Chapter 16 The Whisper Campaign
The Whisper Campaign
Julian
Early September, Saturday evening
The Hendricks gala is everything I expected: crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and enough wealth concentrated in one room to fund marine conservation for a decade.
Vivian Hendricks has outdone herself with the ocean theme, from the blue lighting to the centerpieces made of ethically sourced coral replicas.
Eliza is stunning in a deep blue gown that makes her look like she emerged from the sea herself. She insisted on meeting me here rather than arriving together, so she could leave whenever she wanted, and I'm learning not to argue with the things she needs.
"The ice sculpture is a bit much," she murmurs as we pass a six-foot rendering of a humpback whale. "That's going to be a puddle by dessert."
"At least it's thematically appropriate."
"I suppose drowning in your own metaphor is a risk we all take."
I laugh, surprised and delighted. This is the Eliza I fell in love with, sharp and funny and unimpressed by spectacle. She's been emerging more and more over the past few weeks, the real woman underneath the careful distance she maintained after the accident.
We make our way through the crowd, stopping to greet people I know from foundation work.
Eliza is gracious but reserved, participating in conversations without performing the role of supportive wife.
It's different from how she used to be at these events, and I realize with a pang that the old Eliza was probably exhausted from pretending.
Forty-five minutes in, I excuse myself to get us drinks from the bar. The line is short, and I'm thinking about which wine Eliza might prefer when I hear my name.
"Julian Morrow. I heard your wife finally came to her senses."
I turn. Gerald Davenport, hedge fund manager, three drinks in judging by his volume. We've met at a dozen events like this one.
I keep my expression neutral. "I'm sorry?"
"Your wife." He waves his glass vaguely. "Heard she's being difficult about the whole boat thing. Can't believe she's giving you grief for saving someone's life."
The words hit me like a slap.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Oh, you know how it is. People talk." He leans in conspiratorially. "Margot Hale was saying your wife basically punished you for rescuing her from drowning. Women, right? Can't win."
My stomach turns to ice. Margot. Of course. I cut her off from my events, from my life, but I can't control every room in Cape Avalon. She's been talking. Spinning the story. Making Eliza the villain.
I find my voice. "That's not what happened."
"No? Because the way I heard it..."
"I don't care what you heard. My wife didn't leave because I helped someone in the water. She left because I spent six months neglecting her. The accident brought it to a head; helping someone in danger wasn't what she objected to."
Gerald looks taken aback. "That's not what Margot said."
"Margot is not a reliable source." My voice comes out harder than I intended. "She told me my wife had already been rescued when she was still in the water. She admitted later that she knew Eliza was still there when she said it."
Gerald's eyebrows climb. "That's... that's serious."
"It is. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread stories you heard third-hand without checking them first."
I take my drinks and walk away before I can say something I'll regret.
I find Eliza near the silent auction, examining a package for a sailing trip. She looks up when I approach, takes one look at my face, and frowns.
"What happened?"
I hand her the wine. "People are talking."
"People are always talking."
"About us. About the accident." I lower my voice. "Margot's been telling people you left me because I saved her life. That you're punishing me for rescuing a drowning woman."
Eliza goes very still. Then, slowly, her jaw tightens in a way I recognize. Cold fury, carefully contained.
"I see."
"I corrected the guy I talked to. But if she's been spreading this story..."
"Then it's worse than I thought." Eliza's voice goes flat, and she reaches into her clutch to pull out her phone. "Catherine Whitmore texted me last week. She said Margot told her I made you choose between rescuing her and staying married. Offered to be a shoulder to cry on, very thoughtful."
She holds the screen toward me, and I read Catherine's message, each word dripping with false sympathy. My jaw tightens. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wanted to believe it was just Catherine being Catherine.
" Eliza tucks the phone away and takes a long sip of wine, her knuckles white around the stem.
"Now I know Margot's been working the whole donor circle.
I'm the jealous wife who couldn't handle her husband being heroic, and half this room probably believes it. "
"That's not what happened."
"I know that. You know that. But they don't."
I scan the room, suddenly aware of how many of these people might have heard Margot's version. How many sidelong glances I might have missed, how many whispered conversations.
"I need to fix this."
"How?"
"By telling the truth. Publicly. Making sure people know what actually happened."
Eliza sets her wine glass down. "And what does that mean for me? You making some grand announcement about our marriage? Airing our problems in front of a room full of donors?"
"Not our problems. Just the facts about the rescue. That Margot knew you were in the water and lied about it."
"People will ask questions."
"I'll answer them. The ones that don't invade your privacy." I meet her eyes. "I won't share anything about us that you don't want shared. But I can't let people think you left because I did something right."
Eliza is quiet for a long moment. I can see her calculating, weighing options, deciding how much exposure she's willing to accept.
She turns to face me. "If you're going to do this, I want to be there. I want to hear what you say."
"Of course."
"And I want a chance to speak for myself. I'm not going to stand there silently while you rescue my reputation."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
She picks up her wine glass again, drains it. "Then let's go find Vivian."
We make our way through the crowd toward our host. Vivian Hendricks is holding court near the main entrance, resplendent in emerald green, laughing at something one of her guests has said.
Halfway there, I see Margot.
She's at the far end of the room, talking to a small group of women I don't recognize. She is laughing with them. My wife has been dreading these rooms, and Margot has been enjoying an audience. When she notices me looking, she quickly turns away, angling her body so her back is to us.
She's been avoiding me. That tracks. She can spread stories to people who don't know me well, but she won't look me in the eye.
Eliza follows my gaze and her expression hardens.
"She's here."
"I see her."
"Good." Eliza sets her empty glass on a passing tray. "Then she can hear what you have to say."
We reach Vivian, who greets us warmly. I lean in close.
"Vivian, I'm sorry to interrupt. But we need to correct something, and I'd like to do it with a few key people present."
Vivian's smile falters slightly. "That sounds serious."
"It is. Can we gather a few people somewhere semi-private? The Whitmore group, the Davenports. Anyone who's heard rumors about my marriage recently."
Vivian's eyes sharpen. She's a skilled hostess, which means she's also skilled at reading situations. "Follow me."
She leads us toward a side room, pausing along the way to quietly gather the people I mentioned. Within five minutes, we have a small group assembled, maybe fifteen people, looking curious and slightly concerned.
I take a breath and reach for Eliza's hand. She lets me take it.
"We need to correct something," I begin.