Love in a Warm Climate (10 page)

My hand is shaking as I lift the phone to my ear. I feel almost sick with fear. Will some giggling woman answer the phone? It goes straight on to his answer machine. I hear his voice and I feel a pang of longing. What’s he doing, I wonder. Who is he with? Cécile and her self-waxing legs, I suppose. I hang up without leaving a message and lie back on the bed, feeling horribly lonely.

The rain must have stopped. In the distance I can hear Frank and Lampard crowing at each other. For the first time ever I wish they’d shut up. I reach for my lavender-scented eye bag. My brain is still whirring and I can’t sleep.

I think about our life in France so far. We’ve only just started to really settle in, to find out all the lovely things there are to do around here. The first week we arrived we drove down to a small town on the coast. We parked next to a lighthouse and went for a long walk along the beach. Nick and Edward ran ahead, passing a rugby ball to each other, while the girls made sandcastles. Emily must have done a hundred cartwheels. I even managed a couple of handstands – something I haven’t done for years. It was windy but the sun was warm and Emily went in the sea up to her knees.

“Not a bad life, eh?” Nick said, running past me with Edward. Now I wonder if he meant that or if he was longing to be with someone else. I just don’t believe he is only having an affair for the sex. How come it has lasted so many months if that were the case? And he wouldn’t have risked everything just for that; he’s not that base, or that sex-crazed. Or is he?

I lie awake for hours thinking about our last year together, looking for signs of exactly when Nick went off me or lied to me to be with her. I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again.

I sense the sun begin to rise from behind my lavender-scented bean-bag and then I doze off. The next thing I know it is well after seven o’clock and my husband’s mistress is on the phone.

“Hello, this is Cécile,” she says in an infuriatingly sexy French accent. “Nick’s…” There is a pause as she searches for the right word. “Friend.”

I almost fall out of bed. For a moment I think I must be dreaming. I couldn’t have been more amazed if it had been Brad Pitt on my mobile phone telling me he’s dumped Angelina and their mini-crèche and wants to run away with me to Guatemala. What on earth is she doing calling me? Does she want her bra back?

“Sorry to trouble you, but I thought you should know that Nick has been in an accident.”

“What?” I sit bolt upright in bed. What’s happened to him? When I wished death and destruction on him for cheating on me, I didn’t actually mean it. I still love him; he’s still the father of my children.

“He’s okay,” she says quickly. “He’ll be fine.”

“What happened?” I ask.

There’s a moment’s silence.

“He had a bad reaction to something he ate and passed out cold,” she says. “I’m in the hospital now. He hasn’t come round yet, but they say his condition is stable. I’ll call you as soon as I have any more news. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you,” I say. But actually, what the hell do I have to thank her for? “To be honest, I’m not feeling terribly sympathetic, as you can imagine. But I guess I should tell the children their father is ill.”

Cécile doesn’t speak.

I clear my throat. “Yes, our children,” I go on. “Nick and I have three children. Two lovely twin girls aged seven, Emily and Charlotte, and a little blond boy called Edward, aged five. Just in case he forgot to mention them to you. Or maybe he was so wrapped up in whatever it is you two do that he forgot he is a father of three.”

“I did know,” she says quietly. Then it sounds like she’s sobbing. Good, I
think: let her do the crying for a change.

“You say he had a reaction to something he ate?” I ask calmly. “But Nick’s not allergic to anything as far as I know. What was it?”

“Viiiaaggrraaaa,” weeps Cécile.

Okay, so now I do want him dead.

Sarah arrives the next afternoon in a taxi from the airport. She has our university friend Lucy with her. I start crying as soon as I see them both. Partly because I am so touched that they both made the effort, but mainly because I feel so terribly sorry for myself, for the stupid cuckolded woman they have come to console. How did I get into this state?

So Nick’s mistress and I had a bit of a chat. She said she would keep me posted on his progress and even tried to apologise for running off with him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“You didn’t plan to run off with my husband, or to put your bra in my bag?” I asked her.

“Neither, I mean, well, the bra was an honest mistake. It was in his bag and I didn’t take it out.”

So just because she didn’t actually plot the whole thing from beginning to end she exonerates herself from blame. Typical scheming French woman.

“Well, we all know the effect just leaving it had,” I say. “And you can’t pretend it’s not what you wanted.” Then I said goodbye. I figured there wasn’t much more to say. I certainly wasn’t going to give her my blessing.

The children run out to greet Sarah and Lucy. We take the bags into the house.

“Daddy’s living in London,” Emily informs them. I have told them that Daddy is on a big work project and we’re going to take care of everything here until he gets back.

“We’re in charge of everything,” adds Charlotte as we walk outside again, sweeping her arm across the landscape, the vineyards and the outbuildings.

“Aren’t you clever?” says Lucy hugging them all. “And what is Mummy’s job?”

“She does the washing and the cooking,” says Edward.

“Lucky her,” says Sarah. “Will you show us around?”

Sarah takes my hand and squeezes it. The children run ahead of us explaining what everything is. Frank and Lampard barely look up from last night’s rice as we walk past.

“That’s Frank and Lampard,” explains Edward. “Like the Chelsea player.”

“Did Daddy choose those names?” asks Lucy laughing.

“Yes,” I say, adding quietly, “I was thinking of renaming them Traitorous and Bastard but thought that might be a bit unfair on the poor creatures.”

Sarah looks at me. “Soph, you just can’t do bitterness, it’s not you.”

“So what do I do?”

“You rise above it,” she replies.

“Yes, like a peacock,” adds Lucy.

“Can they even fly?” I ask, laughing.

“Who cares?” answers Lucy. “They look good.”

We walk on towards the
cave
. It is a chilly January day but according to Lucy it’s much brighter and warmer than the one they left behind in London.

“How is our school?” Emily asks her. “Have you seen any of our friends? What about our house?”

“I don’t know, darling,” she replies. “I haven’t been there. Do you miss it?”

Emily thinks for a moment and adjusts her cat’s ears. “Well I do, but I like it here much better. I like our big house and garden and it’s usually sunny.”

“It’s much better here,” says Charlotte. “We can even cycle to school.”

“Except Daddy’s not here,” adds Emily.

“That’s true,” says Charlotte. “But he’ll come back.”

Thankfully neither of my friends, the girls’ godmothers, thinks this is the right time to set the record straight.

I feel ashamed as I nod and agree with the girls that Daddy will be back then change the subject as quickly as possible.

“And you’ve made lots of friends, haven’t you?” I prompt.

All three are desperate to tell Sarah and Lucy about Sky and Cloud. As usual, Charlotte gets there first and it all ends in tears, but Sarah asks Emily to show her around the house, and Edward tells me about his friend Sky, uninterrupted for once as his sisters are otherwise engaged, as we walk around the garden in the late-afternoon sunlight.

“So, what does she sound like?” Sarah asks, curling up on Emily’s Barbie beanbag. The kids are in bed and we are sitting in front of the fire in the
sitting room. I’ve just told them about the Viagra incident. Lucy is shocked and absolutely horrified – in fact she seems more stunned by Nick’s Viagra binge than his affair with Cécile.

“Well, I’ve never spoken to a French husband-stealing small-breasted scheming…”

“Don’t hold back,” interrupts Sarah. “Give it to us straight, gal.”

I take a breath. “She sounds like Emmanuelle Béart,” I say.

“I hope she doesn’t look like Emmanuelle Béart,” says Lucy.

“I don’t know what she looks like, but I’m guessing she is not unattractive.”

“The bastard,” says Sarah reaching over to hug me. “Are you OK?”

“Terrible. In shock really. I mean I know things weren’t perfect, but to go off and HAVE AN AFFAIR… I mean, it’s quite a radical thing to do.”

“Why do you think he did it?” asks Lucy.

I sigh. “Well, according to Nick he was seduced, and happy to be seduced. Apparently I don’t show much interest in him.”

The other two are silent.

“Well,” I continue. “I guess he has a point.” I wait for them to deny it. “Do you think he has a point?”

“Of course he doesn’t, the Irish swine,” Sarah leaps to my defence. “But it’s probably fair to say that you weren’t jumping on him every two minutes.”

“But who does?” I ask. “I hate to break it to you all but after a few years of marriage and kids, that kind of passion is no longer there. It just goes. I still love Nick, I just don’t lust after him any more, and because of that he’s gone off with someone who does. It hardly seems fair. What are we supposed to do? Pretend that we want to pounce on our husbands even when we would so much rather go to sleep?”

“That would be one way to deal with it,” says Sarah. “You know there are very few times when I don’t envy you both, being married with kids. Okay, well, until two days ago,” she shoots me a compassionate glance. “But when I hear that passion disappears I wonder whether I’m not better off single.”

Lucy sighs.

“I don’t know what you’ve got to sigh about,” I say. “You’ve got Perfect Patrick. He’s not likely to go off and have an affair, is he?”

Lucy shakes her head. “No, but mainly because he can’t afford it.”

“Oh Lucy I’m so sorry. Has he still not got a job? How is he handling it?”

“Not great. Patrick has always been a winner. He’s just not used to being rejected. It’s almost like he’s in denial. He isn’t really getting on with anything. It’s been two months now. I feel like I’m spying on him, but every time I walk past his computer to see what he’s up to, he’s on some stupid website called
amIhot.com? I want to strangle him.”

“AmIhot.com? What the hell is that?” Sarah has almost fallen off her beanbag laughing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” she adds when she sees Lucy’s face. I’m trying hard not to giggle too.

Lucy smiles. “Okay, okay, I know, and I would be laughing too, if it wasn’t my husband. It’s a website where you put your picture up and people vote as to whether you’re hot or not.”

“We so HAVE to try that,” says Sarah.

“We’re too old,” I say. “I’m sure it’s geared to hot sixteen-year-olds, not thirty-somethings.”

“So is he hot?”

“Who?”

“Perfect Patrick. Surely he put himself up there?” Sarah asks.

Lucy giggles. “I didn’t check. I feel so bad about him. I mean it wasn’t anything he did, it was just a last-in first-out kind of thing, and the credit crunch has affected everyone. But I was never cut out for this sole-provider role and it’s making me really bitter.”

“It’s not your fault he lost his job,” I interrupt.

Lucy blushes.

“What is it, Lucy?”

Silence.

“There’s more isn’t there?”

She nods slowly. We wait.

“Well, really not much more. I mean it’s totally and utterly so ridiculous, I don’t even know why I’m telling you.” She crosses her arms and gets that stubborn look she used to get when she didn’t want to lend us her clothes at university.

“Telling us WHAT?” shrieks Sarah. “Lucy, have you been having an affair?”

Lucy blushes again and looks indignant. “No, I have most certainly not been having an affair,” she protests.

“So what is going on?” I ask.

Lucy takes a deep breath and then a sip of wine. In fact she takes three sips of wine, all very quickly.

“I’m in lust. I mean lust I have never, ever felt before, lust that overwhelms me every day like a gale-force wind. It’s terrible. And totally exhilarating. Not to mention anti-ageing, I feel like a sixteen-year-old again.”

Sarah and I are amazed. Lucy never talks about lust. We weren’t even sure she knew what it was. For her sex was always something practical, not hot – just something that was a rather irritating part of her otherwise perfect life.

“So who or what is this gale-force wind?” asks Sarah.

Lucy sighs and shivers pleasurably. “He’s called Josh.” She blushes as she says the name out loud and then adds, “Joshua.”

“Where does he come from? How did you meet him?” we bombard her.

“This needs another bottle of wine,” I say. “Don’t start until I get back. Promise not a word…” I race into the kitchen and grab a bottle of red and the corkscrew. I get back to silence. Very suspicious.

“What did she say?” I demand.

“Nothing. We didn’t even breathe,” says Sarah. “Now open the frigging bottle and let’s hear about hot Josh.”

I pour Lucy a glass of wine. She curls her long legs underneath her on the sofa and shakes her head. Her long blonde hair dances around her shoulders.

“This is the first time I have ever talked about him, and I’m getting butterflies. You’re going to think I’m so stupid.”

“Did you meet him on amIhot.com?” I ask.

Lucy laughs. “No. It’s worse. Actually, I met him in my bathroom.”

“God, I hope you were wearing something!” says Sarah.

“I was, luckily, wearing my silk cream dressing gown and not looking too bad. I was getting ready to go out to dinner so had my make-up on. Josh had just arrived from a transatlantic flight and Patrick was showing him to the guest room. He stopped off to wash his hands in the children’s bathroom and that’s where we met. I walked in to get my tweezers that I’d left there after removing a splinter from Antonia’s foot earlier and he was standing by the sink. He looked up at me and that was it. It was like a lightning bolt went right through me, I know that is a total cliché and if I read that line in a book I would cut it, but oh my God!”

She shrieks, and I have never heard Lucy shriek before, apart from when she found out she’d got a First in her finals. “I finally know what all that lust at first sight nonsense is all about. It was literally like something clicked inside me, it was like I had a physical reaction to him.”

“Wow, how amazing,” says Sarah. “It sounds like me and Christian Louboutins.”

“What did he say?” I ask. “Did he have the same reaction to you?”

Lucy blushes. “When we touched it was like an electric shock passed between us. There is no way he didn’t feel it, I could see it in his face, I don’t think that strong a physical response is actually possible unless the other person feels it too.”

“I agree. So then what happened? When was this? Have you progressed from hand shaking?” I say, pouring us all some more wine.

Lucy gets up and starts pacing around the room. “This was a week ago and I am being driven MAD,” she says. “I literally lie there at night next to Patrick and think about Joshua in the spare room and I can’t sleep for excitement. I am LONGING to sneak out of our bed, tiptoe down the hall and go in there. It’s absurd. I mean I’m a happily married woman with two children, I work in publishing, I read law, I’m level headed. What’s happening to me?”

She stops and looks at us as if we have the answer.

“Look Lucy, it’s just one of those things, probably brought on by Patrick’s behaviour at the moment. It will pass,” Sarah begins. “We all have crushes.”

“Not on twenty-three-year-olds,” says Lucy, flopping onto the sofa again.

“He’s twenty-three?” Now it’s Sarah’s turn to leap up. “Bloody hell Luce, good effort!”

“What is a twenty-three-year-old doing in your house?” I ask.

“Can you believe he’s the younger brother of Patrick’s best friend from college in the US? He’s renting our spare room, which we have had to let to get some cash in. We’ve been entrusted with this young, preppy, gorgeous Californian. Apparently we first met when he was sixteen. He was just a boy, I didn’t even register him. But now, oh help… I can’t stop thinking about…ripping all his clothes off and fucking him until I collapse.”

“God, Lucy, I’ve never heard you talk like this before,” I gasp.

“I’ve never heard myself talk like this before either! Half of me hates it, but the other half feels so ALIVE.”

“Has anything happened? Have you actually pounced on him?”

“No, of course not. There’s been lots of chat – well, flirting, I suppose.”

“Details, please,” Sarah interrupts.

Lucy smiles broadly. “The first time I knew he liked me was about two days after he arrived. We were having breakfast, leafing through the Sunday papers. Patrick and the kids were in the garden. I was pretending to read an article but I was so acutely aware of his presence that I could hardly see the paper, let alone breathe. He is so gorgeous. You remember Brad Pitt before the beard and the right-on attitude, when he still looked like a young Robert Redford? Well, that’s Josh, and his body, oh my God, what is it about Americans and all that working out? Why were we born in England where all the men think it’s okay to go through life pigeon-chested? He has the MOST amazing body, well from what I can imagine through the shirt…”

She pauses for breath. “Anyway there we were reading the papers and there was some story about an amazing necklace that once belonged to Wallis Simpson being sold at auction and he commented on it and said how lovely I would look wearing it and I said ‘where on earth would I wear a
necklace like that?’ and joked that I might wear it while I was gardening. And he looked me right in the eyes and said: ‘Would you wear just that?’, and I was too stunned to speak and he kept my gaze and went on ‘because if you ever did, I’d very much like to be there’.”