Dune Road (27 page)

He is a banker. He was supposed to invest their money wisely. Isn’t diversification the name of the game? Hell, even Charlie knows about diversification, and she’s just about the worst person with money she’s ever known.

As Keith is now pointing out.

He is sleeping in the spare room. And she is making lists. Wandering round the house at night, scribbling guesstimates of their furniture. Sitting in her closet, wondering what designer consignments will get, and whether she can talk them into taking fifteen percent rather than their usual forty.

Nothing they have is really worth anything. Not in the grand scheme of things. Keith isn’t working, and thinks it’s unlikely he will find another job for a while, and Charlie’s business is fun, but doesn’t even begin to fund their lifestyle, not to mention that flowers are a luxury that people can now ill afford.

If they are lucky, they may be able to scrabble together a hundred thousand from selling their possessions. A hundred thousand, which will last them a while, once their children are out of school.

Oh God. Highfield Academy. There is always the possibility of financial aid. With a huge swallow, Charlie picks up the phone and dials the familiar number of the academy.

“Hi, this is Charlie Warren. I’d like to make an appointment to see the headmaster.”

Tracy tries telling Kit she doesn’t have time to meet them, but Charlie arrives and won’t take no for an answer.

“We miss you and we’re not accepting no.” Charlie plants herself in front of the desk in Tracy’s office and refuses to move. “You’re coming upstairs to the smoothie bar even if we have to drag you ourselves.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Charlie puts her hands on her hips. “Try me.”

“Okay, okay!” Tracy throws her hands up in submission. “I’m coming.”

Kit glances at Charlie, who shrugs, for although Tracy is coming, there is little joy in her voice, and little energy in her step as she trudges up the stairs in front of them.

“So what’s going on?” Charlie goes first. “We’re worried about you.”

“Worried about me? I’m fine. Why are you worried about me?”

“Because you’ve barely spoken to me since that night we went out for dinner with Alice and Harry, and Kit says you’ve barely spoken to her, and we’re worried about you.”

Kit reaches over and places a gentle hand on her arm. “We love you, Tracy. That’s why we’re here. We’re your friends, and if there’s something bad happening in your life, we want to help.”

“Let me tell you, there are bad things happening in my life, and right now I’m looking for all the help I can get; and as embarrassed as I am, I’m not afraid to accept it.” Charlie swallows. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

Tracy is aghast. “What kind of things?”

“Let’s just say the current financial crisis is affecting me deeply.”

“How deeply?”

Charlie shrugs, as if it is something inconsequential. “There’s nothing left. That’s why Keith was so antsy when you were asking him for money. Turns out—tada!—we haven’t got any.”

“Are you serious? ”

“I wish to God I was joking, but no. Sadly, I am serious.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Sell the house, sell everything I have, pull the kids out of the private schools unless they agree to grant us financial aid, and either move in with my parents in New Jersey, or, God forbid, although it’s looking more likely, move in with Keith’s parents here in Highfield.”

“But you hate Keith’s parents,” Kit says.

“I know. Everything else I can just about deal with but that may push me over the edge.”

Tracy merely sits, looking at her openmouthed. “Oh my God,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s only money.” Charlie feigns an insouciance she doesn’t feel, scared that if she reveals her true fears, she will start crying and will never be able to stop.

“Oh Charlie,” she says. “I’ve been so selfish.”

“No, you haven’t. I’m fine. And anyway, we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you. What’s going on with you?”

“I’ve just been working hard.” Tracy recovers her composure. “The holiday season is starting and it seems to be a crazy time of year. I just haven’t stopped, but I realize I’ve been a really bad friend. I’m sorry.” She looks first at Charlie then at Kit.

“So you really are okay?” Kit asks, dubiously, for Charlie was right: Tracy does look pretty terrible, and that’s definitely a black eye.

“This?” Tracy touches her eye. “A rogue closet door in my house, can you stand it? Everyone thinks I’ve been secretly beaten up by someone.”

“Robert McClore?” Charlie raises an eyebrow.

“Probably.”

“So, how are things with you and Robert?”

“What things? We just . . . had dinner.”

“Oh right,” Charlie splutters. “He could barely take his eyes off you.”

“Well, he’s a wonderful man. Really interesting. But Kit knows that.”

“It’s true.” Kit still feels weird, still feels that Tracy is hiding something.

“Speaking of wonderful men,” Tracy deflects the subject smoothly, “are you still seeing that good-looking guy who came in here?”

“Steve?” Kit grins. “I guess you could say that. Well, I did see quite a lot more than I expected to last night.”

“Oh my God!” Charlie’s eyes widen. “Do you mean to say you lost your post-divorce virginity last night and you didn’t even tell us?”

“We had other things to talk about.”

“Listen, girlfriend. When it comes to sex with a new man, there
is
nothing else to talk about. Hell, the way things are going with Keith and me right now, I might be on the market myself shortly, so you’re going to have to tell us everything.”

“Everything like what?”

“Like was it totally weird, being with someone other than Adam?”

Kit shrugs, not sure how much to say. “It was weird, but it was lovely. It’s like, when you’re married, you completely forget what that feeling of true lust is like after a while. And let me tell you, he does have a body worth lusting after.”

“So you actually
did
sleep with him?” Tracy is transfixed.

“I did! Can you believe it? Me, Miss Goody Two-shoes, who has only had two lovers her entire life, and now I know what it’s like to be a slut!” Kit laughs.

“Hardly a slut with three lovers,” Charlie points out.

“But you’re surprised, aren’t you?” Kit says gleefully. “I know you guys think I’m prissy. You never expected me to jump into bed with him.”

“You’re right. I didn’t,” Charlie says.

“Me neither. Listen, guys”—Tracy looks at her watch, then stands—“I’d love to stay and chat, and I’m so glad we had a bit of time together, but I have a really big phone call coming in soon from some potential investors, and I have to prepare.”

“Oh God,” Charlie says. “I never even said sorry for that night. I had no idea what deep trouble we were in, and Keith was being difficult because he knew and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Tell me you don’t hate him.”

“I thought
you
were the one who hated him?” Kit raises an eyebrow at Charlie.

“Well, yeah, right now I do, but it won’t last, and just because I’m allowed to hate him doesn’t mean my friends are.”

“Good point.”

“I don’t hate him,” Tracy says with a smile, then disappears.

 

“You see,” Charlie leans forward and hisses to Kit. “She
is
weird, isn’t she?”

“What do you mean, I see? I was the one who was saying it. I felt like she couldn’t wait to get away from us.”

“It’s just weird. What do you think’s going on?”

“I honestly don’t know. And I don’t even know how we find out. It feels like she has some sort of secret life.”

Charlie starts to laugh. “Wow. Working for Robert McClore must be rubbing off on you. This is sounding more and more like one of his thrillers.”

“No, but seriously? Think about it. She moved here a couple of years ago, didn’t know anyone, no one knew her. We all take people at face value, assume that everyone’s as decent and honest as we are, but not everyone is.”

“You realize we could be talking about Annabel here?” Charlie interjects.

“Well, yes. I guess we could be. The point is, back to Tracy, that we really know nothing about her. I thought we did. I mean, I’ve considered her one of my closest friends, but we only really know what she’s chosen to tell us. Annabel at least is related, at least according to my mother. I say that maybe we should try to find out a bit about Tracy. And not because I think there’s anything weird to discover, but because I’m worried about her. It feels like there’s something she’s not telling us, and we may find some information that will help us.”

Charlie looks uncharacteristically upset, and Kit realizes how much this is bothering her.

Kit takes a deep breath. “Okay, so I wasn’t going to tell you because I thought it would freak you out, but I Googled her.”

“You did? See! I’m not the only one who thinks she’s being strange.”

“I thought that whole scenario on Saturday night, when she was asking you for money, was out of character, and I think it’s really bizarre that she seems to be dating my boss but won’t talk about it. And you’re right—on top of her acting like she can’t wait to get away from us, she also looks terrible.”

“So, did you find anything?”

“Not really on her. I mean, a bit. I found pictures of her when she was married to Richard Stonehill, which were freaky because she looked completely different. She was a blazing redhead. I swear, you’d never recognize her. But I did find something else that was . . . odd. You remember how she mentioned a first husband? Jed? I found him. Jed Halstead. And he has a criminal record.”

“Are you serious?” Charlie is shocked.

“I know. I felt the same way.”

“But what does that mean, criminal record? What for?”

“Larceny and credit card fraud. That was all I could find. God knows what else there is.”

“Oh Jesus.” Charlie whistles. “And what about Tracy? Nothing on her?”

“Not that I could find. Just an old story which linked her to him, but she was never implicated.”

“God. I knew my instincts were good. So what now?”

They sit in silence for a while.

“It’s just so strange. What do you think the story is?”

“I have no idea,” Charlie says. “But I’m pretty certain there is a story. Hey, why don’t you ask Robert McClore? He’s the expert on mysteries.”

“Oh right. Hey, Robert, don’t you think there’s something totally weird about your new girlfriend? How do we find out more? That would be one surefire way to get myself fired.”

“Don’t tell him it’s about Tracy. Say . . . say it’s about Annabel.”

“You know what?” A smile spreads on Kit’s face. “That, as Annabel would say, is sheer bloody genius.”

Chapter Twenty-one

E
die swings into Rose’s driveway, pulls out her tennis racket and marches up the steps and into the house.

She has been friends with Rose for almost fifty years and has been coming to this house for swimming and tennis and parties for all that time. In almost five decades nothing has changed. The house, a stucco contemporary that was featured in all the architectural magazines of the time, was once the biggest and grandest house on the street, but it is now dwarfed by the huge shingle houses that surround it.

Many an offer has been made, because the plot is worth a fortune. Rose is used to going out to the mailbox to find many a handwritten envelope.

“We love your house,” they all say. “It would be a dream house for our growing family, and we’d love to talk to you if you ever decide to sell.”

Some have been more forward, some even asking her to name her price. A couple of times, hedge fund boys, at the height of the boom, threw ridiculous numbers at her and were aghast that she wouldn’t accept, not understanding that this wasn’t about money, this was about her
home
.

And she isn’t stupid. However many times the letters tell her how much people love the house, she knows that in their eyes they see a demolition. The thought of the bulldozers coming in and razing all that she has built, loved, shared with her husband before he passed away, is inconceivable. She will not allow it to happen.

They would all love to buy Rose’s house because hers occupies a double plot, almost four acres, and is perched on a hill, with magnificent views over the harbor, but Rose has often said that the day she leaves, she will be carried out in a coffin.

She has a tennis court, a pool, even—heaven forbid in these days when safety is paramount—a waterslide, and opens her house regularly to all the neighborhood kids, who are thrilled to tumble down a slippery slide into an icy-cold swimming pool, for she does not believe in heating a pool when there are far more important priorities.