Chapter Forty-Six
‘DON’T WORRY,’ TED says to his cold wife. ‘He’s not going to say anything. He’s got enough to worry about.’
‘You think? He killed Ben!’
He looks back at her angrily, hurt by her scorn. She is outraged that John tossed Ben over the stair railing to his death, but she’d had no such scruples about killing Ted’s brother, Greg. ‘He says it was an accident. Ben came at him – it was self-defence.’
‘Oh, and you believe him?’ Her voice is strident, mocking, verging on hysterical.
‘Why would he want to kill Ben?’ His voice has risen too.
‘He says he was already leaving when Ben came at him!’ He realizes he’s yelling at her.
He takes a breath, tones it down. ‘Anyway, I’ve told him to stay out of it.
To stay away from us, from all of it.’ He strides past her to the kitchen, and she follows.
He starts making himself a coffee while she moves around the kitchen restlessly.
‘You should never have asked him for help,’ she complains, her voice accusing.
‘Well, we couldn’t go to anyone else, could we?’ he says bitterly. That shuts her up for a moment.
The machine stops whirring and his coffee is done. He picks up the cup and sips, trying to do something normal. He needs normal. He needs his life back. But he has no fucking idea how to get it back.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asks. It’s her constant, nagging refrain: What are we going to do?
Her voice is fearful, accusing. She’s not helping. She’s turning into a shrew. ‘Do you have any ideas?’ he asks, sarcastic. But she’s silent then.
He’s angry at having to figure this out on his own.
He did this for her, and she’s not grateful at all.
He understands that she’s distraught at how it’s all gone pear-shaped, but she should still be on his side.
They’re in this together; they should be working together to fix it.
He takes another sip of his coffee. After a pause, he asks, civilly, ‘Can I make you one?’
‘All right,’ she says and slumps down at the kitchen table.
He makes her a coffee and brings it over and joins her at the table.
They used to have such lovely mornings, he remembers, such enjoyable evening meals at this table.
This table where they plotted his brother’s death.
Jill looks so different now, but she is still beautiful.
Perhaps not quite as beautiful as before.
‘Jill,’ he says quietly. ‘We have to work together. We have to be a team.’ She looks back at him without speaking. Perhaps it is too late for them, he thinks. But he can’t accept that, or what’s it all been for? He must make it right, somehow.
‘I know,’ she says at last. But she doesn’t sound as if she means it. She sounds defeated.
He’d always thought she was stronger than him. But now he’s learning that that is not the case at all. He realizes that he is mentally tougher than she is. But he needs her.
‘If you’re up to it,’ he says, ‘I’d like to try Min again.’ Min hadn’t been home when they’d called her the day before.
She looks at him and nods. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
Jill fidgets nervously in the elevator. She and Ted are on their way up to Minerva’s apartment.
It had been a difficult call to make, but they both knew it would be better if the call came from her.
Jill had been closer to Min than Ted; they shared a love of art.
And Min is angry at Ted about the bad investment.
After the divorce, she had bought an expensive apartment in the Apthorp, on the Upper West Side. Now the elevator doors slide open onto Min’s floor. It’s midafternoon on Friday – they think her boyfriend will probably be at work.
Ted knocks briskly on the door and Minerva opens it.
She doesn’t smile. She looks tired and wears no makeup – and appears older than Jill remembers.
As she leads them into the living room, Jill glances around, noticing the art, particularly the original Damien Hirst over the fireplace, and remembers that Min had done very well for herself out of the divorce from Greg.
Poor Greg. Maybe no one had ever really loved him; they’d only loved his money.
‘It’s good to see you, Min,’ Jill begins, once they’ve all sat down. There is a tray on the ottoman, with a china teapot and cups, milk and sugar, and an assortment of biscuits.
‘It’s good to see you too,’ Min answers.
Jill isn’t convinced she means it. Min had sounded reluctant on the phone and doesn’t seem happy to see them. Maybe she just doesn’t want them here, for reasons that have nothing to do with murder and blackmail.
There’s an awkward pause, which Jill tries to fill. ‘We’re so sorry, about Greg,’ she says.
The teapot sits, ignored, on the tray.
‘Are you?’ Min asks.
Jill is taken aback, and she feels Ted stiffen on the sofa beside her. She’s not sure how to respond. After a moment she says, ‘Of course we are. You know we are.’
Min simply regards the two of them, more coldly now. Then she leans forward and starts pouring the tea. Jill notes that Min’s hand shakes a little. Finished pouring, she sits back and says, looking at Ted, ‘I don’t think there was any love lost between you and Greg.’
Jill glances at Ted, more nervous now.
Ted regards Min frankly and says, ‘We were brothers. Brothers are complicated. And – you know what he was like. He liked to give me a hard time. But I loved him in my way, and I think he loved me. We were the only family we had left.’
‘Oh, he hated you,’ Min says.
Jill sits speechless, shocked.
Then Min relents. ‘He hated me too, at the end.’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ Jill protests. ‘You know he loved you.’
Min shrugs. ‘He did love me, for a long time, but he stopped loving me once I asked for a divorce. It was like a switch turned off. But he stayed in touch. He looked out for me.’ She picks up her teacup.
‘I’m not surprised he left most of his estate to you; he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it to me. I had to fight for every scrap.’
This is not the Min Jill was expecting. She seems more bitter than grieving. She wanted the estate, and she seems unhappy that it went to Ted. Maybe – maybe she is their blackmailer. Suddenly it seems more plausible.
Min takes a sip of tea and then puts her cup down. ‘I just find it … odd … that the two of you survived that day at sea, and Greg didn’t. And that you get most of his money.’
Jill feels something slithering down her spine like a snake – an accusation.
‘It was an accident,’ Ted says firmly. ‘He slipped and went overboard. And I didn’t know I would get his money. He never told me.’
Min shoots back, ‘That’s not true. He told me that you knew, that he’d discussed it with you. So, forgive me my suspicions, but I’ve suspected you since the day it happened. Greg was far too good a sailor to go overboard all on his own.’ She stares back at them knowingly.
Jill can taste bile at the back of her throat.