Chapter 77
Nick called a few days later to say he was sorry for the way things had turned out and to ask if we could meet up for a drink. I said no at first. The prospect of seeing Nick—much less sitting down with him to hash out what had transpired—was just too painful; but in the end I allowed myself to be persuaded. It didn't really matter now. I had grown used to humiliation, and one more dose was unlikely to finish me off. But I put my foot down when Nick suggested we meet at the club where Henry had seemingly materialized out of nowhere a few weeks earlier. I had nearly reconciled myself to being dumped but I preferred not to be reminded of the grisly details. I suggested a bar in the King’s Road instead.
When I arrived Nick was sitting at a table by the window, wearing an expression of almost comical earnestness. He stood up when I came in, grimly offering his cheek to be kissed; but when I grasped his hand instead he chuckled involuntarily, as if acknowledging that he had somehow overstepped. "What'll you have?" he asked pluckily enough as I sat down.
"Oh, water's fine."
He stared at me with genuine astonishment. "How about a drink?"
"I don't think so. Not today."
I sat quietly and gazed out the window while Nick pushed his way towards the crowded bar. I studied the pedestrians meandering up and down the King's Road with intense, almost clinical interest, as though they were the last humans I was likely ever to see. I watched the ruddy-faced man in a black fedora dash for the bus, the pale young girl leading a wailing child by the hand, the punk boy swaggering past with his chains and piercings and spiky rooster mohawk. In my misery I would gladly have changed places with any one of them.
Nick came back with two martinis, bearing them with an air of extreme concentration, like a tightrope walker high up in the sky. "I thought we deserved them," he said with a sly, conspiratorial smile.
I looked at the drink that had been placed before me as a sort of peace offering. Nick wanted our tête-à-tête to go well; he wanted to be forgiven for his shoddy behavior. And why not, I thought. Forgiveness was cheap. Without raising my glass from the table I bent over and took a sip, as if bowing to the inevitable.
"I'm so sorry," he said tremulously, and when I looked up I saw tears pooling in his eyes, ready to spill over at the slightest provocation.
"It's okay," I said blandly, determined not to play a role in his orgy of self-flagellation.
"You wouldn't believe how much pressure I was under."
I lifted my glass now and took a proper drink. "Pressure to...what? Sleep with Trip?" I said as the first small numbing thrill smoked through my veins.
He blinked at me and a tear slid down his smooth cheek. "What? No, to provide information about you."
I sat back in my chair, bracing myself against this new reality. "I'm sorry?" I glanced towards the young woman at the table next to ours. She wore a tight red skirt and four-inch heels. Although she looked like a (male) playwright's idea of a tart, she was more likely just a suburban girl going full tilt to strike a glamorous pose for her inattentive boyfriend.
"That's how it began," Nick went on. "They were going to ruin you if they could, Michael Straight and Trip and Henry."
"I don't understand."
"They said they'd pay me," Nick went on, gulping with emotion, "quite a bit of money."
I took another sip of my drink. Clare's assessment of the situation had been typically off-center, owning a kernel of truth but fatally skewed. There had been a betrayal, but it was of a different sort from (or perhaps in addition to) what I'd been led to believe; whether better or worse I couldn't say. "How much?" I asked, surprising myself with the crudeness of the question.
Nick looked as though he'd been slapped—and that he welcomed the abuse. "Five thousand."
"Ah." The price of disloyalty, it seemed, was less than one might think, less even than Trip had offered me.
"I'm so ashamed, Paul. I told them everything I knew about you and Blunt," he rushed on, his lip trembling self-righteously. “I was going to tell you about it, I couldn’t stand the guilt, but then you managed to keep Straight’s name out of the book and they dropped the whole thing after that.”
I felt oddly detached from the messy affair in which I'd been embroiled for so long. I looked directly into Nick's face. "And did you sleep with Trip?"
He looked down at his drink. "Once or twice. It was nothing."
"I'm sure," I said. "I hope you got your five thousand at least."
He bowed his head humbly. "I got a bit. I was an idiot."
"Well then," I said, surprised by how little I cared.
"I need you to forgive me," he said insistently, almost compulsively, and I realized that it was necessary to speak the words, regardless of my feelings.
"Of course I forgive you," I said, smiling as sincerely as possible. "Now finish your drink."
We sat in silence for a few moments. "I still care about you," he said rather sullenly. "I think about you all the time."
The words lingered between us, strung like crystals across the heavy air. "After all that's happened..." I began inanely. A tiny part of me still felt desire but how could I possibly trust him ever again?
He crashed on excitedly. "Let's go away somewhere. You've always said you'd like to visit Cornwall. How about a weekend down there, my treat?"
I sighed deeply, regretting that I had ever agreed to this painful encounter. "Look Nick, you did something pretty awful. I can't just pretend it didn't happen."
He looked at me with mournful eyes. "You've done some pretty questionable things yourself."
I studied the plump, luscious olives loitering at the bottom of my drink. Nick's accusation was reflexive and puerile but undeniably true. I couldn't help wondering if my own missteps had contributed to his bad behavior. "You're right," I said almost humbly.
He reached across the table and touched my hand. "It doesn't matter. Let's move forward."
I realized with a pang that moving forward could mean only one thing—cutting myself decisively free from the past, including Nick. I took one last swig of my drink and stood up, reaching for my coat. "It won't work, Nick. We're done. I'm sorry for everything. Good luck."
He stood up too, as if to detain me, but I moved quickly towards the door. In a moment I was gone.