“I was sharing a moment, Beatrice, not the whole picture. I’m sorry I said all those things. I shouldn’t have, it was unfair of me. I can’t take it back, but I wish I hadn’t said it.”
“Well, never mind. It’s just us girls. And I do understand, really I do. But I will say this—he’s lucky to have you.”
“Okay, let’s leave it at that then.”
“Of course. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We made a deal, you and me, and I’m not asking to see War and Peace here, just two pages. After that, who knows?”
I felt myself relax, enjoying the conversation again. “Okay, you’re on. Two pages, then.”
“Tightly spaced, eleven-point type. No cheating.”
“Got it.”
“That man of yours, when is he back? Because I want to steal you for myself this evening. Would you mind?”
“He’s back tomorrow, but—”
“Wonderful! Come with me to Craig Barnes’s little soiree. He’s a friend of mine. You’ll love him, and you’ll meet all sorts of fascinating people who write fascinating things. Please say yes?”
I hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment.
Do something different, Emma: meet different people, nurture this new friendship with this amazing woman.
“I’d love to.”
“Wonderful! I’m so glad! Will you meet me here? At my apartment? We’ll go from here?”
I spent the rest of the day giddy with excitement.
“Emma, darling, look at you! You look beautiful!” I was wearing a knee-length dress with short sleeves. It was red with large poppies. I loved that dress. It had been a gift from one of my suppliers, who designed the most wonderful printed fabrics. Beatrice looked stunning in a black and white dress—maybe a bit too much jewelry for my taste, lots of gold bracelets, that sort of thing, but on her, it worked.
I thought we both looked pretty good, but she looked way better.
I’d never been in an apartment as beautiful and opulent as this. It was even better than my mother’s and my ideal home. “Come in, darling—this way.” She took my arm and guided me down a long, bright hallway.
“Oh my gosh, this is something else. I suppose you have a den? A morning room? A hall of mirrors?”
“A morning room? Hardly. What would I do with it? I’m never up in the morning. The hall of mirrors is through there, however.”
We both burst out laughing. She put an arm around my shoulders and we walked into a very large, modern living room. It was beautiful, with a polished stone floor and colorful rugs positioned here and there that helped define inner spaces. But it was the windows at the far end that drew the eye—wide and tall, curved at the top. Dominating the room was a large curving staircase with a blue carpet running down the center of it.
“My God! It’s a duplex!”
“Yes, darling. The bedrooms are upstairs, and my office—my writing room. George’s office is downstairs, along with, you know”—she flapped her hand vaguely—“everything else down here.”
At the far end of the room was a large sitting area, and to the left, an alcove, and as we reached it I gasped in surprise and wonder. Water cascaded down a large copper wall into a stone riverbed. The sound was quiet and delicious.
“Ah yes, the water feature.”
It was mesmerizing. I put my hand through the water and touched the copper wall behind it. “Amazing, really.”
“Isn’t it? And you know, it helps cool the room in summer.”
I gazed at the fountain a while longer, until Beatrice took me by the hand. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
We walked over to the bar. I couldn’t stop admiring everything—the tall ceilings, the lovely rugs, the colors. What would she think of my much humbler home? I thought. I’d always loved my home. I’d decorated it exactly as I wanted, to make it comfortable, light, warm, and welcoming. Now I wondered for the first time if I hadn’t made it ordinary instead.
She handed me a glass. “Try this. I made it especially for you.”
I took a sip, spat it back out. “It’s revolting!” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Really?” She took it back from me with an exaggerated sigh. “I really thought I’d nailed it this time. I’m trying to invent cocktails: it’s my new hobby. I was experimenting with vermouth. Does anyone drink vermouth anymore? Never mind. Here, have a Pinot Gris instead.” She retrieved a bottle from the wine cooler and poured me a glass.
“George isn’t here?” I’d have liked to meet her husband.
“Yes, he is, somewhere. Probably in his office looking at numbers on a screen, the phone stuck to his ear.” She made a vague gesture toward the other rooms.
She told me George was some kind of financier, that he ran his own investment fund, and that he was very successful at it. “He must be very clever,” I said. “I can’t imagine working with things so—intangible, values that may or may not materialize.”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. I like to think he trades in hope.”
“More of a dream catcher hopefully,” said a voice behind me.
“Ah, there you are! Darling! Come and be met!” She stretched an arm toward him to welcome him into our little fold.
I knew there was an age difference between them—that he was about ten years younger than Beatrice—but seeing them together you’d never have known. He was very handsome, and very . . . dignified, I thought. The two of them were a perfect match, and in their beautiful surroundings, they looked like royalty.
“I’m not staying. I have masses of work to get through, but I heard the door.”
I put my hand forward to shake his, but instead he took mine and bowed slightly to kiss it. A gesture that would have been pompous coming from most people, but not from him. He was charming.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma. My wife talks about you often, and I’m delighted to meet a new friend of hers.”
I blushed instantly. “It’s nice to meet you too, George.” He turned to Beatrice and kissed her gently on the cheek.
“I really do have piles of work. Please don’t think me rude,” he said. “Have fun, both of you.” And he walked out of the room.
“We will!” Beatrice replied cheerily, then turned to me. “Let’s go, I’ll get my coat.”
8
“Are these the right size?” Jackie was unpacking a set of brass bookends, frowning. “They look smaller, don’t you think?”
I took a closer look at the items, which were shaped like small, sitting elephants. A bit of a novelty item for us, but they sold well.
“They look fine to me. Do they even come in another size?”
She shrugged and we continued in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you feel like getting a drink later?” Jackie asked, polishing the trunk of one of the elephants with great concentration.
I sighed inwardly.
“Can’t—we’re going to Beatrice’s for dinner, Jim and I.”
She looked up. “Is that why you’re so quiet today?”
“Am I?”
Was I? Probably. I’d been thinking about this dinner all day. Jim had still never met Beatrice, incredible as that sounded, considering how much time I’d been spending with her over the last month or so. I was so pleased that we’d been invited to dinner. I really thought that if he got to know her, he’d love her as much I did. I wanted us all to get along. In my fantasy world, which I had probably been inhabiting far too much lately, I’d started to imagine the four of us as close friends—dreaming up occasions where we dined together, visited an exhibition, went on a trip—so this invitation was certainly a step in that direction.
“Sorry, Jac.” I felt a tinge of guilt.
“It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
“Oh, no big deal, it’s been weeks since we’ve had a drink together, that’s all. I miss it.” She had polished that elephant to within an inch of its life.
Weeks. Had it be
en weeks? Of course it had. I’d been ignoring Jackie, but it had been a blur of luncheons and parties, Beatrice and I dashing off together every other day, seeing more or less the same people, the same faces. These were the people who made up Beatrice’s circle and they were all wealthy; almost all famous, or so it seemed to me; and very, very fun. I was a bit of a mystery to them, and they were very complimentary to me, as if they had never met someone who did ordinary work for a living and inhabited an ordinary house—as if it were a lifestyle choice, like joining a nunnery.
But they were friendly, welcoming even, and when we talked about this film or that exhibition, fashion week or the latest art prize, I gradually stopped feeling intimidated by their sophistication, their ease at being in the world. I had even started to think of them as my friends. They called me “Bea’s protégée.”
I always drove us to our “dos,” as she liked to call these outings. “Come along with me to this do,” she’d say. “It’ll be fun.” She always said that, and it was invariably true. I’d always drive her home. That was our ritual now, and I didn’t mind in the least. For one thing, I knew she’d get home safe, and that was important to me. Alcohol has never been my thing, and she did like to party, as they say.
“I hate catching taxis,” she told me early on. “Who wants to stand on the sidewalk doing semaphore anyway? What if someone took a photo of me—can you imagine? The embarrassment?”
I wanted to do that for her, and she was grateful. I loved doing things to help Beatrice, and why wouldn’t I, when she was so good to me? But even Jim had been making remarks about this friendship.
“You should get out more, Em. You’re shutting yourself up in here,” he’d say sarcastically. It was funny, but there was a tinge of something slithering through these jokes. Something like resentment, maybe.
And now Jackie.
I gave her a hug. “I’m sorry,” I said into her hair, “I really am. I miss you too.”
She snorted. “It’s not you I miss, it’s the alcohol.”
I chuckled.
“Seriously, Em,” she said as I released my embrace, “I’m happy for you that you have a new friend, but you know, you don’t need to completely ignore your old ones.”
“I know, you’re right.” Then I said, as if I’d only just thought of it, “You should come with us sometime. You’d love Beatrice. I know you would. And she’d love you! She will love you!”
She raised her eyes at me without lifting her head.
“Maybe,” she said finally, looking back down to her task.
We both knew I wasn’t exactly being genuine. I did want Jackie to join us, but not just yet. This friendship with Beatrice was new and exciting, and I was learning to be myself, my better self, around her. I needed to be comfortable with that before I brought in my “old” friends, as Jackie called them.
We were both relieved when the phone rang.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Brian called,” I said to Jim. We were in the car, on the way to dinner, my stomach in a knot. I’d waited for him—I couldn’t wait to tell him—but he’d been late and we’d had to leave right away if we were going to get there on time.
“Brian?” He was focused on the road.
“Yes, Brian Moreno, from First National—our banker, remember him?” I hadn’t meant to sound so flippant.
“Yep, Brian. Okay, what about him?”
“What about him? He called to get my approval on the loan you applied for.”
“The loan?”
“You put our house up as collateral, so of course he called me. He needed my signature. Want to share why you need a hundred thousand all of a sudden?”
“I’m sorry, Em, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Was he lying to me? He seemed relaxed enough, but Jim was very particular about his finances. The news that someone had tried to borrow money against our house should have sent him into a spin.
“You didn’t try to take the money out today?”
“Nope.”
“Well, someone logged in with your details and applied for the loan. Does that not worry you at all?”
He snapped his head my way. “Did Brian approve it?”
“Of course not. I just told you, he called me and I told him I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Thank God, Em! Sorry, I was really distracted there, it didn’t sink in, what you were saying. I’ll have to change my login details. I’ll do it as soon as we get home.”
“I got Brian to put a stop on your login.”
“What?”
“What was I supposed to do? You can talk to him tomorrow. He’ll issue a new password or something.”
“Oh good, good, great. Thanks, Em.”
“So it wasn’t you then?”
“No! Of course not! What would I do that for?” he said, echoing my thoughts.
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to Brian tomorrow. It’ll be okay, Em. Don’t worry.”
I started to let go of the tension I’d been holding in my stomach. I felt more relieved than I should have. Was that normal? After hearing that someone had tried to hack into our bank account?
“No problem with parking?” George asked as he reached for our coats.
“No, none at all! Thank you, George, your instructions were perfect,” I replied brightly.
“Some guy in your garage thought we were burglars, I think,” Jim said, by way of greeting.
“Not really.” I shot a look at him, then turned back to George. “One of your neighbors was parking at the same time as us. He wanted to know who we were, and who we were visiting. You can’t be too careful, I’m sure.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t call you to check,” Jim said, sneering.
“Maybe he was the robber,” I suggested lightly. God, I was already trying too hard. I needed to relax. It will be fine. Everyone will have a good time and live happily ever after.
“What did he look like?” George asked, welcoming us into the main hall.
“Thin-rimmed glasses, leather jacket, trendy haircut.”
“Sounds like Marcus. He’s harmless enough, just not used to his new surroundings. He thinks there aren’t enough CCTV cameras in the parking garage; that sort of thing. That’s what being young, running a start-up, and landing a billion-dollar IPO will do to you.”
Jim let out an admiring whistle as we walked into the living room. I couldn’t help feeling a little proud. Actually, the word is smug. There was a fire going, and the apartment was warm and welcoming.
“Not bad, hey?” I whispered, accompanied by a gentle elbow-bump on his arm.
“It’s like Louis Quatorze and Dolly Parton had a child who became an interior designer,” he muttered, not so loud as to be overtly rude, but close enough to make my spine snap straight.
“It’s nothing like that, Jim, really,” I said, whispering.
He looked at me with a half-smile. “I know—teasing.”
Beatrice joined us and went straight to greet Jim, arms spread wide, and enveloped him in a warm embrace. I knew this was awkward for him—he wasn’t a touchy-feely guy—but he’d come ready for a party, and gave back as good as he got.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you.” She hooked her arm into his. He was trying to contain his smile, I could tell.
“I have heard lots about you.” She winked at me. I wished she hadn’t done that. It made us look like we’d been gossiping.
“Well, it’s all lies. I’m actually a really nice person,” he said. Beatrice shot me a quizzical look, but it was just one of Jim’s little jokes. He always said that when someone said “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
We moved toward the windows, where George was preparing us drinks, and I showed Jim the lighting between the exposed rafters on the ceiling, with maybe more enthusiasm than was warranted.
“You must come here often,” I heard a voice say behind me.
The first thing I noticed about the woman who was f
acing me was her gray hair. It looked great. She was attractive, elegant. I shook the hand extended to me.
“I’m Hannah, Beatrice’s agent,” she said.
“Beatrice’s friend, surely!” Beatrice exclaimed. She had seated herself on the couch and was patting the place next to her. “Jim, please sit with me, so I can talk to you without having to shout across the room.”
He did as he was told, slowly. I wanted him to hurry up. Don’t keep Beatrice waiting, I almost said. Hannah and I stood together as George handed out the drinks.
“I’ve been here a few times, yes,” I said, a bit unsure of myself. Was I supposed to reply literally, as I had? I had this awful feeling that the evening was about to descend to that place where everyone got the joke except me, and the more paranoid I became, the more likely it was to happen. Pull yourself together, I told myself. What’s the matter with you?
“Home decor is a bit of a passion of mine, so I tend to go overboard when I see something I like.” I gazed around the room.
“You play the piano?” Jim was asking Beatrice. I turned to look at them and saw him pointing his chin toward the white baby grand.
“No—you?” she replied.
“No,” Jim said slowly, turning to me with one raised eyebrow. “Which is why I don’t have one,” he added with a smirk.
I quickly turned back to Hannah, smiling, pretending I hadn’t heard that little exchange, but struggling to stop the vein that was throbbing in my neck.
“So, Emma, you seem to have succeeded where many others have failed,” Hannah said.
“How so?”
“You have seduced Beatrice! Many have tried, I assure you!”
“Oh, I think it’s the other way around,” I giggled.
“I understand you’re a bit of a writer yourself ?”
“Me? Oh no! Not really. I mean, I did think, once, a long time ago, but that was, no . . .” I was rambling now, feeling myself flush deep red. To my great relief, the maid came in announcing that dinner was served.
Until I Met Her (The Emma Fern Series Book 1) Page 5