The Other Half (16 page)

She emptied the bags onto the bed. For Nathan he’d gotten an American football shirt and some computer games, and for Maggie—Chloë unfolded several layers of tissue, shook out the contents, and gasped. He’d bought a beautiful hand-printed silk chiffon scarf. In soft shades of blue and gray and pink, it was very, very elegant, the kind of thing Chloë would never wear. She checked the label. Fendi. It must have cost a bundle. “God. It’s lovely.” She tried not to sound bothered.

James obviously picked up her vibes. “I was going to get you something,” he said, ruffling her hair. Chloë flinched—for a second she imagined him ruffling Maggie’s hair in the same way and despised him. “Which I need to meet someone for.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, I’ve got to go to meet them pretty much now.”

“Oh. Right.” Chloë couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He’s lying, he’s trying to dig himself out of a hole, she thought. I can see through it. “I can’t believe you’re going out again,” she said.

James had already risen to his feet and picked up his wallet. “I won’t be long,” he promised, and left before she could protest, banging the door behind him.

21

While James was gone, Chloë got herself into something of a state.

It was our first row, or nearly, she worried, biting at her nails. Was I too stroppy? Although surely I’ve some right to be demanding.

She started writing a postcard to Sam to distract herself but gave up after one line. She hadn’t even told him she was seeing a married man, let alone in New York. Brotherly concern might lead to disapproval of her behavior, and that was the last thing she wanted. Enough’s enough, she decided, I
have
to talk to Rob. At least now it’s evening in the UK and he might be home.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re there!” she said, when he picked up.

“What do you want now?” he teased her. “More showing off about what a fantastic trip you’re having? I don’t know if I want to hear!”

“No. Do you mind calling me back? It’ll be cheaper that way. I could do with your take on today.” He did as requested, and this time Chloë held back less on her feelings—there seemed little point when Rob could read her regardless—and it was such a relief to talk instead of texting. So she filled him in on the phone call to Maggie and James’s upset. Then she told him about the encounter with Jean—which, to her irritation, Rob found funny—and finally details of the near-argument.

“Hmm,” said Rob, when she’d finished. “Well, honey, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know!” wailed Chloë.

“I did warn you…”

“Yes.”

“And I could tell you were falling for him, whatever you said. So, let’s have a moment’s pause here.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to be honest.”

“I will be.”

“Question one. Do you love him?”

“I think so.”

“Oh dear. I
knew
as much. Question two. Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Good. Question three. Has he told you?”

“No.”

“Fine. Question four. Have you asked him to leave his wife yet?”

“No.”

“I give you till Friday.”

“Rob! I won’t! You told me not to!”

“Chloë. Darling. When have you ever listened to me?”

“Er…” Chloë racked her brain. “I ditched Bob Andrews ’cause you said to.”

“I’m flattered you see it that way, but far as I recall, you ditched boring Bob ’cause he wasn’t bright enough for you. It’s just I was the only one honest enough to tell you so.”

“Okay … But, anyway, I promise I won’t ask him to leave Maggie. He’s got a son—I couldn’t do that to him.”

“Couldn’t do it to who? James or his son?”

“His son, Nathan.”

“
Now
you say so.”

That observation pained her.

“Look,” said Rob, “you know what I think.”

“What?” Chloë supposed he might as well tell her it like it was. This was why she’d called him, after all.

“I think he sounds great, to be honest,” Rob continued, obviously keen to express his take on the matter at last, “absolutely right for you in many, many ways. He’s successful, he’s bright, he’s funny; you like the same kind of things. He says he doesn’t make a habit of affairs, which—if you believe it—means he could be serious. And from what I glimpsed of him from behind my net curtains that time—” Rob had sneaked a look a couple of weeks previously when James had been leaving “—I’ve got to concede he’s pretty damn gorgeous. Infinitely shaggable, I’d say.”

Chloë purred.

“But,” he added, “you silly, silly girl, the man is married!”

“I know,” said Chloë, in a small voice. “I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”

“You’re too much of an adrenaline junkie for your own good,” said Rob. “And if anyone knows, I should. It’s only I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Ouch. That again.

“And from my experience—which admittedly isn’t quite the same—if a man is married, especially if he has a child, the commitment runs much deeper than might seem to be the case.”

“I realize that.”

“Has he ever, for instance, told you he doesn’t love his wife anymore?”

“Um, no, not exactly…”

“Well, then, I’m sorry to say that my guess is he does.”

“Oh.” Chloë hadn’t fully faced this idea. James’s behavior had seemed to suggest otherwise, yet it was true he’d never said he didn’t love Maggie. He might even have said the opposite on that first night in Soho, but Chloë had ignored it.

“Which means one of three things. Either he’s going to string you both along until he sorts his head out—in which case he may finally decide to leave her for you but it could take a long time, trust me. Or he’s going to leave her eventually, but you’ll end up being the relationship that instigates that, not the one he ends up in. Or he’ll stay with her because he loves her and because of Nathan.”

Chloë felt her hopes being swept away by a hurricane. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“Quite frankly, my dear, I think you should go to the conference, glean all you can about magazines, shag him senseless till Saturday, then quit while you’re ahead.”

“You mean finish it? I can’t do that.”

“I know you can’t. If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure I’d be able to either.”

“What then?”

“Prepare to ride it, my girl. Like a wild stallion. See where it takes you. Though you’re gonna have to hold on tight. This is by no means the worst it could get. You’ll know when you’ve had enough, I promise.”

“Okay…” said Chloë, gradually acknowledging this was what she had been unconsciously prepared to do all along.

At that moment there was a soft knock at the door, and James breezed in, looking surprisingly pleased with himself. Chloë pulled herself together and sat up. “Rob,” she said quickly, “got to go.”

“Is he back?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get you a present?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Ask him—I wanna know!”

“Okay.” She put her hand over the receiver and looked up at James. “Did you get me a present?”

“Yes.” James grinned. First he handed her an Astor Wines and Spirits carrier bag. Inside was a bottle of Bollinger champagne. “I had to go to the East Village.”

“Oooh,” she said appreciatively.

Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a tiny, carefully folded packet of paper.

“Oh, my God!” said Chloë. “You didn’t!”

“I did.”

She opened it. From its glistening white color and lumpiness it appeared to be very high quality.

Cocaine.

*   *   *

Chloë was a hedonist, but nonetheless she and James decided to hold off on doing a line until after dinner—the coke would curb their appetites, and they didn’t want to miss the chance to try another New York eatery. James said he’d spotted an interesting place on First Avenue when he’d been in the East Village. “Looked like we could eat upstairs, then dance downstairs later,” he said, and Chloë agreed it sounded fun.

The moment they’d finished their main course, she wrinkled her nose excitedly. “Go on, give it to me, then.”

Quickly he handed her the packet under the table. Holding it tightly lest anyone see, she got up and made her way to the restroom. She had to wait for two women to go before her (they went in together—a giveaway they were doing drugs) before a cubicle was free. Inside, she double-checked the door was locked properly and opened the wrapper. The coke would need chopping first, but she’d done this before—not often, yet enough to know what she was doing. She took out a credit card, thinking how decadent this all was, shook some of the powder onto the top of the toilet cistern, and broke up the lumps. Then she racked out a line—long, thin, elegant, the promise of pleasure to come. She rolled up a twenty-dollar bill (
dollars
, how wild!) and sniffed half up one nostril, half up the other, flushing the lavatory simultaneously so no one would hear.

Ooh, yum. She could taste it as she swallowed. She licked her index finger and picked up the remainder from the cistern to rub on her teeth, vaguely conscious of the lack of hygiene. No point worrying about that, she decided, soon I’m going to be high on Class As. What are a few germs in comparison?

Back at the table, she handed the packet to James, who left to follow suit.

While he was gone, she appraised the other diners. An offbeat, creative-looking ensemble, were they writers or poets, musicians or painters, she wondered. Presently—whoa! There was a delectable whoosh as the chemical hit her brain. She had the same feeling she’d experienced at the top of the Empire State—an exhilarating combination of powerlessness and omnipotence. It was as if because she was just one small person on a very huge planet she could do anything, behave however the hell she liked.

When James got back, he sat down, looked across at her, and asked, “Don’t you sometimes feel that what counts is the good time, the experience, the sensation?”

“Yup, I do.”

“You make me feel like that a lot.” He grinned.

“It’s mutual.” She grinned back.

“It’s kind of dangerous…”

“That too,” she nodded, “but so irresistible.”

“Totally.” He laughed, wickedly. “We’re probably very bad for each other.”

“Without doubt.” The coke gave her the guts to be more provocative. “Do you think I’m worse for you than Maggie?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“For sure. She’d never do anything like this. She doesn’t even know I still do.”

“Do you? How often?”

“Oh, I’ve only done it a few times since we’ve been married. But I did it at that conference I told you about.”

“The one where you met the Spanish girl?”

“Yes. And at a couple of parties we’ve been at. Actually,” he paused, “I shared a packet with Jean once.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did, one New Year. It was a little treat I got for us both. Not that you’d know with Jean—she’s so hyper she hardly needs it, but she likes it very occasionally.”

“I’m surprised.” Perhaps there was more to Jean than Chloë realized. And perhaps, given Jean was Maggie’s best friend, there was more to Maggie too. “So how come Maggie’s not into it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s not really her scene. She’s quite clean-living, really. Likes to look after herself. She eats well, exercises a lot. I guess…” He paused, searching for the right words. “… she likes to be in control of things.”

“She doesn’t seem to be very in control of you.”

Again James stopped to consider. “No, I suppose not—at the moment.”

“You mean she has been?”

“I suppose, in many ways, yes. Not in a bad way … it’s just she’s provided me with some stability, some roots. She’s kind of looked after me—I feel safe with her. If I’m being honest, I’d have to admit I wouldn't be where I am now professionally without her support.”

“I see,” said Chloë. “Do you feel safe with me?”

“No. That’s what I love about being with you.”

The coke had numbed Chloë’s brain a little: at this point his admissions were fascinating rather than painful. “So,” she said blithely, “do you think you’ll stay together?”

James looked at her. For too long, just as he had all those weeks ago at Louisa’s restaurant. There, along with the difficulty of the question, was that same, unstoppable desire. Only now it had more meaning. And danger.

“Chloë, I don’t know. I truly don’t know. If someone had asked me six months ago, I’d have thought they were mad. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me from her. But now … I’ve met you…”

“Do you still love her?” My God! She’d asked it!

“Yes, I do.”

Even through the coke, that didn’t feel so good. “Are you still
in
love with her?”

“No, not after ten years or however long it’s been, not in the way you mean.”

Go on, Chloë, ask, ask! “Are you in love with me?”

Again he looked at her. “Boy! You’re not mincing your words tonight, are you?”

“No.” Chloë felt empowered.

“Okay, okay. Yes.”

She sat back, vindicated, thrilled. There. It had been said. There was no going back. “Good.”

“Good? Is that all you can say? Good?” His eyes were wide.

“Yup.”

“So, you pick up my heart, string it out to dry, fuck with my life, do my head in, totally confuse me about my relationship with my wife, let alone my child, and you say it’s
good
?”

“Don’t be so stupid!” Now she held his gaze. He was making it sound like she’d done it deliberately. “I don’t mean it’s good for all those reasons. Do you think I feel happy about that? Jesus, James, I might be wicked from time to time, but I’m not a complete cow. No, I mean it’s good because I feel the same way.”

“Oh,” he said, laughing at himself. “I see.”

“So, you’re not going to leave her, then?”
“Hey!”
She could hear Rob’s voice.
“It’s only Tuesday!”

“Chloë.” He took her hand. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I haven’t known you long—there are lots of things to consider. There’s Nathan for a start—and things between Maggie and me … it’s not that simple…”

“Right.” Although it wasn’t the answer she wanted, Chloë did understand.

“Is that what you want?”

Heavens! So two could play at this honesty game. “I don’t know,” she said frankly. And she didn’t. “I suppose … I want you to make up your own mind. I don’t wish to force you into anything. And I do understand your situation.”