The Betrayal (2 page)

S
ome people play
with worry beads when they are stressed, others attend a shrink.
Jake Saunders used music.
As an escape route it never failed him and now, with an hour to kill before he boarded his flight to New York, he opened his laptop and plugged in his earphones.
He replayed the last recording he had made.
A melody with potential, he decided, but the lyrics were weak.
Hackneyed lines that made him wince.
He needed to hack down to the heart of the song.
A long goodbye to a love affair.
The relationship over but the dependency on togetherness too ingrained to allow for separation.
Art reflecting life; it was a thought too close for comfort.

Nadine’s abrupt departure at the airport bothered him.
Her expression had been so distant as she stared at him through the car window that, for an instant, he thought she was going to drive away without saying goodbye.
Her mood changed so easily these days.
The pressure of running Tõnality was taking its toll on both of them.
The impact of an empty house, their parenting done.
This should be their time to wind down.
Instead, they were locked into a recession and a debt that was balanced like a rock on their shoulders.

The boarding area gradually filled up.
Jake bent lower over his laptop and tried to ignore the pungent garlic fumes emanating from the man sitting beside him.
He should be working on the spreadsheet for Ed Jaworski instead of wasting time on a song that was certain to remain unsung.
He had a drawer full of such songs.
Half-finished ideas that inevitably fizzled out when some new emergency at work took over.

His neighbour stood up and stretched, strode towards the toilets.
His seat was immediately taken by a woman.
Her perfume battled against the garlic fumes and won.
Jake breathed deeply.
The perfume Nadine used was light and floral but this was heavy and curiously intimate, as if the scent had been blended in a moist, exotic jungle.
She opened a magazine, flicked pages, crossed her legs: small, slender feet, blue shoes, sheer tights.
He stole a sideways glance at her.
Mid-thirties, maybe older, he guessed.
There was a maturity about her full, glossy mouth, and her blonde hair, short and brushed back from her forehead in a quiff would only be worn by a woman confident enough to know she could carry off such a chiselled image and still look beautiful.

Earlier, he had noticed her when he was going through security.
Something about the tilt of her head as she spoke to an official looked familiar.
The impression was so vague that she had passed through the security gates and out of his mind until now.

A collective groan arose from the passengers when an announcement informed them that their flight to New York would be delayed.
She closed her magazine, tapped her fingers against the cover.
Her nails, perfect ovals, were painted an iridescent blue.
He switched off his laptop.
Impossible to concentrate.
He hated airports.
The ruthless security routine, the slumped wait in the boarding area and the eventual slow shuffle aboard after unexplained delays.
He accidentally jogged her elbow as he removed his earphones.

‘Sorry.’
He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
‘I wonder what’s caused the delay?’

‘Some technical hitch, I guess.’
She stood up and buttoned her jacket.
‘I’m going for a coffee.
Can I bring something back for you?’

‘Why don’t I go with you?’
He put the laptop in his overnight case and zipped it.
‘Stretch my legs.
We’ll be sitting long enough when we finally get on board.’

He slowed his stride as they walked towards the coffee bar.
The women in his life were tall and long-limbed, his wife and mother, his two daughters.
Everything about this woman was petite, from the crown of her head to the toes of her high-heeled shoes.
He insisted on paying for cappuccinos and two Danishes, which he carried to a nearby table.

‘Will the delay affect you?’
she asked when they were seated.
She sounded Irish but her accent, with its slight drag on the vowels, suggested she had been living for some time in New York.

‘I’ve to attend a business meeting but it’s not until tomorrow,’ he replied.
‘What about you?
Business or pleasure?’

‘I live in New York.’
She removed her jacket and hung it from the back of the chair.
Her dress was sleeveless with a low V in front, the hem resting primly on her knees.

He stretched out his hand.
‘I’m Jake.’

‘I know who you are.’
She shook his hand and tilted her head, a half-smile tugging at her lips.
‘You’re
the
Jake Saunders from Shard.’

He felt a once-familiar and long-forgotten buzz of recognition.

‘I’m flattered that you remember.’

‘Oh, I
do
remember.’
She held out her arm, the inside exposed, and ran her fingers along the pale skin.
‘This is where you once signed your autograph.’

‘I’m sorry…’ He struggled for a name, an occasion, a place to remember her by.
How many autographs had he signed?
Thousands, probably, writing his name with a flourish for the young women who called out to him as they waited outside the pubs and clubs, their arms and autograph books an extension of their thrusting, nubile bodies.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me.’

‘I’m Karin Moylan.’
She spoke with the certainty of someone who knew her name would bring instant recollection.

‘Karin Moylan… I don’t believe it.’
The memory came back to him in disjointed flashes.
The holiday, the music, and Karin, a waifish shadow against the glow of Nadine with her blaze of red hair and long, coltish legs.
‘I’d never have recognised you.
No… that’s not true.
Now that you say it…’ He stopped, embarrassed as he attempted to join the fragments of that holiday together.
What was the name of the place where they stayed?
Somewhere in West Clare, he remembered.
Fishing boats and a cliff, a golden beach and long sunshine days.
A ramshackle house where he, along with the lads who made up the band, had stayed for a month to work on their first album.

‘Monsheelagh,’ she said, as if picking up his thoughts.
‘I was on holiday with my parents.’
Her eyes, slightly too large for her small, heart-shaped face, had a disconcerting directness when she added, ‘Nadine was staying with us.’

‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I remember.’

‘How is she?
It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.’

‘She’s good.
Busy, as we all are these days.’

‘I was studying in London when I heard about your marriage.
You were both so young.’
Her voice dropped a tone, donating pity.
‘I hope everything worked out for you.’

‘Yes, it did.’
He resented her pity and rushed defensively to banish it.
‘We’ve a good life and four terrific kids.’

‘I never meant to lose touch with her but you know the way it is.’
Her scarf rippled when she shrugged, the material so light and gauzy it seemed as if a deep breath would float it from her shoulders.
‘Our lives veered off in different directions but I’ve never forgotten her.’

‘These things happen,’ he agreed.

‘I still imagined you with long hair and those wild tiger streaks.’

‘The streaks went a long time ago,’ he admitted.
‘So did the wildness.
These days I’m one of society’s staunchest pillars.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’
She tilted her head again, a finger pressed to her cheek.
‘You still have that look… you know… slightly edgy, alternative.’

It was pathetic to be flattered so easily.
His black hair was slightly longer than the norm, his style of dressing more casual, and he still had the rangy physique of his youth but, in truth, Jake felt indistinguishable from the other grey-suited businessmen swarming from the business park every evening with their laptops, briefcases and mortgages.

‘What about you?’
he asked.
‘What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘I run a graphic design agency in New York,’ she replied.
‘But I’m considering moving back to Dublin after Christmas.
My mother has some health issues and I’m an only child.’

‘Nothing too serious, I hope?’

‘She’ll be fine.
She always is.’
Her sigh was almost inaudible but Jake understood the depths of frustration it carried.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker and drowned his reply.
Their flight was ready for boarding.

‘We’d better go.’
She stood up and brushed imaginary crumbs from her dress, buttoned her jacket, adjusted her scarf.

‘See you in New York,’ she said when they boarded the plane and made their way to their allocated seats.

‘Enjoy the flight.’
He continued down the aisle and settled into a seat four rows behind her on the opposite side.
What a strange coincidence to bump into each other after all that time.
Her profile was visible as she removed her jacket.
She was unable to reach the baggage hold above her and the man beside her stowed her jacket away.
He was young and heavy-set, his square face framed by a mop of black curls and a startlingly long beard.
Earphones the size of saucers rested on his shoulders.

When the last of the passengers were seated and the cabin crew had closed the overhead lockers, she slanted her legs to one side and allowed him to leave his seat.
He hurried down the aisle and hunkered beside Jake.

‘Your friend’s asked me to swap places,’ he whispered.
‘It’s no problem, mate.
She’s shit scared of flying and to be honest, no offence, but it’s a long flight.
If she’s gonna use that sick bag I’d prefer it to be on your time, not mine.’

‘No problem.’
Jake almost laughed out loud at Karin’s woebegone expression when she turned to look back at him.

‘I hope I haven’t been presumptuous,’ she said when he sat beside her and clicked the safety belt.
‘The thought of interacting with that beard for the entire flight was more than I could handle.’

‘I can imagine.’
He was conscious of her bare arm on the armrest between them, the heady waft of perfume.
The engines growled and the cabin staff began to outline the safety instructions.

‘Inflating your life jacket as the plane goes down must be the most ineffective way of spending your last moments on earth,’ she said as the plane taxied down the runway.

‘How would you spend them?’
he asked.

She look thoughtful, as if visualising the downward plunge, and replied, ‘hopefully, in the arms of my lover.’

He wondered whose arms would hold her if the plane plummeted from the skies.
It seemed too blatant a question to ask.
Enquiries about a wife and family were okay.
Pallid information.
But a lover…how could that be phrased?
Is your lover married?
Are
you
married and having an affair?
Is your lover a he or a she?
Jake took nothing for granted.

Tiny blue gemstones sparkled on her ring as she stretched upwards to adjust the air conditioning.

‘Allow me,’ he said.

The jolt of pleasure was instantaneous when their hands touched.
No wedding ring, he noted as the cool air flowed over their faces.

‘Are you going to New York for business or pleasure?’
she asked.

‘Purely business,’ he said.
‘I’m only staying two nights.’

‘Do you go there often?’

‘About four times a year.
Trade shows, business meetings, that sort of thing.’

‘Are they always flying visits?’

‘Not always.
We usually manage a show or two while we’re there.’

The ‘we’ slipped out like an unintended hiccup.

‘We?’
She quizzed him.

‘Nadine runs the company with me.’

‘Business and marriage,’ she mused.
‘Is that a difficult combination to manage?’