Chapter 15
Bennett paused in the doorway and waited for me to greet him.
He wore the charcoal suit I'd chosen for his fiftieth birthday and carried a bottle of champagne from the case I kept for special occasions. He must have taken it during one of his visits.
“Where's Laurel?” I asked.
“She changed her mind.” He leaned in as if to kiss my cheek. I stepped aside. “She said you told her she wasn't invited.”
“Neither were you.”
His smile held. Several guests had already noticed us.
“This has always been our party, Claire.”
“It's at my house, catered by my friend, for people on my guest list.”
“They're our friends.”
“Then behave like a guest.”
I took the champagne and handed it to a server.
Bennett entered the garden as if delayed at work. He shook hands, kissed cheeks and accepted condolences about the divorce he called a misunderstanding. For half an hour, he was flawless.
He also knew where to wound me quietly.
“Your mother would have loved tonight,” he said when we crossed near the kitchen doors.
My mother had attended the first six summer suppers. She'd sat at the end of the garden wrapped in a shawl, refusing to leave until the last guest did.
“She would,” I said.
“She believed in us.”
“She believed you adored me.”
“I did.”
Past tense. Perhaps he heard it too, because he reached for my hand. I kept both hands around my glass.
“We could speak upstairs,” he said. “Five minutes.”
“No.”
“You won't even listen?”
“I've listened for three weeks. Tonight I'm having supper.”
I walked away before he could turn my mother's memory into another room I had to manage.
He remembered names and complimented the food as though he'd selected it. When a client praised the lighting, he said, “Claire always knows how to make a room work.” Twenty years had trained my body to turn toward his approval.
Nina passed me a tray. “Eat.”
“I'm hosting.”
“You're breathing and standing in a garden. The staff are hosting.”
She put a small tart into my hand. Lemon, olive oil and the warm note I'd tasted earlier.
“Saffron,” I said.
“Finally.”
I ate the whole thing.
At seven forty, Nate arrived wearing a navy jacket and carrying no gift. I'd told him not to bring one, and he'd listened.
He found me near the terrace, looked at my dress with honest appreciation and said, “Hello.”
“Hi.”
He kissed me. It was brief, ordinary and impossible to misunderstand.
Behind us, a glass struck a table.
Bennett stood beside the bar with champagne spilling over his hand.
Nate looked at him, then at me. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
“All right.”
That was all. No squared shoulders. No claim placed on me in front of another man.
I introduced him to Evelyn and Grant. Ruth asked about the conservatory apprentices. Elise quietly moved a vase away from the edge of the table, perhaps preparing for litigation.
Bennett reached us before Nate finished describing the gala.
“Nathan,” he said. “I don't believe we've met.”
Nate offered his hand. “Nate Delaney.”
Bennett ignored it. “You're comfortable attending a married couple's party with another man's wife?”
Nearby conversations faltered.
“Bennett,” I said. “Walk with me.”
“No. If you're determined to make this public, we can discuss it publicly.”
“I didn't invite you.”
“And yet here I am, in my own home, watching my wife parade her client in front of our friends.”
Nate's hand touched the small of my back. I glanced at him and he removed it.
“This isn't your home,” I said. “You left.”
“For a week. Because you forced me to choose.”
“You chose Laurel six months earlier.”
A woman from Bennett's office turned away from the bar, listening now.
He lowered his voice. “Don't do this.”
“You wanted it public.”
His composure cracked. “Opening a marriage doesn't mean replacing your husband.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means exploring without destroying what we have.”
“Was I allowed to explore?”
“Within reason.”
“Whose reason?”
“Claire, look at him. He's involved in your work. You've known him for weeks. You're making decisions because you're hurt, and he's taking advantage.”
Nate moved forward.
I held up one hand without looking at him.
He stopped.
“Answer the question,” I told Bennett. “When you proposed an open marriage, did you expect me to have sex with another man?”
Color moved up his neck. “That's crude.”
“It's clear.”
“I thought you might date eventually. When you were ready.”
“You tried to change the rules before my second date.”
“Because this isn't like you.”
“You slept with Laurel before there were rules at all.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
He looked around the garden, searching for a friendly face. No one helped him.
“Because you were supposed to remain my wife,” he said.
There it was. The marriage he had meant to open.
He wanted the dinners, the house, the invitations and the woman who knew to pack his blood-pressure tablets. He wanted Laurel's admiration without surrendering mine. He wanted me faithful to the life we'd built while he became unfaithful inside it.
“You wanted the wife,” I said, “without offering the marriage.”
He reached for my arm. I stepped away.
“We can still fix this if he leaves.” Bennett pointed at Nate. “Get out of my house.”
Nate's body tightened beside me.
“Don't,” I said quietly.
He looked at me, furious and controlled. Then he took one step back.
I faced Bennett.
“This house was mine before I married you. This gathering exists because I built it. Nate is my invited guest. You are the man who brought his mistress to my table, lied to both of us and tried to damage my company when I accepted the freedom you demanded.”
“Claire.”
“Leave.”
He stared at me.
“You don't mean that.”
“I have never meant anything more.”
“Twenty years, and you're throwing me out in front of everyone?”
“No. You threw twenty years away in private. I'm asking you to leave a party.”
He looked at Grant. “You're going to stand there and let her humiliate me?”
Grant's expression didn't change. “You should go, Bennett.”
“Evelyn?”
She slipped her hand into Grant's. “You heard Claire.”
He turned toward the guests from his office. One examined his shoes. Another picked up her wine and moved closer to her wife.
Bennett's gaze returned to me.
“You'll regret doing this when the anger wears off.”
“Perhaps. But I'll regret staying more.”
For once, I didn't escort him to the door.
He walked through the house alone.
The front door closed behind him.
I remained in the garden while seventy people tried not to look directly at me.
Then Nina came out of the kitchen carrying a fresh tray.
“The peaches,” she announced. “If none of you eat them, I'll take it personally.”
The garden began to breathe again.