The Friends We Keep(64)

A glimmer of hope sparked in Evvie’s chest. “And how do you feel about him?”

“The same,” Ally said, in a monotone. “He says you will never divorce him, but I don’t believe that to be true. I understand you’ve gotten used to the lifestyle, but why would you want to stay married to a man who no longer loves you? Why not get out now, while you are still . . . relatively young . . . and have a chance to be happy yourself, and to let him be happy.”

“You want to marry him?” Evvie asked, trying to hide a smile of disbelief, of . . . relief. Maybe this was the hand of God reaching down and opening up the tiniest of exit doors.

“I do. And he wants to marry me.”

“Why has he not said anything to me?”

“Because he knows you will fleece him.”

“I have no interest in fleecing him,” Evvie said. “If you want him, you can have him.”

Ally’s mouth fell open. “That’s it? It’s that simple?”

“I don’t have the energy for the fight,” Evvie said. “He’s yours. You can tell him that I’ve taken the car back to the house, and I will be out by morning. Good luck,” she said, wanting to add, You’ll need it. But she refrained. She was too selfish to warn the woman about what she was getting into. And she doubted Ally would listen. Evvie had heard the rumors about Lance, and had chosen to ignore them herself.

This was clearly not what the actress had been expecting. She stared at Evvie, lost for words. Holding her head high, Evvie walked out of the building, and to the corner, where she texted her driver. Within minutes, she was inside the car and pulling away from the curb, and Evvie realized the dream she had been dreaming for years seemed to have unexpectedly come true. She started to smile as a great weight lifted from her shoulders and the smile turned to a laugh, and soon she was laughing so hard, it brought tears to her eyes.





twenty-eight


- 2016 -



It’s so beautiful,” said Karen, wide-eyed, at Emily’s house. “I don’t know how you did it.”

“I had help,” said Emily. “I’m much too busy with the children, but I definitely had a big hand in everything. My decorator came up from London, but I was forever e-mailing her things I’d seen and loved.”

The men were in the living room with drinks and nuts as Emily gave Karen and Maggie a tour of their newly renovated kitchen. After ten years in the house, Emily had decided the kitchen was completely outdated, and they had knocked through into what had been the den, to create a giant kitchen and family room.

Maggie had loved the old kitchen. It had been cream, with butcher-block countertops and a large Aga, which Maggie had never fully understood, given that Emily never cooked.

The new kitchen was stark and modern. The bleached wood herringbone floor was, to Maggie’s mind, the most beautiful thing about it. There was an island now, ten feet long, with a huge slab of marble waterfalling over the sides. The flat-fronted cabinets were black, and the splash backs a polished horizontal slatted wood. It looked like it had just stepped out of the pages of House & Garden. Maggie missed the old Fired Earth tile splash backs that reminded her of a sunrise. This wasn’t a kitchen she would want to cook in, however beautiful it may have been. The thin brass stools at the countertop repelled rather than invited—the whole room was a triumph of form over function.

Two women in white shirts and black trousers were bustling around the kitchen getting food ready.

“Something smells delicious,” said Maggie. “Is it lamb?”

“Lamb stuffed with pine nuts and apricots. And a Moroccan couscous. I’ve found the most fabulous caterer in Bath. I’ll give you her number.”

Karen burst out laughing. “Have you tasted Maggie’s cooking? No offense, but she doesn’t need a caterer!”

“You never know,” said Emily. “What if she and Ben are having a party?”

Ha, thought Maggie. Nothing would be less likely. Now that Ben was working in London again, they socialized less and less. She only saw him on the weekends, and they hadn’t been invited anywhere for ages. This, Emily and James’s dinner party, was the first event they had been to together in months.

“I’d kill to have a kitchen like this,” said Karen, her eyes still wide. Maggie thought of Karen’s own kitchen above the pub, dated but well used and well loved, copper pots and pans hanging from hooks drilled into the brick wall above the range.

You wouldn’t, thought Maggie, eyes darting nervously toward the living room as a burst of laughter came through from the men. Ben was drinking again. She didn’t know this until tonight, when James offered him a vodka and he accepted, saying, “Just a small one.” He didn’t meet Maggie’s eyes.

She had given up trying. In the old days this would have set her on high alert, would have ruined her night, but she didn’t care anymore. He had been looking terrible, the whites of his eyes yellow, his whole body seeming bloated. He had been to the doctor months ago, and had returned saying he was fine, and would be going to a meeting that night. She presumed the doctor told him to stop drinking, but he didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t ask.

“Those boys!” Karen rolled her eyes at the burst of laughter. “A few drinks in them and they’re wild. That Ben.” She shook her head affectionately as she looked at Maggie. “He’s the life and soul. I don’t know how you’re not exhausted!”