14
Astrid and Michael
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SINGAPORE
The minute Harry Leong’s Armani-suited security men entered her hospital room and did their usual sweep, Astrid knew that she had been found out. Minutes later, her parents rushed into the room in a huff. “Astrid, are you okay? How’s Cassian? Where is he?” her mother asked anxiously.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Michael is with Cassian in the children’s ward, signing his release forms.”
Astrid’s father eyed the elderly Chinese woman a few feet away vigorously rubbing Tiger Balm onto her ankle. “Why did they bring you to a public hospital, and why on earth are you not in your own room? I’m going to tell them to move you immediately,” Harry whispered irritatedly.
“It’s okay, Daddy. I had a slight concussion, so they just put me in this ward for monitoring. Like I said, we’re about to get released. How did you know I was here?” Astrid demanded, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“Aiyoh, you’ve been in the hospital for two days without telling us, and all you care about is how we found out!” Felicity sighed.
“Don’t get so kan cheong, Mum. Nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened? Cassandra called up at seven this morning from England. She scared us half to death, making it sound like you were Princess Diana in that tunnel in Paris!” Felicity lamented.
“Just be glad she didn’t call the Straits Times,” Harry added.
Astrid rolled her eyes. Radio One Asia had struck again. How in the world did Cassandra know about her accident? She had specifically told the ambulance driver to take her to General Hospital—not one of the private hospitals like Mount Elizabeth or Gleneagles—so that she might avoid being recognized. Of course, that hadn’t worked.
“This is it. You are no longer allowed to drive. You are going to get rid of that lousy Japanese car of yours and I am going to assign Youssef to you from now on. He can use one of the Vanden Plas,” Harry declared.
“Stop treating me like a six-year-old, Daddy! It was such a minor accident. My concussion was from the air bag, that’s all.”
“The fact that your air bag deployed means that the accident was more serious than you think. If you don’t value your life, do as you wish. But I’m not going to let you put my grandson’s life in danger. What’s the use of having all these drivers when no one uses them? Youssef will drive Cassian from now on,” Harry insisted.
“Daddy, Cassian only got a few cuts.”
“Aiyoh, a few cuts!” Felicity sighed, shaking her head in dismay just as Michael entered the room with Cassian. “Oh, Cassian, my poor darling,” she exclaimed, rushing toward the child, who was happily clutching a red balloon.
“Where the hell were you on Friday night?” Harry barked at his son-in-law. “If you were doing your proper duty escorting her, this wouldn’t have happened—”
“Daddy, stop it!” Astrid cut in.
“I was working late, sir,” Michael said as calmly as possible.
“Working late, working late. You’re always working late these days, aren’t you?” Harry muttered contemptuously.
“Enough, Daddy, we’re leaving now. Come on, Michael, I want to go home,” Astrid insisted, getting out of the bed.
The minute they arrived home, Astrid put into motion the plan she had spent the past two days devising. She went into the kitchen and gave the cook and the maid the day off. Then she instructed Evangeline to take Cassian to play at the beach house in Tanah Merah. Michael was surprised by the sudden flurry of activity, but he assumed that Astrid just wanted some peace and quiet for the rest of the day. As soon as everyone was out of the flat and Astrid heard the elevator doors shut, she fixed her gaze on Michael. They were completely alone now, and she could suddenly hear her heartbeat fill her eardrums. She knew that if she didn’t say the words she had carefully rehearsed in her head RIGHT NOW, she would lose her nerve.
“Michael, I want you to know what happened on Friday night,” she began.
“You already told me, Astrid. It doesn’t matter—I’m just glad that you and Cassian are okay,” Michael said.
“No, no,” Astrid said. “I want you to know the real reason I got into the car wreck.”
“What are you talking about?” Michael asked, confused.
“I’m talking about how I became so distracted that I almost got our son killed,” Astrid said, a note of anger hanging in her voice. “It was my fault. It was far too late, and too dark, especially those narrow lanes around the Botanic Gardens. I shouldn’t have been driving, but I was. And all I could think about was where you were and what you were doing.”
“What do you mean? I was home,” Michael said matter-of-factly. “What were you so worried about?”
Astrid took a deep breath, and before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. “I know you think I’m some sort of delicate creature, but I’m a lot tougher than you think. I need you to be honest with me, completely honest. I saw a text message on your phone last month, Michael. The dirty one. I know you’ve been in Hong Kong when you were supposed to be in northern China—I found your dinner receipt from Petrus. And I know all about the charm bracelet you bought from Stephen Chia.”
Michael sat down, the color draining from his face. Astrid watched him slump into the sofa, his body language speaking volumes. He was guilty as hell. She felt a surge of confidence that compelled her to ask the question she never imagined she would ever ask: “Have you been . . . are you having an affair?”
Michael sighed and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry to have hurt you and Cassian. You’re right—the car accident was my fault.”
“Just tell me everything, Michael, and I . . . and I will try to understand,” Astrid said softly, sitting down on the ottoman across from him, a calmness coming over her. “No more lies, Michael. Tell me, who is this woman you’ve been seeing?”
Michael could not bring himself to look up at his wife. He knew the time had finally come to say what he had been struggling to say for so long. “I’m so sorry, Astrid. I don’t want to cause you any more pain. I’ll go.”
Astrid looked at him in surprise. “Michael, I’m asking you to tell me what happened. I want to know everything, so we can put this all behind us.”
Michael got up from the sofa abruptly. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“Why not?”
Michael turned away from Astrid and stared past the sliding glass doors of the balcony. He stared out at the trees lining Cavenagh Road, looking like giant bushy stalks of broccoli from up here. The trees marked the perimeter of the grounds that surrounded Istana, and beyond that, Fort Canning Park, River Valley Road, and then the Singapore River. He wished he had the power to fly off the balcony, to fly toward the river and away from this pain. “I . . . I’ve hurt you too much, and now I don’t know if I can stop myself from hurting you even more,” he finally said.
Astrid was silent for a moment, trying to decipher what he meant. “Is it because you’re in love with this woman?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “Or is it because you had another child with her?”
Michael smiled mysteriously. “What, does your father have me under surveillance or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A friend just happened to see you in Hong Kong, that’s all. Who is the boy? And who is this woman you’ve been seeing?”
“Astrid, the boy and the woman are beside the point. You and I . . . it isn’t working for us anymore. It hasn’t really ever worked. We’ve just been pretending it has,” Michael said emphatically, feeling that these were his first truly honest words to her in a very long time.
Astrid stared at him, stunned. “How can you say that?”
“Well, you want me to be honest, so I’m being honest. Your father was right—I haven’t been doing my duty as a husband. I have been too consumed with my job, working my ass off trying to get this company off the ground. And you—you are consumed by your family obligations and traveling around the world fifty times a year. What kind of marriage do we have? We’re not happy,” Michael declared.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I’ve been happy. I was very happy until the day I discovered that damn text message,” Astrid insisted, getting up and pacing around the room.
“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’ve truly been happy? I think you’re deceiving yourself, Astrid.”
“I see what you’re doing, Michael. You’re just trying to find an easy way out of this. You’re trying to blame me, to make this all about me, when you’re the one who’s guilty. Look, I’m not the one who broke our wedding vows. I’m not the one who cheated,” Astrid seethed, her shock transforming into rage.
“Okay, I’m guilty. I admit it. I admit that I am a cheater. Happy now?”
“I’m not happy, and it will take me some time, but I’ll learn to deal with it,” Astrid said matter-of-factly.
“Well, I can’t deal with it anymore!” Michael moaned. “So I’m going to pack.”
“What’s all this packing business? Who’s asking you to leave? Do you think I want to kick you out of the house just because you cheated on me? Do you think I’m that simpleminded, that I think I’m the first woman whose husband ever had an affair? I’m not going anywhere, Michael. I’m standing right here, trying to work through this with you, for the sake of our marriage. For the sake of our son.”
“Astrid, when have you ever really done anything for the sake of your son? I think Cassian will be much better off growing up with two parents who are happy, rather than with parents who are trapped in a bad marriage,” Michael argued.
Astrid was perplexed. Who was this man standing in front of her? Where had he suddenly procured all this psychobabble? “It’s because of that woman, isn’t it? I see . . . you don’t want to be part of this family anymore. You want to live with this . . . this whore, don’t you?” she cried.
Michael took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. I don’t want to live with you anymore. And I think that for both our sakes I should move out today.” He knew that if he was ever going to leave, this was his chance. He began to walk toward the bedroom. Where was his large suitcase?
Astrid stood helplessly by the doorway to the bedroom, wondering what had just happened. This was not how it was supposed to go. She watched numbly as Michael began to grab his clothes and throw them haphazardly into his black Tumi suitcase. She had wanted to buy him a suite of Loewe luggage when they were in Barcelona last year, but he insisted on something cheaper and more practical. Now she had the distinct feeling of being trapped in a dream. None of this could really be happening. The fight they just had. The car accident. Michael’s philandering. None of it. Her husband wasn’t really leaving. There was no way he was leaving. This was just a nightmare. She hugged herself, pinching the flesh around her elbow repeatedly, willing herself to wake up.