Chương 4
“What was in it?”
“Letters. Probate copies. Old photographs. Notes about the trust.”
“What trust?”
Celeste paused.
“That part should come from documents, not from me.”
Madeline laughed once, without humor.
“You call me at my engagement party, tell me my dead mother’s name is in my ring, tell me my fiancé went through her private files and tracked me down, and now you’re worried about procedure?”
“Yes.”
The answer was so calm Madeline had no immediate response.
Celeste continued.
“Because frightened people believe the first explanation that makes the fear stop. Adrian knows that. Your father knows it too. I have made that mistake myself.”
Madeline looked at Nora.
Nora gave a small shrug that meant the woman had a point.
“What do you want from me?” Madeline asked.
“Tonight? Nothing.”
“Nobody does this for nothing.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want you not to marry him before you know why he found you.”
The call ended five minutes later.
Celeste gave Madeline the name of the attorney currently holding copies of Joanna’s custodial records and nothing else.
No address.
No dramatic warning.
No demand that Madeline trust her.
That restraint bothered Madeline more than panic would have.
At twelve thirty Adrian called.
She let it ring.
At twelve thirty-two he called again.
At twelve forty-six he sent a voice message.
Madeline listened to the first four seconds.
“Please don’t let Celeste—”
She stopped it.
Nora stayed on the couch.
Around two in the morning Madeline brought her a blanket.
Nora opened one eye.
“You have guest sheets.”
“I know.”
“They’re in the closet.”
“I know.”
“This blanket smells like cedar.”
“I know.”
Nora pulled it over herself anyway.
Madeline went back to her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed in her gown.
The silver heels had left red marks across the tops of her feet.
She unpinned her hair.
For the first time that night, she cried hard.
Not elegantly.
Not silently.
She pressed a towel to her face because she was afraid Nora would hear.
The next morning there were eleven missed calls from Adrian, four from her father, three from people at the museum, and one from a number belonging to a gossip reporter Madeline had met twice and disliked both times.
A video of the gala had appeared online.
It showed only twenty-three seconds.
Madeline throwing the ring.
Her accusation.
Adrian saying, “Don’t say another word.”
Nothing after that.
The clip had been filmed from behind a flower arrangement. Whoever recorded it had zoomed badly, then steadied just in time to catch Madeline leaving.
By nine fifteen it had been reposted thousands of times.
Nora stood in the kitchen wearing one of Madeline’s old college sweatshirts and no makeup.
“This is why civilization is going to end.”
Madeline poured coffee.
“Because somebody filmed me?”
“Because the caption says ‘Billionaire Engagement Implodes Over Dead Wife Bombshell’ and nobody involved is a billionaire.”
Adrian probably hated that too.
The thought came without permission.
Madeline sat at the table.
Her museum director called at nine twenty.
Caroline Boone was sixty-four and spoke like every sentence had already been edited by counsel.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming in?”
“I was planning to.”
“Don’t.”
Madeline closed her eyes.
Caroline continued. “That was not punitive.”
“It sounded punitive.”
“It was practical. There are photographers outside. We have a school group arriving at ten. I do not want fourth graders from Queens learning the phrase dead wife bombshell in the Egyptian wing.”
Madeline rubbed her temple.
“Fair.”
“Are any museum funds involved in whatever this is?”
“No.”
“Any donor issue?”
“I don’t know.”
A pause.
“That is not the answer I wanted.”
“I know.”
“Find out.”
Caroline’s voice softened slightly.
“And eat something.”
The call ended.
Madeline stared into her coffee.
Nora opened the refrigerator.
“You have mustard, olives, half a lemon, and champagne.”
“I travel.”
“You avoid grocery stores.”
“I don’t avoid them.”
“When did you last go?”
Madeline thought about it.
Nora shut the refrigerator.
“That’s what I thought.”
At ten eleven the doorman called upstairs.
“Ms. Cross, Mr. Cole is here.”
Madeline’s stomach tightened.
Nora looked at her.
Madeline said, “Send him up.”
Nora mouthed, Are you insane?
Madeline covered the phone.
“I need to hear what he says before he knows what I know.”
Nora considered this.
Then she picked up the heavy ceramic vase from the entry table.
“Put that down.”
“It’s decorative.”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
Nora carefully returned it.
Adrian entered wearing the same tuxedo trousers from the night before, a gray cashmere sweater, and the exhausted expression of a man accustomed to solving problems before other people noticed them.
His eyes went immediately to Nora.
“I’d like to speak to Madeline alone.”
“No,” Madeline said.
He looked at her.
She was wearing black pants and an oversized white shirt. No makeup. No earrings. She had chosen the clothes because Adrian had never seen her in them.
That embarrassed her.
Even now, some part of her was dressing against him.
“Fine,” he said.
He remained by the door.
Madeline folded her arms.
“Celeste Vale.”
Adrian’s jaw shifted.
“What did she tell you?”
“That depends on what you’re about to tell me.”
“Madeline, this is exactly what she does.”
Nora leaned against the wall.
Adrian ignored her.
“She takes something true, something ugly enough that you’ll believe the next thing, and then she builds from there.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Were you married to her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell me she died?”
“Yes.”
Nora made a quiet sound.
Adrian looked briefly toward her.
“Do you mind?”
“Very much,” Nora said.
Madeline held up a hand.
“Why?”
Adrian’s attention returned to her.
“Because saying my former wife disappeared during a breakdown and later contacted me through attorneys was not a conversation I wanted to have on our third date.”
“You told me she died on our fifth.”
“I told you the version everybody knew.”
“You paid for a funeral.”
May you like
“A memorial.”
“You let people think she was dead.”
