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“Did I say it wasn’t?”
“You implied.”
“I did no such thing.”
“He has meetings with his students on a regular basis,” I told her. “To go over their assignments, explain his notes, tell them where they can improve. That’s part of his job.”
“I know that,” Tracy protested. “I’ve met with my instructor several times to discuss exactly what you just said.”
“There you go,” I said, feeling somewhat vindicated.
“Just not at lunch,” she added.
“Shit,” I said, finishing the wine in my glass and pouring another.
“My instructor says I have real talent,” Tracy said, an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Good for you.”
“You’re upset,” Tracy said, realizing she might have gone too far. “Sorry. That wasn’t my intention. Harrison would be a complete idiot to even think of cheating on you. Honestly. I’m sure the lunch was perfectly innocent,” she continued, using my words, underlining how hollow they sounded. “I’m sure that Harrison will tell you all about it when he gets home.”
He didn’t.
“That must have been some meeting,” I said when he finally pushed open the front door at almost ten o’clock. Tracy had left an hour earlier, and I was sitting at the dining room table, having finished off the last of the wine. A pleasant buzz had settled into the tops of my shoulders, brushing against my skin like a silk shawl.
“A bunch of us went out afterward for a bite to eat,” he said. “Sorry. I guess I should have called.”
“To Bar Mercurio?” I asked, emboldened by the alcohol in my system.
“What?”
“Did you go to Bar Mercurio?” I repeated.
“No. Actually, we went to the bar at the Four Seasons. Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“You seem a little…off. How much have you had to drink?”
I shrugged, glancing at the empty bottle. “Tracy was here for dinner.”
He nodded, as if this explained everything.
“She said she saw you today.”
Harrison’s head tilted to one side, like an inquisitive puppy.
“At lunch,” I said before he could ask. “At Bar Mercurio.”
I watched his eyes digest this latest piece of information.
“Okay,” he said. “I confess. I had lunch at Bar Mercurio.”
“With one of your students?”
“With Wren Peterson, yes. To go over her last assignment. Yesterday I had lunch with Candace Fitzpatrick,” he continued. “Did Tracy see me then, too?”
I felt the silk shawl slipping from my shoulders, leaving me exposed and unprotected.
