A Class Apart Read online

  “How are rehearsals going, Ellamarie?” Ashley asked.

  “Not bad. Very slow though.”

  “And Bob?”

  “Is loving every minute of it.”

  “Where is he tonight?” Jenneen asked.

  “Where he always is on a Friday night. Home with wifey.”

  Ashley looked sympathetic. “I don’t know how you stand it, Ellamarie.”

  “Neither do I, but what the hell. I have him four nights a week, sometimes five if I’m lucky. He gave me this tonight.” She held out her arm to show them the tiny gold bracelet Bob had slipped onto her wrist before they left the rehearsal rooms. Her pale face shone, highlighting the freckles that bridged her rather aristocratic nose, as the others made all the right noises. “Isn’t he just the most wonderful man?” she sighed. “He said it was because I had remembered all my lines. Which, I can tell you, is more than can be said for Maureen Woodley.”

  “Isn’t she playing Viola?” Kate asked, taking a mouthful of lasagne.

  Ellamarie nodded. “And do you want to know why? Because she’s shaped like one.”

  “Oh, Ellamarie!” Ashley choked.

  “Well, she is. She’s got to be at least a hundred round the hips, and her neck, Jesus, have you seen that neck? Even a giraffe would find it difficult to compete.”

  “God, you can be a bitch at times,” Jenneen laughed.

  “Which is no more than she is. I could kill Bob for giving her the part. She just keeps ramming it down my throat.”

  “Well, you know why he didn’t give it to you,” said Kate.

  “I know, I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.” She started to mimic Bob. “‘Slowly, slowly does it. One step at a time. Don’t rush. You’ll get there in the end.’ And any other variation you can think of on that. I’ve heard them all. But hell, Maria isn’t so bad a part, I suppose,” she added grudgingly. “Now, enough about me, what about you, Ashley Mayne?”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t come the innocent. Are you going to tell the great Julian Arbrey-Nelmes about the grand passion that burns in your heart, and if so, when?”

  Ashley flushed, and her insides began to draw into a knot. “I think so,” she said.

  “Think so! You’ve got to.”

  “It’s all very easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to do it.”

  “And if you had done it before, then it wouldn’t be so difficult now. Besides, I don’t know what you’re worried about, the man’s simply crazy about you.”

  Ashley grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “From him. Get him to tell you, not me.”

  “When’s Blanche coming back?” asked Jenneen.

  “Wednesday.” Ashley answered, the smile disappearing from her face.

  Ellamarie waved her fork in the air. “Don’t worry about her. If Julian really intended to marry her he would have done it by now. It’s you he wants, but you keep playing hard to get.”

  “I’d hardly call spending five nights a week together hard to get,” Kate remarked.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” said Ellamarie. “And look at it this way,” she went on, helping herself to more wine, “how old is Alex now? Seven? Yes, seven. It’s time you were adding to your family before he gets too old.” She was referring to Ashley’s son, the only good or worthwhile product of an early marriage that hadn’t worked.

  “Or before I get too old,” said Ashley.

  “And Julian adores him, so what’s the problem?”

  “Blanche.”

  “Rubbish. She’s been away for over two years, if he loved her then he wouldn’t have put up with it. And he’s only put up with it because he’s had you. Who he wants, not her. Now, pick your moment. You’re seeing him tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

  Ashley nodded.

  “Tell him then. It’ll be the best Christmas present he’s ever had, I promise you.”

  “And then next will come the wedding,” said Kate, looking dewy-eyed. “God, it’s simply ages since I went to a wedding. When do you think it will be, Ash?”

  “I thought Easter.” Ashley allowed herself to get caught up in the mood for a moment.

  “Oh dear, why wait?”

  “Valentine’s Day?” Jenneen suggested.

  “No, definitely Easter. We’ll stand a better chance of good weather.”

  “How many bridesmaids?” said Ellamarie.

  “Oh, isn’t it bliss!” Kate sighed. “What will you wear?”

  “Oh stop it,” said Ashley, pulling herself together. “If he could hear us now he’d probably run a mile.”

  Ellamarie’s eyes could speak volumes without her uttering a word, and Ashley got the message. Get off that negative road, they were saying, and Ashley wished she could. She had been having an affair with Julian Arbrey-Nelmes, the Chairman of Frazier, Nelmes Advertising Agency where she was an Account Director, for well over a year now, but in that time neither one of them had admitted to their feelings. Ashley was sure that he cared for her, probably more than cared for her, but he had never shown any inclination to break off his long-standing relationship with Blanche Wetherburn. Ashley did not want to admit to the fear that Julian’s ambition would dictate the direction of his heart, but in the end she knew there was every chance it would. As far as Julian Arbrey-Nelmes was concerned, Blanche met all the requisites. The right background, connections, breeding, everything that would be important to a man in his position. She was even related to Conrad Frazier, Julian’s American partner. Furthermore, Blanche was a gentile. But Ashley refused to believe that Julian would put any store by something like that.

  By the end of the evening, the others had talked her into doing what she knew she would have done anyway. But, secretly, none of them would have wanted to be in her shoes. Telling a man you loved him when he had not broached the subject first, was no easy thing to do. Old-fashioned it might be, but the unwritten rules of the procedure of love were deeply rooted in them all.

  “I’ve decided,” Ashley said, as she was leaving, “that if we win the Newslink account tomorrow, then everything will go well. If we don’t, then . . .”

  “You and your silly superstitions,” said Kate. “You have a serendipitous life, I’ve always said so. You’ll win, you wait and see. You’ll win them both.”

  TWO

  It had been one hell of a day. It seemed that in the world of advertising, people had never heard of Saturday. Ashley’s telephone had hardly stopped ringing, with everyone wanting everything done not yesterday but last week. Finally she had left the office just after three, telling her creative team to cope as best they could and had rushed down to Surrey to see Alex for an hour.

  She only just made it back to London in time – thank God for her father driving her up. Alex would enjoy the trip, he had said. Her mother had stayed behind to fix the evening meal. Keith, Ashley’s ex-husband, and his family would be dining with them, as they usually did on Saturdays.

  Julian arrived at her flat in Onslow Square just after eight to take her to dinner. Ashley had been a bundle of nerves all day at the thought of what lay ahead, and she felt no better now as the waiter showed them to their table. Julian nodded towards the old man sitting in the corner and Ashley managed to wave. Neither of them actually knew the old man, but he was always there whenever they came, napkin under his chin and his round spectacles slipping down over his nose, with a smiling mouth settled comfortably between.

  The waiter pulled out a chair for Ashley to sit down and she was surprised to see a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket beside it. She looked at Julian and saw that he was smiling. It was his way of saying thank you, and well done. It was one of the things she had come to love most about him, his thoughtfulness, and sense of occasion.

  The waiter popped the cork, and Julian waited for the glasses to be filled before looking into her eyes and saying, simply: “To you.”

  Ashley swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat, surprised that s
he was so close to tears, and raised her own glass. “How about to us?”

  He smiled and reached across the table to take her hand. She looked down at his fingers as they curled round hers, feeling the same thrill that always came over her when he touched her.

  When she looked up she found that he was studying her face, and she gazed back at him. There was a long silence as she used her eyes to tell him what she was feeling, and his fingers tightened round hers. A basket of bread was thrust between them, and the moment was broken.

  Julian leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, “as I didn’t see the final portfolio, perhaps you’d like to fill me in on what it is you are intending for Newslink. I spoke to David Mackay this morning, by the way. He was very impressed. Said there was no way he could turn you down in the end.”

  “Of course there wasn’t,” she said. “A lot of work went into that presentation.”

  He grinned. “And don’t I know it.”

  Ashley picked up her glass of champagne. “Well, whilst you were flying back and forth across the Atlantic and then living it up in Paris, we workers were continuing with the historical theme I first told you about. You know, taking each one of their magazines and newspapers, and weaving them into a dramatic sketch. Each publication will have a separate commercial, but the overall feel will be the same, giving the company an easily identifiable image, aimed also at illustrating the long history of the paper. You know what I mean, dramatise important events that they have covered over the past two hundred years, add a touch of comedy, with a good slogan at the end. Hilary came up with some, but as far as I know David Mackay is still making up his mind about them.”

  “Sounds fine,” said Julian, sitting forward. He liked listening to her ideas, they were usually good, and sometimes brilliant. He was often surprised by her enthusiasm, but knew that the company, and its success, was almost as important to her as it was to him and his partner.

  They were soon engrossed in a lengthy discussion of the Newslink account, batting around ideas, padding hem or discarding them, and more often than not making one another laugh. When the food arrived they relaxed again, and decided to drop the subject of work for the rest of the evening.

  “You are very beautiful this evening, Ash,” he whispered after the waiter had cleared the table.

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she laughed. “So you like the dress?”

  “I do,” he answered, “but I like the person inside much more.”

  Her heart began to beat a little faster. There had been a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes remained serious. Maybe now was the time to tell him. But there had been so many moments like this between them, when he had seemed to want to say more, but never had. She watched him as he poured the last of the champagne, trying to find the words she longed to say. But they wouldn’t come, and she wondered if she had the courage.

  “Where did you get the tree?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  She looked baffled for a moment, then realized that he was talking about the Christmas tree in her flat. “Actually, I bought it in Harrods,” she said, knowing it would amuse him.

  “Harrods!” he cried, “You go to Harrods for your Christmas trees?”

  “Tree,” she corrected. “And why not?”

  “I don’t know,” he laughed. “Tell me, is it called a ‘top people’s tree?’”

  “Naturally. A ‘top people’s tree’ for two top people.”

  “Me and you?” he said.

  “Yes, me and you.”

  “Then who, might I ask, are all the presents for?”

  “You.”

  “Me! They were all for me?”

  She nodded.

  “But there were at least six there.”

  She nodded again, smiling at the look on his face. “Well, cheer up,” she said, “you should be grateful. I’ve been rushing around all day trying to get things organised. I didn’t get away from the office until gone three.”

  “You have bought me six presents?”

  “Seven actually.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “But, Ashley, why?”

  “Well, aren’t you just a typical man,” she said, feigning exasperation. “Can’t accept a gift without wanting to know why.”

  “But so many?”

  “I couldn’t make up my mind.”

  Julian grinned. “Well, aren’t you just a typical woman.”

  “Actually,” she paused while the waiter poured their coffee, “I bought them, I suppose, because I wanted to think of us being together on Christmas Day. You know, opening our gifts together.”

  It was very quick, but she didn’t miss the cloud that momentarily dropped over his eyes. Then he broke into a smile again. “That sounds wonderful,” he said.

  She felt suddenly shy, and desperately wanted him to mean it. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, really I do.”

  She started to laugh, a dawning euphoria making her dizzy. “Do you know what else I thought? I thought you might wake me on Christmas morning with bucks fizz and smoked salmon, isn’t that the way you said you liked Christmas? We could have it in bed, and then we could open our presents before you cook lunch.”

  “Me cook lunch?”

  “Yes, you. The liberated man. You have equality now, don’t forget.”

  “Oh yes. I must admit it does slip my mind from time to time. Anyway, go on.” He was enjoying the game, and loved the way her dark eyes were shining.

  “Well, I thought we could invite one another to lunch, you know, to make up the party, and have lots to eat and drink, then go back to bed in the afternoon to sleep it off, before we go visiting in the evening.”

  “I like it so far, but tell me more about the afternoon,” he said. “You know, the bit before we go visiting.”

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I haven’t quite decided what we will dream about yet. If that’s what you were meaning?”

  “No, I want to know what I’m going to do before I go to sleep.”

  “Oh, you mean you’re offering to do the washing up?”

  He gave a shout of laughter. “You’re adorable.”

  There was a short silence. “I’m serious,” she said. “We could have a wonderful Christmas together, you know.”

  “Yes, we could.”

  She looked into his eyes waiting for him to go on, but he signalled for the waiter to bring the bill. She looked at her watch. “It’s early.”

  His eyes were dancing. “I know, but I thought we might go home and rehearse what comes between the washing up and the dreams, you know, ready for Christmas Day.”

  As they walked from the restaurant, his arm about her shoulders, the words were buzzing around in her head. I love you, I love you, I love you. But not now, she would wait until they were home, sitting beside their “top people’s tree” and then she would tell him. And he would take her in his arms, and tell her how long he had been waiting for her to say those words.

  Driving back in the car they held hands, but didn’t speak. From time to time Julian turned to look at her, but his face was inscrutable. He was thinking about the picture she had painted of the fantasy Christmas, and how much he wished it could come true. But it had been a game, nothing more than a game, they both knew that it could never be. He was grateful to her for never having told him how she felt about him. It was a silent agreement between them that they shouldn’t speak of their feelings, and not once had she broken the rules. For that, but not for that alone, he loved her. It would make it easier in the end. It had always been Blanche, and though he didn’t care for Blanche in the way that he cared for Ashley, he did love his fiancée, and he would marry her. In the end, his need for success would dictate his life. And with Blanche it would all be possible.

  The lights on the tree were still burning as they walked through the door, and while Ashley went to make some coffee Julian poured them a nightcap.r />
  When she came into the room, he was standing beside the tree in the colourful semi-darkness, his hands in his pockets, staring thoughtfully down at the beautifully wrapped gifts. Quietly she put the tray on the table and went to join him. She would tell him now. The time felt right. She would make the fantasy Christmas a reality.

  He smiled down at her and slipped his arm round her shoulders. Why did she have to look so beautiful tonight? But then, to him, she looked beautiful every night. It would have been no easier, no matter when he decided to tell her.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispered, fiddling with a light on the tree.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I was thinking how nice it would be if we really could spend Christmas together.”

  “Mmmm,” he said, and tightened his hold on her. “But it’s all a dream, only a dream.”

  “But it needn’t be.” Her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her.

  She turned in his arms to face him. “I said it needn’t be.” He looked down at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Don’t you understand, Julian? Don’t you know what I’m trying to say?”

  For a fleeting moment his eyes darkened in anger but he continued to look at her, knowing and unable to stop her.

  “I love you, Julian,” she whispered, “I love you.”

  He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. Dear God, why, oh why was she doing this to herself? To them both?

  She could feel his heart beating, hear him breathing, and she waited for him to speak.

  As the silence lengthened and still he didn’t answer, she pulled away.

  ‘He looked down at the tree again, hating himself for what he was doing to her.

  Ashley sat down on the settee. She was surprised to find that, for the moment, she was calm. Staring into the fire, she realised that he must have built it up while she was making the coffee. Coffee! It was still standing on the table, where she had put it. The brandy was beside it, untouched. Perhaps by reaching out for these tokens, she could regain her dream.