In Love Again (31 page)

They all met up in the lobby at half past six. Claire hugged Bronte and patted her cheek. She wanted so much to tell her she was also pregnant, but knowing Bronte’s boundless enthusiasm, she feared it would have been impossible for her to keep it a secret.

“You look so beautiful, Bron.”

“I’m a fat cow. Please.”

“Stop it. You look splendid. So round and glorious.”

“You know, from anyone else, I would take that as the worst veiled insult, but I think you really mean it.”

“Of course I really mean it. I think pregnant women are the most beautiful women in the world.”

“Oh Claire.” Bronte sighed. “You should talk. You look so wonderful. And Ben is absolutely dreamy.” She glanced across the seating area toward Ben. “Even better than his picture on the Internet.” Bronte nudged her elbow into Claire’s upper arm.

“Ow. Stop that.” But she looked across at Ben and Devon talking on one of the pale pink-and-green chintz sofas and sighed. “But he is, isn’t he? Dreamy, I mean.”

“Look at you.” Bronte let the dreamy go on for about two more seconds. “But.”

Claire laughed. “I knew I wouldn’t get much a reprieve.”

“Why is everyone always acting like I am such a trial?”

“Because you are! But that’s why we love you.”

“Oh well, thanks. I guess. Anyway, what is going on with work? Are you still Boppy’s grunt? Are you starting to take on your own projects?”

“Well…” Claire tore her gaze from Ben, who had just looked up and smiled at her while Devon continued talking. “Okay. Well, here’s the thing. I can’t very well fall in love with
every
client in order to resolve postdivorce spats about interior decoration. But I have got a bit of a name for myself as this peacemaker or something.”

“Oh, I fucking love that. It is so you!”

“Bronte.” Max’s deep voice was more of a heads-up than a chastisement. “Wolf is on his way over to say good-night.”

“Oh, thanks, darling.” She put her arms out as the little boy toddled over to his mother.

He dove at her, and she nearly toppled onto the floor. “Let me sit!” She laughed and settled him into her lap. She whispered something in his ear, and he kissed her stomach twice then looked around at all his aunts and uncles and then saw his grandmother and smiled just for her. He wriggled out of his mother’s lap after a few more bedtime kisses then weaved through legs and chairs and coffee tables to reach his grandmother. Bronte watched as Sylvia hugged the little boy close and Jack Parnell patted him on the back.

Max rested his hand on her shoulder. “It’s good, right?”

She put her hand over his. “Yes. It’s good,” she answered quietly.

The nanny was there a few minutes later, scooping up Wolf and taking him back to their villa for bath and bedtime.

Claire watched the whole scene and felt a wave of warmth, anticipating next Christmas, when both Claire and Bronte would have new babies with them. She was about to join Ben on the sofa when she saw a familiar face across the lobby. An older, white-haired man named Julian Stembridge was escorting his aging wife toward the dining room. Claire had met them both many years ago. They lived full-time in the Bahamas, expatriate Brits who’d never wanted to return to the rain and fog of London after their first visit to the islands in the 1950s. He and Freddy had also had some business dealings at one time, but Claire didn’t remember seeing the Stembridge name on the list of Freddy’s creditors. She set down her drink and crossed the lobby.

“Julian?”

He looked somewhat startled, but she thought it might be the hesitance of old age, the need to cull his memory bank before the lights of recognition came on. Still, he said nothing.

“It’s Lady Wick…Claire?”

His wife remembered her then. “Oh, Claire dear. How are you? It’s been so many years. Since you and Freddy were first married, I believe.”

“Yes,” Claire said kindly, “I think that was the last time we saw each other. Maybe twenty years ago.”

Julian Stembridge looked perplexed, and it didn’t seem to be from a loss of memory.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Stembridge? I hope I wasn’t too familiar calling you Julian?” Claire tried.

He shook his head. “No, no. Of course not. I’m just so flummoxed. How did you get here so quickly?”

“Quickly?”

“Did you just fly in today?”

“I did, yes.” Claire smiled, worried the old man had gone a bit senile, poor thing. “From Philadelphia, actually. I’ve moved to New York. Late last summer. It’s been quite wonderful.”

“New York? I—you must forgive me. We spoke this morning and you told me you were in London.”

“We what?” Claire stood up straighter and felt the blood draining from her face. She rested her hand over her abdomen, then let it drop, not wanting to draw attention to her spontaneous, protective gesture.

“I spoke to you and Freddy this morning. You said you had a cold, because your voice was a bit froggy.”

“I’m sorry, Julian…Mr. Stembridge. You must have me confused with someone else. I haven’t been back to London since September. And I, well, if you must know, Freddy and I were legally separated many months ago and we are going through a rather acrimonious divorce right now. Perhaps you are thinking—”

“Oh dear. Oh dear.” Julian shook his head and his wife looked up at him with concerned, pale blue eyes.

“What is it, Jules?”

He patted his wife’s knobby hand against his forearm. “Nothing that should be discussed on such a lovely occasion.” He forced a cheerful smile. “Christmas Eve is no time to worry over such things.” His smile faded when his gaze slipped from his wife to Claire. “Lady Wick. Please accept my deepest apology for greeting you so shabbily just now. Will you be staying in the Bahamas long? I would very much like to meet with you at my offices on the twenty-seventh if you are free?”

Claire felt the frisson of dread creep back up her spine. She tried to tell herself it might just as easily be good news as bad. “Of course. We are here through the New Year.”

“Very well. We are closed for Christmas and Boxing Day, but please come in at nine o’clock on the twenty-seventh. Again, I’m so sorry to have been so thoughtless earlier.”

Claire felt the press of Ben’s hand against her lower back. “Everything all right, sweetheart?” he asked kindly.

She took another deep breath, but she felt like she couldn’t quite fill her lungs. “Yes.” There was an awkward pause as the four of them stared at one another. “Oh!” Claire realized it was up to her to make the introductions. “Ben Hayek, this is Julian and Amanda Stembridge. Old friends. Julian and Amanda, this is my…”

Ben smiled.

Claire looked at him then finished speaking with a slow, sure smile. “This is my fiancé, Benjamin Hayek.”

Mr. Stembridge tried to hide his shock as best he could. Ben was likewise pleased and confused to hear Claire introduce him as her future husband.

“Pleased to meet you both,” he said.

“Would you like to join us for a drink before supper?” Claire asked. “I know my mother and brothers would welcome the chance to say hello.”

Julian looked down at his wife, who nodded and smiled. “Very well,” he said. “We’d love to join you.”

After Christmas Eve dinner, Devon and Sarah ended up coming back to Claire’s villa. Lydia had not overserved herself, for a change. She was bubbly and snarky as always, but without quite the spike of meanness. Or maybe Claire didn’t feel the need to monitor her so closely. Either way, she was funny and charming when the five of them returned to the villa for a nightcap.

Ben had managed to rustle up a guitar from the hotel somewhere, and they sat out on the porch while he played some Spanish flamenco music. Near midnight, Alistair knocked on the door to make sure they had everything they needed and to wish them a happy Christmas.

Lydia leapt up to say hello to him. She shut the door to the villa and didn’t return right away.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

“Handsome Alistair,” said Ben, without missing a chord of the complicated music he was playing into the night air.

“Quite,” said Sarah.

“Sarah…” Devon warned then kissed her cheek.

“I can’t even look at the bellman?”

“No. You cannot even look at the bellman.”

Claire smiled at the two of them, then watched Ben as his fingers moved over the guitar strings, his head bent and his neck tensing and flexing as he brought the notes from the instrument. She sat next to him on the outdoor sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest. Sarah and Devon were on the opposite sofa, leaning into one another.

“This is heaven,” Claire whispered.

Ben smiled but didn’t take his eyes from his hands working the more complicated notes on the frets. “Do you remember the first time you came to hear me play in the Village?”

“Of course I remember. I loved it.”

“So did I.”

“You did? You didn’t even look at me. I thought you were sort of ignoring me.”

He finished the complicated Flamenco song and started into something simpler, a Mozart minuet. Claire knew it was like child’s play for him, but he still didn’t look away from the instrument. “I couldn’t look at you because I was so blown away that you were even there. Like I am now. Before we met up again…” His voice was harsh and soft at the same time. Almost desperate. “You blind me, Claire. You really do.”

“Oh, Ben.” She reached up and rested her hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles work beneath her fingers. He finished the easier song then set the guitar down carefully. He turned and kissed her. A simple declarative kiss. An I-love-you kiss.

“Oh my god! Is this like a kissing parlor game or something? Stop!” Lydia was standing in the doorway, watching with horrified eyes as the two couples disentangled themselves. “What is
with
you people?” She reached for a cigarette and lit it while Sarah sat up a little straighter and Claire adjusted a strand of her hair.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke, Lyd,” Claire said on a sigh.

“I wish you wouldn’t make out with some guy in front of your daughter.”

“Ouch. Now I’m ‘some guy’?” Ben asked, sounding wounded.

“All right, fine. You’re too old to be a boyfriend. Beau? Partner?”

“Fiancé,” Claire said.

“What?” Sarah leapt from the sofa and darted around the coffee table to hug Claire. “Oh my god! You’re engaged? When?”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “How can you get married when you’re still married to Daddy?”

“I won’t be married to your father much longer. You know that. I just want what’s best for you, Lyd. You have rights too, you know.” Claire’s voice was somber. She hated that her happiness seemed to be forever compromised by a man she never wanted to clap eyes on again. She hadn’t wanted to put it quite this way, but it came out just the same. “I’m staying married to your father until I make sure he’s not hiding your inheritance.”

“What?” Lydia furrowed her brow. “Daddy would never steal from me. He’s maybe a bit reckless, but he’s not…”

Devon and Sarah looked at their clasped hands and tried to be invisible.

Ben held on to Claire’s hand. Claire looked straight at Lydia.

“Lydia.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice was cracking. She was cracking. “Just because you hate him doesn’t mean I have to!”

A mantel clock in the villa began to chime the twelve tolls of midnight.

“Happy fucking Christmas.” Lydia stamped out her cigarette and turned back toward the villa. “I’m going for a walk on the beach,” she said, pulling the door shut with a dramatic slam.

“Well,” Devon said. “That could have gone worse.”

Claire smiled because it was easier than crying. “Oh, Devon. Can you imagine if we learned Father was stealing from us, from his own children?”

Devon lifted a careless shoulder. “We would have made our way, because he raised us to make our own way, regardless of our inheritance.”

“Oh please.” Ben regretted it as soon as the sarcastic words slipped out.

“Please what?” Devon asked coolly.

“Never mind.”

Sarah bit her tongue.

“No. Say it,” Devon challenged. “You think we’re a bunch of spoiled wankers and you’re the only one at this party who knows how to earn a buck?”

“Devon—” Claire wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. She was afraid that was precisely what Ben thought.

“What, Claire?” Devon continued. “I’m sick of it. I know we were all born with silver spoons and all that, but we’re not wastrels and it’s tedious. I work. You’re working now. Max works his ass off. Abby isn’t even here because of some damn pestilence in Kenya. Honestly.”

“Look,” Sarah interjected. “Let’s not have this turn into some pissing match.”

Ben kept looking at Devon. “I only meant…Lydia just took a huge emotional hit and I don’t think expecting her to pull herself up by her bootstraps is really the best strategy just now.”

Devon was about to say something then shut his mouth.

“This is the last thing I wanted to happen,” Claire said. “I wanted us all to get along. But I can’t pretend with Lydia anymore. You know that, Dev. She’s going to have to see her father for what he really is. And we need to be a little sympathetic, all right? Can you manage that?”

Devon shrugged again, as if he’d give it a shot but he wasn’t going to guarantee any results.

“Please?” Claire asked.

Sarah shoved her husband.

“What?” he grumbled.

Sarah widened her eyes at him.

“Okay fine. But she’s just such a spoiled brat.”

“Lucky you two have so much in common, then.” Sarah kissed him on the cheek to soften the blow.

“What did I do?” He kissed Sarah on the cheek then said, “Sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“No problem. It’s not my business.”

“But it will be…” Claire added.

Ben smiled at her then turned back to Devon. “I don’t have any of my own children…yet…” Sarah’s eyes focused on Claire like a laser, as if to say
don’t even!
“But I sympathize, you know. We were all twenty once, and trying to find our way in the world. No matter how rich or poor or happy or miserable our parents were. That’s all I was trying to say.”