Izzie had spent the evening thinking. Seeing the figures, accounts, projections printed out so neatly, had finally brought home to her just how far they had come in under a year. And, boy, it had been a steep learning curve. But since July, thankfully, she felt she’d been on an up. And, incredibly, it was all thanks to Marcus.
Izzie marveled at the way he was taking problems in his stride now. Just a few months ago, any frustrations would have sent him into a tantrum, followed by a prolonged sulk. Now he merely gritted his teeth and put it behind him. It was what Izzie had been hoping for all along. Now she realized—she hadn’t really wanted Jean Luc, she wanted Marcus, only nicer, the way he had been in the early years of their marriage, the way he’d been before losing his job. And now she’d got him back.
The kids were much happier with the new, improved Daddy too. He was being the father to them she had always hoped and known he could be. But his transformation made her feel less needed and less wanted. What was wrong with her? Would she never be satisfied? If someone had asked her to write a wish list for the way she wanted Marcus to be, he would probably now score 80 percent.
Izzie had a few theories about what had brought about this change, but none of them entirely convinced her. Maybe it was the money. But this didn’t explain why it only dated from the party.
Another possibility was that his obvious jealousy of Jean Luc had brought him to his senses. He was being very attentive now, always asking what she and Maddy had discussed during the day, when he’d never shown any interest before. He’d look at her almost anxiously when she came in at night and wait up for her when she had to work late, instead of the “I’m pretending to be asleep so I don’t have to talk to you” approach he’d favored before if she was in any later than ten o’clock. Hmmm—perhaps that was it, but was it really a healthy way to go on?
The third possibility was that there had been some transformation in her. Izzie knew that she bottled up her feelings too much and had often not told Marcus how she felt about things, preferring to suffer in silence rather than have things out. But the whole Jean Luc experience had made her think differently. So she’d taken to being a bit more assertive in her requests instead of starting off in apologetic mode, and had started telling him how she felt about things. He’d responded well and there had been a couple of quite romantic occasions when he’d told her how much she meant to him, that he’d always wanted to look after her and protect her, and he’d always wanted her to think well of him. It was rather touching just how insecure he was—he’d never said things like that before.
Two things, though, were still bothering her. They hadn’t managed to make love since well before the party, and Marcus had starting drinking more heavily. Could the two in some way be related? The sex thing was not for want of trying on her part. After the horrible row they’d had about her going to France, she hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near him. But his consideration during the kids’ summer holidays had made her feel so affectionate toward him—she wanted to show him just how much. But his interest had been flagging, to say the least.
She buried the thought, made herself a cup of tea, and went to sort out the pile of clean laundry in the sitting room. Marcus was nursing a large Scotch and sitting down, head back against the softly upholstered back of the new sofa, his eyes half closed.
“So what do you think, darling? Should we float or should we go on as we are at the moment?” she asked him, as she unraveled Jess’s socks.
She suddenly realized she’d got her timing wrong. He raised his head and looked at her so bleakly, it shocked her. Then he shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you. But I can’t go on like this much longer. It’s eating me up. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep it going.”
With a deep, pained sigh, he let his head crash back against the cushions and shut his eyes again. Shocked, Izzie left the room, trying to work out what he had meant. Feeling unsettled and confused, Izzie put the laundry in the airing cupboard, got ready for bed, and was asleep by the time Marcus joined her.
Sweaty, troubling dreams of long corridors and public toilets with no doors plagued Izzie. In the distance, she could hear the bell for the end of lessons, but she couldn’t remember which classroom she was supposed to be in and didn’t seem to have any books with her. The bell kept on and on ringing. Eventually she felt Marcus drag himself out of bed, swearing under his breath, then he was back, shaking her roughly awake and thrusting the cordless phone into her hands. She shook her head, trying to pull herself into wakefulness. Was it her mother? Was somebody ill?
“Hello? Who is it?”
“Izzie, listen. Something extraordinary’s happened.”
“Maddy? Wha—wha’s up?” She squinted at the clock—only eleven thirty, but she’d been so deeply asleep. She stumbled along the corridor to the bathroom so as not to disturb Marcus any further. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and calm the panicked beating of her heart, she tried to focus on Maddy’s excited jabber.
High on adrenaline, she switched off the phone. Could this be the answer to everything? She hurried back to the darkness of the bedroom, anxious to share the news. “Darling, you’ll never guess what. That was Maddy. She says that—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what that bitch says.” He heaved himself from his hunched sitting position at the side of the bed and stumbled toward her, his face ugly and contorted in the light from the landing. “Who does she think she is, calling us at this time of night? She’s got a fucking nerve. Rattling round in that bloody mansion of hers, she’s got nothing better to do than try to push herself in between us any time it takes her fancy. That spoiled bitch—she’s not going to ruin my life.”
“What the . . . ? What are you talking about? It’s not that at all. She was only—”
“I know what she was doing,” he spat. “I can see right through that slag even if you can’t.” He stood there, hands on hips in the shaft of light coming through the open door. “She’s got you just where she wants you, running round after her like some pathetic little lapdog. Can’t you see how stupid you look? Poncing around in your silly little outfits, pretending to be oh so important. You might be fooling those tossers in London, but you’re not fooling me.”
Izzie reeled back from this outpouring of venom. Where had this come from? She knew he’d had too much to drink, but this was way beyond the whiskey talking. “For God’s sake, keep your voice down, you’ll wake the kids.”
“Oh, the kids. Here we go! The loving mother.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Where the hell have you been for the last six months when they needed you?”
“You’re drunk! Just stop it, now. Go to sleep. Just shut up, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. I’ve had long enough to think about it, all those evenings when you’ve left me alone. I’ve only got your word for it that you’re even working—”
Suddenly she felt a wave of anger. “Yeah, that’s it, Marcus. Every night we knock off at five then go and pick up a couple of blokes down the Fox and Hounds in Ringford and shag them senseless. Is that what you want to hear? You’re pathetic, Marcus!”
“I wouldn’t put it past you. The only person you ever think about, apart from yourself, is that toffee-nosed bitch.”
“How dare you speak to me like that.” Izzie knew she was shouting, but she was past caring. “You’re happy enough to spend the money I earn when I’m working every hour God sends. You’re so full of self-pity. You disgust me!”
He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, thrusting his hate-filled face toward hers.
“Do I now? Do I? I bet that French bastard can give it to you all night, can’t he? Go on—tell me all about it.” Suddenly she was chillingly aware of how much bigger and stronger than her he was. Like a cold shower, the fear swept over her, completely eradicating all the good feelings that had been bubbling over just moments before. She felt vulnerable as never before. She was aware that a small rational part of her brain was calculating just how far it was to the door and how quickly she could get to the children. “And I bet you were just gagging for it, weren’t you?”
He turned away, and staggered, then with uncontrolled violence he swept his arm across the top of her dressing table, sending everything flying. There was an unbearable crash, then stunned silence, and the smell of perfume from a shattered bottle slowly filled the air. She looked down at the debris in the half light. A photograph of the children lay on the floor, their smiling faces distorted by the smashed glass. From along the corridor, she could hear Jess whimpering.
So the charade was over.
Very calmly now, she brushed past him as he stood there swaying and confused, and opened her wardrobe door. She took out a fleece and put it on over her pajamas, then turned and left the room. “I’m coming, darling. Mummy’s here.”
Maddy rigged up beds out of blankets and duvets on the floor of Will’s bedroom, whispering to Charlie and Jess to get under the covers, leaned down to say how lovely it was to have them to stay at such short notice, and tucked them in to sleep. It would be quite a surprise for Will when he woke up in the morning, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d calm him down enough to go to school.
She passed Colette coming up the stairs. “I’ve made her a cup of tea,” Colette said quietly. “She looks terribly sad.”
“Mmmm, I’m not sure tea will be strong enough. Can you just check for me that Charlie and Jess are settled?”
“Sad” wasn’t really strong enough either. Izzie was still sitting huddled on the kitchen chair, dressed in pajama bottoms, with a fleece pulled over the top. Her legs were pulled up onto the seat and her arms folded around them, cowering like an animal, her cup of tea steaming and untouched in front of her.
“Izzie, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have called so late—I was just excited and didn’t think. It really could have waited until the morning.” She took a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard and sat down next to Izzie, who continued to gaze into space, her face betraying no emotion. Perhaps she was too mad with her to speak, but then why would she have turned up on the doorstep at half past midnight?
“I don’t think I can go back,” she said finally in a monotone. “I think he’s really done it now. We both said things so terrible that there’s no going back on them. It’s like smashing a precious piece of porcelain or something.” She laughed mirthlessly. “And he took care of that too.” Maddy pushed the glass of wine toward her, and watched Izzie pick it up without really noticing and take a sip.
“No, it’s not, Izzie,” said Maddy after a while. “Porcelain is brittle, but a marriage should be stronger than that. This has just brought to a head something that has been brewing for ages. Okay, so the company has been a success, but he should be pleased about that, not making you suffer for it.” Izzie didn’t respond. Dare she say anything about the agency or would it be so fundamentally destructive that there would be no mending the marriage? “Look, Izzie, Marcus is pretty much out of work—even if it, er, wasn’t his fault—and you were short of cash. What you have done has changed your whole lifestyle.”
Izzie was fiddling with the stem of her glass, running her thumb and forefinger up the length of it. “Maybe, but it’s been a hell of a price to pay, hasn’t it?”
“Has it made you happy though?”
Izzie frowned. “Yes and no. Meeting you, putting together the team, all this”—she waved her arm around the kitchen—“has been fantastic, but in some ways it’s made life a nightmare. I can’t remember who it was I married anymore. He’s changed so much.”
“What about Jean Luc?”
“He’s very special.”
She carried on playing with the glass, and Maddy put her hand over hers and said gently, “No, I meant, what about him? You have to ask yourself some pretty searching questions here. Do you feel happier with him now than you do with Marcus? Because I’m sure there is an option there if you decide that you have to leave.”
Izzie looked at Maddy for the first time since she’d sat down. “No, there isn’t,” she said firmly.
“But I thought—”
“I know what you thought, but we’re not having an affair. But meeting him made me feel special and valued, and I suppose it’s given me the strength to see what my marriage has become.”
“Oh, yes, he’s a past master at making you feel good, that’s for sure. I ought to tell him about the Tessutini bid. He’ll laugh like a drain.”
“He’s been so easy to work with, hasn’t he?” Izzie sounded vaguely regretful. “Right from the start he was willing to help us out and be encouraging. If we accept the bid, it will affect him and the women who work with him. What shall we do about that? The bid I mean. It’s unbelievable really.”
Maddy got up from her chair and dug a cigarette out of her bag. She’d had her ration for Monday, but it was tomorrow now, after all. “I was thinking about it after Geoff called tonight.” She inhaled deeply. “It all seems a bit of a coincidence to me, when we’d been talking about floating and suddenly along comes an offer to buy us.”
“I suppose. But it could be fate.” Izzie sounded dismissive. “It could just be the get out that we’re looking for. Face it, Maddy. Life’s hell. We’re having to live this completely false existence which is anathema to both of us—I mean”—she tried to smile—“the way you’ve suppressed your primeval urge for Bond Street is nothing short of miraculous. But, you know, it’s destroying the most fundamental thing to both of us—our family life.”
Maddy fiddled with her lighter. “Are you going to go back to him?”
Izzie sighed and took a cigarette from the open packet. Maddy suddenly felt a huge burden of responsibility. Whether she had meant to or not, by pursuing the idea of Luce’s recipes, she’d created a situation which had changed Izzie’s marriage perhaps forever, she’d virtually forced her into the arms of Jean Luc—or at least she’d done nothing to stop the situation—and now she had even got her back on the fags.
“I don’t know that I can,” said Izzie finally. “I think we might all be better off apart for a while. And if this bid comes off, I could afford to be on my own with the kids.” Her face was distraught, her eyes big and frightened. “Christ, Maddy, I don’t know. It’s so huge, isn’t it? Here I am talking about leaving something that has been part of my life for fifteen years, but nothing I do makes the situation any better.”
“Do you still love him?” Maddy probed gently.
“At the moment, honestly, no. In fact, I hate him, but I’m not sure I can bear to be without him. We used to have such fun. I wish you’d known him then, when the kids were first born, but since we moved up here some of that fun has gone. He’s become prickly and, well, chippie really. Always critical of other people. I used to think it was funny, but I don’t anymore. It’s, well, it’s bitchy really. Ugly.”
“Do you think he sees all this as a comedown? I mean, I don’t know much about the advertising world, but it must be pretty glam compared to a wet Wednesday afternoon in Ringford.”
“Oh, it was glam. In a shallow kind of way—you know, adverts for ketchup suddenly becoming an art form. But it was fun and exciting. I suppose I miss that sort of thrill and excitement too. But then I’ve loved all this. It knocks spots off copyediting knitting patterns.”
Suddenly peckish, and remembering that she’d had nothing to speak of since lunch, Maddy went over and raided the biscuit cupboard and, from force of habit with Pasco, found herself unwrapping a Kit Kat for Izzie.
“You’ve changed, you know,” she said, sitting down again with a mouth full of chocolate. “Even in the twelve months I’ve known you. When I compare the woman holding the cake in Sue’s kitchen to the person who took on Finbar and the gargoyles at Elements. Things may have changed at home but you’ve found a self-confidence on the way.”
Izzie bit through the biscuit. “Have I?”
“Yes, and it suits you. Perhaps, this might be overstepping the Marc-us a bit, but perhaps you can now meet him on a level playing field. You’ve proved what you can do, and he’s having to learn that you have changed too and he’s going to have to treat you in a different, more respectful way.”
Izzie folded the foil from the Kit Kat wrapper into smaller and smaller squares. “You make it sound easy, but I don’t think it will be. He’s bloody stubborn and he’ll sulk. I don’t think things can change for the better with the business getting bigger and bigger all the time.”
“Shall we go with the bid, then?” Maddy asked.
Izzie shook her head, almost punch-drunk. “I’m too tired to think straight about anything, let alone something as big as that. Let’s talk to Geoff and Peter about it, shall we? Can’t we just go to bed now?”
Maddy couldn’t really sleep, and at half past six she gave up trying and went downstairs in her pajamas and slippers while the house was still quiet. It was already light, though the sky was dull and gray with the threat of more heavy rain, and the kitchen felt warm and welcoming. She cleared up the glasses and ashtray from the table, laid out the bowls and plates for breakfast, and put on the kettle. As it began to heat, she dialed Jean Luc’s number.
“Did I wake you?”
“Maddy, darling. No, I’ve been up an hour. We’ve got a big day ahead to get supplies over to you. Celeste has been ill and we’ve got a bit behind. Are you calling to whip us into action?”
Maddy laughed. “Oh, yes, got to keep you on your toes! As a matter of fact, things might be about to change,” and she told him about Geoff’s call.
“That’s an amazing offer,” Jean Luc finally said after a long pause. “Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know. Things have got pretty out of control here one way and another.” She told him about Izzie and heard him snort down the phone. “I think the business is making him resentful and her unhappy. It could just be the best thing to bale out.”
“Well, she’s a fool to give it all up for his small-mindedness.”
Tucking the phone under her chin, Maddy poured the boiling water onto a couple of tea bags in the pot. “I don’t think she knows what to do, but she’s going to find it hard to go back. They must have said some pretty terrible things to each other.”
“People do.” That sounded heartfelt. What had gone on between him and Pascale at the end? she wondered. She had never rowed so painfully with Simon, not rowed about anything serious really, and in a way she was glad that she hadn’t been faced with heartache like that to include now as part of his memory.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Maddy, you know, anything.”
She quietly closed the kitchen door and lowered her voice—ridiculous when she was talking in French. “I found out some time ago that Marcus was not actually made redundant from the advertising agency in London. He was fired.”
“Merde. Does Izzie know?”
“That’s the point. I’m pretty certain that she doesn’t. She ought to know. It’s a monstrous secret to keep from your wife, but do I tell her? I could risk ruining everything.”
There was a long pause down the phone, and she thought for a minute he’d been cut off. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes,” he said quickly. “No, I don’t think it is your place to say anything. He has to tell her, but you may have to make him do it. Can you speak to him alone?”
“I don’t know how. I think the man’s a jerk, and I think he knows I do. It would seem very odd if I suddenly phoned up.”
“Peut-être, but it’s pretty important, isn’t it? You really must speak to him somehow. Listen, darling, I’m going to have to go. The girls are here. I’ll speak to you soon. Take care, sweetie.”
She put down the phone. How the hell could she get to Marcus? Listening intently to check there was no one coming downstairs, she picked up Izzie’s rucksack from the floor and, feeling horribly guilty, delved inside to find her mobile. God, it was a worse mess than her bag. She pulled out her purse, a sheet of paracetamol, half a packet of Softmints, and a bulging Filofax, before she found the phone buried deep with Lil-lets and a handful of Micro Machines at the bottom. It wasn’t a mobile model she was familiar with, and it took her a couple of tries to locate the address book and to find “Mmob.” She scribbled the number on a Post-it note by the phone, hoping to God it was his number, not Izzie’s mother’s. She even checked it wasn’t her own. Cramming everything back into the rucksack, she hastily tucked the Post-it note into her own bag, poured Izzie a cup of tea from the pot, and went upstairs to wake the household.
There wasn’t much waking to be done. Will, on finding his bedroom had two new occupants, was frenzied with excitement, and his squeals had managed to rouse Florence, Pasco, and Izzie, who emerged from her room looking like shit. Maddy pushed the mug into her hands, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and began to round up the kids for breakfast. Once she’d quieted them down long enough to work out who wanted which cereal, Colette appeared in the kitchen looking fresh and efficient, and Maddy skulked off for a shower.
“Come and pick something revolting from my wardrobe,” she called to Izzie as she passed the half-closed spare room door.
“Can I borrow some more of that luscious underwear?” came the sleepy reply.
Once all the children had been dropped at their destinations, Izzie dug around in her bag for her phone, and quickly dropped it back when she saw there was no message.
“It’s still early,” Maddy said encouragingly, turning onto the main road, still feeling guilty for having snooped.
“I don’t know why I looked. I don’t want to hear from him anyway,” and Izzie turned her head to look out of the window. “Can we get Geoff and Peter to a meeting today—bit short notice?”
“I get the impression Geoff would come and talk about it like a shot.” She passed Izzie her phone. “Give him a call.”
As predicted, Geoff suggested a meeting late that afternoon at Maddy’s house, and said he would speak to Peter. He stressed fervently to them how important it was that they talk to no one. “It all sounds all very cloak and dagger,” said Izzie, hanging up. “He had a sort of excitement about it as if it was Bulldog Drummond.”
“Meat and drink to these City boys—I could always tell when there was some takeover in the air with Simon. He used to come home elated and superefficient.”
“We could have done with his advice, couldn’t we?” asked Izzie.
Maddy kept her eyes on the road ahead, thinking. “I don’t know. We never really talked about business things. I wasn’t really interested, I suppose. Do you know”—she banged her hand on the steering wheel—“I think this one is up to us. We’ve been advised by everyone from Pru to the ruddy man from the Trading Standards office. We need to see what Tessutini are offering and decide whether it suits us.”
“Can we all stay tonight?”
Maddy smiled. “Have you got enough clothes?”
“No, but yours are nicer anyway.”
It seemed the City was as rife with juicy gossip as the Eagles’s playground, and Lillian spent much of the day putting off calls from the press, which she did with aplomb. “I don’t know where they get their ideas from,” she said tartly, putting down the phone for about the eighth time.
“Geoff Haynes,” Maddy and Izzie mouthed simultaneously.
“Well, I didn’t tip anyone off as such,” he explained later round the kitchen table. Peter was due any minute, hotfoot from the golf course, and Colette had taken all the children in Maddy’s car to the play barn on the outskirts of Ringford, with thirty quid in her pocket and instructions to buy fish fingers and chips. “It’s practically impossible to keep these things quiet,” he went on, “and there’s nothing wrong with a little healthy competition. Someone might crawl out of the woodwork with a rival bid.”
“Do you think anyone would want us that badly?”
Peter appeared at the kitchen door and, relieved to see his familiar face and golfing clothes in the midst of this corporate madness, Maddy stood up to give him a warm hug and put on her best Blofeld voice. “So you managed to infiltrate our massive security system, hey, Mr. Bond?”
“Well, I did nearly measure my length on Pasco’s trike by the door. Very cunning!” He gave Izzie a warm embrace too, and shook Geoff’s hand. “So the big boys are wanting a piece of the action, I hear.” She put a cup of tea in front of him.
“We haven’t really started talking it through yet,” put in Izzie, “but it seems like a pretty good offer.” Glad as ever to show off his aptitude for putting together impressive documents, Geoff distributed sheets of information, costings, and estimates around the table, and they all pored over them.
“The way I see it, their offer is good but could be better. I have factored in mail order, the Elements sales, and their interest in further products, plus other inquiries, so there is definitely an argument that within the next twelve months your profit margin could have increased greatly.”
“Mmm,” pondered Peter, “who did you have in mind to negotiate the contracts?”
“Hewlitt Pritchard have always done the fine detail for me before. I can recommend them highly. In fact, I’ve already mentioned it to them.”
“Hang on a minute there, Geoff. Are we agreed on the sale?” asked Maddy indignantly.
Peter, sensing the need to put on the brakes, cut Geoff short before he could reply. “That decision is yours. You two are the shareholders, and it is only for Geoff and I to advise and to help where we can. Tessutini’s offer is good—it is a blue-chip company and you could do a lot worse—but three or four years down the line, if sales stay as good, you could make that much and more.”
“That’s assuming that the mood doesn’t change in the cosmetics market,” put in Geoff hastily.
“Granted,” replied Peter calmly, “but I’m sure Maddy and Izzie are canny enough to move with and respond to the mood.”
There was silence as the men waited for a response. “Can we meet up with them?” said Izzie after a while.
“Certainly.” Geoff was enthusiastic. “I can arrange something for the end of the week or the beginning of next. They are based in the States as you know, so they’d need to get here, but Tom Drake, the CEO, is a great guy and I’m sure he’d want it all to be very amicable.”
“Do you know him, then?” Maddy asked.
Geoff began to gather his papers. “Er, not as such. But I’ve heard a lot about him on the grapevine. He’s pretty well known.”
After Geoff left, Peter stayed on to see the children, who stormed back through the front door like the SAS, high on chips, excitement, and E-numbers. Will talked nonstop to him, introducing Charlie, showing him new toys, and telling him everything he needed and didn’t need to know. It took all four adults to orchestrate bathtime, Charlie and Jess’s homework, and stories, and Maddy persuaded an exhausted Peter to have a gin before he headed back home.
“Don’t let Geoff push you, ladies,” said Peter, swirling the ice in his glass. “He’s an experienced operator, but he can be a bit—boorish at times. You are both at a huge advantage when they have come to you with an offer, but you will need nerves of steel and a vat load of craftiness—not easy when this whole situation is new for you.”
After he had left, Maddy and Izzie cobbled together an omelet from the contents of the fridge and, over a bottle of wine, talked and talked around the subject until they were hoarse. Slowly Izzie revealed more about the hideous scene with Marcus, and all Maddy could do was listen. Izzie cried, they laughed, they drank more, and eventually, dead on their feet and a little drunk, went up to bed.
Next morning, Izzie was more capable of taking Charlie and Jess to school and, after Maddy had dropped Will and Florence, she too started to head for the barn. Alone for the first time, she thought about all Izzie had said the night before. Perhaps Jean Luc was right, and it was time to take things in hand. She pulled into a lay-by, dug out the Post-it note with Marcus’s number, and dialed, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her number and not pick up.
“Marcus Stock.”
“It’s Maddy.” There was a pause. A long one. “Can you meet me somewhere? I would like to talk to you.”
“Have you got my wife?”
“She’s staying with me, yes.”
“When’s she coming back?”
“You will have to ask her that yourself. Will you meet me?”
“Er . . . why?”
“Because we have something to discuss.”
Next she called Lillian and made some feeble excuse about remembering she had to collect something in town, then drove out on the bypass, toward Oxford and the roadside café Marcus had suggested. His car wasn’t there yet—would he come?—so she went inside, almost knocked back in the doorway by the smell of chips, and ordered herself a cup of coffee, before sitting at a Formica-topped table as far from the window as she could while still able to have a view of the car park. The other customers, an assortment of reps and elderly couples eating eggs and bacon, washed down with large cups of tea, looked at her curiously, making it quite obvious that she was an oddity in a place like this. It was clear that the ethos of Paysage Enchanté hadn’t penetrated as far as here.
He finally pulled into the car park fifteen minutes later, and pushed through the door dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and a leather jacket, looking crumpled and unshaven. He ordered coffee from the counter and sat down heavily opposite her. These people must think we are lovers, thought Maddy, and had to stop herself laughing at the absurdity.
“This had better be important,” he said with no preamble.
“Yes, I think it is.”
He hunched over the table and ran his fingers through his hair. “So, how is she?”
“She’s fine but pretty bruised.”
“Been persuading her all men are shits, have you?”
“No, ’cos they are not, and neither are you, though you are being one at the moment.”
He leaned back in his seat as the waitress put down the coffee in front of him. “Makes me laugh to see you in a place like this. Not exactly the Ivy, is it, darling?”
“Marcus, I couldn’t give a monkey’s what you think about me, though you’ve made it abundantly clear. This isn’t about me, it’s about your wife.”
“Why couldn’t she have got in touch, then. Did she have to send you as her go-between?” He scooped sugar into his cup and stirred his coffee round and round, far longer than was necessary. Was he being irritating on purpose?
“I think she is too hurt at the moment to speak to you. Besides, she doesn’t know I’m here.” He clattered his spoon into his saucer. “But I know that your marriage is never going to work if you aren’t honest with each other.”
“Well, she certainly told me what she thought the other night.”
“Maybe, but there’s something you haven’t told her, isn’t there?”
He looked up at her sharply, almost fearfully.
“Listen, I know all about why you left that agency—”
He was about to say something but she plowed on. “Don’t give me some flannel because I know—Christ, I made it pretty plain at the party—and this time you have to hear me out. I even know which ad campaign you were working on at the time.” She realized as she said it that she didn’t, but was pretty sure he wouldn’t challenge her. “Izzie doesn’t know, does she?” He looked away from her across the café and couldn’t meet her eye. You bloody coward, she thought.
“How did you find out?”
“Never mind that. Don’t you think that Izzie deserves to know the truth? And from you. God, Marcus, if she finds out from someone else—and with the press sniffing about us the way they are, it’s only a matter of time—you can wave good-bye to any reconciliation. It’s a bloody miracle someone hasn’t blown the gaffe already.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business, Maddy,” he muttered, looking down into his coffee.
“Yes, it is, because your wife turned up on my doorstep after midnight with Charlie and Jess, and she was beside herself. I don’t like seeing her unhappy. She’s my friend.” God, she sounded like something from The Godfather.
“And she’s my wife and the way we live has nothing to do with you.” He didn’t sound convinced.
He was right though. It hadn’t really. For a moment she couldn’t answer. Only Izzie could make the decision to stay with him, but it had to be based on the facts. Maddy decided to take a risk. She gathered up her bag, to make a quick and suitably dramatic exit.
“The way Izzie is thinking right now, Marcus, she may not want to come back. She’s a stronger person than you give her credit for—or allow her to be. And nor is she short of admirers.” She noticed with pleasure that his eyes narrowed at this. “You’ve made one major cock-up in your life, and you may be about to make another.”
Marcus looked as if she’d slapped him. Perhaps no one had ever spoken to him like this before, but what did it matter? He thought little enough of her, and some home truths from an enemy might be the only way he’d hear them. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she could not forgive you for hiding the sacking from her—that’s if you have the courage to own up at all—but you might just be lucky. If you want to keep her, Marcus, then you will have to be a man, instead of the coward you’re being now, and fight for her.” And feeling like someone in a B movie, she pushed back her chair, stood up, and walked out, leaving him hunched over the table.