The Better Woman (37 page)

‘I'm not sure what's happening here,' he said eventually. ‘But whatever it is, I feel that it's wrong . . .' He paused, his face troubled. ‘You and me, we're wrong, we shouldn't be together – I shouldn't have invited you here . . .'

Jodi covered his hand with hers. ‘What's so wrong about us?' she asked gently.

‘You were one of my students –'

‘Eight years ago.'

‘I'm twenty years your senior –'

‘What difference does that make?'

‘I know everything, yet nothing, about you –'

She looked at him steadily. ‘The fact that I don't have to explain my past is a blessing. Andrew was the only man I told about it, my other relationships didn't progress far enough to survive such a bombshell. As for the things you don't know about me, I'm sure our relationship will evolve, just like any other.'

He wasn't convinced but Jodi was. She knew that she could no longer pretend that this was just some childish crush and she knew she would lose him if she didn't lay her cards on the table.

‘This is right, James. I know it in my heart. And I'm not about to let it go just because of your silly hang-ups.'

‘I don't want to take advantage of you –'

‘I'm thirty years old, for God's sake! A consenting adult!'

He seemed to have no answer for that.

‘Come on, let's get the bill,' said Jodi and motioned to the waiter.

Outside, she linked his arm and they strolled along the water's edge to his hotel. They didn't talk much. Their pace was leisurely, but it seemed all too soon before they were standing at the hotel's grand entrance.

She took the initiative. ‘Should we have a nightcap?'

His face was a picture of reticence.

‘If you don't find me attractive, then I'm happy to turn around and make my way home . . .'

‘Of course I find you attractive,' he replied tersely.

‘Then show me,' her voice was as soft as the breeze, ‘
show me
.'

He drew her to him. She waited, half afraid that the chemistry wouldn't be there. It was an angry kiss; after all, she had bullied him into it. His arms tightened around her, moulding her body to his, and the anger melted into passion. His kiss deepened. It reached her soul.

‘Take it inside,' someone yelled from a passing car.

‘I think that's a good suggestion,' Jodi whispered.

James acquiesced and, hand in hand, they walked into the hotel.

His room was very elegant, dominated by a large bed with a luxurious chintz cover and tasselled cushions. Jodi sat on the two-seater sofa while James assessed the contents of the bar fridge.

‘White wine, red wine, Bailey's Irish Cream, or beer . . .'

‘Baileys, please.'

He poured two tumblers and added some cubes of ice. Jodi gulped hers back, seduced by the scent of the liqueur and the decadent taste.

‘Would you like another?'

‘Yes, please.'

While he refilled their glasses, Jodi dimmed the lights until
shadows mellowed the room. She smiled when he handed back her glass with a double measure. He moved his lips in return, but it was more like a grimace than a smile.

‘Don't change your mind, James,' she said.

‘It's wrong –'

‘No, it's right.'

Nothing more was said.

They drank their drinks until right and wrong became blurred. Then he kissed her. His lips had the same taste as her drink: vanilla, cream and whiskey. He drank her in, and she him.

At some hazy point, they transitioned from the sofa to the bed, the chintz cover silky beneath their bare skin. As their bodies joined, Jodi thought it was right, so right, for them to be together.

‘James is the best thing that's happened to me since Andrew,' Jodi told Shirley on the last day of her holiday.

They were sitting at one the beachfront cafés her mother liked so much. They sat upstairs, on the balcony. The sea breeze billowed their hair and tried to snatch their napkins until Shirley anchored them beneath the salt and pepper canisters.

‘How do you know it's not just a crush you've held onto over the years?' she fretted. ‘You were very vulnerable when you were at university. The professor was someone you looked up to, idolised . . .'

Jodi shrugged. ‘I know there's more to it than that, Mum.'

Shirley was drinking herbal tea; her yoga teacher had recommended that she lay off the cappuccinos. Privately, Jodi thought that a good dose of caffeine would have taken the edge off her mother's worries.

‘I'm very
concerned
about this
relationship
of yours,' Shirley stated. ‘And so is Grandma.'

‘Don't worry,' Jodi shrugged again. ‘I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing.'

‘But do you?' Shirley enquired heatedly, and some of the other patrons glanced their way. ‘Do you
really
know what you're doing? Have you discussed what you want from life with the professor –'

‘James,' Jodi corrected.

‘
James
,' Shirley repeated. ‘He's almost the same age as me, darling. He's had his family. He won't want to do it all again.'

‘Hold your horses, Mum,' Jodi laughed. ‘You're getting ahead of yourself with all this family talk . . .'

‘You need to discuss these things now,' Shirley persisted. ‘Other wise, it can become a big issue later on.'

Jodi drained her cup of coffee. ‘Mum, if James and I ever get to that point, then I'm sure we'll work it out. Now, I want to pop over to the surf club to see if Sue is around. Are you coming?'

Shirley, still clearly unhappy, slid her sunglasses down from the top of her head and over her eyes. ‘I just don't want you to make bad choices like I did . . . Still, it's your life . . .'

They got up from the table. They made a striking pair, with their blonde flyaway hair and svelte figures. On closer inspection, their faces had the same round shape and their eyes were the softest brown, although Shirley's were now hidden behind her sunglasses. One of the diners, who had overheard their conversation, idly wondered whether the young woman was fated to make the same mistakes as her mother.

Three months later

Jodi's copy of the bank's annual report came in the mail. It was a high-quality production, with vibrant pictures to relieve the thick glossy print. Jodi's photograph was on page six. She looked thoughtful, as the photographer had suggested, and every inch the successful businesswoman, but there was a hint of forlornness beneath her poise. Needless to say, the photograph had been taken before James came back into her life.

Jodi read the report from cover to cover. There was nothing in there that she didn't already know, but she thought it worthwhile to refresh her memory. Key clients across the region would also receive a copy of the report. They would have questions, particularly when they saw the profit and bonus figures. They would feel that the bank could comfortably afford to reduce its commission and handling fees. It was Jodi's job to convince them otherwise.

When Jodi finished with the report, she poured herself a glass
of iced water and went out to the balcony. She stood at the railing and looked down. Little black dots, people, moved industriously along the pavement, like a line of busy ants. Jodi's apartment was thirty-two floors above ground level. She looked back up, a sense of vertigo wobbling her insides. At eye level, she was surrounded by other apartment towers, tall and narrow, mostly white in colour. Singapore was famously short on accommodation space. It was also short on air. Jodi could only ever stay out on the balcony for short periods of time. After a while, the mugginess made her feel as though she couldn't breathe. She couldn't say why, but she was a lot more forgiving of Singapore's shortcomings than she ever had been of London's.

As Jodi sipped her drink, she heard the phone start to ring: James.

She ran back inside and was breathless when she picked it up.

‘Good morning from chilly London.'

‘Good afternoon from sunny Singapore.'

They delivered their greetings in their most formal tones: the weather man and woman; their own little act.

‘How are you?' asked James in his normal voice, which was still rather formal.

‘Good. Enjoying the weekend.'

‘Have you been anywhere today?'

‘No. I've been reading the annual report. Riveting stuff. Especially my photograph on page six.'

‘You're in the annual report? Really?'

‘Yes.'

‘Can you send me a copy?'

‘Why?'

‘So I can see you. Be proud of you.'

‘Okay.' Jodi's smile was a little bashful, but he couldn't see. ‘What's happening with you?'

‘Well, I just woke up. You were my first thought. So I rang.'

Jodi could see him in bed: his hair ruffled and eyes sleepy; his torso bare and sprinkled with dark hair. How she'd love to be lying next to him. To have his hands run over her body. To feel his lips follow in the path of his hands.

‘Jodi? Are you there?'

‘Yes, still here,' she murmured. ‘Just thinking of you in bed.'

‘Good night from muggy Singapore.'

‘Good afternoon from soggy London.'

‘What are you doing?'

‘Actually, I'm running late for an important meeting . . .'

Jodi's face fell. But he couldn't see, of course. ‘Oh.'

‘Sorry,' he sighed. ‘I didn't mean to be so abrupt. What are you doing?'

‘Just getting ready to turn in.'

‘I'll call you later, okay?'

Later meant early the next morning when she was rushing for work. Later meant his midnight, when he wanted the day to be over.

‘Bye, James. Good luck with the meeting.'

Jodi hung up the phone and, instead of getting into bed, sat on the side, thinking. Sometimes their phone calls worked brilliantly, a connection of minds and moods defying the thousands of kilometres between them. On those occasions it didn't matter as much that they couldn't touch, because the closeness was there in other ways. But sometimes it didn't work so well and then it was never more obvious how far apart they were: different hemispheres, different time zones, different stages of life. That
was when touch became so vital: it could bridge the bad mood, the hard day, whatever it was that was preventing the connection. She could briefly stroke his face, peck his lips, or give him a loving look as she said, ‘Good luck with the meeting'. Instead, she was left with her hands tied, helplessly distant, and frustratingly unable to carry out the small action that was needed to end the conversation on the right note.

With a discontented sigh, Jodi flicked the light switch and slid between the light cotton covers of the bed. The next few months were going to be extremely busy. She had a lot of travel, some new clients and a significant product launch on her agenda. Still, she mentally tried to find a crack in her diary so she could get over to London to see James. Maybe October, two months away. Would they last until then? Without a single touch? Without a bridge?

‘Goodnight from rainy London.'

Jodi blinked at the digital clock next to her bed: 4 am.

‘Good middle-of-the-night from too-dark-to-tell-the-weather-yet Singapore.'

‘Sorry. I just needed to hear your voice, to talk to you.'

Jodi sat up in the bed and rubbed the grogginess from her eyes with no inkling of the bombshell that was coming her way.

‘This isn't working, is it, Jodi?'

She stopped mid-yawn, suddenly wide awake. What was he saying? That it was all too hard?

With a giveaway waver in her voice, she rushed in before he could say anything further. ‘I think I can get some time off in October. Maybe four or five days . . .'

Her big plan was met with silence. Tears pricked her eyes. For the first time she was glad he couldn't see.

‘I don't think four or five days will solve the problem, Jodi.'

So it was over. They hadn't made the distance. Their love wasn't so special or enduring after all. She let the tears fall, too devastated to keep them back.

‘Don't cry', she heard him say from far away. ‘I'm obviously not being very clear about what I want – I want us to be together.' She wiped the wetness from her face and tried to listen to what he was saying. ‘Will you come to live in London, Jodi? Will you live with me?'

In a matter of seconds, she swung from utter despair to extraordinary joy. It wasn't over between them. She'd assumed the worst instead of trusting her instincts: she and James were right together, they were meant to be.

But it was the second time in her life that a man had asked her to go to London. The first time hadn't ended happily. Would the odds be improved a second time round? Could she return with a new love and a new optimism and forget the past?

‘I can't answer straight away, James. I need to think about it carefully. My heart says yes, though.'

Sarah, Dublin, 2001

The Naos Road was more like a parking lot than a main road. Again. A helicopter hovered overhead. Sarah wished that she was in it. How long would a chopper take to fly down to Cork? An hour? Less? How much would it cost? Maybe she should charter one!

She was sick and tired of this commuting, of pretending that she lived on the farm in Cork when in fact she spent most of the week in Dublin. Husband in Cork. Job in Dublin. Never the twain shall meet.

Her fingers drummed the steering wheel. Anxiety bubbled in her stomach. It was making its presence felt a lot more often these days. She was denying it, though. She'd been off the antidepressants for two years. She couldn't go back on them. No way. The drugs would not help the baby-making business one little bit.

Three years they'd been trying for a baby. Right from the word go, really. How many pregnancy tests had she used up? At the
start Tim would wait anxiously outside the bathroom. Now she didn't even tell him when she did the tests. Blue line? Chuck it in the bin. Another month gone down the drain.