“Charlotte, Brian Prentice called while you were out.” Aaron handed her one of her scrap pieces of paper with a number on it she could barely read. “He wants you to call him before four. He’s at home in his bungalow.”
Charlotte sighed and sat down at her desk. She’d dreaded this moment since Brian and his wife had driven past her on the day they arrived, and although she’d managed to avoid him when she spoke to the cast about Lauren’s handbag, she knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer. She thought about sending Aaron off on an errand so she could return Brian’s call in private, and then decided to grasp the bull by the horns.
“Aaron, I’m going over to the bungalow to speak with him. It’s not even three o’clock, so I should be in time. You can hold the fort here.”
She slipped on her green plaid spring coat and walked through the grounds to what was known as the “star bungalow.” Simon had told her that Lady Deborah spent her days in New York City, lunching, visiting museums and galleries, usually returning late afternoon in time for a sherry before dinner. If her car was parked outside the bungalow, Charlotte would turn around and return to her office; if not, she and Brian could have their awkward meeting and get it over with. She doubted he’d been looking forward to it, either. She wondered if he’d known she would be here when he signed his contract to appear in this summer’s productions. Still, everything between them had happened a long time ago, and he probably didn’t care one way or the other about any of it now. Why should he? Come to that, why should she?
Lady Deborah’s car was not there, so she knocked on the frame of the screen door.
“Come in, darling. It’s open,” Brian’s voice called from the sitting room.
A feeling of discomfort surged through her. Darling? Obviously he was expecting someone else. She hurried back down the wooden steps. Feeling a little foolish but overcome by curiosity, she sidled over to the nearest tree and ducked behind it. At the sound of an approaching vehicle, she peered around the tree to see a taxi pulling up. Out of the taxi hopped Lauren, who paid the driver and then bounded up the short path to the bungalow. Then, apparently realizing someone might be watching, she slowed her pace, put one foot deliberately in front of the other and leaned heavily on the railing, hauled herself up the steps, and knocked on the door.
Brian opened the door and, in that silly, sly way of people who want to make sure they are not being observed, looked in both directions before closing the door.
Charlotte checked her watch. They’d have a good hour before Lady Deborah might be expected home. She toyed with the idea of waiting twenty minutes or so and then calling Brian on the number he’d left but decided that little prank was too childish.
She was surprised by how his turning up after all these years was resurrecting old memories she thought were well and truly buried. She hadn’t seen him since that snowy November day in New York when he’d told her bluntly that their relationship was over.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” he’d said. “I’ve met someone else. We’re going to be married.”
Stunned into disbelief, Charlotte had asked who the woman was.
“No one you know,” Brian had replied with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite mask the pride in his voice. “Her father is an earl.”
First had come numbing shock, followed by unbearable emotional pain. They’d been together almost two years, and Charlotte loved the life they had created while they established their careers. The cozy little flat in Stratford-upon-Avon where they made love, cooked spaghetti dinners, and drank wine while they played Scrabble late into the night. Her arm tucked through his as she rested her head on his shoulder at a midnight showing in a small art-house cinema. Strolling beside the timeless River Avon, holding hands, watching the sun come up. The excitement of opening nights and sweet sadness of strike parties, all with Brian—the up-and-coming golden boy of British theater.
Until the moment he’d actually told her they were finished, she’d had no idea he was seeing someone else. As her future collapsed, she found herself unable to board the London-bound plane with the rest of the company, and she’d decided to stay behind in New York for just another week or so while she pulled herself together. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her parents what had happened, because putting it into words would make it true, but yes, she reassured them, she’d be home for Christmas.
But she wasn’t. She spent the holiday alone in a shabby hotel room in the theater district, and on Boxing Day, she met a gay man in a coffee shop who turned out to be the dresser for a famous Hollywood actor who was appearing in a Eugene O’Neil play on Broadway. Sitting in a booth beside steamed-up windows, he’d listened to her story, hugged her, and offered to introduce her to a few friends who might be able to offer someone with her credentials a bit of contract work.
One thing had led to another, and step by step she created a life for herself in America.
Now, she took no pleasure in the fact that Brian was cheating on the woman he’d left her for. If they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you, as the saying goes.
Seeing what he’d become, or rather not become, she was relieved she hadn’t married him, and she realized that all these years she’d been carrying a torch not for the man she’d had but for the man she wished she’d had.