CHAPTER 17

Harry

November 1992

It was seven thirty, and Harry was still at work. It had been dark for hours, and out of his office window the lights of London were blurred by the fine drizzle falling across the city.

Britain was in the grip of late-autumn gloom. The recession was dragging on, and unemployment was expected to hit three million soon. Harry was about to add to that, with a number of layoffs. Rose Corp. was doing well, bucking the trend, but Colin Hale, his bean counter in chief, was telling him they needed to cut costs, be leaner.

The Queen had just called 1992 her annus horribilis. Since June, Harry’s own annus had been excessively horribilis. Five months after his baby son (they’d called him Max) had been stillborn at twenty-nine weeks, he was still regularly blindsided by grief. The universe could be so cruel.

But at least he had his work—and thoughts of Ana—to distract him.

Harry put down his pen and looked out the window, wondering again what to do about Katie. She seemed unreachable, hadn’t even begun to climb out of the dark place she’d fallen into. The only spark was when she spent time with Maria, reading her books or watching her play with her toys. But she never took her out, other than to and from school, which she’d started in September. Katie constantly fretted over Maria’s health, the sad legacy of her miscarriages and stillbirths. Harry knew he should talk to her about the overprotectiveness. It was turning the child into a drama queen. Maria really did stamp her foot when she didn’t get her own way.

Her brattish behavior was raising eyebrows, and they’d already been contacted by the school about “Maria’s issues around inclusion and space,” which apparently meant not sharing, and demanding the best spot on the mat.

Before, Cassandra had always been there to help Katie out of her despair. She’d cheer her up with a shopping trip or an outing with the children.

But now poor Cass had her own demons to face.

A postmortem established that the baby’s death had nothing to do with the blow to Katie’s abdomen—that had just speeded up the inevitable. A chromosomal abnormality was responsible for a defect that meant the baby wouldn’t have made it to full term, and Katie could have miscarried at any time. But that didn’t stop Cassandra from blaming herself. And Charles hadn’t forgiven her behavior that night, whatever part he may have played in provoking the drunken meltdown.

“Dry out or get out,” he’d said. So Cassandra had checked into the Priory and was attempting to kick the addiction she’d finally admitted to.

Harry and Charles’s friendship was strained, too, and he felt the loss of their easy companionship. Harry was livid that Charles had led Megan on that night. No matter how flighty she was, Charles was the older married man who should have known better. And now Megan imagined herself madly in love with him and had practically cheered when Cassandra was packed off to rehab. Harry was exasperated with them both.

Charles had accused him of hypocrisy. “What gives you the right to judge, with your blond bombshell tucked away in South Ken?”

But that was completely different. He and Merry both knew the boundaries, and nobody would get hurt. Besides, he rarely saw Merry now. He’d found himself making excuses, and when they did get together, he was easily bored, and . . . he admitted to himself that the only way he could lift his performance from mildly aroused to passionate was to visualize Ana’s willowy body, her glossy black hair, her dark, dark eyes.

Merry had her own problems too. Will was increasingly unwell, and was holed up in his Scottish castle.

Things seemed to be going badly for all of them.

Harry began loading his briefcase with reports, his copy of the Times, and his Filofax. At least, in spite of the recession, Rose was continuing to bloom. Circulation figures for the Rack had exceeded expectations. The only downside was that Terri needed no input from him at all. She ran a tight, efficient ship and coaxed increasingly creative triumphs from her staff, in spite of her tyrannical management style.

The art editor had so far been the only one to cave, leaving for a job at Hello! Ana had been promoted to replace her, and Harry dropped by her office to congratulate her.

As Harry had shut Ana’s office door behind him, causing her to frown slightly, he’d had the strongest compulsion to pull her into his arms and tell her the truth—that he was losing sleep over her. That he was a man possessed. That he couldn’t go on like this.

Instead, as he’d met her cool, unsmiling gaze, he’d placed a bottle of champagne on her desk, saying, “A small token of my appreciation. I know you’ve only been with us a short while, but you’ve earned this promotion fair and square. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“And . . . Ana. We haven’t talked properly since—well, since June. But thank you for your help. Your calmness under pressure, and all that.”

“How is Katie?”

“Not great. Searching for reasons why when there aren’t any. It’s hard to reach her when she’s like this. I’m not sure that I can anymore.”

“That’s very sad. She should probably go back to work, take her mind off things.”

“She has Maria.”

“Isn’t she at school?”

“Yes, she’s just started.”

“Then she should definitely get a job. I’m sure it would help. And commiserations on the loss of your baby. It must have been awful for you too.”

“Thanks. Yes, it was. Again.” He sighed. “I wish death would leave me the fuck alone.”

Anna frowned, and their eyes locked for a moment.

“I hear your friend Cassandra’s in rehab,” she said.

“How did you . . . ?”

“Megan told me.”

“Of course.” His tone of voice must have said it all.

“Don’t be too hard on Megan, Harry. She thinks the world of you, and this rift between you and Charles is really upsetting her.”

“He needs to get his relationship back on track without any distractions.”

“Maybe you don’t realize how Megan feels. It’s not a schoolgirl infatuation anymore. I honestly think she loves him.”

An idea formed in Harry’s head. “Perhaps I should come over and talk to her.”

There was a pause.

“Or take her out for dinner, maybe,” said Ana. “Neutral ground.”

“Home turf might be better, if there are going to be tears.”

So Harry was going over to Megan’s flat tomorrow. He hoped Ana would be there—and he sincerely hoped that preening ponce Percy wouldn’t be.

Ana

There’s The Bodyguard?”

“Not keen, to be honest,” said Percy.

Ana had suggested a movie, to give Harry and Megan some space. “Or we could just go out to eat?”

“I had a big lunch. And I’m a bit knackered. Can’t we stay in?”

The penny dropped. Percy and his team were pitching for the Rose account in two weeks’ time, and Percy somehow thought hanging out in the flat while Harry tackled his sister about her relationship with Charles was going to help with that.

“Don’t mind me,” called Megan from the kitchen. “Ana, it’d actually be good to have you here. Harry respects you.”

Percy lifted his eyebrows at Ana and smiled. “That’s great. I hope Terri knows.”

“I don’t think I’d be much help, Megan,” she replied, ignoring Percy. “You know what I think. You’ve got to give Charles a chance with Cassandra—there are kids involved. If rehab works, they could be all set for a fresh start.”

“But what’s the point? He doesn’t love her anymore. He loves me. He told me.”

“You’ve been seeing him?” said Percy. He looked shocked.

Ana knew what was going on between Megan and Charles. She’d rather not have known, and had told Megan it wasn’t happening in this flat—but she hadn’t shared the news with Percy.

She’d been hoping it would all go away, that Megan would move on, to someone younger, unmarried, childless. In all the time she’d known her, Megan had never stuck with a man longer than a month or two, always growing bored.

But Megan insisted on sharing every last detail of her deepening relationship. She was worryingly indiscreet, and Ana had warned her that if news of Charles’s philandering reached his wife, that might set Cassandra back, and that wouldn’t help anyone.

“Look, I’m not a home-wrecker,” she’d replied. “Their marriage is finished. She’ll just have to get over it. I’ve known Charles since I was a girl, and I’ve never really loved anyone else. It’s always been him. I just had to wait to grow up. And he said he’s had lots of affairs; she’s even known about some of them—”

“Is that supposed to make me more sympathetic toward him?” Ana had cut in.

“Well you see, now he realizes they were all a symptom of his dissatisfaction with his marriage. She wasn’t enough. He says he’s never felt about anyone the way he feels about me.”

To Ana, Charles just sounded weak. And that particular sort of weakness, the type that involved concocting a pathetic, self-justifying rationale for bad behavior, was the worst weakness of all. If Charles had betrayed Cassandra time after time, no wonder she’d sought comfort in the bottle.

“Sounds as if you two are serious,” said Percy. “What does Harry think about it?”

“He doesn’t realize how we feel,” Megan replied. “I’m going to put him straight tonight. If Harry’s hearing it from both Charles and me, we might be able to change his mind. He knows we’ve always loved each other—it’s just a different kind of love now.”

“How about we stay for a little while, and then go out for a drink?” said Percy. “You and Harry could come with us?”

“Harry will be going home,” Ana said.

There was a knock at the door. It looked like big brother was already here.

Ana went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She’d busy herself making tea.

She heard the murmur of voices from the next room. Mainly Percy’s.

She poked her head around the door. “Would anyone like tea or coffee? Hello, Harry.”

“Ana. Tea would be lovely. I’m parched.”

For a moment she saw Percy through Harry’s eyes. He was wearing acid-wash jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his chunky gold watch. His blond curls, much longer at the back than the front, fell over his turned-up collar. The look she’d initially found quite appealing now looked try-hard next to Harry’s beautifully tailored suit. She wondered if Harry knew Percy was heading up the pitch team for the Rose account.

“Can we not have wine?” called Megan.

“Tea first,” replied Ana. “Percy, can you give me a hand?”

As he came into the kitchen, she pushed the door shut. “Percy, it’s really important that Megan and Harry sort this out. Don’t get in the way.”

“I understand. But it’s important for me to network. I shouldn’t waste this opportunity to get to know Harry a little better. You know what’s coming up.”

“Leave it, Percy! Tonight has nothing to do with business.” She crashed the mugs down onto the tray and wrenched open the fridge door. “Milk! No bloody milk again. Bloody Megan.”

“Calm down, Ana. What’s wrong? Anyone would think it was you getting a bollocking from Harry.”

She spotted the milk hiding behind a stack of ready meals.

Ana opened the kitchen door again and saw Megan in floods of tears. But Harry was talking to her gently. He had a lovely voice, low and reassuring.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Ana. “I just wondered . . . milk and sugar, Harry?”

He smiled at her. “A drop of milk, thanks.”

Percy carried his own and Ana’s mugs out and hovered in the living room, while Ana gave Megan and Harry theirs.

“Bedroom, Percy,” she said. Then added, “We’re going to the pub when we’ve drunk these, so you can have the place to yourselves.”

“That’s really not necessary,” said Harry, “though it’s kind of you. Hopefully Megan and I will be all talked out soon.”

“We could all go to the pub?” said Megan, wiping away her tears.

“Why not?” said Percy.

Harry looked at Ana. “Perhaps a quick one, but only if I can make Megan see sense first.”

Percy was about to open his mouth again, but Ana pulled him by the sleeve into the bedroom.

Five minutes later the sound of Megan’s raised voice reached them. Ana had been telling Percy about Terri’s latest interview coup—Tom Cruise was on the Rack, and she was planning to grill him about his interest in Scientology.

“Sh!” said Percy.

“Stop eavesdropping!” said Ana.

They heard a door slam, and there was a tap on the bedroom door. Ana opened it to see Harry.

“Can I have a word?”

“Stay there, Percy,” she said, and followed Harry into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her.

“Thanks for your discretion,” Harry said, sitting down on the sofa and shifting across so there was space beside him. He’d taken off his jacket and loosened his tie, and now leaned forward, elbows on knees. He put his chin in his hands and sighed.

Ana had been heading for the armchair but hesitated. Harry looked so dejected. She sat down next to him—and immediately regretted it. He smelled divine. What was that aftershave? And with his head lowered in defeat, she had a sudden urge to stroke his beautiful golden hair.

Harry glanced over at Megan’s bedroom door. “She won’t budge, Ana. I want Charles and Cass to have a chance to patch things up. They’re a great couple, and they have two kids. Plus Cassandra’s been a big help with Katie.”

“I know how difficult Megan’s being,” said Ana, trying to concentrate on the problem at hand. “I’ve told her splitting up a family isn’t cool, but she’s kind of obsessed.”

Harry looked sideways at her, his gaze intense. It reminded her of yesterday, when he’d wished death would stay away. The mask had slipped, and she’d glimpsed the emotion beneath.

“Love can be hard,” he said. “I do feel for Megan. I kind of understand.”

“You do?” Ana’s heart was beating faster than it should have been.

He sat back and sighed again, running his fingers through his hair, not taking his eyes from hers. “We can’t help what we feel. Sometimes the strongest feelings come at the worst possible time, or we fall in love with the wrong person. We don’t mean it to happen; we don’t choose it.”

“But we can choose not to act on those feelings,” said Ana, “if that would wreck others’ lives. We have free will.”

“When we’re in love, we can lose sight of what’s right and wrong. It’s part of being human.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Ana began to understand why Harry meant so much to Megan, and why she was desperate for his approval. He was a deep thinker. It came as a surprise.

But still, there was something deeply unsettling about him, like a scent your subconscious picks up before you’re even aware it’s there.

“Charles really does seem to feel the same as Megan,” he continued.

As she held his gaze, she could almost see his mind changing as he processed the conversation he’d just had with his sister and let the words he’d spoken to Ana, about trying to resist the force of love, overtake his earlier words about trying to hold together a marriage, until they were left behind and a new truth filled that space.

“He’s practically washed his hands of Cassandra,” he said. “I don’t know—maybe he should move on. Maybe they are meant to be together. If he doesn’t love Cass anymore, is there really any point?”

“What are you going to say to Megan?”

“Perhaps I’ll suggest some length of time, to give Cassandra a chance to get her life back on track, with Charles there to support her. He could see how he feels after that. Maybe he’ll cool off, I don’t know. And if not, then he’ll have to find some way of leaving that doesn’t send Cassandra straight back to the bottle, like an amicable separation . . . I don’t know—does that ever work? Maybe then we can all move on.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a brother,” said Ana.

Was Harry blushing?