French Silk(79)
She would never forgive Cassidy for this.
* * *
"Honey, do you know where my gold cuff links are?"
Alister Petrie emerged from his dressing area with his shirt-tails flapping. He and Belie were due at a campaign fund-raising dinner party in half an hour. They were running late. He'd arrived home from his afternoon campaign speech with barely enough time to shower and change before charging out again to face another crowd of potential contributors and voters.
"They're here on my dresser."
Belle was seated on the tufted velvet stool in front of her dressing table, pulling a hairbrush through her blond page boy. It was the same page boy she'd worn since high school and was kept silky and sleek by expensive hot-oil treatments and monthly trims.
"Did you have a chance to catch me on the tube?" he asked as he approached her, buttoning his shirt.
"No, darling. I was busy getting ready for tonight. I'm sure you were a smashing success."
He reached around her for the cufflinks. "Two TV stations…" He yanked his hand back as though it had been bitten by a cobra.
His cuff links were nestled in a tiny heap of lace that he immediately recognized. His stomach quickened. For several unendurable moments he was afraid he was going to be sick all over Belle's jars of beauty creams and bottles of perfume.
His eyes connected with hers in the mirror. Very coolly, she finished clipping on a pair of diamond earrings. "I found those in the pocket of a suit jacket I sent out to be dry cleaned. It's a wifely little habit of mine to check your pockets before sending things out. You should have known that and been more careful."
"Belle, I—"
"You what, Alister?" She swiveled around on the stool and gazed up at him with an expression too sweet to be sincere. "You've taken to wearing women's underwear?" She picked up the strands of elasticized lace that supported the small triangle. "What's the term for that predilection? Cross-dressing?"
Now that he had recovered from the initial shock of seeing Yasmine's g-string panties on his wife's dressing table, he started to get angry. Other men had affairs and never had to account for them. Why was he always having to play the penitent?
"Don't talk down to me, Belle."
"Well then," she said, snapping the elastic like a slingshot before letting the garment drop back onto the vanity, "the only other conclusion I can draw is that you're having an extramarital affair."
She stood up and brushed him aside. Of all her affectations, this haughty act grated on his nerves the most. With a few practiced gestures and calculated words, she could make him feel gauche and stupid and small.
He was a United States congressman, by God! No one, not even his wife, was going to humiliate him. He would never confess to having a mistress, much less beg forgiveness.
Belle withdrew a fluid chiffon dress from her closet and stepped into it, working it up and over her willowy hips. "Do me up," she said after pushing her arms through the sequined sleeves.
After he zipped the dress, she turned to face him. "I'm not stupid enough to think you're faithful tome. Of course you've had other women. You have one now and you'll have others. That's not the issue."
"Then why bring it up?" he asked belligerently. She could have discreetly disposed of the panties and avoided this ugly scene. He took heat all day from a dozen different sources. He didn't need to catch shit at home, too.
"I brought it up to point out your appalling stupidity." Alister saw red. "Now just a goddamn minute. I—" She held up both hands. "Spare me your righteous indignation, Mister. You can't afford it. Listen to me and heed what I say."
Her eyes narrowed. "If I found out that you're unfaithful to your wedding vows, others will find out. You've been incredibly stupid and alarmingly careless. Sooner or later the odds will catch up with you, just as I did."
"Throughout the campaign you've wooed the public well. You've cultivated a strong, solid constituency." She paused to draw a breath. "How do you think the Bible thumpers, like Jackson Wilde's followers, would regard you if it was revealed that you're an adulterer? Even dead, Wilde is a hot item. We can still use his influence. You've been vocal in your criticism of local law enforcement for failing to find his murderer. But it could all be for nothing if your Christian image was exposed as fraudulent. Are you willing to sacrifice thousands of votes for a few hours of…" She flipped her hand out, indicating the panties on the vanity.
"Fucking. It's called f*cking, Belle." He took delight in the sudden blanching of her face and the stiffening of her spine. "And if you weren't so prissy in bed, I wouldn't—"
"Don't." She aimed her index finger at the center of his chest. "Don't turn the blame for this on me. This is your mistake, Mister. And I'm informing you now that I won't suffer the consequences of it. I like being Mrs. Mister Petrie, the congressman's wife. That's what I intend to continue being.
"But if you get caught, if you're exposed as a cheating, lying husband, don't expect me to attest to what a wonderful, loving husband and father you are. I won't be made to look a fool.
"Furthermore," she continued, lowering her voice to a more confidential pitch, "you know what it'll mean if I withdraw my financial support from your campaign." Alister felt the blood draining from his face. Belle smiled. "No one knows—yet—that were it not for my legacy, you wouldn't have won your first congressional seat. And without my contributions, you won't win this one. Think about that. The next time you get the urge to f*ck—as you so charmingly phrase it—exercise your marital rights."