The Wife Who Knew Too Much

by Michele Campbell

  24

  I’d been at Windswept for an entire week without Connor, but finally, the end of our separation was in sight. He’d be flying home tomorrow, and I was expected to join him in the city that same night for a dinner celebrating the closing of the Saudi deal. The top brass of Levitt Global would be there, along with the Saudi executives.

  “Is that a good idea?” I said nervously, when Connor told me this over the phone the night before. “I thought I was supposed to keep a low profile.”

  “True. But Hank Spears wants to meet you. He’s the CEO, and things will go easier if he’s in our corner. This is a small dinner in a private room at a restaurant. Nobody from the public will be there. It should be fine, and it’s a good opportunity to introduce you.”

  “But I won’t know what to say.”

  “It’s just a meet and greet. You don’t have say much. The focus of the dinner is on the Saudis.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Whatever you wear, you’ll look beautiful. Be ready by six tomorrow night, okay? Dennis will drive you.”

  The next morning, I asked Juliet to come to the master suite and give me pointers on what to wear. We stood in the dressing room, which had been stripped bare except for the tiny corner where my clothes now hung.

  “Too bad I already sent off Mrs. Levitt’s things,” she said. “She had the most glamorous Saint Laurent tuxedo with sequined lapels. It wouldn’t’ve fit you, though. She was very petite.”

  She looked me up and down skeptically.

  “I wouldn’t feel right, wearing her clothes.”

  “I know. I just meant, that suit strikes the right balance for this event. Discreet, but impactful. Show me what you have. Let’s see if we can find something similar.”

  It took literally three minutes to go through my wardrobe. I owned five pairs of jeans in various washes, three sets of black pants and white tops that I wore to work, sweats, leggings, a large pile of T-shirts, a few cute tops, and several dresses from Target and Old Navy that I’d worn on my honeymoon.

  “What about this? It looks good on,” I said, holding up my favorite of the dresses, a flowy, floral print.

  “Honestly? That looks like something a sorority girl would wear on a Tinder date.”

  “I’m sorry, Juliet. As you see, my wardrobe is basically jeans, and the black pants and white shirts I wore for work.”

  “Work? What did you do before?”

  “I was a waitress.”

  She gave me a strange look, and my stomach clenched. Unlike with Gloria, I always felt that Juliet was judging me.

  “As you can imagine, I’m kind of out of my league here. Could I possibly impose on you to help me find something to wear?”

  “Mrs. Levitt had a stylist in the city who chose clothes for her, but I could never get you an appointment on such short notice.”

  “That seems like a lot of fuss, anyway. You can help me, can’t you? For this dinner, I’d just like to wear something simple. Maybe something like what you’re wearing.”

  “This is just a Theory pantsuit. It’s the uniform for Mrs. Levitt’s assistants. The girl before me wore them, and the girl before her. It’s fine, but they’ll be expecting something more. As Mr. Ford’s wife, you really should wear couture to an event like this. To find something, to have it tailored—we just don’t have time.”

  “Is there a mall nearby?”

  “There’s a boutique in town that carries high-end things. I’ll call Dennis to bring the car. Let’s hope they have something.”

  I ended up with a simple V-necked black dress and a pair of stiletto-heeled black pumps with crystal buckles. The items totaled over a thousand dollars, which Juliet had to charge to the Windswept household account because my credit card was declined. The beauty people who normally did Nina weren’t available on short notice, which was fine with me. I was more comfortable doing my own hair and makeup.

  At five minutes to six, I was putting on mascara when there was a knock on the master-suite door.

  “Come in.”

  Juliet walked into the dressing room. She looked me over as I stood in front of the full-length mirror.

  “What do you think? Am I okay?”

  She frowned. “It’s a little—”

  “A little what?”

  “—a little too basic. Maybe an updo?”

  My blond hair hung past my shoulders, thick and wavy and guileless.

  “I’m not good with hair.”

  “Me, neither. We need to dress you up a little. Hold on, I have an idea.”

  She punched the combination into the safe, and the door swung open.

  “The clothes are gone, but the jewelry is still here.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” I said.

  “Jewelry isn’t like clothing. It’s much less personal. Here, this will look nice with that dress.”

  She held up a glittering emerald choker. Standing behind me, she fastened it around my neck. It lay cold and heavy against my throat, but the effect was instantly transformative. I went from being an average girl in a basic black dress to looking like a starlet.

  “It’s beautiful. Are you sure this is okay?”

  “The jewelry belongs to Mr. Ford, and he’d want you to look nice when you meet his colleagues. Dennis is downstairs with the car to take you to the helipad.”

  “Helipad?”

  “Yes, how did you think you’d get to the city? The dinner starts in an hour. You’d better go.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been such a help.”

  I hugged her and ran out.

  I’d never been in a helicopter before, but Dennis assured me it was a normal way to get into Manhattan from out east. Normal, that is, if you were fabulously rich. He introduced me to the pilot, who strapped me in and gave me headphones to protect my ears from the noise. I raced into the sunset, as lacy waves tumbled on the shore below, and the lights of Manhattan glittered in the distance like Oz, unable to believe that this was my life.

  When we landed, a driver sent by Levitt Global waited to take me to the restaurant. The dinner was being held in a private room at Le Bernardin, a famed Manhattan restaurant with three Michelin stars. I’d looked it up online and knew those stars meant the most exquisite food on the planet. I was so excited to eat there that it kept the butterflies in check at meeting Connor’s business associates for the first time. The driver came around to open my door, and I stepped from the car carefully, teetering in the high heels. As I maneuvered to the curb, a dark-haired man dressed entirely in black ran up and took my picture. As the flash went off, I cowered, allowing him to get off several more shots.

  “What’s happening?” I said to the driver.

  “Get lost,” the driver said, waving the photographer off. He stepped between me and the camera, blocking the photographer’s view, and hustled me to the door.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Paparazzi. They used to swarm Mrs. Levitt like flies.”

  The dinner was just beginning. I followed a group of beautifully attired guests into a sleek, modern room set aside just for this event. The grandeur of the scene overwhelmed me. The ceiling was made of precious woods, the long table laid with white linen cloths, crystal and fine china, exotic-flower arrangements at intervals along its length. Waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. The crowd was mostly men in dark suits, some in Arab dress, and here and there a few women in elegant outfits and jewels. Connor stood at the far end of the room, talking with a tall silver-haired man and a beautiful woman in a red dress. They turned as I approached. Connor’s look of welcome was instantly replaced with one of horror as he caught sight of me. His mouth fell open. And I realized—he was staring at the necklace. I knew then that I’d made a terrible mistake by wearing it.

  “This must be the new Mrs. Ford,” the silver-haired man said.

  “Ah, yes. Yes, my wife, Tabitha. Hank Spears and Lauren Berman from L
evitt Global,” Connor managed. But he’d gone white.

  Hank had mild eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He took my hand in both of his.

  “Ah, Tabitha. I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to the Levitt Global family,” he said, with a warm smile.

  Lauren nodded coolly and didn’t say anything. A couple of the Saudis joined the group, and the conversation went on. They were talking about the deal. I couldn’t focus enough to follow the conversation because my whole body surged with anxiety. At a moment when the others seemed distracted, I leaned in and murmured to Connor.

  “I missed you so much. Did you miss me?”

  “What the hell were you thinking, wearing that necklace?” he whispered, between gritted teeth.

  I felt sick, horrified. “Juliet said I should be more dressy.”

  “Is she behind this? She’s gonna hear about it from me.”

  “She was only trying to help.”

  He snorted dismissively.

  “Please, Connor, don’t say anything to her. I’m trying to settle in here, to get along with people.”

  “We’ll deal with this later,” he said.

  It was time to sit down. A waiter escorted me to an assigned seat. I wasn’t seated with Connor. I saw him at the opposite end of the long table, taking his seat at Hank’s right hand. I gazed at Connor steadily, willing him to look up and give me a signal. A signal that everything was okay. That I hadn’t just blundered into a ruinous faux pas that would bring our world crashing down. That he wasn’t regretting that he’d ever reconnected with me. But he didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

  The few women in attendance had all been seated together at the far end of the table. My calligraphy place card read, “Mrs. Connor Ford.” I wondered whether they even knew my first name. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t understand this world. I didn’t know the rules. I couldn’t even communicate. On my left, a woman in full black veil sat scrolling through her phone. All I could see of her face was her beautifully made-up eyes. Lauren Berman sat down on my right. She was looking at her phone, too, ignoring me. Waiters were placing elaborate tiered serving trays in front of all of us. Trying to distract myself with the food, I nibbled a crab tartlet. Lauren threw down her phone with a dramatic sigh.

  “I can’t believe I’m down here in fucking Siberia,” she said, her language a contrast with her elegant red dress. She was beautiful, with dramatic eyebrows and full lips. I was a little afraid of her.

  “So, you’re Connor’s new wife,” she said, looking me up and down brazenly. “I see you didn’t waste any time helping yourself to Nina’s jewelry.”

  I flushed crimson. “Uh—I, but I didn’t know that I—”

  “You didn’t know about the Levitt emeralds? That piece is famous.”

  I started stuttering. “No, just, well, there was no notice, you know, this dinner, so sudden. Nothing to wear. I borrowed something. I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

  “Oh, trust me, Nina would mind. She’d mind very much. You’re lucky she’s not here, she’d rip that thing off you so fast. Nina had claws.”

  Shaking her head, she signaled for the waiter.

  “Vesper martini, make it strong,” Lauren said.

  He turned to me. “Ma’am?”

  “Just soda water, please.”

  “I don’t trust people who don’t drink,” she said. “It’s like they’re trying to gain some advantage over me.”

  I couldn’t tell her the real reason I wasn’t drinking. “I just—I’m a little under the weather tonight.”

  “That was a joke,” she said.

  But it hadn’t sounded like a joke. It had sounded hostile, and I could understand why. I’d stolen Nina Levitt’s emerald necklace. More important, I’d stolen her husband. I wondered how many people in this room tonight were angry at me for that.

  “You were a friend of hers, I take it?” I said.

  “A friend of Nina’s? Hah, no. I’m the head of the PR department. I’m here tonight to figure out how to sell this stinker of a deal to the shareholders.”

  The waiter returned with our drinks. I sipped my club soda. Lauren took a long pull of her martini. A couple of women sat down across from us on the other side of the table. They said perfunctory hellos to Lauren, who didn’t bother introducing me. I noticed them shooting glances in my direction, whispering behind their hands. Were they talking about the emerald necklace, too? A waiter came around, filling glasses with white wine. I put my hand over my wineglass. The meal service began, and I focused on the food, taking a bite of buttery langoustine. As delicious as it was, I no longer had an appetite.

  “The Real Housewives are trash-talking you, I see,” Lauren said, leaning close enough that I caught a whiff of gin.

  “I don’t know why they’d waste their time on me.”

  She’d finished her drink and proceeded to drain the glass of wine.

  “Oh, you’re a very interesting topic. Nobody can understand how you pulled it off. Connor’s a free man, in line to inherit Nina’s fortune, and he turns around and gets married to some waitress he meets at a dive up in the boondocks. Some might wonder what you have on him.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe he fell in love?” I said, starting to get annoyed.

  “Please, Connor Ford is not capable of love.”

  That upset me. Who did she think she was, talking about my husband like that?

  “What the hell do you know?”

  “Oh, I know plenty,” she said, setting the glass down unsteadily, her eyes lit with fierce urgency. “Connor used to work for me. And when he did, we were very close, until someone better came along. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. By the time I realized what a player he was, he was already Mr. Nina Levitt. He forgot me so fast. Anyway, karma, right? Nina got hers. Look at Connor now, so cozy with Hank, in the middle of every deal. They used to hate each other. Then Connor signed off on getting in deeper on this Saudi thing when Nina was against it. She would’ve found a way to tank this deal if she were alive. But what do you know?” She raised an eyebrow drunkenly. “She’s dead, conveniently for some people.”

  Lauren was obviously drunk, plus, she had an agenda. Yet, Connor had as good as admitted to me that he’d married Nina for her money. It was plausible that he’d been with Lauren at some point for career advancement, too. Being with me had changed him. He’d told me that repeatedly. I’d ignore Lauren, except for the fact that, in her drunken ranting state, she’d made the one accusation that I most feared. And loudly enough for others to overhear.

  “I’m just trying to understand, since you’re slurring your words so badly,” I said, in a low tone. “Did you mean to insinuate that Nina was murdered? If you did, I need to let my husband know that you’re over here slandering him.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm, and she laughed.

  “You go, girl. No, the party line is absolutely that Nina killed herself. And why shouldn’t she? She was a nasty old bitch who everybody hated, including yours truly. Don’t pay me any mind. I’m nobody. Just a flack who’s had a few too many. Speaking of.”

  The waiter was going around the table with bottles of wine. Lauren pushed her glass forward to be refilled.

  “The white burgundy is excellent. Six hundred a bottle on the menu, you really should try it.”

  “No, thank you,” I said, shaking my head at the waiter.

  She looked at my empty glass, then at my face, then at my midsection, which was looking rather pronounced in the fitted black dress.

  “God, I’m such a dolt. So that’s why he married you. Holy shit.”

  I stood up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me.”

  I teetered away on the stiletto heels, going to hide out in a stall in the ladies’ room. I stayed there for long enough that Connor texted to say he’d noticed I was gone and was I okay.

  In the bathroom, not feeling great, I wrote.

  My poor girl. Sorry I got mad. Everything feels shaky. Do
you need to leave? Should I come get you and bring you home to bed?

  Feeling a little better, be out soon.

  If Connor was willing to walk out of his important business dinner to take care of me, then things must be okay. At the very least, I hadn’t ruined our marriage. And nothing else mattered. Even if everything Lauren had said was true, I wouldn’t care. Connor had made mistakes in the past. He was honest about them. He’d told me he’d married Nina for the wrong reasons. Not to use her, but because he’d been dazzled by her wealth and fame. Who wouldn’t be? I was dazzled by his now. Did that make me a user? I didn’t think so. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. I was no different. I had an arrest record that Connor didn’t know about. I kept struggling for a good moment to tell him that, along with the fact that I’d been at Windswept the night Nina died. And so had Derek. But I didn’t murder Nina. Connor didn’t either. The miracle was, he and I were together again. We were having a baby. He was a changed man because of it. I believed that. I believed in him. I couldn’t let some drunken ex-girlfriend with an ax to grind shake my faith in the man I loved. I shouldn’t even let her ruin our evening.

  We helicoptered home together, our hands entwined, our mouths locked together as we rushed through the air. At Windswept, Dennis took Connor’s luggage from the trunk, but Connor waved him off.

  “Leave it. I’ll get it later,” he said, pulling me up the stairs in a rush.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I blushed, self-conscious at the thought that Dennis knew what we were going to do. But as soon as Connor slammed the bedroom door, there was only him and me.

  “I missed you so much, Tabby,” he murmured. “I hate being away from you.”

  The sex was different now that I was pregnant. Gentler, more emotional. Afterward, he stroked my abdomen, cooing to the baby, and I wondered how I’d ever doubted us.