License to Kill

Not so great, as it finally turned out.

At the time though, it just went past me. The euphoria of a successful relationship at last! And with such an incredible hottie! I flattered myself that the waiting had paid off. That saving myself was the right thing to do. That the other girls indeed had not known what they were missing. What delusions we tell ourselves, when things are going well, eh? I knew damn well deep down what a crock of shit that really was (what a delightful phrase that is. One of the few I've adopted from our cousins over the pond), but I wasn't going to look that golden goose in the teeth too much, confused metaphors aside.

My family loved her. Mum and Dad, who were pretty doddering by then, since I'd come along late in life, thought she was great. I'm sure there was some unspoken worry on their part about me being perpetually single, but I just ignored any hint of that on their part. I was an only child, so no worrying about siblings liking her.

I only met her mother twice, before the wedding. She was some matronly lady who lived in Herefordshire, near Wales. She lived alone; her father had died some years back and Clarissa was an only child too, so we had that in common too. Neither of us had to share our toys. I got the impression that she wasn't wildly impressed with me, but she made it clear that she supported Clarissa, and if I was her choice, then she'd go along with that. It didn't make us bosom buddies, but she wasn't about to make waves.

She made it to the wedding but died shortly after of a brain hemorrhage. Clarissa just took off to deal with everything and was gone almost three weeks emptying her mother's house and arranging everything. Still, we got enough inheritance to buy our own place out in Rickmansworth, northwest of London. It was a bit of a commute into the city proper but the house was ours, and we loved it. Semi-detached house, a bit of a garden, three bedrooms, dining room, kitchen, separate living room, lovely bathroom, a downstairs bathroom and even an attached single car garage. Yes, not huge, but it was ours. I kept making jokes about how one of the bedrooms was ready to be a nursery, but it was only a joke. We'd both said we wouldn't start for kids till our middle thirties, which seemed a bit late to me, but I was prepared to go along with whatever she wanted. While I wanted kids, I wanted Clarissa happy more.

We were happy. I mean, I know I was. I think she was. Knowing what I know now, I could never be sure. But I think she was. I choose to believe it. Otherwise, the entire thing was a sham. Well, it was a sham, but I have to believe parts of it weren't, or I'd go insane.

I'm trying to find ways to show you what our life was like so you can understand how much of what happened came out of the blue for me. I was metaphorically fat, happy and dumb. We'd have our weekends and read the papers online, and send each other links to stories we'd read in the mornings, and then talk about them over lunch, or as we went for a walk.

We went away for weekends. Our 'dirty weekends', as she put it, with a comic leer on her face. She even made us book into a hotel using different names once, so everyone would think we were cheaters or something. Now I mention that, I wonder if that really was the impetus on that, or if it was something more sinister.

She'd travel a lot, and be gone for weeks at a time. A couple of times she was gone for a couple of months. I would hear from her sporadically when she was gone. She'd made it clear that her job was her job, and it was there and I had to understand it wouldn't change if we were together or married. When she was 'In Country', as she put it, her whole attention was on the job, what she was doing, and she would contact me when she 'came up for air'. I could understand that. While I was elbow deep in the financial aspects of being a market manager, I would also gain singular focus. It just wasn't for the duration that she had it. I just chalked it up to her career, and let it go. It was either that or force a decision on her that I wasn't entirely sure would go my way, if I really made it a 'Job Or Me' thing. Besides, if we were going to have kids, then it would all have to change anyway, so it didn't seem smart to force the issue too much. I did make disapproving noises every now and then, and it got me some great guilt sex, and some pretty awesome gifts on her return, - she bought me a new racing bike and a training stand once, which was awesome. I'd been salivating over one of those for years, but just never had the capital on hand that I could plonk down on it and not feel guilty about spending that amount. While I worked advising other people on their money, the kind of advice I was handing out was for people who had so much of it, so it didn't really translate to my kind of income. I did okay, for sure, but it's not like I was pulling in the big bucks. It takes speculation to accumulate, and you generally had to speculate on a level I wasn't anywhere near. Plus, her bonuses were often pretty good when she got back, so I took the rough with the smooth, you know? Didn't rock the boat too much.

When she was gone, I'd find stuff to do. Weekends on the bike in Scotland or Wales. I even went and did some of the Tour de France route once, with some friends. Never doing that again. Those athletes who do that are extremely fit, and I am less so, and this excursion proved that day after day. I just took solace in the fact that everyone else in my group was as knackered at the end of the day as I was.

It was over four years since we'd been married, and five years since we'd met at James' wedding, when it all went tits up. When I discovered exactly how unobservant and just plain stupid I really had been. How misled and delusional I was. And the implications, well, I'll tell you the story and you can judge for yourself.

I was never suspicious of Clarissa. I'd met various people from her work a few times. Parties, Christmas events, a retirement celebration. I knew the receptionist at her office space, in Knightsbridge, since I called so often. While Clarissa had a cell phone, she wasn't allowed to use it during the day. She actually had two, one for work and one for her. She explained that the company had real security issues and so her work phone was specially secured, and the personal phone was a security risk, so it had to be turned off and left at the main desk when she went to work, so all communication was either over skype or via landline calls when she was in the office. When she was abroad, she just left her personal cell at home entirely. That's why I usually had to wait for her to call me.

Again though, explaining that, I realize how stupid I was. I mean, who really works for a company as a business unit analyst that is not allowed to take a personal phone with them when they go abroad for business?? I mean, come on. But at the time, I didn't think twice about it. This was an area of business I knew nothing about, and this was Clarissa. This is what she told me, so I believed her. That's what husbands do, right?

Her work colleagues seemed friendly enough. I did realize at some point that I'd never actually seen the inside of her office space, but again, just didn't really think too much of it at the time. I was hugely proud of my Go-Getter Wife, who was a big-time jet-setter. She'd send me selfies from her work phone of herself in the first-class lounge at Heathrow, or at the bar of the A380 she was flying on, or whatever, usually once she got home. She was going places and doing important things, and I got to bask in reflected glory, at least I thought so.

This is not to say everything was perfect. It wasn't. We had our fights and things that irritated us about the other, as everyone does. I grumbled about her traveling, and like I said, she tended to keep things close to her chest. I'd find out about plans she'd made the day we were going to do something, and sometimes that caused major conflict, because I'd have arranged to do something else. One time it happened, and I'd just had enough, so I left to go and do my thing, plastic snow skiing, I think it was. She was due to travel the next day, and I just left, and she got pissed and left herself. No note, no phone message, she was just gone, and I didn't hear from her for ten days. My pride and anger stopped me from even trying to leave a message at her work, and it's not like she reached out either, at least not for ten days.

She'd get mad at me for never doing the washing up. She'd come home to a tip of a house after being away, and then launch into me because of the state of the house. Like it wasn't enough that she was tired, jet-lagged and beat, no, now she had to clean the house before she could even sit down in it.

I bought a car without talking to her first, an old fixer-upper that I planned to work on, on the weekends, and that caused her to first go ballistic, and then for her to buy a selection of handbags and shoes that caused my eyes to water, once I saw the receipts for them. We did still have our own accounts, and one for where we put the majority of the money for house stuff, but still, I did start to wonder how much she had in her accounts, because she dropped over fifteen thousand pounds without pausing for a second, and I'd had to save for months to get the money for the old Jag I'd bought.

One other thing that really wound me up was a holiday we planned for Madrid got called off at the last minute. I had always wanted to go there, - to be honest, I really wanted to do a biking holiday there, but I knew Risa would never go for that, so I was fine with just a normal sightseeing thing, and we had it organized and paid for, and literally three days before we were due to go, she comes home, all hangdog, and apologizes that she can't go, we can't go, something has come up, and she'll make it up to me. The company will make it up to us, in fact. For a change, I went ballistic. That was the first time I ever really thought about an ultimatum, -- the job or me. I was angry, and she left on the day we were supposed to go to Spain. She was in Germany, if she was to be believed.

The company did try and make it up. They bought us first class tickets to New York, and we did spend a week there and then did a tour of Washington D.C. and then drove north, to see the fall colors in upstate New York State, Connecticut and Massachusetts. It was a lovely time and didn't cost us a penny, but still, I still wanted to go to Spain, but it just never happened. Of course, now I know why, but at the time, I was just confused and pissed.

Clarissa had a habit of making a decision on something from a gut feel, and then working backwards to justify that decision, reorganizing the priority of facts about whatever-it-was-she'd-decided in order to validate it.

It was one hundred percent the opposite of how I work, given what I do for a living, and it used to drive me up the wall. I could clearly see what she was doing and because I was too wrapped up in my own foibles, I never hesitated to point that out, and it resulted in massive arguments between us.

I still think I was right, but since those times, I've come to understand that being right and pointing that out, - particularly to the woman who is your spouse, when in a situation where she is backed into a corner trying to justify a decision already made (and in most cases, already acted upon), - are not the same thing, should not be confused as the same thing, and in at least fifty percent of cases, it would be just better to shut the fuck up and let it go.

We all live and learn, I guess. Some sooner than others. And for some, not at all.

So yeah, it's not like everything was always hunky-dory between us, but we had enough of a connection that we got through it all. We were a marriage. We had love, and love can overcome anything.

What a load of crap all that was.

So, how did it all come apart?

It was a night out, where we had dinner reservations, of all things. It was Mother's Day, and while I knew she wasn't a mother yet, I had decided it was time for the "Let's Have Kids!" project to get a kick in the backside, and I was going to start campaigning earnestly about it. I'd booked dinner at the Dorchester, and a laid out for a room. We were going to have drinks in the cocktail lounge first, then dinner, then perhaps a little dancing, before retiring to the room, where champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries awaited, -- the strawberry thing being one of her favorites.

I'd kept it as a surprise, and packed a bag for her, along with two of what I knew were her favorite cocktail dresses, heels, perfume, makeup bag and all the rest of what a woman needs when traveling to feel like she's not actually traveling.

We took the tube down into the city, with her smirking and eyes appraising me the whole time, teasing me that whatever it was, it 'had better be good enough.'

We walked into the Dorchester hotel, and her eyebrows raised, and I finally got a 'well, this might be adequate, then' from her. We checked in, and I explained the plan. She gave me one hell of a smooch that promised much later, and off we went to dinner.

And there it went off the rails. At the time, I had no clue what was happening, although it didn't take long before I started to get suspicious, although again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

We had drinks, then the maître d' called us into the restaurant and sat us for dinner and we perused menus and then, as I glanced at Risa to ask her what she was thinking of getting, and I saw her staring over the menu at someone over my shoulder, her face a pasty white under the makeup. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see who she was looking at, but apart from a party of men being delivered to their table, I couldn't see anyone looking back at us. So I turned to look back and Clarissa to ask her who she'd seen, but she'd raised the menu and her face was now hidden.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

"I don't know," she replied, still buried in the menu. "I don't feel too good. Rich, can we just take a raincheck? I really don't feel so good all of a sudden."

"Are you sure?" I asked. This was not normal Clarissa modus operandi. Normally nothing got between Clarissa and an expensive meal. "We just got here, you were fine a few minutes ago?" I could see my entire plan, all that time and planning just going out the window. "Could we sit for a minute? Get you a glass of water? See if whatever it is settles?"

"No!" she hissed from the menu. She lowered it, glanced behind me, and then leaned in. "I really want to go, right now. Please, Rich. For me."

"Um, okay, well, I need to cover the bar bill..." I started to say. Clarissa just nodded and was on her feet and turned away, walking directly away from the table and, I noticed, not actually in the direction of the main entrance.

I just stood, half standing, half sitting, as I'd raised myself once she'd made it clear she was leaving, feeling like a complete fool as I watched my wife walk away.

Clearly, something else was going on. She'd seen someone she didn't want to see and she was away in the wind, without waiting for me.

I motioned for the waiter, and after waiting a minute, he arrived. I explained my wife had been taken ill, and I needed to settle up for the bar drinks, and he said he'd be happy to take care of getting me the bill, so I could just sign them to the room, and as he made his way to the money station, I looked around at the people behind me, trying to spot who my wife didn't want to see.

As I was doing so, I was tapped on the shoulder, and I turned to find another waiter, this time the wine waiter, bottle of wine in hand.

"Sir, compliments of the table over there," he said, waving his hand at the table of men who had just sat down. "Some of our best Merlot, apparently a favorite of Miss Davies? They wish to express their appreciation of her help, and they wanted me to let you know they look forward to seeing her on Wednesday."

I looked back at the table of men, taking them in. They had now mostly turned to me, and were holding up drinks in their hands, smiling at me, the time-honored gesture of 'good health'. I noticed they were all somewhat swarthy, with skin that told of time in the sun. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were Arab or at the least, Middle Eastern.

I smiled apologetically at the wine waiter and said, "I think there's been some kind of mix-up. My wife is not Miss Davies. She's Mrs. Livingston. So please, return the bottle to those kind gentlemen, and give them my apologies. Just a case of mistaken identity, I'm sure."

The other waiter arrived, and I took the bill from him and the pen. The wine waiter vacillated, and then said, "Are you sure, sir? I mean, this bottle is like almost five hundred pounds. I'd personally take the bottle if I were you, even if it is a mix-up."

I signed my name on the bill, and added a tip and the room number and looked back at the wine waiter and said, "I don't think that's quite fair, do you? Five hundred pounds is a lot of money for anyone. I wouldn't feel right taking that from those fellas on a mistake?"

The wine waiter snorted. "I don't think they'll miss it, sir. They are all Arab princes, and this is a drop in the bucket for them. They will order four of these with dinner."

Hang on. Arab princes are Muslim. Muslims don't drink.

I looked doubtful. "I thought Muslims don't drink?"

"Well, normally, sir, they don't. But when in Rome, most of these princes behave, well, let's just say they try and follow the local customs, and leave it at that."

I got the picture. Pious at home, but the moment you aren't at home and eyes aren't on you, all that restrain goes out the window. Yet more religious hypocrisy. What a surprise.

"Yes, I get it. Well, either way, this was not Miss Davies, and if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my wife," I replied standing and making a salute gesture to the table full of Arabian hypocrites.

I walked out of the dining room, went to the lifts, and went back to the room, expecting to find Clarissa there. She was not present, and that's when I started to entertain the concept that everything was not okay, and something else entirely was going on. I mean, she'd seen them, done a runner, and now they were talking about someone called 'Miss Davies'. I desperately didn't want to connect these facts, but even a blind idiot like me cannot miss something like that when it's waved in his face. But even then, I was trying to deny it. Trying to find some way it was all just mistaken identity. Confirmation bias at its finest.

Of course, I did the one thing anyone would do. I called her mobile phone. It went straight to voice mail, meaning it was either off, or she was possibly in a place with no signal. The underground, for example. When I tried the Find Your Phone app, same thing. No response from her phone. But, interestingly enough, it did have her last position as here, at the hotel. Which meant that she'd turned the phone off directly, if she wasn't on the tube.

Hmmm. What to do?

Of course, there were other questions. Why had she left entirely? Why not just go to the room? If you aren't feeling well, you don't get on the tube and spend most of an hour getting home, not when there is a hotel room right above you that's already paid for.

If she wasn't sick, then where was she? Why did she leave? I mean, clearly, she'd seen those men, and didn't want them to see her, and left. So what was all that Miss Davies crap about? And Wednesday?

While Clarissa did sometimes have to work late, and occasionally weekends, it didn't happen that often. And times when work came up unexpectedly and she had to go into the office didn't happen often at all. It had happened a few times, but in four years of being married, it was probably less than ten times in total. I didn't know anything about something happening Wednesday? If she was indeed the 'Miss Davies' they believed her to be. And obviously, there was some connection. Unless it wasn't them she was leaving to avoid, and they mistaking her was a pure coincidence. But how much did I honestly believe that vs how much did I want to believe that?