Jo focused again on the blond sunbather, recognition dawning. “I know that woman,” she said. “Her name is Rosamund Harding.”
“You know Rosamund Harding?” Harriett asked, eyebrow raised. “You run in some interesting circles.”
“She’s a client, not a friend,” Jo said. “Do you know her? Is she someone important?”
“Rosamund Harding used to be one of the world’s best divers. She was expected to win gold at the London Olympics. Then an injury ended her career and she married Spencer Harding, the art dealer, instead.”
“I’ve never met Spencer Harding, but I know he’s an asshole,” Jo said.
“That’s a logical assumption,” Harriett replied. “He collects Richard Prince.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“The creepy nurse art.” Harriett pointed at the house. “It’s a Richard Prince.”
“Yikes.” Jo grimaced. “It’s like he painted all his icky little schoolboy fantasies.”
“Which is why his paintings are so popular with former icky little schoolboys,” Harriett said. “So what else do you know about Harding?”
“He sent a bodyguard to my gym a few weeks ago looking for Rosamund, and she definitely didn’t want him to find her. I called her afterward, and she acted like it was no big deal, but she hasn’t been back to the gym since.”
“So Spencer fetishizes nurses and sends thugs after his wife. Sounds like poor Rosamund lost the marriage lottery.”
“No joke,” Jo said. “I’m going to go talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.”
Behind her glasses, Rosamund must have been watching them. When they stepped off the sand and onto the lawn, it was as if they’d tripped an invisible wire. Rosamund sat up and plucked an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. She kept her head bent as she whittled away at the apple’s skin with a paring knife.
“What is she doing?” Jo muttered. “Is she trying to pretend she doesn’t see us?”
They were almost to the deck when Rosamund suddenly stood and tossed the whole apple onto the grass as though it were trash. It landed a few feet from Jo. When she looked back up, Rosamund was hurrying inside the house.
“Okay, that was weird,” Jo said.
Harriett walked over and picked up the apple. Then she held it out for Jo to see. Etched into the apple’s skin was a word. FAITH.
Jo took a step forward and reached out for the apple. Harriett casually raised it to her mouth and took a bite.
“What did you do that for?” Jo demanded.
Harriett gestured with her chin at a man hustling across the lawn toward them. On the Pointe, his dark blue suit instantly identified him as a worker, not a resident.
“Shit,” Jo groaned.
Harriett swallowed. “Another friend of yours?” she asked.
“That’s the bodyguard I was talking about. He isn’t going to be happy to see me. I had to kick his ass when he showed up at my gym a few weeks ago.”
“Hmmm,” Harriett said. “Looks like you may need to do it again.” The man had picked up speed and was now jogging straight for them. “But look at all the effort he’s making. Let’s see what he wants first, shall we?”
The sight of the two women patiently waiting for him seemed to confuse Chertov, and he slowed to a brisk walk. His face was flushed when he reached them.
“Well, it’s about time. We’ve been looking all over for a waiter.” Harriett took another bite of the apple. “I’d love a banana daiquiri, and my friend here would like a pi?a colada.”