“Who has actually signed this petition so far?”
“I don’t know. I bet Harper has signed it.”
“Harper started the petition.”
“Doesn’t Renata work with Harper’s husband or something? Or wait, am I mixed up, is it your husband, Celeste?”
All eyes were suddenly upon Celeste, as if they’d been given an invisible signal. She gripped the stem of her wineglass.
“Renata and Perry are in the same industry,” said Celeste. “They just know of each other.”
“We haven’t met Perry yet, have we?” said Samantha. “He’s a man of mystery.”
“He travels a lot,” said Celeste. “He’s in Genova at the moment.”
No, it was Geneva. Definitely Geneva.
There was still a strange lull in the conversation. An expectant air. Had she spoken oddly?
She felt as if everyone was waiting for more from her.
“You’ll meet him at that trivia night,” she said. Perry, unlike many men, loved costume parties. He’d been keen when she’d checked his schedule and saw that he’d be home for it.
“You’ll need a pearl necklace like Audrey wears in Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” he’d told her. “I’ll get you one from Swiss Pearls in Geneva.”
“No,” she said. “Please don’t.”
You were meant to wear cheap costume jewelry when you went to a costume party school trivia night, not a necklace worth more than the money they needed to raise for SMART Boards.
He’d buy her exactly the right necklace. He loved jewelry. It would cost as much as a car, and it would be exquisite, and when Madeline saw it she’d be delirious and Celeste would long to unclasp it from her neck and hand it over. “Buy one for Madeline too,” she had wanted to say, and he would have if she had asked, with pleasure, but of course Madeline would never accept such a gift. Yet it seemed ridiculous that she couldn’t hand over something that would give Madeline such genuine happiness.
“Is everyone going to the trivia night?” she said brightly. “It sounds like fun!”
Samantha: Have you seen photos from the trivia night? Celeste looked breathtaking. People were staring. Apparently that pearl necklace was the real McCoy. But you know what? I was looking at some of the photos and there’s something sad about her face, a look in her eyes, as if she’d seen a ghost. It’s almost like she knew something terrible was going to happen that night.
45.
That was fun. Maybe next time we’ll actually remember to talk about the book,” said Madeline.
Celeste was the last one there and was efficiently scraping plates and putting them into Madeline’s dishwasher.
“Stop that!” said Madeline. “You always do that!”
Celeste had a talent for the silent, unobtrusive tidy-up. Any time Madeline had Celeste over, her kitchen would be left pristine, bench tops gleaming.
“Sit down and have a cup of tea with me before you go,” she told Celeste. “Look, I’ve got some of Jane’s latest lot of muffins. I was too selfish to share them with the book club.”
Celeste’s eyes brightened. She went to sit down, but then she awkwardly half stood and said, “Where’s Ed? He might want the house back to himself.”
“What? Don’t worry about Ed. He’s still snoring away in Chloe’s bed,” said Madeline. “Anyway, who cares? It’s my house too.”
Celeste smiled weakly and sat down. “It’s awful about poor Jane,” she said as Madeline put one of Jane’s muffins in front of her.
“At least we know that nobody here tonight will be signing that stupid petition,” said Madeline. “When everyone was talking I just kept thinking about what Jane went through. She told you the story about Ziggy’s father, didn’t she?”
It was a formality; Jane had told her that she’d told Celeste as well. She wondered for a guilty moment if it was gossipy to mention it, but it was OK, because it was Celeste. Her appetite for gossip was healthy; she wasn’t one of those mothers always ravenously searching it out.
“Yes,” said Celeste. She bit into the muffin. “Creep.”
“I Googled him,” confessed Madeline. This was really why she’d brought it up. She felt guilty about it and she wanted the release of confession. Or she wanted to burden Celeste with the same knowledge, which was probably worse.
“Who?” said Celeste.
“The father. Ziggy’s father. I know I shouldn’t have.”
“But how?” Celeste frowned. “Did she tell you his name? I don’t think she even mentioned it to me.”
“She said his name was Saxon Banks,” said Madeline. “You know, like Mr. Banks in Mary Poppins. Jane said he sang a Mary Poppins song to her. That’s why his name stuck in my head. Are you OK? Did it go down the wrong way?”
Celeste banged her chest with her fist and coughed. Her color was high.
“I’ll get you some water,” said Madeline.
“Did you say Saxon Banks?” asked Celeste hoarsely. She cleared her throat and said it again, slower. “Saxon Banks?”
“Yes,” said Madeline. “Why?” Understanding hit her. “Oh my God. You don’t know him, do you?”
“Perry has a cousin called Saxon Banks,” said Celeste. “He’s a . . .” She paused. Her eyes widened. “A property developer. Jane said that man was a property developer.”
“It’s an unusual name,” said Madeline. She was trying not to sound breathlessly thrilled by this horrible coincidence. Of course, it was not exciting that Perry was related to Saxon Banks. This was not an “it’s such a small world!” coincidence. This was awful. But there was an irresistible breathless pleasure in it and, like the awful petition, it was a welcome distraction from her increasingly embittered, almost crazed feelings about Abigail.
“He has three daughters,” said Celeste. She looked off into the distance as she collected her thoughts.
“I know,” said Madeline guiltily. “Ziggy’s half sisters.” She went to get her iPad from the kitchen bench and brought it back to the table.
“And he’s devoted to his wife,” said Celeste as Madeline pulled up the page again. “He’s lovely! Warm, funny. I can’t even imagine him being unfaithful. Let alone being so . . . cruel.”