CHAPTER 1
Waking early was always a struggle, but it was the easiest way to leave. To call it quits and skulk away from Sloane while he slept. The sun rising over the Thames would be my only witness.
I edged out of bed, joint by joint, knowing the distance separating me from my husband of eight years would never again be measured in inches. It would be in miles. My stomach knotted at the sight of the monogrammed, sleep crumpled pillow as I pulled my chenille robe over my shoulders and tip-toed across the room toward the door.
The raspy sound of Sloane’s whiskey-laced breathing, rhythmic as a metronome, faded as I eased down the hall to the guest suite. Turning on the dresser lamp, I leaned toward the mirror. The reflection taunted me. Christ, you look like a forty-eight-year-old dog’s breakfast. Slanting closer, I gasped at the bags under my eyes, swollen with pillows of angry tears. Tears that had refused to fall yesterday.
Dabbing on foundation, powder, and a smear of lipstick, I slipped the makeup into my purse. There was no need to thicken my lashes on this sad morning. The previous day’s phone call, the revelation that sealed my decision to leave Sloane, still reeled in my head.
“Meredith, I can’t sugarcoat this….” Rosie drew a long breath, the kind one takes when uncertain how to proceed.
“Minutes after I promised Jeffrey not to tell you, I knew I’d break my word.”
“Rosie, I don’t understand. What’s happened?”
“Sloane and his company are being sued for sexual harassment by a twenty-something intern. According to Jeffrey, others may join the chorus. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but I hope, God forbid, if the shoe was on the other foot, you’d do the same for me.”
“Rosie, you can’t be serious? There must be some mistake. You must have misunderstood Jeffrey. Sloane’s not a….”
“Sweetie, I wish for your sake I was wrong. I really do. I can’t imagine what a shock this must be.”
“Rosie, I feel numb all over. Sloane’s been under a lot of stress, but this…this is a nightmare. I’m speechless. Can I call you back later?”
“Anytime, but please don’t let on I told you. You know you have my heartfelt sympathy.”
I slumped into the sofa as though my entire body had been injected with Novocain. Motionless, I recalled Rosie’s kind words: “heartfelt sympathy.” Instead of soothing me, they twisted and turned like a knife in my gut. Sympathy! What good is sympathy? I need a gun, not pity. With a good solicitor and a plea of temporary insanity, I’d get off scot-free. Bloody England and her restrictive gun laws!
I looked out the window toward the horizon searching for something to anchor me, something positive to hold on to. Instead, I saw Sloane’s face billowing toward me from a darkening cloud bank. I conjured a vision of him cupping a woman’s breasts to keep my blood coursing. To keep me on the brink of craziness a second longer. To force me into action.
Focus, Meredith, you’ve got to think. Book a flight. Order a cab. Call Lisa. Clothes…. I need clothes! Fuck, how can I pack with my husband in the apartment? Do it now. Hide the case in the guest room. Write a letter of explanation. When Sloane comes home tonight, everything must seem normal. No yelling. No accusations. Just short, one-way, meaningless drivel until bedtime. Oh, shit! I’ll have to sleep with him…one last time.
That thought broke my momentary paralysis. Like a pistol in an old west shootout, I pulled out my iPad and tapped frantically, completing my travel arrangements. Striding to the study, I took out a sheet of engraved stationery. The Mont Blanc idled in my fingers until I found my rhythm. No rants. No preaching. Just goodbye.
“Sloane,
Our days of arguing are over. I am walking out in the belief I’ve done all I could to nurture and support you through corporate ups and downs, turning a blind eye to your lies and excessive drinking. I’m not leaving with a sense of pride, but with a sense of disgust. I know what you’ve done!
How long did you think you could conceal your sexual harassment charge from me? People talk, rumors spread, truths are shared. Did you think gossip would elude me forever?
In light of what I’ve just learned, and as a matter of conscience, I refuse to provide marital support for a man accused of treating female staff like sex slaves. Your loathsome actions demean all women. During our years together, you have tested my dedication, but this is the last straw.
Meredith”
I flicked the pen into the drawer and moved on to the fridge for something cool and slick to sooth my dry mouth. Grabbing a blueberry yogurt, I headed for the shower. By the time the water heated, I’d hidden my letter in the guest room, and planned how to spring the news on Lisa that I’d be on the first flight out tomorrow, arriving in Charlotte at 5:00 PM.
Still jittery, I stretched out on the bed to dry off and calm down before calling my ‘go-to’. After thirty years of friendship, Lisa had the right to speak freely with no pushback. Although our lives moved in different directions, we always understood each other’s hearts. Sure, there were a few ghosts lingering in the shadows to remind us of unresolved issues, but nothing strong enough to break our bond – not even her opinion of Sloane.
Sparks had ignited the moment they met. Sloane, normally the epitome of British reserve and decorum, stepped out of character abruptly blurting the news I alone was to share.
Lisa’s denim-blue eyes tightened to slivers. An expression of hurt washed over her face as if to say, why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?
Throughout the evening Lisa remained gracious, yet distant, while Sloane’s excitement bubbled over. I, on the other hand, felt like I’d been peed upon by an animal marking his territory.
Sloane’s insensitivity to the dynamics of friendship had left me with a niggling doubt. Nevertheless, I shrugged it off, confident we could go the distance. Now, I quaked at the recollection as I speed-dialed Lisa. An eight hour time difference. She and James might be out for the evening. Worse, they could be traveling. Pick up. Pick up.
“You’re there! Thank God. I thought I’d have to use my spare key to let myself in tomorrow.”
“What do you mean…tomorrow? You’re in London aren’t you?”
“Yes, but not for long. Brace yourself….”
“Holy shit, Sloane is many things….” she paused as if searching for kinder words, not wanting to add more stress to my life. “You know…he’s a tiny bit arrogant, sometimes demanding, but a groper? No way! Besides, he’s got you. Hell, he can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re together. I never could understand how you put up with that.”
“I know he’s never been your favorite, but we did have some good years. He was loving and generous to a fault…until he drained my bank account.
“It’s called stealing, Honey…not draining!”
“Stop, please. Not today. I’m up to my eyeballs in disappointment. Did I tell you he’s drinking again?
“No, but I’m not surprised.”
“Lisa, I’ve been responsible for the safety and comfort of passengers on United’s flights for over a decade, but I can’t control one damn thing in my life. I’m so tired. Whether he’s guilty or not, I’m leaving.”
“Say no more. Just make sure you’re on that plane tomorrow. We’ll sort everything out later. Get some rest. And for God’s sake, be careful.”
Satisfied I’d completed my checklist – packed suitcase under guest room bed, get-out-of-town clothes hung in the closet – I switched off my emotions and went into autopilot for the evening. Dawn would arrive soon enough.
***
The eerie morning quiet made me think of the promised silence heralding Judgment Day. It rattled me. Meredith, get a grip. Your cab won’t wait because of an emotional meltdown. Get dressed. Show the world who you are!
Droplets of fever ran down my neck as I raked my highlighted hair, once aglow with metallic luster, into a knot of lifeless tendrils. A ragged fringe fell across my brow. Slipping on black Jaeger slacks, silk tee, and a gray cashmere cardigan, I grabbed my Burberry trench coat. Chilly March winds were forecast for the East Coast. Switching off the light, I inched down the hall maze, the letter to Sloane clutched in my hand.
My suitcase and a pair of wedge ankle boots, perfect for navigating airport concourses with speed and comfort, waited in the foyer. A taxi was booked for 6:00. With time to spare, I went into the kitchen for a mug of tea.
The aroma of roast fennel and garlic from the previous night’s dinner poached the air. I flicked on the kettle and stuffed a slice of bread into the toaster. I had to settle my nerves.
The tight seal of our refrigerator door whooshed when I opened it to remove milk and marmalade. Crumbs scattered on the counter as I scraped a layer of orange pulp on the burnt sourdough.
Mechanically, I grabbed a cloth, then caught myself. To hell with tidiness. This isn’t my home anymore.
I swallowed the last bite, washing it down with the dregs of Earl Grey, rinsed the mug under a trickle of cold water, and placed it in the drainer. A luminous smudge of cherry-red lipstick remained on the rim. My parting gift.
Returning the towel to the drawer, a smile flashed across my lips. Jeez, Lisa, don’t you ever give up? After two decades, you’re still trying to get me back to the States. Her latest gift of a Williams-Sonoma towel set was testament to her bribery efforts. Soon, she would get her wish. In ten hours, assuming no delays, I’d be in North Carolina.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I snatched the letter from the counter, and walked barefoot into the living room toward our baby grand crowned by a dozen silver-framed photos of the Winthrops in happier times.
Impulsively, I selected my favorite, taken on a day of firsts. Our first wedding anniversary and my first flight as a newly-promoted purser with United Airlines. Sloane surprised me at Heathrow arrivals. He looked imperious, like a diplomat in possession of nuclear launch codes. Gold wings, pinned to my uniform lapel, caught the light as he lifted me like a trophy. I felt invulnerable in his arms.
To embalm that occasion forever, I removed the picture from the collection. It would be my only keepsake…for the moment.
Eyeing another, snapped in Courchevel, I marveled at how fit we were. God, we made a handsome couple. Swept along by the downward spiral of my life, I lowered my head. It had been a long time since we skied, or golfed, together, or done anything together, for that matter.
Carefully leaning the note against the frame, I tried to imagine Sloane’s face when he read it. Would he throw his head back in laughter and say, “Finally, I’m well rid of her?” Or would he cradle his head and weep? Somehow, I couldn’t visualize the latter.
I turned to the Thames-side windows and bade farewell to Canary Wharf’s skyscrapers dotting the shore. Like glistening fangs in the watery light, they pierced clusters of dark, spongy clouds. Pewter droplets dribbled down the panes. It was going to be one of those pitiless, sodden English days.
Still, I’d miss evenings on the balcony. Tall ships gliding on the river; the cadence of tidal flow, eternal and soothing, comforting me when life became turbulent.
I blinked hard to capture the memory. Then my boneless legs gave way as I braced my arm against a wing chair. Overtaken by the dull ache of sorrow, I lowered myself onto the cushion. Fidgeting with my wedding ring, I twisted it hard between thumb and forefinger, embossing an imprint of the marquis diamond on my pads. If only I hadn’t ignored Lisa’s warning: “He will undo you.”
Instead, I’d allowed my sense of self to fray into tatters, ripped by Sloane’s alcohol abuse and deception. I had forfeited my identity to a marriage damaged by little deaths, petite mortes. Not of a sexual nature, but the poisonous, unforgivable kind filled with lies and threats.
The tick-tock murmur of our carriage clock on the credenza filled the room with hushed tones breaking my thoughts. The dial quivered with each passing second, inexorably advancing toward the 6:00AM pumpkin hour when my unrealized fairy tale would end.
As I walked toward the front door to collect my luggage, Lisa’s warning clawed at my brain: “For God’s sake, be careful!”