“Shall we open this?”
“No. What is there to celebrate?”
I knew I was being petty and babyish, but I couldn’t help it. We stood there, looking at each other, neither of us sure what to do next. I was horribly reminded of that scene in his garden three years before.
Eventually, he said,
”Well, are you coming to the Finals party in the JCR tonight?”
“Yes - no - I don’t know, probably not now.”
Jo came spearing through the crowd towards us.
“God, you look awful, did you find that a tough paper, Eithne?” she demanded, seeing my downcast face.
“No. Nick’s just told me he’s got a job in New York,” I said bitterly.
“What, for the summer?” she asked him.
“Er - no, permanently,” he murmured.
“My God. Nice one, Nick.”
She whirled round on him, eyes indignant. “Well, at least you let her finish her exams before springing it on her,” she exclaimed.
“To be fair to Nick, someone else let the cat out of the bag,” I said. “I suppose he was going to tell me some time.”
Nick thrust the champagne bottle at me. He looked bleak and his eyes were hostile.
“You’d better take this anyway,” he said. He turned on his heel. “Not much point in me hanging about here. I hope I’ll see you tonight.”
We watched him stride away, and a terrible blank feeling overwhelmed me. After a while, we got on to the 2B bus back to college. I was trying to keep tears at bay, and Jo kept up a babble of desultory chatter to cover up my distress.
Back at St Hugh’s, she dragged me straight to Emily’s room, where I sobbed on the bed while they discussed this bombshell which had hit me. I felt as though the rug had been pulled from beneath me yet again. Jo was very upset on my behalf. Emily, however, took a more considered view.
“Look at it from his side, Eithne,” she said. “I’m sure his first choice would have been a job with a London title, and in that case none of this would have arisen - you could go on seeing each other without a problem. But if the jobs don’t materialise, you can’t blame him for taking up another offer; he has his career to think about. It doesn’t necessarily spell the end for you, lots of people keep long distance relationships going - look at me and Rupert.”
I hadn’t thought about it in that way. I sat up, and wiped my tear stained face with my arm.
“But the surest way of ending it is to make a fuss like you did today.”
I flinched slightly at this.
“I know it’s awful for you, but you don’t want him to go away with the memory of you weeping and wailing and making a song and dance,” she continued. “He needs to go off with something positive, so when he’s away, he can remember why you’re important to him.”
We sat in silence, while she made tea. I was beginning to feel awkward about my earlier behaviour.
“It was such an unexpected blow,” I said eventually. “It reminded me of the time before we broke up, when he went off to France and that was that.”
“It may not be like that again,” Emily replied with conviction. “Look how long you’ve been seeing each other since you got back together. It’s a different relationship now.”
We drank our tea, and I began to feel better.
“I suppose I ought to go to the party,” I murmured. Jo stood up.
“We’ll all go,” she said, laughing. “We’ll go dressed to kill and you, Eithne, must be the belle of the ball. That’s what you want Nick to remember.”
Thus it was that at nine o clock, the three of us made a dramatic entrance into the party, Jo with her hair up and wearing a Victorian high necked frock, Emily in hot pants, and me in a minidress which I had been saving for a special occasion, teamed with fishnet tights and heels, with my hair at its cleanest and bounciest. There was a definite hush as we walked in, and everyone gazed at us as we stood in the doorway. I heard a voice say,
“Well, one of them’s mine,” and Nick walked across to claim me.
I gave him a huge hug.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I said. “It was such a shock. I am pleased for you, but I don’t want you to be away for too long.”
“We’ll have a great time when I do come back.”
And then, within a few days, Oxford was over. We had learned to take that happy, settled, part of our lives for granted, and now the real world was about to give us all a kick in the pants.
Chapter 16
Although I realised I had no choice but to accept Nick’s decision to take the American job, I was very unhappy about it.
He explained that the opportunity had arisen via an American friend from Balliol. His wealthy publisher father was launching a new monthly magazine, Sphere, a mix of lifestyle and intellectual content, and they wanted to have a young British writer on the staff to cast a fresh eye on aspects of American life. I remembered Nick travelling to London to meet the publisher just after Easter. I had not thought very much of it at the time, but he had obviously made the right impression.
His mother insisted that they take a family holiday in France again before Nick left in early August, so I did not see him very often before he departed. We spent an emotional night together at his house before he flew to New York.
“I’m sorry, I can’t face coming to the airport to say good bye,” I said. “I’ll only cry and embarrass everyone.”
I could hardly bear the thought of months going past before we met again. Who knew what might happen in that time? I realised that life would be more than a little exciting for Nick in a new country and in a new role, and wondered whether American girls would find him as irresistible as British ones did - I was afraid I already knew the answer to that.
Despite our happy terms together at Oxford, he had never told me in so many words that he loved me. Emily insisted that his commitment to me over this time meant more than words, but I would have liked to have some acknowledgement from him that our relationship was special.
“Don’t forget that it’s going to be exciting for you, too, starting work in London,” he reminded me. “It’s only for a few months, and then I’ll be back at Christmas.”
No tears from Nick then, but plenty from me after I had kissed him goodbye. I did try hard not to weep in front of my parents. They were already uneasy on my behalf about our separation, and I didn’t want to encourage questions about our future intentions - I couldn’t have answered them, anyway.
The only bright spot was that Jo and I were now able to live together. She had landed a job in personnel with a London department store, and knew an old school friend with rooms to rent in a flat in Parsons Green, just off the New King’s Road. Emily and Rupert were finally going to be living in the same place, in Cambridge, where they were both doing PhDs, and I took some heart from the fact that their relationship had lasted through lengthy times apart.
My room in the flat was tiny, but we had a big sitting room and kitchen to share, and I liked Jo’s friend Francesca from the start. It felt like being back at college all over again, and I was grateful for their company now that I was, for the time being, a single girl.
I missed Nick terribly, and once he had gone, I couldn’t wait to start work at Marsham and Hunter.
The agency occupied a large office block close to Leicester Square. There were five other graduate trainees, myself and another girl, who was a researcher, and four men who were also Oxbridge graduates. I scrutinized my fellow trainees as we waited nervously in Reception on the first morning, and wondered how such apparently dissimilar people had been recruited.
On that first day, I was assigned to an account director who managed a group of clients, and after sorting out the admin connected with my arrival, he took me out for a very nice lunch.
“So ..... Eithne.”
My new boss lit a cigarette and surveyed me across the table. “Tell me about yourself, and why you want to work for M and H.”
I dis
liked that kind of question. I didn’t find myself very interesting, I suppose, and I had a sudden flashback to that chilly park years ago and my first conversation with Nick.
“Well, to be honest, there doesn’t seem to be much available for female graduates if you don’t want to teach or work in personnel. But I went to some agency presentations at university, and I liked the fact that women aren’t seen as second class citizens in advertising,” I explained. “Marsham and Hunter impressed me, because they were very honest about what to expect, and the people from the agency made it sound like a lot of fun as well as hard work.”
Don Rossi - my boss - laughed.
“They say it’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on,” he said. “It’s certainly a very stimulating business. You’ll have to be prepared to give as good as you get, so I hope you’ve got a tough interior under that attractive exterior.”
I hoped I had, too. If I didn’t, I’d need to develop one fast.
Don went on to tell me about the clients, or accounts, which he managed, and told me that I would be working on the Breeze hair products range and a new breakfast cereal, due to be test marketed after Christmas. It sounded very technical, and I realised I would have to learn quickly to keep up.
“Do you know London well? Where are you living?” he asked me.
“Not very well, really. I’m flat sharing in Parsons Green, it’s quite an easy tube journey to work,” I said.
“And I can’t believe anyone with your looks has got through Oxford unattached?”
I smiled ruefully.
“I do have a steady boyfriend, but unfortunately he’s in America for a while.”
Don was interested, and I found myself telling him about Nick and the new magazine.
“Hmm - I think I’ve heard of it, they’re launching in October I believe,” he said. “I can see it’s a good deal for your boyfriend, but it’s a bit tough on you.”
He signalled to the waiter for the bill.
“Good job you’ll have plenty to keep you occupied here. You won’t have time to miss him.”
He wasn’t wrong. The first weeks went in a flash because everything was so new and interesting. As well as learning on the job, the trainees attended workshops on different aspects of agency life, and at first, I found the unfamiliar vocabulary and business of selling hard to understand. At night, I dreamed vividly about the agency and my colleagues, and wondered whether things would ever fall into place for me.
I also discovered that my years of composing elegant prose at university were not much help when it came to writing the minutes of client meetings, a job which came my way early on, and which required a succinct and factual style instead.
At least it kept me from thinking too much about Nick. We exchanged a few letters - mine long and descriptive, his short and inconsequential - and I resigned myself to the fact that he was not going to keep calling me to say how much he missed me. Somehow, we could never manage to get the time difference right.
Weekends were the worst time. Jo was also unattached, and we spent our free days exploring the city, which would have been great had we not both been nursing bruised hearts. I felt that I was seeing London through a veil of unhappiness, which muted its charm, and which would only be lifted when I had my lover to share life with me again.
My inexperienced eyes were quickly opened to the ongoing amorous activity between staff members at the agency. Not everyone was involved, but there were many secret and not so secret flirtations and relationships being conducted. It was rumoured that my boss, Don, despite being married and a dad, was having a liaison with a young lady copywriter, and I wondered whether all offices were like this.
I got a lot of attention at first, but my firm refusal of dates due to my absent boyfriend meant that word got round that I was unavailable. However, I did enjoy going to the agency pub next door several evenings each week, to indulge in a little light flirtation and enjoy the quick repartee of my exuberant colleagues.
I became great friends with a copywriter and art director who worked together as a team. Euan, the writer, was a wiry little Scot from Glasgow, with the most amazing vocabulary, lots of it rather rude and new to my innocent ears. He was queer, or gay, as people were beginning to say, whereas his creative partner Steve was married with a young child. This difference between them seemed to stimulate the ideas they generated and they were a successful combination, always producing very original work. They decided early on that I was in need of their protection, and I was grateful to them for helping me find my feet in this strange new world.
One Friday in November, I went to the pub with Euan and Steve for end of the week drinks.
“So, Eithne - what news from the absent Nick?” demanded Euan, holding his dry martini up to the light in an appreciative way, before taking a large slurp.
My shoulders drooped.
“Nothing for a while. I get the occasional postcard, but that’s about it. At least I know I’m going to get to see him next month.”
I could not wait for him to come home at Christmas, although he had already warned me it would be a flying visit. Euan tutted at me.
“I’m sure he doesn’t deserve you, hon. Is he really worth all this waiting and moping about?”
“Well, I’m not too mopey, am I?” I looked across at Steve for support.
“No, babe, but it seems a shame you aren’t getting out and enjoying yourself more. London’s such fun while you’re young.”
I stared into my glass of white wine.
“I do get to go to places, but it’s different when you’re on your own,” I agreed, thinking how much more I would enjoy myself if Nick were with me.
“Can’t you find someone to take you about who’ll be happy just to be friends?” Steve asked. (Shades of John at Oxford there.) Euan gave a hoot of laughter.
“Look at her, Steve, you think that’s going to happen? No, she’s either going to wait for Nick in a kind of frozen state, or decide that he’s not coming back, and she’ll have to move on. I think it’s too early to predict which way she’ll go.”
They surveyed me in a worried sort of way. Don Rossi came past, jingling coins in his pocket on his way to the bar.
“God knows why you hang out with this pair, Eithne. Don’t let them get you into bad habits,” he said, with a grin.
“We look after her for you,” retorted Euan, with dignity.
November crawled into December, and there was much festive merry making with Christmas lunches, and the agency Christmas party, where some staff members drank so much they ended up sleeping it off on the office floor. By now, I was getting used to the excesses of agency life, and nothing surprised me anymore.
I travelled back to Beresford the day before Christmas Eve with a light heart, knowing I would be seeing Nick again the next day. But when I got home, my mother said he had arrived early, and my father drove me straight over to the DeLisles’ house so I could see him.
It was bliss to be in his arms again. He was still the same, handsome Nick, and he was bubbling over with tales of the exciting time he was having in New York. His conversation was peppered with unfamiliar words and phrases, and mention of colleagues and places that none of us knew.
Nick’s parents were clearly delighted to have him back as well. We all enjoyed an evening devoted to the prodigal son, before Rosine and Andrew and their new baby boy arrived the following day.
It was accepted that I would be staying the night, but when we eventually got to his bedroom, he succumbed to jet lag, and it was not until the next morning that we could make love. By then, I was desperate for the body I had missed so much.
I was sorry that Christmas had to intervene, because the traditional rites hindered our spending time together. I could not even summon much enthusiasm for the Boxing Day party, because his old friends came round to check out the traveller and hear all the tales. As in the past, Nick was very much the centre of attention, and I felt relegated to the background.
During the party, I went to help with heating up a fresh bowl of mulled wine in the kitchen. As I stirred in the spices and fruit, Rosine came in, and asked me to hold the baby for a moment while she went to the bathroom.
I wasn’t used to babies, and sat down uncertainly with the snuffling little bundle. The baby - Charles Andrew Nicholas - stared solemnly at me with dark DeLisle eyes, and made funny little noises. I smiled gently at him, and wondered what it would be like to have one of my own one day.
Nick crashed into the room in search of something, and recoiled at the sight of me with the baby in my arms.
“Christ - don’t do that to me, Eithne. You had me worried for a moment.”
He paused on the threshold, as if there was something dangerous going on.
“Rosine asked me to hold him for a while,” I said. Something in Nick’s attitude disconcerted me. I had noticed his complete lack of interest in his nephew, and resented being made to feel like some sort of conspirator in family life. He sidled past me, eyes fixed on the bundle as if it were a bomb which might go off at any moment.
“Would you like to hold him?” I asked.
“Fuck no. What the hell would I do with a baby?”
He grabbed the item he had come for, and slipped quickly back to the door.
“Put it down as soon as you can - and don’t go getting any ideas.”
I watched his retreating back with a little throb of unease in my heart.
Andrew, Rosine’s husband, came in and caught the tail end of this little scene. He smiled at me apologetically.
”I’m afraid that all men are like that about babies until they actually have one themselves,” he told me. He came over and stood beside me, and gently curled his son’s fingers around his own.
I nodded, suddenly feeling a little tearful. This precious time with Nick was not turning out the way I had expected, and he would be gone again in three or four days. I didn’t know how long it would be before I saw him again.
Andrew glanced at my face. He said softly,
“It must be difficult for you, Eithne, this business with Nick in America.”
From The Moment I Saw Him .... Page 12
