Chapter 4
Four
Ellie
“Elyse Taylor!” A woman approaches me, arms outstretched, as we enter the palatial Georgian mansion on Friday evening. I lean
in for a hug, taking in the cloying scent of her expensive perfume and barely suppressing a sneeze. “It’s so nice to officially
meet you,” she gushes.
I'm not sure what I expected on the hour-long drive up from the city, but it wasn't this. I feel hopelessly out of place among
so much luxury. The woman's smile is wide and her golden blonde waves flow in an elegant waterfall down one shoulder. I’d
guess she’s around sixty, but you wouldn’t know it if it weren’t for the faint crow’s feet around her eyes. I can tell she’s
the kind of woman who fills her schedule with Botox and facelifts and filler appointments in between her charity work and
shopping trips to Bergdorf’s.
“Hi—thank you for inviting me. This is my friend, Aubrey Collins. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a plus-one for the weekend.
” The woman's gaze flickers to Aubrey and she gives a quick frown before her measured expression returns. I’m suddenly embarrassed that I didn’t ask about bringing a buddy along—but how could I?
There was no RSVP number or contact information on the invitation.
Besides, what kind of woman would I be if I agreed to a weekend away with a group of strangers without some sort of built-in support system?
I may be na?ve, but even I know better than to risk that.
“The Society is very exclusive . . .” her icy-blue eyes narrow at Aubrey, a shrewd look crossing her face. “Bringing someone
along is really quite bold and frankly untoward,” she continues, and I wilt, thinking she might just send us back to the city
because I've already broken some unspoken rule. Her gaze moves up and down Aubrey's form. “Well, I guess we can make do with
an extra this weekend. You don't mind sharing a room, I hope?”
“Not at all,” I say.
The woman's eyes flicker from cold to amused. “It's nice to meet you both. I’m Kat Volkov, your hostess for the weekend. Welcome
to Bedford and my home, Tempsford Manor.”
“Thank you for having us.” I adjust the overnight bag on my shoulder. “I have to confess, I’m a little confused about why
I’m here.”
“Oh come, come. We’ll talk about it over aperitifs.” She gestures for Aubrey and me to move further into the house. “The ladies
are waiting on the patio—they’re thrilled to meet our newest recruit. We’re very selective about membership. Only one new
member annually, and the group’s decision must be unanimous. How was your drive from the city? Paulo was prompt, I hope?”I
feel my eyebrows rising. One new member a year? How on Earth did they choose me?
“The drive was great,” Aubrey chimes in as we follow Kat to the heated patio that overlooks the estate grounds.
The home is the epitome of old-world luxury: Italian tiles, an opulent double staircase, and marble pillars separating the various rooms. I’ve only ever seen homes like this in movies—never in real life.
My father has a lot of powerful and well-connected friends and clients, but he made a point of keeping his business and personal lives separate when I was growing up.
I found myself at home with a nanny most nights while he networked with movers and shakers around the city and sometimes around the world.
“Ladies,” Kat coos as we step out onto the patio, “let me introduce you to Elyse Taylor—please give her a warm welcome into
our little society. And this is her friend, Aubrey Collins.”
“I go by Ellie, actually.”
“Well, Ellie,”—Kat’s smile is tight—“Here we only use formal names. So much of the modern world has fallen into casual colloquialisms.
The Society is an intentionally elevated experience.”
I catch Aubrey’s eye. She quirks one eyebrow and I have to suppress a laugh. I can’t wait to be shown our room later and to
giggle behind closed doors about this pretentious moment. But then, maybe Aubrey is used to a more elegant life than I am.
I realize then that I don’t really know much about her, despite the fact that I roped her into this weekend getaway with a
group of strangers.
“Welcome, Elyse,” the group of women chimes as Aubrey and I take seats at the outdoor dining table. I force a smile and wave,
anxiety and discomfort settling in again.
Kat takes the next minute to introduce Aubrey and me to each of the women in the group—there are nine in all. Most seem to
be within a few years of Kat’s age, with only one being younger—somewhere in her forties if I had to guess. They’re all poised
and polite, just like Kat.
“We’re so thrilled to have you in The Society,” one of the women, Jacquelyn, says.
“Oh—I haven’t agreed to join or anything, I just thought the invitation was interesting so—”
“Oh, honey, you’re here—you accepted the invitation—that means you’re in.” Kat pats my knee under the table. The unexpected
touch gives me a chill that I can’t explain.
“Oh . . . I didn’t realize . . . I thought I was just coming to check things out this weekend.” I stumble through my words.
“Trust me, these are some of the most well-connected women in the city. Kathryn is the head of pediatrics at Mount Sinai.
Jacquelyn and Susan have been at Goldman Sachs for thirty years—Susan is one of the first women traders in a man’s world.
And Martha has been the head of fashion merchandising at Bergdorf’s for just as long—it’s so inspiring. The connections and
networking we can provide alone make it worth it,” Kat says. “Events, fundraisers, galas—and every one an opportunity to climb
the ladder.”
“I’m not really into networking—I don’t care about that at all, actually. I was just looking to make some new friends and
maybe do some charity events . . .”
“Oh, you’ll make the best friends of your life in The Society,” Kat assures me. “And many of us have found a sense of purpose
that was lacking before.”
“If you don’t join us we’ll have an empty spot for the next year. We’re all so stretched thin already—we really need someone
to be boots on the ground for some charity work that we’ve had to turn down,” Jacquelyn explains.
I pause before replying because it all sounds good—too good to be true. “May I ask—how did you find me?”
Kat’s eyebrows rise for a moment before her smile grows.
“Well, we have a selective nomination process and our membership is capped at a dozen members at any given time. We’ve spent the last year searching for just the right candidate after our last member moved to West Palm.
Each of us nominate a few people we’ve come into contact with who we think would be a good fit with the group.
Sometimes it’s through social settings or work or even media coverage—Susan was nominated by Jacquelyn when they met at a work party years ago.
Things just fall into place sometimes—you know how it goes.
I believe in serendipity, don’t you?” Kat says.
“So who nominated me?” I ask, feeling more confused than ever.
“Well, that was me. I came across your name in relation to your time at Columbia so I did some digging and thought your set
of skills and talents would be a great fit for us.” Kat smiles politely.
“My skills?” I push for more.
“Well, with finance and things.” Kat’s grin looks forced. I get the sense that I’m asking too many questions. “So much business
talk—we usually like to spend the first evening catching up. It’s been a few months since we’ve had a ladies’ weekend.” She
turns to a sixty-something dark-haired woman across the table. “Tell us, Joan, how have you been since the last time we saw
you?”
The woman—Joan—glances at her hands in her lap. “Not great.”
Tears instantly well in her dark eyes before she takes a tissue from her bag and wipes at her face.
“John has been distant since Savannah . . . left us.” Joan sniffs, more tears welling.
“I think we’re both still in shock. I’ve been seeing my therapist twice a week and going to the grief group that she recommended, but it still feels so unreal.
I still wake up every morning and have the urge to send Savannah a morning text message, and then I remember she’ll never get it.
That she’s gone, my child is dead, and I’m supposed to just move on. ”
I sit in stunned silence, taking in the pain this woman has endured.
“It’s still fresh, honey. No one here is asking you to move on.” Kat pats her hand across the table.
“It’s been six weeks since the funeral and it hasn’t gotten any easier,” Joan gasps. “It’s like my mind refuses to believe
the reality of losing her.”
“That makes sense; there’s no greater loss than the death of a child.” Kat’s face is the picture of sympathy.
“Especially when it’s sudden,” Jacquelyn joins in.
“But maybe I should have seen it coming. I mean—how didn’t I? I know my daughter the best.”
“That changes when they go to college, though—it’s out of our hands then. They’re surrounded by new people and living on their
own for the first time . . .”
“Yes, but she was at Columbia. She was just across the city—we saw her most weekends. I should have known after the troubles
she had.” Joan cries softly. “She went through so much the last year.”
“She went to Columbia?” I chime in.
Kat nods. “She was pre-law.”
I nod, feeling Joan’s anguish at the loss of her daughter coming in waves from across the table.
“I hate the man that did that to her—I think about revenge. I fantasize about hurting him—about taking everything from him
like he did to me.” Joan wipes at more tears.
My heart sinks as I realize there’s more to this story than I realized.
“If she hadn’t have met him, hadn’t been assigned to his class, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“You can’t think that way, honey,” Jacquelyn says, attempting to console her friend. “We can’t change the past; we can only
impact the future.”
Joan nods. “He deserves to lose everything. His job—his life. He needs to suffer for taking my little girl from me.”