10. Wherever I Lay My Hat

Finally the wandering years were to come to an end. I had stopped counting how many times I moved house in my life. It is one of the most stressful things to do yet, to look for a new home is so exciting. It was new for me to look at the “For Sale” listings and to calculate what I could afford. Even though our real estate finance transactions were usually commercial investment properties, I had an idea what to expect from the bank in terms of mortgage and equity requirements. I also realised that I was about to make an enormous commitment. First, this was to be the permanent home for my family, and that included Hugo. As the ultimatum was still not yet overdue I assumed we would continue as we were. He would hardly leave me just because I might not be ready to have another child. However, if for any reason things didn’t work out, in the long run, I would be independent and the girls would not have to move house. Secondly, I would always have to have a job that was so well paid that I could afford the mortgage payments. That part was scarier. The cost of maintaining a house would be so much higher than just renting a place. I would have to stop going shopping. As that made me depressed, I decided that I should give myself a monthly allowance.

I checked the estate agents’ website daily and viewed all properties that were remotely appropriate, but one, or more, things were wrong with each property. I looked at a house where the only bathroom and toilet was en suite to the master bedroom; a house where each room was as small as a rabbit hole; a house where the garden was the size of a doormat; a house that reeked of the twelve cats and seven dogs that inhabited it. Then, one sunny Saturday afternoon in late autumn, the girls and I went to see a house that was in the right area, large enough and affordable. I had not received any photographs in advance and when we pulled up in front of it I knew why: from the outside it rather resembled a barrack. I was about to restart the engine and just drive away when the estate agent spotted us and waved us in.

The house was a relic from the 1960s which was when it had been built: it had avocado green bathrooms, partly ancient felt carpet or lino floors, internal flower beds integrated in the floors - I had never seen anything like it - and glass brick components around the main entrance door. But when I stood in the enormous living room, looking through the terrace doors onto the unmown lawn, strewn with dry leaves, and listening to Noëlle and Marie running through the spacious rooms, my instant thought was: Christmas. This house deserves to be filled with warm light and children’s laughter.

So I did it - just before Christmas I actually closed on the acquisition of this huge vacant house, which was in dire need of complete refurbishment. It had been the ultimate shopping experience. A new handbag at Louis Vuitton, shoes at Prada or a cashmere coat at Chloé - that was exhilarating but there was no comparison to buying a house. A detached, real house. With a large garden and old trees. I would not be able to wear it but maybe that was exactly why the feeling of happiness lasted longer than a week. It would be our home. No annoying and loud neighbours anymore, just peace, light, harmony, permanence, stability. For the girls and me - as well as Hugo, of course.

So I rolled up my sleeves, hired a builder friend of Hugo’s, gave him a carefully calculated budget and nine weeks, starting in January, and we got to work on my project. Tiles, bathtubs, wash basins, taps, flooring, windows, radiators - every Saturday I would spend hours on the building site and in the home improvement store. Over two hundred and fifty square metres had to be completely refurbished, three bathrooms had to be re-built and re-designed - in spite of a three-star budget, I wanted them to look like those in five-star hotels: brick and tile washing stand, mirror embedded into the tiling, brick and tile walk-in shower. My biggest challenge was to compose a kitchen at Ikea (after all for which I already had 400 Euros thanks to Hugo’s romantic birthday present...!). How am I supposed to know how many cupboards and drawers I needed? In the last twenty years I had always somehow managed with every kitchen I moved into. However, I knew I definitely wanted a freestanding oven integrated into a counter in the middle where one could sit on bar stools. There was just enough space for that purpose. Everything else would sort itself out somehow.

When all that was left of the house was a shell, all the flooring and bathrooms having been ripped out, the walls and ceilings stripped, all wiring and pipes laid bare and fifteen windows removed, I experienced a flash of panic. How on earth would we be able to live here in a few weeks’ time?

But we managed it. The paint on the wall was just about dry when the removal van arrived. Nearly one hundred packing boxes were unloaded, the furniture roughly placed in the rooms into which it belonged. Hugo got to feel and hear a lot of my tension, because, in my view, he had avoided all the hassles and trouble.

It so happened that we did, after all, address the topic I was dreading. One night, not long after my birthday, I announced to him that there was no way I would have any more children or get married again. I don’t know what kind of reaction I expected - maybe something like ‘it does not matter, my angel. I love you more than anything else and the most important thing is that we are together. Besides, you already have the cutest children in the world’.

But, no. He tensed his shoulders and answered very soberly. “In that case it would be better if I don’t move into your new house properly. I will keep the basement flat here and just have a cupboard at your place.”

I felt stunned and deeply disappointed. Three years into the relationship the moment of truth had arrived. I actually never thought that he had seriously imagined taking the conventional path with me - a middle-aged divorcée with two children, having a full-time and demanding job. I just thought that he really loved me and that we’d just continue as we were.

“I guess,” I replied. I was hardly going to beg. What did I expect after all? I was not able to give Hugo what he wanted. However, a potential separation in instalments did not promise to be less painful. Somehow I could not imagine our life without him.

I didn’t have much time, however, to dwell upon it. After the pre-Christmas all-nighters the New Year 2007 didn’t get off to a slow start either. Since the closing of the Holman deal had been done so quickly, and with so many items left open, it meant that the credit agreement, despite running for over two hundred pages, was incomplete. It would now need to be amended (Tracey had been right of course - we should have drafted the agreement from the start). In addition, numerous conditions precedent had not been fulfilled but turned into conditions subsequent. Even for the seven lawyers involved on our side this financing of more than one hundred properties for thirty borrowers had been too much to get done properly in such a short timeframe.

It was precisely at that hectic time that I received an invitation by email.

Dear Oxonian, you are herewith cordially invited to the first dinner of the Oxford Society in Frankfurt. Our guest speaker will be Professor...

The invitation was for the coming Tuesday at 7.30 p.m. I was at first tempted to ignore the email. I had not been back in Oxford since our very pompous graduation ceremony in the Sheldonian Theatre. Having spent only one academic year in Oxford, most of which I had spent practically chained to my desk in the Law Bod, trying to prove that even as a non-native speaker and without a first class undergraduate law degree I deserved my place on this prestigious course, I had managed to convince everyone that I was bright enough. I felt immensely privileged but I never felt that I really belonged there. It was the hardest time, but it had also been the most wonderful and special time. So why not revive some of that? It might lift my mood. I would manage somehow to get out of the office in time. I knew a few lawyers at Howard Hewitt in Frankfurt who had also studied at Oxford University. If they also attended it might be fun and if not, I could always leave early. The guest speaker was not uninteresting either. Apart from that, I had no expectations.

* * *

Our eyes entangled at first sight.

He was tall, with short blondish hair, alert blue eyes and a face somewhere between innocent and dangerous. He approached me and introduced himself in the finest Oxford English.

“Good evening. I am Thomas Adorno.” He tilted his head slightly, indicating a bow.

“Adorno? Like the philosopher?” I raised one eyebrow.

“Yes, but no relation.”

“I see.” I shook his hand. “My name is Chloé. Chloé Krakowski.”

He shot me an amused look. “Krakowski? Like Krakow, the city?”

“Indeed, but no relation,” I grinned.

He laughed, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “Touché! So, you studied in Oxford?”

“Yes. Postgraduate law.”

“B.C.L. or D.Phil.?”

“I see you do know your degrees. B.C.L. One year.”

“Wow. I am impressed. It usually takes two years, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. And you? No, let me guess.”

He had a very self-confident demeanour. That could only mean two things: (i) he had attended one of the rich, large colleges and (ii) he had read PPE - Politics, Philosophy and Economy - a degree for which Oxford is particularly renown.

“PPE. And you were at St. John’s.”

“Not bad! PPE yes, but at Wadham. And you?”

“Exeter.”

“Lovely chapel and gardens. Awful food.”

“I know. But I lived outside - just up the Iffley Road.”

“And what do you these days, Chloé?”

“I’m a lawyer. At Pratt & Wonkey.”

“Hm. Good firm. I myself had a brief career at Howard Hewitt but left to set up my own management consultancy with my old college friend Sebastian over there.” He pointed to a man with dark hair and glasses standing nearby.

“Really? Interesting. Talking about food - I think we have to join the others for the dinner. Shall we go inside?”

“Of course. Please - may I?” He led me to the room next door where people had sat down at a large dining table. He found the nearest unoccupied chairs, pulled one out for me and then sat down himself. While I was studying the menu, he leaned to me and whispered.

“You know, I nearly did not turn up tonight. But now I am very glad I did.” He looked into my eyes with a slight smile.

Whoops. My heart sank somewhere into my stomach. It was really amazing how one single sentence could create an erotically tense atmosphere. After a while the man on my right started trying to engage me into a debate about Einstein - which was the topic of the after dinner speech. I could hardly concentrate, as I could sense Thomas was watching me throughout the entire meal, even whilst he was engaged in conversation with the person on his left. When the guest speaker stood up after desert, Thomas leaned towards me.

“Did you know that Einstein’s theory of relativity is all about energy? If you think about it, any communication between two people is just a form of exchange of energy.”

I glanced at his mouth. I imagine the energy with which I would kiss those lips of yours, I thought. He had followed my glance, guessed my thoughts and now curled his lips. I sat up straight and cleared my throat a little too loudly, turning the irritated speaker’s eye on me. I gave Thomas a meaningful look and put my index finger to my lips. “Shush.”

Thomas winked with amusement and, demonstratively, turned his attention to the speaker.

I didn’t listen to the speech. Instead, I honestly wondered what I was about to get myself into. Again. When the speaker had finished I immediately rose from my chair.

“I’ve got to go.”

Thomas seemed surprised. “How unfortunate. I was hoping we could continue our discussion at the bar.”

“I promised my babysitter not to be too late.”

“You have children?”

“Two girls.”

“How lovely, and you work full-time. Amazing.”

He didn’t ask whether I was married but, after all, I did no wear a wedding ring. Neither did he, by the way. “In that case, please let me make sure you get to your cab safely.”

“That’s very kind. I am fine though. My car is just outside.”

“I insist.”

He accompanied me to my car and waited until I had unlocked it. I turned around to find him standing very close.

“Good night.” I elongated a little so as to give him a kiss on the cheek. He pressed me softly against the driver’s door, took my face between his hands and kissed me passionately. I went all weak at the knees and for a moment my mind was blank, save for my mouth melting into his. It took me enormous discipline to disengage myself from him.

“Stop - somebody could see us!” I panted. It just occurred to me that Patricia and Michael lived around the corner.

“I’ve got to see you again. Soon. Here’s my card. Call me.” He kissed me again. Oh God.

“I really have to go.” I pulled away and got into the car. “You can find me at Pratt & Wonkey. You know where that is.”

“I do know where that is. I will find you. Drive safely.”

He was still standing where I had left him as I drove away. I chuckled, shaking my head. What on earth was that about? I really had a talent for getting myself onto this kind of situation - like that evening with Lars. Why was I not adored and courted like a coy princess? How come every man I found attractive (and there weren’t that many!) immediately wanted to strip off my clothes? Did I give off any obvious signals? For sure this was not to be mixed up with romance. Even if a man was as charming and eloquent as Thomas. As well as being such a fantastic kisser! I knew I wanted to see him again, but there was no way I would initiate it.

* * *

I did not have to. Nine days, four emails and two telephone calls later I saw him again.

We had arranged to meet at Bar 22 - almost equidistant from both our offices. I only had to ensure not to wear the same black Max Mara skirt suit, that I had worn at the Oxford dinner. Since, in the meantime, it had become nearly as warm as in spring, I wore a Chloé light linen skirt suit with a white T-shirt and brown Jimmy Choos, plus my most recent purchase: a chalk white to light grey ombré beautifully soft deer skin Prada handbag. Which had come with the matching wallet. I had not been able to resist buying the bag, but I would and had to be able to resist letting things go any further with Thomas. After all, there was Hugo. Still. One - albeit very passionate - kiss was not sufficient to throw all that aside.

He sat at the bar, a glass with what looked like whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He rose from the bar stool when he saw me. “Hello, gorgeous you.”

Gorgeous? I thought: you are divine! I had not remembered him being that handsome, still I was firmly resolved not to flirt with him, let alone do anything else. I ordered a Vodka Martini.

He looked at me in amused surprise. “That’s quite a strong drink, young lady!”

“I know, but it’s so delicious and I need to unwind. I just had a discussion with my builders and have been told that we won’t have a front door for another week.”

I told him about my house, mentioning in passing that I had a boyfriend who was ‘sort of’ living with us. I told him about Tracey, my career plan and my past career. Maybe the vodka loosened my tongue. On the other hand he really seemed to listen and to know what I was talking about. He finished my sentences and uttered my thoughts. It was almost creepy. It turned out that he was half German and half English and, like me, had spent half of his life living in various countries. English came as naturally to him as speaking German.

“As you know, I did the whole lawyer thing, too. I worked for the same partner at Howard Hewitt that you had worked for - it was after you had left to go to Solomons. They were still talking about you - you left quite an impression there.”

“What a coincidence! But I really don’t see you slaving away at the sweatshop - you seem so unspoilt! Not at all like the typical big city lawyer!”

“I take that as a compliment. You’re absolutely right - I hated the job and, thankfully, got out of it after a few years. Now I’m quite happy doing what I do. I’m even trying to persuade my girlfriend not to qualify as a lawyer and find another path.”

Right. There we were. Of course he had a girlfriend. I made a neutral-interested face. “She is a law student?” Why did men have to go for women so much younger than themselves? He had earlier mentioned that he was thirty-four.

“Yes. Our parents have known each other for ages. She’s moving to Frankfurt next month and is going to live with me. She is a sweet girl - very young and I kind of feel responsible for her.” He looked at me apologetically.

“I see. Well, that’s nice.”

I breathed a secret sigh of relief. There was something about this man that I could not grasp. He knew how to build a connection with me in a way that confused and scared me. If you want love, you may have to take some risk. Up to now I had always kept control over my emotions and never let anybody come really close. I sensed that this man might be dangerous for me in that way. So it was good if he also was already taken.

Several Vodka Martinis and Whiskeys later we left the bar.

“Do you mind if we just drop by my office? I want to get out of this suit and put on my jeans for my bike ride home.”

“No, of course not. I’m taking a cab in that direction anyway.”

We went to a building nearby and took the lift up to the seventh floor. He unlocked and opened the door to a suite of offices. It was dark and abandoned but he did not switch on the lights. Some light from the street lamps was seeping through the shutters. He took my hand and led me down the corridor. My heart was nearly bursting in my ribcage. Then he stopped. He turned around and came so close that I had to lean against the wall. He took both my hands into his left and gently pinned them over my head. He looked into my eyes and let his fingertips slowly run down my temple towards my lips.

“I just can’t help it.” He kissed me until I could not breathe anymore. He kissed my face, my neck. I stopped thinking. We slid down the wall on to the carpet. He moaned. “You are amazing.” His hand started to wander under my skirt. “I want to feel you.”

At that moment I knew that I didn’t want this to go any further. I pulled his hand away and put it around my hips. We kissed again. Then I forced myself to disengage from him, got up and smoothed my clothes. “I must go. This is not a good idea.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll go now.” I started to walk towards the door.

“I...I will call you.”

We both knew very well that we could not see each other again.

No good would come of it.

* * *

The coming days shed a surreal light on that evening. Yes, sure, we had had cocktails but we had not been completely drunk. I had to come to terms with what I had felt and then get closure on the whole thing. At first I did not even want to speak about it with Isabella when Noёlle, Marie and I visited her in her store one Saturday.

“Oh I love it!” Isabella raved when she spotted my Prada bag. “And so soft! Just adorable!”

“Yeah, at least the bag is adorable - unlike me!” I burst out.

She looked at me with bewilderment. “What’s going on, my love?”

I thought of Hugo and of the conclusions I had drawn from the encounter with Thomas. “I don’t know, sweetie. I think I have to break up with Hugo.”

Isabella shot a glance at the girls. They were sitting on the white sofa, arranging according to length and colour various belts Isabella had handed to them. She pulled me into the kitchenette. “Come on, we’ll make some coffee.”

I followed slowly. Whilst she was preparing coffee, she began her cross-examination.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Not really. Well, I met someone - but that’s not the point; I won’t see him again anyway.”

“Then what about Hugo?”

“Isabella, what can I say? The man wants to get married and have children! I can’t do that!”

“Of course you can. Do you want to?”

“Goodness, no!” I panicked.

“Don’t you love him?”

“No!” Oops. There it was.

Without thinking about it, the word had escaped my mouth. I couldn’t take it back anymore. I didn’t love Hugo, at least not enough to give him what he wanted.

Isabella froze for a moment. “Then there is no point, if he wants something different from what you want,” she replied calmly. She continued placing the mugs on the tray.

I hung my head. “I know. He is hardly ever there anymore and I have started to bitch at him, both of which are bad signs. We have been invited to another wedding, which means he’ll have moist eyes throughout the ceremony and I’ll have a crisis.”

“I have to say I am quite shocked about your reaction - I really thought you still loved Hugo. But if you don’t, then you must take the consequences. Think about it,” she sighed.

“I know you’re right. As usual.”

“Mummy, your phone is ringing!” Noëlle came into the kitchen, holding my blackberry.

“Oh, thank you darling.” I took it from her and checked the display. “Urgh. It’s Tracey.” I said to Isabella.

“On a Saturday?”

I signalled Isabella to be quiet and pressed the green button. “Hi Tracey.”

“Hi. I am so sorry to disturb you. We have an emergency here. Jessica has been taken to hospital - she was in the office to finish a draft credit agreement and apparently broke down - David was there at the same time and called the ambulance.”

“Oh my god! What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know - she had complained about stomach pains apparently. Anyway. We need to get this loan agreement out. Can you come to the office and finish it for her please. I realise you will need a bit of time to get into the matter but I’ll grant you admission to the virtual file and send you the term sheet together with a summary of where we are.”

I hesitated. Tracey knew full well that I had to look after my children, but I would manage somehow. I wanted to help out for Jessica and I needed to for my impending counsel promotion.

“Of course, Tracey,” I replied calmly. “I’m on my way.”

I hung up and looked at Isabella. She understood and pulled a face. “That old witch!”

“My colleague has been taken to hospital. Honestly, I’m not surprised. In the last few months she has spent day and night and every weekend in the office - that verges on the illegal.”

“You don’t work that much less yourself.”

“At least I sleep every night and rarely work on weekends.”

“What’s going on Mummy?” Noёlle re-appeared in the kitchen, Marie trotting behind her.

“My sweethearts, Mummy has to go to the office for a while and you can come along and help, okay?”

“You can leave them here,” Isabella offered.

“But I want to go with Mummy,” Marie whined.

“Then I will come too,” Noёlle decided.

“It’s fine, Isabella. I’ll just print out what I need and then work at home, but thank you anyway.” I hugged her.

The girls and I hurried to the office where I logged into my computer, found Tracey’s email and started printing out documents. Marie would bring me each document from the printer just outside my office and then Noёlle would hole-punch it - sometimes on the wrong side of the sheet and not quite straight, but I was very touched and proud of my little girls. I felt terrible to have to neglect them again, later whilst working at home, even if they were very excited by the treat I promised them as a reward - to watch a Disney DVD at home and order a pizza from the delivery service.

On our way back to the lift I took the route past Jessica’s office. The screensaver was flickering on the monitor. The desk lamp was switched on, her desk strewn with piles of documents. Her little water bottle was open, a straw sticking out. I noticed a ballpoint pen lying on the floor and picked it up. I hesitated before switching off the lamp. Hopefully it was nothing serious, I thought worriedly, and felt tears of rage welling up. Tracey had made her work until she required hospitalisation.

“Mummy, come on, the lift’s here!”

OK, Chloé, you will handle this and Jessica will be fine. I pulled myself together and followed the girls.

* * *

I had not thought it humanly possible to work even more than I had already been doing but Jessica left a huge hole which needed to be filled urgently, of course. She spent three weeks in hospital and I never found out for sure what had been wrong with her. When I went to see her, to give her a present from me as well as the flowers so generously donated by the banking partners (“Do go ahead and buy a big bouquet, Mrs. Krakowski, with our best wishes!” Francis Mayer, the head of department, had instructed me), she looked so young, pale and thin. When I dared to ask her, she mumbled something about kidney stones and was grateful when I changed the topic, albeit to something equally unpleasant.

“Hey, guess what! Tracey is going to let Indira go before the end of her probation period. I mean, I know she didn’t fit in so well but she did come over here specifically to work with us, and all! She’ll have to leave Germany now!”

“Poor thing. I found it impossible to work with her, though,” Jessica replied. “She drove me crazy. I would show her how to do something, then explain it to her again in an email, and then she would drop into my office two hours later and ask me if what I wanted or meant was this, that or the other.”

“I know what you mean. I suppose, from Tracey’s point of view, it is probably the right decision - but still, it means her visa will be terminated and then who knows what will happen to her?”

“Of course it doesn’t improve the staffing situation either. David told me you’ve taken over most of my deals,” she remarked sheepishly.

I didn’t have to fake my cheerful tone. “Oh, you know, it’s fine - the others are too junior to do them and two of the deals are closing next week, as you know; it should be quieter after that.” I didn’t mention having to do double shifts. “Really, don’t worry about that - the most important thing is that you get well, as soon as possible! You must make it back in time for the big office family party.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot about that. Saturday at three, right? Are you going?”

“Sure. I’ll take Hugo and the girls. We have been to that beach club and the girls really liked it.”

“I’ll definitely try to be well enough by then. I feel so bad already, for missing so many working days, and it doesn’t reflect well on David.”

I pressed her hand and realised that she was unlikely to make a big fuss out of this incident, in order not to jeopardise her fiancé’s career prospects. There was no comparison between her emotional pressure and my current 16-hour working days. In contrast to hers, my boyfriend would probably spend more time by my bedside than in the office. I felt grateful that Hugo had stuck by me in spite of all the problems we were currently having (and despite my escapades, which were unknown to him, of course, but still...!), and that he had not complained for one second when I had explained to him that I would have to take over Jessica’s work for a while. Maybe I didn’t love him enough to compromise, and fulfil his dream of marriage and babies, but he was always there for me and that was worth a hell of a lot.

* * *

Jessica did make it to the party. The weather gods were merciful and had done everything to complete the illusion of a day at the beach. The dress code was casual so I had chosen long flowing linen dresses for the girls and I and had even braided some flowers into their hair.

“Oh my, what a picture perfect family!” Beatrice exclaimed when we arrived at the beach club and had made it past the bouncers. She was standing with Jessica and had spotted us.

“Hugo, this is my colleague Beatrice, and this is Jessica,” I introduced them.

“Nice to meet you.” He shook hands with both women.

“Very nice to meet you! Chloé is a lucky lady. I wish I could introduce my husband to you but he is away, on business. Again!” Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“At least that is what he said.” I could hear Jacob’s unmistakably sarcastic voice behind me.

“Oh shut up, Jacob,” Beatrice retorted. “Don’t be such a pain in the neck. At least not until I’ve had a few more drinks. Claudia, can’t you teach him any manners?”

A dark haired woman had appeared next to Jacob and behind her a boy of about Noëlle’s age.

“Hi, Beatrice,” she said. “I’ve tried for two years and failed - so probably not,” she laughed.

“I know what you mean,” I said. “Hi Claudia, I’m Chloé. This is Hugo and these are my daughters Noëlle and Marie.”

“Ah, you are Chloé! Nice to meet you - I have heard a lot about you.”

“Have you? That surprises me.”

“Uhm I might have mentioned you once or twice,” Jacob interjected quickly and offered to shake Hugo’s hand. “Hi, I’m Jacob. And this is my son Antonio. Where are your brats, Beatrice?”

“My baby is at home and Georgie is at the chocolate fountain like all the other kids.” Upon hearing those magic words Marie and Noëlle started tugging my dress whilst Antonio nudged his father.

“Ah - a chocolate fountain. Yes, I can see it over there. That looks amazing. Hang on, girls. How old is Antonio?” I asked Jacob.

“Ten. Yours?”

“Six and nine.” I turned to the boy and looked into a pair of big brown eyes. “Hey, Antonio, since you are clearly the oldest child here, what do you think about going ahead with the two girls here to see the chocolate fountain?”

“Sure, ok. Papa?”

“Yeah, good idea. Go ahead.” We watched them walk to the nearby stand that boasted a huge white porcelain fountain with chocolate sauce pouring down its sides.

“There’s a big open air cocktail bar next to the dance floor,” Jessica suggested. “Shall we go?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hugo responded.

Claudia agreed. “Perfect! Something for the grown-ups!”

“Now that I’m no longer breast-feeding, I am ready to get hammered!” Beatrice announced.

“I’m going to see how the girls are doing first, you go ahead,” I said to Hugo. “I’ll come and join you in a minute.”

“I’ll come with you if you don’t mind,” Jacob said to me. “My son and chocolate - that usually ends up messy. Yes, go ahead,” He confirmed to Claudia.

With Jessica leading the way Hugo offered an arm to each of Beatrice and Claudia who accepted and giggled. Jacob and I slowly walked towards the chocolate fountain where a queue of children had begun to form.

“Good looking boyfriend you have,” he remarked.

“Hm, yes.”

“He doesn’t have kids?”

“No. He’s never been married either. He’s genuinely lovely with my girls.”

“I see. Doesn’t he want children?”

“Yes he does, but I don’t - anymore. He gave me an ultimatum but I missed it. I’m forty, I’m divorced, I have a demanding job with an upcoming promotion. What can I say.”

“Oh dear. Has he been complaining? Tell me about it. Claudia is all about wanting to get married, have more kids, have me working less.”

I spotted the girls and Antonio feeding each other chocolate covered fruit sticks and laughing. “Look at them! They seem to have fun. Your son seems lovely.”

“And your daughters are super cute.” He stopped and smiled at me. “You know, you and I should be together. We have so much in common - we are perfect for each other!”

“Haha. Very funny. Now let’s make sure they don’t make a complete mess and then we can go and join my boyfriend and your girlfriend for a drink.”

I ignored the strange expression on his face and walked on. We found the children and took them to a kind of guarded playground that was attended by child minders and was just across the beach from the open air cocktail bar. I spotted Hugo in the middle of a crowd of women talking to Tracey. When I came closer I could hear her giggling.

“Hello Tracey,” I said. “I see you have met Hugo.”

She blushed. “Ah, yes. Hello Chloé. I was just saying how helpful you have been recently.”

“I just asked your boss for how much longer you would have to work double shifts and when she thought the girls and I would see more of you again,” Hugo explained. Here we go again, I thought.

“Hugo, you are so lucky, to have this wonderful profession where you can have regular hours. I mean a doctor! It’s so admirable,” she gushed. Was she batting her eyelids? “But we poor lawyers are at our client’s service, day and night - it’s not just our job, it’s our calling!”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing this crap for years.” A short, burly man who had been standing behind Tracey and talking to David Byrd turned around, a beer bottle in his left hand.

“Oh.” Tracey turned a shade of crimson. “Chloé, Hugo, this is my husband Kevin.”

“A man to my liking, I see,” Hugo said and shook Kevin’s hand.

“Another poor bastard married to a lawyer, I see,” Kevin grinned. Tracey’s face got darker.

“We’re not married,” I said quickly regretting it immediately. Hugo shot me a strange glance.

“Oh come on, guys, be nice to your beautiful and hard-working women!” Jacob came up from behind and put his left arm around my shoulder and his right arm around Tracey’s shoulder. For once I was grateful for his blunt manner. “Ladies, you seem to be in need of a drink! What can I get you?”

“Uhm, thanks, Jacob. I’ll have a Vodkatini,” Tracey said, the colour fading again from her face.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I need to look at the drinks menu - I’ll come with you.” I needed to escape Hugo who had shot me another stone-cold stare, as Kevin began to involve him in a discussion about the Premier League.

“Thanks for that, Jacob,” I said when we were standing at the counter, waiting to order our drinks.

“Any time,” he said kindly. “It must be hard for you to be with someone who does not understand you life.”

I looked at him and said nothing.

When we returned to the group, Hugo seemed to have calmed down and soon asked me to dance which I readily agreed to - better than having to talk and venture into any dangerous topics like work, children, and marriage. Neither he nor Claudia seemed to notice Jacob staring at me frequently, which I could only escape by making us leave the party as early as possible, using work commitments as an excuse.

It wasn’t really so much as an excuse but the truth, as I was still on double shifts.

Just before Jessica had fully convalesced, the worst was over for me. The two biggest deals had closed, after many late nights in the office and at home, but without any all-nighters. It was the first evening in weeks that I could make it home in time for the good night story.

I was just tidying up my inbox on outlook when a new email from Tracey popped up. I reluctantly clicked on ‘open’. Please, I want to go home so badly.

I think we are done.

Thank you for your amazing effort over the last weeks.

Your Counsel promotion has been approved.

Congratulations.

T.

There. So it had been worth it, working myself half to death without complaint.

My promised promotion to Counsel.

Oh, and what a miracle. After one year’s hard work and several eighty-hour weeks.

I finally got praise from Tracey.