31. Snookered
The queen decided we would meet at a fancy restaurant called Palmeraie. I’d never even heard of the place. Studying the map Marvin had drawn me, I realised it was going to be a long walk.
More than happy to be late, I meandered ridiculously slowly, as if headed to my own execution. I had no idea how I was going to handle her. All I knew was that this would be my very last attempt at calling a truce.
The only advice Adam had given me was wardrobe-related. “Palmeraie is very up-market. You should wear a dress.”
As unhelpful as his advice was, I arrived at the restaurant wearing one of the only three dresses I possessed.
Choosing between outfits wasn’t difficult. I doubt my new mother-in-law would have appreciated seeing my gorgeous wedding dress that late in the game. My black cocktail dress was probably a bit over-the-top too. My other dress wasn’t anywhere near as special, but far more appropriate. The cowl neck wool dress was itchy beyond belief, but I tried hard to hold myself together. Fiona had already formed the opinion that I was a vagrant pauper. I didn’t want to give the impression that I had fleas too.
I saw her as soon as I walked in, sitting at a table near the window, decorously sipping a glass of wine while she waited.
Escorted by the maître d’, I approached. Fiona stood up, greeting me with the fake little double-kiss that the Décaries are so fond of. “Hello, darling,” she greeted. “Sit down, please.”
Said the spider to the fly.
The maître d’ pulled out my chair and I sat down, trying to appear more settled than I felt. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“I am just pleased you agreed to come.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Her eyes dropped to the table as she absently rolled the stem of the wineglass with her fingers. “You bring out the worst in me, Charli. The frustration caused by the choices my son has made is insufferable.”
“You need to find a way around it, Fiona,” I suggested. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You really do love him, don’t you?”
“With all that I have.”
“But you have nothing, Charli,” she said bleakly, cutting me down. “That is what concerns me.”
An unbearable silence set in. Fiona’s eyes kept glancing at the door like she was hoping someone would show up and rescue her.
“Am I keeping you from something?”
Perhaps embarrassed by being caught out, her eyes drifted back to mine and I had her undivided attention – for about three seconds until the person she’d been waiting for walked through the door.
“Oh, look who’s here.” Her acting was as bad as I’d ever seen.
I looked, to see Whitney flounce in. It felt like days since I’d last seen her, running out of the Décarie house in a flood of tears, but in truth she’d been gone for over a month.
I used the time it took Whitney to make her way to our table to stare down my mother-in-law. Anyone who didn’t know Fiona Décarie would think she was stunning. Her long dark hair, unusual cobalt eyes and flawless skin personified beauty. On the outside, she was gorgeous. On the inside, she was rotten to the core. I might as well have been sitting opposite Cruella de Vil.
“Fi, how are you?” crooned dim Whit in a syrupy tone.
Fiona stood up, did her double-kiss routine and hugged her as falsely as she kissed her. “I’m wonderful, Whit, just wonderful.” She vaguely waved her hand in my direction. “You remember Charli.”
I wondered if giving them a round of applause would alert them to the fact that I knew they were both acting. Instead, I went along with their game. “Hello, Whitney.”
“Please, join us for lunch,” suggested the queen. “You don’t mind, do you, Charli?”
I shook my head, giving Whitney all the encouragement she needed to pull out a seat. “I can’t believe we ran into each other like this,” marvelled Whitney, patting Fiona’s arm.
“Neither can I,” I said tartly.
“Show Whitney your lovely wedding ring, Charli. She’d love to see it.” I volunteered my hand across the table – not because Fiona demanded I do so but because I knew she didn’t think I would.
Whitney frowned as she studied it. I didn’t care one bit. To me, my simple gold band was much more than lovely. It symbolised the very best thing in my life.
“Adam gave me this bracelet for my birthday last year.” Whitney thrust her hand across the table, waving it so close to my face that I had to lean back to see the garish bracelet she was flashing at me. “Four carats, total.”
“You win then, I guess,” I replied.
The conversation was ridiculous. Apparently the queen agreed, moving to change the subject. “Let’s order. I’m famished,” she announced.
I knew lunch would be an ordeal, purely because of the company I was with. What I didn’t know was that the agony would be drawn out over four courses of food and two bottles of champagne. It was asinine. The waiters ended up clearing the table of enough food to feed a small army. Much to my relief, most of the champagne got left too. It was hard enough dealing with them sober, let alone tanked on hundred-dollar bubbly.
I was merely an observer. I contributed nothing to the conversation. I didn’t know any of the people they gossiped about. I had none of the to-die-for handbags Fiona had picked up in Soho. And I had never set foot in the five star resorts Whitney recommended to Fiona for her next vacation to St Barts. I did, however, know of a great half-star backpackers hostel in Madagascar that had Internet access on Tuesdays.
Fiona stood up and made polite – but obviously fake – excuses to leave when lunch was over. Whitney stood too. I stayed put.
“Call me and we’ll do lunch next week,” she instructed, kissing both of Whitney’s cheeks.
“Absolutely,” she beamed. “We’ll catch up on all the scandal.”
Considering they’d just spent the last two hours gossiping, it was easy to read between the lines. I was the scandal.
Fiona turned her attention to me. “Charli, please give my love to Adam.”
“I will. Thanks for lunch.”
“No, thank you. It means the world to me that you came.” She almost sounded genuine, but killed it by leaning down and kissing my cheek.
Being left alone with Whitney was a fate worse than death, possibly because I was forced to admit to some truths. I had no idea how it was going to pan out; but one thing was certain. There were a few things dim Whit wanted to get off her Escada-clad chest.
“You must feel very uncomfortable,” she said flatly.
I was wearing a wool dress. I was very uncomfortable, but I knew that wasn’t what she was referring to. “We all have a cross to bear, Whitney.”
“Do you think he’s worth this?” she spat. “It’s always going to be uncomfortable for you. It’s never going to be over.”
Whitney’s attempts at menacing me were subpar at best.
“It is over,” I insisted. “You need to preserve what little sanity you have left and move on.”
If I’d thought I could handle it with a little more tenderness, I would have given it my best shot. I was beginning to think Adam was so cold toward her because he needed to be. She just didn’t get it.
“You’re a temporary glitch, Charli. He’s invested nothing in you. Not even a decent ring.” She leaned down to hiss the words across the table.
Replying calmly and quietly was my best defence. “Whitney, it’s over.”
She said nothing for a long time but her hard demeanour was beginning to crack. Angry, frustrated tears welled in her brown eyes. I didn’t take any delight in seeing her cry – but at least it proved she was human.
“You’re temporary,” she repeated, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than me. She drew in a sharp breath, composing herself. “He’ll never leave here, Charli. You won’t convince him to throw his life away for you.”
“It’s really none of your business.”
The smirk that crossed her face was positively wretched. “I don’t know what you two actually talk about, other than rainbows and puppies.” She punched out one hard laugh which was one more than her ignorant comment warranted. “Adam has much bigger plans than you.”
“Really?” I drawled.
Whitney slid her chair back and stood up, leaning down to bully me with her quiet words. “You’re trash, Charli. And eventually, trash gets put out.”
I let her have the last word. She picked up her to-die-for handbag and walked out the door.
Mentally, I was exhausted. I sat for a minute trying to figure out whether I wanted to laugh or cry at the absurdity of my day thus far.
I didn’t notice the waiter approach the table. “Will there be anything else today, Miss?”
“No, thank you.”
He smiled, nodded his head, placed a small black folder down on the table and walked away. A wave of pure dread washed over me. I lifted the cover of the folder just enough to see the amount of the bill inside. It was just shy of four hundred dollars. There was no way I could even come close to covering it. I couldn’t even cover the tip.
I suddenly recalled Fiona’s parting comment to me when I thanked her for lunch. “No, thank you.”
I’d been set up. Cruella de Vil and her trusty sidekick had completely snookered me.
Discreetly glancing around the restaurant, I considered my options. Approaching the maître d’, explaining the situation and offering to do the dishes until the tab was settled wasn’t an option. Firstly, it would take a million years to work it off and secondly, I was in the wrong part of town to expect such a deal could ever be negotiated.
Calling Adam was my best bet, even if it meant enduring a lecture about not carrying my credit card for emergencies like this. He answered straight away. “Charli, I’m in the middle of class,” he whispered, unimpressed by the interruption.
“I know. I’m sorry. I really need you to come down here and get me.”
“What are you talking about? Why?”
“Please, it’s important.”
He groaned. “Look, I take it things aren’t going well. You’re just going to have to deal with it. I’ll see you at home later.”
I doubted I’d be home any time soon. Rikers Island Jail had a bed with my name on it. I was just about to explain why I needed him there so desperately when a waiter appeared beside me and picked up the black folder. Realising it was empty, he quickly placed it back on the table.
“On second thoughts, can I order a pot of tea, please?” I asked him, desperately stalling for time.
“Of course, Miss,” he replied, walking away.
To my detriment, Adam heard my request. “Charlotte, drink your tea,” he said sarcastically. “I love you. I have to go.”
He hung up on me. And when I tried calling him back, it went straight to voicemail. I considered calling Bente, but wasn’t sure she’d be able to scrape together that much cash in a hurry. Ryan was my last hope.
“I have a meeting in a few minutes, Charli. It’s not really a good time.”
“Ryan, please. I need you to come down to Palmeraie.” I was practically begging.
Unlike his brother, he didn’t ask why, which was a good thing because the waiter reappeared at the table to serve my pot of tea and amend my bill. Ryan told me to stay put – as if I had a choice – and promised to be there within the hour.
I dragged my tea drinking out a ridiculously long time. It was stone cold by the time I’d finished, and panic was beginning to set in. From the corner of my eye I noticed the maître d’ standing at the podium, having a sly conversation with the waiter who’d served me. I was in a whole world of trouble.
Over an hour had passed since I’d spoken to Ryan. I had been at Palmeraie for nearly four hours. The unwavering stare-down by the maître d’ catapulted me to the point of hysteria. Breathing suddenly became a task I had to concentrate on, which meant I noticed nothing going on around me, including Ryan finally walking through the door. I jumped as he said my name, leaping out of my seat and throwing my arms around his neck.
“Ow, Charli, I need to breathe,” he said, loosening my grip with both hands.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just so glad to see you.”
Ryan sat down, reached for my hand and pulled me down onto the chair beside him. “Why? What’s the problem?”
I did my best to explain everything to him, ending with the obvious. “I can’t pay the bill.”
“You do realise your husband is loaded, right? Lunches at Palmeraie are supposed to be chump change.”
Again, the waiter approached our table. I didn’t feel anywhere near as nervous as I had the last time he appeared beside me. “Miss, management have requested that you settle the bill now.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” cooed Ryan. “We were just about to order cocktails.”
“Sir, the young lady has been here for over four hours.”
Ryan looked across at me, grinning wickedly. “Lush.”
“There was some concern as to whether she could cover the tab,” said the waiter.
Ryan reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. He placed his credit card in the black folder, snapped it shut and handed it to him. “I think it’s obvious that she can, don’t you?”
The waiter dipped his head and backed away, scurrying back to the podium to process the payment.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
“My pleasure,” he replied. “So how did you work your way in to this fine mess?”
I paused for a second so my words would be true. “Your mother and her little underling set me up.”
“You’re going to have to elaborate, Charli.”
I drew in a deep breath before launching in to my explanation. Ryan sat motionless and stone-faced, allowing me to finish the tale unchallenged.
“The irony is, they didn’t have to put so much effort in to humiliating me. I wouldn’t have been able to cover the first bottle of champagne.”
Ryan frowned, dropping his line of sight to the table. Dipping my head, I chased his eyes.
“It wasn’t about humiliating you, Charli,” he said quietly. “They were trying to raise the charge from petty theft to grand larceny. That’s a felony.”
Nothing he said made any sense to me and I had no choice but to admit it – even at the risk of him having to dumb it down for me. “I don’t understand.”
“I had a casual conversation with my mother a few days ago. She asked me about the likelihood of you having your visa approved,” he explained. “I told her it seemed pretty cut-and-dried. You obviously love each other, have plenty of money and no criminal convictions.”
His words were like a spear through my heart. “She wants me gone so badly that she’d set me up?” I asked, beginning to cry.
Seeing I was on the brink of a meltdown, Ryan reached across the table, covering my hand with his. “Please don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry. It reminds me of what a jerk I am.”
“At least you’re here. Adam wouldn’t come.”
“You mean I wasn’t your first choice?” His sad tone was completely false, and his over-the -top gesture of hand to heart made me laugh through my tears. “I’m crushed.”
“Don’t be. You would’ve been my phone-a-friend from jail if they’d arrested me.”
“Well, crisis averted. No one’s getting arrested today.”
“Can we get out of here please?” I asked, exhausted.
“Absolutely.”
***
I wasn’t up to the long walk home. I was utterly battle weary, and the dark, icy afternoon matched my bleak mood. I was relieved when Ryan insisted I take his driver.
I stripped off the second I was in the door. My itchy, uncomfortable dress hit the floor before I made it to the end of the hallway.
“Charli?” Adam called, probably following the trail of discarded clothing down to the bathroom. I hadn’t even realised he was home. I almost wished he wasn
’t. I had nothing nice to say to him. I turned on the shower and stepped inside.
It took Adam all of two seconds to realise I was ignoring him. “You’re upset with me.”
“Genius,” I muttered.
“Look, I couldn’t just drop everything and come running because your lunch date with my mother wasn’t going well.”
His superior tone was the first mistake he made. Mentioning his mother was the second. I cleared the foggy shower screen to see him.
“I needed you there.”
“Always drama.” He rolled his eyes, making his third mistake.
Adam’s arms were outstretched, holding a towel for me before I even finished turning the water off. I snatched it from him, wrapping it tightly around my body. His decision to follow me down to the bedroom made silent brooding impossible. “Go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Tell me why you’re so upset.”
Throwing open the closet doors, I searched for something to wear. I didn’t care what it was – providing it wasn’t wool. I settled on jeans and a T-shirt. I made him wait until I was fully dressed, which he did patiently, bugging me even more.
“Your mother is an evil, nasty woman.” I said it hatefully, meaning every word.
Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and groaned out a long breath. “What has she done now?”
It took me a long time to explain it to him. I embellished nothing. The story was so ludicrous that I didn’t need to. Like Ryan, Adam sat silently throughout my rant. “She’s so desperate to get me out of your life that she tried to have me deported.”
“You’re mistaken, Charlotte,” he said dully.
“No, Adam. Whitney wasn’t there by coincidence. They didn’t order hundreds of dollars worth of food for no reason. They set me up. Fiona knows I don’t use that stupid card you gave me. I made it easy for her.”
“No.”
We’d somehow stepped in to very dangerous territory. He didn’t believe me. “How else would you explain it?”
Adam stood up, taking an angry step toward me. “I can’t explain it. You’re mistaken.”