There was no response as he tried, and failed, to ready Grace's baby bag.
'In fact, we dropped in to your office, but you weren't there.'
'Where?'
I rolled my eyes, adjusting my hold on Grace. 'To your work, but you were in Brooklyn.'
'Who told you that?'
My mouth gaped, almost spilling the truth. Your brother told me.
'So you weren't in Brooklyn?'
'Why would I go to Brooklyn?' He seemed to find the thought unsavoury.
I wanted to tell him what Alistair had told me, but I had promised to keep his secret for a little longer. Then I wondered if maybe someone was preventing Alistair from getting to Ben. I thought of the snarly Ruth answering the door at the Lafayette Street apartment and suddenly had no doubt who was behind the misinformation.
'Well, I suppose I should have just called in every day, seeing as that's where you've been all week.' I tried not to sound snarky, but I couldn't help it. I wanted him to know I knew. And that he was weak for hiding out and taking the easy option.
He never said a word, simply averted his attention to Grace, his eyes shiny with a new lightness as he cocked his head and smiled at her, touching her cheek. Just as quickly as the emotion came to him, he shut it down, turning to me, his expression serious, and he was every bit the devil I had pegged him for. I wanted as little to do with him as possible.
'Get ready,' he repeated.
I left the room knowing that I couldn't bite my tongue forever, and if this night was going to be as awful as I predicted, then come morning, I would be handing in my resignation letter. That thought was the only thing that kept me moving up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grant and Melissa Peterson lived on the Upper East Side. They embodied everything that was fine and good. They had lovely wine glasses and an impressive art collection. They were bubbly and welcoming and cooed appropriately over Grace and made even the lowly au pair feel welcome. I wondered if maybe Alistair had been invited? Or Nikki? My thoughts were interrupted by Grace being torn from my arms by an overexcited Melissa.
She laughed. 'Oh, Grant, doesn't it make you want another one?'
Grant's eyes glazed over and if this was a cartoon, he would have been loosening his collar and sweating bullets. But this was reality, so he just laughed nervously and took a long sip of his champagne flute.
'How many children do you have?' I asked.
'Oh, just Evie, she's four, and in desperate need of a brother or sister.' Melissa smiled, dropping a less than subtle hint as she glanced at her husband, who had chosen to have a deep and meaningful discussion with Ben. She rolled her eyes. 'Men and their business talk. You would think they'd just want to leave it at the office.'
Melissa spoke to me as if I was a fellow frustrated wife, sharing the same shortcomings of our partners. And as much as I had dreaded the dinner party invite and how out of place I would feel, I recognised a similar loneliness in her. She was fair, with flame-red hair and a nervous disposition, and she looked at her husband with wide, watery eyes in a pathetic bid for approval. I could see she was eager for another baby – I had seen it before, in other women. She just wanted something to love. The tall, dark and sexy Grant Peterson seemed like he would always rather talk business, not babies.
It was so fascinating to people-watch, to make a judgement within the first few minutes of meeting someone. I wondered what people would make of me, standing next to Ben. What would people who weren't in the know think, looking across the room at us? There's no way they would see us as a couple: Ben was brooding, stiff and uncomfortable; in a room full of people, he spoke only to Grant, and was genuinely annoyed when people intervened to shake his hand and offer small talk. I couldn't help but enjoy watching him squirm. I smirked when a highly botoxed New York socialite with little notion of personal space advanced on him. 'Benjamin, darling, how are you?' she all but purred.
I had been so wrong. This dinner party was nothing to cringe about, this was the best entertainment I'd had all week, and I planned to enjoy every minute of it, even if I only had juice in my decadent champagne flute.
Then a shadow in my peripheral vision closed in. I knew it was Ben, I had seen him untangle the socialite's flailing arms from around his neck as he excused himself from the group. I lazily cast my gaze around the room, acting as if I wasn't bothered by his approach.
'Don't worry, it's non-alcoholic,' I said, looking at him like I was bored.
'Good to know, but that's not what I was going to ask.'
'Oh, what were you going to ask then?' I said, watching him expectantly. I knew I was giving off attitude, being less than professional, but I was finding it difficult to care. Maybe if he was at least present for his daughter I would dislike him less. To me, there was nothing endearing about him, apart from those eyes that made my train of thought fuzzy, and those lips that I knew were soft and lush and – man, I needed a drink. I was parched.
Just as I was about to put my glass down on an empty tray and pick up another, a hand snared my wrist.
'Oh, Sarah, there you are. Listen, come upstairs, will you, I hear dinner and drinks are waiting to be served.'
Earlier, when I had wanted so badly to see a familiar face, I certainly hadn't meant it to be Penny Worthington's.
'Um … ' I looked pleadingly at Ben, but he seemed amused by the sudden intrusion. Bloody coward.
'Come, there's someone I want you to meet.'
'Melissa has Grace so I-'
'Well, she's in good hands then.'
I threw Ben a parting frown; smirking, he saluted me with his champagne as Penny pulled me away through the crowd. Bastard.
Louisa Tourky was an English rose. Blonde hair, peaches-and-cream complexion, big round eyes and a knowing smile. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear and blinked – once, twice – made the simple act almost erotic. She made me feel like a bag lady.
'Louisa, this is Sarah Williams. She's Australian,' announced Penny Worthington by way of introduction. It was as though she thought making sure people knew I was Australian would explain everything, especially my faults. 'Perhaps Louisa can give you a few pointers, Sarah. Grant says that Louisa is the cream of the crop as an au pair.' Penny turned to offer a barely there smile. It was a none-too-subtle dig at me. Oh, how I hated her.
As soon as Penny had descended the stairs, Louisa crossed the room, peering out to the landing and stepping back to shut the door behind her.
'Ding-dong, the witch is gone,' she sing-songed. 'Want a smoke?' She cracked a window, her long blonde hair swishing over her shoulder as she looked at me with a mischievous smile. I liked her instantly.
'Ah, no, thanks, I don't smoke.'
'Well, working for the Worthingtons, that's probably a good thing.' Louisa clicked her lighter and inhaled until the cigarette was aglow.
I wondered what she knew about them. 'How long have you worked for the Petersons?'
She blew her smoke out of the window. 'Oh, I don't know, eighteen months?'
Eighteen months. I could only assume that she must have liked her position, and then I thought of the prospect of being employed by the Worthingtons for that long and I just couldn't see it. I couldn't see any longevity in it because, try as I might, I never actually felt that this world was a part of my reality.
Even though Penny had pretty much dragged me here, I was enjoying the calm in the charming wood-panel-and-leather library with Louisa. It was quiet and cosy, away from the elite and their children. Louisa had extinguished her cigarette and was sauntering across the room with a sense of ownership; she'd obviously hung out in this room often, which surprised me as she didn't strike me as the bookish type. She reached for the crystal decanter of whisky on the drink cart.
'Want one?' she asked, smirking at me as she tipped the rich liquid into the sparkling crystal tumbler.
'Ah … no tha-'
'Let me guess, you don't drink whisky either, tut-tut-tut, such a saint you are, the Worthingtons struck gold with you,' she teased, bringing the tumbler to her lips.
I felt like I was in high school all over again, like Louisa was double daring me to do something stupid, and as far as I was concerned, drinking on the job when you were supposed to be caring for children was right up there.
'Ugh, here, hold this, I gotta go pee,' she said. I thought how incredibly American she sounded, even with her posh English accent. Louisa shoved the drink into my hand and I had to rebalance so as not to spill a drop on the rug. I wondered, come time for me to go home, would my friends notice any change of accent? Would they notice any change in me at all? Probably not, I was always just Sarah. My moral compass was also painfully strong and true – I don't think I could ever be in danger of being controversial. I always did the right thing: working hard and enjoying the simple pleasures in life, not that Tiffany's was exactly simple.
An image of Ben's lips surfaced, and I remembered how they felt on my body, and I suddenly didn't feel so saintly after all.
I looked at the tumbler in my hand, and it had me thinking, remembering. How did I feel when I broke the rules? Did I feel any different? Guilt-ridden perhaps? Elated, empowered? Maybe I even walked around with an air of confidence just like Louisa did; I mean, sure, this was her domain and she probably felt at ease here. But even in my own environment, each day was about waiting, and worrying whether Ben would be back or if he was going to disappear … and what if I kissed him again? What would happen, what would he do? All the questions running through my mind were starting to wear me down. Oh, how I wished I were more like Louisa, a free spirit – maybe that was what worked, what got you noticed? Penny Worthington certainly seemed like a fan. And right then, as I stared down into the whisky, I thought, Fuck it! I lifted the glass to my mouth and knocked back the rich, fiery contents so quick it took my breath away.