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Evelyn Roche and Grace Elliot were two friends from Brown that Brooke had not seen or heard from in over two years as they had moved to Chicago and Boston respectively.
‘It’s so great to see you,’ said Brooke, hugging them tightly. She was glad to see her old friends, but she just wished it was somewhere else, some other time, when this bad dream was all over.
‘We were just remembering that time when we drove up to Newport the weeks after our exams had finished,’ said Evelyn. ‘Do you remember? We saw Cliffpoint, and Julie Sanders identified David Billington as the most eligible man in America. She said she was going to make it her mission to track him down.’
‘Gosh yes,’ said Brooke listlessly. ‘Whatever happened to Julie?’
‘Married the most eligible man in Europe, I think,’ said Grace. ‘You know she always had focus.’
Brooke smiled weakly, desperate to leave.
‘Speaking of those happy days at Brown,’ continued Grace, ‘I read what Matt Palmer said about you in the Oracle.’
Brooke drew a sharp breath and avoided their eyes, trying not to register any emotion.
Grace leant in and dipped her chin conspiratorially. ‘Well, I met Sandy Steele the other week in Boston, I don’t think you knew her. She married her med–school boyfriend from Brown and it turns out he knows Matt Palmer. Apparently there were some pretty racy rumours going around about him a couple of years ago. Didn’t surprise me in the slightest when I heard what a rat he’d been with you and the gossip columns.’
‘Rumours?’ asked Brooke with a flicker of panic.
Grace grimaced. ‘Apparently he beat up his wife,’ she whispered.
Completely stunned and bewildered, Brooke felt her pulse start racing wildly.
‘I knew a doctor who did the same,’ said Evelyn, nodding. ‘Big drinkers.’
Brooke felt her fingers tremble. Her throat felt so thick with bile she could barely draw breathe. ‘No,’ she said a little too loudly. ‘I can’t believe that.’
Grace shrugged. ‘That’s what Sandy’s husband said. Apparently Matt’s always been the sort of guy you avoid when he’s drunk, but there’s never any excuse for it, is there? Anyway, Matt and his wife separated and then she died. It was all pretty grim.’
‘Yes, that’s really bad,’ nodded Brooke dumbly. And you have no idea just how bad, she thought. No idea at all.
CHAPTER SIXTY–THREE
Despite the champagne, Brooke had found it impossible to sleep. She had spent the night tossing and turning, unable to believe what Grace had said about Matt. No, that wasn’t true: she could certainly believe he had a drink problem; she’d smelt the sour whiff of alcohol in his apartment, and seen him bleary and hung–over after his break–up with Susie. But believing that he’d hit his wife? It was impossible, wasn’t it?
Sitting in a Brooklyn coffee shop, she rubbed her eyes and downed her espresso in one.
Glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall, Brooke saw it was 8.35 a.m. She was five minutes late, and every second Brooke felt more confused and stupid. At 8.40 a.m. precisely, Susie walked through the door. At first Brooke didn’t recognize her; her strawberry–blonde hair had been cut into a bob that swung around her face. She looked better, thought Brooke.
‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ said Susie nervously, ordering some camomile tea from the waitress. ‘But I can’t stay long, I’m getting the train to my parents’ house in Albany in a couple of hours. Christmas Eve is a big deal in our household, so I’d be in the worst trouble if I miss a second of it.’
When Brooke had finally given up trying to sleep, she had gone into the bathroom and had a scalding hot shower. She didn’t know if it was the reviving power of the water giving her clarity, or her sheer desperation, but she had suddenly been seized with an idea. Scrabbling around in her bag, she had found the business card Susie had given to her at Eileen’s launch party and sent a carefully worded text asking if they could meet.
Sitting opposite her now, Susie looked decidedly uneasy, and Brooke could understand it entirely: why would Brooke Asgill call her up on Christmas Eve morning?
‘Well, Happy Christmas anyway,’ said Susie, fishing around in her leather satchel and pulling out a small brown medicine bottle with a bright red bow tied around the neck.
‘It’s the oil I promised you. Sweet almond, lavender, and neroli. It’s a wonderful de–stresser. I thought you might need it, what with the wedding and all.’
Brooke smiled sadly and wrapped her fingers around the bottle, rubbing her thumb up and down the glass.
‘Susie,’ she said quietly, ‘Why did you break up with Matt?’
Susie paused as the waitress brought her tea. She sipped it, holding the cup in both hands. ‘It just didn’t work out, I guess,’ she said. ‘Busy doctor. Kooky aromatherapist. It was never going to work.’
She smiled broadly. A little too broadly.
‘I saw a friend last night,’ said Brooke slowly. ‘She said that Matthew used to hit his wife.’
