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‘Trespass on a deserted key with a backpack full of alcohol?’ he smiled.
She leant across and kissed him and thought how much she liked this David. Relaxed, playful. It was how he had been the first time she met him all those months ago in Biarritz: that was the man she fell in love with. It was never about the money, the position in New York society, or the guaranteed lifetime of luxury and privilege. It was about a man who cared for her deeply and who she cared for back. But they didn’t live on a deserted island where they could pretend they were castaways – they lived in New York, where their lives were public property and where they could never truly relax, always knowing that someone was watching or snapping or even simply gossiping about them. She was sure this
life wouldn’t get any easier when they moved to Washington, and when David embarked on his political career, the chances were it would only get worse.
Sitting in the silence, surrounded by just sky and sea, a note of sadness invaded her happy mood. Brooke knew of course it was this situation, the feeling of being funnelled into a restricted, narrow life, which had led her to Matt. Yes, he was handsome, yes they had been friends, and yes there was the lure and nostalgia of a less complicated past. But above all, Matt was a liferaft. She hadn’t really wanted to run away to Africa with him, but part of her did want to run away. Lying here, away from the circus, she could see that clearly now.
‘I’ve got you a present,’ said David.
She looked up at him with surprise and alarm. ‘I thought we weren’t bothering.’
David smiled. ‘Well, this present will make me happy if it makes you happy.’
He pulled out a small suede pouch and handed it to her. She tipped the contents into the palm of her hand and looked down to see a set of keys.
‘What are these for?’ she asked, thinking back to a few weeks earlier when she had seen a cherry–red vintage Mercedes parked on a street in SoHo and had drooled over it.
‘Look David, it’s a Hart to Hart car,’ she had laughed, reminded of the cheesy Eighties detective series she loved watching on cable. It would be typical of David’s thoughtful extravagance to track down the owner and buy it.
‘Is it a car?’ she asked.
David chuckled. ‘No, it’s for the apartment on Riverside Drive, that triplex you loved.’
Brooke gasped out loud. ‘But how can we … ?’ she began, but he put up a hand to silence her.
‘Honey, I know you’ve never been keen on a permanent move to Washington, so I’ve been thinking over and over how we can work this out,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to Edward at Yellow Door and he says you can work three days a week. I could fly back from Washington to New York on Fridays and stay until Tuesday. My meeting yesterday was about taping the show one day a week from the studio in Manhattan, and the producer isn’t totally against the idea, so splitting our time between DC and New York shouldn’t be that difficult.’
She closed her eyes, clasping her fist around the cold metal. He was so sweet. He was so lovely. Surely love didn’t have to be this complicated.
The words came tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Something happened between me and Matt Palmer,’ she said, unable to keep the truth from her loving, honorable man any longer.
He stared at her for a few moments, his expression one of incomprehension, then cold, bitter knowing. ‘What happened exactly?’ he said with such icy composure it frightened her.
She nodded, the shame filling her up, sitting on her heart like marble. ‘We kissed. We fooled around … ’
‘You had sex with him,’ he stated coolly.
‘No. I stopped. I couldn’t do it.’
‘How loyal of you,’ he spat bitterly. ‘When was this?’
‘When you were in Vegas,’ she said, not daring to breathe.
David stood up, grabbed the bottle of champagne and hurled it into the sea.
‘Fuck!’ he roared. Brooke reflected that it was the only time she’d ever heard him swear.
‘David, I’m so sorry,’ she said scrambling to her feet, her hand outstretched, but he moved away from her.
‘What a laugh you two must have been having behind my back,’ he said, his mouth turned sourly downward. ‘‘Oh David, come to Matt’s dinner party,’ he mimicked, ‘he’s such a good friend.’’
‘We were friends,’ pleaded Brooke. ‘It was only once. I was scared about the wedding and confused about our future.’
‘Well, I’m sorry that a future with me is so disturbing,’ he deadpanned.
She tried to hold his arms, but he shook her off and turned his face away.
‘David, you know I love you.’
