right here.’
Are you? thought Jeff.
Tracy turned out the light.
Whereas before, work had been a welcome respite from the emotional tension at home, now Jeff felt almost as ill at ease with Rebecca as he did with Tracy. He’d promised not to shoot the messenger. And yet on some, unconscious level, he realized he was angry with the beautiful young intern. Rebecca was wrong about Tracy. Wrong, wrong wrong. And yet she’d sown a seed of doubt in Jeff’s heart that refused to die. Well meaning or not, in one fell swoop Rebecca had shattered his equilibrium, leaving him feeling awkward and out of place at the British Museum as well as at Eaton Square.
One rainy morning, Jeff arrived at their joint office dripping wet – he’d forgotten his umbrella and couldn’t face going back home to retrieve it – to find Rebecca packing up her things.
‘What’s going on?’
Stuffing the last of her books into a cardboard box, Rebecca handed him a stiff white envelope. She forced herself to smile.
‘No hard feelings, boss. I’ve had an incredible time working with you. But we both know we can’t go on like this.’
‘Go on like what?’ said Jeff. Irrationally, he found he felt even angrier than usual. ‘You’re resigning?’
‘I’m leaving,’ said Rebecca. ‘I believe if it’s only called resigning if you get paid.’
‘Because of me?’ For the first time, Jeff felt a stab of guilt.
‘I think you’re amazing,’ said Rebecca. To Jeff’s astonishment, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, just once, on the lips. The kiss wasn’t long but it was heartfelt. Jeff was embarrassed by how instantly aroused it made him.
‘Look…’ he began.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘Don’t. Please.’ She handed him an unmarked disc. ‘Watch this, after I’m gone. If you ever want to talk, you have my numbers.’
Jeff took the disc and the letter, staring at them both dumbly. It was a lot to take in at nine o’clock in the morning. Before he’d recovered enough to say anything, Rebecca was gone.
Depressed and exhausted suddenly, he sank down into his chair. Outside, the rain was still beating down relentlessly. The splatter of droplets on the tiny single window above his desk sounded like a hail of bullets.
What’s happened to my life? Jeff thought miserably. I feel like I’m under attack.
Switching on his computer, he slipped the disc inside.
Within ten minutes, he’d watched the footage five times. Then he read Rebecca’s letter.
He stood up, his feet unsteady beneath him, and opened the office door. He started walking down the corridor. After a few seconds he broke into a jog, then a run. The elevators took forever, so he bounded down the south stairs, two at a time.
‘Did you see Rebecca Mortimer?’
The girl at the front desk looked startled.
‘Hello, Mr Stevens. Is everything all right? You look—’
‘Rebecca!’ Jeff panted. ‘Did you see her leave the building?’
‘Yes. She was saying goodbye to some of the staff in the café, but she just left. I think she was heading toward the tube on…’
Jeff was already sprinting out of the double doors.
TRACY WALKED DOWN MARYLEBONE HIGH STREET with only a flimsy umbrella to protect her from the torrential rain, but nothing could dampen her spirits. It had been a long day but a wonderful one. She looked around for a cab.
It had been so long since she’d felt this happy, so long since she’d felt happy at all, that she almost didn’t know what to do with herself. There was a part of her that felt guilty about Jeff. Poor Jeff. He’d tried so hard to understand her grief over losing their baby. Tracy could see the effort he was making, but somehow that made everything twenty times worse. None of this was Jeff’s fault.
But it isn’t my fault either. I can’t help who I am. And I can’t stop needing what I need.
Alan understood. Alan got it, got her, in ways that Jeff never could.
Tracy had seen him again today. It had reached the point where simply being in the room with him had the capacity to make her happy, and hopeful for the future. Perhaps that was the key. Hope. Tracy had tried, she really had, but she’d felt so trapped in her married life with Jeff since they got back to London, so hopeless. Forty-five Eaton Square, the home that used to be her sanctuary, had become a prison.
No more.
Tracy was on her way home now to talk to Jeff. She was nervous, but at the same time she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him, to unburden herself at last. Just the thought of peeling off her wet clothes, climbing into the shower and washing away the pain of the past year filled her with a profound sense of relief.
No more secrets.
It was time for the next chapter to begin.
THE LIGHTS WERE OFF WHEN SHE got back to the house. Jeff didn’t usually get home till seven or eight and would probably be later tonight since he wasn’t expecting her back. Tracy hadn’t known what time she would leave Alan’s, so had made up a story about dinner with a girlfriend.
That will be the last lie I tell him, she resolved, climbing the stairs. From now on it would be honesty all the way.
She pushed open the door to the master bedroom and froze. For a moment, quite a long moment actually, time stood completely still. Tracy’s eyes were sending one message to her brain, but something—her heart, perhaps—kept intercepting the signal and sending it back. This is what I am seeing, her brain seemed to be telling her, but it cannot be true.
She was so silent and still, barely even breathing, that it took Jeff a few moments to realize she was standing there. When he did, and their eyes finally met, he was standing by the window, locked in a passionate embrace with an utterly oblivious Rebecca Mortimer.
They were both still dressed, but Rebecca’s shirt was half unbuttoned, and Jeff’s hands were on her back as they kissed passionately. When Jeff saw Tracy and tried to pull away, Rebecca grabbed him like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft.
Stupidly, Tracy’s first thought was, She has an amazing figure. Rebecca was wearing spray-on jeans that she was clearly itching for Jeff to help her out of. It was as if the whole thing was a scene in an erotic play. Some sort of fiction, from which Tracy could detach herself. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
The real Jeff, my Jeff, would never do that to me.
It was only when Rebecca turned, saw Tracy and screamed that the illusion shattered.
‘How could you?’ Tracy looked witheringly at Jeff.
‘How could I? How could you?’
Straightening
