it’s Christmas in two and a half weeks, Elm, you can’t just walk out. Think of all your social commitments, the—”
“Frankly, I couldn’t give a damn. Just don’t let Daddy get a whiff of any of this yet.”
“Elm, it’s really not a good idea to make this kind of decision in the heat of the moment,” Meredith insisted. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” She came around the desk and laid an anxious hand on her friend’s arm.
“I have to get out of here. It’s the only way, Mer. Call me at Gio’s when the papers are ready to sign. Please get it done fast. And thanks.”
“For what, screwing up your life?” Meredith shook her head bitterly. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”
“Don’t. We both know this had to happen one day. Everything you said was true. I just didn’t want to recognize it. And now that I have, there’s no way I can sit back and take it as I have all these years.” She leaned over and gave her friend a quick hug.
Passing a worried hand through her pageboy haircut, Meredith sighed as she watched her friend leave. Elm was right. It would have come to this, anyway. Still, she was shocked and surprised at the rapidity of Elm’s decision. She prayed she wouldn’t regret it. She’d expected every sort of reaction—tears, anger, frustration—but not this. Not cold, rigid decision. My God, she realized, collapsing again in her chair, Elm had simply transformed into another being. For a moment she wondered if she should advise someone, even call Harlan or Senator Hathaway, the housekeeper—heck, anyone.
Then she realized she couldn’t.
Technically, she was now Elm’s legal representative and as such was bound to do what her client had requested: namely, prepare divorce papers and stay quiet about it.
She stared at the file she’d been working on, the legal challenge to the privatization of the Mogachee Municipal Waste Processing Plant, and sighed. Maybe Elm would calm down by tomorrow and realize she was being too precipitate. Not that Meredith blamed her for wanting rid of Harlan as fast as possible. Still, there were a number of things to be taken into consideration. Elm was a very wealthy woman, and the publicity…
Leaning back in her chair, she considered Harlan. He certainly deserved anything he got, even being dumped two weeks before Christmas. Still, she was herself a die-hard Democrat, and the party couldn’t afford to lose Harlan’s seat to the Republicans. On the other hand, Meredith had to admit, under all that boyish, suave, Kennedy-style charm, Elm’s husband was a dirtbag who’d gotten lucky thanks to the old-boy network that functioned on past favors and future dues. She shrugged, wishing she hadn’t been the one to confirm what Jennifer Ball, in her unsubtle, vindictive way, had let loose.
She could just imagine Jennifer, with those long, glossy legs she was so proud of, striding arrogantly over to Elm in full view of her less-well-endowed former classmates—now full-fledged veterans of the garden club, bravely fighting any incipient signs of middle age—and baring her capped white teeth at Elm. Jennifer had always loathed Elm, knowing she’d never have Elm’s beauty, poise, wealth or privileged position in Savannah society, and she would have made darn sure her little entourage of doting admirers—including Hannah Ramsey, Tiffany Fern, and that two-faced bitch Elsa MacDonald—were present for Elm’s humiliation. Jennifer had been divorced twice, and had had several affairs with notable local citizens. Luring Elm’s husband to her side was a natural evolutionary step, and one that must have been especially satisfying. Not that Harlan needed much enticement, Meredith reflected grimly. The man apparently had a hard time keeping his pants on.
But divorce. Even she was shocked. After all, Harlan and Elm were an institution.
Did Elm have any idea of all that was on the line? Meredith wondered, concerned. With everything Harlan had to lose, there was no way he was going to take this lying down.
Tapping her pen rhythmically on her yellow legal pad, Meredith thought the matter over. Perhaps in a couple of days, when Elm had calmed down, she could talk to her reasonably, persuade her to wait at least until after the holidays, not make a rash decision in the heat of the moment. And then, if she was still determined to go ahead, then maybe Elm could have it out with Harlan and come to some kind of civilized arrangement. Not that he deserved it. Far from it. But in the long run, it would be better for all concerned.
When the phone rang, Meredith grabbed it as though her life depended upon the call. Anything right now, she figured, even old Mr. Tompson’s estate case—which she loathed—would come as a welcome relief.
3
“Bitch,” Harlan MacBride muttered, then slammed down the phone so hard the antique mahogany desk shuddered. Had Elm gone fucking nuts?
Meredith Hunter’s words echoed ominously.
Elm wanted a divorce.
It was unthinkable.
He’d never have guessed she had the guts to cross him this way, or that she’d take such a drastic step and then disappear. She’d been missing for days, making things damned uncomfortable for him—he’d only just now learned that she’d hightailed it to Switzerland, to that crazy Italian friend of hers whom he’d never liked, Gioconda Mancini.
Harlan flexed his fingers, eyes narrowed. Fuck Elm. She had no right to do this, no right at all. And fuck Jennifer for having opened her big sexy mouth. She was a great lay, and that tongue of hers could work wonders, but obviously he’d misjudged her ability to keep her goddamn trap shut.
He should have been more careful, he admitted, his lower lip twitching. But all those damn IVF treatments had been such a drag. Worse, he’d had to carry on the pretense of giving a shit—cosset Elm after the implantations, agree to the doctor’s recommendation that he stay out of her bed—when he had far bigger matters on his plate. It wasn’t surprising he’d let off steam with Jennifer. Any man would have. Elm should be grateful to him for being so understanding instead of flying off in a sulk.
And now she was threatening divorce, he reflected grimly. If he wasn’t meticulous about defusing her snit, Elm could spoil his re-election chances. She of all people knew he’d won his House seat on a platform promoting strong, Christian family values. Hell, the goddamn campaign posters that were going out next week showed him holding her hand and surrounded by smiling kids. Not his kids, mind you, he reflected, annoyed.
He shook his head and muttered crossly. Elm was nothing but an unappreciative spoiled brat who should be thanking her lucky stars for having a husband like him, one who, despite the drawback of not having children, had been able to look past the negative and see the potential of the situation. That was something he’d learned early on: how to twist circumstances—however challenging—to his advantage.
Harlan leaned back in the deep office chair and a slow smile crept over his handsome features as he recalled the several newspaper and TV interviews where he’d tearfully confessed that God hadn’t seen fit to bless them with kids, how maybe one day he and his wife would adopt. It had worked like a charm. Immediately the family-values freaks and the born-again Christians had come beating down his door, fists full of campaign dollars.
But they’d abandon him in a heartbeat if Elm’s allegations ever got out, he reflected gloomily, the smile disappearing as fast as it had dawned. And so would Senator Hathaway’s support, he realized, sitting up straighter. Much as he’d prefer to forget it, Harlan knew that, despite his charisma and eloquent Southern charm, it
