Interrupting his thoughts, Jill says, ‘What are we going to do? I don’t want to put another mortgage on this place. I am not going to risk losing our home. There must be another solution.’
He turns to her, his fingers tightening around his glass, and prepares himself.
Jill is feeling quite desperate. Just a short time ago, she thought her world was solid; how quickly things change. And then– she hadn’t really believed that Greg would turn them down. Ted is all the family he has. Maybe they should have asked for less. But then she remembers that Ted just told her Greg is worth about $45 million, a shocking amount of money. She doesn’t think it would have mattered how much they asked for; he turned them down because he wanted to lord it over his brother. She’s never liked Greg much, but now she hates him. She has quickly transferred the blame for the impending loss of her home and her lifestyle from her husband to his brother. She gulps down the rest of her drink and silently hands her empty glass to Ted for a refill. He takes it from her and walks to the sideboard, the bottles glittering in the afternoon sunlight coming through the tall windows. She loves this brownstone; they have carefully made every inch of it their own. It reflects who they are. It is their sanctuary. They can’t lose it. They can’t.
She loves Ted too, although she might love the house more. If she had to give up one or the other, she thinks she would choose to give up Ted and keep the house. Still, Ted was easy to fall in love with. She was twenty-eight and looking for someone to love. She’d been rather predatory about it, something Ted doesn’t know. They’d met at a gallery opening– always a greatopportunity to meet men of means. She’d long ago decided that it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it was to fall in love with a poor one. Much easier, in fact. Especially for a girl who loves nice things and nice places.
She’d had nice things, growing up, until her alcoholic father pissed it all away. Then there had been hard times. She’d gone to college on brains, hard work, and loans, determined to make a way for herself. After graduating with a degree in fine art, she got a job at a small gallery in Manhattan, bought perfect dresses at designer sales, and did her research. Ted had caught her eye initially because of his good looks. She’d been prepared to sacrifice on looks, if absolutely necessary, but there were things she would not budge on, like children. She’d inquired discreetly about Ted, after meeting him at the gallery opening– he hadn’t asked for her number, although he’d flirted with her– and learned that he’d recently inherited a lot of money from his father. After that, she contrived to meet him again.
The second time, she gave him her card and invited him to come see what they had at the gallery where she worked. He took the card and said, ‘How about I take you out to dinner instead?’
After that they had a whirlwind romance– fine dinners, and trips to Paris, St Lucia and Istanbul. He showered her with gifts, and after six months, asked her to marry him with a very respectable diamond. She said yes. They began looking for a place to live and chose the very house they’re in right now. He had fallen in love with it too. She was delighted that he hadn’t wanted children either. For the last several years, they both had everything they wanted. They were happy. They were in love.She hadn’t known they were living beyond their means. They had the perfect life. Until now. She wonders if she will ever be able to forgive him.
There must be another solution. She gulps her drink, staring at the wallpaper, lost in its intricate pattern.
Suddenly she can see another way forward– it comes to her as the liquor burns down her throat. She knows that Ted is Greg’s heir; they have talked about it. Sometimes she has even thought about it– what if Greg were to get bone cancer, like their mother, and die quite young? But these were always idle thoughts, quickly swept away, because she’d thought they had lots of money and Ted shared the same genes, and she hated to think of Ted being the one to get bone cancer instead. But now a different option presents itself.
Something could happen to Greg.
She lifts her eyes and looks appraisingly at her husband. She tells herself that Greg should have loaned them the money. It’s his own fault. Now Ted is looking at her as if he can read her mind.
She decides to throw out something to test the waters, something she can pull back from if he takes it the wrong way. She says, ‘It would serve Greg right if he had an accident and you inherited all his money.’ She says it with a sarcastic tone and a rueful smile, but he stares back at her as if he’s taking her seriously.
‘It would,’ he agrees.
‘He should have loaned us the money,’ she adds.
‘Yes, he should have,’ Ted says. He adds intently, ‘You know I love you, more than life itself.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she says, impatient with this. She has something more important on her mind.
‘And we’ve always been a team,’ he continues.
‘Yes,’ she says automatically. But she’s thinking,Have we?
‘We could tackle this together,’ he says.
She looks up at him, trying to read him. The liquor has gone to her head, and she feels emboldened, reckless. ‘Tackle what, exactly?’
‘Greg.’
‘Forty-five million is a lot of money,’ she says.
‘And I’m his sole heir,’ Ted points out.
There’s no mistaking his meaning now. Her heart skips a beat. ‘He might marry again some day,’ she continues, ‘and then you’d get nothing.’
‘So maybe we need to act sooner rather than later.’
She puts her drink down on the coffee table. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
‘That bastard deserves it.’
Chapter Seven
Now
THE BOAT PITCHESand the wind screams; Ted struggles to control her. The sea has become more maniacal since his brother went overboard. Ted’s soaked through from the spray and freezing; he can hardly feel his hands.Where is the damn Coast Guard?Now that it’s done, he just wants this to be over; he wants to be safely back on dry land. But he circles, waiting for help; they mustn’t look like they’re abandoning Greg.
