CHAPTER 36
Harry
Harry, do you think, when you’re better, we might still be able to . . .” said Janette, snuggling into his chest.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. For now I’m just trying to get through the days. And you’re making those days bearable. But we need to be careful. What time is it?”
Janette looked at her watch. “Two thirty. I should go.” She kissed him, then stood up and smoothed down her dress. “Bye, Harry darling. Take care.”
He closed his eyes. Janette’s visits were the only thing that made him forget about the pain. His prescription medication just wasn’t doing it anymore. He’d talk to the doctor about upping it again. He couldn’t go on like this.
There were voices in the hall. Janette’s voice, and . . . Ana?
“Get out of my house, you stupid moronic slut!”
“We were . . . it was work. Harry dictates letters—”
“How dare you insult my intelligence. Out!”
“But—”
“OUT!”
The front door slammed.
Oh god. What had Ana seen?
She came in and stood facing him, her eyes black flints.
“Ana?”
“You know what, Harry? You’ve been insufferable since your accident. You sit there feeling sorry for yourself while I work, run the house, organize Eliza, try and recover from my own loss, and all you can do is moan about something you brought upon yourself. And I was stupid enough to listen to Terri—she told me I should have a bit more sympathy. So I decided to come home and spend the afternoon with you. And who do I find has got here first? Jockey Janette, the secretary from Slutsville.”
“Ana, I . . . we didn’t—”
“Shut up, Harry. I don’t care whether you did or didn’t. When was the last time you held me like that?” Her voice broke, and he saw her tears. “We’re done. Finished. It really is over this time. I want you to leave. And don’t hobble after me on your stupid crutches, because I might just kick them out from underneath you. I’m taking Eliza to see the Harry Potter movie tonight. You can look after yourself.”
She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Harry sat for a long time, thinking, the room growing dark around him. He came to a decision. This time, he wouldn’t try to win Ana back. He’d never felt about a woman the way he had about her, probably never would again. It had been a kind of madness, an infatuation. For the longest time he’d been unable to think about anything other than winning her. And when he had, it was glorious. But—he acknowledged the truth—over the past year or two, their relationship had become a battleground, and it was wearing him out.
Janette was a soothing balm, and he wondered again what it would be like to come home to her softness, her kindness, her love for him, every night.
If Ana wanted a divorce, this time he’d give her one.
“Harry!” bellowed Andre, his arms held wide. “How good is to see my English brother looking much improvement!”
It was New Year’s Eve, and Harry was staying with Megan and Charles. He’d moved in the week after Ana discovered him with Janette.
“I’ll get the drinks,” said Megan, throwing a disapproving glance at the Russian’s back. Like Ana, she wasn’t a fan.
“Like old times, da?” said Andre.
“Indeed,” said Harry.
“But you look much pale, my friend. You are not yet recovered?”
“I can walk with a stick. Don’t worry, it won’t be long before I’m whipping your arse at the Hurlingham again.”
“Don’t be fooled,” said Charles, patting Harry on the shoulder. “He’s being incredibly brave, but it hurts, eh, my old pal?”
“I won’t lie, it’s a tad sore,” said Harry. “Doctors are being bloody stingy with the painkillers.”
“What you need?” said Andre. “I get something not on your NHS menu, you know?”
“Good lord, Andre, what are you suggesting? A snort of Colombia’s finest?”
“Nyet. Just something to help. I sort. No charge for dear friend.”
Harry wondered whether it was all bluster, although he had no doubt Andre could source the dodgiest of goods with one click of his short pudgy fingers.
“I learn, you and Ana—you have parted your ways? Is true?”
“Sadly yes. She caught me in flagrante. Again.”
“Where is this Flagrante?”
“He means bonking someone else,” said Charles. “Ana’s already filed for divorce. It won’t be pretty.”
“Cranwell’s battening down the hatches,” said Harry.
“Hm,” said Charles. “Megan tells me Ana’s gone with that lawyer who specializes in generous settlements for rich men’s wives. I hope your man’s up to the job.”
A month later, Harry returned to work. The staff threw a welcome back party on his first afternoon. Janette baked one of her famous cakes, and there was champagne.
Harry knew he probably shouldn’t have either. His girth had expanded alarmingly since the accident, the result of no exercise, too much comfort food, and bloating from all the drugs. True to his word, Andre had supplied him with a mountain of painkillers, which had been an enormous help.
Members of staff hadn’t been able to hide their shock as he’d hobbled along the corridor, leaning on his stick, though they’d quickly fixed their welcoming smiles back in place. Not to worry. He was determined to get back to his old self, and the best physio in town was helping him get there. He would come off the drugs once his leg was properly healed.
On Harry’s second morning back at work, his lawyer came to see him. Harry braced himself. He didn’t enjoy the new Tom’s company one bit, but needs must. He missed his old Tom—Wolston—the steady hand who’d steered Harry’s younger self through the corporate maze. A stab of guilt jabbed him as he remembered pandering to Ana’s demands that he should replace Wolston with someone more . . . twisted. Wolston had been a reliable old Labrador, whereas Cranwell was a pit bull.
“Thank you, Janette,” Harry said as she showed the lawyer in. “Coffee, Tom?”
Cranwell glanced up at Janette as he took his seat opposite Harry, giving her a smile that bordered on the lecherous. “Nothing for me, thanks, dear.”
As she left, he said with a knowing smile, “Ana’s lawyer mentioned Janette. Perhaps I should close the door.”
“What? Oh, I see. Of course.” Harry and Janette were seeing each other outside of work but weren’t yet “official.”
They discussed Harry’s progress, then Tom cleared his throat and said, “Regarding Ana’s divorce petition—”
“I’m not contesting it, Tom. Just sort it out. Do your best on visiting rights—Ana won’t object to that. And the smallest settlement you can get away with, obviously. She’s making plenty of money herself now, and I’ve invested in her design company, she’s not going to jeopardize that.”
Tom fiddled with his tie. “Harry, her lawyer’s coming in with all guns blazing. And he’s good. Ana’s demanding half of your assets, plus both houses. She says the Menton villa was a gift.”
“Come on, Tom, they’re just trying it on.”
“I’m sure you’d prefer me to be frank.”
“You’re scaring me. What’s on your mind?”
“As you know, I had a meeting with your finance man, Colin Hale, to get the big picture. Much of your personal capital is tied up in Rose. The thing is, Harry, you’re already paying a substantial allowance to your first wife and your daughter Maria, and to Bennie Blunt for Henry. Now you’ll have alimony for Ana and maintenance for Eliza too. Both houses will go to Ana if it comes down to the wire. Rose is stretched—advertising revenue is dropping and you’ve invested heavily in the football channel, which isn’t likely to see a return anytime soon; losing out on the Premier League rights was obviously a setback.”
“Couldn’t be helped—I was busy trying to not die at the time.”
“Sure. But you’ll need to speak to your bank and your investors. You’re overextended. And the Chelsea house is technically a company asset, so if Ana gets that, it’s not going to help the cash flow.”
Lawyers and accountants. Always the voices of bloody doom.
“Ana’s not going to shaft me, Tom. I’ve invested in her design company, she can’t afford to piss me off too much.”
“Ana’s already in a position to pay off that investment. She’s doing extremely well.”
“Well, she wouldn’t be without my help. That’s the bottom line.”
“The bottom line, Harry, is that if it goes to court, and the court rules in her favor, your stake in Rose Corp. could be at risk, and your personal finances could take an enormous hit.”
“For Chrissake, Tom. She wouldn’t want to bankrupt me, I’m the father of her child!”
She wouldn’t do that to him, would she?
“It’s a starting point, Harry. That’s all. But unless you talk her round, this is going to be a long-drawn-out and painful battle. We can play dirty as you like, but there’s no guarantees.”