“And did you surprise him?”
She stared at Liz. There was still time to run. But she said, “Them.”
Liz closed her eyes and nodded. “Ah, them.”
“It’s so damned corny.”
“No, it’s fucking not,” Liz said.
“He was there with his assistant. His blonde assistant. A little babydoll version of me.”
“Asshole.”
“Michael likes blondes.” Caroline tried a smile that didn’t take. “You’d better watch out.”
Liz shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t satirize it. Or yourself. Own it, baby. Own it.”
“After I disturbed them I ran for the car and I drove into a blizzard and I was speeding and I lost control and killed my baby and damn near killed myself.” She felt hot, wet ugly tears on her face. She let them fall in their profusion. It was the first time she had cried since that night. “It was Michael who found me. Not a cop. Michael.”
Liz came to her and embraced her and was unsqueamish about the tears and the snot. “Ah, baby, they’re all bastards. They’re all such fucking bastards.”
30
Michael was in the passenger seat of a silver Porsche driven by an urbane Thai lawyer nicknamed Tin who sported a K-pop haircut and a Patek Philippe wristwatch.
Tin laughed as he steered between a scrap metal dealer and a sanitary goods warehouse.
“The surroundings worrying you, Mike?”
Michael shrugged. “Pretty low-rent.”
“Don’t worry, mate. This is where we shop for jewelry. Doesn’t look flashy, but the merchandise is prime and no bloody farang prices.”
Tin, a few years younger than Michael, had been educated in Auckland, and spoke with a Kiwi twang.
When Michael had asked him his Thai name he’d laughed and said, “Just stick with Tin, mate. It’s a lot safer.”
He’d had used the lawyer’s services a few times to draft contracts and they’d become, if not friends, then more than acquaintances, so when Michael had sought Tin’s advice on a purchase he’d insisted on bringing him here.
Tin stopped the car outside a windowless bunker with a small sign in Thai.
He cracked his door and stood out into the heat.
He was tall for a Thai, dressed in skinny jeans, sneakers and a baggy T-shirt.
Michael followed him to a serious looking metal door.
Tin pressed a button and words were exchanged before the door buzzed and the lawyer ushered Michael inside.
He was in a brightly lit room with rows of glass display cases.
A middle-aged man appeared and waid.
Tin responded and they spoke.
The man turned to Michael. “You look for earring?”
“Yes. Diamond.”
“Come please.”
Michael followed him and the man indicated a selection of diamond earrings in a display case.
Michael spotted them immediately.
He pointed.
“Could I see those?”
The man smiled and spoke in Thai to Tin who laughed.
“He says you’ve got bloody good taste, Mike. Expensive, too.”
The man laid the earrings on a little velvet mat plump as cat’s fur.
Michael picked them up, dangling them between thumb and index finger.
They winked at him.
“Yes. Perfect. I’ll take them.”
The man nodded and half-bowed and left with the earrings and Michael’s credit card.
“You don’t mess around, do you Mike? You must’ve screwed up something terrible.” Tin saw Michael’s face. “Sorry, mate. That was bloody rude.”
Michael laughed. “No, not at all. They’re a peace offering, it’s true.”
As the man returned with Michael’s card and a small blue box, Tin said, “Well, I reckon that detente is not going to be an issue here.”
31
Charlie sat at his usual table at the hospital coffee shop where Caroline couldn’t fail to see him when she made her way from her session.
He had his phone propped up against his empty coffee cup, buds in his ears, watching Hitchcock’s Vertigo for maybe the hundredth time. The irony was exquisite—Kim Novak playing two look-alike blondes. And it was one of his favorite movies.
As Novak plunged to her death from a bell tower he glanced up and saw Caroline walking toward him, smiling. Her limp was barely perceptible.
Charlie stood, losing the ear buds.
“Darling!” He gestured toward the empty chair. “Join me?”
“Yes. I have time for a quick coffee.”
As she seated herself he waved at the waitress and pointed at his cup and held up two fingers.
He scrutinized Caroline, not buying Liz’s evasive answer on the phone earlier.
Something had happened. Caroline’s slightly puffy eyes were evidence of that. But she looked radiantly happy.
Who knew with women?
“What?” Caroline said as he stared at her.
He laughed and wagged a hand. “Sorry. I was just lost in admiration. You look fabulous.”
“Well, I’ve had some good news.”
“Do tell.”
“After my session I saw my doctor. I won’t need to be back here for at least a month. He’s advised a therapy session every four to six weeks, just to keep my leg supple.”
“Well, I’m thrilled for you, of course, but I’m going to miss seeing you.”
Caroline had her phone in her hand. “Well, we must swap numbers.”
Before she could continue one of the reception staff in their ludicrous purple skirts appeared.
“Madame. You are Miss Caroline?”
“Yes,” she said. “Caroline Tate.”
“We need please to update your medical insurance information. Please to come to desk.” She pointed back to the reception area.
“Now?”
“Please, madame. Sorry.”
Caroline stood. “I won’t be a minute,” she said to Charlie.
“I’ll be here.”
Caroline walked away. She left her phone lying on the table. Out of habit Charlie was thinking of lifting it and having a squizz at what treasures it may contain when it blinked and purred. An incoming text.
He checked that Caroline was safely over at the reception desk and lifted the phone and read a message from Michael Tate.
I’ll be at Blues for a drink at five thirty. Why don’t you join me after your appointment?
Obeying an impulse he didn't question, he deleted the message and replaced the phone.
Checking that Caroline was still detained, he lifted his own phone and called Liz.
“Something wrong?” she said.
“No, darling. Nothing at all. FYI hubby will be having a drink at Blues in a half hour. He sent wifey a text asking her to join him, which I have made evaporate.”
“Jesus, that was risky.”
“It wasn’t, I promise. I’ll try and keep her here as long as I can. Why don’t you put on your glad rags and get on over there?”
Caroline was on her way back and he ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.
“All sorted?” he said.
“Yes. Red tape.”
Their coffees came and she sipped hers.
“So,” she said, “why are you back here? Another wellness package?”
“I have a confession,” he said. “I’m not here for the wellness packages.”
She laughed. “Let me guess. A little nipping and tucking.” She saw his face and put her fingers to her lips. “Oh God, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
Charlie smiled back. “Not at all. I’ve had more than my share of elective surgery, believe me.” He pushed his hair away from his face. “Do you think this gorgeousness comes naturally?” He laughed. “But now it’s something a little less frivolous.”
She was staring at him.
“I have cancer, darling.”
“I’m so sorry. Is it—?”
He f
ound his bravest grin. “Let’s just say I won’t be sending out Christmas cards this year.” She gaped, lips open on white teeth. “I’ll spare you all the gory details, but it’s very aggressive. Stage Four.”
Caroline looked shaken. Her phone warbled and she looked at it.
“Sorry,” she said to Charlie, “It’s my car. I’ll tell the driver to wait.”
“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to interfere with your plans.”
Caroline waved this away and spoke to the driver, telling him she would be a while longer. She set her phone down and stared at Charlie.
“This is terrible news. Do you have family who can be with you?”
He shook his head. “I fired that lot years ago.” He sipped his coffee. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“No,” she said, “please. Give me your phone number.”
He rattled off a random number and she dutifully entered it into her phone.
“Now take mine,” she said.
“Darling, it’s okay, really.”
“No. I insist.”
He reached for his phone and saved her number.
“If you need anything, ever, you call. Hear?” Caroline said.
“Yes. You’re very sweet.” He smiled valiantly. “Now you run along.”
“We’ll speak very soon?” She said, standing.
“Yes, yes. You’ll regret giving me your number. I’m a terrible pest.”
“I doubt that.” She moved her hair away from her face. “God, I don’t know what to say Charlie. I’m at a loss for words.”
“You’ve been more than kind. It was lovely to see you. And I’m so pleased about your leg.”
She came in and gave him an awkward hug. She was not a huggy person, and he could tell it cost her. He almost laughed.
But he faked a tragic smile and waved at her and watched her walk away.
32
When Michael entered the swanky cocktail lounge the tuxedoed barman, a cadaverous figure with teeth like piano keys, bowed at him and said, “The usual, sir?”
Michael nodded and took a seat at the counter.
He had been here maybe five times. Twice with Caroline.
The place was nearly empty. A yellow man with the beak of a carrion bird sat slumped farther down the counter and in a far booth a florid farang romanced a bored-looking Thai woman who chewed gum.
The barman brought Michael his Scotch and soda with two cubes of ice.
For no good reason Michael never drank hard liquor at home. He sipped the drink and it made him feel more American. He couldn’t say why.
He looked at his watch and thought about calling Caroline.
No.
If she came she came.
He touched a hand to his hip pocket and felt the little box containing the earrings. He wanted to give them to her here, rather than at home. If she received them coolly at least there’d be whiskey to buffer the blow.
A movement caught his eye and Liz Keller was standing over him.
“Michael! What are you doing here?”
He lifted his Scotch. “Drinking.”
“Well, it’s the place for it.” She laughed. “I was just in the coffee shop. I was meant to meet a potential client but he stood me up. So I’m here to drown my sorrows.”
Michael pointed to a stool. “Join me, please.”
She sat and her skirt rode up and he looked away, watching the fish in the tank behind the bar. A minnow, nothing more than an inky little blur, was swallowed by a fat yellow predator with red fins.
The barman was hovering.
“I’ll have what my friend’s having,” Liz said, and Michael turned toward her.
It was only when he saw her blue eyes narrow quizzically, triggering a fine lattice of wrinkles at their corners, that he realized he was staring at her.
He drank to cover his embarrassment.
Her drink came. She held the glass in her right hand. Her fingers were long and looked as if they possessed a sinewy strength; the nails cut short and painted a pale ivory. The nail on her index finger was a little ragged, as if it had been chewed.
Liz lifted the glass. “Chok dee.”
“That’s Thai?”
“Uh huh.”
“Impressive.”
“Now don’t get all excited. I only know about three words.”
“That’s three more than me.”
Liz took a belt of her drink. Caroline was a sipper. Liz’s mouth was more voluptuous than his wife’s.
He was staring again. She held his gaze and when he looked down at his drink she laughed. A breeze tickling a wind chime.
33
At sunset Caroline swam gentle, lazy laps in the infinity pool. As she switched from crawl to breastroke the illusion was complete. She couldn’t tell where the ocean ended and the pool began.
She swam to the side and lifted herself from the water, watching the play of light on the sea. She shook drops from her hair and pushed it back with her fingers.
Unburdening herself to Liz Keller had left her feeling lighter. And Charlie Hepworth’s revelation about his illness—as awful as it was—had forced her to examine her own life.
She remembered how happy she had been before the accident, and suddenly she wanted to be with Michael. Be with him without the barriers she had erected to punish him.
Barriers that had punished her, too.
She reached for her phone and dialed his number. Voice mail. She didn’t leave a message.
Caroline met Michael Tate in a bookstore in Boston.
Shortly after her twenty-second birthday the double death of her parents in a car accident had brought her home from UCLA where she was completing her MFA in creative writing. She was tasked with the painful business of burying them, settling their will and disposing of her childhood home.
For the first few days she was back she’d stayed at the house in Cambridge but it had proved too traumatizing so, after the funeral, she moved to a B&B a few blocks away.
Each afternoon she would retreat to a nearby bookstore to browse and read, soothed by the warmth trapped between the rows of neatly stacked shelves.
She was sitting in the coffee shop of the bookstore reading a newly-purchased copy of The Bostonians (a book she had somehow neglected) when a wave of grief and panic caused a sudden fall of tears.
She laid the Henry James on the table, hunting in her purse for tissues, when she heard a voice say, “Can I offer you this?”
She looked up into the face of a very good looking man of around thirty, who was holding out a dazzlingly clean, perfectly pressed handkerchief.
Honking like a Canada goose she buried her nose in the linen, inhaling the pleasantly antiseptic smell of starch. Michael waved a hand when she tried to return his hankie.
Her father had been the only man she’d known who’d still used handkerchiefs and this made her decide that this stranger was to be trusted.
So when he asked her to join him at his table she agreed. He plied her with coffee and cinnamon rolls and his reassuring presence got her opening up about her grief and the overwhelming responsibilities she faced.
Michael regarded her over steepled fingers and said, “I think you could use a guardian angel.”
She managed a laugh. “Do you know of any fluttering about?”
He pointed at his chest. “Me.”
And he was.
Michael was very well connected in the city and he guided her effortlessly though the painful business she had to complete. He introduced her to probate lawyers and realtors and the unpleasant process went more smoothly than she could ever have dreamt.
And in those weeks Michael became indispensable.
His own story surfaced in portions as discreet as those served in the hushed restaurants he took to escorting her to.
He was unmarried and, like her, a singleton orphan.
On the subject of his career all he revealed was that he was an architect. She would only learn about his vast wealth lat
er.
One night, at his apartment in the city, they became lovers.
And he was gentle, sweet and attentive.
Everything she wanted in a man.
Less than a year later she married him and they went to live in the house in Newton. By then she knew that he could’ve lived anywhere, lived like a prince or a pasha, but the fact that he chose a house that was undoubtedly comfortable but not ostentatious pleased her.
Caroline was happier than she could ever have imagined.
She had loved Michael Tate.
But the emotion she had felt most strongly for him was the one she prized above all others.
She had trusted him completely.
34
Michael was more than a little loaded. They’d moved to a booth where Liz said she was allowed to smoke. Michael wondered how true this was. But nobody had tried to stop her.
Liz took a long drag on her cigarette, closing her eyes as she tilted her chin and exhaled. Then she looked at him through the scrim of smoke. Her tongue slid between her lips and she used her thumb and index fingers to remove a fleck of tobacco from its tip and Michael wanted to kiss her hard.
His phone rang. When he saw Caroline’s name he sent it to voice mail.
“The ball and chain?” Liz said and laughed and tapped her glass.
Ting, ting.
Michael laughed too.
“Do you have to go?” she said.
He shook his head and waved to the barman for refills.
On impulse he took the little box out of his pocket and opened it.
“What do you think of these?”
She tilted the box so that the earrings caught the flare of a down light.
“You have good taste. Caroline’s a lucky woman.”
Michael shrugged. “I’m not sure she’d agree.” He removed the earrings and held them out to her. “Put them on.”
Good Friends Page 7