The Dress (27 page)

As Joy stood looking at the gap in her husband's wardrobe, the dominoes started to drop. Frank's late night working, Honor's disappearance after the party – had she gone to meet him in Boston? Had he been to Boston at all? How far back did the affair go? Had Honor been teasing her, with talk of an Irishman? Could she have been audacious and cruel enough to taunt Joy with stories of having designs on her own husband? Did the whole of New York know about this already? Honor had opened her label with Breton within weeks of the party – perhaps this had been her plan all along? To use Joy's goodwill, her resources, her reputation as a stylish woman, to use Joy's money to make a dress that would secure her future then, to hell with it, take the woman's husband as well.

Then again, Joy knew her husband. Frank was not a man easily swayed; he was a man of character. No matter how difficult their marriage had become at times, he had never had an affair; he wasn't the type, she knew that. Frank would have to have strong feelings for another woman to leave his wife.

The bitch was no cheap floozy. She had turned Frank's head somehow. How and when was something she had to find out but, there was no way, Joy thought, necking back more of the whisky as her ire rose, that some jumped-up little Irish tart was going to get the better of her and steal her husband.

Divorce? Joy let out a cruel laugh, there was no way she was giving Frank a divorce. They would ride this out, like they rode out everything. Having Honor's name attached to a New York so-called couture house was one thing, but taking Joy Fitzpatrick's husband from her was quite another.

Joy went back out to the drawing room phone and rifled through the small bureau for her lawyer's phone number, just as Jones came in with a tray of coffee.

She openly poured a shot of whisky into the cup, before he added coffee.

She picked up the note and waved it at him.

‘Did you know about this?' she asked him.

Jones looked at her. ‘About what, ma'am?'

‘Don't you
ma'am
me, Jones. Did you know Frank was having an affair?'

He shrugged and said, ‘It's not for me to say, ma... I mean...'

Jones looked crestfallen, shocked, hurt, but even as Joy formed the idea that it wasn't the butler's fault, the rage pumped through her. Everybody knew; everybody knew except her. Well, she was going to show them. He must have known and may have even helped hide the affair from her. The fact that he hadn't alerted her showed where his loyalty lay.

‘If you know where my husband is, Jones,' she said coolly, ‘I suggest you go and tell him that I would prefer you to stay in his service for the time being. You can also tell him that I will
not
be granting him a divorce.'

If Jones had had to choose between his two employers, he would have stayed with Joy. She was, for all her instability, a more charming and interesting employer than her husband and she needed him. Jones had guessed at the affair more than known about it. What Frank had done in leaving her this way was deplorable but it was, the weary butler thought, inevitable. Jones wanted to offer Joy some comfort, but he knew, regretfully, his own humble service could not soften this terrible blow. He bowed slightly and said, ‘As you wish, ma'am.'

When he had gone, Joy spent a few minutes gathering herself. She would have to quell this rage and she must not drink. If –
when
– Frank came back, he would want her sober. He must not see she was drinking again. Drinking in front of Jones and flying off the handle like that had been a mistake. She had to calm down and be clever if she was going to get her husband back from this scheming bitch. She would explain to Frank that she was upset, naturally, and he would forgive her and everything would be all right.

Joy had one last shot of whisky, to centre herself, then threw the rest down the sink, gargled then swallowed some mouthwash, reapplied her lipstick and rang her lawyer. She told Daniel Cohen's secretary that she did not want or need an appointment, the girl was to simply to tell her boss that Joy Fitzpatrick was on her way in to see him, on a matter of some urgency. The girl said, ‘Certainly Mrs Fitzpatrick,' almost as if she had been expecting the call. Did she know too? Of course she did. Everyone in New York knew. Joy put the thought out of her head, got herself out on the street, into a cab and drove the few blocks downtown to the offices of
Brand, Finkleton & Cohen
.

Daniel Cohen, himself, met her at the door and took her upstairs to his office. Daniel was a distinguished man in his fifties, and an old family friend of her father's. He had handled her parents' estate after they died, as well as many of Frank's early business transactions, before his company grew to a size where they needed a bigger, corporate firm. Joy refused coffee and dramatically shook out her chiffon scarf, before sitting down.

‘Daniel, I'm afraid to say that some little bitch has got her claws into Frank and he is saying he wants a divorce. The whole thing is ludicrous. I need you to sort this mess out for me.'

Daniel raised his hands and said, ‘Joy, before you go on any further, I should tell you that Frank has already engaged the firm on this matter.'

Joy felt her cheeks burn, as she tried to hold her composure. ‘Already? I mean, he only left this...'

‘Some weeks ago, Joy.'

‘
Weeks
ago?'

‘He has been talking to me about making divorce arrangements for some time, Joy. I'm sorry, I thought you knew.'

Joy felt sick. She was lost for words.

‘No,' she said. ‘I didn't know.' She rolled her scarf around her hands then held it up to her face; Chanel No. 5.

What was going on here? What did Daniel mean, he thought she knew? How could she have known? She had to focus, figure this out. She must make Daniel understand that this was all Honor's doing, then once he knew what sort of twisted woman he was dealing with, he would understand and he would advise Frank to leave her and go back to his wife.

‘It's this girl, Daniel. She somehow wormed her way into my life, made me commission her to make an outrageously expensive dress so she could meet Frank and then...' As her story gathered steam, Joy began to believe it more and more. This was true, she and Frank has been duped. ‘...she got herself into Frank's path and, I don't know how, Daniel, because Frank and I are, as you know, devoted to one another, but she's manipulative and somehow, someway, she managed to steal him from me...' It felt good to be talking this way, it felt true, but before she could continue, Daniel cut her off.

‘I'm sorry Joy, as I said, I can't really have this conversation with you. Frank engaged me weeks ago. I can find you another lawyer; I assumed you had already got somebody.'

He was stonewalling her. This was worse than she thought. Joy felt humiliated, then decided she had better ask straight out. ‘Then why did you let me in, Daniel?' Joy said. ‘Why am I sitting here? What does Frank want?'

‘Joy,' Daniel said. Was that a trace of pity in his eyes?

‘Go on, I'll engage another solicitor, as soon as I leave here, but you might as well tell me. What has the bitch got him to agree to?'

‘He wants a quick divorce, so he can marry Honor...'

Joy felt the rage bubble up. ‘Jesus, you've
met
her.'

‘He brought her in here, yes.'

‘So you can see what kind of a woman she is? You know what we are dealing with!'

The kindly old man remembered the ordinary, simply dressed young Irish woman, who had sat in his office two weeks ago, her worried face contorted with guilt, as Frank talked about settlements and assets. Her concern was only for Joy. Had it not been for Frank's promises to protect her from the guilt and shame of her pregnancy, Daniel Cohen wondered if she would have been there at all. It was clear to him that Frank loved this girl to distraction. The seasoned lawyer had seen his fair share of manipulative, scheming women, and this was as far from that as he could imagine. If anything, she was an innocent, who had somehow found herself caught up in the maelstrom of a poisonous marriage. Desperate to escape Joy's drinking, Frank had been to Daniel, looking for advice, well over a year ago. Frank was a good man, but Daniel regretted, now, getting caught up in this mess. Having said that, he was still better off on this side of the fight, rather than trying to reason with Joy. She had tried to cover the smell with perfume and peppermints, but he could smell the alcohol on her breath from across the room.

‘The woman is deranged, Daniel. You're an intelligent man, you must have seen that. She deliberately set out to destroy my marriage, my reputation, my
life
, because, I don't know, she was jealous of me? The thing is what are we, what are
you
going to do about it?'

‘Joy, please,' he said. ‘Please don't do this to yourself. I knew your father, your mother; I hate to see you like this.'

Like what? What did he mean? What was the stupid old man talking about?

She observed the pity in his face now; he made no attempt to disguise it. Frank had talked to him about her drinking. He was going to use it against her.

‘So,' Joy said gathering up her bag and folding her scarf carefully around her neck, ‘as my oldest family friend and solicitor, you are betraying me, along with my husband.'

‘Joy, please,' Daniel pleaded, although he did not get up from his chair to stop her from leaving.

‘You have not heard the last of this,' Joy said, ‘and you tell Frank and his whore that they will have a fight on their hands.' But even as she got into the open elevator of
Brand, Finkleton & Cohen
, then felt it shuddering down towards the lobby, even as she walked out into the harsh sunlight of Midtown, Joy knew that she did not have it in her to fight this.

She asked herself, did they both hate her that much? Had her marriage, her friendships, her dreams, really come to this end? Was it possible that the only two people she had ever really trusted could have betrayed her in this despicable way? Was she so unlovable?

The answer to the final question she could answer with impunity; the answer was yes. Frank didn't love her anymore because she didn't deserve his love; she had never deserved his love. Maybe Honor had played her, but it was no more than she deserved, shallow bitch that she was.

The pain shot through her with a physical intensity, like a stab to the chest.

Joy walked into the first bar she came across, an Irish joint on 4th Street, sat up at the bar and ordered a straight whisky and a chaser to follow.

Two regulars in the corner eyed the nice lady in the lemon suit and wondered what she was doing, drinking alongside them in the middle of the day. Joy noticed them looking but she didn't care anymore.

‘I'm pregnant.'

The words Honor had said to Frank, on the street next to the subway that day, had simply fallen out of her mouth. She did not think them through, they seemed thrown by some compulsion beyond her reason, perhaps a desire to save the baby, or herself, from the abortion? For whatever reason, once out, the words could not be unsaid and they set into motion a series of events that Honor had never wanted.

Frank melted, kissed her passionately, then said, ‘This is wonderful,
wonderful
news, Honor,' whispering, ‘I love you,' into her hair, as he held her close to him, right there on the street.

Honor felt safe and for a moment it seemed as if everything could be all right, even though they had betrayed Joy and now the evidence of that terrible betrayal was growing inside her. As she remembered that, Honor pulled away and said, ‘Frank, we need to talk about what to do about this... I'm not sure that I want the baby, that I want all this...'

It was then that she saw Frank suddenly change. The gentle lover disappeared and gave way to the determined businessman she knew he was and yet had never seen before. It was as if he had not heard her, had not wanted to hear.

‘We'll get married at once. Don't worry, Honor, I'll stand by you. This child, our child, will have a proper family;
my
child will be well looked after, you can be sure of that. I have already talked to Cohen about divorce, but now I can get him to rush things through. We'll cite Joy's alcoholism and he knows a man who can help prove infidelity...'

Frank was talking with such manic certainty that there was no room for her own concerns and thoughts. Frank wanted to leave Joy and marry her and the pregnancy was his perfect excuse.

‘No,' Honor wanted to say. ‘You can't do that to Joy, Frank –
we
can't do this to Joy, it's wrong.' But she didn't.

She didn't say it, partly because she knew he wouldn't listen, but also because it wouldn't make any difference. This was what Frank wanted,
she
was what Frank wanted and men had to get what they wanted, unless a woman was smart enough to manipulate things to go their way which, clearly, Honor was not.

She had fallen for Frank, longed for him, but in the face of her friendship with Joy, she had found the strength and the moral fortitude to let him go. Now he was back and she knew that, in telling him about her pregnancy, she had become utterly powerless over her own destiny. Honor berated herself for her own stupidity, but she did not tell Frank he could not leave Joy, because it was what he wanted and thus was inevitable. In some very small secret part of her, perhaps Honor knew that it was what she wanted, too. Although Honor could not even say for certain that she loved Frank, her desire for him was like a virus. She had fought it, but it was in her bloodstream now and it seemed there was little she could do to rid herself of it.

On that afternoon, as soon as they got into the car, Frank instructed the driver to take them directly over to his lawyer's office, to make his divorce arrangements official.