Chương 11
“Yes.”
Margaret picked up her phone.
“I do.”
She opened her contacts.
Ethan frowned.
“Who are you calling?”
“My security director.”
Vanessa’s face tightened again.
“Why?”
“Because reporters are coming to the property.”
Margaret selected the number.
“And because there are staff here who did not volunteer to become background characters in our family disaster.”
Ethan nodded slowly.
Margaret called.
Her security director answered on the second ring.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Ray, I need two people at Belle Meade.”
“Problem?”
“Yes.”
“Immediate danger?”
“Not yet.”
Margaret looked toward the dark windows.
“Keep the gate controlled, keep reporters off private property, and make sure the catering staff can leave without being filmed if they want.”
“Understood.”
“And Ray?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do not remove anyone who is already here unless they are threatening someone.”
There was a brief pause.
“Got it.”
Margaret ended the call.
Vanessa stared at her.
“You’re protecting the staff.”
“I’m protecting people who came here to serve dinner.”
Vanessa looked down.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time she did not check it.
Ethan stood near the fireplace, exhausted.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Margaret looked at him.
“You call your lawyer.”
He nodded.
“You preserve the foundation records.”
Another nod.
“You speak to Melissa only through whatever process counsel recommends.”
“Yes.”
Vanessa whispered, “And me?”
Ethan looked at her for a long time.
Margaret turned away.
Whatever happened next belonged to them.
At least part of it did.
Ethan finally spoke.
“You go home tonight.”
Vanessa’s face collapsed.
“With my parents?”
“That’s your choice.”
“You don’t want me here.”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“Are we still engaged?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not answering that tonight.”
Vanessa nodded once.
It was the smallest movement she had made all evening.
Then she bent down, picked up her shoes, and stood.
At the door, she stopped beside Margaret.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Margaret could smell her perfume beneath the damp garden air still clinging to the room.
“I am sorry,” Vanessa said.
Margaret looked at her.
Vanessa did not ask to be forgiven.
That was the first thing she had done all evening that Margaret trusted.
“I know,” Margaret said.
Vanessa’s eyes filled again.
Then she left the library barefoot, carrying her shoes in one hand while her phone vibrated unanswered in the other.
The door clicked shut behind Vanessa, and for several seconds Ethan did not move.
Patricia remained in the chair across from Margaret with both hands pressed between her knees.
The party noise was gone now.
No music.
No laughter.
Only the muted sounds of staff clearing what was left.
Ethan stared at the closed door.
Then he picked up Vanessa’s abandoned champagne glass from the desk and carried it to the sideboard.
He did not drink from it.
He poured the contents into a vase holding white roses.
Margaret watched him.
“That was expensive champagne.”
“I know.”
“The roses will die.”
“They were already cut.”
She almost smiled.
He almost did too.
Neither managed it.
Patricia stood.
“I’m going to find George.”
Ethan turned.
“You should go with Vanessa.”
“She doesn’t want me.”
“That may not be the deciding factor tonight.”
Patricia’s face tightened.
Margaret saw the retort arrive and disappear.
For once, Patricia seemed too tired to use it.
She looked at Margaret.
“You got what you came for.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
Patricia gave a small, bitter smile.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it remains true.”
Patricia walked toward the door.
At the threshold, she stopped.
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw her?”
Margaret did not answer.
Patricia looked at the floor.
“I thought someone had failed to secure the property.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Patricia continued.
“I did not think about whether you were cold.”
Her voice was quieter now.
“I did not think about where you might have come from.”
She swallowed.
“I thought about whether the photographs would look bad.”
Margaret felt something painful move through her anger.
Patricia looked up.
“That is not how I imagined myself.”
Nobody responded.
Patricia opened the door.
“I suppose people rarely do.”
Then she left.
Ethan sat in the chair Vanessa had occupied.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Margaret stayed where she was.
She wanted to touch his shoulder.
She did not.
“You knew about the driver,” he said.
“Yes.”
“The housekeeper.”
“Yes.”
“And Melissa?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I should have.”
“That isn’t yours.”
“I run the foundation.”
“You run a company, a foundation, three boards, and apparently an engagement party where nobody knows who owns the house.”
He looked at her.
The corner of his mouth moved.
Then the expression vanished.
“She stole from me.”
“Yes.”
“And sold access to me.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the window.
“I feel stupid.”
Margaret let that sit.
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of his phone.
“I’m supposed to notice things.”
“You notice balance sheets.”
“Apparently not people.”
“That is dramatic.”
He looked at her sharply.
She shrugged.
“You asked for a mother, not a publicist.”
He leaned back.
“You tested her because you thought I wouldn’t listen.”
“Yes.”
“And you were probably right.”
Margaret hesitated.
“That does not make what I did right.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“It makes it worse.”
She accepted that.
Ethan stood and paced toward the fireplace.
“When did you stop trusting my judgment?”
Margaret felt the question land somewhere old.
“I did not.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is true.”
“You had investigators look into someone I planned to marry.”
“Security review.”
“That is investigator with better stationery.”
Margaret gave him a tired look.
“Fair.”
He crossed his arms.
“So when?”
Margaret stared at the cold coffee in her hand.
A memory came with the smell of burned grounds.
A hospital waiting room eight years earlier.
Ethan standing beneath fluorescent lights while his father lay dying two floors above.
He had been trying to negotiate with a surgeon about treatment options he did not understand.
May you like
He had spoken too quickly.
Asked for more data.
