Remember Me?

Chapter 14

Bloody hell. This is a real, serious, glitzy party. The whole building is alive with light and thudding music. The penthouse loft looks even more spectacular than before, with flowers everywhere, and waiters in cool black outfits holding trays of champagne, and gift bags ready for people to take. Ava and Jon, and a few other people I don’t recognize, are gathered by the window, and Eric strides straight over to them.

“People,” he says. “Have we done the rundown on the guests? Sarah, you’ve got the press list? All under control?”

“They’re here.” A young girl in a wrap dress comes hurrying in, almost tripping over her stilettos. “The van Gogens are early. And they’ve brought friends. And there’s another lot right behind them!”

“Good luck, guys.” Eric is high-fiving his entire team. “Let’s sell this building.”

The next moment a couple in expensive-looking coats enters, and Eric springs into full-charm offensive, ushering them to meet Ava, handing them champagne, and taking them over to see the view. More people are arriving, and soon there’s a small crowd chattering and leafing through the brochure and eyeing the waterfall.

Jon is about ten yards away, to my left, wearing a dark suit, frowning as he talks to the van Gogens. I haven’t spoken to him yet. I have no idea if he’s noticed me. Occasionally I glance over at him, then quickly look away as my stomach pops over.

It’s like I’m thirteen again and he’s my crush. All I’m aware of in this entire roomful of people is him. Where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s talking to. I dart another glance at him and this time he meets my eye. Cheeks flaming, I turn away and swig my wine. Great, Lexi. Not at all obvious.

Deliberately, I swivel right away so he’s out of my line of vision. I’m watching everyone arrive, almost in a trance, when Eric arrives beside me.

“Lexi, darling.” He has a fixed, disapproving smile. “You look awkward, standing there on your own. Come with me.”

Before I can stop him, he’s leading me firmly over to Jon, who’s talking to another rich-looking couple. The woman is in a Dior-print trouser suit, with dyed red hair and severely overdone lipliner. She bares her porcelain teeth at me, and her gray-haired husband grunts, his hand clamped possessively on her shoulder.

“Let me introduce my wife, Lexi.” Eric beams at them. “One of the greatest fans of”-he pauses, and I tense up, waiting for it-“loft-style living!”

If I hear that phrase one more time I’m going to shoot myself.

“Hi, Lexi.” Jon meets my eye briefly as Eric heads off again. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Jon.” I try to sound calm, like he’s any other person at the party; like I haven’t been fixating on him since I arrived. I turn to the Dior woman. “So…how do you like the loft?”

The couple exchange doubtful glances. “We have one concern,” says the man, in a European accent I can’t quite place. “The space. Whether it is big enough.”

I’m stumped. This place is like a bloody aircraft hangar. How can it not be big enough?

“We think five thousand square feet is a generous size,” says Jon. “However, you could knock two or even three units together if you need a larger space.”

“Our other problem is the design,” says the man.

“The design?” echoes Jon politely. “Is something wrong with the design?”

“At our home we have touches of gold,” says the man. “Gold paintings. Gold lamps. Gold…” He seems to run out of steam.

“Carpets,” the woman puts in, rolling the “rrr” heavily. “Gold carrr-pets.”

The man jabs at the brochure. “Here I see a lot of silver. Chrome.”

“I see.” Jon nods, deadpan. “Well, obviously the loft can be customized to your own individual taste. We could, for example, have the fireplace gold-plated.”

“A gold-plated fireplace?” says the woman uncertainly. “Would that be…too much?”

“Is there such a thing as too much gold?” Jon replies pleasantly. “We could also add solid gold light-fittings. And Lexi could help you with the gold carpet. Couldn’t you, Lexi?”

“Of course.” I nod, praying desperately I don’t suddenly snort with laughter.

“Yes. Well, we will think about it.” The couple moves off, talking in some foreign language I don’t recognize. Jon knocks back his drink.

“Not big enough. Jesus Christ. Ten of our units at Ridgeway would fit into this space.”

“What’s Ridgeway?”

“Our affordable-housing project.” He sees my blank look. “We only get planning permission for a place like this if we put up some affordable units.”

“Oh, right,” I say in surprise. “Eric’s never even mentioned affordable housing.”

A flicker of amusement passes over Jon’s face. “I’d say his heart isn’t totally in that aspect of the job,” he says, as Eric steps up onto a small podium in front of the mantelpiece. The ambient lighting dims, a spotlight falls on Eric, and gradually the hum of chatter dies away.

“Welcome!” he says, his voice ringing out around the space. “Welcome to Blue 42, the latest in the Blue series of projects dedicated to…”

I hold my breath. Please don’t say it, please don’t say it…

“Loft-style living!” His hands sweep along and all the members of his staff applaud vigorously.

Jon glances at me and takes a step back, away from the crowd. After a moment I move back too, my eyes fixed firmly ahead. My whole body is crackling with apprehension. And…excitement.

“So, have you remembered anything yet?” he says in a casual undertone.

“No.”

Behind Eric, a massive screen is lighting up with images of lofts from all angles. Punchy music fills the air and the room becomes even darker. I have to hand it to Eric-this is a fantastic presentation.

“You know, we first met each other at a loft launch like this one.” Jon’s voice is so low, I can barely hear it above the music. “The minute you spoke I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew I liked you.”

I’m silent for a few moments, curiosity prickling at me.

“What did I say?” I whisper back at last.

“You said, ‘If I hear that phrase loft-style living again, I’m going to shoot myself.’”

“No.” I stare at him, then splutter with laughter. A man in front turns around with a frown, and as if in synch, Jon and I back away a few more paces, till we’re right in the shadows.

“You shouldn’t be hiding away,” I say. “This is your moment. Your loft.”

“Yeah, well,” he says dryly. “I’ll let Eric take the glory. He’s welcome to it.”

For a few moments we watch Eric onscreen in a hard hat, striding over a building site.

“You make no sense,” I say quietly. “If you think lofts are for rich wankers, why do you design them?”

“That’s a good question.” Jon takes a gulp of his drink. “Truth is, I should move on. But I like Eric. He believed in me, he gave me my first chance, he runs a great company…”

“You like Eric?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Of course you do. That’s why you keep telling me to leave him.”

“I do. He’s a great guy. He’s honest, he’s loyal…” For a while Jon’s silent beside me, his eyes flickering in the dim light. “I don’t want to fuck Eric’s life up,” he says finally. “It wasn’t in the plan.”

“So why…”

“He doesn’t understand you.” Jon looks directly at me. “He has no idea who you are.”

“And you do, I suppose?” I retort, just as the lights come up and applause breaks out around the room. Instinctively I take a step away from Jon, and we both watch as Eric mounts the podium again, glowing with an aura of success and money and on-top-of-the-world-ness.

“So, have you encountered Mont Blanc yet?” Jon says, clapping vigorously, his mood lighter.

“What’s Mont Blanc?” I give him a suspicious glance.

“You’ll find out.”

“Tell me.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, pressing his mouth together as though trying not to laugh. “I couldn’t spoil the surprise.”

“Tell me!”

“Jon! There you are. Emergency!” We both start in surprise as Ava appears behind us. She’s dressed in a black trouser suit, holding a burlap sack, and appears flustered. “The ornamental rocks for the master bedroom fish tank have only just arrived from Italy. But I’ve got to see to the kitchen place-settings-some fucking idiot’s been fiddling with them-so can you do it?” She shoves the burlap sack into Jon’s arms. “Just arrange the rocks in the tank. There should be time before the presentation finishes.”

“No problem.” Jon hefts the sack in his arms, then looks at me, his eyes opaque and impenetrable. “Lexi, want to come with me and help?”

My throat tightens up so hard, I can’t breathe. This is an invitation. A challenge.

No. I have to say no.

“Um…yes.” I swallow. “Sure.”

I feel almost light-headed as I follow Jon through the crowd, up the stairs onto the mezzanine level, and into the bedroom. No one even notices us. All attention is on the presentation.

We head into the main bedroom and Jon closes the door.

“So,” he says.

“Look.” My voice is sharp with nerves. “I can’t carry on like this! All this whispering, creeping around, trying to…to sabotage my marriage. I’m happy with Eric!”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You won’t be with him in a year.” He sounds so sure of himself, I’m nettled.

“Yes, I will,” I shoot back. “I expect I’ll be with him in fifty years!”

“You’ll try your best, you’ll try to mold yourself…but your spirit’s too free for him. At last you won’t be able to stand it anymore.” He exhales, pressing his meshed hands outward. “I’ve watched it happen once. I don’t want to see it again.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I snap. “Well, when it does happen, I’ll give you a call, how’s that? We should do the rocks.” I jerk my head toward the sack, but Jon ignores me.

He puts it down on the floor and comes toward me, his eyes intense and questioning. “You really, really don’t remember anything?”

“No,” I say almost wearily. “For the millionth time, I don’t remember anything.”

He’s only inches away from me now, studying my face, searching for something. “All the time we spent together, all the things we said… There has to be something to trigger your memory.” He briefly rubs his brow, frowning. “Do sunflowers mean anything to you?”

In spite of myself I rack my brain. Sunflowers. Sunflowers. Didn’t I once…

No, it’s gone.

“Nothing,” I say at last. “I mean, I like sunflowers, but…”

“e.e. cummings? Mustard on fries?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say helplessly. “None of this means anything to me.”

He’s so close I can feel his gentle breath on my skin. His eyes haven’t left mine.

“Does this mean anything to you?” He’s moved his hands up to my face, cradling my cheeks, rubbing my skin with his thumbs.

“No.” I swallow.

“This?” He leans down and brushes a kiss against my neck.

“Stop it,” I say feebly, but I can barely get the words out. And besides, I don’t mean them. My breathing is getting shorter and shorter. I’ve forgotten about everything else. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him in a way I didn’t want to kiss Eric.

And then it’s happening-his mouth is on mine and my entire body’s telling me this is the right thing to do. He smells right. He tastes right. He feels right. I can feel his arms wrapping themselves tightly around me; the roughness of his five-o’clock shadow. My eyes are closed, I’m losing myself, this is so right…

“Jon?” Ava’s voice comes through the door and it’s like someone electrocuted me. I fly away from Jon, tripping over my wobbly legs, cursing under my breath, “Fuck!”

“Shh!” He looks thrown too. “Stay cool. Hi, Ava. What’s up?”

Rocks. Yes. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing. I grab the sack and start pulling rocks out, chucking them into the fish tank as fast as I can with a series of splashes. The poor fish are swimming about like lunatics, but I don’t have any choice.

“Everything okay?” Ava puts her head around the door. “I’m about to lead a party of guests up here for the tour…”

“No problem,” Jon says reassuringly. “Nearly done.”

As soon as Ava disappears, he kicks the door shut and comes back to me.

“Lexi.” He grasps my face as though he wants to devour me, or hug me, or maybe both. “If you only knew, this has been torture…”

“Stop it!” I draw away, my mind spinning like a kaleidoscope. “I’m married! We can’t-You can’t just-” I gasp and clap a hand to my mouth. “Oh shit. Shit!”

I’m not looking at Jon anymore. I’m looking at the fish tank.

“What?” Jon stares, uncomprehending, then follows my gaze. “Oh. Oops.”

The tank has quieted down. All the tropical fish are swimming peacefully among the marble rocks. Except one blue stripy one, which is floating on top.

“I’ve killed a fish!” I let out a horrified giggle. “I’ve brained it with one of the rocks.”

“So you have,” Jon says, going over to survey the tank. “Nice aim.”

“But it cost three hundred pounds! What am I going to do? The guests will be in here any moment!”

“That’s pretty bad feng shui.” Jon grins. “Okay, I’ll go and delay Ava. You flush it away.” He reaches for my hand and holds it a moment. “We haven’t finished.” He kisses the tips of my fingers-then heads out of the room, leaving me alone with the tank. Wincing, I reach into the warm water and pick up the fish by the very edge of its fin.

“I’m really sorry,” I say in a tiny voice. Trying to catch the dripping water with my other hand, I hurry into the high-tech bathroom. I drop the fish in the gleaming white loo and look for the flush. There isn’t one. This must be an intelligent loo.

“Flush,” I say aloud, waving my arms to set off the sensors. “Flush!”

Nothing happens.

“Flush!” I say, with more desperation. “Go on, flush!” But the loo is totally dead. The fish is floating around, looking even more lurid blue against the white porcelain.

This cannot be happening. If anything is going to put a customer off a high-end luxury apartment, it’s a dead fish in the loo. I pull out my phone from my pocket and scroll down my contacts until I find J. That must be him. I press speed-dial, and a moment later he answers.

“Jon here.”

“The fish is in the loo!” I hiss. “But I can’t flush it!”

“The sensors should set it off automatically.”

“I know! But they’re not setting anything off! There’s a dead blue fish staring up at me! What am I going to do?”

“It’s fine. Go to the panel next to the bed. You can override it and flush it from there. Hey, Eric! How are you doing?” The phone abruptly cuts off. I hurry over to the bed and locate a flip-down panel set into the wall. A scary digital display blinks back at me and I can’t help a small moan. How can anyone live in a house that’s more complicated than NASA? Why does a house have to be intelligent, anyway? Why can’t it be nice and stupid?

My fingers fumbling, I press Menu, then Override, then Options. I scan down the list. Temperature…Lighting…Where’s Bathroom? Where’s Flush Loo? Do I even have the right panel?

Suddenly I notice another flip-up panel on the other side of the bed. Maybe that’s it. I rush to it, wrench it open, and start jabbing at random. In a minute I’m going to have to scoop the stupid fish out of the water with my bare hands…

A sound draws me up short. It’s a wail. A kind of distant siren. What on earth…

I stop jabbing and look more carefully at the panel I’ve been hitting. It’s flashing words at me in red. Panic Alert-Secure Space. A sudden movement from the window attracts my attention and I look up to see a metal grille descending steadily over the glass.

What the-

Frantically I jab again at the panel, but it flashes back at me Unauthorized, then returns to Panic Alert-Secure Space.

Oh…my God. What have I done?

I dart to the door of the bedroom and look down to the space below.

I don’t believe it. It’s mayhem.

The siren is even louder out here. Metal grilles are descending everywhere, over the windows, the paintings, the waterfall. All the rich guests are clinging to each other in the middle of the space like hostages, apart from one portly man who’s trapped next to the waterfall.

“Is it a robbery? Do they have guns?” a woman in a white trouser suit is exclaiming hysterically, wrenching at her hands. “George, swallow my rings!”

“That’s a helicopter!” A gray-haired man is cocking his ear. “Listen! They’re on the roof! We’re sitting targets!”

I’m staring at the scene, my heart hammering, frozen with panic.

“It’s coming from the master bedroom!” shouts one of Eric’s staff, who has been consulting a panel by the fireplace. “Someone’s set off the panic alarm. The police are on their way.”

I’ve ruined the party. Eric will kill me, he’ll kill me…

And then, with no warning, the noise stops. The sudden quiet is like the sun coming out.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” A voice comes from the stairs, and my head whips around. It’s Jon. He’s holding a remote control, and he glances briefly up at me before addressing the crowd. “We hope you enjoyed our security demonstration. Rest assured, we are not under attack from robbers.”

He pauses, and a few people laugh nervously. Around the room the grilles have already started retracting. “However,” Jon continues, “as all of you know, in London today, security is of prime consideration. Many developments talk about security; we wanted you to see it firsthand. This system is MI5 quality-and it’s here for your protection.”

My legs are so weak with relief, they’re barely holding me up. He’s saved my life.

As he continues talking, I totter back into the bedroom suite and find the blue fish still floating in the loo. I count to three-then plunge my hand in, grab the fish, and, with a shudder, stuff it in my bag. I wash my hands, then head out to see that Eric has taken over from Jon.

“From this adventure you’ll see even more clearly that we at Blue Developments understand you and your concerns better even than you yourselves do,” he’s saying. “You’re not our customers…you’re our partners in a perfect lifestyle.” He lifts up his glass. “Enjoy your tours.”

As he steps aside, a relieved babble of chatter and laughter breaks out. I can see the woman in the white trouser suit grabbing three massive diamond rings back from her husband and pushing them back onto her fingers.

I wait a few minutes, then unobtrusively slip down the stairs. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and take a deep swig. I am never touching any panels again, ever. Or fish. Or loos.

“Sweetie!” Rosalie’s voice makes me jump. She’s wearing a skimpy beaded dress in turquoise, and high feathered shoes. “Oh my God. Wasn’t that genius? That’ll make a few diary pieces tomorrow. Everyone’s talking about the state-of-the-art security. You know it cost three hundred grand? Just for the system!”

Three hundred grand, and the loo doesn’t even flush.

“Yes,” I say. “Great!”

“Lexi.” Rosalie is giving me a thoughtful look. “Sweetie…can I have a little word? About Jon. I saw you talking to him earlier.”

I feel suddenly apprehensive. Did she see something?

“Oh, right!” I aim for a careless tone. “Yes, well, he’s Eric’s architect, so we just got chatting about the design, as you do…”

“Lexi.” She takes me by the arm and draws me away from the hubbub. “I know you had your bump on the head and everything.” She leans forward. “But do you remember anything about Jon? From your past?”

“Um…not really.”

Rosalie pulls me still nearer. “Sweetie, I’m going to give you a bit of a shock,” she says in a low, breathy voice. “A while ago you told me something in confidence. Girlfriend to girlfriend. I didn’t say a word to Eric…”

I’m transfixed, my fingers frozen around the stem of my champagne flute. Does Rosalie know?

“I know this may seem really hard to believe, but something was going on between you and Jon, behind Eric’s back.”

“You’re joking!” My face is burning. “Like…what, exactly?”

“Well, I’m afraid to say…” Rosalie glances around the room and hustles closer. “Jon kept pestering you. I just thought I should warn you in case he tried it on again.”

For a moment I’m too dumbstruck to reply. Pestering me?

“Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer at last.

“What do you think? He’s tried it on with all of us.” Her nose wrinkles disparagingly.

“You mean…” I can’t quite process this. “You mean he’s tried it on with you too?”

“Oh my God, yes.” She rolls her eyes. “He told me Clive doesn’t understand me. Which is true,” she adds after a moment’s thought. “Clive’s a total dimwit. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to rush off and be a notch on his bedpost, does it? And he went after Margo, too,” she adds, waving merrily at a woman in green across the room. “Such a nerve. He said he knew her better than her own husband and she deserved more, and he could tell she was a sensual woman… All kinds of ridiculous stuff!” She clicks her tongue dismissively. “Margo’s theory is he targets married women and tells them whatever they want to hear. He probably gets some kind of weird kick out of it-” She breaks off as she sees my frozen face. “Sweetie! Don’t worry. He’s like an irritating fly, you just have to swat him away. But he was quite persistent with you. You were, like, the big challenge. You know, being Eric’s wife and everything?” She peers at me. “Don’t you remember any of this?”

Ava walks past us with some guests, and Rosalie beams at them, but I can’t move.

“No,” I say at last. “I don’t remember any of it. So…what did I do?”

“You kept telling him to leave you alone. It was awkward. You didn’t want to wreck his relationship with Eric, you didn’t want to rock the boat… You were very dignified, sweetie. I would have poured a drink over his head!” She suddenly focuses over my shoulder. “Darling, I must just dash and have a word with Clive about our dinner arrangements. He’s booked completely the wrong table, he’s an absolute night- mare…” She breaks off and looks at me again, suddenly anxious. “Are you okay? I just thought I should warn you…”

“No.” I come to. “I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, I know you’d never fall for his bullshit.” She squeezes my arm.

“Of course not!” Somehow I manage to laugh. “Of course I wouldn’t!”

Rosalie trips away into the party, but my feet are rooted to the ground. I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life, so gullible, so vain.

I believed it all. I fell for his blarney.

We’ve been having a secret affair… I know you better than Eric does…

It’s all bullshit. He took advantage of my memory loss. He flattered me, turned my head. And all he wanted was to get me into bed like a…a trophy. I feel hot with mortification. I knew I would never have an affair! I’m not the unfaithful type. I’m just not. I have a decent husband who loves me. And I allowed my head to be swayed. I nearly ruined everything.

Well, not anymore. I know where my priorities are. I take a few deep gulps of champagne. Then I lift my head high, walk forward through the crowd until I find Eric, and slip my arm through his.

“Darling. The party’s going wonderfully. You’re brilliant.”

“I think we’ve pulled it off.” He looks more relaxed than he has all evening. “Narrow escape with that alarm. Trust Jon to save the day. Hey, there he is! Jon!”

I clutch Eric’s arm even more tightly as Jon walks toward us. I can’t even bear to look at him. Eric claps him on the back and hands him a glass of champagne from a nearby tray. “Here’s to you,” he exclaims. “Here’s to Jon.”

“To Jon,” I echo tightly, taking the smallest possible sip of champagne. I’m just going to pretend he doesn’t exist. I’m going to blank him out.

A beep from my bag disturbs my thoughts, and I pull out my phone to see a new message.

From Jon.

I do not believe this. He’s texting me in front of Eric? I quickly press View and the message comes up.

Old Canal House in Islington, any evening from 6. We have so much to talk about.

I love you.

J

PS Delete this message.

PPS What did you do with the fish??

My face is burning with fury. Rosalie’s words ring in my head. You just have to swat him away.

“It’s a text from Amy!” I say to Eric, my voice shrill. “I might just quickly reply…”

Without looking at Jon, I start texting, my fingers charged up with adrenaline.

Yeah. Right. I suppose you thought it was a laugh, taking advantage of the girl who lost her memory. Well, I know your stupid game, okay? I’m a married woman. Leave me alone.

I send the text and put my phone away. A moment later, Jon frowns at his watch and says casually, “Is that the right time? I think I’m fast.” He takes his cell phone out and squints at the display as though checking, but I can see his thumb moving over the keys and I can see him reading the message and I can see his face jerk with shock.

Ha. Got him.

After a few moments, he seems to recover. “I’m six minutes out,” he says, tapping at the phone. “I’ll just change the clock…”

I don’t know why he’s bothering with an excuse. Eric’s not even paying any attention. Three seconds later my phone beeps again and I pull it out.

“Another text from Amy,” I say disparagingly. “She’s such a pain.” I dart a glance at Jon as I put my finger on Delete, and his eyes widen with consternation. Huh. Now that I know the truth, it’s obvious he’s putting it all on.

“Is that a good idea?” he says quickly. “Deleting a message without even reading it?”

“I’m really not interested.” I shrug.

“But if you haven’t read it, you don’t know what it says…”

“Like I say”-I shoot him a sweet smile-“I’m not interested.” I press Delete, switch off my phone, and drop it into my bag.

“So!” Eric turns back to us, glowing and ebullient. “The Clarksons want a repeat viewing tomorrow. I think we have another sale. That’s six units, just tonight.”

“Well done, my darling, I’m so proud of you!” I exclaim, putting an arm around him in an extravagant gesture. “I love you even more now than I did on our wedding day.”

Eric frowns, confused. “But you don’t remember our wedding day. So you don’t know how much you loved me.”

For God’s sake. Does he have to be so literal?

I try to control my impatience. “Well, however much I loved you then…I love you more now. Much more.” I put my champagne glass down, and with a defiant glance at Jon, pull Eric in for a kiss. The longest, most slurpy, look-how-much-I-love-my-husband-and-by-the-way-we-have-great-sex kiss. At one point Eric tries to draw back, but I clamp tighter, pinning his face to mine. At last, when I think I might suffocate, I release him, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and look around the emptying room.

Jon has gone.