A Year of Chasing Love Read online

  ‘Well, the answer to your conundrum is to not sit around and stew at home. Why don’t you get the apartment valued, put it on the market, then jet off on a well-deserved holiday? I hear the Maldives are glorious at this time of year!’

  Olivia smiled as she imagined Rachel ensconced in her cluttered study, flicking the end of her biro at her dangling earrings. Her friend was famous amongst her students for her vast array of hand-made earrings and Olivia had never known her to wear the same pair twice. She knew Rachel adored her life as an academic despite the tongue-in-cheek accusations of Anne, her now-frail mother, who called her daughter a ‘nosy parker’. Rachel, on the other hand, categorised her craving for digging into the personal lives of strangers as ‘an essential personality trait for all academics’. Whatever the label, Anne had been so proud when her only child had become the first girl in the family to attend university and achieve a first to boot.

  Apart from her extensive academic duties, a close second in Rachel’s hit parade of obsessions – and on which subject she could wax lyrical until Olivia pleaded for mercy – was ballroom dancing. She was fond of reminding her friends, acquaintances and anyone else who would listen, that her passion for the Tango, Waltz and Cha-cha-cha pre-dated the current onslaught of all things Strictly, and she was the proud owner of a wardrobe full of sequin and gem-encrusted costumes that would make the ‘Ladyboys of Bangkok’ salivate.

  And as for the shoes!

  Olivia recalled Rachel’s admission that she had even, on one occasion, slept with a particularly special pair of glitter-heeled pumps – brand new, sparkling and not yet sullied by any contact with the pavement or dance floor – next to her on a silk pillow all of their own. She knew that to Rachel these sartorial creations were objects of great beauty, crafted by the hands of artisans. For all her quirkiness, or maybe because of it, Olivia loved Rachel; she was a down-to-earth, straight-talking Lancashire lass – there was no ‘War of the Roses’ between them.

  ‘Why don’t you come with me and Denise to Brighton on Saturday night?’ offered Rachel, the deep concern for her workaholic, neglectful friend and blinkered spouse, but all-round decent human being, evident in her voice. ‘You should see the dress I’ve splashed out on for the Salsa competition on Sunday. It wouldn’t look out of place on a dance floor in Copacabana Beach!’

  ‘Kind, but not really my thing, Rach.’

  A shudder shot down Olivia’s spine as her imagination conjured up an image of herself in one of Rachel’s skimpy bejewelled outfits, her pale, stick-thin legs on public display. In reality though, her main objection was that she was so unfit there was no way she could manage ten minutes of the strenuous dance routines Rachel, Denise and their friends got involved with on the amateur ballroom dance circuit, let alone three hours.

  ‘Hey, hang on. I might just have a great idea!’

  ‘What sort of an idea?’

  ‘Yes, of course, it’s perfect!’

  ‘What’s perfect?’

  Oh, God, she didn’t think she could stomach another of Rachel’s infamous ‘great ideas’!

  ‘So, am I right in thinking that sitting at home for the next few months, missing Nathan and mulling over what life has flung in your path, is not an appetising prospect?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Oh, I agree with you. I know you better than you know yourself, darling. “Driven” is a kind way of describing your manic work ethic.’

  Olivia thought back to the last time she had set eyes on her friend. Not for a prearranged glass of her favourite prosecco rosé or a warm cinnamon latte at the local trendy café, but at a chance meeting in the local deli at eleven o’clock at night as they both searched for something to keep mind and body together – fast Italian food to replenish the soul, neither of them cared what it was. Whilst Rachel regularly frequented the university’s canteen to eat and augment her social life, ensuring a pleasantly rounded physique with calf muscles that even Bradley Wiggins would be proud of, her own waistline had not fared so well from her frenetic lifestyle.

  Although Rachel would never have uttered such sacrilegious comments, Olivia knew her friend considered her to be unattractively slender and had tried to suggest lunch, an evening out, offered tickets to myriad dance exhibitions and, of course, Olivia had agreed to go, but had subsequently ended up cancelling or simply forgot. She had stopped counting the times she’d stood Rachel up. Their friendship over the last year had been sustained via Nathan or short, to-the-point email bulletins and the occasional random meeting at the deli.

  ‘And you’re not against taking a holiday, per se?’

  ‘No, but who would I go with? It’s February! Hollie and Matteo are saving their annual leave for the Easter holidays next month – Hollie is traipsing down to Cornwall to look after her parents’ restaurant so that they can take their annual break from the hungry hordes of Newquay, and Matteo and Hollie’s brother Elliot are jetting off for a week in the clubs of Ibiza before Elliot takes up his job as head chef, can’t remember where, but it’s definitely somewhere exotic.’

  Hollie’s twin brother, Elliot, was Matteo’s childhood best friend. He’d been ecstatic about landing a prestigious position on his own merits and not because his parents owned a Michelin-starred restaurant. All four of them had celebrated long and hard one Saturday night at their local wine bar so the precise details of his new venture were a little fuzzy in Olivia’s mind.

  ‘What if I had a solution?’

  ‘You mean if we went together? Don’t you have research to do over the Easter break and getting your students ready for their exams?’ said Olivia, scavenging at the edges of her brain for plausible and persuasive protestations.

  ‘Exactly, I do. Not to mention an Argentinian Tango to perfect. Dennie would never forgive me if I went swanning off for a jolly when we could be rehearsing. No, but I do need someone to help me with my project. I can’t hope to be as thorough as I’d like to be without help and who better than a “Top Divorce Lawyer”? Ms Olivia “five-hundred-divorces-under-my-belt” Hamilton. You can be my research assistant! Only, Liv, I can’t pay you anything.’

  ‘Sorry, Rachel, I’m definitely not going to get involved in any academic projects. I don’t think I could stomach any more study.’

  Olivia pushed herself out of her seat and went to look out of the window. On the pavements below, swathes of dark-suited commuters, heads bent, bloodshot eyes averted, jostled with their counterparts to save a few precious seconds in their rush to reach the Tube station at the end of the street. Even the tourists utilised their sharp elbows, impatient to capture the best photographic record of the magnificent London architecture that was studiously ignored by its inhabitants. Culture, art, history, they all oozed from the very fabric of the capital, but those who worked in the City had no time to stop and stare.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting any study. What I’m talking about is research – a field trip, if you will.’

  ‘What sort of field trip?’ asked Olivia, aware her voice contained a suspicious edge.

  ‘A foreign one.’

  ‘Where to?’

  This time her tone held an uptick of interest, and upon hearing the pique of curiosity, Olivia knew Rachel would be preparing to reel in her catch.

  ‘Well, my research is officially entitled “What causes marriages to break down?” I’m supposed to be looking at domestic abuse, financial difficulties during the recession, alcohol and drug addiction, the effects of the care system. But what I’d really like to focus on are the factors found in marriages that endure. The positives, if you will, rather than the negatives. An integral part of the project is gathering evidence to support the benefits of a “no fault” system in our divorce process, like they have in Denmark. Yes, almost 50 per cent of marriages do end in divorce for all the reasons I’ve been charged with researching, but, on the other side of the argument, that also means that over 50 per cent succeed and I’d like to find out why.’

  ‘Let me get this stra
ight,’ mused Olivia, now that she had patiently listened to the ‘State of the universe’ according to St Rachel. ‘Are you suggesting your heartbroken, “soon-to-be-divorced” friend undertakes a fact-finding mission on your behalf to identify and report back on the elements found in failed marriages? Bit tactless, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not why they fail, why they succeed! Haven’t you just racked up five hundred divorces at Edwards & Co? Well, I am offering you the opportunity to redress the balance of negativity and misery with a shot in the arm for marital harmony and relationship contentment.’

  ‘I’m sick and tired of people referring to that article!’

  ‘All I’m saying is that you are ideally qualified to ask the right questions. You have time on your hands, and I take it you’re entitled to continue drawing your salary whilst you’re on sabbatical?’

  ‘Half, but as you know I’ve never had time to indulge in life’s luxuries, so I do have some savings put by. I suppose I can justify a foreign jaunt. But alone?’

  ‘You’re a big girl, Liv. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. In fact, you are the ideal person for the role. Not only are you professionally skilled to undertake the research and write up your findings in a cogent and intelligent manner, you will also, unfortunately, have a unique personal insight of the process.’

  ‘Okay, so where is this wonderful place where marriages last and everyone lives happily ever after? Narnia? Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland?’

  ‘Actually, it’s not just one place. Several countries score highly in the enduring relationship league – you’ll be surprised by some of the places on our list. New York has one of the lowest divorce rates in the US, would you believe?’

  ‘You want me to go to New York? Okay, the answer’s yes! I’d love to!’

  In fact, now Olivia thought about it, there was something to be said for escaping the inevitable enquiries of family and friends, colleagues and clients, about her embarrassing personal tragedy. In Manhattan, she could blend seamlessly into the throng of anonymous tourists and citizens, her woes concealed from scrutiny.

  ‘Sorry, not New York, Liv. Malta.’

  ‘Malta?’

  ‘In fact, I’ve already arranged the meeting with my contact over there. We were going to try and do it by Skype but Niko asked for a personal visit as his grandparents would struggle with being interviewed via webcam. They’ve been married for sixty years and his parents have been married for forty. It’ll be fantastic if you could interview both couples. Malta holds the record for having one of the highest marriage rates in the EU coupled with one of the lowest divorce rates. Something good must be going on over there in the southern Mediterranean sunshine!’

  ‘Malta’s never been on my wish list, I’m afraid. Look, Rachel, I’m really not sure about this. I don’t think I should be leaving the country at the moment. I’m not convinced Miles and Lewis can handle my caseload, and there’s the apartment to—’

  ‘Did Henry give you his blessing to keep popping back into the office to inspect your colleagues’ progress whenever you like?’

  A squirm of embarrassment snaked through Olivia’s abdomen. ‘Well, no, not exactly …’

  ‘What did he say precisely?’

  ‘“You’re barred from the premises”?’

  ‘So there’s no real reason why you can’t go to Malta other than your inability to accept that Edwards & Co can function without you?’

  ‘Well, no, but …’

  ‘And we might as well tackle the elephant in the room now. Did you talk to Nathan last night?’

  ‘I tried to call him, but …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Well, his voicemail was on and I didn’t want to leave a message.’

  ‘So you call him again later!’

  Olivia began to feel steamrollered. Her breath quickened and her temples felt as though they were being squeezed in a vice-like grip – with friends like Rachel who needed enemies! Of course, she was right; she did need to talk to Nathan, but he was in Singapore now and it just didn’t feel right, winding up their life together over the phone. She’d sent him a short text before he left two weeks ago, telling him she’d received the petition, and would be in touch to discuss it at some point, and she had got a one-word acknowledgement back, which had hurt more than she had expected. She knew he’d been about to board the plane, but how could things have got so bad that they were reduced to communicating via text message?

  ‘And don’t you think this trip to Malta will be the perfect distraction? Keeping busy will stop you from descending down the slippery slope into melancholy.’

  ‘I’m not descending into melancholy!’

  ‘Great, that’s settled then. You are officially my unofficial research intern. What I’d like you to do is undertake a series of trips to ascertain …’

  ‘Hey, back up there, Professor Denton, I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you just say “a series of trips”?’

  ‘Yes, marriage breakdown statistics have ballooned all over the world. It’s not just a UK phenomenon. Not every country allows divorce, of course. Some, on the other hand, have quite relaxed divorce laws. But as I’ve said, your brief is to concentrate on the institution of marriage. Much more inspiring, wouldn’t you say? I expect the evidence collated by you in Malta to confirm that similar cultural backgrounds factor highly in the longevity of marriage. Then, there’s Hawaii.’

  ‘What!’ Olivia spluttered. ‘I can’t just jet off to Hawaii!’

  What exactly was happening here? Was this some sort of parallel universe?

  ‘Olivia Hamilton, correct me if I’m wrong, but I recall a very wistful expression on your face two years ago at my mother’s seventieth birthday party when you announced you had always wanted to visit Hawaii.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I didn’t mean now … and not by myself,’ she added softly because she had hoped to one day explore the exotic volcanic islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with Nathan by her side. ‘A trip to Hawaii is “bucket list” stuff – something to do before you die!’

  ‘But who of us knows when that will be?’ Rachel rushed on, excitement exuding from every word and preventing her from detecting the snippet of sadness in Olivia’s tone. ‘Oh my God! I never dared hope my dream research project would be possible. I’d resigned myself to focusing on the negative factors in divorce required by the university’s grant parameters.’

  ‘Look, Rach—’

  ‘And then there’s Denmark.’

  ‘Denmark?’ squeaked Olivia, her throat hoarse from the rising panic.

  ‘The happiest country in the EU, according to recently published research, yet graced with one of the highest divorce rates. Why is that?’

  ‘But Denmark—’

  ‘And there’s Paris: the “City of Romance”—’

  ‘Okay. Stop. Right. There. I am definitely not signing up for a round-the-world trip! No way. No chance.’

  ‘Oh, not all in one go. No. Malta is scheduled for next week, but you can go to Hawaii in May. Denmark is already fixed for October because it’s extremely difficult to arrange an interview with Professor Andersen, my counterpart in Copenhagen. And last, but not least, there’s Paris in November to finalise your conclusions. You’ll need to submit your written report to me by the first of December so I can collate the evidence and have my submissions ready for a Christmas deadline, but you’re due to return to Edwards & Co then, anyway. It’s perfect timing!’

  ‘Perfect? Perfect?’

  All in one dreadful month, she had been shamed in front of her colleagues when served with documents to terminate her marriage, had been informed she was professionally expendable and forced to concede control of her caseload to the questionable practices of Miles and take an involuntary sabbatical, and now, instead of her oldest friend offering a sympathetic shoulder to cry on – accompanied by an offer of remedial cocktails and a late-night curry – she was being cajoled into packing a suitcase and jetting off to Malta. To s
ay she felt overwhelmed was an understatement, and fear of what lay in her future nailed its splinters into her heart. She had one last line of defence to pursue, though.

  ‘What about the soup kitchen?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I can’t let them down. Greta is always short of volunteers at this time of the year …’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll manage.’

  ‘No, I can’t let her down, and I’m helping one of the guys there with his paperwork and—’

  ‘Okay, what if Dennie and I put in a few shifts whilst you’re away?’

  ‘Really, you’d do that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, thanks.’

  ‘So it’s a yes then?’

  ‘Can I have some time to think about it?’

  ‘No. I’ll have the Air Malta plane tickets biked over to you. And, Livvie …’ Finally, Olivia heard a softening in Rachel’s voice, her Lancashire accent becoming more pronounced. ‘I know what a painful blow you’ve been dealt, but this is exactly what the psychologist ordered.’

  Suddenly every ounce of fight seeped from Olivia’s bones. She felt as though her nerve endings were anesthetised to any further doses of trauma, her brain temporarily paralysed by the swiftness with which her life had imploded, so she struggled to utter any words beyond ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Good. Now your contact in Malta is Niko Garzia. I worked with him a couple of years ago when he joined our department on secondment from Malta University in Valletta. I’ll ask him to meet your plane. And, Liv?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I truly am sorry that you and Nathan couldn’t work things out. As a couple, you were a perfect match.’