Chương 3
I had liked him then.
That was the part that hurt.
I had liked him.
“Give me ten minutes,” I said.
I walked back into the reception.
Marcus was telling a story about the first time he met Lydia.
Everyone laughed at the right places.
Lydia stood beside him, one hand resting on his arm.
When she saw me approaching, she whispered something to him.
He handed the microphone to the bandleader.
“Mom,” Lydia said.
“Not here.”
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said to me today.”
Marcus stepped between us.
“You made your choice?”
“Yes.”
His confidence returned.
“Good.”
“I’m not giving you fifty thousand dollars.”
The confidence vanished.
I continued before he could speak.
“I’m not giving you the Manhattan property, and you’re not borrowing another dollar against anything I own.”
Lydia grabbed my arm.
“Keep your voice down.”
I looked at her hand until she removed it.
Marcus leaned close enough that I could smell champagne.
“You need to think very carefully about what happens next.”
“I have.”
“No, Eleanor, you haven’t.”
His voice stayed quiet, but his eyes had become frantic.
“This isn’t one of your boardroom games.”
“You’re right.”
I looked past him at my daughter.
“This is considerably more important.”
Lydia’s face crumpled for an instant before she recovered.
“Mom, please.”
There was that word again.
I lowered my voice.
“How much does he owe?”
Marcus went still.
Lydia stared at me.
“How much?” I repeated.
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
That answer I believed.
Marcus turned toward her.
“Don’t.”
She flinched.
A small movement.
A devastating one.
I had been looking for evidence of what my daughter had done.
For the first time, I wondered what had been done to her.
“Lydia,” I said, “come with me.”
Marcus caught her elbow.
“She stays.”
I looked down at his hand.
Then I looked at him.
“You forgot one thing.”
His fingers loosened.
“What?”
“This is my house.”
Raymond appeared at the edge of the dance floor with two members of my security staff.
He did not rush.
He did not need to.
Around us, conversations began dying one by one.
Lydia looked from Raymond to Marcus and finally back to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out whether my daughter just married a desperate man,” I said, “or whether she became his accomplice.”
Marcus released her completely.
Then he reached into his jacket.
Raymond moved before I did.
“Sir, keep your hands visible.”
Marcus froze.
Several guests turned.
Someone near the bar lowered a phone that had already been raised to record.
Marcus slowly lifted both hands.
“I was getting my phone.”
“Then leave it where it is,” Raymond said.
Lydia whispered my name.
I looked at her.
The contempt from twenty minutes earlier was gone.
So was the arrogance.
What remained was worse.
She looked terrified.
“Mom,” she said, “there’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Lydia pressed both hands against the front of her dress as if the boning had suddenly become too tight.
Marcus turned toward her so fast his shoulder brushed mine.
“Don’t do this here.”
She stared at him.
“You said she’d never find the filing.”
A woman behind us stopped laughing.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Lydia.”
“You said North Harbor wouldn’t record anything until Monday.”
Raymond took one step closer.
Marcus noticed.
His expression changed again, not into guilt but calculation.
“Everybody needs to calm down.”
I almost admired the reflex.
Some people apologize when trapped.
Marcus searched for a better room.
“Come with me,” I told Lydia.
Marcus reached for her again.
Raymond moved between them.
“Sir.”
“I’m her husband.”
“You’ve been her husband for eighteen minutes,” I said.
“That does not give you ownership of her elbow.”
A few guests pretended very badly not to listen.
Helen stood twenty feet away holding a plate with one untouched canapé, her mouth slightly open.
The band had moved into a jazz standard, but the saxophonist kept glancing toward us.
Lydia looked at the surrounding faces and whispered, “Please, Mom.”
I led her through the side entrance of the house and into the breakfast room.
Raymond stayed outside.
Marcus tried to follow.
Raymond closed the door in front of him.
For several seconds, Lydia and I listened to the muffled reception continuing on the other side of the walls.
Someone cheered.
Glassware clinked.
The absurd normality of it made Lydia start laughing.
It was one short, broken sound.
Then she covered her mouth.
I pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I can’t sit in this dress.”
“Then stand.”
She glared at me.
There she was.
For some reason, seeing that familiar irritation steadied me.
“What did you sign?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is no longer acceptable.”
“He gave me documents.”
“You signed documents you didn’t read?”
“They were hundreds of pages.”
“So you didn’t read them.”
“I read some of them.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lydia.”
“I don’t know.”
Her voice cracked.
She turned away and pressed her fingertips against the windowsill.
Outside, the lawn sloped toward the ocean beyond the reception tent.
The wedding planner was directing two servers around a patch of spilled wine.
Normal problems.
Clean problems.
The kind with towels.
Lydia said, “His company was supposed to close a government contract.”
“Supposed to?”
“He told me they were finalists.”
“For what?”
“A hospital diagnostics platform.”
I waited.
She rubbed at the side of her thumb.
It was a childhood habit she had never lost.
“When?”
“March.”
“And what happened?”
“The contract went to somebody else.”
“Then why did he tell investors his funding round closed in June?”
Her eyes snapped toward me.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I asked.”
“Who?”
“People who answer me.”
“That’s so typical.”
She laughed again, this time with anger in it.
“You make three calls and suddenly everybody’s life is an audit.”
“I made one call because someone forged my signature.”
May you like
She looked down.
There was a pale mark across the bridge of her nose from where her veil comb had been adjusted too tightly.
