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“I know.” Alexia sighed. “She frustrates me so much, sometimes it’s hard to keep my temper. But I am trying. I don’t want to give up on her, Michael, but it’s as if she’s given up on herself.”
“I know.” Michael sighed.
“Anyway, enough of that nonsense. How are you, my darling? How are things going with Daddy’s party?”
“Wonderfully, thanks.”
“Anything you need from me?”
“Nope.” Michael sipped his water. “You’ve done more than enough already. Tommy says to tell you if you ever tire of running the country, there’s a guaranteed job for you with us.”
Alexia laughed loudly. “How sweet of Tommy. Do give him my best.”
“You mustn’t give up hope with Rox, you know,” Michael said abruptly. “Look how much better things are with Dad and me now, versus a year ago.”
“That’s hardly the same.”
“It is in some ways.”
“Your sister’s never going to get over Andrew Beesley leaving her. I don’t know if she even wants to get over it, to tell you the truth. Sometimes I think she’s more comfortable being a victim than she is being happy.” Alexia took a bite of her fish. “Does that sound terribly harsh?”
It did sound harsh, although Michael had had the same thought himself, many times. Roxie liked being a victim and Teddy liked having a victim to care for. In some sick, twisted way, tragedy suited the two of them.
Michael’s face darkened. “I hate Andrew Beesley. I hate him so much it’s like a pain in my chest.”
Alexia looked at her son intently. “Do you?”
“Yes. I think how different things would be if Roxie had never met him. Don’t you?”
“No,” Alexia said truthfully. “I never think about the past. What happened, happened. It can’t be changed.”
“So you don’t hate Andrew Beesley?” Michael sounded disbelieving.
“No, I don’t hate him.”
“Because it would be okay to hate him, you know. It would be normal.”
Alexia laughed, more from nerves than amusement. Something about Michael’s tone disturbed her. “Would you like me to hate him?”
“No. All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t judge you if you did. Some people are just bad people. They deserve to suffer. They deserve to die.”
The mood at the table had shifted. Michael had been all sunshine and smiles when she walked in. Now suddenly he was so cold, Alexia felt a shiver run through her. She’d had the same feeling at Number Ten, when Henry Whitman had been so cryptic about her relationship with Sir Edward Manning.
Had Henry been trying to tell her something? Was Michael?
“How’s Summer?” Alexia asked, changing the subject to what she hoped would be a happier topic.
“Fine, I think.”
“What do you mean you think? Don’t you know?”
Michael fiddled uncomfortably with his napkin. “I haven’t seen her for a couple of months, to be honest. She’s in New York. I’m here. It’s not easy.”
“But you speak on the phone? You Skype?”
Michael nodded noncommittally.
Oh dear, thought Alexia. Trouble in paradise? She did hope not.
