His colleagues standing around, smile at the wife. That’s what they always called Viv, ‘the wife.’ They used to joke about Clive having to pay two sets of electricity bills one for his house, and another for ‘the wife’s’ apartment.
On camera, Clive now looks only at Viv. “We’d be grateful if the press could respect our privacy as my wife and I put this regrettable incident behind us and move on.”
And he is gone.
Regrettable incident?That’s what my name is now?
Last month, he buried his face in my neck and called me the love of his life.
The scene changes back to the BBC news studio where the expert discusses my life, but I’m no longer listening, I’m at the kitchen sink throwing up.
The doorbell rings. It must have been ringing for long minutes while I was too busy retching down the plughole. I turn on the tap and wash my mouth.
My legs feel weak as I approach the door hesitantly.
The bell rings again. Someone really wants to see me.
“Who is it?” My hand trembles on the lock.
“Viv Smith,” says a quiet voice.
Clive’s wife.
Chapter Three
Alice
“Why would I do that?” I look up from the typed page and meet her eyes across the round dining table.
“Because you love him.” Viv picks off an invisible bit of fluff from the sleeve of her expensive suit. “Because he was ready to throw everything away this morning for you until my father, and several big wigs from the party, talked him round.”
So, That’s what happened. Sir Alan is Clive’s mentor; he took him under his wing and has been financing his political career for years. It was him who suggested Clive marry his own daughter Vivienne because she looked like the perfect politician’s wife. That Sir Alan has now parachuted in to rescue his investment. How? By making me tell the press, tell the country, it was all my fault.
The statement they’ve written for me says I had admired Clive from afar for so long, had a crush on him, and that he never encouraged me. That the walk on the beach, the hand holding, the hug, were all initiated by me.
Yep, they're throwing me under a bus, all right.
“Because” – Viv lifts her eyes back to me – “we both want to protect his career. I’ve given up several years of my life to maintain this charade, so it makes no sense to let it all go to waste.”
Glancing down at the typed statement again, I wonder if the all-powerful, all-controlling, all-interfering father-in-law wrote these ridiculous words. “No one is going to believe it.”
“It’s not the only piece in the jigsaw,” Viv says. “Another colleague will give another statement. He’ll say that he was in your hotel room working with you both, that the bottle of wine was for all of you to celebrate Clive’s promotion, and that it was his idea to go for a walk on the beach, but he was held up by a phone call, so you and Clive went ahead expecting him to catch up to you.”
Dear God, someone has been busy with the spin.
I read the statement again. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You want to know why I put up with it. Why I stay with him despite knowing he’d rather be with you?” Viv pushes her chair back and stands up. One fluid motion that speaks of expensive finishing schools in Switzerland and an even more expensive personal trainer. She strolls over to the large picture window and looks out over the Thames. Big Ben is just visible over the rooves of buildings.
“My parents had a marriage of convenience, did you know?” She speaks as if to the city below them. “My mother had the society background, the connections which my father needed to further his business. It was a fairy tale because they found love soon after and they have been very happy together.” She turns to face me. “My father was sure I’d have the same future with Clive.Marry him,” Viv’s voice deepens and takes on the arrogant style of Sir Alan. “And you could one day be the wife of our Prime Minister.”
She walks back to the table and sits down. “But we haven’t found love.”
Is she really as accepting as she sounds? Does she not mind?
“So, what happens now?” It sounds like an agreement, so I clarify. “I’m not saying I’m on board with this.” I drop the typed sheet back on the table.
“You’ll be offered a transfer, a new job. A good one.”
