by Thérèse
Sarah attempted to raise herself up, winced, and lay down again.
“I came straight here from the plane. I wanted to see you as soon as I could.” India smiled. “You need to rest. I’ll come back in the morning.”
“Great,” Sarah murmured, closing her eyes.
India left the room. That isn’t at all how Sarah planned it, she thought. She was so in love with the idea of a natural home birth.
22
“Did you see the coverage, Samantha? I’ve worked on this for six fucking months and what happens? One short paragraph. That’s it – nothing else about the show and fuck all about Luella. Okay. Get over here to The Greenwich as in now.”
“Sure, Henry,” Samantha said, throwing her phone into her raincoat pocket, racing across the street and flagging down a cab. She opened the New York Times and flicked the pages until she saw Jean-Luc’s photograph beneath the headline:
Fashion Designer Jean-Luc Under Investigation.
She Googled TMZ. It was carrying an image of Jean-Luc in his sleeveless vest with the headline:
Has Jean-Luc Lost His Shirt to the IRS?
The Huffington Post carried a single photograph of Annabelle with a couple of lines of irrelevant copy and a short piece on Jean-Luc with a list of his celebrity fans including Kate Moss and Justin Timberlake, images of his recent collection and some speculation about the charges. There was no mention of Luella’s book.
“Thanks,” she shouted to the driver looking up. “You can drop me here.”
Running into the hotel, she dashed through the lobby and into the sitting room. “I have an idea,” she gasped. “You’re going to love me for this. I know how we can get some focus on Luella.” She pulled a chair directly in front of Henry.
“Go on.” Henry pushed away his iPad on the coffee table and looked at her. “All ideas welcome.”
“Well, we know the reason Luella didn’t make it to the show don’t we. I mean, there’s a story there, right?”
Henry looked at her quizzically.
“Well?” she said.
“You know the reason?”
“Of course. Walls have ears don’t you know.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know you knew, Samantha. I’m at a loss for words.”
“So you think it’s a good idea? I mean, it’s a human-interest story. The Mail would run it for sure. It’s got everything – suicide attempt, fashion show, distressed wife – and we can let them have…”
“Samantha,” Henry interrupted. “Samantha. You are talking about Luella. Luella. If you think I am going to leak information about her private life at any time and especially when she’s vulnerable, you must be out of your mind.”
“But it’ll work. It’ll get publicity and you’ve always said there’s no such thing as bad publicity.” She pushed back a strand of hair from her forehead. “That’s what you’re always saying.”
Henry stood up. “Working for me is clearly a waste of your talents, Samantha. You need to get working with Us Weekly or find yourself a job with The Sun,” he said.
“What?”
“Am I not making myself clear? You’re fired. Get the fuck out of here. Get on the next plane. I want you out of the office before I get back.”
He picked up his things and stormed out of the room.
Luella and Peter were in Maisie’s sitting room perched stiffly across from one another on the long couches in front of the fire. He looked haggard, still unshaven, the furrows between his eyes giving him the appearance of a much older man.
“How’re you feeling today?” Luella asked gently.
“My throat’s raw and my chest hurts. I have a filthy headache. I’m depressed and ashamed. Apart from that I feel fine,” he said with a forced smile.
“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” she said. “Peter. I’m washed out too. Let’s talk honestly and properly. Tell me the whole story. Tell me how you met him and what it’s been like. I promise not to overreact like I did. I’ve just realized what it might have been like to lose you completely. It was an awful thought. I’ve been so angry; I was obsessing about all the lies you must have told me, but if you’d…well if Maisie hadn’t found you in time, if the worst had happened, I don’t think I’d have ever recovered.”
She leaned forward, threw another log onto the fire and watched as it caught the flame. She sat back and looked calmly at her husband. “Tell me. I’m listening,” she said with a deep sigh. “I’m ready. I really am. You are my soul mate. I can’t believe you’ve kept this secret to yourself all these years. I knew we were having intimacy problems, and I should have talked to you about that long before now. I’ve looked at myself hard. I’ve been married to my work, and I’ve played my part in all of this too you know.”
Peter looked at her with fierce intensity as she spoke.
“Whatever you tell me, Peter, I won’t judge you. I won’t blame you. I love you. You’re not on your own in this. I can’t bear the thought that you felt so desperate.”
“Thank you, Lu. I do appreciate that very much…I do. So…where do I start? Where?” He sat back and ran his hands through his hair clenching them behind his head.
“Start from the beginning.”
“Okay. I was in Paris,” he began slowly. “I was in Paris for work…We clinched the deal and went out to celebrate. We went to The Moulin Rouge because a few of the women wanted to go and see the cancan. I was relieved the guys didn’t want to go to a strip club.
“The Moulin Rouge. I didn’t know it was still open.”
“Yes. It’s a burlesque show still. It was packed and we had to split up and sit at different tables from each other. He began coughing. “Sorry. This isn’t easy for me.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” Luella murmured.
“So…I’ve been fighting these feelings for so long, torturing myself with guilt. I still can’t look you in the face and tell you what the feeling is like. I don’t even want to hear myself describe it.”
“You don’t have to. Tell me as much as you feel comfortable sharing.”
There was a long silence. Luella crossed one leg tightly over the other and straightened her back. She clamped her hands around her knee until her knuckles were white and she held her breath.
“I was sitting opposite him and I can’t really say anything more than that I looked at him and he looked at me. We didn’t even speak….I stood up. I somehow knew he would follow me. We got into his car.” Peter paused, his voice barely audible. “We went back to his hotel,” he said.
Luella closed her eyes tightly, hugged her knee, and took her time answering him. “And that was the first time that it had ever happened to you?”
“Yes. Lu, I can’t explain it any better. I couldn’t push it away like I usually do. It was a bolt of electricity. It was so powerful. It was as if we didn’t need words.” Peter stopped speaking, lost in the memory. Luella waited.
“He sent a letter and flowers to my hotel the next day. He sent more the day after and again the day after that. He kept asking to see me and eventually well…I did. I saw him again,” he said quietly. “I was in Paris for a month. We spent the weekends at galleries and museums. He introduced me to a world I didn’t know existed, to art, to design, architecture. My life, our life was so different…All I’d seen up until then was my work, the bank, making money, doing deals. I fell in love with Paris through his eyes. I fell in love with him.” He looked at Luella, his face creased with pain. “ Lu. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, his words hanging in the air. Luella uncrossed her legs and shifted on the cushion.
“I can’t believe you were able to keep this secret when you were feeling like that. How could I possibly not have seen it? Where was I? Where was my head?”
“Writing, Lu. You are always writing. I think you stopped seeing me. I love you, Lu. I’ve always loved you, bu
t it’s a different kind of love. I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant for this to happen.”
Luella could see Peter’s hands were shaking. She got up and crouched down in front of him. Reaching across, she held them in hers. “I understand. I understand. I really do. Peter, it’s okay, you know. I get it. The important thing is that we are going to stay in each other’s lives. I want that too.”
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I went to the hotel, to Le Meurice when I was in Paris a few months ago.”
“You did? Why?”
“Ever since I found the letters I was drawn to it, curious I guess. I don’t really know why. Peter, you should know that I only read one letter. I want you to know that. They were never written for me to read.”
“Thank you. Thank you for that, Lu.”
“You know, Peter. I have a feeling that maybe deep down I knew all along and I just didn’t want to face losing you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Yes. I think I always felt something was not quite right, not this exactly, but something. Maybe it was a lack of passion, some distance between us I can’t really explain. Pete, you said it yourself. We were young. I was young. What did I know? What DO I know? You’re the only person I’ve ever slept with too. Think about that.”
Peter smiled. He stroked the side of her face gently.
“Yes, and that’s another reason I never in a million years wanted for this to happen.”
Luella squeezed his hand and stood up. “Peter. Does Jean-Luc know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“And he still agreed to host the show? That amazes me.”
“He didn’t know when he signed up for it. The invitation came from his old college; he did his post grad year at LIFT. All he knew was he’d agreed to host a student show about ethical fashion. Later, when he made the connection with you, he said it was too late to pull out. He couldn’t let them down. It’s why at first I couldn’t tell you who he was. I thought it best for the whole thing to go ahead and explain later.”
“But then you changed your mind?”
“I’ve been worried sick that the business with the CID was going to come out and the press would dig around and connect me with him and you’d find out and then and the show would…I don’t know what I was thinking to be honest.”
“I can see that. Peter, are you sure you haven’t been dishonest? Has he been dishonest?”
“No.” He looked her straight in the eye. “No. I promise.”
“I don’t know why I should believe you but I do.”
“It’s true. It’ll all check out. The worst thing they’d find is that he doesn’t pay attention to his investments. Someone may have acted improperly, but it isn’t him and he’ll be able to prove it.”
“So why were you worried about your job?”
“I wasn’t really. I was trying to find a reason to avoid telling you his name. I don’t know, Lu. I’ve not been able to think straight. Ever since you found the letters, it’s been the weirdest thing. I was relieved I didn’t have to pretend anymore but I’ve been terrified. I’m scared of what this means long term. I don’t know where this leads.”
“Will you tell Jean-Luc that you’ve been this desperate? Will he understand?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I think he’ll feel like you did, that he’s let me down somehow, but nobody has let me down. I’ve just been weak. He isn’t pushing me to make any decisions right now.”
“What kind of decisions?”
“He’s talked about us living together. He’s often talked about me moving to the Paris office. I could transfer, but…”
“I think we need a cup of tea,” Luella said, steadying herself against the mantelpiece, a wave of sadness washing over her now that he was talking in practical terms. “Let’s talk some more if you aren’t too tired. Give me a minute for all of this to sink in properly. I’ll put on the kettle.”
Luella went out to the veranda, lit a cigarette, and walked across to the vegetable garden. She bent down and picked a handful of rosemary, rubbing it between her fingers to release the scent as she sat down on a bench. She looked back at the house that Maisie had inherited from Peter’s mother and around at the garden she had played in so often as a kid. The rabbit hutch was still there next to the bike shed and the apple tree with the sturdy branch where they’d hung their rope swing. Everywhere she looked there was a memory, and in the flash of a moment she understood that no matter what lay in front of them, whatever different paths they would take, she and Peter would always be connected.
This is what love means, she thought. It means letting go. I have to let him go with love.
She twisted her wedding ring around on her finger, noticing how thin the band had worn over the years. She sat for a little while longer before going back up to the house to make the tea.
23
India was woken from a deep sleep by a garbage truck in the street below. Lying in bed, watching the stippled patterns of sunlight across the walls, she reflected on the previous few days. She would call Henry this morning and thank him properly for being so understanding about leaving New York. The show had been a huge success and she’d played an important part in that, hadn’t she? Sarah was going to be fine and the baby too. She pulled the duvet up around her chin, snuggled down with a contented sigh, and was asleep again within minutes.
A few hours later, she was finishing getting dressed when Henry called.
“Hey, India. I’m back in London. Is your friend okay?”
“Thanks, Henry. She is,” she said. “She’s had a little girl. Five pounds five ounces. I’m going back to the hospital in a few minutes.”
“You must be very relieved. You’ve been on my mind. My cousin had an emergency c-section and I know it can be serious stuff. I hate to be blunt about this, but can you let me know how much more time off you need?”
“I don’t,” India said pulling on her jacket. “Just today.”
“Great because we need to talk. I’ve fired Samantha.”
“You have? Samantha? Really? Why?”
“It’s a long story. How about you come to the office in the morning. I’ll fill you in and we can look at where we go from here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” India said. “Do you know how Luella is? How’s her husband?”
“She’s okay. I spoke to her last night. Peter’s going to be fine too. Horrible business though.”
“Yes. That’s for sure.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
India checked her hair in the hall mirror, put her phone and keys in her purse, threw on her raincoat, and left for the train station, stopping at a nearby florist on her way. Sarah was awake when she put her head around the door of the hospital room.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked, resting the arrangement of pink peonies on a table and pulling over a chair to the side of the bed. “I’ll find some water for them in a minute.”
“Thank you. They’re lovely,” Sarah said bursting into tears. “I feel awful. I’m sorry Indie, but I can’t stop crying.”
“Is the baby okay? Where is she?” India asked, suddenly concerned to see the bassinette still empty.
“She’s being fed. She’s tiny. She needs special care, but they say she’s not in danger; they just want to get her weight up so they’re bottle-feeding her. I can’t even do that part right,” Sarah added, beginning to cry again.
“Sarah, you must be worn out.”
“I can’t stop crying. What’s wrong with me?” Sarah blubbered, turning her head to the wall. “I should be all excited. I’m supposed to be overwhelmed with these feelings of love. Where’s my maternal instinct? When I look at the baby, I don’t feel anything. All I want to do is sleep.”
“I’m sure it’s only because of the operation. Your hormones must be going crazy. Tell me what happened.”
“Can you pass me some of those?” Sarah asked, hoisti
ng herself up on her elbows slowly and pointing to a box of tissues.
“Thanks,” she said, blowing her nose loudly. “I had these contractions. The baby’s head hadn’t engaged so I wasn’t dilating and I was in so much pain that Damien called the hospital and they said to bring me in. When they put me on the monitor they suddenly went into emergency mode. The cord was around her neck and they raced me down the corridor on a gurney and wouldn’t let Damien come with me. Then all I remember is being in surgery and somehow it was all so wrong. I’m a nurse. I’m not the one who’s supposed to be on the table. I was terrified lying there not sure what was happening. I thought I was going to die.”
“I’m sure. I’m sure it must have been horrific, but you’re safe and the baby’s healthy. You must be having a delayed reaction to the shock of it all.”
“Maybe. It’s a nightmare in here. They wake me up every few hours in the night and pump me full of antibiotics. I feel like I just want to die.”
“You’ll feel better in a few days, I’m sure. Your body’s taken a beating, that’s all.”
“Nothing’s ready at home,” Sarah sighed. “I was too superstitious to buy so much as a box of diapers until I was thirty-eight weeks. Damien can’t or won’t take time off work. What am I going to do? Was I insane to think I could have a baby all on my own?”
India looked at her friend and smiled sympathetically. “You’re not on your own, Sarah. You have Damien and you have me. Give me a list; it’ll only take me an hour to get anything you need. Right now, all you have to think about is bonding with the baby. With Alana, right?”
At the mention of her name, Sarah brightened a little. “Alana. That’s right. Press that button next to you and see if the nurse will bring her in.”
India made the call and Sarah lay back down and drifted in and out of sleep while they waited. Eventually a midwife arrived cradling the newborn. She woke Sarah gently and put the baby into her arms. India leaned over and gasped at the tiny bundle, at her shock of black hair, scrunched up face and her perfect tiny hands, marveling at how delicate she was.
