Page 112 of Wife After Wife

He stood up. “Charles, I’m going to make a move. Ladies, I’m terribly sorry to spoil the party, but really, we only came here to keep Andre company. Can I call you a cab?”

Charles came out of his dance trance. “Yep. Ladies, you are an utter delight, but so are our wives.”

December 31, 1999, 11:59 p.m.

Positions, everybody,” called Harry, looking out the boardroom window. “Ten seconds and counting!”

Friends and colleagues crowded around, glasses of champagne in hand, anticipating the spectacular fireworks the government hadpromised, as the TV in the corner showed Big Ben at one minute to midnight.

Bong... Bong... Bong...

Harry put his arm around Ana, pulling her close. She looked up at him and smiled. “I wonder what’s in store for us?” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Bong... Bong... Bong...

Harry glanced over at his father’s portrait on the wall.I’m doing OK, aren’t I, Dad?He felt Ana pat him on the back.

Bong... Bong... Bong...

He looked across to Megan and Charles, standing arm in arm. His sister caught his eye and blew him a kiss. Harry’s heart constricted, and he found himself offering up a silent prayer.Please, make her better.

Bong... Bong... Bong.

Then Big Ben was silent, and there was a strange, quiet, profound moment.

That’s it.

They were in a new millennium. The door had closed on the past one thousand years, and on the twentieth century. No final additions, no tweaks. It was history, the past.

Then the room erupted in cheers as fireworks streaked into the sky around the new Millennium Wheel.

CHAPTER 34

Ana

March 2001

Ana looked at the Cartier watch Harry had given her last Christmas. Five minutes until her next meeting. She checked her email inbox; there was one from Terri.

Hello, my lovely. My first-ever email. Let me know if you get it cos I don’t trust this. Lunch?

Ana smiled and clicked on the Reply symbol.

I can’t get used to it either. Fully expect emails to disappear without trace in cyberspace. Lunch would be great—Tuesday?

She returned the screen to the floating IQD logo.

Ana was expecting a publisher looking to outsource production of a new series of cookbooks. If IQD won the business, she’d need to employ two more staff. The company was going from strength to strength, thanks to Ana’s hard work and skill at picking a team that was talented and committed. They also played hard, and Ana would watch wistfullyas they headed off to the pub after work. But she had Eliza to go home to, and occasionally Harry.

Eliza was three, and a delight. Ana missed her terribly on weekdays, and that had taken her by surprise. Maternal Ana. Who’d have thought it? While she loved her work, she was happy to be on her way home by six, anticipating opening the front door and hearing “Mummy!” as Eliza flew down the hallway, her red curls bouncing.

It looked as if Harry’s proud-dad comments about his genius daughter were, in fact, true. Reports from her nursery school teachers spoke of remarkable learning skills and an extraordinary ability to rule the roost while remaining popular with all the other children.

Ana always tried to be home for Eliza’s bath and bedtime. Unfortunately, Harry usually missed both. Andre had come on board with the football channel investment, and now they were putting together a bid for the Premiership rights. It was going to be a long, hard scrap.

Ana loathed Andre. He was a Russian bear personified—huge; appeared friendly and cuddly, but one slash of those claws and you were history. It was unfortunate he lived so close—invitations were tediously regular. Last summer he’d also muscled in on Harry and Charles’s tennis games at the Hurlingham. Before Andre had come along, Ana liked taking Eliza up there on a summer’s evening. There was no escaping the man.

His wife (his third, apparently) was a beautiful, bored-looking ex-gymnast. Ana was expected to make conversation with her while Andre knocked back the vodka and talked football with Harry, his “English brother.”