Warhol's Prophecy

38

SHE HAD NO idea how long she’d been talking. It felt like hours.

Every now and then Hailey would stop and take a sip of her drink but, other than that, she felt as if she’d been spewing out words for ever.

Walker merely sat gazing at her, nodding occasionally, sometimes shaking his head.

But always listening intently. Sometimes touching her hand as it rested on the table.

The only thing that seemed to be missing was ‘Bless Me, Father, for I have sinned’.

It felt like a confession.

‘And that’s it,’ she said finally. ‘Now you know.’

Walker didn’t speak.

‘Are you going to tell me I should have left him?’ Hailey wanted to know. ‘Caroline thinks I should.’

‘Who else knows about it?’

‘Just you. It’s not the sort of thing you shout from the rooftops, is it? I don’t know who Rob’s told.’

He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

Happy now? You’ve told a complete stranger one of your most intimate secrets.

Hailey reached for her glass and realized it was empty. She sipped at the melted ice in the bottom.

‘And he still works with the girl he had this affair with?’ Walker said finally.

‘Yes, he sees her every day.’

‘Why didn’t he sack her?’

‘He claims it isn’t as easy as that.’

‘I’m sorry, Hailey,’ Walker said quietly.

‘So am I, Adam.’

‘Do you still love him?’

‘Of course I do. When it first happened, I hated him for what he’d done. Not him – but what he’d done.’

‘Has it affected Becky?’

‘It’s difficult to say. We’ve kept it from her. At least we think we have. No real slanging matches in front of her – that kind of thing. But she’s not stupid. She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but she knows everything’s not like it used to be between me and Rob.’

‘I wish I could say something that would help.’

She reached across and touched his hand.

‘You have been a help,’ she told him, tracing a pattern on the back of his hand with her index finger.

You want him, don’t you? And you want him to know it.

‘I only met you a few days ago and I feel like I’ve known you all my life, if you’ll excuse the cliché.’ She forced a smile.

Beneath the table her foot brushed against his calf, but she didn’t move it away.

‘Those paintings you mentioned: the ones you want me to show to Waterhole. When can I see them?’

‘Whenever you like. They’re in my studio at home.’

She squeezed his hand.

‘Take me there now,’ she said flatly.