Page 96 of The Honeymoon Affair

Charles brings me breakfast in bed the next morning, as I don’t have to be at the port until the afternoon. As I munch on toast and marmalade, I ask him about his divorce settlement with Ariel.

‘I told you there’s no issue with any of it.’

‘I know. What I meant was – this house? You both lived here and we’re going to live here. But if you’re not actually divorced yet . . . she’s entitled to half, isn’t she? Are you getting a loan to buy her out?’

He explains that they’ve already agreed all the financial details and that the only thing she gets is the mews at the back.

‘The mews?’ It takes a moment, then I push the duvet back, get out of bed and stand naked at the window looking down over the garden. ‘That mews? I thought it was your office.’

‘You’ve been in my office. My study. Why would you think the mews was my office too?’

‘I just assumed . . . So that’s why she was here last night. All she had to do was stroll up the garden path.’

‘Not why,’ says Charles. ‘Like I said, she sometimes drops by to talk about stuff like the edits informally.’

‘It’s not very . . . appropriate.’

‘Now you’re being silly.’

‘Seriously, Charles.’ I begin to get dressed. ‘She’s your ex. It’s bad enough that you have to work with her. And worse that you’re still married to her and that she’s wearing her wedding ring even if it is a unique piece of jewellery. But having her working in the garden and thinking she can pop by for a chat . . .’

‘She doesn’t,’ he says. ‘We got into the habit of doing it from time to time. I’ll tell her not to.’

‘Can you move her out of the mews?’

‘No. It was part of the separation agreement. It’ll be part of the divorce agreement too.’

‘For feck’s sake. Is she going to be living in our ear day in day out?’

‘Honestly, you’ll hardly ever see her.’ He puts his arm around me. ‘Ariel is a good woman and she only has my best interests at heart. And seeing as you’re part of my best interests, she’ll take you to her heart too.’

He’s so sincere, I almost believe he’s right about her.

Almost.

Chapter 26

Ariel

One sure window into a person’s soul is his reading list.

Mary B. W. Tabor

I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t want to, but I am. Those big brown eyes might be appealing, but she’s nothing like his usual type. She’s too short and too . . . well, sturdy, I guess. Charles doesn’t go for sturdy; he prefers slim, willowy women. I was slim and willowy when we first met, although that was partly because in those days I was existing on lunchtime salad bowls from Pret and warm white wine at evening book events. After I started going out with him and learned about his preferred female shape, I was on constant flab alert. In my twenties, it was easy to keep slim, but it was a lot harder in my thirties, and now, in my forties, it’s a battle. That’s why I wear shapewear whenever I’m meeting anyone. I can’t afford to look anything other than perfect. And I especially want to look good any time I meet Charles, because I don’t want him to think that I let myself go after we broke up. I want him to see that it’s made no difference to me. And I know he still finds me attractive. Why shouldn’t he? After all, handsome as he is, he’s put on a few kilos himself. Why does that never matter for a man? Why aren’t they bombarded with messages about how to look good in your forties, fifties and sixties? Why are women expected to do all the work?

My mind is spinning around in circles. I know I’m spending far too much time thinking about someone with whom my most intimate relationship is in the past. Yes, we care about each other. And yes, there have been the occasional friends-with-benefits moments. But no matter what Ellis might think about us being the perfect couple, he’s not in love with me and I’m not in love with him.

Yet I’m struggling with the thought of him and Iseult. I know I told him she was what he needed, but I was being . . . well, polite isn’t the right word. I said it to make him think I didn’t care. He’s a complex personality and it’s clear to me that she’s not. It’s a holiday romance, and when it goes wrong it’ll throw him into a fit of not being able to write (again) because he can’t write when he’s upset. He’s only in love with her now because she got him out of his writing funk with her mad suggestion about a mystery novel that may have worked but isn’t really Charles.

None of this is Charles.

He’ll realise it soon enough.

Although I sometimes go to the mews office at the weekend, I decide that it’s better to stay away for the moment, and instead do some work at home sorting the unsolicited emailed manuscripts that are cluttering up my inbox. I move them to folders arranged in date order, and when I’ve finished, I highlight the ones that came with a literate email and bin the ones telling me that I’d be a complete loser to pass on a book of such great importance and brilliance. I haven’t got the strength to work with someone who uses the word ‘loser’ in the subject line of an email.

On Monday, I have an appointment with Josh Carmody, the accountant who’s looked after me and the agency ever since I set it up. We meet in his office and he goes through a new system he wants me to use for generating payments for my authors, which will be slightly more expensive but significantly clearer. I give the go-ahead for the switch and he asks how things are going, which he already knows as he filed my taxes at the end of the year.

‘I meant with you,’ he says. ‘How are things between you and the Big House?’

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