Page 153 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Nobody thinks you’re a fool,’ I say. ‘And if you’d give me thirty seconds of your time—’

‘I don’t care if you think I am or not,’ she snaps. ‘Your opinions don’t interest me in the least. And I don’t have a single second of my time to waste on you.’ She turns to Charles. ‘Or you. I’m off. And so is this.’

She practically rips her beautiful engagement ring from her finger and hurls it at him. He ducks, and it flies across the room, coming to rest among the debris of the champagne glass.

‘Iseult – Izzy – for God’s sake . . .’

But she ignores him and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

In the silence that follows, Julie London begins to sing ‘Cry Me a River’.

Iseult

What an absolute idiot I’ve been. How could I have believed him when he said it was over? Their not being divorced should have been a massive red flag. The fact that they’re still not divorced should have been an even bigger one. And there they were together drinking champagne and dancing to sultry music as though they were in a fecking nightclub.

Celeste had her doubts. Mum had her doubts. Even Steve, not that he was ever entitled to them, had his doubts. But I didn’t. Oh no. I was too convinced that I was right, that Charles had fallen in love with me and that I was in love with him. Well, I was in love with him. But not now. Now he can rot in hell for all I care. Him and his agent-slash-ex-not-ex. They’re welcome to each other.

They deserve each other.

I deserve better.

Ariel

‘Oops,’ I say into the silence. ‘You’d better go after her.’

‘Again?’ he asks.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘How many times has she walked out on me?’ he asks. ‘At the dinner. At Seán Óg’s launch. And now. Maybe she’s telling me something.’

‘All she’s telling you is that she’s upset.’

‘But I seem to upset her all the damn time!’

‘She’s young. She’s emotional. She needs reassurance.’

‘I’m old. I’m emotional. I don’t know if I can give her the reassurance she wants.’

‘Oh, Charles.’

‘Maybe I’m not cut out to be married,’ he says. ‘I made your life miserable, and I seem to be making her life miserable too.’

‘You didn’t make my life miserable,’ I tell him. ‘Things went wrong, that’s all. It happens. And this time what’s happened is that, understandably, Izzy’s got the wrong end of the stick. I’m sure when she calms down she’ll feel differently.’

‘But I promised.’ He gives me a mournful look. ‘I promised no more Freedom Fridays. I promised not to see you in the house. I meant it. Yet I broke that promise.’

‘I made you break it,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You didn’t,’ he says. ‘I should’ve told you not to come. To tell me whatever news you had over the phone. Or somewhere else. But you’d said it was good news and I thought . . . well, for a split second I thought maybe I had been nominated for another award. I wanted to hear it from you face to face.’

‘You made a bad decision then,’ I agree. ‘Make a good one now. Go after her.’

He hesitates for a moment, then nods and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Bryan Ferry and ‘These Foolish Things’, another of my favourite songs. I tell Siri to mute the music, then go to the kitchen and return with a dustpan and brush. After removing Iseult’s engagement ring from the debris and leaving it on the sideboard, I sweep up the shards of glass and put them in the bin. I recall that the set of Waterford champagne glasses was a wedding present to Charles and me from Saxby-Brown. There were six. We broke others over the years. With this one smashed, that only leaves the one Charles was drinking from.

I leave it on the kitchen counter, and then I go home.

Chapter 43

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