Rushing Waters (21 page)

“Have you told all our friends?” she asked, curious.

“They know,” he said simply, and just as in bad movies and books, she was the last one to know. He had made a fool of her for a year, which made it all even worse. “How was New York when you left?”

“Downtown is a mess. Uptown is untouched.” Not that it mattered, given what was happening between them. And she really didn't know what to do now. She felt like a quitter leaving London and going back to New York, but it would be humiliating staying, hearing about it when George and Annabelle got married, and too lonely for Ellen without friends. She had no friends of her own, only George's. And now there was no one left she could trust, since they had all known.

They made an appointment to meet at the house on Tuesday evening after work. She went to her office early Monday morning, answered all her emails, and met with her assistants to catch up on her clients and their news. They all asked about the hurricane, and her assistants saw how devastated she looked, and realized how bad it must have been. None of them knew that the real hurricane for her had happened in London, and was not Ophelia but George.

Phillippa, her senior assistant, stayed in her office to go over some photographs of furniture and fabric samples with her, and when the others left, Ellen told her what had happened.

“We're getting a divorce.” Phillippa was shocked at what she said, and thought she'd heard wrong at first.

“You and George?” Ellen nodded. “What happened?” Phillippa was stunned. They were the kind of couple you thought would be together forever.

“A lot of things, I guess,” Ellen answered. “Four years of IVF. And he's in love with someone else.”

“Christ, I can't believe it. I never would have expected it of him.” She had always thought he was a snob and somewhat arrogant. But he was so proper and even tedious at times, she had never suspected he would cheat on his wife. It made Phillippa angry on her behalf to hear about it. Ellen didn't know if she was angry or just sad. Mostly sad for now. Maybe anger would come later.

“Me neither,” Ellen said mournfully.

“What can I do to help?” Phillippa offered. She was a beautiful Eurasian girl, and had worked for Ellen for five years.

“Once we divide up our things and I figure out what I'm doing, there will be plenty for us to do.” And even more if she moved to New York. “I'm meeting him tomorrow. We're selling the house.”

“You sound very calm about it.” Phillippa was impressed and worried about her.

“What other choice do I have? He made up his mind. From the sound of it, a year ago, or months anyway. He just wants to get out of the marriage now, so he can marry her.”

“He's a fool,” Phillippa said loyally, as Ellen wondered if that was true, or if it was in fact the right decision for him. It was hard to know. It didn't feel like the right one for her, and she couldn't imagine it ever would. “Well, let me know if there's anything I can do. I can help you pack up the house when you get to that. Where are you going to go? Will you look for something else to buy?”

“Eventually.” And then she decided to be honest with her. “I'm thinking about going back to New York, for a while anyway. I'll keep the office here. I can always move back, and I can fly in to see clients, and work out of my apartment in New York.” She'd need at least one assistant there, but it wouldn't be hard to find one, and she knew Phillippa could run her London office and keep her clients happy. And with email and phone, Ellen could stay in close touch with her clients and her London staff.

“I'll miss working with you every day, if you decide to do that,” Phillippa said unhappily, but she could see why she wanted to. For the moment Ellen had nothing left in London except work, and Phillippa thought she would have wanted to run away too. “It sounds like you had your own personal hurricane,” she said sympathetically, and Ellen nodded.

“Yeah, I did. At least I got my mother organized before I left. I found her a great place. I wish I could get her to sell her Tribeca apartment, but she's determined to move back.”

“More fool her after two hurricanes,” Phillippa said, sounding very British. “Maybe she'll change her mind.” But Ellen didn't think she would. Grace was not one to give up.

They spent the day working together on a stack of projects, and the next day Ellen met with two of her clients, and she left work reluctantly at six o'clock to meet George at the house. He let himself in without ceremony while Ellen was pouring a glass of wine to fortify herself for the meeting, and when she turned to look at him, he already seemed like a different person. He appeared happier, was wearing a brighter tie than she'd ever seen him with before, and had a new haircut and looked younger. But the real change was in his eyes. He looked excited and alive, and totally indifferent to her. It was as though the man she knew had vanished and been replaced by a stranger. In a way it made it easier. There was nothing familiar about him now. And seeing him and talking to him was like a slap in the face. In his mind, she was already out of his life. He had disposed of her in a cruel, heartless way. She had never felt so insignificant in her life. She was history and nothing more. He had given up on their marriage and never said a word to her. He had never given her a chance to change it, or make it work. He gave up in silence with no warning and moved on. Ellen wondered if she would ever trust anyone again. And if she left London, it would be with a lost decade and a clean slate. No man, no kids, no friends. She was leaving their friends to him, and she was deeply hurt by what they'd done. She had been betrayed by everyone they knew.

They went through the house room by room, while they each said what they wanted, and she made a careful list. There were no arguments about it, she wouldn't stoop to do so, and she only wanted to keep what she had paid for or brought to the marriage. And anything he had gotten from his family she was leaving with him, which was most of the art, and some antiques from his grandparents' country house when they died. It was agonizingly sad walking around the house with him. It was just furniture to him, and nothing more. They were relics of a lost life to her. It felt as though someone had died, and they were dividing up the estate, which they were. And what had died had been their marriage, which had been a living entity to her, like a person.

George told her that he wanted to remove his things as soon as possible, since he wanted to get an apartment, and was already looking. She could tell that he'd been busy while she was gone. Her trip to New York had been convenient for him. She wondered if he'd even had the bad taste to have his girlfriend stay at the house with him, and sleep in her bed, but she didn't want to ask.

“So have you decided what you're doing and where you want to live?” he asked, and seemed anxious to know, which seemed cruel to her.

“You only told me six days ago. I need some time to figure it out.” But she told him he could put the house on the market. She realized that he wanted to get his money out of it. It seemed like he wanted to divest himself of all signs of the marriage. She had seen other men do things like that, but had never thought him capable of it. It was all a very bad surprise. And she walked around the house with a stomachache after he left, but at least she didn't cry. And she spent the rest of the week trying to figure out what she wanted to do. She remembered what her mother had said, that she had to do what
she
wanted this time, and not live her life for someone else, but she hadn't made her mind up yet.

Grace moved into the furnished apartment over the weekend, and called Ellen to thank her again on Sunday night. She said that Bob and Jim were coming to dinner, and she sounded delighted.

“Say hi from me,” Ellen said quietly. It had been a long, arduous week for her, dealing with her clients after two weeks away. She had flown to Nice for a day on Friday, to watch the progress on a house she was decorating in St. Jean Cap Ferrat, and had flown home that night. And like a drumbeat behind all else she was doing, she was trying to figure out what to do with her life, and where she wanted to live.

She didn't expect the house to sell quickly, but once George took his things out, she wanted to move too. It was all happening very fast, and maybe it was just as well. He was being so unkind about it, and so coldblooded that she couldn't harbor any illusions about him and what their marriage meant to him. Clearly, nothing in a long time. Grace said she had lost all respect for him, and Ellen admitted she had too. He was like someone she didn't even know.

She'd been home in London for two weeks when she ran into a couple they knew well, on the street over the weekend. She was shocked by the chilly reception she got from them, as though they scarcely knew her, and she realized that their allegiance had never been to her, and belonged totally to George. She could tell that they were already engaged with his new woman and considered them a couple. Ellen was the openly acknowledged outsider now. It made the decision of what should come next easier for her. She called Phillippa as soon as she got home.

“Okay, I'm done,” she said quietly, and her assistant wasn't surprised. She had thought it would come to that in the end. Men like George, and the upper-class circles they came from, were too tight a clique for any of them to stay loyal to her, and Phillippa was glad for her that she had decided to leave, at least for a while.

“I'm going to put all my stuff in storage for now. I can ship it to New York, or you can do it for me, when I find an apartment, unless I find something furnished like my mother's.” But she wanted something more permanent than that. She needed a home of her own. She had just been torn out of London by the roots, and she needed to plant them again somewhere. New York for now. “I want to meet with all the active clients in the next couple of weeks, and reassure them that I can be here whenever they need me, while you hold the fort. They can reach me by email, or Skype, or on my cell. I deal with most of them by email now, so it won't be a big change for them.” Phillippa agreed with her and set up the appointments for the following week. When Ellen met with them, none of them seemed worried or upset, and they liked the idea of her shopping for their fabrics, furniture, and accessories in New York. And she would fly back for any installations, or problems that they had. No one objected to the change. It wasn't going to be a hard transition for them at all.

It was going to be a lot harder for Ellen, who had lived in London for eleven years. She knew she would miss it, but after what had happened with George so suddenly, not enough to stay. She advised him of the date her belongings would be removed from the house, but didn't tell him where she was going. It was none of his business now. They had no reason to communicate with each other. All the decisions about property had been made relatively quickly, since the only thing they owned jointly was the house. The rest could be handled by lawyers. “You can reach me through my office or attorney,” she told him by text.

She and Phillippa watched her furniture, and some of her clothes, being packed and removed to storage, and she stayed at a small hotel near the office for the last few days. And she decided to call Charles Williams before she left. He and Gina had been back in London for a month by then, and she wondered if Gina had stayed. He was thrilled to hear from Ellen when she called.

“When did you get back?” he asked her, and sounded happy and relaxed.

“About three weeks ago. Are Gina and the girls still here?”

“They are. She had another blowout with Nigel. And her landlord in New York told her that she can't move back into her apartment for another three months, so we put the girls in school here. They're happy, the grandparents love it, and it's nice for me to have them here.”

“And Gina?” she asked cautiously, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

“I'm not sure. I haven't asked. I don't want to scare her off, but she seems happy too. Whatever happens, it's been wonderful having her and the girls here. Things seem a lot smoother than they used to be. Maybe we both grew up.” He seemed hopeful, and interested in Ellen's news too. “What about you? Everything back to normal?” Ellen laughed in answer. At least she could laugh about it now, and not cry when someone asked.

“Not exactly. My husband told me he wanted a divorce before I left New York. Apparently he's been having an affair for a year. I was an idiot not to see it. They're getting married. I just put my furniture in storage, and our house is on the market. So there's a major change. I'm going back to New York in a few days. I'm going to try living there for a while. It would be too hard here.” When she said it, it sounded like she was running away, but she didn't know what else to do. She had lived in George's world for ten years, and she wanted to make a graceful exit. For her, for now, that meant New York, even though she had no set plans there either, and would have to stay with her mother until she found an apartment. She felt stupid that her whole life had unraveled, but it had, and now she had to deal with it and start over.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea,” he said sympathetically.

“Neither did I. It was a hell of a surprise.”

“Maybe it will be a blessing in the end,” Charles said optimistically.

“Maybe.” She wasn't counting on that, but she was doing her best to act as though it was.

“Stay in touch, and let me know if you come back to London for a visit, or to work. I'd love to see you,” he said warmly.

“Will do,” she said simply. It seemed odd that her only friend in London was someone she had met on an airplane during a hurricane a month before.

Ellen's questions when they spoke on the phone left Charles thoughtful after they hung up. The last few weeks, he and Gina had been getting along and the girls were happy. She was staying with him, and sharing a bedroom with the girls. He had made no romantic advances toward her—he didn't dare. But he would have liked to. She had given him no indication that it would be welcome, although he was almost sure it was over with Nigel. They had had another resounding battle on the phone, where she had accused him of not caring about her or the girls. And Charles never questioned her about it—he thought it best not to, and to let her come to her own conclusions without comment from him.