‘Are you telling me you actually witnessed the murder?’ Florence asked, her voice restored to its former power now that she was almost fully recovered. ‘You actually saw the victim clubbed to death?’ Her questions were back to full-strength directness too.
Ro saw a couple of well-dressed visitors twitch in their chairs slightly as Florence’s voice carried over the tartan carpets, and she moved her chair closer to Florence’s. ‘No,’ she said in a quieter voice. ‘But the police think I would have done if I hadn’t started talking to Matt and moved away from the window.’
‘So then, technically, you were the last person to see that poor man alive.’
Ro paused, before nodding with a shudder. It was a hard thing to accept – that she had been the last person to see a dead man walking. ‘Apart from the . . .’ she couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘murderer’, ‘perpetrator, obviously.’
Kevin’s death had cast a shadow over the entire house. Fear and violence wasn’t just something that lurked behind shadows or in the dark anymore; it was right in front of them, in the blazing sunlight, outside their own windows and part of the innocuous inanities of going about life – drinking coffee, taking showers, playing golf . . .
The story had dominated the local news every day for weeks now – many of the headlines focusing on the shock that this could have happened at the elitist and secretive Maidstone Club, rather than the horror of a life brutally cut short – and the police were convinced that the murderer was known to Kevin, either through his business or personal life. The police had spent a couple more days interviewing Bobbi about the relationship, and her recollections tallied with their own checks – Kevin hadn’t been seeing anyone else, it appeared, and he wasn’t married either, although he’d been divorced three times – and the police had concluded the murderer was most likely a business associate.
It was a relief of sorts, but Bobbi’s grief was complicated and hard to manage for them all, especially in the first week after the killing, when both she and Greg had stayed down in East Hampton (Greg’s own heartbreak a hidden torment that he suppressed after the humiliation of his vodka binge): the relationship had only been going a short while, Bobbi’s motives for the hook-up had been more rooted in ambition than attraction (or at least they had started out that way), and her moods were erratic – shock blending with anger mingling with fear. Mainly fear: fear that the killing had happened within metres of where she slept, fear that it had happened within minutes of her kissing him, fear that her own ambition had propelled her towards someone whose even greater ambition had crossed lines where murder was the only answer. She had suffered from nightmares for the first few days and they had all taken it in turns to sit by her bed as she slept, Bobbi even accepting Greg’s solicitations without rancour.
Florence twisted carefully in her position on the wood-trimmed sofa and rested her hand firmly upon Ro’s. ‘Ro dear, I don’t want to alarm you, but . . . I do have to ask you something: you are quite sure the murderer didn’t see you, aren’t you?’
Ro stared back, dumbstruck. That thought had never occurred to her. ‘Well . . . y-yes. I mean, I never had any sense that either one of them looked my way or saw me . . . I don’t think.’ She frowned. Was she absolutely sure about that? Could she swear to it? She hadn’t tried to hide herself at the window after all. What if her movements had been picked up as she’d left the window to show Matt the dress?
Florence lowered her voice cautiously as a nurse passed by. ‘I only ask because if the murderer is still at large . . . Well, you know what I’m saying.’
Ro stared at her, feeling her heart beginning to gallop. ‘But . . .’ Ro swallowed. ‘What happened to you and what happened to Kevin are entirely unrelated. There’s no suggestion, is there, that—’
‘No, no. I’m not suggesting that. It’s just that violence, once unleashed, seems to always drag innocents into its path. Just look at what happened to you in the cafe, when that coffee was intended for me. There’s been too much suffering already, Ro. I couldn’t bear it if you were to get hurt again. Just be alert.’
‘I was just sitting quietly at the window,’ she murmured, thinking how she had yet again been at the wrong place at the wrong time. If only she had stayed sleeping, if only Ted Connor hadn’t invaded her dreams and made her waken with such a fright . . .
‘I’m not trying to frighten you. Be safe, that’s all I’m saying. Both you and I have found to our cost that some people will stop at nothing to get what they want. Keep out of their way.’
Ro looked at Florence quizzically, a furrow deepening in her brow. That sounded like surrender if ever she heard it. Did Florence still think that selling the house was the only way to secure her safety? ‘You have reconsidered on selling the house, haven’t you?’
‘On the contrary, being stuck in here has really given me time to think and I’ve completely come round to Ted’s view on this. He’s a prudent man and I’m just being foolish if I think that sentimentality over bricks and mortar is worth dying for.’ She patted Ro’s hand. ‘I’m just so grateful to have been given this chance to move on, Ro. I want to see my grandchildren grow up. There’s still so much I want to do.’
‘I see.’ Ro stared unseeing out of the window, oblivious to the kaleidoscopic patterns of the clouds streaming across the sky. All she could see was Ted Connor. He was everywhere she looked, his all-American smile beaming through the camera as she spent long days in the studio whittling down his radiant family life – bright smiles and in-jokes, beachy weekends and good hair – to a bijoux chunk of perfect moments set to a soundtrack; his persistent stare following her at parties, trying to figure her out. It was no wonder his face was burned on her retina when she closed her eyes at night and in her yoga class. He was always there, standing by her side as the coffee burned, beside Florence’s as the electricity coursed and the water rained down . . .
‘Anyway, I’ve had some good news for a change: the doctors have said I can be discharged next week,’ Florence said, watching the emotions running over Ro’s face and briskly changing the subject.
‘That soon?’ Ro was astonished, even though physically there was little evidence in Florence’s appearance now of her injuries and she was growing visibly stronger by the day.
‘It’d be right this instant if I had my way. I can’t wait to get out of here. From what I’m reading in Dan’s Papers, the Town Board sounds like it’s falling apart with all this in-fighting about the report.’
‘Report?’
‘The Montauk Beach Proposal?’
‘Oh, that.’ Ro felt distracted still.
‘Yes, the sooner I get back there, the better.’
‘You mustn’t overdo it, Florence – you’ve been through so much.’
‘The best thing that could happen to me is to get back to normality. I’ve told the doctors I’ll do whatever they want – physical therapy, meds, diet, you name it – but they have to let me out in time for the Artwalk. It’s one of the highlights of my year.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’ll love it – you must come. Your friend Melodie runs it, in fact – a prestigious post.’ Ro picked up on the sharp edge to the words. The antipathy between the two women ran both ways, then? ‘It’s an organized evening walk through the town’s art galleries. The artists are there to give talks; drinks and canapés are laid on. It’s a perfect mix of culture and sociability, and there’s always quite a crowd. I shall look forward to seeing some familiar faces again after this dratted confinement.’
‘It sounds great. Where is it and when?’
‘Next Friday, seven p.m., outside the bookstore. Bring your friends if you would like.’
‘Thanks. I’ll ask them. I think we could all do with something to look forward to.’ That was putting it lightly! She slapped her hands on her thighs, staring into space without moving for a moment. Her head was so full of worries and anxieties and suspicions, sometimes it felt hard to move. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better head off. You are clearly fine and don’t need any bolstering at all, and I’m so behind on work. I need to throw a mattress on the floor and lock myself in the studio for next three weeks.’
It was the last thing she wanted to do. The thought of trawling through the rest of the Connor films and photos was actually depressing her, the perfect family they supposedly reflected nothing more than an empty hologram. She sighed wistfully and got up slowly, feeling older than her years.
Florence was standing now too. ‘Rowena, you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. All this trouble, it’s behind you now.’
‘I know.’
Florence shook her head. ‘You are without question the worst liar I’ve ever known.’ She smiled, kissing her on the cheek. ‘But never change, mine heart, never change.’
04/18/2011 |
06h49 |
Baby, swaddled, in a clear plastic hospital crib.
‘World, welcome to the little boy who’s going to rock you off your axis and make you a better place.’ Ted. Whispering. ‘Finlay Patrick Connor. Eight pounds six ounces. Born at eighteen minutes past three this morning, April 18 same date as his grandma. As if his mom wasn’t already clever enough.’
Camera pans to Marina, washed out, sleeping, hospital gown. One white stocking visible. Caesarean?
Camera pans back to baby. Pauses on photograph of Ella on bedside table. ‘Just wait till this little lady wakes up this morning and finds out she became a big sister overnight.’
Camera zooms in, then moves down to Finn. White jersey cap, no hair visible, fleshy cheeks already.
‘My boy.’
Blackness.
04/18/2011 |
14h27 |
‘Smile.’ Ted.
Marina, sitting in bed, looks up. Finlay in her arms, breastfeeding. She moves her hand and detaches the baby. Turns him and holds him up to the camera, her hands under his armpits, his body stretched long like a rabbit’s. Finn cries.
‘No, Marina, I didn’t mean—’ Ted.
‘What? Isn’t he beautiful?’ She smiles. Proud. Radiant but pale. Butterfly tube still in her hand.
‘Nothing.’ Ted. Quiet.
Blackness.
04/23/2011 |
12h31 |
‘Home sweet home.’ Ted. Walking ahead of Marina – she is stepping out of lift, pushing buggy with car-seat attachment. Bouquet of flowers in the tray.
Glossy wood floor. Metallic walls. Enormous blue heart-shaped helium balloon attached to basket of muffins. ‘A Baby Boy.’ Her eyebrows arch.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Ted says, as she stops to read attached tag.
‘Your parents.’
Walks into sitting room. Multiple vases of long-stemmed white roses on every surface.
‘Everything to do with me.’ Ted.
Marina looks around the room.
Camera moves towards her. Ted appears just in shot as he kisses her cheek. ‘Welcome home, honey.’
‘Ta-da boo!’ Ella springs up from behind coral sofa, holding her pink pig in one hand, a brand-new blue elephant in the other. Hair fair now, in plaits. Wearing red cord smock dress with red-piped white blouse.
She walks towards Marina, holding out the blue toy. Reaches up and places it in the buggy. It covers sleeping Finn’s face.
‘Oh my God!’ Marina cries, grabbing it and throwing it across the room. ‘How could you be so stupid, Ella?’
Blackness.
05/02/2011 |
11h27 |
Darkened room. Pale grey silk walls. Pink bed.
Ted asleep, bare-chested, thin sheet covering him, one arm dangling over side of bed. Other arm holding Finn in place on his chest.
Finn sleeping, his cheek against Ted’s chest.
Sound of deep, heavy breathing.
‘My boys.’ Marina. Whispers.
Ro sat slumped in her chair, her chin on her hands, earphones on, her eyes immobile on the screen. She wasn’t sure how much of this she could take.
‘So did not!’
The sudden sound made her start, automatically pressing ‘pause’ and sitting up like a naughty schoolgirl.
Hump and Melodie stopped at the sight of her.
‘Hey!’ Hump grinned from the doorway. ‘And what’s got you looking so guilty?’
‘I do not look guilty,’ she replied indignantly, watching as the two of them walked into the shaded studio. ‘I have nothing to feel guilty about.’
‘No? Then why are all the blinds down? You’re not hiding a guy in here, are you?’ He grinned devilishly.
‘It was too hot in here. And it makes it easier to see the screens.’
‘You missed class again,’ Melodie said pointedly, leaning on the opposite side of Ro’s tall counter as Hump wandered over to his desk and began bashing the keyboard.
‘I know.’ Ro’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry. Work.’
But that wasn’t strictly true. Things hadn’t quite returned to normal between them since her disastrous attempt to confide her fears about Ted had turned into an attack on Florence instead. And she had stopped looking to meditation as her way to connect with Matt; it was never Matt she found anymore.
‘She’s stalking some poor family,’ Hump offered from behind his screen.
‘Well, I guess too much work is a nice problem to have,’ Melodie said knowingly, watching Ro as though detecting the tiny dip in temperature between them. She was wearing all white today – either in homage to the heat or Ghandi – cropped harem trousers teamed with a draped-neck vest and a diamond anklet.
Ro frowned as she looked across at Hump, something occurring to her. He was wearing jersey track pants cut off below the knee and a white wife-beater vest. ‘Hump, don’t tell me you did yoga too!’
Hump shrugged. ‘Yeah. Why not?’
‘Uh . . . because you said it was for pussy-whipped men who couldn’t throw a ball!’ she laughed, crossing her arms and tipping back in the chair.
‘I knew he’d capitulate,’ Melodie said, standing on one leg effortlessly and relaxing into the tree pose in the way other people dropped into a slouch. ‘He couldn’t bear that I can do more press-ups than him.’
‘Yeah, but on an arm wrestle . . .’ Hump replied, flexing his biceps.
‘Hump, do I look like the kind of woman who arm-wrestles?’
Ro listened to her two friends’ banter, feeling slightly like the dumped friend (even if she was the one ducking out). She had grown in lots of ways since living here – she could now order a flagel without laughing, she thought nothing of pouring almond milk in her tea, and it felt almost normal to wear her swimsuit as underwear, but she still couldn’t move from stranger to bosom buddy in less than twenty stages.
Melodie turned back to Ro, her gaze steady and enquiring, as though trying to draw the truth from Ro without words, and Ro found she couldn’t quite meet her eyes. The intensity of their friendship had passed; Ro had changed. She wasn’t the depressed, slightly lost girl anymore that Melodie had found on the steps that summer morning, and Matt wasn’t the only one struggling to adapt. Ro didn’t need Melodie in the way that she once had, and she was almost beginning to resent Melodie’s assumed authority over her – as though she knew Ro better than Ro knew herself, and always knew best.
‘So what are you up to for the rest of the day?’ Ro asked lightly.
Melodie checked her watch quickly and groaned. ‘I’ve got my hairstylist coming over in an hour. Another night, another dinner.’
Hairstylist? Ro felt a stab of disappointment at the revelation. Crazy hair that came with its own ASBO was her and Melodie’s link; it was what they had bonded over. That Melodie actually had her hair professionally styled seemed like . . . cheating, somehow.
‘How about you?’
‘Nothing so glamorous. Are we doing anything, Hump?’
‘It’s Mighty Meat Feast specials night at Pedro’s Pizzas tonight,’ he said, punching the air with both hands.
‘I guess we’re slobbing out doing that, then,’ Ro sighed happily.
‘I would do anything for a night in like that,’ Melodie replied, making Ro frown – she knew full well that nothing that wasn’t macrobiotic went near Melodie’s mouth.
‘Well, you could if you weren’t so busy being one half of a power couple,’ Hump teased, from across the room. ‘But I guess someone’s got to rule the world.’
Melodie looked unimpressed. ‘My husband’s job doesn’t define me, Hump.’
‘No? You always look pretty happy to be found at every A-list party, chairing every fancy-pants charity—’
‘I hear you’ve got another big night tomorrow night,’ Ro butted in, a sympathetic look on her face as she clocked Melodie’s affronted expression. Sometimes Hump took his teasing just too far. ‘The . . . Artwalk, is it?’
‘Oh yes!’ Melodie replied brightly. ‘Can you make it? I’d love you to be there.’
‘Thanks, I will be. Florence has already invited me.’
‘Oh, that’s such a shame. I thought we could go for dinner after.’
‘Sorry.’ Ro bit her lip. ‘Isn’t Brook going?’
‘Yes, but he gets our driver to actually drive him between the galleries.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Missing the point completely. Artwalk, darling?’
‘Oh dear,’ Ro sympathized.
‘Take my advice – never marry an older man,’ Melodie stage-whispered wickedly, before straightening up and tapping the counter with her hand. ‘Right, well, I’d better get going. Zen counts for nothing when your hair won’t behave, am I right?’ She blew a kiss to Ro, pointedly ignoring Hump as she walked across the room and out of the studio.
A moment later, she popped her head back in again. ‘I forgot to ask – how’s Bobbi doing?’
‘Bobbi?’ Ro echoed. ‘She’s good. Getting through it.’
‘Send her my love, OK? Tell her to try to get down for some more classes. I could really help her with her grief, get her to find the light in this time of darkness.’
Ro nodded, not quite sure what to say to that, already quite sure of Bobbi’s retort if she told her to ‘find the light’. She listened to the sound of Melodie’s bare feet padding back to the studio next door.
‘You should apologize to her, Hump. She gets really sensitive about that stuff.’
‘What stuff?’
‘She hates being seen as just some socialite.’
‘But she is! Every time I open Dan’s Papers, there she is, arm in arm with Brook and some benefactor billionaire.’
‘Just because she’s rich doesn’t mean that’s all there is to her. She takes her spiritual life very seriously.’
‘Yeah, don’t I know it,’ Hump grumbled.
Ro frowned. ‘You’re down in the dumps all of a sudden.’
Hump tutted but didn’t say anything more.
‘Well . . . I can’t believe you did yoga,’ Ro muttered after a few minutes’ silence.
‘I thought it wouldn’t hurt to work on the mind as well as the body for a bit,’ he mumbled. ‘Just while all this crazy shit’s going on.’
Ro looked up at him from her stool, but he was engrossed in reading an invoice on his desk. It was easy to forget that he bruised too. He seemed so indestructible with his puppyish grin and loping run, his boundless energy and good humour. But events had taken a toll on him too, and he was still playing doctor, putting one after another of his housemates back together again. Ro realized she hadn’t seen a single woman emerging from his room for weeks now.
‘Well, I wish you’d told me, that’s all. I’d have loved to see you doing the monkey pose,’ she drawled, trying to make him smile at least. ‘I’d have paid good money for that.’
‘Is that the one with the splits?’
‘With your arms overhead, yeah.’ She chuckled at the thought. Flexible he wasn’t.
‘Well, you can, next time you go along,’ he shrugged, unusually flat.
‘You mean you’re going to go again?’ Her eyes popped wide with surprise.
‘Maybe,’ he said after a moment. ‘It was fun.’
‘Fun,’ Ro repeated, frowning and wondering whether he’d caught too much sun driving the Humper today.
‘So how is Bobbi getting on really? You heard from her today?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘No, not yet. I called on her mobile, but it went to voicemail. She said yesterday she had a stack of meetings to get through. I’m worried about her, Hump. I think she’s doing too much, trying to prove a point. Now it’s all out in the open about her and Kevin, I think she thinks her position is precarious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, let’s face it, it doesn’t look good for the firm to have an associate who was having an affair with a murdered client.’
‘Right.’ Hump shook his head in silent dismay. He looked about twelve.
‘How about Greg? How’s he doing?’ she asked.
‘Same.’ He pulled a face. ‘Working harder than ever too – who knew it was even possible, right? Says he probably won’t get down this weekend.’ He tutted. ‘Honestly, him and Erin, Bobbi and Kevin – life just got tangled in such a twisted mess that weekend. I don’t think Greg wants it in his face.’
‘You can understand that,’ Ro said sadly, wondering if she actually would ever see Greg again. She wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed in the city for the rest of the summer now. He’d only ever come out to see Erin anyway. ‘It’s such a shame. He looked so happy that night – you know, before.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Hump kicked back in his chair, newly focused, his eyes falling to the screen behind her. ‘It was a night full of surprises, that was for sure.’
Ro looked across at him. Something in his tone . . . ‘What?’
‘Well, when I came back to get you at the Southampton fundraiser, I was sure I’d walked in on something between you and Long Story too. The two of you looked guilty as hell.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Ro said quickly. ‘And for the last time, stop calling him that.’
‘He couldn’t take his eyes off you when we were standing on the lawn. I thought I was going to have to challenge him to a duel or something, to uphold your honour.’
Ro swallowed back the words. If only he knew what was really going on, the thoughts that were really going round in her head about him. ‘He’s a client, Hump. A married/divorced/whatever father-of-two with a girlfriend. Hardly my type! And you know I’d never cheat on Matt.’
‘I know you wouldn’t.’
There was a silence.
‘But?’ she demanded. ‘There’s definitely a “but” coming.’ Her cheeks were flaming, indignation building up inside her because anything he said after the ‘but’ was going to undermine her and Matt. She already knew that. That was what ‘buts’ did.
He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Look, Big Foot, you need to wake up and smell the coffee. You know you love Matt. I know you love Matt. Bobbi does not know you love Matt, but she wouldn’t know love if it punched her in the face, so . . .’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘But you’ve lived with me long enough now to know I’m the freaking king of seduction. I know chemistry when I see it and there’s something between you two.’
‘Yes, and it’s called suspicion!’ she blurted out, unable to keep the words down any longer. She couldn’t let him say those things. ‘I’m not attracted to him, Hump. I’m almost frightened of him!’ She was nearly shouting, her breath coming in shallow sips as the words tumbled out of her – all the fears and misapprehensions that she’d kept to herself finally breaking free.
‘Frightened of him?’ Hump echoed.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re frightened of him?’ His eyes moved pointedly to the frozen image on her computer screen of Ted sleeping with his baby son on his chest.
Her mouth dropped open. Admittedly, Ted Connor did not look remotely worrisome at that moment in time.
The phone rang on his desk and he shook his head, a small smile on his lips. ‘Nuh, you’re not frightened of him.’ He picked up the phone, cupping his hand over the receiver. ‘You’re frightened of how he makes you feel.’
He winked, swivelling away from her in his chair as he began talking with his newest advertiser.
Ro glared at his back from across the room, mute with rage. Scared of an attraction? To Ted Connor?
She’d never heard of anything so bloody stupid.