warned you. But you are okay with the whole thing, aren't you? You'd tell me if you weren't?”

  “Of course I'm okay,” I said, rolling my eyes and forcing a huge smile. “God, Max, you brought my mother back into my life. And I'm really happy. I'm just … you know. Adjusting.”

  “Ah,” Max said, his eyes twinkling. “Adjusting. That's Dr. Phil speak, right?”

  I grinned. Max had uncovered my dirty secret a few weeks before—I was a Dr. Phil addict.

  “He would say that we all need to give ourselves time to adjust and space to be ourselves,” I said seriously.

  “Then that's what we'll do,” Max said, leaning down and kissing my nose. “In the meantime, though, you do understandably seem a little … tense.”

  “Tense? No. God no,” I said. “No tension at all.”

  “You don't need some time off?”

  I shook my head indignantly. “Of course not. Max, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.”

  “Okay,” Max said. “It's just that you look like someone who could do with a day off next week. Somewhere with spa treatments. Somewhere like the Sa
nctuary.”

  It took me a few seconds to realize he was holding an envelope in his hands. “The Sanctuary?” I asked excitedly. “The day spa?”

  “The very same.” Max grinned and I wrapped my arms around him. It was perfect. I'd have a day to myself, to chill out, to relax. “And it gets better.”

  “It does?”

  “At least I think it does,” he said, a slight frown line appearing on his forehead. “You're not the only one going.”

  “I'm not?” My smile froze slightly on my face.

  “No. You're going with your mother.”

  I gulped. “My mother?”

  “Your mother, Helen, and Ivana.”

  “Ivana? You bought treatments for Ivana?” I asked incredulously.

  “If you want space I can tell them it's all off,” Max said, suddenly looking worried.

  “You've already told them?” I asked.

  He nodded awkwardly. “I thought they'd need to book time off. I thought at the time it would be nice. But on second thought I can see that I messed up. I'll tell them there was a mix-up …”

  I looked up at him, at his gorgeous, creased, anxious face, and then I shook my head. “Don't be silly. It'll be fantastic,” I said, taking the envelope from him. “That was incredibly thoughtful, and we'll have a lovely time.”

  “You're sure?” Max asked seriously. “I want you to have a good day.”

  “I'll have a great day. Thanks, Max.”

  “Well all right then.” He grinned, relief filling his face. “So, Project Handbag? You ready?”

  He held out his arm; I linked mine around it. “Ready for anything,” I confirmed. “Let's go.”

  Chapter 12

  THE SANCTUARY WAS A HUGE day spa hidden behind an inauspicious entrance just around the corner from Covent Garden tube station. Everyone spoke in hushed tones in the reception area and I was given little glasses of apple juice and asked to wait for all the members of my party to arrive before I checked in.

  Nodding happily I sat down to wait. Helen was the first to arrive.

  “Wow. So this is the Sanctuary” she said, sitting down next to me, her eyes wide with excitement. “I can't believe Max. I mean, he's got me down for a Sultan's something or other. It's like a two-hour-long treatment. I love him. I think I might marry him myself.”

  I smiled. “He is perfect,” I agreed, not very modestly.

  “So, how's it going with your mother?” Helen asked, helping herself to an apple juice.

  She looked up at me expectantly and I managed a little smile. “Oh, you know, great. I mean, I'm still getting used to the idea, but …”

  “She's amazing,” Helen said, as she downed her apple juice in one gulp. “I mean, I don't know how old she is, but she looks incredible, don't you think?”

  I nodded uncertainly. “Yes, she does. She looks fabulous. It's just that …”

  “And she's so funny. You know I was pleased she was your mother and not Max's fancy woman, because she'd be pretty hard to compete with, don't you think?” Helen's eyes were twinkling and I forced another smile.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “And she is funny. I just can't help wondering … I mean, you know, she never got in touch, not all that time, and …”

  “Must have been horrible for her,” agreed Helen. “Being separated from her child like that. What a complete nightmare.”

  “I'm sure,” I said, slightly irritably. “But at least she knew I existed. I thought she was dead.”

  “Exactly,” Helen said, shaking her head sympathetically. “I mean, you didn't miss her because you didn't know she even existed, but for her it must have been awful. Really awful.”

  “Yeah,” I said abruptly. “So anyway, let's talk about something else. How's work?”

  Helen sighed dramatically. “Well,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “the show's been a bit up and down, to be honest. We were filming this couple yesterday who are approaching their tenth wedding anniversary, but they were both seriously overweight and wanted to fit into the clothes they'd been married in. So they've been on this huge diet together and it was going really well—they lost about seventy pounds each and looked fantastic. But then yesterday it turned out that without food holding them together they didn't have anything in common anymore. First they started arguing, then the wife announced she'd met someone else, and the next thing, they're splitting up!”

  “Oh, that's terrible,” I said.

  “I know,” Helen said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, the show is meant to be about people turning their lives around and achieving their goals. We were at our wits' end; it was a nightmare. It was like they just weren't thinking about what we were trying to convey at all.”

  “Right,” I said uncertainly. “Although it must have been pretty hard for them, too.”

  “Sure,” Helen agreed. “Although it was their decision.”

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Well.” Helen grinned. “I spoke to the director and we realized that actually, the couple splitting up would make much better television than a happily-ever-after story. I mean, happy is boring, right?”

  “It is?”

  “Definitely. So we changed the name of the program and we're all systems go!” she concluded triumphantly.

  “All systems go?” We both looked up to see Ivana standing over us. “Vat systems?”

  “Oh nothing, just work.” Helen grinned, leaping up and giving her a kiss. “So how are you?”

  Ivana raised her eyebrows and sat down. “I em tired,” she said. “Is early to be starting, no?”

  We looked at our watches. It was 10:30 A.M. “Really?” I asked. “It's not that early.”

  Ivana glared at me. “Is early when you hef been working until five in the morning,” she said, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. A girl in a white coat rushed over and smiled at her.

  “Actually, we operate a nonsmoking policy here,” she said softly. “If you don't mind.”

  “Vat if I do mind?” Ivana asked.

  The girl looked slightly taken aback. “I'm afraid it is our policy,” she said apologetically. “You can, if you really need to, go down to street level. But naturally we'd prefer our clients to see their day here as a holistic detoxification in which stimulants are …”

  “And I prefer my clients to be tall, dark, and handsome,” Ivana cut in sarcastically. “Doesn't mean they are.”

  Tossing her head, she threw her bag over her shoulder and shot us a defiant look. “I see you later,” she said, storming out.

  “Don't mind her,” Helen said, shooting me a little smile. “She's been arguing with Sean again. He wants her to have a baby.”

  “A baby?” I looked at Helen incredulously. Then, suddenly, I felt a giggle erupting from my stomach. It was the image that had flashed into my mind that had done it—Ivana, complete with black eyeliner and spiky shoes, bending over a stroller and … no, it was just never going to happen. Not in a million years.

  “I know.” Helen grinned back. “Mama Ivana. Can't you just see it?” She snorted slightly and I collapsed in laughter.

  “I'm sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm sure she'd be a wonderful … it's just, oh God. Oh, that's funny. So what did she say?”

  “She said she wanted to concentrate on her career,” Helen said, trying to keep a straight face. “She said that pregnancy doesn't usually get the guys in clubs going.”

  “Maybe that's Sean's idea,” I said suddenly. “I mean, he hates what she does.”

  Helen nodded sagely. “But she doesn't.”

  “Ah, there you are!” I looked up—it was my mother. Her hair was up in its trademark chignon, her lips were stained red, and she was wearing a tightly belted raincoat with a fur collar. “Helen, how lovely to see you again.”

  Helen got up. “Esther! Hi! Ooh, great bag.”

  My mother smiled, looking down at her Hermès Birkin. A few months ago I wouldn't have known what a Birkin was; would have collapsed in bewilderment if som
eone had told me that they cost nearly £5,000 and had a waiting list of several years. That was until I started doing my research for Project Handbag, the whole point of which was to encourage women to put their money into the Jarvis Investment Trust instead of spending it on a handbag. Obviously I'd had to find out exactly how much money women were sinking into their arm candy. And to my complete shock, I'd discovered that the Hermès Birkin wasn't even the most expensive. “It is great, isn't it?” she said, reddening with pleasure. “It was a present, of course.”

  “Of course,” Helen said knowingly. “Some present, though.”

  “Very nice,” I agreed, trying to force out the uncharitable thoughts beginning to flood my brain. Why shouldn't she have a nice bag? Just because she'd abandoned her only daughter didn't mean she couldn't accept a Hermès Birkin.

  “So darling,” my mother said, looking so directly at me I was worried she could read my thoughts, “what a treat. You must tell Max how appreciative we all are.”

  “I know,” Helen breathed. “I wish my boyfriend would treat me to a day at the Sanctuary. Actually, I wish I just had a boyfriend, to be honest.”

  “Dry spell?” my mother asked sympathetically.

  “What? You can't say that. You're my mother,” I protested.

  “We all have them.” She shrugged. “Even me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”

  “It's not a dry spell,” Helen cut in quickly. “I mean, I've got men on the scene, you know. But not … you know, serious. Not really.”

  “So what?” I said immediately. “God, there's more to life than men.”

  I caught my mother's eye and blushed. “I mean … I meant …,” I floundered.

  “I know what you meant,” my mother said seriously. “And Helen, Jessica is right. There is more to life than men. But remember, men do like to be needed. People get all sorts of ideas about independence and playing games these days, but men are very simple creatures. They like to know their worth. Think about it.”

  “What?” I spluttered incredulously. “But …”