Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

The departing guests flowed around us like the Red Sea. I stood face to face with the person I had once loved more than anything on this earth and time performed one of its somersaults. I was transported back to the hot, airless hotel bedroom in Quetzl where, famished for every scrap of him, I lay on the bed and told him that I had chosen to live a different sort of life from his.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

It was a silly question. Just as fazed as I, Hal replied, ‘I’m here as an author.’

I recovered my wits. ‘Of course, and your books are very successful.’

There was an awkward silence as we considered where, conversationally speaking, to venture next.

Typically, Hal took charge. ‘Have you got a minute? I think we need a drink.’ Without waiting for an answer, he tucked a hand under my elbow and we retraced our steps to the dining room where he cajoled two glasses of brandy from a surly waiter who wanted to go home.

The old confidence was still there, the quick, decided gestures, the impatience and the charm. He handed me a glass. ‘I read your review of A Thousand Olive Trees. Thank you.’

We sat down at an empty table. The waiters moved tiredly from one to another, whisking away the debris of wineglasses, crumpled napkins, half-eaten rolls and ice buckets filled with melting ice.

Hal smiled at me. ‘I’m not sure where we pick up, if that’s the right word.’

‘Probably “begin” is better.’

‘Yup, “begin”,’ he agreed. ‘It was a long time ago.’ He peered at me. ‘You don’t look so different.’

‘Neither do you.’ That was not quite true: close up, he was older and there was a scar on his chin that was new to me. I said, as calmly as I could, ‘I know you’ve been doing well. One of the most famous travel writers of your generation.’

‘So they tell me.’

He looked well, lean, fit and as if he was enjoying his life. Had he been spoilt? I could not tell but I was amused by my speculation, which was far more interesting than whether his beauty still made me dizzy. When I first met Hal the question of his moral texture was the last thing that interested me. Twenty-five years is such a drop of time – a snap of the fingers – but it is quite sufficient to have moved from one state to quite another and I wanted to know which.

He shrugged. ‘I had a hunch I might bump into you.’ His drawl was less marked than I remembered. ‘No, that’s not true. I asked the publicist if you might be here.’

‘Are you on a publicity tour?’

He looked at me for a long time. ‘I settled in the UK,’ he said, ‘after I got married. Amanda put up with me as best she could, then she pushed me out but I stayed here. I’d gotten used to being on an island.’ He tapped his nose. ‘If I’m honest, it’s nicer being a big fish in a small pond than vice versa. But, yes, I got what I wanted. I made a life that suited me. And you?’

The brandy glass felt cool in my hot hands. I chose equally cool and, I hoped, neutral words. ‘I’m between jobs.’

And?’

There seemed no point in prevaricating. ‘I’m afraid my husband and I have recently split up. He decided to live with someone else. I’m just getting used to the situation, then I’ll think again.’

Hal looked down at the contents of his brandy glass. ‘Was it worth it?’

This was an unfair question but it was wise to get it over and done with. ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

‘So be it,’ he said.

I steered the conversation on to safer ground. ‘Where have you been lately?’

‘Supervising the digging of wells in Namibia. There’s an acute water shortage and no funds.’ He fingered his glass. ‘Next, though, is a return to the Yanomami territories. Remember them?’

I stiffened. ‘Of course.’

He leant forward until our faces almost touched. ‘One thing I’ve always wanted to know Did you have children in the end, Rose?’

‘Two. A son and a daughter. Did you?’

‘No, and I can’t make up my mind if that’s a relief or not.’

There was a thoughtful silence and I thought of many possible replies. Again, I chose the most neutral. ‘You had other things to do, Hal.’ I began to feel more comfortable with this encounter, and very curious. ‘Tell me about the olive farm in Italy’

He relaxed in the chair. ‘At the moment the house is a tip, but the country is beautiful. The trees need a bit of attention, which I’m hoping to give them.’ He drank some brandy. ‘Second question. Did that olive cutting ever take?’

‘It did. It’s in my garden.’

We caught each other’s eye, and shades of the young Hal and the young me rose between us, impudently demanding readmission. A waiter edged past the table with an armful of tablecloths and I concentrated on that. ‘Seems odd making small-talk with you,’ I said eventually.

‘OK. Let’s move it on. I often wonder…’

‘Don’t.’ I looked down at my ringless left hand.

Hal followed my train of thought. ‘You mustn’t fret.’ He spoke in the sweet, disarming way that I had known so well. ‘I don’t. Not a good idea.’

This was so Hal, and I laughed. ‘I knew you wouldn’t fret. I knew you would be glad, and you were. You were perfectly free to do as you wished.’

‘Yes and no.’ He placed his hand on my bare arm and the flesh pricked under his fingers. ‘I’m not saying I didn’t mind, Rose, because I did. But you taught me that you have to move on. You grow out of situations. They don’t suit any longer. It happens. Of course I don’t know the circumstances but you mustn’t castigate yourself He assessed the remains of the brandy in the glass. ‘If you can manage it, it’s best to see it as an opportunity.’

Hal was making it easy and I began to feel ridiculously light-hearted. ‘You haven’t changed a bit. My husband has run off with a younger woman and it’s opportunity knocking?’ I put my glass on the table and noted that it was almost empty. ‘That’s the kind of comment one makes years afterwards, when it’s all dead and past. But Mazarine – do you remember her? – would agree with you.’

‘So, you think it’s too calculating to view it in that way?’

‘Sort of.’

‘But you made a cold calculation when you left me.’ He spoke evenly and without malice.

‘Not cold, Hal.’ I looked up at him. ‘It seemed for the best of reasons at the time.’

He rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a bad time.’ He smiled gently. ‘Would your husband’s leaving have been less awful for you if the woman had been older rather than younger?’

‘God knows. Possibly. It’s useful having a hate figure, and if she’d been a nice hard-done-by widow, it’s possible I might have felt differently’ I brushed down the black dress over my knees. ‘Now the first shock is over I keep thinking about silly things, like how are we going to divide the china and who will take the gumboots? We have an archive of gumboots.’ I knew perfectly well I was veering from the point. ‘Actually, the woman, Minty, was my assistant and a friend, and while she was at it she took my job.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on. We’re making interesting small-talk.’

I took the last sustaining mouthful of brandy. ‘First I lost Nathan. That was bad enough. Then it was as if a wand had been waved and I was invisible. From having a settled position, as a wife and all that that meant, I was suddenly the blurred figure in the background of a painting or photograph. You know, one of the nameless ones left behind to sweep up the manure after Napoleon’s cavalcade has swept through. The ones who are asked to wait until last to climb on to the life raft. I don’t mind being a nameless one – probably very good for the soul – but it was a shock.’ Emptied of my brandy words, I peered at him. ‘Hal, am I talking sense? No, I don’t think I am, but never mind.’

The door to the dining room opened.

‘Hal,’ interrupted a voice, ’there you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

A publicist I vaguely recognized had stuck her head round the door. ‘I’ve got Jayson Verey from Carlton who wants to see you. Can you come?’

The room had grown chilly and, emptied of its glitter, depressing. I hugged my flowerpot handbag. The publicist