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“I’ll be back soon, darling,” Alexia promised. “There are a couple of things I need to talk through with Lucy. But it won’t take long. Then you and I can work out a plan for the future.”
On the plane, in the comfort of her first-class seat, Alexia finally allowed herself to relax.
Tomorrow she would see Lucy. Lucy would know the truth about Arnie. Lucy would tell Alexia. Lucy trusted Alexia.
They trusted each other.
Alexia De Vere smiled as she soared up into the blue.
Chapter Thirty-nine
“The toast is burning.”
Arnie Meyer looked up briefly from the Wall Street Journal. He was in the kitchen of his home on Martha’s Vineyard, sipping the finest Colombian coffee and enjoying the view across his gardens to the harbor, when the unexpected, acrid smell of smoke disturbed him. Unexpected because Lucy never burned anything. Ever. Her meals were always things of beauty, delivered perfect and piping hot on pretty bone-china plates, timed to perfection like miniature military campaigns. It was a precision and attention to detail that Arnie Meyer both appreciated and expected. He was a man used to getting his own way.
“Hmm?” Lucy looked at Arnie, then at the toaster. “Oh my God! Why didn’t you say something?”
“I did.”
Lucy wasn’t listening. Pressing cancel, she ejected the two charred squares, opened the kitchen door, and carried them outside, still smoking.
“Careful, honey,” Arnie called after her. “You’ll burn your fingers. Do you want me to put on some more?”
Outside in the cool morning air, Lucy Meyer took a deep, calming breath. “No, no,” she said cheerfully, the competent housewife once more. “I’ll do it.”
From behind the shield of his newspaper, Arnie watched his wife as she bustled around the room, slicing bread from the fresh baker’s loaf and whisking up the eggs for his smoked-salmon scramble. She’s still beautiful to me, he thought affectionately. He loved Lucy’s slender waist—slim, but not too thin, like her friend Alexia. Mrs. De Vere was looking gaunt these days, in Arnie Meyer’s humble opinion. A woman should have a little meat on her bones. In a cornflower-blue shirtwaist dress, with a floral apron tied over the top, Lucy had an old-fashioned, 1950s look about her this morning that conjured up the wholesome happiness of earlier, simpler times. She reminded Arnie of his mother as a young woman: feminine, nurturing, a soft, welcoming respite from the slings and arrows of the world.
“I love you.”
Lucy turned around, a curious smile on her face. Arnie wasn’t usually big on verbal displays of affection. “Well, that’s good.” She laughed. “Because at this point you’re pretty much stuck with me.”
Arnie finally put down his paper. “Is something the matter, Luce? You seem kind of jumpy this morning.”
“Why, because I burned the toast?” Lucy laughed again, but he sensed there was an edge to it.
“I don’t know. Maybe. You never burn the toast. You never burn anything.”
“Nothing’s the matter, Arnie.” Putting the pan of eggs on a low heat, she came over to the table and kissed him. “If anything, I’m a little excited. I haven’t seen Summer in so long. It’ll be a treat having her here.”
“Oh, shit.” Arnie Meyer put his head in his hands. “It’s today, isn’t it? I totally forgot she was flying in.”
“Arnie!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I arranged to go fishing with Jake McIntyre.”
“Well, you’d better un-arrange it,” said Lucy, returning to the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You agreed to pick Summer up at the airport. She’s expecting you.”
“Can’t you do it? I promised Jake—”
“No, I cannot do it,” Lucy said, annoyed. “I’m hiking with Alexia, remember? She called from England especially to ask if we could have some time alone today.”
“But you can see Alexia anytime.”
“For God’s sake, Arnie, Teddy’s just been sent to jail! You can see Jake McIntyre anytime. Alexia needs me right now.”
Arnie Meyer held his hands up like a soccer player admitting a foul. After three decades of marriage, he knew when he was fighting a losing battle.
“Okay, okay, I’ll go get Summer. What time’s her flight land anyway?”
