Chapter 8: Half a Million

On Friday, Mrs. Ashworth's assistant called the studio and asked if I was free for tea.

I said no.

She called again, and Declan, who had picked up the phone, said, "She says no."

At four o'clock Mrs. Ashworth was standing at the front desk.

She wore the camel coat and the pearls, and she looked at the brick walls and the coffee machine without comment.

"Five minutes," she said. "I won't ask for more."

"Not here," I said.

"Then at the club. My car is outside."

"I'll take my own."

"You don't have one."

She was right, and she knew it, and I got in her car.

The Lakeside Club had a tea room with white tablecloths and a view of the water.

I sat with my back to the window.

She noticed.

She poured two cups and set mine in front of me.

"You're angry," she said.

"I'm not angry. I'm clear."

"Rodney is falling apart. He hasn't slept since the gala. He sat in my kitchen last night and cried like he was twelve."

"Did he tell you he'd file the papers?"

"He said he'd think about it."

"That's four days of thinking. I'd like it to be three."

Mrs. Ashworth set down her cup.

She slid a cream envelope across the cloth.

"I'd like you to consider something," she said. "Rodney owes that girl a great deal. We all do. You do, as well, Emme. You're alive."

"I know what I owe."

"Do you?" Her eyes were steady. "Tobin Stroud gave you everything he had. The least you can do is let his sister have her happiness."