The Summer Without You (49 page)

‘How depressing that it has to hijack
your
night,’ Ro said, remembering Melodie’s own words that she wasn’t defined by her husband’s job. Wasn’t this
exactly a case in point?

‘Tell me about it. But then, I feel like a bad wife for not supporting him and . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I figure, how much does it really hurt for me to try and oil the wheels?
And at least the champagne’s vintage.’

‘You are too selfless, Melodie. Sometimes you need to be a little more selfish –’ she nodded towards Audrey ‘– for all our sakes.’

Melodie laughed, but it wasn’t her usual sound – it was high and hollow, drawing Ro’s attention more closely. As ever, she looked exquisitely exotic, wearing a fluid teal
silk-jersey harem all-in-one suit with gold mesh cuffs, her dark hair exploding in a riot of frizzy curls behind her headband, but her skin didn’t have its usual just-buffed, gold-dipped
lustre, and she seemed a little on edge, her eyes constantly flitting around the room, making sure everyone had a drink, the canapés were warm, chequebooks were being opened.

‘You look tired,’ Ro said quietly. ‘Is everything all right?’

Melodie looked surprised. ‘You’re sweet to notice. I’m not sleeping well at the moment. Brook’s all wound up about the federal-aid application and he’s talking
about it every waking minute. I’ll just be so glad when the damned proposal gets voted through and we can get back to our own lives.’

‘I bet.’

Melodie dipped her head lower to Ro’s, her hand on Ro’s arm. ‘An amendment to my previous advice the other day: never marry an older man
or
a politician,’ she said
quietly. ‘And definitely don’t marry an older politician.’ She laughed her exhausted laugh again.

A beep came from Melodie’s watch and she smiled. ‘Oh, thank God. We can get out of here and go see some real art. That’s where the fun really begins. A lot of the regulars have
learned to skip this stop and join us at the next one.’

Ro finished her drink in one go and they wandered outside, everyone joining them like sheep as they walked back onto Main Street and towards the old pharmacy, Melodie’s arm looped
proprietorially through Ro’s this time. She looked around for Florence, but she was walking in a slow huddle with another group and seemingly in her element to be part of the wider world
again.

The light was fading fast as night blew in and the street lamps were beginning to glow. There were plenty of people still milling in the streets. It was after eight now and some of the boutiques
had only just closed; other people were enjoying window-shopping in the cooler temperatures, hands and noses pressed to plate glass as they eyed python-print dresses and fluoro bracelets,
moss-stitch cotton sweaters and pressed shorts. The well-dressed, lightly lubricated group attracted plenty of stares from the kids in the queue at the cinema, even absorbing a few more passers-by
along the way as they headed to the next gallery.

From the windows, Ro could see this one specialized in bronzes that didn’t look bronze at all, but rather had been powder-coated in matt colours. Most of the forms were from the natural
world and true to life – much to Ro’s relief – such as a trio of baby owls on a branch, a leopard sleeping in a tree, a dolphin mid-dive, an antelope mid-skip . . .

‘I’d better be a good hostess now,’ Melodie said reluctantly, squeezing her arm.

‘Of course. I can’t hog you all night.’

Ro accepted another glass of wine – sauvignon, this time – and sipped it quickly as she looked at the sculptures thoughtfully. Now this was art. This she could do.

She walked slowly round a life-sized bronze of an antelope, its skittishness captured in the frisk of its legs, the angle of the head, eyes dark and unreadable and innocent. She held the camera
up to her eye, not to take a picture, but to gaze at it through the lens.

‘I don’t think photographs are allowed,’ a female voice said beside her.

‘Oh, it’s OK. I wasn’t going to . . .’ Ro looked up, startled to find Julianne beside her.

Julianne looked back at her with faint surprise too, dull recognition glimmering in her kohled eyes, although Ro looked a different breed from the girl she’d been when buying beers at the
Maidstone on the night of Fourth of July, now she was groomed for the night in an olive-green miniskirt and a fluffy cream waffle jumper.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Ro said quickly, her eyes flitting like butterflies around the space. Where was he? Was he here?

‘I love it. So . . . sculptural,’ Julianne murmured, clearly trying to place her.

‘Well, yes,’ Ro answered, thinking how Marina would never have said anything so stupid. She smiled vacuously and tried to move off like a seasoned networker, but Julianne stopped her
with a question.

‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’ Julianne asked, turning her body towards Ro and compelling her to stay put.

‘Um . . . oh yes, yes, I think you’re right. Was it the . . . ?’ She put her finger to her chin and stared up at the ceiling, trying to convey an impression of an overloaded
social diary. ‘Oh, was it the Independence party at the Maidstone?’

‘Yes. I think so.’ Julianne nodded slowly, the expression in her eyes cooling. ‘And the fundraiser in Southampton too. You wore the red dress.’

The
red dress? ‘That’s right.’ Ro nodded, looking around the room for Melodie, or Florence: rescue. She didn’t find it – quite the opposite. Her eyes were
stopped in their tracks by Ted Connor, who was watching their fledgling conversation from across the gallery with two full glasses of wine in his hands and was clearly oblivious to anything his
companion was saying. She hadn’t seen him since the Southampton fundraiser either and their conversation, everything they’d said – and more particularly, everything they
hadn’t
– swam through her mind.

She watched as he abruptly held up the two full glasses by way of apology to his companion and began to wind his way through the crowd towards them. She turned back to Julianne quickly. Not even
manners could keep her here. ‘Well, it’s just lovely to see you again, but if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way to say goodbye to my friends. I’m not feeling too
good.’

Julianne took a step back as though she’d said she had the plague. ‘Of course.’

Ro turned and moved into the crowd, just moments before she saw – in the reflection of the window – Ted appear at Julianne’s side, his eyes on Ro’s retreating back. She
felt chased by him, somehow. Tracked and hunted.

She darted over to Melodie, who was in full flow with the group of overeager women who had taken Florence hostage earlier.

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,’ she said, talking over them all.

‘No,’ Melodie cried, clasping her by the hand. ‘But we’re only just getting going.’

‘I have a headache.’

Melodie nodded sympathetically. ‘Poor you, Ro. Wine can affect some people like that.’

‘Yes, I think I need to lie down and try to get a good night’s sleep.’

‘You need to come back to yoga properly. That would sort you out. You slept soundly when you came to my classes – I could see it in your aura. Everything about you relaxed. But
now—’ Frowning, she took both Ro’s hands in hers and waggled them. She tutted. ‘All your channels are blocked. I can’t read you. No wonder your head hurts.’

The women all looked at Ro pityingly, as though they too could see her blocked channels.

‘I’ll try and get there on Monday, I promise.’ Ro leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek. ‘Enjoy. This is a brilliant evening. Brilliant. Yet another string to your
already overloaded bow.’

‘Well, Brook has his committees; I have mine,’ she shrugged lightly.

‘Have you seen Florence? I need to say goodbye to her too.’

‘Yes. Actually, she was talking to Brook last time I saw her – surprise, surprise.’ The flinty edge sounded in her voice again. ‘He accompanied her outside for some fresh
air. I think the heat in here was getting to her.’

‘Oh, I hope she’s not overdoing it.’ Ro looked around, concerned. It was warm in here. ‘Anyway, look, I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?’ Checking the coast was
clear again, she moved silkily through a small channel that had opened up between bodies.

‘Ro—’ She heard a man behind her say, a hand managing only to brush her fingertips – the touch like an electric volt – as she slipped through the door.

Way
too close!

‘Florence!’ she cried loudly, propelled by panic and striding towards Florence and Brook with exaggerated bonhomie.

‘Oh, Ro, there you are.’ Florence smiled, taking Ro’s new vigour as a consequence of the free wine. ‘Brook and I are just wildly disagreeing on my proposals to the Town
Board at the next meeting.’

Brook lifted his hat lightly, bending down to kiss her on each cheek. ‘And how are you, Ro?’

‘Fine, thanks. Headache, though.’ She put a hand to her forehead to make the point. She looked back at Florence. ‘I just came to say I’m off.’

‘What? No!’ Florence cried. ‘We haven’t gotten to Terry Sanger yet, and he’s always the most thrilling.’

‘Headache,’ Ro reiterated, placing her fingers to her temples for good measure.

‘But dinner?’

‘Still headache,’ Ro cringed.

Florence sighed, disappointed. ‘Oh dear. I really wanted to have a pleasant evening out with you, something to restore both our spirits.’

‘And we will, I promise.’

Florence scowled. ‘This is all Brook’s fault, of course, cornering me on this dratted proposal when I’m off duty.’

‘You’re never off duty, Florence,’ Brook replied, clearly bemused by the thought. ‘You’re the least off-duty person I’ve ever met.’

‘Well, now, how can I be when you insist on proposing such outlandish ideas? Someone has to stand up to you.’

‘And it always has to be you, doesn’t it, Florence?’

‘Well, you agree with me, Ro, don’t you?’

‘To be honest, I don’t really know what you’re disagreeing about,’ Ro said apologetically.

‘Well,’ Florence said, shifting into a more comfortable stance and settling into her rhetoric, ‘if what the papers are saying is true, I’m firmly of the view that Senator
McClusky should stand down from his post.’

‘Oh, come on, Florence! How can it be proven? It’s his word against a dead man’s! He has said he will attest on oath that he
never
said anything about blocking
Montauk’s petition for federal aid. Hell, the man’s been its biggest supporter. He ran his campaign on it. It doesn’t make sense that he would then advise to the contrary in
private. He’s being set up – it’s obvious! That murdered fellow, Kevin—’ He tried to remember his surname.

‘Kevin Bradley,’ Ro said helpfully.

‘Thank you. Kevin Bradley. Well, I’m sorry the man’s dead, of course I am, but let’s not rewrite history on account of the fact. He was a charlatan and a crook, and he
had every reason to lie to those people about his so-called relationship with the senator. It was one man’s words against his, and those people were desperate – desperate, I tell you.
They thought they’d lost everything. Kevin Bradley saw an opportunity to exploit them and he took it. It’s that simple. The senator’s got nothing to do with any of
this.’

‘I agree we can’t know for certain, Brook, but the waters have been sullied. The fear is out there: is he blocking the region’s access to federal aid? Whether he is or not,
their trust in him has gone.’

‘But, Florence,’ Brook interrupted, ‘do you not see that the very same could have been said of
you
after the deficit scandal? What if everyone had lost faith in you
because of rumour and hearsay? The man deserves a second chance at least. There’s no evidence to support he ever even met the dead man, much less shared confidential Congress information. You
know what these journalists are like – they’ll say anything for a story.’

‘There was a photograph taken of them together at some party!’ Florence refuted passionately. ‘They had certainly met.’

Ro caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Ted Connor was standing just inside the doorway. He had begun talking to someone, but Ro had no doubt the second she extricated herself from
this conversation . . .

‘Well, if you want my honest opinion,’ Ro said, wading in with a passion she didn’t feel, ‘I think I probably have to agree with Brook. From everything I’ve read,
Kevin Bradley sounded like the kind of person to say anything that suited his ends. He was a bit of a player by all accounts. I don’t think it’s outside the realms of possibility that
he name-dropped Senator McClusky to strengthen his point and get those people to sell to him at rock-bottom prices.’

‘Precisely.’ Brook grinned at her, pleased to have her support. ‘I think you’re just going after McClusky to divert attention away from the
real
issue here.
It’s going to be September and the end of the season here before we know it and then – boom, the storms are coming and we’re no better off than we were last year. We need to act,
Florence. We need to start engineering the beaches in Montauk and that means some pretty big decisions have to be taken pretty damn quickly.’

‘Engineered beaches aren’t the only solution to this area’s problems, Brook, and you know it.’ Florence’s eyes were glimmering darkly, but with relish. Her fire was
back. Politics was in her blood.

‘I do, but it’s the Coastal Erosion Committee’s recommendation. You know as well as I do that an engineered beach in Montauk is the interim measure required to make this area
eligible for federal aid. Without the beach, there’s no federal money, and without that, there’s no hope. Homes and businesses will be lost – the economy and infrastructure there
will collapse. And you know we can’t keep raising levies and taxes against the locals here.’

‘I still believe there are other measures we can adopt.’

‘Building dunes, you mean?’ Brook said, with a measure of disdain.

‘Among other things. We need to look at the dredging problems too. They’re exacerbating local erosion to a huge extent.’

‘What dredging problems?’ Brook frowned.

‘The survey came in from the Army Corps of Engineers while I was resting up. I had nothing else to do but read the damn thing from cover to cover.’