The Fury(23)

“I’d like to make a toast.” I raised my glass. “To Lana. To thank her, for her incredible generosity and for—”

Kate snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m not participating in this performance.”

“Sorry?” I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Work it out.” Kate knocked back her champagne. “Having a good time, are you? Enjoying yourself?”

To my surprise, I realized Kate was directing this at me. Her voice was sarcastic. When I looked into her eyes, I saw burning anger.

Apparently, I had accidentally stumbled into her firing line. A quick glance at Lana told me that she saw this, too. I gave Lana a reassuring smile—to show I could take care of myself.

Then I turned back to Kate. “Yes, I am, thanks, Kate. I’m having a lovely time.”

“Oh, good.” Kate lit a cigarette. “Enjoying the show?”

“Very much so. After a slow start, it’s picking up enormously. I can’t wait to see the finale. I bet you have something really spectacular planned.”

“I’ll do my best. You’re such a good audience.” Kate smiled dangerously. “Always watching—aren’t you, Elliot? Always scheming. What’s going on in your little mind? Hmm? What plots are you hatching?”

I didn’t know why Kate was attacking me like this. I doubted she knew herself. She had no reason to be angry with me; I thought she must be lashing out because she assumed I wouldn’t fight back. Well, she was wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you must stand up for yourself.

Nobody loves a doormat, Barbara West used to say. They just wipe their feet on it. God knows, Barbara trampled all over me for years. I learned that lesson the hard way.

“You’re in a foul mood tonight, Kate.” I sipped my champagne. “What’s going on? Why are you determined to ruin this?”

“Do you really want me to answer that? I can if you like.”

“Kate,” Lana said in a low voice. “Stop this. Now.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment. Lana’s eyes said that she’d had enough. To my surprise, the intervention succeeded; Kate unwillingly backed down.

Then Kate made a sudden movement—and for a split second I thought she was about to lunge at me or Lana across the table, or something crazy like that—but she didn’t.

She stood up, jerkily, unsteady on her feet. “I’m—I need the bathroom.”

“Going to powder your nose?” I asked.

Kate didn’t reply. She stalked off.

I glanced at Lana. “What the hell’s the matter with her?”

“I don’t know.” Lana shrugged. “She’s drunk.”

“That’s not all she is. Don’t worry, I have a feeling she’ll come back from the bathroom in a much better mood.”

But I was wrong. Kate returned to the table in a much worse state. She was high, clearly, agitated, spoiling for a fight—not just with me—any of us would do.

Leo and Jason wisely kept their heads low and ate fast. They wanted to go as soon as possible. But the courses kept coming, a seemingly endless number, so I concentrated on the food.

I suspect I was the only one who enjoyed the meal. Lana just picked at her plate. Kate didn’t touch a thing—she smoked and drank, glowering around the table malevolently. After a long uncomfortable silence, Lana tried deflecting Kate with a compliment:

“I love that scarf you’re wearing. Such a deep red.”

“It’s a shawl.” Kate threw it over her shoulder, contemptuously, then told a long, grandiose story about how the shawl was made for her by an orphan she sponsored in Bangladesh, to thank Kate for putting her through school. “It’s not fashion, so I know you’d never touch it—but I love it.”

“Actually, I think it’s rather beautiful.” Lana reached out and fingered the end of it. “Such delicate work. She’s very talented.”

“She’s clever, more importantly. She’s going to be a doctor.”

“Thanks to you. You are wonderful, Kate.”

This attempt to pacify Kate was like buttering up a grumpy child—Oh, you are clever, well done—and it was clumsy of Lana. But I could tell she was rattled by this sudden change in Kate. We all were.

If I had to select one moment that weekend when it all went wrong, it was there, at the restaurant. An indefinable line was crossed, somehow—and we sailed from a place of normality, into uncharted territory: into a dark, friendless no-man’s-land, from which there was no safe return.

The whole time we were sitting there, I could hear the wind, wailing on the water. It was picking up speed; tablecloths were flapping; candles blowing out. Below us, waves buffeted the seawall.

We’d better go soon, I thought. Or we’ll have trouble getting back.

I took hold of my white linen napkin with my right hand—and dangled it over the edge of the wall, above the water. I opened my fingers and let it go—

The napkin was snatched from my fingers by the wind. It danced in the night sky for a moment.

Then it was swallowed by the darkness.





19





As Agathi predicted, the wind was worse on the way back.