“I see… ” The silence stretched out, brittle and uncertain. “Well, I guess you’d better get ready then.”
Oh. She didn’t want to let him go so soon. “I… uh… I’ll let you know how it goes, okay?”
He didn’t immediately reply. “Sure. That’d be good.” Was it her imagination or did he sound despondent?
Say something else! Her mind screamed, though nothing came to her. “I’m really glad you called. It was nice hearing from you.” That was pathetic. He’ll think he’s being dismissed.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you next Tuesday, if all goes well.” His voice was tense and awkward now.
Instead of saying good-bye, she waited, undecided. “Simon?”
“Yup?”
“I… uh... miss seeing you, too,” she finally gambled, her heart thumping in her chest. What if he’d reconsidered his interest in the last two weeks? She had been anything but encouraging, or genuine, for that matter. Maybe he was tired of her games and thought her ridiculous. “It’s always nice to talk things over with you. You always understand,” she added for insurance. What a coward I am!
His long silence did nothing to pacify her. “Okay. I’ll see you then,” he finally said, his voice thoughtful. He said her name softly, in a hopeful whisper. It felt like a caress. She set the phone tenderly back in its cradle.
Two and a half hours later she had reviewed her files, made a page of notes and outlined a rough agenda for the meeting. She took a deep breath, gathered her papers and her coat, and called a taxi. If the weather hadn’t been so godawful all month, she could easily have walked over to the Hotel Vancouver, but the rain hadn’t let up for weeks. She had begun to feel she would never see the sun again.
Twenty minutes later, she was in the elevator heading up to suite number ten. On the way, she’d struggled, not entirely successfully, to keep her focus on the case and not let her thoughts drift to Simon. She did, after all, have to be prepared to discuss her relationship with him with Madame Duchamp and D'arcy. If only it were simple. She could hardly answer her own questions about her feelings for him, let alone theirs. But she did know that she had them and they continued to overwhelm her. Whatever happened, they weren’t through yet.
The broad corridor held the hush of an old world hotel in its thick, plush, bordered carpet, deep crown moldings and paneled wood doors, an impression they undoubtedly endeavored to maintain. She passed one discrete bellhop, who made himself silent and invisible.
When Kate knocked, D'arcy opened the door with a wan smile, and invited her into the deluxe suite. It was not overly spacious, the constraints of the old hotel’s walls overwhelming any efforts to modernize, but these limitations were more than offset by the quality of traditional appointments. Darkly polished Louis XIV furnishings and heavy tapestry draperies, sparkling chandeliers, gilt trim and gleaming brass fittings created an old-world elegance.
“How nice to see you again.” D'arcy moved aside, and gestured with a sweep of her limpid arm for Kate to enter. There was no sign of Madame Duchamp. “Mother will be out in just a moment.”
Kate took a seat at the round mahogany table to one side of the sitting room, understanding that she was to wait for an audience. Some things never changed. She smiled at D'arcy.
“How was your trip?” She made a point of seeming relaxed, shucking her coat and tossing it over a chair and reaching for her briefcase. It occurred to her that D'arcy was perhaps the most tense of all of them and Kate should do her best to set her at ease. “Here, sit down and talk to me.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” D'arcy asked, standing awkwardly a few feet away. Kate studied her oddly shy demeanor. Her formerly cherubic but chiseled face was now just plain plump though her complexion much improved. She wore her usual dark shadow and eyeliner and thick long lashes, as well as shimmering rosy lipstick. The pale lips and dark eyes in the round, porcelain face brought the idealized beauty of Noh theatre masks to mind. Kate imagined she’d had a couple of weeks of good sleep and pampering at home. Odd that after six years of marriage, her parent’s home might still seem more hers than the one she shared with Eli.
“No, thanks. Water’s fine,” she replied with a wave of her hand, noticing the cut crystal water jug and glasses standing ready on a tray. Before D'arcy came closer, Kate noted that she seemed heavier altogether and lacked a distinct waist. She wore a knee-length blush pink cashmere cardigan over a loose-fitting blouse, the crisp white collar points drawing attention to D’arcy’s graphic features and gleaming dark pageboy, expertly cut. The hard edges of the shirt and hair almost succeeded in distracting from the ample femininity of her other parts. Her breasts, for one thing, were fuller, and the blouse could no longer disguise the swell of her abdomen beneath the pleats. A light blinked on in Kate’s head, and her mouth dropped open with a gasp. “My God, D'arcy! You’re pregnant! I can’t believe it!” She shot to her feet, just as D'arcy had pulled out a chair.
D'arcy looked chagrinned as Kate embraced her, laughing.
“I guess I can’t hide it any longer,” she said meekly.
“Does Eli even… ? You must be months… ” She stood back, gripping D'arcy by the shoulders and compelling her to meet her eyes. D’arcy’s only reply was to shake her head and drop her eyes. “This is a much bigger muddle than I thought. Why did you keep it a secret?”
“I imagine that is a woman’s prerogative, don’t you, Miss O’Day?” interrupted a rich, sonorous contralto from the doorway to the adjacent bedroom, a voice she instantly recognized. Kate stiffened and looked up, curious and uneasy.
Kate corrected her posture. “Up to a point, Madame Duchamp, I suppose, depending upon the circumstances.” She stepped toward the sturdy, round-faced grey-haired woman who had just entered the room, extending her hand. “How do you do?” Kate was stunned; not only did she sound like the Queen, she even bore a resemblance, less a decade or so. She might have laughed were she not so intimidated.
Lowering her heavy-lidded eyes in disdain, D’arcee’s mother ignored the offering, turning to close the door, and swept haughtily into the room toward the table. “Please sit down.” Kate had met other women like her before. She was of a certain generation, accustomed to privilege and power and her style reflected this. She filled a well-tailored short jacket in quilted, plum silk, and a coordinating wool skirt and silver blouse, like a seamstresses mannequin, generously padded and smooth. Kate’e eye caught on a large amethyst pin in the shape of a quail, with a coil of silver on its head, pinned to her lapel.
Kate was only too glad to get going. “Please, after you,” she gestured for Madame Duchamp to take a seat and waited for both she and D'arcy before she took her own. She was determined not to be cowed by Madame Duchamp’s dismissive manner and regal bearing and equally determined to take the bull, so to speak, by the horns.
“I’m quite certain you’ve had a full report from Sharon Beckett, D'arcy, and much as I’d like to launch right into our discussion about the mediation, especially in light of recent… ” she dipped her chin “… developments, I sense a certain reticence on your part and I’d like to address your concerns around Sharon’s complaint before we continue.”
Madame Duchamp raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow and inclined her head ever so slightly. “That suits me, Miss O’Day. I trust you have your defense prepared.”
Kate’s breath caught, and she met D’arcy’s eye, which was determinedly blank. Why did she put up with her mother’s controlling ways? She continued to address D'arcy instead of letting the older woman take control. “On the contrary. I’d like to know exactly what you’ve heard, and then I’d be happy to clear things up for you.” She would not to be drawn into a mock trial, as Madame Duchamp appeared to have her verdict prepared. She would take an entirely different approach. Still uncertain what the dynamic was between D'arcy and her mother, she kept one eye on D'arcy while waiting for her mother to reply.
“Your name came highly recommended to me, Miss O’Day, when D'arcy
informed me of her desire to pursue mediation and it is with great dismay that I have learned of your unprofessional conduct in allowing your personal affairs to interfere with your representation of my daughter’s interests.”
So it’s to be like that, is it? Well, Kate knew how to disarm such obtuse and pompous speech. She leaned forward on her elbows, meeting Madame Duchamps eye directly. “Please. Remind me in precisely which way I have behaved unprofessionally?”
Madame Duchamp’s eyes widened but Kate had no reason to fear that she was too reserved to speak frankly when invited. “Why, you are alleged to be having an affair with the legal representative for the opposing side. You’re completely biased. Please don’t play games with me.”
While inwardly she bristled, Kate leaned back and smiled. “On the contrary, I never play games. I’m so relieved to hear you use the word ‘alleged.’ It would have distressed me greatly to hear that Ms. Beckett claimed to have evidence of such an indiscretion, for truly, how could she, or anyone, know the nature and extent of my relationship with Mr. Sharpe?” Madame Duchamp leaned forward incrementally, her pencil thin brows flattening, poised for her next attack, but before she could leap at the deliberate lure Kate had dangled, she continued. “I will confess to one thing, however.”
Kate enjoyed observing the sharp spark of triumph that darted fleetingly across Madame Duchamp’s features, with a curl of her lips and a narrowing of her eyes in anticipation. “I admit to having a prior relationship with Mr. Sharpe, which I failed to disclose the day he walked into the boardroom at Flannigan, Searle, Meacham & Beckett. We hadn’t seen each other for almost fifteen years and quite frankly I was shocked and embarrassed.” She paused, and met D’arcy’s eye, wondering if she would find an ally or opponent there. She’d been surprisingly mute, her smoky eyes darting back and forth. “I regret that now, though I still have no idea what I should or could have said in the moment. Perhaps a simple, ‘Blow me away, it’s my old lover, Simon,’ would have sufficed, though the way Ms. Beckett has been carrying on, I strongly doubt it.”
“Are you suggesting Ms. Beckett has been biased in her assertions, Miss. O’Day?”
This was a touchy area. Kate pursed her lips and met Madame Duchamp’s eye steadily. “I’m not interested in retaliating with allegations of my own. I would only suggest that Ms. Beckett, too, has known Mr. Sharpe for many years and has, in my opinion, been overly eager in her attention to the matter, despite my reassurances.”
Madame Duchamp’s interest was piqued. “Handsome man, this Simon Sharpe?” she queried D'arcy for confirmation of this, a lively sparkle in her eye. D'arcy sat upright, an expression of feigned innocence on her face and shrugged.
Kate leaned forward, her hands open on the table, ready to make her case in earnest. “The point is, the mediation was entered into in good faith despite the erstwhile relationship. And in response to your assumptions, first of all, in mediation, there are no ‘sides.’ I am not a judge and I don’t view D'arcy and Eli, or their legal counsel, as opponents. I’m a facilitator and I believe —and D'arcy can confirm this— that I’ve done an excellent job facilitating communication and reconciliation between them. Hence my excellent reputation. Mr. Sharpe may have been a distraction,” she shook her head, concluding with her assurances in the spirit of confidence, “but there is no way possible his presence can have affected my objectivity or ability to work for my clients —either of them.”
D'arcy spoke up finally. “It’s true Mother. Kate’s been wonderful.”
“Yes, I see.” Madame Duchamp acknowledged dryly, eyeing her closely, reluctant to give away her advantage. “And what of your relationship with Mr. Sharpe now?”
Kate pressed her lips together and shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I really don’t know. I can’t deny that we have some… ” she waved her hand vaguely in the air, “…unfinished business between us. But it’s very complicated. I can promise you that whatever it is will wait until my clients’ needs are met. To the extent that it is within my power, I can also promise that I will not see Mr. Sharpe privately or socially outside of our sessions until the case is concluded. You see, there is no affair.” Kate had not planned this, but surely it was a commitment she could keep, and was worth something. A little more time to think and a bit of distance was probably a good thing. And her promise to Eli would not be broken, only postponed.
“That’s not really necessary is it?” D'arcy said she was not worried about Kate’s objectivity —that she had already proven herself. D'arcy petitioned her mother, “They’re both such lovely people.” Despite the sweet kindness of her words, D'arcy regarded Kate with deliberate intensity.
Kate didn’t answer, but smiled wryly and eyed D'arcy and then her mother.
“And what of Ms. Beckett’s complaint?” enquired Madame Duchamp.
Kate shrugged, making light of it. “Nothing for you to worry about.” She smiled, knowing she herself had plenty of worry ahead.
“Hmph.” Madame Duchamp appeared to be satisfied. “Shall we ring for tea, girls?” Girls? Kate interpreted this as a good sign.
While she waited, her thoughts drifted to Simon and how compatible they really were, how attuned and well-matched their tempers, how safe and comfortable she felt with him, despite her irrational fears, and they were irrational, she realized. Events and experiences from long ago affected her mind and her emotions, but had no bearing on what they had together. It was up to her to keep the past in perspective and to move beyond it.
She pondered his call this morning, and the tender feelings it triggered.
Already, her life felt dull and barren without him. She missed his erudition, his spiritual questing, the charmed and warm-hearted humour with which he regarded people, but most of all his perceptive insight into the human soul. If a relationship with him didn’t pan out, she would miss his friendship, his companionship, and something more, something intangible she couldn’t put her finger on, an irresistible force that defied words. She had a compulsion to slip out and call him, just to bring him somehow nearer, but realized this was a foolish longing. She had no reason to call, for the meat of the discussion was yet to occur.
Minutes later, room service having been bidden and D'arcy having made a visit to the toilet, they faced each other again as allies.
Once more, Kate resumed the discussion in the driver’s seat. Using her summary notes, she guided Madame Duchamp through the key points of the case and the essential terms of the draft resolution. Normally, Kate would not provide such detail to a third party, but it was clear this woman played a pivotal role, and besides, Kate needed to butter her up.
It was evident from her comments and questions that D’arcy’s mother was very loving and doting and, in her efforts to protect her daughter, this came across in hard-driving expectations with regard to Eli. It was no wonder he could never measure up. Kate didn’t envy him membership in this dynasty.
“The bottom line, ma’am, is that D'arcy isn’t a little girl anymore. She’s a grown woman capable of managing her own affairs, despite her trust fund.” Kate pulled back, precluding rebuke, as she drove her final point home. “But D'arcy and Eli can’t make their relationship work unless you… ” she paused, looking for the best word, “ … agree to abdicate responsibility, so to speak.” Eyes darting from Madame Duchamp to D'arcy and back, she resumed in an upbeat tone.
“I think what’s needed is a fresh start. You got off on the wrong foot with Eli seven years ago, and…” Kate watched Madame Duchamp’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Well, he’s more than proven himself worthy, but the present is tainted by the past.” Even as the words left her lips, Kate reeled with the significance of her statement, which echoed in her head. She continued, determined. “You need to clear the air, and then, start again. I believe you and Eli need to meet, to talk, and come to some kind of understanding. After all, there’s the baby to consider.” This fact still stunned Kate as she looked pointedly at D'arcy but it occurred to her that it would likely wo
rk in her favour.
“And you, Miss D'arcy, need to tell your husband about the baby in question. I can’t believe you’ve kept it from him, and from all of us, until now.” She raised both hands, as if to contain the wonder in her head, and shook them.
D’arcy’s expression was pained, but then she explained that she didn’t want Eli to compromise out of guilt or a sense of duty. She was waiting for him to commit to her as an individual. She needed him to declare his love and devotion to her and to their partnership without that added pressure.
“I can understand that, but relationships are built on trust. I don’t know what Eli’s going to say or do when he learns of this. This adds a whole new dimension to our discussions. We’ll have to tread carefully and you need to be prepared to accept an emotional response, to which… he is fully entitled.” She reached for D’arcy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t judge him too quickly on this.”
Kate tried to understand D’arcy’s position, but it was difficult not to view her secret as unfair and dishonest, not just with Eli, but with everyone. They had worked so hard, for so many weeks, and all the time she’d harboured this secret. It was astonishing. Thinking back, it seemed obvious now. All the signs were there, the changes both physical and emotional. All along, Simon had known something, had insisted that D'arcy was hiding something. She should have trusted his intuition, should have listened.
On D’arcy’s agitated insistence, Kate promised to keep the baby secret until D'arcy had found the right moment to confide in Eli, but urged her to do it soon.
“Eli has a right to know. He’s not a child who needs to be manipulated, whose feelings can’t be trusted.” Kate challenged D'arcy on her own condescension toward Eli. She had no doubt of D’arcy’s affections but noted that because of the power imbalance in their relationship, D'arcy had always judged him inferior or immature. Madame Duchamp showed a particular interest in twirling her wedding band and checking her diamond-encrusted wristwatch at that moment. “You have to accept that he is a grown man, as capable of understanding and responsible decision-making as you are. Give him a chance, and,” Kate nodded, “he might surprise you.”
Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel Page 26