A Quiver Full of Arrows (12 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I made a bloody fool
of myself.”

“I was every bit as bad,” said Adrian, “we
shouldn’t fight over a woman. We never have done in the past.”

“Agreed,” said Michael. “So why not an
honourable compromise?”

“What do you suggest?”

“As we both return to London tomorrow
morning, let’s agree whichever one of us comes back first...”

“Perfect,” said Adrian and they shook hands
to seal the bargain, as if they were both back at school playing a cricket match,
and had to decide on who should bat first. The deal made, they climbed into
their respective beds, and slept soundly.

Once back in London both men did everything
in their power to find an excuse for returning to New York.

Neither contacted Debbie Kendall by phone or
letter as it would have broken their gentleman’s agreement, but when the weeks
grew to be months both became despondent and it seemed that neither was going
to be given the opportunity to return. Then Adrian was invited to Los Angeles
to address a Media Conference. He remained unbearably smug about the whole
trip, confident he would be able to drop into New York on the way to London. It
was Michael who discovered that British Airways were offering cheap tickets for
wives who accompanied their husbands on a business trip: Adrian was therefore
unable to return via New York. Michael breathed a sigh of relief which turned
to triumph when he was selected to go to Washington and cover the President’s
Address to Congress. He suggested to the head of Outside Broadcasts that it
would be wise to drop into New York on the way home and strengthen the contacts
he had previously made with ABC. The head of Outside Broadcasts agreed, but
told Michael he must be back the following day to cover the opening of
Parliament.

Adrian phoned up Michael’s wife and briefed
her on cheap trips to the States when accompanying your husband.

“How kind of you to be so thoughtful Adrian
but alas my school never allows time off during term, and in any case,” she
added, “I have a dreadful fear of flying.”

Michael was very understanding about his
wife’s phobia and went off to book a single ticket.

Michael flew into Washington on the
following Monday and called Debbie Kendall from his hotel room, wondering if
she would even remember the two vainglorious Englishmen she had briefly met
some months before, and if she did whether she would also recall which one he
was. He dialled nervously and listened to the ringing tone. Was she in, was she
even in New York? At last a click and a soft voice said hello.

“Hello, Debbie, it’s Michael Thompson.”

“Hello, Michael. What a nice surprise.

Are you in New York?”

“No, Washington, but I’m thinking of flying
up. You wouldn’t be free for dinner on Thursday by any chance?”

“Let me just check my diary.”

Michael held his breath as he waited.

It seemed like hours.

“Yes, that seems to be fine.”

“Fantastic. Shall I pick you up around
eight?”

“Yes, thank you, Michael. I’ll look forward
to seem” you then. “

Heartened by this early success Michael
immediately penned a telegram of commiseration to Adrian on his sad loss.
Adrian didn’t reply.

Michael took the shuttle up to New York on
the Thursday afternoon as soon as he had finished editing the President’s
speech for the London of lice. After settling into another hotel room – this
time insisting on a double bed just in case Debbie’s children were at home- he
had a long bath and a slow shave, cutting himself twice and slapping on a
little too much aftershave. He rummaged around for his most telling tie, shirt
and suit, and after he had finished dressing he studied himself in the mirror,
carefully combing his freshly washed hair to make the long thin strands appear
casual as well as cover the parts where his hair was beginning to recede. After
a final check, he was able to convince himself that he looked less than his
thirty-eight years. Michael then took the lift down to the ground floor, and
stepping out of the Plaza on to a neon-lit Fifth Avenue he headed jauntily
towards th Street. En route, he acquired a dozen roses from a little shop at
the corner of th Street and Madison Avenue and, humming to himself, proceeded confidently.
He arrived at the front door of Debbie Kendall’s little brownstone at
eight-five.

When Debbie opened the door, Michael thought
she looked even more beautiful than he had remembered. She was wearing a long
blue dress with a frilly white silk collar and cuffs that covered every part of
her body from neck to ankles and yet she could not have been more desirable.
She wore almost no make-up except a touch of lipstick that Michael already had plans
to remove. Her green eyes sparkled.

“Say something,” she said smiling.

“You look quite stunning, Debbie,” was all
he could think of as he handed her the roses.

“How sweet of you,” she replied and invited
him in.

Michael followed her into the kitchen where
she ham O – -Night Shad mered the long stems and arranged the flowers in a
porcelain vase. She then led him into the living room, where she placed the
roses on an oval table beside a photograph of two small boys.

“Have we time for a drink?”

“Sure. I’ve booked a table at Elaine’s for
eight-thirty.”

“My favourite restaurant,” she said, with a
smile that revealed a small dimple on her cheek. Without asking, Debbie poured
two whiskies and handed one of them to Michael.

What a good memory she has, he thought, as
he nervously kept picking up and putting down his glass, like a teenager on his
first date. When Michael had eventually finished his drink, Debbie suggested
that they should leave.

“Elaine wouldn’t keep a table free for one
minute, even if you were Henry Kissinger.”

Michael laughed, and helped her on with her
coat. As she unlatched the door, he realised there was no baby-sitter or sound
of children. They must be staying with their father, he thought. Once on the
street, he hailed a cab and directed the driver to th and 2nd. Michael had
never been to lE;laine’s before. The restaurant had been recommended by a
friend from ABC who had assured him: “That joint will give you more than half a
chance.”

As they entered the crowded room and waited
by the bar for the Mature d’, Michael could see it was the type of place that
was frequented by the rich and famous and wondered if his pocket could stand
the expense and, more importantly, whether such an outlay would turn out to be
a worthwhile investment.

A waiter guided them to a small table at the
back of the room, where they both had another whisky while they studied the
menu. When the waiter returned to take their order, Debbie wanted no first
course, just the veal piccate, so Michael ordered the same for himself. She
refused the addition of garlic butter. Michael allowed his expectations to rise
slightly.

“How’s Adrian?” she asked.

“Oh, as well as can be expected,”

Michael replied. “He sends you his love, of
course.” He emphasised the word love.

“How kind of him to remember me, and please
return mine. What brings you to New York this time, Michael? Another film?”

“No. New York may well have become
everybody’s second city, but this time I only came to see you.”

“To see me?”

“Yes, I had a tape to edit while I was in
Washington, but I always knew I could be through with that by lunch today so I
hoped you would be free to spend an evening with me.”

“I’m pattered.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

She smiled. The veal arrived.

“Looks good,” said Michael.

“Tastes good, too,” said Debbie.

“When do you fly home?”

“Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock flight,
I’m afraid.”

“Not left yourself time to do much in New
York.”

“I only came up to see you,” Michael
repeated. Debbie continued eating her veal. “Why would any man want to divorce
you, Debbie?”

“Oh, nothing very original, I’m afraid. He
fell in love with a twenty-two year old blonde and left his thirty-two year old
wife.”

“Silly man. He should have had an affair
with the twentytwo year old blonde and remained faithful to his thirty-two year
old wife.”

“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve never
thought it unnatural to desire someone else. After all, it’s a long life to go
through and be expected never to want another woman.”

“I’m not so sure I agree with you,” said
Debbie thoughtfully. “I would like to have remained faithful to one man.”

Oh hell, thought Michael, not a very auspicious
philosophy.

On`-Nigh’ Stand “Do you miss him?” he tried
again.

“Yes, sometimes. it’s true what they say in
the glossy menopause magazines, one can be very lonely when you suddenly find
yourself on your own.”

That sounds more promising, thought Michael,
and he heard himself saying:

“Yes, 1 can understand that, but someone
like you shouldn’t have to stay on your own for very long.”

Debbie made no reply Michael refilled her
glass of wine nearly to the brim, hoping he could order a second bottle before
she finished her veal.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Michael?”

“lf you think it will help,” he replied
laughing.

Debbie didn’t laugh. Michael tried again.

“Been to the theatre lately?”

“Yes, 1 went to Evita last week. l loved it”
– wonder who took you, thought Michael – “but my mother fell asleep in the
middle of the second act.

think 1 shall have to go and see it on my
own a second time.”

“1 only wish 1 was staying long enough to
take you.

“That would be fun,” she said.

“Whereas 1 shall have to be satisfied with
seeing the show in London.”

“With your wife.”

“Another bottle of wine please, waiter.

“No more for me, Michael, really.”

“Well, you can help me out a little.”

The waiter faded away. “Do you get to England
at all yourself?” asked Michael.

“No, I’ve only been once when Roger, my ex,
took the whole family. I loved the country. It fulfilled every one of my hopes
but I’m afraid we did what all Americans are expected to do. The Tower of
London, Buckingham Palace, followed by Oxford and Stratford, before flying on
to Paris.”

“A sad way to see England; there’s so much
more I could have shown you.”

 
“I
suspect when the English come to America they don’t see much outside of New
York, Washington, Los Angeles, and perhaps San Francisco.”

“I agree,” said Michael, not wanting to
disagree. The waiter cleared away their empty plates.

“Can I tempt you with a dessert, Debbie?”

“No, no, I’m trying to lose some weight.”

Michael slipped a hand gently around her
waist. “You don’t need to,” he said. “You feel just perfect.”

She laughed. He smiled.

“Nevertheless, I’ll stick to coffee,
please.”

“A little brandy?”

“No, thank you, just coffee.”

“Black?”

“Black.”

“Coffee for two, please,” Michael said to
the hovering waiter.

“I wish I had taken you somewhere a
littlequieter and less ostentatious,” he said, turning back to Debbie.

“Why?”

Michael took her hand. It felt cold.

“I would like to have said things to you
that shouldn’t be listened to by people on the next table.”

“I don’t think anyone would be shocked by
plot they overheard at Elaine’s, Michael.”

“Very well then. Do you believe in love at
first sight?”

“No, but I think it’s possible to be
physically attracted to a person on first meeting them.”

“Well I must confess, I was to you.”

Again she made no reply.

The coffee arrived and Debbie released her
hand to take a sip.

Michael followed suit.

“There were one hundred and fifty women in
that room the night we met, Debbie, and my eyes never left you once.”

“Even during the film?”

“I’d seen the damn thing a hundred times. I
feared I might never see you again.”

.

“I’m touched.”

“Why should you be? It must be happening to
you all the time.”

“Now and then,” she said. “But I haven’t
taken anyone too seriously since my husband left me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need. It’s just not that easy to get
over someone you’ve lived with for ten years. I doubt if many divorcees are
quite that willing to jump into bed with the first man who comes along as all
the latest films suggest.”