Chapter 12

Their relationship was confusing to Alex. Sometimes Ivan acted as though he hated her, other times as though he loved her, and she wasn’t sure what she felt for him either. She hated his caustic words and resentment, and the chip on his shoulder about anyone who had more than he did or had achieved something he thought should be his. And at other times, he was gentle and loving, and he brought her to heights in bed that bonded her to him in ways that frightened her too. It was not the relationship she had dreamed of or imagined, and yet at times she thought they were best friends.

She never took him into her confidence about her writing, and knew she couldn’t. And he sensed that there were parts of her she would never expose, allow him into, or give away. Alex was a woman with a secret, and he could never figure out the code. And she was adamant about needing time to herself, when she wanted to write. But she never explained her absences to him, or the distance she created between them when the book was on her mind. He still wondered at times if it was another man, but he found that hard to believe. Their sex life was astounding, and yet at times, she totally shut down and wouldn’t let him near her. She allowed nothing to interfere with the book he didn’t know about. As always, her writing came first. And she felt guilty for keeping part of herself separate.

She was debating about whether to go home to Boston for the holidays, when Fiona invited her to come to Ireland with her to spend them with her family. And Alex loved the idea. Ivan said he hated Christmas, and went somewhere on his own every year where he didn’t have to hear stories about Father Christmas and see people carrying presents or dragging their Christmas trees home. He said he was going to Morocco and invited Alex to come with him, but she either wanted to go home to the nuns, go home with Fiona, or stay in London, and enjoy a British Christmas. She wasn’t going to go to Marrakesh with him, ignoring the holiday entirely. She put up a tree before he left. In the end, Fiona’s invitation had the most appeal. Fiona was going to Ireland for a week and coming back to London on New Year’s Eve, to spend it with friends. Ivan was planning to spend two weeks in Marrakesh, so she’d be alone for New Year’s. She was annoyed at him for leaving, and said that their relationship shouldn’t just be about sex. She wanted to spend the holidays with him, but he was nonnegotiable about it.

“I don’t do holidays. They were rotten when I was a kid. And I don’t like sharing them with anyone now,” he said coldly. There were a lot of things about the relationship she didn’t like, the way he treated her when he was moody, the things he said to demean her, the fact that sex was all-important to him and he never told her he loved her, and then at other times he was tender with her and seemed to care about her, and the sex was extraordinary, and for him that replaced love. She wondered sometimes if he hated women, or if he was just a very unhappy person and hated himself. He was hard to read at times, and he was in such a foul mood as the holidays began that it was a relief when he left.

Alex had had a letter from Brigid, the ex–Sister Regina. She loved her teaching job in Boston, and was dating the math teacher at the school. She was going to meet his family over Christmas. She said that he was thirty-eight years old, had never been married either, and wanted children. And Brigid sounded very excited about him. Alex was happy for her. Rose Porter had sent her a white cashmere scarf with mittens to match to keep warm. She missed all of them at times, but for now her life was here, and she wanted to see it through.

She called Mother Mary Margaret to say she wasn’t coming for Christmas, but she would be going to Ireland with her friend.

“As long as you’re with a family over Christmas,” the superior said generously, “then I won’t worry about you. We’ll catch up when you get back.” But Alex didn’t know when that would be. She didn’t want to leave Ivan, or her job. She had no idea how long the relationship would last with Ivan, his feelings for her seemed to wax and wane day by day. He was impossible to predict.

“Do you love him?” Fiona asked her when they boarded the train to Heathrow to fly to Ireland.

“I don’t know,” Alex said honestly. “I’m not sure.”

“Sex confuses everything, doesn’t it?” Fiona said wistfully. There had been a boy she had loved in Ireland and wanted to marry, and then she had gone to London, gotten involved with someone else, and everything went wrong. Fiona seemed much more worldly and experienced after living in London for four years. Alex’s home had been the convent and a college dorm until six months before, although now everything had changed. And Fiona was right, Alex decided, sex made everything so confusing. She no longer knew what she felt or where she belonged. At times she just wanted to go back to Boston, but she wasn’t ready to give up on Ivan yet. Maybe his rough edges and bitterness would smooth down in time. He expected the world to give him what he wanted, like a successful novel, but he wasn’t willing to strive and sacrifice for it. Alex didn’t hear from him once he left for Marrakesh. He’d been there before, and he said it was cheap, sunny, and fun, which was all he wanted for two weeks.

But the week that Alex spent with Fiona’s family was warm and wonderful. She had a hundred-and-two-year-old great-grandmother who lived with them. And Fiona’s family were very kind to her while she was there. They made her feel welcome, and Alex called the nuns before they left for midnight mass on Christmas Eve, which was only seven in the evening in Boston. They were about to have Christmas Eve dinner. And she talked to everyone. They said they missed her terribly, but thought working in London was a wonderful experience for her. She was sad when she hung up. Fiona could see that she was homesick. Alex prayed for the nuns that night in church.

The next morning she and Fiona went to the kitchen and made breakfast together, and an hour later, the whole family was crammed into the kitchen, even Fiona’s great-grandmother in her wheelchair. Fiona had four younger brothers and two sisters, and Alex was glad she’d come, and grateful that they’d included her. She and Fiona were sad to leave on the morning of New Year’s Eve, but Fiona had plans in London that night with a hot date. The interlude in Dublin with Fiona’s family had done Alex good. It was nice being with a normal family. And she and Fiona had slept in the same room with her sisters on bunk beds. It made Alex feel like a kid again. But she was hungry to work on her book when she got home to her apartment in London.

And as soon as she got back, Alex got to work in earnest. She was even beginning to think that she should give up her internship and work on the book full-time. It was difficult doing both. But she wasn’t quite ready to quit the job yet. And she knew that Ivan would be upset if she did. In some ways, it was nice working in the same place as he was.

She hadn’t told the nuns about him, but Mother MaryMeg suspected that she had a beau, and didn’t want to ask. And Alex was old enough now to choose the right man, or so she hoped.

She had made good headway on the manuscript by the time Ivan returned from Marrakesh.

“Did you miss me?” he asked when he showed up at her apartment without calling first. She locked up the pages of the manuscript she’d been working on while he bounded up the stairs. He pulled her into his arms, nearly tore her clothes off, and made love to her on the living room floor. They never reached the bed. He made her feel like some kind of sex object at times, and not a woman he loved. It had been flattering and exciting at first, but now it depressed her when he made it all about sex and never about love. She wanted more, and she wasn’t sure he had it to give. He didn’t ask how her week in Dublin had been over Christmas, and didn’t apologize for not calling. He was like a wild stallion that had returned to the barn to mount his mare. They made love three times that night, and then he went home. He said he had to unpack and get ready for work the next day. She took her manuscript out as soon as he left. Working on it always centered her and calmed her. She put a sex scene in the book that night after he left. She wondered what Bert would say. She hadn’t mentioned it to him on the phone. She didn’t want him to guess what was going on, or that her life had changed. She was still just as dedicated to her work. Nothing interfered with that.

Things seemed to calm down between them for a few months after his trip to Morocco, and they put the holidays behind them. But in March she was working hard on the book, and spent less time with him, and he got nasty with her again. They had been dating for almost six months. She was sending chapters back and forth to Bert, and he was thinking about coming to London in May to work on everything she’d done so far. And she was excited to have him come. She said something to Ivan about it one night at dinner, and he had a fit.

“Who is this guy and why is he coming here? Is he your boyfriend?”

“Of course not. I was a virgin, remember? And he’s old enough to be my grandfather. He’s just a very good friend.” She couldn’t say he was her editor or why he was coming, and Ivan didn’t suspect, but he was annoyed and complained about it for a week. He said there were too many mysteries in her life. “He helped me with my school projects when I was in college, kind of like a tutor.” It seemed the best way to explain it.

“You’re not in school here. Tell him not to come.”

“He’s my friend. He’s like my family, my mentor.”

It became a raging battle between them, and the symbol of everything about her that Ivan sensed but didn’t understand. And three weeks later, Alex was having dinner with Fiona on a night that Ivan was busy, and Alex could see that she looked pained. “Is something wrong? Problems at work?”

Fiona shook her head, and wasn’t sure what to say or where to start.

“I heard some rumors,” she said, staring at her plate and finally up at her friend. She wasn’t sure of the right thing to do, but she didn’t want Alex to get hurt.

“What kind of rumors?”

“About Ivan. There’s a new intern in publicity. Someone said that Ivan’s been spending time with her. I don’t know if it’s true, but I thought you should know. The person who told me saw them having dinner at a restaurant last week.” Alex remembered instantly that she had worked on the book and hadn’t seen him very often the week before. But she couldn’t help it, she had promised a chapter to Bert by the end of the week, so he could edit it during the weekend. She had work to do after all. But Ivan had no idea. She wondered if he was using the time to cheat on her.

“Do you think they’re having an affair?” she asked Fiona.

“I honestly don’t know,” Fiona said unhappily. He had done things like it before. Fiona had warned her of it in the beginning. “Maybe you should ask him.”

The following night she did, and Ivan laughed in her face. “What difference would it make to you, if I were? You’re busy all the time yourself.”

“I had some work I had to do,” she said obliquely.

“For whom?”

She debated for a long time before she answered, wanting to come clean. It might be simpler, after six months together, as long as she didn’t tell him what she was writing and under what name.

“I’m working on a book,” she said, barely audibly.

“I don’t believe you. You haven’t got what it takes.”

“How do you know? You’ve never read a word I’ve written. That’s why my friend is coming over next month. He’s my editor.”

“For what?”

“I’m ghostwriting again.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“For whom?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said, looking uncomfortable. The web of lies she was spinning was strangling her.

“And what do I care anyway? You’re not a writer, Alex. You’re a file clerk, for God’s sake. Ghostwriting for some celebrity isn’t like writing a novel. And what makes you think you can write?” She couldn’t tell him that either. She felt like an idiot trying to explain it to him. “What are you trying to do? Make me feel bad? Show me up? I told you I wanted to write a book, so you’re writing one? How pathetic is that? What is this, a contest?” He had managed to deflect her from the key question she had asked him, and she brought him back to it again.

“Are you cheating on me, and having an affair?” she said calmly.

He hesitated for a long time, and then shrugged as he sat back in the chair, defying her to stop him or do something about it. “Maybe I am. We’re not married. I never said I wouldn’t sleep with other women. Don’t be so archaic. She’s a cute girl, maybe the three of us could have some fun one night.” She stared at him in amazement, unable to believe what she was hearing. It showed a total lack of respect for her, and even the other girl. She knew that people did things like that, but she didn’t intend to be one of them. He had no morals, or decency. He was spoiled and lazy, felt entitled, and did whatever he wanted. It was finally clear to her. He didn’t love her. They were having sex. And the charade of hiding her books from him was just too difficult, and he didn’t respect that either, and assumed she couldn’t write.

“You need to go,” she said to him and stood up. “I can’t do this anymore. I never should have in the first place. And you’re angry all the time, Ivan. Don’t be mad at me because I’m writing. You can write a novel, if you want to, even if you’re tired after work or you don’t want to stay up late or get up in the morning to write. Other people do it, so can you. And don’t punish me because I want to write. And no, I’m not going to have ‘fun’ with you and some girl. That’s disgusting. You don’t respect anything, you don’t care about anyone except yourself. I don’t want to live like this anymore, worrying about what makes you angry, afraid that you’ll be jealous or pissed about something I do. You have a chip on your shoulder the size of your head. And if you’re cheating on me on top of it, I quit. I’m done. I have work to do. Go home.”

“Oh, give me a break. What kind of work? Are you going to write a story? What makes you think you can? A romance novel?”

“It doesn’t matter what I write. At least I do it. What have you ever done except have sex and sit around and complain, and be mad at what other people do or have? You’re a nasty person, and a cheat apparently. I’m finished. Go home.” She stood there waiting for him to leave, and he finally unwound his long frame from the chair where he was sitting and walked to the door. He didn’t look sorry to go.

“She’s better looking than you are anyway, and she has bigger tits,” he said, walking out and slamming the door behind him. She felt sick after he left, that he would even say something like that and cared so little for her. He had never loved her. He wasn’t capable of loving anyone. Only himself.

She slept fitfully that night, and went to work the next morning. She saw him in the hall, and he ignored her and didn’t even try to talk to her. And she saw him with the little blonde from publicity that afternoon. He was kissing her in the back hall. When she saw them together, she woke up. She was crazy. She was spending her days filing so she could say she had a job in London and justify staying there. She didn’t need justification. She could be in London if she wanted to. And she had a book to write. Bert was coming in a month, and she had to get ready for him. She knew she had kept the job only so she could see Ivan in the daytime. It was insane. She had lost her mind for a while because she had sex with him. And even that wasn’t fun anymore. He was an empty shell. She had been dazzled by him in the beginning but there was no one there. And nothing had gotten better—it had all gotten worse. And now he was cheating on her, to add insult to injury. She cringed, thinking of the abuse she had taken for almost seven months. But it would never happen again, she promised herself.

She handed in her resignation that afternoon, and gave them two weeks’ notice, which they said they wouldn’t hold her to, since she was only an intern. She could leave right away if she wanted. She didn’t see Ivan before she left, and hoped she never would again. She had a book to write, and he was a distraction she could no longer afford. She had to have the manuscript finished for Bert. And that was precisely what she was going to do now.

She told Fiona she was leaving, and they promised to have dinner soon. Fiona felt guilty for causing the breakup with what she’d told her, but she hated Ivan making a fool of Alex. And amazingly, Alex seemed calm.

She went back to her apartment, which she had extended at Christmas until June. And she had gotten a visa a month ago to extend her stay in the UK. She hadn’t told them about the internship, and now she didn’t have one anyway. She set her typewriter on the desk, took her manuscript out of the drawer, and sat down to get to work. The fun and games were over. Alexander Green had a crime thriller to write, and the book she was working on was going to surprise and shock even the most loyal Alexander Green fans. She wasn’t even sad to lose Ivan to the other woman. There was nothing to lose. He was just as empty and bitter as he had been when they started, and she no longer cared. He had been a terrible mistake, and all she wanted to do now was forget him and get back to work on what really mattered to her.