Coldness settled in my belly. I had a bad feeling that his financial predicament was worse than he’d been telling me. The money I had been sending couldn’t have been enough. He must have downplayed the extent of their medical expenses.
“Hey, it keeps me out of trouble,” Dad laughed, although the sound was somewhat forced.
“I’m going to come for a short visit. I’ll be there late tonight. I’m flying back from London this afternoon.”
“That’ll be great. I’ll tell your mother. She’ll be so pleased. We’re missing you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. Trying to keep out of trouble and failing,” I joked. Dad’s laugh sounded more genuine this time.
“We’re looking forward to seeing you. Do you need a ride from the airport?”
“No, I’ll take a cab.” My dad’s old Dodge was on its last legs, and I wanted to save him the trip.
I needed to tell my parents about my decision. They would have to understand why I was divorcing Dave. Perhaps I’d have to confess everything. I didn’t want to share the sordid details of Dave’s affairs, but it was important that they knew.
Suddenly, my life seemed to be filled with scary meetings. It was a welcome distraction to turn off my iPad. Walking through to the bathroom, I noticed the pack of contraceptive pills in my toiletry bag.
Should I?
Why not. It would be responsible to start on them again, and, who knew…if I was lucky, I’d be needing them soon.
I took a pill out of the plastic and swallowed it with a gulp of water from the bathroom tap. Then, feeling like I’d taken another positive step toward the future I wanted, I went downstairs to help Noreen get lunch together.
Half an hour later, we sat down to a simple meal of chicken and bacon sandwiches on warm, crusty bread. I smeared butter thickly on the bread, not looking forward to going back to the low-fat margarine in the fridge at home. It occurred to me that despite the fatty foods I’d enjoyed since I’d been here, I had not put on weight and had, in fact, felt more energetic. It would never be allowed at home, though. The nutritionist that Dave had hired for me was militantly anti-fat. I’d have to go back to my old diet, and being constantly hungry and exhausted.
The small television in the kitchen was on, and I was grateful for its background chatter and for Noreen’s conversation, because whenever I thought about Patrick, my stomach twisted with a mix of nervousness and doom.
After lunch, I went up to my room, noticing the roses were in full bloom now. The buds were all opened, the petals a rich, inky red. The roses had lasted longer than the romance had, if you could call it a romance. Perhaps it had just been a fling for him. Had he been relieved to say goodbye?
“No,” I said aloud. I would not allow self-doubt to taint my memories, or to erase my hope.
All the same, I realized I didn’t have any contact details for Patrick. The hotel had put me straight through to his cellphone from their switchboard, so he might not have my number either. Perhaps I should call the hotel and get an email address for him.
A minute later I was dialing the hotel reception.
“Could I have Patrick Maguire’s email address, please?” I said, when the receptionist answered.
“What’s it in connection with?” she asked, her tone more curious than suspicious.
“I met with him earlier today, and I’d like to follow up,” I prevaricated.
“Oh,” she said, sounding reassured, before reading the address out to me.
At least I had a way of contacting him now. That fact offered me some comfort.
I filled the time in the afternoon by taking Guinness for a walk, packing my bag, and catching up on my admin. After supper, I hugged Noreen goodbye, taking down her contact details and promising to stay in touch. I paid her more than she had charged me and refused to take any money back. No price could be put on the companionship and support she’d offered me at a time when I really needed it.
Back upstairs, I checked the gossip website that had published the picture of the hotel view. To my relief, there was no follow-up photo of me there. Patrick must have kept his word and contacted the site owner, and I was filled with gratitude for this. Then, as I flopped onto the bed, gratitude was obliterated by the memories that flooded me.
God…what he had done to me, and how he had done it. The passion that we’d shared, and the way his face had looked when…
“No!” I said aloud. I couldn’t let myself remember this now. It was making me feel incredibly alone. Instead, I turned my thoughts to my ride. The power in Titan’s body. The long, sure strides he had taken, carrying me safely up that green hill.
The thudding of hoof beats on turf resonated in my dreams.
Chapter 18
The following day I left for Cork airport before sunrise. Not that there was a sunrise to see, because a thick, gray blanket of cloud covered the sky. A car drive, plane flight, and taxi ride later, I reached the imposing main entrance of the Dorchester. London was as gloomy as Ireland had been; the rain that had set in when we’d landed showed no sign of letting up. I didn’t even have an umbrella. Although the doorman hurried forward to assist me with his own, the wind was gusting strongly and by the time I was inside, my hair felt damp and disordered, and I worried that my mascara had smudged.
With my limited wardrobe, I hadn’t been able to dress as I would have liked. Jeans and a black top seemed inadequate for this meeting; a Christian Dior suit would have been more suitable and given me more confidence. I needed every scrap of assurance I could get. Daniel and Toby had a knack of being able to make me feel second-rate, as if I was never trying hard enough, or doing a good enough job, to meet their expectations. I was used to walking into meetings brimming with happy confidence and walking out again feeling totally inadequate and shredded by disappointment. It had reached the point where I became anxious and defensive right at the start. That didn’t seem to work either. Eventually, I figured out that the meetings went most smoothly when I didn’t try to argue, but humbly acknowledged that whatever they said was correct.
That didn’t come easy to me, and I always felt angry afterwards. I had complained to Dave many times before that I found their attitude critical and disrespectful. He’d laughed. “Try working in any corporate,” he’d told me. “Ninety percent of the guys at the top are like that, including Toby and my brother. It takes a killer instinct to succeed. Maybe you should focus on getting that mindset yourself, instead of complaining about other people’s. It might improve your rankings.”
And then, as if in apology, he’d leaned over and pinched my cheek. “If you weren’t doing a good job, they wouldn’t keep on sponsoring you,” he added.
In the elevator to the suite, I glanced into the mirror. I would have liked to have seen a calm, self-assured woman staring back at me, but my bedraggled reflection looked haunted, with scared eyes. So much hinged on this meeting, and at this moment, my thoughts felt as windswept as my hair did. I had to remember Dave’s words. I was doing a good job, no matter how Daniel and Toby made me feel. I had worked hard to promote their brand. Why should my marital status make a difference?
I tapped on the door to the suite five minutes before the appointment time, feeling sick with nervousness. It seemed to take forever until it opened, but finally, Toby showed me inside. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion either. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans that were three times as shabby, although probably ten times as expensive, as mine.
“Daniel’s still in his room,” he said. “He’s resting. We had back to back meetings this morning. You can sit in the lounge until he gets here.”
“Thank you,” I said humbly, immediately slotting into the behavioral role I had molded for myself in their presence. Obviously, Daniel was too tired to be woken just because I’d arrived on time for a meeting. Or perhaps it was just that I was not important enough. I saw a black suit jacket had been flung onto one of the large, leather-covered couches in the living room. Toby picked it up a
nd walked through the doorway opposite to the bedroom, and out of my sight.
He hadn’t offered me a seat, but I perched on the nearest couch, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and annoyed with myself for not coming across more strongly. But how was I going to do that when Daniel and Toby could only be satisfied with groveling humility?
To distract me from my worries, I glanced out of the window, which had a view over the wrought-iron balcony and out onto the greenery of Hyde Park. A beautiful vista, although the colors were somewhat muted in the gray downpour.
There was a tray with coffee mugs and a teapot on the coffee table and a plate of chocolate-dipped shortbread biscuits on the sideboard. I looked at them longingly, realizing that I hadn’t eaten all day. A quick sugar hit would give me energy, but I didn’t want Daniel to walk in and see me stuffing my face with sweet treats. And I hadn’t been offered coffee, so it seemed rude to help myself. I guessed I would just have to sit and wait, and hope that Toby hadn’t also settled down for a nap in the bedroom.
The minutes passed, punctuated by nothing happening at all. With no sounds coming from the bedroom, I grew braver. I sneaked over to the cookie plate, snatched one, and crunched it down in seconds before resuming my seat on the couch. I reapplied my lipstick with the help of my compact mirror, and used a Kleenex to carefully clean away a small smudge of mascara from under my right eye.
Then I got up again and stole another cookie. This one, I ate more slowly before checking the time on my phone.
I had a shock when I saw it was already noon. How long was I going to wait here? I didn’t have much more time because I needed to get to Heathrow. My flight back home was at four-thirty.
I was tempted to write Patrick an email while I waited. Why not? Thinking of what to say to him would help pass the time. Probably, the minute I started composing it, Daniel and Toby would walk in. And I didn’t have to send it. I could save it…or simply delete it.
My hands started to shake badly as I typed in his email address.
“Hey, Patrick,” I wrote. “I’m sitting here in London, waiting to go into a meeting, trying to sort my life out. I’ve been feeling terrible ever since we said goodbye. I know it sounds weird, but you’ve been in my thoughts, way too often, ever since we first met. I can’t stop thinking about you now. I feel sick inside, like I’ve made the wrongest decision of my life.”
Was “wrongest” a word? My spell check didn’t seem to like it, but at that point I couldn’t think of a better one. This letter was way too honest. I could never send it. In which case, I might as well finish pouring my heart out before deleting it.
“There are things I can’t tell you about my current situation. But I’m working to change it. That’s why I’m in London now. I want to be able to see you again. I really want to give us a chance. I need you to know that.”
How should I end it? I obviously couldn’t use the word “love.” “Yours” sounded silly, because I was not his—not yet. Maybe I should write “Sincerely.” That would be safer; polite.
But when I thought of what we’d shared, where he had taken me, there was only one word that would be honest enough.
“Love, Claire,” I ended it.
At that moment, there was a tap on the door and I heard Toby shout, “Be there now,” from the bedroom. I sat bolt upright. This was it…Daniel was here. Time to delete the message.
But I didn’t. Instead, with adrenaline surging through me, I pressed Send before snapping the iPad’s cover shut.
“Hey, Claire,” Daniel said, strolling into the lounge after Toby had opened the door. He, too, was dressed casually—designer tracksuit pants which I supposed were from one of his own lines, paired with an Armani sweater.
He sat himself down on the other couch. Looking at him, I could see the family resemblance to Dave. Both men were tall, both dark-haired, both physically self-assured. Dave would have sprawled over the couch in just the way Daniel was doing now. I wondered if Daniel also liked to live beyond his means, like Dave did. Certainly, his Guiseppe Zanotti trainers looked expensive, and his gold watch must have cost a fortune.
I had a feeling that Daniel thought he was better than most other people, just the same way Dave did. Watching his body language now, I knew that he thought he was better than me.
Toby was not as arrogant. His confidence was quieter, but yet, of the two, he made me more uneasy. Perhaps it was because, as company president, he was the main decision maker. Or perhaps it was that he was less easy to read. I had no idea what he really thought of me; I never had.
“Coffee?” Toby asked.
“Yeah, I’ll have a cup, with cream,” Daniel said. “And a cookie.”
“I’m okay, thanks,” I said.
“So, Claire, how’s the training going?” Toby asked, handing Daniel his coffee. I had the feeling this was obligatory small talk, a formality to be followed before the men got down to the real purpose of the meeting.
“I’m just getting back into it.” The plastic smile that stayed pasted on my face during the College Sport management meetings was automatically in place. “My shoulder’s feeling good. Back to normal, I think.”
“You got the doctor’s report?” Daniel asked.
“Not yet,” I smiled. “It should be ready by Thursday.”
Give or take a few hours of begging to get an appointment with somebody—anybody—who could give me the all clear.
I guessed that concluded the personal interest section of the get-together, because Toby leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and said, “So, why this meeting?”
I swallowed, wishing I’d asked for a glass of water.
“First,” I said, “I want you to know that I am one hundred percent loyal to your brand. I’ve always tried to do my best for you and I will continue to do so. And I’m very grateful to you for giving me this chance.”
Last year, a busy one, had included participating in eighteen tournaments, attending twenty-five corporate functions, and too many meetings to count. In addition, I’d demonstrated new gear in an exhausting five-week countrywide tour. I’d given numerous talks, I’d done three charity training days and appeared in four photo shoots, which had each taken days to complete.
This year had been even busier, up until my injury. So they couldn’t argue I hadn’t been working hard.
“Yeah?” Daniel said, slurping his coffee.
“I would like to discuss the terms of my new contract,” I said.
Now, Daniel sat straighter, his face intent and his casual attitude gone. Toby’s face didn’t change. It remained unreadable, inscrutable.
“Please explain,” Toby said, glancing at Daniel.
“I need the sponsorship income to be split fairly between myself and my husband. As you know, the money goes into our joint account as a lump sum. At the moment, my parents are having serious financial problems and I need to set money aside to help them. I would prefer the security, and the flexibility, of having my own money be paid into a separate account, and I’d like that to be included in the contract.”
“But…” Daniel interjected. “Have you spoken to Dave about this?”
I shook my head.
“Dave has a lot of expenses, you know. There’s your house, his new car. I don’t want to include any terms that will end up with you screwing my brother over. I’m sure he’ll organize to send your parents some money if you need it.”
“So far, he hasn’t been able to…” I began, but Toby held up a hand to silence me. Before speaking, he stared at me for a long while. I became aware how silent this hotel room was. We were sequestered within its plush, well-insulated walls.
“I don’t think you understand how things are, Claire,” Toby said finally.
I forced myself to draw in a shaky gulp of air.
“How do you mean?” I asked, my voice sounding very small.
“Like everyone else in the world, we’ve heard rumors about your divorce. I get the feeling that, from your side, they might be more
than just rumors. Before you make any decisions, I’d like to remind you that your sponsorship is dependent on your husband’s goodwill,” he told me in measured tones. “Dave is the reason we did this deal with you. And he’s the only reason we’ve reconsidered your contract and come back with a new offer.”
He gave me a meaningful stare and I knew then that the compromising photos of me might be history in the real world, but they would never be forgotten by him; he would always use them against me.
“I hope that answers your question,” Toby said.
Daniel drained his coffee and stood up. He looked angry, and spoke sharply. “This has been a waste of time. Toby, I’ll meet you downstairs in a half-hour.”
“Call a cab,” Toby told him.
Daniel strode over to the door and left the room without a backward glance.
“I don’t get it,” I said. I could hear the anger in my voice. I was no longer prepared to humbly back down. I was fighting for my career and my parents’ welfare. I had nothing to lose now, so to hell with the consequences. “Dave got me the sponsorship, sure. But I’m the one who’s put in all the work. What’s wrong with requesting that we split the money fairly between us? That way, we’re both taken care of no matter what the future brings. And what’s the decision got to do with Dave?”
Toby smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.
“Claire,” he said. “Sometimes you can be very naïve.”
He stood up and walked over to the door. Clearly, I was being invited to leave. But when I picked up my carry-on and marched over to him, he didn’t open it immediately. Instead, he grasped my shoulder with a firm hand. He leaned forward and whispered into my ear, his breath hot on my cheek.
“I’m never going to say this in public, and if you accuse me of saying it, I’m going to sue you for every dollar you own.”
I stood statue-still, imprisoned by him, my mind reeling at the terrible turn this meeting had taken.
“You’re stupid not to have realized this isn’t about you at all,” he hissed. “It never was. There are hundreds of good athletes with pretty faces. It’s about your husband. Daniel wanted to channel some of the profits to Dave, and the sponsorship was a handy way of doing it. It gained us some PR, and we could write it off as an expense. You owe your husband, more than you realize. If I were you I’d be very, very nice to him. Because the day he decides he doesn’t need you,” he drew his finger across his throat in an expressive gesture, “your sponsorship ends.”
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