Page 75 of The Honeymoon Affair

He looks at me mutinously.

‘You haven’t told her, have you?’

‘We can sort it very quickly,’ he says.

‘So I’m right.’ I shake my head. ‘You’ve asked her to marry you in front of a whole room of people, and you’re still married to me.’

His lips tighten. ‘Only legally,’ he says. ‘We’re separated. We’ve been living apart for years. It’s a technical thing,’ he adds. ‘We did all the paperwork when we first split up. I’m sure it can be done and dusted in a matter of weeks.’

I say nothing. It should have been done and dusted a long time ago, when we worked out the financial agreement and then handed it over to the legal people. But it was around then that his novella was published and the Netflix deal was in the pipeline. I was working so hard to make sure both the book and the deal were going well that I told my solicitor I didn’t have time to worry about finalising a divorce. Charles wasn’t too worried either. He hates legal stuff. After a few abortive attempts by the solicitors to push things along, the divorce papers have been gathering dust.

‘She’ll go mad,’ I tell him.

‘She’ll understand.’

She won’t. And there’s another thing she won’t understand either. I’m not sure I want to mention it to Charles right now, but the fact that we’ve occasionally slept together since our separation doesn’t bode well for the future Mrs Miller. Not that we’ll ever sleep together again if this marriage goes ahead. I’m shocked at how suddenly bereft I feel at that.

‘OK, don’t hit me or anything, but . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘Don’t you think you’re living one of your own books? You’ve written about a holiday romance, and it doesn’t turn out well.’

That was Snow in Summer, the book I’m hoping to get a mini-series deal for. It’s set in Italy, and Italy is having a moment right now. I haven’t told Charles that there’s talk of changing the ending. It’s something he doesn’t need to know yet.

‘My relationship with Iseult is nothing like the relationship in my book,’ he protests.

‘Yes it is,’ I say. ‘A holiday romance between an older married man and a younger woman.’

‘It’s quite different,’ insists Charles. ‘There was a thirty-year age gap in that book. There’s only twenty between Iseult and me. And their relationship wasn’t a bit like ours.’

‘Don’t be naïve,’ I say. ‘The media—’

‘All publicity is good publicity, isn’t that what they say.’ He makes a face. ‘I suppose someone will unearth the fact that you and I are not actually divorced yet. Everyone assumes it, and I know I never disabuse them, because in my own head we are. Oh, it doesn’t really matter,’ he adds. ‘People get engaged before their divorces come through all the time.’

‘Are you doing this for the publicity?’ I ask. ‘It’s not entirely a bad idea if so, but you should have talked it over with me. And I’d have spoken to Shelley or Maya so we could finesse it.’

‘What d’you take me for!’ He looks annoyed. ‘I’ve fallen in love with a lovely woman, I want to marry her, and you should be happy for me.’

‘Is it research?’ It suddenly occurs to me that this is a more likely reason. ‘Are you planning another novel with a younger female character? Charles, you can’t pretend you’re in love with her just for research. That would be horrible.’

‘It’s not research, it’s not publicity and it’s not some moment of madness either.’ He sounds exasperated, and I wince. ‘I love her and I want to marry her and that’s it.’

‘But she’s so young and innocent and—’

‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘She’s actually a very smart, very sexy woman.’

His words drop like stones.

‘And she’s looking at me somewhat anxiously now, so I’m going over to talk to her. And I’ll fill her in on our marital status. Maybe not tonight. That’d be unfair. But tomorrow for sure. She’ll understand. I’d like you two to get along in the future and for you not to be a complete bitch to her. Will you say hello now?’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ I say. ‘I’ll be as sweet as candy. And I won’t tell her that she might be your fiancée but I am actually your wife.’

We walk over to where Iseult and her friend are standing, consulting their phones.

‘We’ve ordered a taxi,’ she says to Charles. ‘If we’re lucky, it’ll be here in half an hour or so.’

‘You’re going?’ He looks surprised. ‘I thought you’d stay the night.’

‘I can’t stay the night,’ she says. ‘I have work tomorrow. I need to get home and get some sleep.’

I’m pleased to see he looks disconcerted. Maybe the fiancée isn’t as under his thumb as her wide-eyed ingenue look implies.