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“There’s really nothing to tell. Even though I was reluctant, Max was wonderful about arranging protection for me when I was being threatened by a narcissistic sociopath.” Fiona’s eyes are wide. It was news at the time, especially because of the press hysteria over Tina’s accusations of plagiarism, so Hillary knows the outline of Tina’s persecution. At the moment, I don’t want to re-live those events. I roll my shoulders.
“This is the woman who accused you of plagiarism, then shot you?” Hillary clarifies.
I nod. “Yeah. Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”
Fiona checks her watch, then stands. “I really enjoyed meeting you and I wish I could stay longer, but I really need to run.” We stand with her and Hills gives her a big hug.
“See you soon. And let me know how the Christie tour and tea goes.”
Before Fiona slopes off for another engagement, I press her hand. “So lovely to meet you.”
“You too.” Fiona gives a little wave and hurries out.
“She’s lovely,” I say.
“Yeah, she is. And a great guide and mentor.” Hills pours more tea, leans back, and peers at me through the fringe obscuring her eyes. “So you’re not sure how you feel about Max?”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I think of Max pulling me into his lap, nuzzling my hair. “I’m mad about him, but I’m not convinced Max really knows what he’s getting into. This is his first relationship, and frankly, I’m not sure what he sees in me. At some point, he’ll realize he can do better.”
“There is no one better.” My friend is staunchly in my corner. “I would say he knows he has the best.”
“You’ve never met him,” I protest.
“If you care for him, sit back and enjoy the trip of a lifetime.”
Pent-up emotion forces an unexpected outpouring. “Max should be with someone glamorous. He could have anyone. Anyone. Actresses, heiresses, models. High-powered business executives. The crème de la crème. I’m a short, too-thin, dull, middle-aged novelist. Besides,” I choke out, “Everyone leaves. Nothing ever lasts.”
Open-mouthed, Hillary stares at me, then pointing a finger at her chest, she declares, “Stop projecting your dysfunctional family on the rest of us. I’m still here.” Her voice is a mixture of pain and ice. Micki told me the same thing. Why can’t I believe them?
I drop my head to my hands and groan. “God, I thought I had shed these insecurities.” I crumble the remnants of my scone into finer and finer crumbs, then wipe my fingers with the linen napkin that matches the dishes.
“Hey, show me your Max photos?” Hillary’s voice is full of fake cheer.
I pull out my phone, click on the photo app, and bring up the album labeled Max.
“My God.” Hill’s voice climbs toward the clouds. “You’re sure this isn’t a photo of some hot model?”
I point to myself. “Not…in…his…league.”
She swipes through the rest of the album. “When he doesn’t have stars in his eyes, he looks at you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish any second.” Hillary’s voice holds a note of envy.
At the end of our lovely tea, I’m worried I’ll be too full to enjoy dinner. I push back my chair and place my palms against the table as I stand.
Hills is already at the entrance to the tearoom. She motions and calls out, “Get a move on, slowcoach.”
I linger for a last appreciation of the lovely room, before moving slowly away from the table. As I weave through the room to join her, I mutter, “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
I remember Max warned me not to walk alone, so I grab Hillary’s arm. “Walk me back to the club.”
“Something wrong?” Her voice is a tightly wound string, her gaze assessing.
I survey the vicinity, making sure we aren’t overheard. “I didn’t want to say, but Max is getting some threats and I’m nervous something will happen while we’re in London.”
She nods, slips her arm through mine, and walks me back to the Club, where the doorman salutes us. Safety in numbers.
I give her a grateful hug. “You’re a brick, Hills. Tomorrow at Rules.”
“Think nothing of it. See ya tomorrow.” With a queenly wave, she walks off.
