Each tap fell like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
The room went still. Jason’s face lost its color. Linda rose slowly from her chair, and her fork slipped from her fingers onto the plate.
The stranger stopped in front of me. There was no pity in his gaze. Curiosity, yes. And anger.
“Jason, isn’t it?” he asked, without even turning toward my husband.
“Yes… and who are you?” Jason tried to sound bold, but his voice cracked halfway through.
The man paid him no attention. His eyes were fixed on my brooch.
“Carl’s work? Early period?” he asked, almost gently.
“No. Peter’s workshop,” I answered automatically, sniffing back tears. “Silver and garnets. It’s been in my family for years.”
He smiled then, and the change was startling. That smile warmed his whole severe face.
“Your wife has impeccable taste, young man. Which is more than I can say for you. Or for this entire…” He made a slow gesture with his cane toward the gilded dining room. “…circus.”
“Who do you think you are?” my mother-in-law shrieked. “Security! Why are strangers being allowed in here?”
Only then did the silver-haired man turn to her.
“Linda, you truly don’t recognize me? Or have you forgotten the man who gave you your first million dollars to open that little shop of yours back in the nineties?”
A murmur rippled through the hall. Linda clutched at her chest and collapsed back into her chair.
“Robert…?” Jason whispered, his lips nearly white. “The owner of the holding company? But you’re supposed to be in London!”
“I came to see the man I was about to put in charge of the branch,” Robert said, his stare hardening as it settled on Jason. “And now I have seen him. A petty, ill-mannered tyrant who is not worth the smallest finger on his wife’s hand.”
Then he faced me again.
“Emily, correct? I’ve read your essays on Boston architecture. Brilliant style.”
He inclined his head slightly and offered me his arm.
“It has grown unbearably stuffy in here from cheap perfume and even cheaper people. My car is outside. We are going to have dinner somewhere civilized, where no one screams and no one insults women.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, and said the very words that sent a shiver racing down my spine:
“Take my arm, my dear. Let them choke on their own tongues when they realize who is walking out beside you. Tonight, you are the queen. They are merely the court.”
I looked at Jason. He stood there with his mouth open, like a fish flung onto dry land. Then I looked at Linda, who was gulping water as if it might save her.
I straightened my shoulders. Adjusted that “widow’s” brooch they had mocked. Then I placed my hand on Robert’s arm. The fabric of his jacket felt warm and rough beneath my fingers.
“With pleasure,” I said clearly.
We crossed the entire room toward the exit. The silence was so complete that I could hear the soft rustle of my “mourning” velvet with every step. Not one person dared make a sound.
At the doors, I glanced back. Jason was still standing in the middle of the hall, small and pitiful despite his expensive suit.
I felt no triumph. No hunger for revenge. Only relief.
At last, I had buried that marriage.
And the memorial dinner had turned out splendidly.