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Angus wrapped a comforting arm around Alexia’s shoulder as they left the building. “Is there anyone I can call? You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“Thanks,” said Alexia, “but there really isn’t.”
It was true. Teddy had always been her rock, her protector. But in the harsh light of the truth, he’d melted away, like butter in the sun. And now he was behind bars, unreachable. Both Michael and Roxanne were lost to her. There were people who would give her a bed, of course, out of pity, or propriety, or some other British notion of doing “the done thing.” Sir Edward Manning, other political colleagues with whom Alexia had forged alliances during her long years in the trenches. But no one she considered a true friend. Not here anyway.
“Should I take you home?” asked Angus.
Home, thought Alexia. Where is home?
In that instant, she knew where she should go.
“Can I get you anything, love? Cup of tea? Some toast?”
Summer Meyer smiled at the ICU nurse but shook her head. It amused her the way the British considered a “nice cup of tea” to be the panacea for all life’s ills. Terminal cancer? I’ll put the kettle on. Boyfriend in a coma? Have a cuppa. It was an attitude that reminded her of her mother and home, although with Lucy food was the great cure-all: muffins, cookies, cupcakes. Lucy Meyer was a big believer in the healing power of baked goods.
But not even Lucy Meyer’s magic baking could have handled the latest twist in the De Vere family’s falling fortunes. The discovery of Andrew Beesley’s body in a shallow grave on the home secretary’s estate was the story on all the British news channels. Alexia had resigned, and now Teddy—Teddy!—had been charged with Andrew’s murder. A less likely killer than the soft, warmhearted Teddy De Vere would be hard to imagine. Although in some ways picturing Teddy as a killer was easier than recasting Alexia as a selfless, loving mother. Apparently she’d concocted the story about driving Andrew away, taking the blame for years solely to protect Roxie’s bond with her father.
Summer stroked Michael’s limp hand. “I love you,” she whispered. “But your family is insane. You do know that, right?”
“Not all of us, surely?”
Alexia stood in the doorway. Thin and stooped, she wore baggy trousers and a white cardigan that hung off her bony frame like feathers on a dying bird. Her usually perfect hair was limp and tangled, and her eyes and cheeks bore the hollow look of acute suffering. If Summer had to pick one word to describe her, it would have been a word she had never associated with Michael’s mother before: frail.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you, Summer.”
“No! I mean . . . I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” Summer blushed. “Please. Sit down.”
“I’m not disturbing you?”
“Not at all.” Summer released Michael’s hand and Alexia took it, tracing slow spirals across her son’s palm with her thumb. “Any change?”
Summer shook her head.
Both women sat in silence for a while. Then Summer said, “Mom said you might be flying out to the Vineyard. Laying low for a while.”
Alexia nodded. “I can’t stay here. The press won’t give me a minute’s rest.” She gazed at her son’s inert body. “Do you think he can hear us?”
“I don’t know. They say not. Sometimes I feel as if he can but . . . I don’t know.” Summer took a deep breath. “I heard they charged Teddy.”
“Uh-huh. It’s like a soap opera, isn’t it?” Alexia giggled inappropriately, high on exhaustion. “Except that the characters and the plotlines are all real. Andrew Beesley’s really dead. Michael’s really lying here, like this. Teddy’s really in jail. He confessed, you know.”
“I heard.”
“I never liked Andrew. But I hadn’t realized just how much Teddy hated him. To shoot a man in cold blood like that.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “That’s not the man I married. It makes no sense to me.”
Summer said thoughtfully, “I think it makes sense. Just not the sort of sense we want to acknowledge. I’m not defending it, obviously. But I understand. People do crazy things when they love someone.”
Alexia smiled wanly. “You’re a smart g
irl. I can see why Michael fell in love with you.”
“I misjudged you, Alexia,” Summer blurted out. “I didn’t know, about Teddy and Andrew, and you taking the blame so that Roxie wouldn’t hate her father.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Alexia said kindly. “Nobody knew. That was the point.”
“I don’t think I could do something that unselfish.”
