A Family Affair

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.It wasn’t what Elena said, but how she said it, soft, caring.Christine had tried that once with Connor, called him for no reason just to chat and tell him she was thinking about him.He’d put her on Hold, just for a minute so he could talk to Tokyo, and five minutes later, Bette, his secretary, came on the line and told her Connor would be tied up longer than expected, “closing a deal you know,” and then asked if there was a message.There was no message, none that he would understand anyway.People expected them to get married—her mother, Connor’s parents, everyone who saw them together.You make a beautiful couple, her mother had told her.You with your fair skin and black hair and Connor with his classic good looks; everyone notices the two of you.Connor’s father was more straightforward.Great gene pool, can’t wait to see the kids.Her own father had been polite with Connor but there’d been no “join our family” sentiment in his words or his behavior and certainly no references to extending the family with Connor’s gene pool.“Christine? Are you listening? Do you think you’ll be back on the twenty-third? I have to go to New York and I thought you might want to go with me, do a little business, take in a show.”“I don’t know.” Perhaps, deep down, her father’s lack of acceptance had kept her from committing to Connor.“I know how you love the city.” He paused and smiled at her.“Besides, I’m meeting with Niles Furband and I was hoping you could work your magic on him again.”“All I did was talk to the man, for heaven’s sake.”“That’s just it, Christine.You talked to the man.Nobody talks to Niles Furband, the man.They talk to Niles Furband, CEO of Glen Systems, or Niles Furband, heir to the Furband fortune, or Niles Furband, Chairman of the Board for St.Catherine’s Hospital.They ask his opinion on variable loans in the current market and leveraged buy-outs, or how many zeros they can add to whatever donation they’re seeking.Or, and this is so lame, the names of his kids, as if they cared.”“I cared.”“That’s my point.You cared.The rest of them are just blowing smoke.”She tucked several pairs of underwear into the side pocket of her suitcase.“Like you, maybe? Bring me along so you seem more credible when you hold out your hand?”He did have the good grace to turn a very dull shade of red.“I’ve got a good deal for him.It’s not bullshit.”“Are you asking me to go to New York to spend time with you or are you asking me to go to set up a deal for you?”“I want to be with you.” He sat up, reached for her hand and stroked her thumb.“You love New York.I just thought”—he squeezed the soft flesh of her palm—“this could be a huge deal; you have no idea how big.” The stroking started up again, then the white smile.“Just think about it, okay?”“I’ll see.” She stood there, the touch of his fingers on her skin, the steady movement brushing back and forth, slow, methodical, and felt nothing.***Christine loaded the BMW the next morning at 6:15 and began the long haul to the cabin in the Catskills.Snow pelted the windshield in thick, wet chunks as she maneuvered through the dark, untamed landscape before her.How many more miles until she reached his cabin? His other home? Was this where he took her? Was this where they shared a glass of wine, a meal.a bed?Images rolled over her, seeping from her brain into every part of her body, organs, tissues, cells.What did she look like? Young? Please not someone Christine’s own age, or worse, younger.Older? How much older? How had they met? Did she know he had a wife and daughter? Another life that had nothing to do with her?The guessing drove her mad.She’d know soon enough, and then she’d probably wish she didn’t, because once she saw with her own eyes, heard with her own ears, the image and the sound would imbed itself in her memory, and nothing, no amount of denial or drugs or therapy would erase it.But still, she had to know.She’d spent hours trying to imagine the confrontation.Faces, inflections in speech, odd little nuances, even something as unassuming as educational background or socioeconomic condition could help determine what should be said or how.Yet all she knew about this woman was her name.Hadn’t her father ever thought about what might happen if his family found out? Had he been so consumed with love, desire, lust, that it hadn’t occurred to him or if it had, the longing was so overpowering that he discarded the needs of his family? She hated this faceless woman [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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