‘Hel-lo!’ I said when we finally reach them, leaning over the table and offering my hand to shake.
‘Hey, you!’ said Bonnie Hegel in a very life-coaching manner. I ‘took agin her’, as my granny would say, immediately, and not just because of her Gucci shades.
To my surprise, both she and her husband embraced me warmly, then embraced Jonathan.
I don’t like being hugged by people I don’t know, and to be honest, once Bonnie and Kurt had finished with me I felt as if I’d just been inducted into some kind of cult.
‘Honey, may I introduce Bonnie and Kurt Hegel?’ said Jonathan in a very formal voice, emerging from Bonnie’s bird-like grasp. ‘Kurt, Bonnie, this is Honey Blennerhesket.’
I couldn’t very well shake hands after being pressed so intimately and recently against Bonnie’s skinny chest, so I was reduced to raising my hand in a weak salute towards both of them.
How annoying to be out-foxed so early on, I thought crossly. I put a hand in my bag to retrieve my own sunglasses, hesitated, since it was rude, then got them out anyway, and pointedly put them on my head.
‘Let’s get some champagne!’ cried Kurt, waving at the waiter. ‘It’s a champagne moment!’
‘Is it?’ said Jonathan.
‘Oh, it is, Jonathan,’ replied Bonnie, covering Jonathan’s hand with hers. ‘It’s so good to see you, and looking so . . . centred.’
I wondered what sort of state he’d been in when they last saw him. I, of all people, could imagine how horrible his marriage break-up must have been, but even so it was impossible to imagine poker-faced Jonathan crying himself to sleep over a bottle of Baileys and wearing the same pyjamas for four days. Besides which, surely it was rather ghastly to refer to his recent traumas in front of his new girlfriend?
‘And great to see you in such vivacious company!’ she added, with a distinctly ambiguous glance at me. ‘You’re moving on at last!’
I wasn’t at all sure how I was meant to respond to that. Or, indeed, how Jonathan was meant to.
Jonathan, however, stepped in straight away. ‘Well, thank you. And she’s come straight from work, haven’t you, Honey?’ His voice was very crisp and if I was meant to glean clues from his expression, then there wasn’t a lot to go on.
‘Yes, you’ll have to excuse me,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit distrait.’
I felt I had to add this since Bonnie was a vision in creaseless greige linen. How had she done that, I wondered crossly. I only had to look at a linen skirt to turn it into an unflattering concertina.
‘No, no. I adore that . . . eclectic London style you have going on,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s extraordinary what you English girls can carry off.’
I straightened my spine and pulled in my stomach; the button on my fitted jacket was already under severe strain. ‘Thank you!’ I said. ‘It’s vintage.’
‘Fabulous,’ said Bonnie. ‘Well done.’
Jonathan coughed nervously. ‘Kurt? Here’s the waiter, what’ll you have?’
‘A bottle of champagne, please,’ Kurt instructed the waiter, keeping his eyes on me as he said it. ‘I think we should celebrate this glorious summer day, and all that goes with it!’
I smiled and wondered whether they’d been sent here specifically by Cindy. Then I wondered what sort of report Jonathan wanted them to go back with. Was I meant to be cute, or professional, or sexy, or what? Really, I did wish he’d give me some sort of written agenda before these meetings.
‘So, are you here on holiday?’ I asked.
‘Well, yes, I guess we are, although we don’t consider London to be a foreign country any more. We are head over heels in love with the UK,’ confided Bonnie. ‘We’re thinking of buying a flat here. I mean, it would make sense, financially. And we prefer to get local flavour, instead of camping out in hotels all the time. They get so dull.’
‘How nice,’ I said politely. ‘Jonathan’s your man for that, aren’t you, darling? Do you have Kurt and Bonnie on your books?’
‘I do indeed,’ said Jonathan.
‘We’re thinking about the Notting Hill area,’ confided Bonnie as the champagne arrived. ‘We’re cool about getting something compact, but really nothing smaller than two bedrooms, because it’s just like living in a box, you know? I mean, I need somewhere for my yoga practice, we both need an office, and Kurt simply cannot live without a small garden at least . . .’
Now I was really struggling not to take agin them.
‘Jonathan’s been handling some wonderful properties,’ I said. ‘But he’s nabbed the nicest house for himself, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I think I have,’ said Jonathan, at the same moment that Bonnie put her hand on her upper chest and said, ‘Oh, Jonathan, is it as nice as that amazing summer house you and Cindy had in Massachusetts? Oh, we had some fun times there! Do you remember? When Cindy set the garden alight on Hallowe’en, with the paper pumpkins, and you had to stamp them all out?’
She and Kurt hooted with laughter.
I noticed that Jonathan managed a small tight smile, but his eyes weren’t laughing.
‘Mind you,’ Kurt said, pointing at Jonathan, jokily, ‘mind you, she did that on the balcony of your New York apartment as well, didn’t she?’
‘Oh my God!’ Bonnie was gulping with laughter. ‘She did too! Those firemen! Were they pissed!’
Jonathan’s smile evaporated altogether.
‘Cindy sounds quite the pyromaniac!’ I observed brightly. ‘You didn’t mention that, Jonathan.’
Kurt stopped laughing abruptly and gave Bonnie a noticeable nudge under the table.
‘What? Oh, sorry.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry! Sorry, Jonathan. I just keep . . .’
Kurt turned to me and said, ‘We have so many happy memories of Cindy and Jonathan. We’re extremely fond of the both of them.’ He spoke very solemnly, as if he were narrating a documentary about their divorce. ‘Their separation doesn’t change that.’
‘I’m sure you have some wonderful memories,’ I said warmly. ‘Now then, Bonnie, how do you manage to look so fresh in this heat? Tell me your secret, please . . .’
The conversation rambled on, taking lengthy detours along Kurt’s ascent to partnership and Bonnie’s revolutionary visualisation techniques, but noticeably avoiding the thorny area of the divorce. Every time we approached it, I sensed Jonathan stiffen with tension, Kurt and Bonnie exchanged guilty looks and the conversation was swung away into safer waters of London house prices and the like. But like an iceberg, it was always there. Bonnie and Kurt just pretended not to notice it.
Jonathan was doing pretty well, making chatty conversation, but I could sense a strain about him that only increased the more he drank. And he was drinking faster than I’d ever seen him.
Eventually, I decided there was no point encouraging them. They might have thought they were being kind by not discussing Jonathan’s troubles, but swerving round the topic the whole time just made it a million times more obvious. It wasn’t really any of my business but I was damned if I was going to let them sit there tormenting him with politeness, then go home and report that he didn’t give a toss.
‘So, Bonnie, how is everything going with Cindy’s pregnancy?’ I asked.
Jonathan made a faint choking sound.
Bonnie looked aghast. Really, I expected a life coach to have a bit more go about her.
I raised my eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Jonathan explained that Cindy is expecting a baby. And it can’t be very easy for her, having to deal with such a major uprooting as well. I hope she’s not having too tough a time of it?’
There was a brief moment of horror, then Kurt said, ‘Yes. Yes, I think she’s, um, being looked after OK.’
‘That’s good news,’ I said, and put my hand over Jonathan’s, partly to stop him breaking the cocktail stick he was fiddling with. By now I didn’t care what sort of tongue-lashing I might get afterwards from him; if I was there as his pretend girlfriend, I intended to defend him exactly as I
would if I were his real one. ‘Do excuse my directness, but I really don’t see the point in beating about the bush when it comes to family. It’s so important to be open, if you want to make a fresh start. I mean, our past is very much to do with who we are in the present. Isn’t that right?’ I directed that at Bonnie.
She nodded rapidly.
‘Jonathan’s very lucky to have found such an understanding woman,’ intoned Kurt, still in his documentary tone.
‘Well, I’m not saying I understand how Cindy could have let such a wonderful man go!’ I replied. ‘But I hope I’d never wish bad things on her when her . . . her decision’s brought Jonathan my way? I really do hope she has an easy pregnancy. I’m sure she has quite enough on her plate already.’
I put a hand over my glass as the waiter topped up our champagne, and changed the subject swiftly. ‘But, Kurt, you were telling me about those wonderful shoes of yours. Did you say you had them hand-made? I’ve been looking for something similar for my father . . .’
Kurt grabbed this opportunity and sprinted with it, reeling off a whole list of ridiculously expensive shoe-makers, some of which I mentally noted for future reference.
Jonathan’s hand twitched underneath mine, and I squeezed it back. I shot a quick look at him while Kurt was flicking through his personal organiser in search of a phone number, and he managed a brief, wry smile in return. It wasn’t much, just a quick shrug of the lips, but for a second it broke the tension on his taut face, and it was real.
Poor Jonathan. He needed someone in his corner, no matter how tough he thought he was. I smiled back, reassuringly.
‘Ah, cute,’ said Bonnie. ‘More champagne, Jonathan?’
Half an hour later, Jonathan sliced through Kurt’s epic account of Great Fish We Have Known by saying, ‘Listen, Kurt, I hate to cut the party short, but Honey and I really have to shoot. She’s given me timed tickets for the London Eye and it’ll take us a few minutes to get down there.’
Quick learner, I thought, approvingly. I caught his eye, but his expression was very straight.
For a hideous moment, I thought they were going to decide to join us, but they seemed to have seen enough. I felt rather sorry for them, to be honest – being friends with both halves of a separated couple is such a nightmare.
‘Goodbye, Honey,’ said Bonnie, embracing me again. ‘I’ve got to be straight with you, I came here hoping to hate your guts, but you know, I can’t. I hope you’ll make Jonathan very happy. He deserves it.’
‘Er, thank you,’ I said. ‘I think so too.’
Bonnie carried on gazing at me with a thoughtful expression that I knew – from Emery – could lead only to a woundingly personal comment. Kurt and Jonathan were deep in some manly discussion about the shocking cost of ‘gas’ in London, so there was no chance of rescue there.
‘You know, maybe it’s a good thing that Jonathan’s making all these radical changes to his life,’ she began. ‘Not just London, of course.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘What sort of changes?’
‘You, for a start.’ Bonnie nodded. ‘You’re absolutely so not his type? Which in this instance is maybe a healing thing?’
‘And what is Jonathan’s type?’ I enquired, so overcome by curiosity that I nearly missed the barb.
‘Oh, you know . . .’ She made vague gestures. ‘Dark, intense, intellectual rather than showy . . .’
‘I don’t think I have a type, Bonnie,’ said a warning voice over my shoulder. ‘I don’t think one girlfriend in sixteen years can really count as a whole type.’
Bonnie had the grace to flush. ‘Oh, Jonathan, you know what I mean.’
Jonathan put his arm round me. ‘Honey is very much my type,’ he said. ‘She’s never set fire to anything in my presence and she listens to conversations instead of treating me like a dry run for the high-school debating society.’
‘Goodbye, Honey.’ Before Bonnie could respond, Kurt clasped me in a bearhug. ‘Hope to see you again soon. I do. I mean that.’
Jonathan was clasped twice, and then we left, holding hands. It felt very natural, and he didn’t drop it once we were out of sight. I supposed it was his way of saying thank you, without actually having to say anything. And I was rather touched.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, eventually. I wasn’t sure what sort of mood Jonathan was in now. He’d gone quiet, but it felt more intimate than if he’d been making small-talk about the weather.
‘The London Eye, of course,’ he said, dropping my hand to check his watch. ‘Where did you think we were going? You want to go someplace else?’
‘No, no, that’s fine.’
Secretly, though, I was quite pleased, both for the silence and for the excursion. Seeing Jonathan’s discomfort at the memory of Cindy’s betrayal had stirred up lingering memories of Orlando, and how I’d felt when I discovered how he’d betrayed me. I didn’t want to go home with those unpleasant feelings still churning about, since virtually any innocuous household item could, with some prompting, remind me of him. Photos, coffee mugs, hair brushes . . .
The queue for the Eye was short, and Jonathan surprised me by having his tickets ready in his wallet. I wondered if he’d been carrying them round since I’d given them to him, or if he’d remembered them specially.
I opened my mouth to ask him, in a jokey way, and something in his face stopped me. I knew well enough by now that Jonathan’s moods were unpredictable: he seemed to swing between charming estate agent flirting when we were together in public (and sometimes in the cab home too, if the evening had gone well), which I knew didn’t mean much, and, when we were alone, deep silences, which no amount of prodding could dispel. If he’d been my real boyfriend he’d have been very hard work indeed, but I’d had enough practice with impenetrable bosses to know when to leave well alone. I did sometimes wonder if the silences were his way of reminding me that the flirting bits weren’t real.
We stood in line behind a crowd of giggling French schoolkids brandishing London Aquarium bags and enormous rucksacks. My head and my feet both started to ache at the same time.
‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said gruffly.
‘Sorry?’
He waved the tickets. ‘Your cover-all excuse.’
‘Oh, that. Happy to help.’
Then, courtesy fulfilled, he lapsed back into a brooding silence.
I sighed soundlessly. The prospect of Nelson’s cooking and a gin and tonic had rarely seemed so attractive.
In the end, we only had to wait a few minutes, and when we got to the front the attendant winked at me, and gave us our own capsule.
Slowly, we rose into the evening sky, and beneath us the first few lights shone brightly out of the dulling background. I was always surprised and delighted by aerial views of London streets; on ground level it all seemed so solid and regimented, but from high up, you could see curves and whorls and swirls, spreading across the city like fingerprints.
I recalled miserably that I’d planned to take Orlando on the London Eye for an anniversary treat. We’d never got round to it.
I wished I hadn’t drunk. One glass of champagne is never enough for me – it’s either none at all, or the whole bottle. One glass makes me tediously melancholy. Two make me a party animal, and a whole bottle . . . Well, apparently, it’s highly entertaining.
Jonathan, too, seemed lost in thought, and I didn’t like to disturb him. His eyes were far away, and he clenched the metal viewing bar until his knuckles were white.
Silence in any relationship is an undervalued gift, I told myself. Business or personal. It demonstrates trust.
‘Thank you,’ he said eventually, when we were halfway up.
‘What for?’ I said. ‘Look, there’re the Houses of Parliament. Can you see?’
‘Yeah. No, thank you for this afternoon. For coming out at short notice. For being so nice to Bonnie when she was being a bitch.’ He paused and bit his lip, turning his tough face into something approaching boyishness. ‘Thanks f
or dealing with . . . the whole Cindy issue. That was above and beyond. I apologise if it was embarrassing for you.’
‘Not at all. I know they’re your friends, but I didn’t like their attitude,’ I said, watching three red buses cross Waterloo Bridge in a line. Three shiny ladybirds. ‘They wanted to know how you felt without helping you deal with it. Of course you want to know how Cindy is. You just don’t want to have to ask. Mind you, to be fair, they probably didn’t want to have to tell you.’
‘I guess that’s about the size of it,’ sighed Jonathan. He took off his jacket and sank his forearms onto the viewing bar. His shirt-sleeves rode up and I could see the fine golden hairs glinting in the light. Without his jacket, he suddenly looked like any other young man, not some scary managing director with an efficiency fixation.
He stared out at London. ‘To be honest, the weirdest thing is that I don’t actually care how Cindy is. She’s kind of faded away. I can remember exactly what she was like when we first met, what we did, what perfume she used to wear, but if you asked me what she thought about, I don’t know, the death penalty now, I couldn’t tell you. Sixteen years.’ He put his head on his arms, then looked out bleakly towards the City. ‘How come people change like that? How do they turn into someone you don’t even know? And you think you’re watching them all the time.’
‘I know exactly,’ I said quietly, wanting to match his frankness. ‘You feel such a fool. It’s bad enough that they’ve hurt you, but to make you feel so stupid for letting them . . . That’s the worst thing. You blame yourself for not noticing.’
We were temporarily silenced, taken aback a little by each other’s honesty. I wondered if I’d gone too far, then Jonathan plunged on. ‘I mean, I can deal with the breaking up, but I hate having to write off all the years we had together. They just don’t mean anything to me any more, because she obviously wasn’t who I thought she was. I can’t look back at those times now without thinking, Jeez, how could you be so dumb?’
I thought about the number of miserable nights I’d insisted to Nelson that Orlando was on holiday, or away on business, or concentrating on some project. And all the times Nelson had yelled at me to stop being so wilfully stupid.