“Are they having lunch with us?” Maria discreetly asks as we both remain staring at them.
“They’re not supposed to.” I ponder for a moment if I should invite the living version of Tess Hagen to have lunch with us or not. With a smile on my lips, I decide to go and talk to them. As I approach Carice and her group, I notice how their expressions switch from joyful to annoyed in a split second. “Carice,” I greet, standing in front of her. “It’s great having you here with us.” I can’t prevent the sarcasm in my tone though. “Do you and your friends want to stay and have lunch with us?”
“Thank you for the invitation,” she replies with a fake smile. “But we were just saying goodbye.”
“Oh, what a pity…” By the look on her face, Carice is expecting me to go away and leave them alone so they can spend the next hour doing some more tittle-tattle, but I don’t. I remain standing here, waiting patiently for her and her crew to leave. Knowing there is no escape, each one of them gives a hug to my wife and one of the security agents escorts them back to their cars so they can leave the property once and for all.
Standing finally alone with Petra, I want to be playful and make some kind of joke about Carice, but I recall that she might have a recorder taping our conversation, so I bite my tongue and say instead, “Are you hungry? Maria made slow-roasted aubergine with tamarind.”
“I’m starving,” she corrects, before she holds my arm and we head together to the dining room where everyone is already sitting.
It reminds me of the dinner we had on Christmas Day, the first time she met my family. From her side, there was only her dad in attendance and today, with the exception of Emma, is quite similar. Jeez, time flies so fast.
As we sit beside each other, I try to catch what the current subject is that’s being discussed at the table. Not surprisingly, they are discussing just mundane stuff—at this point, they all know Petra is a mole, so the conversation is as superficial as it gets. Yara is entertaining everyone talking about her last polo game in St. Moritz, as well as her new cover and interview in Polo&Lifestyle, and while everyone seems pretty excited, I can’t help but wonder if Petra is going to switch the subject and talk about either her mom’s death, abduction, the funeral, or even make an announcement about her pregnancy. But no—Petra doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she starts talking to Emma, who’s sitting beside her, avoiding Julia like the plague, even though she is sitting right in front of us. Well, I can’t really blame her—after everything my sisters did, I’m sure Petra sees them in a very different light than back when she met them originally.
As the luncheon comes to an end, Petra hasn’t mentioned anything about her mom, nor about her pregnancy. She spent most of her time speaking to Emma, like she was the only person worthy of her attention. I shouldn’t have minded the fact she has been ignoring us as if we weren’t here, yet, as I look at her hand resting on the table and so close to mine, I can’t help but feel tempted to be affectionate and take it onto my palm. Jeez, so pathetic… I can’t forget what she did for fuck’s sake! If I let my heart have its way, I will lose sight of reality and embrace only illusion, pain, and deception.
My wife is gonna testily against me, I remind myself. She’s gonna screw me over and destroy my reputation.
And that is the sad truth. Sooner or later, when the day of my trial comes, Petra is gonna sit in the witness chair, and portray me like a monster to the delights of Eric and the media. Suddenly, as a new voice echoes around the room, my attention goes back to Mom who is saying something I’m working to piece together. As she speaks though, I remember what she told me during our meeting before lunch, “Even in times of war, enemies can dine together.” Should I really dine with Petra despite everything she did? I mean, she did bury her own mother today, so maybe I can make an exception and have dinner with her… But why does she want to have dinner with me in the first place? Is it because she loves me or because she wants to tape our conversation and pry info out of me? That’s the problem when there’s no longer trust in a marriage. I don’t even know if my own wife has an ulterior motive for asking me to dine with her.
Roy, who’s sitting beside me, discreetly leans in and asks in a low voice, “Can we have a word in your office?”
My brows crease at the nervousness in his tone, but I just nod, already wondering what he’s up to. Since we have already finished our coffees and the lunch is officially over, we excuse ourselves as we stand up. I look at Mom especially, avoiding turning my head to the other side as I leave the table—I want my wife to feel just as ignored as I felt during the whole lunch. A small payback but still something.
Roy and I might be crossing the corridor in total silence, yet I can sense how troubled he is, especially with his accelerated breathing. After inviting him into my office and closing the door behind us, I wait patiently for him to start the conversation, but Roy seems far away—totally engrossed in his own thoughts.
I notice how he roams around the office, like he’s lost for words or an old, lost pair of glasses. Then he finally looks at me and all of a sudden asks, “Do I have any reason to be worried?”
“You?” I can’t prevent the astonishment in my voice.
“Well, yes, Eric barely spoke to me today.” He pauses, heaving a sigh. “He’s been talking a lot to my daughter but not me.”
“Oh, what a lovely friend he is,” I say before taking a seat on the armchair—I’ve got the feeling this is gonna be a long talk.
“He can’t give that report to Jan or to the court,” Roy presses, his tone anxious. “We need to do something.” My lips suddenly twist at his words. “You have a plan, right?”
“Relax,” I tell him despite knowing it will be in vain. “I do have one, yes.”
He narrows his eyes, looking at me intently. Since I don’t press any further, he asks, “And what is it?”
A quick chuckle escapes me seeing him so nervous. “Let me worry about it, alright?”
As I expected, my answer doesn’t satisfy him. “Are you sure?” He steps closer to me before sitting on the edge of the leather sofa, looking as if he’s going to teeter off the edge. “You don’t want my help to ensure Eric won’t share that report to anyone?”
My lips curve downwards, truly impressed at how willing he is to go against Eric. What a big contrast from last year when they seemed so close. “What if he learns you are helping me out though? I don’t want to bring you any trouble.”
“He wants to give that report to Jan and the court,” Roy reminds me promptly. “He’s my enemy as much as he is yours now.”
I nod in agreement, but that’s not a reason for me to tell him the plan Yara and I have in mind—the less other people know, the better.
Aiming for a steadier tone to reassure him, I say, “I’m working on that. Eric won’t give that report to anyone.”
“Good,” he utters simply, his eyes drifting down as he ponders my words. “By the way,” he looks back at me, his voice sounding rather uncomfortable. “I know this is none of my business but…” He presses his lips tight as he considers whether or not he should go ahead with his question. “Have you spoken to Petra yet?”