A Time for Friends

wonder, Colette mused, placing her pearls in their satin-lined box. She wondered had the time come for her and Des to move back to London. Life here was becoming a grind. Des was working harder than ever but for less return. She was working two days a week in the gallery. Dickon and Austen’s was, after a slow year, starting to pick up the pace again because people like Clara Alton Graham were selling off family heirlooms and investment pieces to cover debts. And investors and speculators were hovering like vultures. But the New York pace of life was wearing her down. London and its grace and elegance and more temperate climate seemed very appealing lately. It would actually be a pleasure to spend Christmas there and not have the exhaustion of the social networking she had to do here. Jazzy would probably want to stay in New York and that was fine. She was leading her own life now, caught up in her own social whirl, and there were times Colette and Des didn’t see her for a couple of weeks, and that was as it should be for a young woman of her age.

She had just finished her meal and was lounging in front of the log fire in the den when her cell rang. Des’s number flashed up. ‘Hi,’ she said cheerily, managing to suppress a yawn. ‘What time will you be home? Encarna has one of your favourites for dinner. Don’t leave it too late or it will lie heavy on your stomach.’

‘I’m sorry!’ said a female voice with a faint Southern twang. ‘I’m er . . . a friend of your husband’s. He’s been taken to Lennox Hill with a suspected heart attack—’

‘What? When? Was he at work? Is he OK?’ Colette shot up off the sofa, relieved that she’d only had a glass and a half of wine and still had her wits about her.

‘Look, it’s like this, Des was with me. He was under a lot of stress about losing a packet with Madoff. We were in bed. He told me he was going to stop paying the rent on the apartment I live in. We had words and then he got red in the face and started sweating and gasping. He said he had a pain in his arm and chest, so I called an ambulance. I’ll drop his briefcase, phone, overcoat and clothes off at your building. Cheers.’ The phone went dead.

Colette stared at it, dazed. Who was that woman? And what was she saying about Des losing money with Madoff, and being in bed with Des? She sat down heavily, trying to process what had just happened. Des was having an affair! That woman had just said that she’d been in bed with him! And that he was paying rent on an apartment. She was obviously his mistress.

It was a possibility she had sometimes considered. Des was catnip for a certain type of woman. All those Wall Street hot shots were. So many people she knew, male and female, were engaged in extramarital affairs. It was a gossip staple as long as she had lived in New York.

How long had it been going on for? She’d never heard even a whisper. Tears stung her eyes. They were supposed to be a team, she and Des. They had worked very hard for all they’d achieved. They had never been overwhelmingly ‘in love’, but she loved him and had felt he had loved her. And they had supported and encouraged each other in all their endeavours.

At least he’d had the decency to keep it very discreet, because some well-meaning ‘friend’ would certainly have found an opportunity to alert her to the fact of her husband’s infidelity. She had seen it happen many, many times. Des at least had played far away from home, metaphorically speaking. Some of their acquaintances weren’t so considerate, she thought bitterly, feeling bile rise in her throat.

She’d better get to the hospital. At least he was on the Upper East Side – she wouldn’t have to go far. East 77th just off Park. Lennox Hill’s revamped and updated ER was supposed to be an improvement on what had been there before. With cardiac problems he’d be attended to promptly. Was that a consolation or not? Colette didn’t know how she felt. Angry, bitter, frantic, stunned? She pulled off her robe and hurried into her bathroom to freshen up.

A heart attack! The words sent terror through her. Was he in danger of death? Should she ring his family? His mother was dead and his father too frail to travel. There was no point. And what about Jazzy? Should she call her? Colette swallowed and tried to keep calm as she sprayed on deodorant. She brushed her hair, and touched up her make-up with shaking hands, smearing her mascara. She’d go to the hospital first and see what was happening. Jazzy could meet her there. She pulled on a pair of black trousers and a cream V-neck jumper. Hospitals were always stuffy; she didn’t want to be baked. She grabbed a scarf before ringing down to the concierge and asking him to call her a cab. ‘Stay calm, stay calm,’ she whispered to herself as the elevator sped silently downwards. ‘Thanks, Arun.’ She faked a smile at the Indian concierge on duty as he held the door for her and walked with her to her waiting taxi. A thought struck her. ‘Someone will be dropping off some er . . . items . . . for me. Will you hold them until I get back?’ she asked.

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ Arun said politely.

‘Lennox Hill ER,’ she instructed the taxi driver, shivering as she got into the cab. It was freezing and she wrapped her black woollen coat around her and tightened the soft cream angora scarf around her neck.