Part 27 (1/2)

”Don't worry. I'll bring our own.”

Click.

Speed dial again.

”h.e.l.lo. You've reached Elinor Harding Young-”

Click.

CJ moved to the window, clutching her cell phone. She sat in the plush chair overlooking the garden, but she didn't enjoy the view. Her eyes were focused straight on the panties, and her heart was pounding like the ba.s.s in the band that still wafted up from the party.

There was only one person CJ wanted to call. One person who could be levelheaded, and it wasn't Mac.

She speed dialed again. She held her breath, hoping he'd answer, hoping he'd welcome her call.

”Cooper?”

”CJ?” His voice was the same, in spite of the years. She closed her eyes and started to cry.

”CJ? Are you all right? What's happened?”

”Cooper,” she repeated, because it was nice to hear herself say his name. Then she said she was fine and he said he was, too, and she launched into the tale about Elinor and the blackmail and their attempts to locate the culprit and the panties now perched on the bed. She did not mention Remy in deference to E. But CJ was as comfortable speaking to her ex as if they'd talked yesterday, as if she'd never left SoHo or him.

”Can you hold on a minute?” he asked once she'd stopped for a breath. ”I need to take this in the other room.”

Oh G.o.d, she realized with a thud to her heart, he isn't alone. Of course he isn't alone! Why on earth would he have been without a woman all this time, just because she'd been without a man except for Ray Williams, and he didn't count?

Her bruised ego was about to hang up when he clicked on again.

”Sorry,” he said. ”I needed to let the dog in before she woke up the neighbors.”

A dog. Not a woman. Still, CJ felt foolish. ”Cooper, I'm sorry. It was bold of me to think I could call you on a Sat.u.r.day night and not interrupt your evening. I'm sorry. I'll call back another time.”

”Stop it,” he said abruptly. ”I'm not glad there's a problem, but I am glad you called.”

”So I'm not interrupting?”

”If you're asking me if I'm with a woman, the answer is no. The only woman in my life right now is Molly.”

Molly?

”My golden retriever.”

She smiled.

”CJ,” he continued, ”you need to call the police. You need to call the police, then call me back if you want.”

”I can't,” she said. ”I can't call the police.”

Cooper laughed. ”Because it's Elinor?”

”No. Because it's the vice president.” Then she told him the rest. ”After this is over,” she said when she was done, ”I'm going back to Paris. I'm going to stop protecting my sister and finally start my life over.”

”Ah,” he said. ”Act two. Maybe this time you can rewrite a few scenes.”

She did not ask what he meant.

”You need to divorce me, Malcolm.”

Elinor and Mac sat in the back of the black Lincoln Town Car that Mac only used on special occasions. He'd always said it embarra.s.sed him to be chauffeured around, as if he thought he was too important to tackle the Beltway himself.

He sighed. ”What going on, Elinor?”

She gazed out the window at the indestructible stone buildings, the historic streetlamps, the sleek limousines that snaked through the grid streets, their dark, tinted windows harboring power within. Elinor had once found Was.h.i.+ngton exciting. She'd never expected to have to pay for her crimes. Perhaps that was a by-product of Father's example, or maybe she'd simply lived too long in this city.

Beside her, Malcolm breathed. A small hollow grew in her stomach, the same one that had grown the night her mother told her she'd found Malcolm and CJ in the greenhouse. Together. Making hasty, c.u.mbersome love. While CJ was heavy with Jonas. Their baby, not hers, not Elinor's, no matter how hard she had tried to believe it, no matter how hard she'd tried to convince the world, because it was what Father had told her to do.

She'd tried to tell Father about the scene in the greenhouse, but he'd said she was overreacting, that they both knew her mother was inclined toward the dramatic.

As with other things-such as the incident with the gardener-they'd never mentioned it again.

Still, it didn't seem fair that now, after all these years, Elinor would turn out the villain.

She teared up, and it wasn't an act.

”I've had an affair.” Elinor spoke softly, so the driver wouldn't hear through the privacy window, though Mac had once told her that Jimmy was nearly deaf, that, at seventy-six, he needed the job to supplement his Social Security.

Mac didn't answer. He stared straight ahead at the Plexiglas that separated the worlds of employer, employee.

”I'll leave Was.h.i.+ngton quietly,” she continued. ”I'll go back to Mount Kasteel. Sell the estate. I'm sure I can move into the cottage with Jonas until I figure out what to do.” She stopped herself from adding, ”CJ can move in with you, and you both can live happily ever after.”

He didn't reply.

Outside, the nation's capital continued to slide past, with its altars to presidents, its homages to the people, its secrets tucked in every corner.

”Congressman Perry knows,” she said. ”I don't know how he found out.”

The seconds, the minutes, gnawed at her pride. She dabbed her tears; he did not seem to notice.

”Malcolm,” she said, ”I'm being blackmailed. The phone call you received was from the blackmailer. I wasn't in Philadelphia. I was in Grand Cayman. I've kept an account there for years. I started it with my share from Father's estate. I added to it whenever you gave me money for parties or decorating. When we remodeled the town house, I told you the cost was twice what it was. I put the other half in my account. I've let the money grow. I needed to know I'd have money to start over on my own.” She stopped for a moment, then added, ”I've always been afraid you would leave me, Malcolm.”

If Mac was listening, he didn't acknowledge her. It was irritating, painful, humiliating. It reminded her of eighth-grade geography cla.s.s, when she'd copied the answers off Alice's test paper and Mr. Laufer had guessed.

”I'm not going to give either of you an F,” he'd announced to the entire cla.s.s, ”because I'm sure this must be a coincidence. I know that neither of you-certainly not Elinor-would cheat in my cla.s.sroom.” No, certainly not the daughter of the headmaster.

She had been too mortified to admit that instead of studying she'd been helping her mother plan the spring faculty luncheon because it would win praises from Father and did not interest CJ. She'd been too mortified to admit that cheating had seemed preferable to receiving an unacceptable grade.