Dune Road (39 page)

She could have brought in a designer, but Robert would have quibbled over the unnecessary expense, and honestly, once she got used to the idea of organizing the party, she enjoyed tackling every part of the project and welcomed the distraction. Poring over menus, choosing the food, working out the bar, booking extra staff to help serve; buying presents for all the local children, finding a Santa with an authentic, natural long white beard, rather than one with a wad of cottonwool; sourcing the gifts and decorations—which involved hours Googling wholesale feather boas, silver-ball wreaths; shopping at HomeGoods, Wal-Mart, where every bargain, every reduction, every finding of something that she knew was a fortune somewhere else, lifted Kit’s spirits, gave her a sense of achievement, took her mind off the rest of her life.

And now December 22, the night of the party, is finally here, and she is feeling excited. Everyone she knows is coming. Almost, it seems, the entire town. The mayor, the entire staff of the Highfield Public Library, most of the police force and firemen, all the people who run businesses that Robert has anything to do with: bookstores, restaurants, pharmacies, liquor stores. Robert’s doctors, lawyers, friends, acquaintances.

And naturally, friends and family of Kit’s must be invited, he said. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Charlie and Keith. Alice and Harry. Tory and Buckley. Kit’s charming mother, and of
course
her mother’s fiancé must come, particularly as he’s flying in this afternoon. And that nice ex-husband of Kit’s, who she still clearly gets on so well with? Adam?
He’s
a good egg. Invite
him
.

She has, even though she and Adam have barely spoken since the Annabel fiasco. Adam waits for the children in the car, and the couple of times Kit has come to the door, he has just waved and smiled, and there has been nothing to say.

Instead of phoning one another, they send texts, short and to the point, or e-mails, but not, as they had been, long and chatty, funny and warm, but asking what time the children’s dental appointment is, or is it okay if he drops them an hour later.

For the first time ever, Kit feels divorced.

 

Charlie walks out of her house and looks up at the sky. It is a dull white, and a few flakes are starting to swirl, but not like the brief flurry they had the other week. This is supposed to be the first big storm of the season, six to eight inches.

If this were any other party, no one would show up, but too many people are excited about seeing the inside of the house on Dune Road, Charlie included, and she suspects everyone will be coming, even if they have to shovel the roads themselves.

Charlie has kissed the children good-bye and left them in the care of her in-laws, who are babysitting. One of the unexpected pleasures of having in-laws in the same town is that you almost have built-in babysitters, but this presumes you
want
to go out with your husband, and while Charlie loves going out, she’s still struggling to get on with Keith.

It is not made easier by the fact that he is now around most of the time. Luckily, Charlie still has her business, and although it is deathly quiet she has thrown herself into it with renewed vigor, attempting to drum up new business, posting ads online, offering discounted arrangements, donating flowers for parties as silent-auction items.

Why not? It gives her something to dwell on other than how much she hates her husband. And it may be all they have. The odd thing is, business isn’t nearly as flat as you would expect from reading the
New York Times
, listening to all the reports on the news; but she knows it’s going to get worse. Much, much worse.

Thousands of foreclosures are expected, but today Charlie only knows of a handful of people, herself included, who are being forced out. There have to be more. She knows there will be more. But people are clinging on, praying that there will be an upswing, hoping that their house will sell, that they will be okay in the end.

January would normally be bonus time, but not this January. And so many of the “wealthy” families she knows live off their pay checks and bonuses.

The pay checks pay their bills, their mortgages, their car leases and school fees. The bonuses pay for their Birkins. Their diamond eternity rings. Their holidays in Great Exuma.

For many of those families it is, she knows, only a matter of time.

Spring will be telling; they are likely to see tons of houses coming on the market then. People are waiting for January, hoping that something will change and bonuses will come through. And although Charlie knows that for so many of them things won’t change and their bonuses won’t come through, none of this helps her forgive Keith.

 

Keith is going to the party tonight, but meeting Charlie there, later. He has been in New York this afternoon, going to see head-hunters, looking at what he can do.

Everyone is saying the same things: the future is dismal; it is going to get worse before it gets better; the financial world will never be the same; the jobs just aren’t there—everyone is laying off and no one is recruiting.

A new president brings new hope, and never has there been as much hope as with President Obama, but there is no such thing as an instant fix, and the economy is in such dire straits it will take a long time. The Stimulus Plan isn’t looking quite as stimulating as many had hoped.

Keith is hearing the same advice from every single person he is talking to: if there is another business you could be doing, something totally unrelated to finance, now is the time to do it.

But what can he possibly do? At forty-five, all he has ever known is the world of finance. He went into it upon graduation, because that’s what everyone did; that was the only way to make the serious bucks.

“
What do you do?
”

“I work in finance.
”

What else can he possibly say to fit in, to have a hope of achieving millionaire, or billionaire, status, before the age of forty? To be, in short, like everybody else.

There is nothing else he has ever done, ever thought of doing. He has heard horror stories of men who worked on Wall Street, now working at Starbucks. He shivers with fear when he hears that. How can he possibly do that? Even if it were to cover health insurance for the entire family.
How?

What are his loves, he was asked the other day by someone, a headhunter, who was telling him, just like all the others, to find something else.

His loves? His family. Shopping. Fast cars. Business—although the only business he has ever known is the business of money. Nothing that could translate into a new career.

He feels utterly lost. His work life, the thing that defined him for over twenty years, has been destroyed, and now he feels his marriage slipping away from him as well, and he doesn’t know how to save it, doesn’t think that he has the energy, for it’s all he can do to get out of bed in the morning and make the pretense of looking for another job.

Right now, that’s all he can do, and without Charlie’s support, without her partnership, her friendship, he’s not even sure how much longer he can do that.

 

“Oh my God! That dress is gorgeous!” Kit fingers the gray shift dress, trimmed with silver sequins, that Charlie is wearing for the party.

“I know. A remnant from my old life.”

“I thought you’d sold everything.”

“Most. The Consignment Store is stuffed with my clothes. It’s so depressing. And I swear I saw Marianna Miller walking down Main Street the other day in my coat.”

“Why did you think it was yours?”

“How many people in Highfield had that exact Oscar de la Renta coat? I didn’t get that at Rakers, I got it at Bergdorf’s, and I don’t believe Marianna happened to be in the city during that particular season, buying that particular coat.” Charlie sighs. “So, most has gone, but I’ve kept a handful of key things, and the clothes that really won’t get anything in consignment. This one”—she pulls the plastic bag up over the hanger completely—“has a stain under one arm so it would be a reject.”

“Good job. I love it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Kit peers at her friend closely. “So how
are
you? Any offers on the house?”

Charlie snorts. “I wish. Lots of people looking, but there’s so much to choose from, why, it seems, would ours stand out? I keep telling the realtor they have to bring in more creative types who will appreciate the barn, or people who run a small business from home.”

“And?”

“And I think the realtors are just as desperate as us.”

“So you’re definitely moving out?”

“Yup. In with the in-laws in three weeks, and I have to say they’ve been extraordinary.”

“So there has been something of a silver lining?”

“Yes. If it counts. It’s just so frightening. And the business. How can I carry on the business without a space? My in-laws have offered their garage, but it’s unheated, and not set up for anything.”

“Could you buy a space heater?”

“At the moment, I may have to.”

“And things with Keith?” Kit doesn’t know whether she should ask.

Charlie shrugs. “I’m working on forgiveness. I’m also reading the Kübler-Ross book on grief, on the advice of my old therapist.”

“You had a therapist?”

“Course. Didn’t everyone?”

Kit laughs. “No! I didn’t.”

“Well, I did, and I phoned her. She said I was going through the grieving process for my old life, and I had to work through all the stages before reaching acceptance. She said reading the book would help me understand.”

“And does it?”

“Funnily enough, it does. It makes things a little easier, and I’m beginning to accept that anger is part of the process. But I’ve been targeting it all at Keith, which isn’t fair. It’s helping. Definitely.”

“Good.” Kit nods, satisfied. “I’m glad.”

“So any word from Annabel?”

Kit shudders. “No. Thank goodness.”

“You still feel that way?”

“I think I’m going to feel that way for a long time to come. When she arrived I thought she was family. The fact that she was blood meant something special, bonded us immediately. I guess I was really naive.”

“I don’t blame you. She was very likable. Until she wasn’t. And you do share a mother. I understand why you would feel a bond.”

“The thing is, I don’t know whether I truly did. I really wanted to, and I tried to create one, but she drove me insane. Even before the whole Adam thing, I was beginning to question her.”

“Have you and Adam talked at all?”

“Barely. I think he’s too embarrassed. He totally knows he was wrong.”

“And she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No. I have a feeling our paths will cross again, but I’m not ready for her yet. She’s someone who seems to come with a lot of drama, and I’m at a place in my life where I’ve made a conscious decision not to deal with drama. Blood or no blood.”

“You sound wise.”

“I
feel
wise. For as empty as I felt right after it happened, I’m also glad it happened. It made me question a lot of things.”

“Such as?”

“My family. My friends. My relationships.”

“You’ve really been through a rocky patch.”

Kit laughs. “I have. But right now it feels like the sun is starting to shine again. Very slowly, and it’s pretty damn weak, but I feel optimistic again, like good things are about to happen.”

“I’m sure they will.” Charlie smiles. “You’re going to be fine.”

Chapter Thirty

F
or many, it is the first time they have been through the stone gateposts at the end of Dune Road, the ones that guard the gravel drive sweeping up to Hillpoint.

Tracy is upstairs as the staff put the finishing touches to the party. Jed has been in a furious mood since being dumped by Kit, and she has barely been back to her house, too terrified of what she will find.

When she has gone back home, she has wondered why she bothered, why she didn’t just stay with Robert. She is finally happy, with a man she loves, but she has to figure out a way to get rid of Jed once and for all. She doesn’t want to see Jed again, doesn’t want to give him the power any more. Not now she has seen the alternative.

Jed thinks she will bring Robert down, but she could never do that, and she doesn’t care about the money, has never cared about the money. If Robert lost everything, she would still want to be with him. She is safe here, and the only thing she wants is to remove Jed from her life, and continue without him.

Could she pay him off? Possibly. He has always been motivated by dollars. But would he stay away?

She dabs Touche Éclat on the hint of the shadow around her eye, and sweeps her hair back in a ponytail, brushing Mineral Veil over her face and adding a touch of dark red lipstick. She has adapted her look significantly since she has been with Robert.

From California babe, to girlfriend of best-selling author. It isn’t as far a jump as you might think.

The only way to figure this out, she knows, is to tell Robert. She is going to need his help, and if he decides to leave her, because her betrayal is too much, she will survive. It will be hard, but she will survive.

She always has before.

 

The party is in full swing, a pianist playing traditional Christmas carols on the baby grand piano in the living room, everyone congratulating Kit on what a wonderful job she has done, people moving through the house to say hello to Robert McClore.

For those who are here for the first time—the wives and husbands of people he knows—Robert is not what they expected. Nothing reclusive about him, and so handsome! Far more handsome in the flesh, and such manners! Such charm!

Adam stands by the bar, and turns to see Kit on the other side of the room. It has been too long. They have to talk. He orders a French Martini for Kit and a Dirty Martini for himself, then holding both drinks high, he inches through the crowd toward her.