Barbara Dunlop - Marriage, Manhattan Style

Then Heather was gone. And Elizabeth sat staring numbly at the telephone. Her sister-in-law was an angel. She was a saint. And somehow her strength and kindness made Elizabeth feel pathetic.

Elizabeth had once been strong. She’d once had the world at her feet. She was fit and attractive. She had a college degree and a husband to die for. She’d had confidence and energy, and a sense of optimism that told her everything was going to turn out well.

But it hadn’t.

And now she had no children, no career, and potentially no husband.

She pictured Reed, wondering what, or who, he was doing right now. Then she banished the vision, remembering Hanna’s advice instead. It wasn’t reasonable to assume he was having an affair.

It was reasonable, however, to wonder if he was coming home for dinner. She pressed the on button on the phone and dialed his office number.

It rang four times before Devon picked up. “Reed Wellington’s office.”

“Hi, Devon. It’s just me.”

“Oh. Hi, Elizabeth.” Was there something in her voice? “He just left for a dinner meeting.”

A dinner meeting? Was that suspicious? Was he with her? “Do you know which restaurant?”

Devon hesitated. “I…”

Damn. It was suspicious. “Never mind. I know I wrote it down this morning,” Elizabeth lied. “I think it was Reno’s…maybe The Bridge…”

“Alexander’s,” Devon put in.

“Oh, yes. Alexander’s. Thanks,” Elizabeth said as cheerfully as she could manage, then she hung up and pulled a business card out of her blazer pocket.

Reasonable or not, she dialed Joe Germain’s cell phone.

“Might as well make yourself useful,” she mumbled while it rang through. It was impossible to get a parking spot near Alexander’s at this time of day.

Joe was at her door in less than a minute.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, letting him into the foyer while she slipped on a coat.

“Do what, ma’am?”

“Get here so fast.”

“I was in the lobby.”

“Lurking?”

One corner of his mouth flexed. “Pretty much.”

She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “Is that what you do?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

The door closed behind them, and she pulled out her key to lock the dead bolt. “When you’re not driving. Do you simply lurk in the lobby?”

“Sometimes I wash the car.” He followed her toward the elevator.

“And shoot the bad guys?”

He reached out and pressed the elevator button but didn’t answer.

“I know you have a gun,” she told him.

“I do have a gun, ma’am.”

“Call me Elizabeth. Why do you have a gun?”

“Because this is New York City.”

The elevator car arrived, and he gestured for her to go first.

“I know you’re not a driver.”

“I am a driver, ma’am.”

“Elizabeth.”

He gave her a look that said her first name wouldn’t be passing over his lips anytime soon. “Mrs. Wellington.”

“I know you’re my bodyguard.”

Again, he didn’t answer.

“I take it you can neither confirm nor deny you were hired as my bodyguard?”

They started across the lobby.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked in a cool, professional voice.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know,” she offered. “But I think you and I should be straight with one another.”

“Am I taking you to dinner? To run errands?”

“Isn’t there some kind of special bond? Bodyguard and protectee? One that calls for complete honesty? Considering you may be throwing yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

Joe gave a small sigh. “Visiting a friend?”

“Spying on my husband.”

Joe stopped dead.

She took two more steps and then turned and fluttered her lashes. “Is that a conflict of interest for you?”

“No.” He started walking again.

“Good. Alexander’s Restaurant, please.”

Reed paused in the foyer of Alexander’s, grateful that Selina’s informant had been right.

Third booth past the wine cellar, partially screened by a white, marble pillar, there was Senator Kendrick. He was flanked by two gorgeous young women, and there was an open bottle of Romanée-Conti on the table. No surprise there. The senator was a fairly infamous womanizer. Not that Reed cared one way or the other. The senator’s personal life was his own business.

Reed strode confidently past the maître d’, rounded the end of the polished bar and came upon Kendrick before the man had a chance to spot him.

“Good evening, Senator.” Without waiting for an invitation, Reed slipped into the burgundy velvet booth, sliding up next to the blond woman, helping himself to a breadstick.

The senator’s expression faltered, but the woman immediately curved her red lips into a welcoming smile, and she draped a long-fingered hand on Reed’s shoulder.

A waiter appeared at the table. “Would you care for a drink, sir? Some wine?”

“Macallan eighteen-year-old,” said Reed. “One ice cube.”

The waiter nodded and withdrew.

“Reed,” Kendrick finally acknowledged with a nod.

“Back from Washington?” Reed asked.

“This afternoon.”

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

“I got your messages.”

“And?”

“And my lawyers have advised me not to speak publicly on the matter.”

Reed cracked the breadstick in half. “Where my lawyers have advised me to convince you to speak publicly on the matter.”

Kendrick’s bushy-browed eyes narrowed.

“I was surprised to read about Hammond and Pysanski.” Reed let his gaze bore into the man he’d known and trusted for a dozen years. Not that Kendrick would be the first politician to go bad.

“As was I.”

“Something I should know?” asked Reed.

“Should we powder our noses, Michael?” asked the brunette woman.

“No,” said Kendrick. “Mr. Wellington won’t be staying long.”

The waiter set Reed’s drink down on the white tablecloth. Then he topped up the others’ wineglasses and removed the bottle.

“Reed Wellington?” asked the blond woman.

“In the flesh,” Reed responded, giving her a brief, polite smile.

“I saw you in the paper just this morning.” She sidled a little closer, her arm stretching out along the back of the bench seat. “You’re much better looking in color and three dimensions.”

Reed took a sip of the scotch, putting his focus on Kendrick. “Do you have something to hide?”

“What do you think?”

“I think Hammond and Pysanski were a very unexpected turn of events.”

“That makes me guilty?”

“That makes me look guilty.” Reed enunciated each word.

“You go down, I go down,” said Kendrick.

“Trent says we get out front of it.”

Kendrick shook his head. “I don’t want to close any doors.”

“What about the other?” Reed didn’t have to mention the murder and blackmail for Kendrick to get the point. “I want my family safe, and the more information you can provide-”

“Can’t help you there.” But there was something in Kendrick’s eyes. Something Reed couldn’t quite put his finger on. Would Kendrick have to take the Fifth? Was the SEC actually on to something?

Reed downed the drink. “This isn’t going to sit well with my board of directors.”

“Yeah,” Kendrick snorted. “Because losing the Wellington International campaign contribution is my biggest worry right now.”

“Do you have a biggest worry right now?”

“You mean other than the SEC charges?”

“Of which we’re innocent.” Reed watched closely for a reaction.

“Like that matters.” Kendrick pasted him with a forbidding stare. “You read the papers. You follow the news. Who doesn’t want to see a corrupt senator and billionaire go to jail?”

Reed spun his crystal tumbler. “Yeah? Well, I hear you can greatly reduce your chances of being incarcerated simply by not committing a crime.”

“That’s always been my first line of defense,” said Kendrick.

“Then let Trent videotape your statement.”

Kendrick shook his head. “No can do.”

“I’m going to find out why,” Reed warned. He waited a beat, but Kendrick didn’t respond.

Then he shoved his glass to the middle of the table and rose to his feet.

Home from the enlightening stop at Alexander’s, Elizabeth stood in her kitchen and struggled to remember the last time she and Reed had eaten in their dining room. Rena was also a cook, and when they were first married, she would make sumptuous four-or five-course dinners. Elizabeth and Reed would indulge in a long, candlelit meal, gazing over the park, talking about the events of the day, their hopes and dreams.

But it had been months since Reed had been home before Rena left for the day. Eventually, the housekeeper had started leaving dinner in the refrigerator for later, tourtière or manicotti-things that were easy to reheat.

Not that Reed would be hungry tonight. Elizabeth was sure he and his little party of four had had a wonderful dinner at Alexander’s. While Elizabeth had settled for a banana and a glass of juice.

A key turned in the lock on the penthouse door, and her stomach lurched. She’d been tempted to pack her bags and leave before he arrived. But she kept hearing Hanna’s voice asking her to assume it was nothing until proven otherwise. Well, Reed was about to prove it one way or the other.

“Elizabeth?” he called, latching the door shut behind him.

She heard him toss his keys on the entry table, then his footfalls moved toward the living room. She walked out of the kitchen to meet him halfway, glancing at the grandfather clock that showed it was ten-fifteen.

“Tough day?” she asked as he loosened his tie.

“I got stuck in meetings.”

“Ahh.” She nodded, moving behind the sofa and putting it between them. “With anyone in particular?”