TWO
It had been one hell of a day. It seemed that in the world of advertising, people had never heard of Saturday. Ashley’s telephone had hardly stopped ringing, with everyone wanting everything done not yesterday but last week. Finally she had left the office just after three, telling her creative team to cope as best they could and had rushed down to Surrey to see Alex for an hour.
She only just made it back to London in time – thank God for her father driving her up. Alex would enjoy the trip, he had said. Her mother had stayed behind to fix the evening meal. Keith, Ashley’s ex-husband, and his family would be dining with them, as they usually did on Saturdays.
Julian arrived at her flat in Onslow Square just after eight to take her to dinner. Ashley had been a bundle of nerves all day at the thought of what lay ahead, and she felt no better now as the waiter showed them to their table. Julian nodded towards the old man sitting in the corner and Ashley managed to wave. Neither of them actually knew the old man, but he was always there whenever they came, napkin under his chin and his round spectacles slipping down over his nose, with a smiling mouth settled comfortably between.
The waiter pulled out a chair for Ashley to sit down and she was surprised to see a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket beside it. She looked at Julian and saw that he was smiling. It was his way of saying thank you, and well done. It was one of the things she had come to love most about him, his thoughtfulness, and sense of occasion.
The waiter popped the cork, and Julian waited for the glasses to be filled before looking into her eyes and saying, simply: “To you.”
Ashley swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat, surprised that she was so close to tears, and raised her own glass. “How about to us?”
He smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. She looked down at his fingers as they curled round hers, feeling the same thrill that always came over her when he touched her.
When she looked up she found that he was studying her face, and she gazed back at him. There was a long silence as she used her eyes to tell him what she was feeling, and his fingers tightened round hers. A basket of bread was thrust between them, and the moment was broken.
Julian leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, “as I didn’t see the final portfolio, perhaps you’d like to fill me in on what it is you are intending for Newslink. I spoke to David Mackay this morning, by the way. He was very impressed. Said there was no way he could turn you down in the end.”
“Of course there wasn’t,” she said. “A lot of work went into that presentation.”
He grinned. “And don’t I know it.”
Ashley picked up her glass of champagne. “Well, whilst you were flying back and forth across the Atlantic and then living it up in Paris, we workers were continuing with the historical theme I first told you about. You know, taking each one of their magazines and newspapers, and weaving them into a dramatic sketch. Each publication will have a separate commercial, but the overall feel will be the same, giving the company an easily identifiable image, aimed also at illustrating the long history of the paper. You know what I mean, dramatise important events that they have covered over the past two hundred years, add a touch of comedy, with a good slogan at the end. Hilary came up with some, but as far as I know David Mackay is still making up his mind about them.”
“Sounds fine,” said Julian, sitting forward. He liked listening to her ideas, they were usually good, and sometimes brilliant. He was often surprised by her enthusiasm, but knew that the company, and its success, was almost as important to her as it was to him and his partner.
They were soon engrossed in a lengthy discussion of the Newslink account, batting around ideas, padding hem or discarding them, and more often than not making one another laugh. When the food arrived they relaxed again, and decided to drop the subject of work for the rest of the evening.
“You are very beautiful this evening, Ash,” he whispered after the waiter had cleared the table.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she laughed. “So you like the dress?”
“I do,” he answered, “but I like the person inside much more.”
Her heart began to beat a little faster. There had been a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes remained serious. Maybe now was the time to tell him. But there had been so many moments like this between them, when he had seemed to want to say more, but never had. She watched him as he poured the last of the champagne, trying to find the words she longed to say. But they wouldn’t come, and she wondered if she had the courage.
“Where did you get the tree?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
She looked baffled for a moment, then realized that he was talking about the Christmas tree in her flat. “Actually, I bought it in Harrods,” she said, knowing it would amuse him.
“Harrods!” he cried, “You go to Harrods for your Christmas trees?”
“Tree,” she corrected. “And why not?”
“I don’t know,” he laughed. “Tell me, is it called a ‘top people’s tree?’”
“Naturally. A ‘top people’s tree’ for two top people.”
“Me and you?” he said.
“Yes, me and you.”
“Then who, might I ask, are all the presents for?”
“You.”
“Me! They were all for me?”
She nodded.
“But there were at least six there.”
She nodded again, smiling at the look on his face. “Well, cheer up,” she said, “you should be grateful. I’ve been rushing around all day trying to get things organised. I didn’t get away from the office until gone three.”
“You have bought me six presents?”
“Seven actually.”
“But why?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“But, Ashley, why?”
“Well, aren’t you just a typical man,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Can’t accept a gift without wanting to know why.”
“But so many?”
“I couldn’t make up my mind.”
Julian grinned. “Well, aren’t you just a typical woman.”
“Actually,” she paused while the waiter poured their coffee, “I bought them, I suppose, because I wanted to think of us being together on Christmas Day. You know, opening our gifts together.”
It was very quick, but she didn’t miss the cloud that momentarily dropped over his eyes. Then he broke into a smile again. “That sounds wonderful,” he said.
She felt suddenly shy, and desperately wanted him to mean it. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, really I do.”
She started to laugh, a dawning euphoria making her dizzy. “Do you know what else I thought? I thought you might wake me on Christmas morning with bucks fizz and smoked salmon, isn’t that the way you said you liked Christmas? We could have it in bed, and then we could open our presents before you cook lunch.”
“Me cook lunch?”
“Yes, you. The liberated man. You have equality now, don’t forget.”
“Oh yes. I must admit it does slip my mind from time to time. Anyway, go on.” He was enjoying the game, and loved the way her dark eyes were shining.
“Well, I thought we could invite one another to lunch, you know, to make up the party, and have lots to eat and drink, then go back to bed in the afternoon to sleep it off, before we go visiting in the evening.”
“I like it so far, but tell me more about the afternoon,” he said. “You know, the bit before we go visiting.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I haven’t quite decided what we will dream about yet. If that’s what you were meaning?”
“No, I want to know what I’m going to do before I go to sleep.”
“Oh, you mean you’re offering to do the washing up?”
He gave a shout of laughter. “You’re adorable.”
There was a short silence. “I’m serious,” she said. “We could have a wonderful Christmas together, you know.”
“Yes, we could.”
She looked into his eyes waiting for him to go on, but he signalled for the waiter to bring the bill. She looked at her watch. “It’s early.”
His eyes were dancing. “I know, but I thought we might go home and rehearse what comes between the washing up and the dreams, you know, ready for Christmas Day.”
As they walked from the restaurant, his arm about her shoulders, the words were buzzing around in her head. I love you, I love you, I love you. But not now, she would wait until they were home, sitting beside their “top people’s tree” and then she would tell him. And he would take her in his arms, and tell her how long he had been waiting for her to say those words.
Driving back in the car they held hands, but didn’t speak. From time to time Julian turned to look at her, but his face was inscrutable. He was thinking about the picture she had painted of the fantasy Christmas, and how much he wished it could come true. But it had been a game, nothing more than a game, they both knew that it could never be. He was grateful to her for never having told him how she felt about him. It was a silent agreement between them that they shouldn’t speak of their feelings, and not once had she broken the rules. For that, but not for that alone, he loved her. It would make it easier in the end. It had always been Blanche, and though he didn’t care for Blanche in the way that he cared for Ashley, he did love his fiancée, and he would marry her. In the end, his need for success would dictate his life. And with Blanche it would all be possible.
The lights on the tree were still burning as they walked through the door, and while Ashley went to make some coffee Julian poured them a nightcap.
When she came into the room, he was standing beside the tree in the colourful semi-darkness, his hands in his pockets, staring thoughtfully down at the beautifully wrapped gifts. Quietly she put the tray on the table and went to join him. She would tell him now. The time felt right. She would make the fantasy Christmas a reality.
He smiled down at her and slipped his arm round her shoulders. Why did she have to look so beautiful tonight? But then, to him, she looked beautiful every night. It would have been no easier, no matter when he decided to tell her.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispered, fiddling with a light on the tree.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I was thinking how nice it would be if we really could spend Christmas together.”
“Mmmm,” he said, and tightened his hold on her. “But it’s all a dream, only a dream.”
“But it needn’t be.” Her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her.
She turned in his arms to face him. “I said it needn’t be.” He looked down at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Don’t you understand, Julian? Don’t you know what I’m trying to say?”
For a fleeting moment his eyes darkened in anger but he continued to look at her, knowing and unable to stop her.
“I love you, Julian,” she whispered, “I love you.”
He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. Dear God, why, oh why was she doing this to herself? To them both?
She could feel his heart beating, hear him breathing, and she waited for him to speak.
As the silence lengthened and still he didn’t answer, she pulled away.
‘He looked down at the tree again, hating himself for what he was doing to her.
Ashley sat down on the settee. She was surprised to find that, for the moment, she was calm. Staring into the fire, she realised that he must have built it up while she was making the coffee. Coffee! It was still standing on the table, where she had put it. The brandy was beside it, untouched. Perhaps by reaching out for these tokens, she could regain her dream.
“You haven’t drunk your brandy.”
“Ashley . . .”
They spoke at the same time.
He came to sit beside her and tried to take her hand, but she reached out for the coffee and began to pour.
“Black or white?” she said.
“Black, please.”
“Yes, of course.”
She handed him a cup, and turned back to pick up a brandy. Julian caught her hand and, turning her to face him, put his coffee back on the table. She tried to turn away.
“Ashley, please, listen to me.”
“Don’t you want your coffee?”
“Ash, darling, please. Look at me.”
She bowed her head. “I can’t.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What can I say?” He felt her stiffen. “I thought you knew. I thought you had always accepted that one day it would be . . .” he stopped.
“Over? Is that what you were going to say?” There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, only sadness. “Of course I did.” She was struggling to hold back the tears. “And, Julian, I’m sorry for what I said, I take it all back. Please, forget it.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Ash.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Suddenly she could feel the panic beginning to bite. It had come from nowhere, shouting to her, telling her that this was the end. They had had their last dinner. Never again would she see him smile into her eyes in that way that had seemed to tell her he loved her. No more days together, no more nights, no more laughter. It was over. She had lost him, but then, in truth, had she ever really had him? She felt his hand stroking her hair, and for one terrifying moment she thought she was going to beg him to stay.
“I’ve been a fool,” she said. “It’s my fault. You never made any promises, you never said you would leave Blanche. But in my naivete I wanted to believe that you would.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should never have let things get this far.”
“No, please don’t say that. It means you regret that it ever happened.”
“To see you so hurt, I do regret it.”
She sat up straight, still not looking at him, and tried to laugh. “Oh, but I’ll survive,” she said, hoping by her words to give herself strength.
“Of course you will,” he said. “Soon you will meet someone. Someone who is . . . well, right for you.”
A flash of anger sparked in her eyes. “Someone Jewish, is that what you mean?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell her how much it hurt him to think of her with another man, any man.
She turned away from him, trying to dose herself from his presence. Julian knew that by staying he was only prolonging the pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. The moment he walked through that door it would be the end, he could never come back.
His hand was resting on her back, and he felt her shoulders begin to shake. She was crying. Pulling her round into his arms, he tried to hold back his own tears. God knows, he had never felt like this before. It was as if his insides were being crushed. He held her for a long time, and she cried into his shoulder, trying to pour out the pain of losing him. He stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head, cursing the fate that had led them to this.
Finally she looked up, and this time she looked into his face. He looked back at her, tear-stained and dishevelled, and knew that he had never loved her more.
“Kiss me, Julian,” she whispered.
As he covered her mouth with his, feeling her lips begin to tremble, he knew that it would be the easiest thing in the world to throw everything to the wind and tell her how he felt. To forget the rest of his life, and stay with her. But his plans had been made, and he must see them through.
“Will you make love to me, Julian?” she breathed. “Just one last time.” He looked at her, feeling the need for her rising. But seeing her face so filled with distress, he knew it would be the wrong thing to do. He shook his head, and she fell away from him, sobbing.
“You know it wouldn’t be right,” he said, taking her hand. “It will only make it worse when I go.”
Hearing those words, Ashley wanted to die.
She stood up, straightening her dress and flicking her hair. He heard her swallow before she spoke. “Would you like me to resign now, or would you like it in writing on Monday?”
He sighed and shook his head.
“I can’t continue working for you, Julian. You must see that. I feel so humiliated. God, I’ve made such a fool of myself.”
“Don’t! Don’t say that. I don’t want you to leave.”
She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Would it help if you took some time off? Came back again after Christmas?” He saw her flinch as he said the word and looked away.
“Maybe,” she said.
“At least that way we won’t have to keep bumping into one another for a while.”
“No.”
He knew he was being selfish suggesting it, but perhaps it would be for the best. It would be painful for him too, to keep seeing her and wondering what she was doing, how she was coping.
“Right now I feel as though I never want to see you again,” she said. “It might be easier that way.”
“Why don’t you decide in the New Year?”
She nodded and gave him a weak smile. His heart turned over. Perhaps now he should go. Before he gave in.
“Promise me one thing, Julian,” she said.
“If I can.”
“Never call me. Never write me a letter. Never ask me how I am.”
He didn’t answer.
“Please, Julian, promise me. Promise me that you will never again try to get in touch with me out of the office. That you will never speak to me again, about us.”
“But . . .”
“Please. If you make me this promise then I will know that it is over. That I can never hope. Then I will never sit beside the phone praying that you will call. Never go into the office praying that today you will say something. For me, Julian, please promise.”
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, loving her for trying to be so brave. “OK, I promise,” he said finally.
He looked at his watch. She saw him look, and turned away as he stood up.
In silence they walked to the door.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, stroking her hair from her face.
She nodded but couldn’t look at him. “Yes, you too.”
When he’d gone she fell back against the wall, fighting against the pain and the panic. She looked around. The place seemed so empty.
Slowly she walked back to the drawing room. The Christmas tree winked at her from the corner, and she walked over to switch off the lights. As she turned away her foot knocked against something. She looked down to see the parcel that he had tried to open earlier when he had arrived. She picked it up and looked at it. What would she do with them all now? But this was only the first hurdle. How was she to face Christmas without him when she had made such plans? And the New Year? How was she going to face life at all now? Did she even want to? The whole world seemed to be closing in upon her, and she knew what was to come. Having to deal with the rejection, the pain, the loneliness. It had happened before when her marriage ended. She had survived. But not this time. She didn’t want to have to go through it all again. The way her thoughts would torture her whenever she thought of him with Blanche. The emptiness at the end of each day, with nowhere to go, no one to see. The yearning of her body in the night when she ached for him to hold her close. She knew what was in store, and she knew she couldn’t face it.
Walking towards the bathroom, it was as though life had slipped from focus, and the pain that had earlier bitten into her heart with savage teeth now came in slow, relentless waves. She kept seeing his face, serious yet smiling down at her. The love that she thought she saw burning in his eyes. And as if it was a long time ago, she remembered saying the words: “I love you, Julian, I love you.” And she remembered, too, how he had said nothing.
The aspirins were in her hand. She looked down at them, surprised. There must have been twenty or thirty, small and white, resting innocently on her palm. She pushed them around with her finger, dropping some on the floor.
She took a glass from the shelf and let the water run until it was spilling over. Looking up to the mirror she hardly recognised the person who stared back, and with wide, frightened eyes she watched her reflection as she placed two pills on the end of her tongue. They slipped down so easily, carried away by the cold, refreshing water. She lowered her eyes and looked at the others, still in her hand.
Suddenly an ambulance siren blasted into the night. It was followed by another, and then another. She waited for the noise to die, then looked back to the mirror.
Her shoulders began to shudder as the sobs tore through her body. She threw her hand violently against the wall and scattered the pills across the floor. “Julian! Oh Julian!” She clutched the sink and fell to her knees. What was she thinking? Was she so weak that she would think of ending her life? He would ring. He would break his promise and ring her. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. He cared too much for her just to walk away and leave her like that. “He will ring,” she cried aloud. “Oh God, please, he’s got to ring.”
