Page 53 of The Honeymoon Affair

So I moved out.

He didn’t try to stop me.

While I was in Canada with Cosmo (whose book was a roaring success and went to number one there), Charles met with other agents. I knew that by walking out on him I’d lose him as a client, but I also knew that my heart wasn’t in it any more. I still loved his books, but our tangled relationship would make things too difficult. Somehow neither of us could recapture the joyful moments that were ours alone: sitting in the garden together, spending weekends at the cottage in Mayo or heading off to Europe for short breaks he insisted were research even when the most research we did was finding the nearest bar. It hadn’t always been about books and his career.

And until his Mayo trip without me, he had stuck up for me every time his waspish mother complained about my relentless ambition.

I’m sure Pamela Boyd-Miller was thrilled at our split.

I said as much to Ekene when I went to London for a visit. I didn’t have any business meetings. All I wanted was to talk to my friend about my messed-up marriage.

‘Charles is an absolute fool, and his mother always sounded like an interfering old bat to me,’ Ekene said. ‘She’s convinced him you should be running around after him the whole time, and that’s why he thinks you should be putting him ahead of your other authors. I’m glad you didn’t. Cosmo Penhaligon is a great writer.’

‘He’s not Charles, though.’

‘I know.’ Her voice softened. ‘But I know you. You’ll get over Charles.’

‘I still want the best for him. I wonder who he’ll find to represent him?’ I gazed thoughtfully at her. ‘I wonder if he’ll go for a female agent and if she’ll fall for him too. If she’ll become the next Mrs Miller.’

‘Now you’re just being silly,’ said Ekene, and she ordered more drinks.

When Charles asked to meet a few weeks later, I wondered if he wanted us to reconcile. After all, no matter how close I might have come to it, neither of us had been unfaithful; our problem was all about a lack of trust and balance, and I couldn’t help feeling that it was something we could work on. I insisted on a neutral venue, so we decided on the elegant surroundings of the Merrion Hotel, where we were served tea and coffee in silver pots and where the serene atmosphere lulled us into being almost pleasant towards each other. However, Charles didn’t want to reconcile. He wanted a divorce.

He said he’d been writing a lot since we’d separated and he realised that this was a good thing. He said perhaps he was one of those writers who was better off without the distractions of domesticity. I was proud of myself for not saying that he didn’t have a clue what domesticity was.

And although part of me was sad about making our split permanent, I was prepared for it.

He asked if we couldn’t sort it out between ourselves without involving legal teams. I agreed it should be possible for us to do most of the heavy lifting – after all, negotiation is my business – but I also warned him we might need advice at the later stages. I asked what he wanted from our separation.

Not surprisingly, he was worried about having to sell Riverside Lodge. I told him there was no need for that. I asked to keep the mews as my office and said I’d buy an apartment of my own. Charles, clearly relieved that I was being reasonable, said that he’d make a contribution to the cost of my new home.

We had it all sorted in less than half an hour. I couldn’t help thinking that if we’d managed to have the same kind of civilised conversation over the past few months, we wouldn’t be getting divorced at all.

I ordered two glasses of champagne, and when they came, I raised my glass.

‘I only drink champagne on two occasions,’ I said, quoting Coco Chanel. ‘When I’m in love, and when I’m not.’

‘And which is it now?’ asked Charles.

‘Sadly, the latter.’

‘What about Cosmo?’

‘I’m not in love with Cosmo.’ I gave him an exasperated look. ‘I was never in love with him. I’m not in love with anyone.’

‘I hope you still like me, even if you don’t love me,’ he said.

‘I’ll always admire you. I’ll always want you to do well and I’ll always cheer when I see you at the top of the bestseller lists. How are you getting on with your search for a new agent, by the way?’ I kept my voice even as I asked the question, and followed it with a gulp of champagne.

‘A lot of people are interested in representing me, naturally enough,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t made a decision yet. And you? Any new authors?’

I said I wasn’t really looking for new talent right now. He reminded me that it wouldn’t be easy to replace him. I’d been feeling a little sentimental about my soon-to-be-ex-husband-and-client. Now I simply drained my glass and said that nothing good in life was ever easy but I was sure I’d manage.

‘So given that you’re buying an apartment here, you’re not thinking of returning to London?’ He gave me a quizzical look.

I wasn’t, but his question got me thinking. Perhaps this was a chance to make a radical change. To be back in the heart of things again. I told him I’d consider it, but that it wasn’t an immediate plan. He said that whether I bought in Dublin or in London, he’d still contribute to the cost. I thanked him, then got up and left him to finish his glass of champagne alone.

When I got home, I opened a bottle of my own. This time I toasted myself with a Marlene Dietrich quote: ‘Champagne makes you feel like it’s Sunday and there are better days around the corner.’