I suspect these words grew to haunt Kate. Because thirty days came and went and she didn’t follow Polly’s advice. As time passed, the reality of what Kate was doing started sinking in. Her conscience began to plague her.
This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Unless I have spectacularly bungled my job, it should be abundantly clear that, despite her many faults, Kate was fundamentally a good person—with a conscience and a heart. This prolonged betrayal of her oldest friend—the heinous cruelty of it—began to torment Kate.
Her guilt grew, obsessing her—until she became fixated on “clearing the air,” as she put it. She wanted to have it out with Lana and Jason. A frank and open conversation among the three of them. Which, needless to say, Jason was determined to prevent.
Personally, I think Kate’s intention was na?ve, at best. God only knows what she imagined would happen. A confession, followed by tears, then forgiveness and reconciliation? Did she really think Lana would give them her blessing? That it would all end happily? Kate should have known better. Life doesn’t work like that.
In the end, it seems that Kate, too, was a romantic. And that is precisely what she and Lana, so different in every other regard, had in common.
They both believed in love.
Which, as you shall see, proved their downfall.
12
Considering how indiscreet Kate and Jason were being, I knew I couldn’t be the only one who knew about their affair. The theater world in London is not large. Gossip about the two had to be rife.
Surely it would only be a matter of time before it filtered back to Lana?
Not necessarily—for all her fame, and her immersive walks around London, Lana lived a quiet life. Her social circle was small. I suspected only one person in that circle knew the truth, or had at least guessed it: Agathi. And she would never breathe a word.
No, it fell to me to break the bad news to Lana. Not an enviable task. But how to do it? One thing was clear: Lana must not hear the news from me directly. She might question my motives. She might decide to be suspicious—and refuse to believe me. That would be catastrophic.
No, I must be entirely independent of this unsavory business. Only then could I appear as her savior—her deus ex machina in shining armor—to rescue her, and carry her off in my arms.
Somehow, I had to engineer Lana’s discovery of the affair invisibly, undetectably; making her believe she had discovered it all by herself. Easier said than done, I know. But I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.
I began with the simplest, and most direct, approach. I tried to contrive a coincidental, “accidental” meeting—where Lana and I would bump into the guilty pair unexpectedly, in flagrante delicto, as it were.
There followed a period of high comedy—or low farce, depending on your taste—as I attempted to maneuver Lana into Soho on various pretexts. But this was a hopeless effort and, in the best tradition of farces, went nowhere fast.
The obvious reason was that it was impossible to maneuver Lana Farrar anywhere inconspicuously. The one time I managed to coax her into the Coach & Horses, just as Kate’s play was finishing, Lana’s arrival caused a mini-riot of jovial drunks, surrounding her, begging her to autograph their beer mats. If Kate and Jason had even neared the pub, they would have seen this whole circus long before we ever saw them.
I was forced to grow bolder in my methods. I began dropping comments into our conversations: carefully rehearsed phrases that I hoped would register and linger with Lana—Isn’t it funny how Jason and Kate have exactly the same sense of humor, they’re always laughing together.
Or else—I wonder why Kate isn’t dating anyone, it has been a while, hasn’t it?
And, one afternoon, I told Lana off for not inviting me for lunch at Claridge’s—then, when it was obvious that Lana had no idea what I meant, I looked flustered, brushing it off, saying Gordon saw Kate and Jason eating there—and I assumed Lana was with them—but Gordon must have been wrong.
Lana just gazed at me with those clear blue eyes, unfazed, free of all suspicion, and smiled. “It couldn’t possibly be Jason. He hates Claridge’s.”
In a play, all my little hints would have stayed with Lana, creating a general subliminal patina of suspicion, impossible for her to ignore. But what works onstage doesn’t, apparently, work in real life.
Even so, I persevered. I am nothing if not persistent—if occasionally absurd. For instance, I bought a bottle of Kate’s perfume—a distinctive floral scent, with hints of jasmine and rose. If that didn’t make Lana think of Kate, nothing would. I kept the bottle in my pocket, and whenever I was in the house, I would pretend I was going to the bathroom—and sprint along the corridor to their laundry room, to liberally spray Jason’s shirts with the perfume.
How much direct contact Lana ever had with Jason’s laundry was open to question. But even if Agathi smelled it and made the connection, I thought, that might help.
I stole a few long hairs from Kate’s coat, when we were both at Lana’s for dinner; then attached them carefully to Jason’s jacket. I toyed with the idea of leaving condoms in Jason’s wash bag, but decided against it, as it felt too obvious.
It was hard to get the balance right—too subtle a hint and it went undetected; too much and I’d give the game away.
The earring proved just right.
And so simple to engineer. I had no idea it would work so well or provoke the reaction it did. All I did was suggest Lana and I pay a surprise visit to Kate’s house; and I stole an earring from Kate’s bedroom—which I then pinned to Jason’s suit lapel, back at Lana’s house. Lana did the rest herself, with a little help from Agathi—and Sid, the dry cleaner.
That Lana reacted so violently to the earring suggests she already secretly suspected the affair. Don’t you think?
She just didn’t want to admit it to herself.
Well, now she had no choice.
13
This brings us neatly back to that night in my flat. The night Lana came over, distraught, having found the earring.
She sat across from me in the armchair; red-eyed, tearstained, vodka soaked. She told me about her suspicions that Jason and Kate were sleeping together. I confirmed her fears, saying I suspected it, too.
I was feeling triumphant. My plan had worked. It was hard to conceal my excitement. It took an effort not to smile. But my elation was short-lived.
When I tactfully suggested that Lana would now be leaving Jason, she looked mystified.
“Leaving him? Who said anything about leaving him?”
Now it was my turn to look mystified. “I don’t see what other option you have.”
“It’s not so simple, Elliot.”
“Why not?”
Lana looked at me, eyes full of baffled tears, as if the answer were blindingly obvious.
“I love him,” she said.
I couldn’t believe it. Staring at her, I realized to my increasing horror that all my efforts had been in vain. Lana wasn’t going to leave him.
I love him.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach, as if I were going to throw up. I had been wasting my time. Lana’s words crushed all my hopes. She wasn’t going to leave him.
I love him.
I clenched my hand into a fist. I’d never felt so angry before. I wanted to hit her. I wanted to punch her. I felt like screaming.
But I didn’t. I sat there, looking sympathetic, and we continued talking. The only outward sign of my distress was the clenched fist by my side. The whole time we talked, my mind was racing.
I understood my mistake now. Unlike her husband, Lana clearly meant her vows. Until death do us part. Lana might well cut Kate out of her life, but she wasn’t about to relinquish Jason. She would forgive him. It would take more than the revelation of an affair to end their marriage.