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She merely gave him one last smile before walking out of his apartment and out of his life.
Forever.
7
The night was long and lonely, but Daniel survived it. He woke up in the bed where he and Eleanor had made love. He searched out her scent on the sheets but couldn’t find it. She hadn’t been there long enough to leave any trace. It was as if she’d never been there at all.
He felt okay though. Not great but okay. Was that a sign that he hadn’t really been in love with her? It dawned on him that morning he might have been in love with his dream of her and losing her hurt as much as waking up from a dream.
Maybe. Maybe not. But he was wide awake now.
He got up, got dressed, had enough breakfast for two men. Then he hailed a cab and headed to Kingsley’s. Why? He didn’t expect Eleanor to be there. He wasn’t going to see her, just to tell Kingsley it was over, for good. If only to hear himself say it out loud, to make it official. Daniel had been wrong, Kingsley right. His integrity demanded he admit it. And it wouldn’t hurt to do a little commiserating, too. Nobody commiserated better than Kingsley Edge.
Daniel arrived around mid-morning and rang the bell at the front door. No answer. Very likely Kingsley was still asleep. The man was either fearless or liked to pretend he was, so Daniel wasn’t surprised to find the door was unlocked. He stepped inside the entryway and looked around. Usually the place was packed but then again, usually Daniel visited in the afternoon or evening. The house was eerily empty, eerily quiet and he wondered if this is what it was like every morning when the deviants of Manhattan were still sleeping it off.
In the quiet, he heard the soft rumble of a man’s voice coming from the music room. Daniel would have ignored it—probably just one of Kingsley’s friends taking a call in there—except he heard another voice replying. A woman’s voice. He would have minded his own business except he recognized her soft accent—it was Anya.
Daniel went to the music room and stopped at the threshold. He stood just outside the door and eavesdropped.
“Has Edge set a reserve?” a male voice inquired. Daniel didn’t need to see the man to know he was older—fifties or sixties. He could tell from the timbre of his voice, the supreme self-confidence possessed only by wealthy middle-aged white men. God, Daniel hoped he never sounded like that.
“No, sir,” Anya replied. She sounded meek which surprised him. He hadn’t thought she had a meek bone in her body. “I think I heard the bell. I need to—”
“They can wait. If you’d rather not bother with the auction, we can settle things now,” the man continued. “We’d have to have an exam, of course.”
“An exam?” Her voice shook and Daniel realized she wasn’t being meek at all. Rather, she was scared.
“I wouldn’t buy a car without having someone check under the hood first, of course.” The man chuckled. Daniel had heard enough. He pushed the door open and Anya turned and looked at him, first in surprise and then with obvious relief. She stood with her back to the fireplace, all the way back against it as if she’d been pushed there. The man—yes, white, middle-aged, bloated and pompous, wearing an expensive suit—had trapped her there. As Daniel burst into the room, the man dropped his hand from Anya’s reddened face. She looked like she was about to start crying.
“Anya? You all right?” Daniel asked.
“Excuse me, but who are you?” the man demanded. He stood up straight, arms behind his back like some sort of parody of a military commander.
“I’m Daniel. Anya’s helping me with a suit. We had an appointment.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, “we did. I’m sorry, I forgot. Mr. Harpring stopped by and I…I lost track of time.”
“It’s fine,” Daniel said. “I’m early. Should we go?” He held out his arm and waved as if beckoning a scared child or animal to his side. Without hesitation, she walked to him, almost running. She didn’t take his hand or his arm but she did something better—she stood behind his shoulder, as if trusting him to protect her. Like a shield.
“I’m happy to let Anya go with you but we hadn’t quite finished our conversation yet,” the man, Mr. Harpring said. “Could you give us a few minutes? Please?” He said “please” as if it were a joke, as if men like him didn’t say “please” unless they were in a mood to be funny.
“I believe Anya was finished with the conversation. Weren’t you?” He glanced over his shoulder. She nodded. Her face was still bright red. “She says you’re done. Ready?”
He addressed the question to Anya.
“Ready,” she said. “My tape measure is upstairs.”
“Anya, I think your friend can wait,” Mr. Harpring said. “Can’t you…who are you anyway?”
Daniel wished now he was wearing a suit, not jeans and a t-shirt. In a suit, he would have put this pompous prick to shame.
“No one you want to know,” Daniel said. “But don’t I know you? Ron Harpring? Of Harpring, Harrison, and Jones? The law firm in Midtown?”
The man said nothing.
“My wife was an attorney,” Daniel said. “Maggie Caldwell. You know that name?”
Mr. Harpring didn’t answer but his eyes had widened slightly in recognition. Corporate law in Manhattan was a very small fishbowl full of sharks.
