Moonlight on the Thames

by Lauren Westwood

  ‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you.’

  ‘You damn well should be.’ Chrissie’s voice was sharp.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ Nicola said with forced calm. ‘Are you saying that if I hadn’t thrown away three years with Ollie – if instead I’d been out there on match.com or Tinder or scientific dating – whatever it is people do now – if I’d been out there looking for a nice man to settle down with; found him, taken some leave, had a big wedding, got pregnant and had a couple of kids – then you’d respect me now?’

  ‘I do respect you.’ Chrissie was sounding more and more upset. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re settling for being so unhappy. Someday, I hope you’ll tell me why.’

  Nicola swallowed hard. Someday… maybe she would. She knew that Chrissie meant well, though, God knew, any love between them over the years had been of the tough sort.

  ‘Are you finished now?’ she managed to say.

  ‘Does Ollie make you happy?’ Chrissie pressed.

  ‘No, of course not. It’s never been about that. It’s… well… I don’t even know any more.’

  ‘This man who gave you the gingerbread heart – does he make you happy?’

  Nicola thought back to the day they had spent together. It had been fun and confusing; uplifting and frustrating. But somehow, in a single day, he had changed her.

  ‘His name is Dmitri,’ she said.

  ‘Does this Dmitri make you happy?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You haven’t given him the chance, have you?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  Chrissie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’

  An alarm sounded on Nicola’s phone. Time for the next call, the next meeting, the next, and the next…

  Chrissie crossed her arms. ‘That’s all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening. Do you want me to ask for a transfer to someone else?’

  ‘No.’ Nicola silenced the alarm. ‘What I want you to do, Chrissie, is start arranging the Advent Calendar for the twenty-second. I want you to order everything from this bakery.’ She pointed to the name on the box. ‘And book the large conference room. No – the auditorium. I want it to be big – the best. Because I’ll have an announcement to make.’

  ‘OK…’ Chrissie’s eyes lit up, probably at the mention of Christmas arrangements. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘And when you’re done with that, I need a Chelsea away kit for a seventeen-year-old boy. Can you get that?’

  Chrissie wrinkled her nose. ‘My husband will kill me. He’s a Spurs fan.’

  Nicola smiled. ‘Well, sorry about that. Now, I’ve got to go on a call. Thanks for the chat.’

  ‘Really?’

  Nicola gave her a wry sideways look. ‘You’d better go now, before I change my mind.’

  31

  As soon as Chrissie was gone, the door firmly shut behind her, Nicola untaped the memory stick from the top of the box and plugged it into her computer. It was an audio file. She put in her Bluetooth headphones and pressed play.

  There was a second or two of background noise, and then, the music began. She didn’t recognise the piece, just that it was dark and perfect, and it filled her with a sense of longing that she had never felt before. She picked up the box with the gingerbread heart and swivelled her chair to face the window. The music swelled and ebbed, the crystal notes soothing the rips and gashes in her soul like a balm. She lifted the box to her nose and breathed in the smell of ginger and cinnamon, wishing she could conjure up the scent of him instead. Just the thought of him made her feel light-headed and flushed, and full of uncertainty. An opening gambit. But was she ready to play this game, to step off the chessboard that had been her life for so long? This man needed something. Something she had never been able to give to another person. But now there were no obstacles, other than the wall she’d built out of her own shame and regrets. A few hours ago it had seemed insurmountable. But now? He’d been here, on her turf. He’d come for her. She turned the box over, laughing to herself that he still hadn’t left his phone number. But she knew where to find him.

  Nicola swivelled back around in her chair as someone knocked on the door. She turned off the music, feeling a sense of violation that the moment had been interrupted.

  The door opened. Ollie’s PA, Mary, was standing outside.

  ‘You know you’re supposed to be meeting with Jean Bertrand and Ollie, right?’

  ‘What?’ Nicola stared at her. ‘It wasn’t in my diary.’

  ‘They’re having drinks at Le Coq d’Or. Ollie left fifteen minutes ago. He said to meet him there.’

  ‘Shit! Why wasn’t it in my diary?’ Jean Bertrand was Ollie’s contact at a big French fashion investment house – one that would be perfect for the new opportunity that her New York contact had tipped to her. There had been vague noises made about him coming over but nothing specific. Talk about terrible timing.

  ‘It was kind of a sudden thing,’ Mary said, looking a little evasive.

  ‘Fine. I’ll go. Tell Chrissie, OK?’

  ‘Sure.’

  When Mary was gone, Nicola took the memory stick out of the computer and put it in the bag with the white box. Opening the top drawer of her desk, she put the bag inside and locked the drawer for safekeeping. She checked her make-up and put on her Louboutins from the bottom drawer. Jean Bertrand was an important client, and she ought to look like she was making an effort. Though Ollie, damn him, would think that any effort she made was for him.

  Nicola went down the lifts and out of the building. The restaurant was a five-minute walk. She knew the bar well. Dark, with booths and tables that were secluded, even during busy times. It was one of her and Ollie’s ‘places’. Not any more, she thought. Best to get on with trying to make things normal between them. Two colleagues, drinks with a client. Then, she could figure out her other plans.

  Nicola wasn’t sure what she registered first as being wrong. The fact that Ollie was waiting for her outside the bar, the fact that once again he looked tired and rumpled, or the fact that there was no sign of the client anywhere.

  ‘Where’s Jean Bertrand?’ Nicola said as she walked up to him, feeling annoyed.

  ‘Hi Nic, you look beautiful.’ Ollie pulled her close and tried to give her a kiss. She turned her head at the last second and he got a mouthful of her hair.

  ‘This meeting wasn’t in my diary, Ollie. I’ve got a lot on, and so do you. He’d better turn up.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s on his way to meet us. Let’s go and order a bottle.’

  He steered her inside the door with his hand low on her back. The touch made her flinch. When was he going to get it through his head that he didn’t own her – had never owned her?

  All she wanted to think about right now was Dmitri, and listen to the music he had given her. Imagining his hands on the keys. Hands that were magical, and now, she knew that he wanted her. A flush filled her whole body as Ollie led her to a booth in the back. She caught him eyeing her. The flush turned to anger that she was here with him.

  He sat opposite her and flagged down a waitress to order a bottle of wine. A bottle with two glasses.

  ‘So where the fuck is Jean Bertrand?’ she said accusingly. ‘Is he coming, or is this all some stupid game?’

  ‘It’s not a game, Nic.’ He gave her the smile that used to turn her knees to jelly, but now just made her feel sick. ‘I wanted to tell you that I’ve got some good news.’

  ‘Good news?’ She eyed him warily.

  ‘Chloe and I – well, we’ve separated.’

  ‘What?’ Nicola stared at him, taking in the normally perfect hair that was now rumpled, the too loose tie, the wrinkled shirt, the five-o’clock shadow. Part of her wanted to laugh – the world certainly was a topsy-turvy sort of place. She waited for the other part to register her feelings: hope, relief, joy… instead, there was a dizzying feeling of vertigo, like she was in freefall. ‘Please tell me she didn’t find the tex
ts,’ she said, barely able to get the words out.

  He shook his head. ‘Hey, relax, won’t you, Nic?’ he said. ‘I told you, it’s all good.’ The waitress brought over the bottle and glasses. ‘Have a glass of wine.’ Ollie poured wine into a glass and pushed it in her direction.

  Nicola picked up the glass, gripping the stem so tightly that she thought it might break, but didn’t take a drink.

  ‘When did this happen?’ she asked.

  ‘At the weekend. Saturday night. I spent last night at my brother’s house.’ He poured wine into his own glass and downed half of it in one go.

  ‘So what exactly happened?’ she pressed, her stomach in knots.

  Ollie put his head in his hands. ‘Well, it’s a little embarrassing.’

  ‘Come on, Ollie,’ she said in a low voice. She felt a chill spreading through her, just like when her own mum had come into the kitchen that day so many years ago and made her ‘announcement’. So many lies, so many lives ruined. ‘I need to know – did she find out about us?’

  ‘No!’ he said. He finished the wine in the glass. ‘She’s met someone else – can you believe it? Some single dad who works from home that she met at the school gates.’

  ‘Chloe met someone?’ Nicola gave a little laugh, then regretted it. This was just unreal.

  ‘Yeah.’ He laughed too – a little too loud. ‘A few months ago, apparently. All this time when I’ve been here, working my arse off to put food on the table and pay for private school.’

  ‘Yes, Ollie, you’re a model husband.’

  He frowned at her, like they were having two completely different conversations. Maybe they were.

  ‘Hey, Nic, come on.’ In a second, he was around the table, sitting next to her. ‘I don’t want to talk about her.’ He took her hand, gripping it tightly as she tried to pull away. He stank of sweat and alcohol. Nicola felt repulsed by him. ‘I want to talk about us. This is a good thing. It’s the best thing that could have happened to us.’ He half-stumbled down on to his knees beside her. ‘We can finally be together. We’ll do whatever you want – get married, or not get married. You want kids – we’ll have kids. I want to start over. Have a life with you.’

  ‘Why?’ The question shoved itself in front of all the others. ‘Why on earth would you want that?’

  ‘What?’ Ollie looked frustrated and confused. ‘Because I love you. I mean, we’ve been good together from the start. We’re so similar – partners in crime, two sides of the same bad penny.’ He grinned at her. ‘Not to mention, the sex.’

  ‘Get up, Ollie,’ Nicola hissed. ‘People are looking.’

  ‘Christ, why are you being so awkward?’ He did get up, sitting half in the chair, his thigh pressed against hers. ‘I thought you’d be as thrilled as I am.’

  ‘In a way, I am,’ Nicola said. ‘You’ve made everything so clear.’

  ‘I knew you’d see it like that, babe.’ He reverted back to his bedroom smile. ‘In fact, I thought maybe I could come back to yours tonight. You know, I’ve never been. To that lovely little house in Richmond-on-Thames?’

  ‘Well, Ollie,’ she sighed. ‘I’d love to say yes. But I’m afraid it’s not convenient tonight.’ She hardened her voice. ‘Or ever.’

  ‘Nicola,’ his voice held a warning note, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to tell you, Ollie – we’re over. If I were you, I’d get on the train, find Chloe and beg her to reconsider. Start over again, focus on your family. Let me go. If Chloe truly doesn’t know about us, then you’ve got a chance at making things right.’

  ‘Make things right? Is that what this is about?’ Ollie raised his voice angrily. ‘You want to throw away everything we have because you’re feeling guilty?’

  ‘Yes, Ollie. I do feel guilty. And the fact that you don’t – well, it’s only one of the reasons why it would never work.’

  ‘Come on, honey.’ She was surprised at the real distress on his face. ‘I don’t feel guilty because I know you’re the one. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to beg?’

  ‘Please don’t, Ollie,’ she said. ‘I want to remember what we had with some degree of dignity, if that’s possible.’

  ‘But I’m telling you that I love you. That I want to be with you.’

  ‘Yes, Ollie. But sadly, I don’t love you, and I don’t want to be with you.’ It hurt to say the words. Three years of her life… that she wouldn’t be getting back again.

  For once, Ollie didn’t speak. He sat back in the chair, stunned. ‘You… you don’t mean that. You’re still angry with me. Because I cancelled last time. I haven’t been there for you as much as you wanted. But all that’s going to change now. I know this is a shock, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, Ollie. It’s a shock.’

  ‘I’m going to leave you here to think about it, Nic,’ he said, hanging his head in defeat. ‘I’m at Charlotte Street if you want to find me later.’

  The Charlotte Street Hotel. Their ‘place’. Cosy five-star rooms with huge, comfortable beds. Dinner at a little Thai place around the corner… Some of those nights they had felt like a couple, something other than two colleagues sleeping together. And now, Ollie had said the words she’d waited to hear for so long. Was she making the right decision?

  Ollie flagged down the waitress and asked for the bill. He looked sad and broken; a part of her longed to comfort him. But that would be a mistake.

  Ollie paid for the wine and stood up, his shoulders drooped. ‘You know where I’ll be. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ollie, take care of yourself,’ she said.

  Without responding, he turned and left the bar.

  *

  This is surely what it felt like to be the stupidest man alive. Dmitri watched the man kiss her, and then steer her into the fancy restaurant like he owned her. He slipped behind the pillar of the huge office building, feeling like a stalker. From the moment he’d come here – to this world of steel and glass, money and power – carrying a little white bag with an iced gingerbread heart and a memory stick, he’d known that, this time, he’d finally lost his mind. The only saving grace had been the woman, Chrissie, who had been nice, and treated him like a human being. He’d wished he had the courage to ask her the thousand questions that he wanted answers to. Ask her the one question he needed an answer to. Was there any hope?

  No.

  He’d left the building and sat on a bench that ran around the edge of a giant planter with a light-covered tree in the centre. A part of him – that stupid part that seemed to be taking over – had told him to wait. Filled his rational mind with a ridiculous fantasy. That Chrissie would give Nicola his gift right away. She would open it, and overcome with – something – she would dash out of her office and try to catch up with him. He thought of the Russian fairy tale, ‘The Scarlet Flower’, where the beautiful Nastenka was imprisoned in a tower by a beast, in order to pay for her father’s theft of the flower. Eventually, the heroine grew to love and accept the beast for what he was – disfigured and ugly – and her kiss broke the enchantment and transformed him into a handsome prince. There were similar tales in almost every language, he knew. And they would live happily ever after, end of story.

  Rubbish.

  He’d sat there for twenty minutes, half an hour. He had places to go: lessons, rehearsals, practice. People came and went, in and out of buildings, all with a purpose. He stayed there; texted an excuse to the school and cancelled the lesson he was going to be late for.

  When finally she had come out of the building, she’d had a purpose too. And it hadn’t been to find him. He followed her, trying to get up the courage to make himself known. Speak to her, look in her eyes and see the truth there, once and for all. But he hadn’t found that courage.

  She’d gone to an expensive restaurant nearby. Then he’d seen the man – handsome, self-assured – a man from her world. They’d argued briefly, in that way of people who are intimate with one another. Was this Ollie? A
dagger of jealousy ripped through his stomach as the man kissed her. This was not the image of her that he wanted to fix in his mind.

  A text came in from the school receptionist: did he want to cancel all the lessons for the day?

  He texted back.

  No – I will be there in 30 minutes.

  He had promised Tanya that he would turn his life around, with or without Nicola Taylor in it. He was going to keep that promise.

  Dmitri began walking back towards the underground. The ache he felt for her was almost unendurable. But at least now, the moment of madness was over. He had been wrong – to trust again, even to consider opening his heart. He should have learnt from Irina, realised that she alone had been right. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake again.

  Near the entrance to the Tube there was a busy Tesco Metro. He detoured inside – he should get a sandwich, something to keep him going. A busy afternoon of lessons, and then his students’ showcase in the evening. When that was finished, he’d practise the piano. His music was not tied to Nicola Taylor. No matter what, he would see that through on his own.

  Dmitri got a sandwich from the rack and prepared to go back up to the till. He should go… he had promised… Tanya…

  Instead of going to the front of the store, he went towards the back. He stared at the shelf, warring with himself. Nicola didn’t matter. Nothing in his life was bound up in her. She would never look at him the way Irina had. Never look at him at all…

  He grabbed the bottle of vodka from the shelf, went back up to the front of the shop, paid for his purchases and shoved them in his bag.

  32

  Nicola left the restaurant. She couldn’t possibly sort through everything she was feeling, so she might as well go back to work. The confrontation with Ollie had been final, and she was glad of it. But it was painful too. As she walked along the quay, the tears came, rolling fast and warm down her cheeks. In a way, they felt cleansing, a sweet, blessed relief. It was over.

  She stopped in Canada Square to dry her eyes. Standing in the winter garden beneath the lights and the swooping, glittery Christmas birds, a strange new gladness bloomed inside of her, like the green shoot of a snowdrop pushing through the frozen ground. A fragile new hope.