The Better Woman

by Ber Carroll

  It didn’t feel right to simply accept it. Their relationship would never again have the same integrity, the same give and take.

  Have I come this far, gone through everything I’ve gone through, only to make such a massive compromise?

  Dawn seeped through the crack in the bedroom’s curtains. Jodi swung her legs out of bed, showered, and left to catch the tube. Outside the air was warm with the promise of a sunny day. But that didn’t change the underlying coldness of the city.

  There was an announcement at the tube station: there would be significant delays; a fatality had occurred; someone had jumped; apologies for the inconvenience.

  It was well after nine by the time she reached the office. Steve Sanchez knocked on her door no sooner than she’d shut it behind her. He told her he was resigning, going somewhere else, somewhere he could yell and carry on to his heart’s content. She wished him good luck and asked him to clear his desk straight away.

  Her assistant was hot on Steve’s heels. She had various documents that needed to be signed and stacks of phone messages to pass on. Everything was urgent, as always.

  Jodi put her head down. Got on with her work. But at the back of her mind she continued to mull over her personal situation.

  Should I stay with James and make the best of what we have? Or should I hold out for a man with whom I don’t have to compromise? Does such a man exist and, by the time I meet him, will I be too old to have a baby anyway?

  If she left James, she’d have to find somewhere else to live. She tried to visualise herself calling real estate agents, telling them what size apartment she wanted, what price, what suburb. The thought left her cold. Not only because she would be on her own, without James, but because London had never been her choice. It had been Andrew’s, and James’s. Never hers.

  Can I live in this city for a moment longer if I’m not with James?

  At 4 pm Jodi received an unexpected phone call. It was a headhunter, one of the most prestigious in the city. He spoke of a job in New York and Jodi listened carefully to what he had to say. She hung up some time later believing that fate had dealt its hand. The CEO of EquiBank: the opportunity of a lifetime: her ticket out of London.

  Chapter 35

  New York City

  The EquiBank building soared into the blue sky, an imposing column of glass and stone, a force to be reckoned with. Sarah stood outside, looking up. Thirty-five floors of employees. Thousands of computers and telephones. Billions of dollars of investment funds. She took an indulgent moment to imagine herself in charge of it all.

  When she stepped into the building, the time for daydreaming was over and a mask of professionalism settled over her face. Her first interview of the day was with Denise. A formality, but still too much at stake to be taken for granted. She called the lift and soon she was being whizzed up to the top floor of the building.

  ‘Sarah Ryan to see Denise Martin,’ she said to the impeccably groomed receptionist.

  ‘I’ll call her assistant and let her know you’re here.’

  A few moments later the assistant appeared and escorted Sarah to Denise’s office.

  ‘Sarah!’ Denise rose from her desk and came forward to engage in a warm embrace. ‘I’m so happy to see you here.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘And I’m very happy to be here.’

  It was the truth. She was happy to have a reprieve from Ireland, Tim and the awful baby guilt. And she felt a deep fulfilment that her hard work over the last eleven years had culminated in this amazing opportunity.

  ‘Sit down. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Denise nodded at her hovering assistant and the woman departed, closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘Well!’ Denise slid into her seat. She wore her trademark tailored white shirt and her hair was as short and chic as ever; she had always kept her femininity to an absolute minimum. Her face had acquired some lines since Sarah had last seen her. She carried them well, though. ‘I know this is meant to be an interview, but that seems like a waste of time, considering our history. I was there when you started as a filing clerk in the settlements department and since then I’ve watched every stage of your career. Sometimes it was from afar, but I was always watching, Sarah.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Sarah acknowledged. ‘And regardless of whether I get this job or not, I want to thank you for being a wonderful mentor over the years.’

  ‘It was a pleasure, Sarah. I see myself in you, I always have. We have the same determination and commitment. We have the gut instinct, the flair.’ Denise stopped to smile briefly. ‘So, as there’s nothing further I need to know about your capability for this job, I thought I’d spend this interview time telling you about it, telling you what it’s really like to sit in this seat.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I’ve lived and breathed this role for the last three years.’ Denise clasped her hands and rested them on the desk. ‘I consumed it and it consumed me. My phone was never turned off, it rang around the clock. My mealtimes weren’t my own – breakfast, lunch and dinner were allocated to clients, visiting executives, politicians. But the status, the respect, and the glow of being so revered buoyed me from the physical exhaustion. I felt godlike – I’d open my mouth and my wishes would be carried out. I’d make a decision, see immediate consequences. The last three years have undoubtedly been the best of my life.’ Denise paused, her expression suddenly becoming very grave. ‘But they’ve also been the worst. This job, wonderful as it is, has a hefty personal cost. It would be very remiss of me, as your mentor and friend, not to point that out.’

  Her words, an unmistakeable warning, hung between them. Sarah was about to speak, to reassure Denise that she understood the extreme level of commitment that came with the job, but Denise cut in ahead of her.

  ‘I know that you and Tim have a strong marriage, Sarah. I’m glad of that, because it will take a great deal of sacrifice and resilience to survive the demands of this job. To be brutally frank, Larry and I have struggled. We’re still together, but we have a lot of repair work to do.’

  Larry was Denise’s third husband. He adored Denise and she adored him back.

  ‘This one’s for keeps,’ she’d said when she married him. ‘The other two were just practice runs.’

  Sarah, shocked at Denise’s revelations about the state of her marriage, almost blurted out that her own marriage was far from strong right now. But she stopped herself. This was an interview, not a tell-all. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of that fact.

  ‘Thanks, Denise,’ she said quietly. ‘I feel immensely privileged that you’ve been so honest with me.’

  Jodi had never been to New York before. It instantly bowled her over. It was brash yet stylish, gritty yet colourful, rude yet engaging. It was everything she didn’t like, yet she loved it. She couldn’t quite explain why.

  The EquiBank building was in the middle of the financial district, side by side with all the other big banks, not as tall as some, but holding its place with dignity. Jodi paused for the briefest moment before going inside.

  ‘Jodi!’ Bradley Simons, the vice-president of human resources, had a firm handshake and an unnerving stare. His eyes were warm, though, and Jodi felt instantly at ease. ‘I hope you had a nice trip over from London.’

  Jodi smiled. ‘Yes, I did, thank you.’

  ‘And how are you finding your hotel, the Renaissance?’

  ‘It’s charming – it would be only too easy to forget that I’m here on business.’

  ‘You’ve been to New York before?’

  ‘No. Most of my travel has been around Europe and Asia.’

  ‘This role involves a lot of travel,’ said Bradley. ‘Denise, the current incumbent, is away about fifty per cent of the time. Do you see that as a possible issue for you?’

  ‘I had to travel extensively when I was head of client services in Asia Pacific,’ she replied. ‘I enjoyed being out there, living and breathing
the business, rather than being locked away in some ivory tower.’

  Bradley looked down at a document that Jodi assumed was her résumé. ‘You were based in Singapore, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you move back to London?’

  She smiled disarmingly. ‘I met a man. The love of my life, or so I thought.’

  Bradley had been interviewing people for most of his professional life. He was somewhat disillusioned with the process, prospective employees pretending to be something they were not, employers likewise. Relationships and personal aspirations were rarely discussed, yet they were underlying factors that influenced everything. Bradley got a strong sense that Jodi Tyler wasn’t afraid of the truth, be it matters personal or business.

  Bradley consulted his interview notes before asking his next question. ‘Who has been your most difficult customer?’

  Jodi didn’t have to think twice. ‘A Korean businessman who detested women and didn’t speak English. Initially he refused to deal with me directly – he corresponded through a more junior male colleague. I was patient, didn’t force the issue, and I eventually won his respect.’ She fingered the white-gold rope chain around her neck. ‘He gave me this when I left for London.’

  Bradley’s eyes were drawn to the chain. It looked solid, unbreakable. Was that how the Korean businessman saw Jodi Tyler?

  He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me about London. What challenges did that present?’

  Jodi talked through her first job in CorpBank London and all the subsequent promotions. Her account was clear and concise. She didn’t oversell herself. She didn’t need to. Her extensive experience spoke for itself.

  Bradley listened to her every word. If she got the job, Jodi Tyler would be his boss. He decided he would be very happy to work for her.

  *

  At the end of the day, Bradley, armed with his shortlist, left his office to ascend to the thirty-fifth floor for the specially convened board meeting.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the board,’ he began, a microphone carrying his voice to the board members at the far end of the table, ‘I’m pleased to announce that our search for a chief executive officer has been narrowed down to two outstanding candidates . . .’

  Bradley felt like a duck out of water in the vast boardroom. For a start it was quiet, so quiet that you would think all the board members were asleep on the job. The heart of the business was not up here, it was down on the lower floors, where the hubbub of traders buying, selling and furiously tapping their keyboards created an excitingly distinct atmosphere. Never quiet.

  Then there was the uninterrupted view of the Manhattan skyline. It was almost impossible to take your eyes off it. How could any cold, hard business be done against a backdrop of such breathtaking beauty?

  ‘The first candidate I am going to present is Sarah Ryan. Some of you will already know her name. Sarah has run our operation in Dublin for the last three years – the subsidiary has achieved record profits under her leadership – she’s very well regarded both here in New York, as well as in the wider banking community . . .’

  Sarah walked out of the Renaissance Hotel and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the garish oversized billboards. Seventh Avenue was bumper to bumper with cars, a good proportion of which were the quintessential yellow cabs. The drivers hooted at each other for no other reason than impatience. Steam hissed from a nearby manhole. The whole scene was as noisy as it was colourful.

  Sarah wore shorts and runners, suitable attire for a jog through Central Park, but for some inexplicable reason she found herself going in the opposite direction. The pavement was busy and she had to be content with a brisk stride. Her mind was heavily preoccupied as she walked.

  Tomorrow morning she had to present herself to the board of directors: a daunting prospect. The directors would have Harvard educations and embody all the snobbery that comes with old money. They would be able to tell straight away that she wasn’t one of them, that her background was far from privileged. Was her experience and long history with the bank enough to compensate? Would they offer her the job? Did she really, really want it? Was it worth the hefty personal cost Denise warned of?

  As she walked, Sarah glanced intermittently at the shops and eateries that lined the walkway. In the eleven years since she’d first come to New York, most had changed hands, name and frontage a number of times, desperate to keep up with the latest trends, desperate to be the hottest new place. In this city, only a select few got away with age.

  Sarah reached the theatre district. Dusk was beginning to fall; she should turn back. Her mouth was dry; she should at least stop for a drink. But something was pushing her on. She didn’t understand what until she reached 57th Street.

  There was his name. Across the street, all lit up and impossible to miss.

  JOHN DELANEY

  She stared and stared, oblivious that she was standing smack in the middle of the pavement, a cardinal sin in New York City.

  ‘Move out of the way, lady,’ advised a middle-aged man who bumped against her shoulder.

  She hardly heard him. She was back in John’s front room, his slender fingers racing up and down the keys, his head bent, the plush red curtains in the background. It felt like yesterday, not fifteen years ago. The boy was now a man. The front room had become Carnegie Hall, one of the most prestigious stages in the world. The audience was no longer the girl-next-door; it was hundreds of discerning classical music fans.

  Sarah crossed the road in a trance.

  ‘What time is the concert?’ she asked the lady at the box office.

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ the woman replied. ‘It’s almost fully booked but I do have a seat in the dress circle, if you’re prepared to pay that much . . .’

  Without enquiring how much was ‘that much’, Sarah took her credit card from her purse.

  ‘I’ll take a program too, please.’

  The woman rang up the sale and handed Sarah her ticket and the program. Suddenly John’s photo was staring her in the face. He looked young, impossibly so, his fair hair a little longer than it used to be, his smile so familiar that it brought an instant ache to her heart. She shoved the booklet into her shoulder bag.

  With an hour to kill before the recital, she ordered a glass of water from the café outside the auditorium. The water quenched her thirst but did nothing to steady her nerves. She was shaking all over. She ordered a cocktail, a cosmopolitan. She sipped it slowly whilst the program, and John’s photo, burned a hole in her bag.

  Finally the bell sounded and people began to move inside. A black grand piano stood centre stage, dramatic against the largely white backdrop. Conversation hummed until the lights dimmed and anticipation commanded quiet. John appeared from backstage. He was the same boy that Sarah once knew, and she felt a lump in her throat. He raised his arm to greet the audience and acknowledge their applause. He angled himself to the left, then the right, so that each person in the auditorium could see his face. When he sat at the piano his shoulders and head were perfectly straight. Someone along the line had taught him not to hunch over.

  John struck the opening chords, strong and rich and noble. Then his right hand raced away, scaling through octave leaps, the melody quite playful.

  Sarah finally took the program from her bag.

  Franz Schubert: Sonata No. 20 in A Major, D. 959 This sonata was composed in 1828. Schubert, knowing he was fatally ill, wrote the work in a frantic race against time. He died aged thirty-one, but his wondrous lyricism and rich harmonic vocabulary live on and continue to engage audiences today.

  John’s biography was on the next page. Sarah lifted it closer so she could read in the dim light.

  Pianist John Delaney is currently on a world tour and comes to New York after performances in London, Paris, Rome and Vienna. John began his studies with the late Cécile Marcel in Paris and continued them with Philip Brown in Toronto. He has made a number of recordings with Naïve Classique Records and often performs w
ith his wife, the acclaimed violinist, Sophie Devant.

  He was married! To a violinist! Before Sarah knew it, or could control it, fifteen years of pent-up emotions exploded in a rush of tears. She cried for the young love that she and John had shared. She cried for the fact he knew nothing about the abortion and what she had gone through afterwards. And she cried because he was married to a violinist, someone so clearly in his own league.

  Eventually she became aware of the odd looks she was getting from the people on either side. She fumbled in her bag for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. There was a pause in the music; the first movement was over.

  The second movement, the Andantino, started slowly and sadly. It carried Sarah back in time: their first kiss, the heavy red wine and freshly cut grass; the night of their Leaving Certificate results, seeing him at the doorway of the hall, dancing to ‘Crazy for You’, making love in his dad’s car. She started to cry again. The tissue was sodden.

  The third movement was crisp and sprightly. The fourth started melodically but ended authoritatively, and she knew what she had to do.

  During the intermission, Sarah went to the rest rooms and splashed cold water on her face.

  ‘You need to do it,’ she told her reflection. ‘You must do it.’

  Outside the bathroom, she approached one of the ushers.

  ‘Is it possible to get a message to John Delaney?’

  He nodded and took a pen and a small notepad from his pocket.

  ‘Write your message down and I’ll pass it to Mr Delaney’s attendant.’

  Sarah thought for a moment. Then she wrote, Sarah Ryan in tonight’s audience and wondering if she can see you after the show.

  She handed over the note just as the bell sounded for the end of the intermission.

  In the second half John played six piano pieces that were known as ‘Moments Musicaux’. The pieces were songlike and of varying lengths. The music was probing and touching, and Sarah felt as though he were talking to her. But the fifth piece, angry and argumentative, shattered their rapport. The final piece expressed an array of emotions, from tenderness to outrage, sadness to resignation. Just as when she and John had formalised the end of their relationship. But it hadn’t ended that day in the park, which was precisely the problem. John Delaney had stayed in her heart. Him and his baby.