‘Thank you so much. I do hope we see you again,’ came the gracious response.
‘I hope so too,’ Colette said brightly, thinking it might be a very long time before she could afford to stay in the Plaza and indulge herself in their luxurious salon. And indulge herself she had, she reflected, taking the elevator to her suite with the view of the Park. She’d been in the salon for hours. Colour, conditioning and cut for her hair, waxing, manicure and pedicure, tinting of eyebrows and lashes, and a makeup. The previous evening she’d had a full body massage and an hour’s facial. Colette looked at her diamond-studded watch. She’d want to be getting a move on. It would be time to leave for JFK in another hour or so. She wanted to eat something light. It was a shame to waste her makeover eating alone in her room but there was every likelihood she might meet some society matron she knew in the intimate setting of the Champagne Bar and even though she loved the over-the-top decadence of the Palm Court, it would make her too sad to eat alone there and the last thing she wanted was snotty tears ruining her make-up. It was too cold to take a last stroll up to the Tavern on the Green, one of her favourite New York eateries. And that would make her feel sad too. She, Des and Jazzy had often eaten brunch there on Sundays, after a walk through the Park. She had always felt the restaurant was the very essence of New York. No, she couldn’t go there. It would be way too melancholy. Best to eat in her room, Colette decided.
Dusk was falling over Central Park and she stared out greedily at the city she loved, trying to imprint it all on her mind. Two lovers kissed at the Pulitzer Fountain, a teenager munched on a hot dog, swaying to the music coming out of his headphones. A child pointed to an enormous Santa in a shop window. The gay, giddy garishness of the Christmas lights and decorations made her feel lonely and bereft. She and Des had brought Jazzy to FAO Schwarz, across on Fifth, every year. Then they would come here to the Plaza for dinner and Jazzy would demand to be told the story of the delightfully precocious Eloise, who was such an intrinsic part of the fabric of the iconic hotel.
Colette was happy then, and she hadn’t known it. Those early years in New York had been the best of her life. She and Des had been united in their goals. They’d looked out for each other, delighting in each other’s success. He had introduced her to people who had become her clients in the gallery and she had introduced people from her circle to him, and they had become his clients. There had been a lot of good times in their marriage, she thought, surprised. But now that life was over and she was leaving the city that had given her so much.
‘Stop it! Buck up!’ she told herself, flicking thorough the room service menu. She settled on the lobster salad. That would be filling enough but not too stodgy and she would just graze on the flight. She wondered was Des home yet and how had he felt when he’d seen that she’d looted the apartment. Sauce for the goose! Not a wonderful homecoming for someone who was only a few days after surgery but at least Encarna would have been there to greet him. Would he be able to continue to employ their housekeeper? How long would he stay in the apartment? How much exactly of their savings had he lost? So many questions for which she had no answers. Colette had never seen her husband so shaken. Part of her felt concern for him. She wasn’t a total Borg. But her overwhelming feeling towards Des was rage. Anger with him that he had brought them to this was even stronger than the deep hurt that he would deceive her in so many ways.
She stared out of the window into the darkening night as the lights became brighter and the skyscrapers looked even more imposing than in daylight. Thank God Jazzy had finished university, Colette thought gratefully. Their daughter had received a fine, Ivy League education and she would be a wealthy young woman eventually. Jacqueline had told Colette that she and Frank had left a trust fund for their only grandchild. Jazzy would be well provided for. What would happen to Des and how he would fare she did not know, or, right now, care. For herself, she had ensured that she had sufficient funds to keep her in a reasonable lifestyle for a couple of years. The paintings, antiques and furniture acquired over the almost two decades they had lived in Manhattan – and the recently acquired gold – would liquidate into at least a quarter of a million sterling. Enough to keep her going for a while, but not enough to fund the type of lifestyle she’d been used to. From now on she’d have to rein in her spending. Something she’d never before had to do.
Colette ate her salad without tasting it, so consumed was she by the thoughts racing through her mind. She did not welcome this new aloneness. She’d always liked the feeling that she had someone at her back. Now she was dependent on herself. Returning to London to live would be a real cutting of the ties but it had to be done. She went to the desk at the window overlooking Fifth Avenue, and picked up a pile of neatly addressed envelopes. They were handwritten notes of farewell, and several of resignation from her various committees and boards. She had spent an hour after she’d arrived
