Chapter Twenty-Five
MILLY
Milly walked into the club, confused, and saw her new tenant standing near the entrance with Sylvia.
“Hello, Mr. Rutherford,” Milly said. “I see you’ve found the club. Do you play tennis?”
“No,” he said. “Unfortunately not.”
“Well, I’ll be home later this afternoon if there’s anything you need to make yourself more comfortable.”
Sylvia gave Milly a strange look.
“Quite comfortable, thank you, Mrs. Kincaid,” he said, tipping his hat to them both and walking out the way she came in.
“You know him?” Sylvia asked.
“He’s my new tenant in the guest cottage. Do you?”
“I just met him yesterday. He wants to interview Adele.”
“Adele?” Milly asked. “Why?”
Sylvia glanced around looking uncomfortable. “It’s a long story. Do you have time for lunch?”
“I think so,” she said. “I’m supposed to have a lesson, but Adele just sped off on her bike, all out of sorts.”
They sat in the far corner of the restaurant out of earshot of other members, and Sylvia explained what she knew.
“I just can’t believe it’s her, and that she’s been coaching me, of all people,” Milly said. “I remember my mother and her friends used to talk about her. They didn’t care much about tennis, but they loved her style and panache.”
“I remember her too; she was such a star. It’s incredible that she’s been living here right under our noses like a hermit for all these years. I mean, when I first met her, I never for a second considered she might be Adeline Léglise. She was so strange and ignored everyone.”
“She seemed quite distraught when she was leaving,” Milly said. “I thought she was going to crash her bike right into me.”
“Now I feel terrible about the whole thing,” Sylvia said. “I really didn’t mean to upset her.”
Milly looked at her and raised her eyebrows.
“What?” Sylvia asked.
“You know she’s a very private person. And she was so distraught when her picture was in the paper.”
“All right, I got ahead of myself. I didn’t think about what it would mean to her. The look of shock on her face when I introduced Mr. Rutherford to her—she looked terrified.”
“What a slug, Rutherford. He lied to me, or at least he wasn’t forthright about his research.” Milly took a sip of her iced tea and swirled the ice cubes in the bottom of her glass. “Gosh, I hope she still keeps on with my lessons.”
“Me too. I can’t afford to lose her.” Sylvia shook her head. “She’s going to be so angry with me; I really betrayed her trust.”
“I’m the one who’s housing the guy who’s after her. When she finds out he’s staying one street over from her … phew, she’ll be mad.”
“We have to do something to make this right,” Sylvia said. “Or her name could be splashed all over the national papers by morning. And if that happens, I won’t be surprised if she leaves the island by the afternoon.”
Milly went home in a state, and before setting foot in her house, she went straight up to the guest cottage and knocked hard.
“You have some nerve, Mr. Rutherford,” she said, before he had a chance to greet her. He was wearing glasses now with a pen in his hand, and that somehow infuriated her more. He must be crafting his piece about Adele in Milly’s very own cottage.
“Excuse me?” He seemed shocked by her outburst.
“You have a lot of nerve to come here and think you can use my cottage and my goodwill to expose my friend to who knows what.”
“You know Adeline?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” she snapped. “And I have a feeling you knew that too. You must have known she was coaching me.”
“Look, I have tremendous respect for her, but a story’s a story, and we’re going to run it with or without her.”
“She’s not a story, she’s a human being who deserves her privacy just like anyone else.”
He put his hands up in defense. “I thought she’d want the chance to tell her side of the story.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You say she’s your friend, but you clearly know nothing about her. That’s doesn’t sound like much of a friendship to me.”
Milly was so angry she wanted to shove him. How dare he tell her what kind of friendships she had or didn’t have? And yet, when she considered it, she was lying about so much of her life too. Were these even real friendships if they were all keeping so much from each other?
“If she doesn’t agree to it,” he went on, “maybe I could interview you about your experience with her, what she’s like now.”
“How dare you even ask that,” she said. “I would never betray my friend’s trust like that.”
“Fine.” He shook his head. “Fine. But you should talk to her,” he said. “Let her know it would help her case if we heard the truth from her.”
She studied him. What a weasel, she thought, feeling deeply regretful that she’d taken his rent money. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll speak to her. But don’t expect much.”
“I’d be so grateful,” he said.
“I’m not doing it for you,” she snipped. “I’m doing it for her.”
“Right,” he said, nodding. “Well, you know where to find me if she wants to talk.”