Chapter Sixteen
Isobel stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck to see over the throng of relatives, friends, and limousine drivers as Maria emerged from the arrivals hall. With her white trouser suit and immaculately styled hair she looked like she had spent eleven hours in a beauty salon instead of an aluminium tube. A beaming porter pushed a heavily laden trolley as Maria followed, elbow-to-elbow with a uniformed man who appeared to be the pilot, pulling his regulation carry-on bag. She acknowledged Isobel from afar, saying her good-byes to the man in the cap with a peck to his cheek.
“You’re incorrigible,” said Isobel as she hugged her friend. “How on earth did you manage to hook up with someone from the flight deck?”
“By fluttering my eyelashes and pouting my lips, how else? There were only me and an old couple in first class and he stopped by to ask if I needed anything.”
“That’s a novel approach. But don’t flight attendants do that sort of thing?” said Isobel, coupling Maria’s arm.
“Customer service starts at the top, and Francis simply wanted to lead by example.”
“So you’re on first-name terms?”
“But of course, you don’t think I would kiss a stranger, do you?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Isobel with a grin.
Maria had arrived at peak time and the concourse outside the arrivals terminal was jammed under the weight of traffic. A police officer fought to bring order to the chaos, waving his arms and blowing his whistle, valiantly attempting to clear the pedestrian crosswalk of stationary vehicles. At less hectic times, airport traffic wardens tolerated the line of cars that that dallied beyond the two-minute limit at the drop-off zones, but on this evening of bedlam, they were being unceremoniously moved on.
Only a green four-door sedan, directly in their path, seemed immune to the efforts of the wardens. The front window of the sedan whirred down as Isobel approached, and her eyes met those of Detective Dan Burnham. Her stomach muscles tightened. He had recognised her, of that she had no doubt, but other than hold her gaze, he made no sign of acknowledgement.
“You know him?” said Maria, her eyes following Isobel’s.
“I thought for a second I did, but no.”
When they were over the crosswalk Isobel glanced backwards, but the green sedan had moved on. Despite the balmy warmth of the California evening, she pulled her cardigan tight to her shoulders.
The journey from San Diego airport to Coronado was a short one, and the route took them through the bustling area of Little Italy, close to downtown. Bars and restaurants were busy and Italian music wafted into the streets.
“This looks fun,” said Maria. “I vote we stop for supper.”
“It would be better to drop the luggage off first,” said Isobel, glancing at the mountain of bags on the backseat. “Then we can pop out in Coronado.”
“But you said Coronado went into curfew after nine o’clock,” Maria pouted, wriggling in her seat with her usual energy.
“I’m sure we can find somewhere, even if it’s just a hotel bar. Or you could always catch up on your sleep?”
“I’ve not come all this way to waste my first evening in bed.”
“Not unless you get lucky, you mean.”
“That would not be wasting it. How about over there,” said Maria, pointing to a rustic Italian restaurant with a parking sign outside. “I’m sure the bags will look after themselves if we valet.”
They opted for a table on a patio facing onto the street. The inside and outside seating areas were divided by a galley bar at which couples and singles sat either side on a line of stools, sipping from oversized wine glasses. The lights were low, dimmed for atmosphere as the night chased out the day and alcohol lightened the mood.
Maria’s dark brown eyes swept the room. The grey walls were brightened by a continuous row of pictures featuring classic Italian landscapes and iconic images; rolling hills with vineyards and sunflowers interspersed by long-legged girls in shorts and sunglasses straddling Vespas.
“The paintings remind you of Tuscany?” said Isobel.
“It isn’t the artwork I’m checking out.”
“Nothing’s changed, then?”
“Isobel, please, I’m here to enjoy myself, I hope you’re not going to get all prim and proper on me.”
Isobel laughed. “I don’t think I’m in any position to do that.”
A waiter with bouffant hair and designer stubble arrived with water. Isobel rolled her eyes as Maria beamed at him. “My name is Roberto,” he announced in a heavy Italian accent, “and I will be your server this evening. If you have any questions on the menu, then it will be my pleasure to help. Some cocktails to start, perhaps?”
“We just need a few minutes,” said Isobel in perfect Italian, as Maria beamed a smile through faultless and impossibly white teeth.
Isobel and Maria had met in their roles as corporate spouses and despite their different backgrounds had developed a lasting friendship. It had come to be characterised by one poking good-natured fun at the other. Isobel gave a cursory glance at the menu, swiftly turning to a familiar topic—teasing her friend on her penchant for beauty enhancement treatments. “I must say, Maria, you do look, how shall I put this—“
“Amazing?”
“I’m thinking more like ‘younger’. Have you had something else done before coming out here?”
“How observant of you,” said Maria, delighting in her role, “but I’m surprised that you noticed in this light.”
“But I saw it immediately at the airport. Your face looked somehow different, somehow brighter. I swear even now I could read from the glow.”
Isobel leant across the table and ran the back of her fingers down Maria’s cheek. “Wow, it’s like porcelain.”
“Actually, I’ve had nothing particular done, and certainly nothing invasive. Just some laser treatment and collagen stimulation. Apart from that, I’m still all original.”
“Above the neckline, you mean?”
“But of course, apart from the teeth and the lips and the cheekbones. But, other than my vanity, which I freely admit, what shall we talk about?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, you could start by telling me what’s happening back home.”
“Coronado is home now. At least so long as I’m here.”
“Don’t be churlish, Isobel, it doesn’t suit you. What’s going on with you and Peter? Any divorce petition yet?"
“No, we’re still in this odd limbo.”
“So you’re now saying you might get back together?” asked Maria with an incredulous tone.
“No chance of that. Neither of us wants to give it another go.”
“How can you be sure Peter doesn’t want it?”
“Lots of reasons. For one, he stopped taking my calls last month. Now I have to go through his lawyer to find out if the rubbish has been collected.”
“He’s still bitter, then?”
“Can you blame him, after what I did?”
“You didn’t do anything millions of other women don’t do, and you had more cause than most.”
“Peter never did anything to deserve being betrayed, he gave me everything I wanted.”
“Everything and nothing, you mean. You were loyal for fifteen years, gave up your career for him, waited on him hand and foot, and he treated you like wallpaper. I’m only surprised you didn’t leave him earlier.”
Isobel looked into her water glass, moving the ice round with the stirrer. “It’s loyal of you to say that. And yes, maybe an earlier parting would have been better for both of us.”
“And is he seeing anyone yet, anyone serious?”
Isobel stiffened in the chair. “If he is, I haven’t heard.”
“What about that pretty young assistant he had, the one who always made eyes at him?”
“Rachel? No, certainly not up to two months ago. I did ask him shortly after we separated if anything had been going on between them, but he denied it.”
“Well, I suppose he would, wouldn’t he?” said Maria, who held a decidedly more cynical view of the general male populace than her friend. “With a possible divorce and everything that goes with it to think about, he’s hardly likely to admit his own adultery.”
“In fifteen years of marriage he never did anything to cause me to doubt him, at least not until near the end when he knew about Jay. But I still don’t think he ever slept with her. If anything it was more likely he was playing a game, a way to get back at me. Or as a way to get me to come back to him.”
Maria nodded. “Yes, I can see why someone as clever as Peter might have played that game. But it won’t have been a game for her, no, she would have been deadly serious.” Her words had the intensity of personal experience. “A young and ambitious woman working for a high-flyer, she’ll have been salivating, and not just from her mouth, at the prospect of what she could get her hands on.”
Isobel’s shoulders tighten, and an impulse to tell Maria not to transfer her own morals and motives onto someone she had never met flashed through her mind, but she held back.
“Please, Maria, can we not go there?” Maria remained silent, obliging Isobel to continue, to disclose what she knew. “Rachel is back working for Peter again, but that’s all I know. And if she’s taking down more than notes for him, then that’s between the two of them.”
But Maria’s curiosity had yet to be sated and she continued her questions, compromising only by moving on to less intimate matters. “So what’s happening with the house and everything?”
Isobel leant back, the tension in her body easing. “It’s rented out. Peter got a good offer from some Russians, and he’s moved into a flat in London to be closer to the office.” She knew from Maria’s enquiring look what her friend must be thinking, whether Peter wanted to be closer to the office, or to Rachel.
“And the horses?” asked Maria.
“They’re in stables.”
Roberto returned and to his obvious disappointment they declared themselves to not be particularly hungry, and ordered appetisers to share and a half bottle of Chianti. Maria continued much where she had left off. “What about the villain of the whole piece, that prize scoundrel Jay. Do you still hear from him?”
Isobel laughed. “Jay came into my life for a reason. He may have blown it apart, but maybe that’s what I needed. You could say he gave me the courage to save myself from a slow, lingering death. And as for being a scoundrel, well, it takes two to tango, in Tuscany anyway.”
“So you’ve heard nothing lately?”
“Nothing other than what you already know. He did try several times to get hold of me. I ignored his messages and blocked his calls. He hasn’t tried to contact me recently, so I guess he’s moved on, too. He’s nothing if not resilient.” She talked in a sigh as she continued, an odd nostalgia lessening the bitterness the thought of him usually stirred in her. “Doesn’t matter how many times he gets knocked down, he’ll always spring back up.”
Isobel’s mind drifted off to the final time she had given herself to Jay, wantonly and cravenly, even though she knew he had betrayed her, even though she had been determined to confront him. But she knew you couldn’t shame a man like Jay, a man with his own amoral code, who believed the end justified the means. And as her mind went back, a faint smile crossed her lips. Jay lied and cheated like a bent timeshare salesman, but he also saw what he wanted and went after it. And for that, for his indomitable nature, she admired him.
“Probably for the best. Even if he did love you, like he said he did, you could never have trusted him.”
Isobel shrugged. “Who knows? Anyway, it’s all history now. A lesson learnt the hard way, shall we say.”
“So,” said Maria, “just going back to Peter, and if you don’t mind me asking, how are you managing for money? Is he making you stick to that ridiculous monthly allowance?”
Isobel nodded. “It used to be more than enough, but here the rent takes most of it, so I need to budget. But I’m fine with that.” Isobel topped up Maria’s wine glass. “But can we talk about something else now? Something more fun.”
“Men, then?”
“Isn’t that what we were talking about?”
“Not the way I have in mind,” said Maria.
“Well, you go first. How is Arnie keeping, and what’s happening in your love life?”
Arnie made his fortune in the oil business and took Maria, twenty years his junior, as his trophy wife. While Arnie drilled for black gold, he left Maria free to spend extended periods in Tuscany, an arrangement that she believed suited them both.
“He’s busy as ever, spending time in Texas and the Gulf mostly, but he’s making time to see me this weekend, so I won’t be under your feet.”
“I never imagined you would. And Angelo?”
Maria let out a heavy sigh. “Angelo tired of me, or I of him, or probably a bit of both. I do not cry because it is over, I smile because it happened. But now I suppose I’m in the same position as you,” Maria said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “looking for a new man.”
“That is not the position I’m in,” said Isobel firmly. “I came here to get away from a man, two men actually.”
“Please! Every unattached woman is looking for a man, and that includes you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Unless, that is, you’ve already found him?”
“That’s not what I mean either.”
“So what do you mean? Are you seeing someone or not?”
“Yes I’m seeing someone. But that’s not what I came to California to do. It just happened.”
“As these things do. So who is he and what does he do?”
“His name is Ryan, and he’s an actor. He’s not A-list or anything, just another Hollywood hopeful waiting for a big break. He lives in LA, so it’s been a bit of a long-distance thing.”
“And younger than you?”
Isobel nodded, “Seven years.”
Maria opened her eyes in a look of appreciation. “A handsome stud then, but not exactly a toy boy?”
“Handsome, yes, in a sort of waif-like way.”
Maria rubbed her lower lip and Isobel waited as her friend studied her. “So more than a fling?”
“Maybe, it’s still early on.”
Maria lifted her wine and swirled the red liquid around the glass. “A struggling actor, you say…”
Isobel recognised the euphemism and bridled. “I’m not sure I said that, exactly. And not every man has to have an agenda. At the moment he’s just a boyfriend. He’s talented and ambitious, and he has plans beyond acting.”
“Well, I suppose he’d need them; if he works in Hollywood and hasn’t made it by his age, he’s not likely to, is he? Not in front of the camera, anyway.”
“George Clooney didn’t get his big break till nearly forty.”
“The exception that proves the rule…”
“Maria! Cut me some slack. I invited you here to have a good time, not to have you rubbish my boyfriend.”
“Hashtag just saying.”
“Well, don’t. I want to give the relationship a chance, and having you sniping will not help. And it doesn’t bother me one bit that he’s not wealthy.”
“But it would be better if he had a steady job, would it not? Someone with the prospect of keeping you in the style to which you are accustomed?”
Isobel blew through her lips, looked around for the waiter, steadfastly ignoring Maria until she caught his eye and mimicked the signing of a cheque. “I think I’d better take you home so you can get some rest. We don’t want to fall out on our first evening.”
“I’m only teasing.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Not about money, anyway. I’ve come out here to get my life back together and see if I can rebuild a career. And as far as men are concerned, I’m never again going to allow myself to be dependent on a man in the way I was with Peter. Never.”
“And what is all of a sudden so bad about allowing a man to take care of you and spoil you,” her friend replied indignantly, “if he can afford to do so and if it pleases him also?” As Maria never sought to disguise, her beauty and her body had been her passport out of Venezuela, and into the life that she had dreamed of.
“I’m sorry, Maria, I didn’t mean—“
“It is of no importance. I am what I am and the life I have chosen, it comes with its own price. But with men, a woman must think of more than what the heart needs.”
“I know love doesn’t pay the bills, if that’s what you mean. But all I’m saying is that I want to know I can take care of myself if needed, and I have no plans to exchange one gilded cage for another.”
“Though there’s no danger of that happening with young Ryan.”
“Last warning.”
Maria held her palms up toward her friend. “I am just joking.”
The two fell into thought, and Isobel scanned the room. Diners ate early in San Diego, and as the tables emptied the restaurant took on the look and the vibe of a cocktail bar. Couples were being replaced by a singles crowd; women in tight black dresses preened and posed and strutted back and forth from the restroom with absurd frequency, while men in jackets and open-necked shirts lounged around the bar talking loudly and checking out the floor show. Isobel caught the eye of a man standing alone nursing a brandy glass, but just as quickly looked away. Isobel had little experience in the modern dating game and if circumstances had not obliged her to play it would gladly have avoided it. A touch from Maria’s hand pulled her from her thoughts.
“So Ryan is your only romantic interest at the moment?” she asked airily, her question lacking the edge of earlier.
Isobel, still smarting from her friend’s cross-examination, did not want to open herself to further scrutiny; she would choose her time to mention Lance. “Yes, and if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
The waiter arrived and Maria stretched out her hand to accept the check, only to be intercepted by Isobel grabbing the plate.
“Thank you, Roberto.” She turned her head back to Maria. “My treat. Though you hardly deserve it.”
Roberto offered a mock bow. “I do my best, signorinas, even though we are so busy tonight. And, if I may be allowed to be so bold, I have been asked by two gentlemen at the bar if the beautiful ladies sitting by themselves would like to join them for a cocktail.”
They both glanced in the direction that Roberto indicated, where two athletic-looking young men sat on bar stools, their body posture open and turned toward them, one holding out a champagne flute in recognition.
“Maybe later,” said Isobel. She gave a smile of acknowledgement to the men before turning away, as Maria scowled at her. Isobel clasped her friend’s hands. “I’ve been so looking forward to you coming over. I know what a pain I must have been these last months, stressed out and getting uptight about silly things, but I’m trying to get back to my old self. It’s just taking a bit longer, that’s all.”
“You have been in pain, but you’re coming through it. Believe me. You’ve smiled tonight more than I’ve seen you smile in a year.”
“You‘ve been my truest friend this last year, and you’re the one person in the world I most want to celebrate my fortieth with. So let’s just have a good time, okay?”
Maria squeezed Isobel’s hand and smiled in silent assent before looking over to the bar. “Perhaps a good time can start now?”
Isobel laughed. “You’ve only just arrived in America and you’ve already pulled the pilot who flew you here. And you’ve got Arnie coming at the weekend. I think we can call it a night and save ourselves for tomorrow.”
Maria gave another fleeting glance to the bar. “I suppose you’re right. But I just need to powder my nose, if that is allowed.” She stood up and threw her hair back with an exaggerated toss of her head as the two men at the bar maintained their focus.
“Well, if you’re stopped as you pass our two admirers, don’t dally,” Isobel said, “and if you’re even thinking of coming back with any more than a telephone number to show me, you may find me gone and your luggage on the street.”