“John hated tomatoes,” Rebecca said, then regretted her words. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk about him.”
“It’s fine. Really. You were married to him for a long time. You can’t erase his memory entirely.”
“If only,” she replied as she drank more of her rosé.
Richard noticed that she was finishing the glass rather quickly. He reached over and grabbed hold of her hand. “You’re safe now, Becks. Everything will be okay.”
Rebecca nodded and sighed before slipping her hand out of his. “We probably shouldn’t do that. Someone will see us.”
Richard looked around the restaurant. “No one knows us here. But I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
“Thank you. For listening to me. And seeing me,” she added. “I don’t think John ever truly saw me. Not the real me. He put me up on a pedestal and left me there dangling my feet.”
“Pedestals aren’t all bad.”
“No, they’re not. But the trouble is, once you’re there, you can’t move. You can’t do anything except sit still and look down while your husband makes a mockery of your marriage.”
Rebecca stopped talking when she saw their waiter approaching with the appetizer.
After he left, Richard grabbed a tomato from the plate. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked between bites. “Confront him? Leave him?”
Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. “I did confront him a few times in the beginning. About his working late and mystery phone calls and what not. But he wasn’t going to change. I saw that. I made him promise to at least be discrete, and I buried the pain so no one could find it.” She paused to cut her own bite of tomato. “Then John ‘fell in love’ and suddenly I was perched on a pedestal belonging to a 26-year-old who didn’t mind being treated like a doll, as long as she was a well-dressed doll with lots of shiny accessories.”
“I wish I had known how unhappy you were. I wish you had told me.”
“There was a time when you would’ve seen through the act. I was worried you would. I guess that’s why I worked so hard to hide it from you. And why I got so upset in London that one night.”
“I was over the line in London. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for not seeing your pain anyway.”
Rebecca closed her eyes and smiled. A silence fell over their table, then Richard added:
“I’m here now, Becks. I don’t want you on a pedestal. I just want you.”
SEVENTY-TWO
Their main course of scallops and lamb arrived a minute later, but neither Richard nor Rebecca were interested in the food. He gulped down the rest of his Old Fashioned and looked her in the eyes.
“I’m probably going to get in trouble for saying this, but I may never have another chance. You still take my breath away, Becks. Just like you did the first time I saw you. Do you remember?”
“When we met?”
Richard nodded.
“Of course. Econ class. But I didn’t take your breath away. You laughed at me.”
“Only because you were the most adorable creature I’d ever seen with all your pencils and papers and erasers. You were so serious with your ‘this is America, speak English’ bit. It was so cute.”
Rebecca snorted and rolled her eyes.
“It’s true,” he argued. “I saw you in the hallway beforehand and prayed we would be in the same class. I was watching you that whole time. When you looked around the room as if you were expecting to recognize someone. How you bit your lip and looked nervous when you saw you were the only girl in the class, and then squared your shoulders and marched toward the seating chart – like you had given yourself a miniature pep talk and were ready to conquer the world.” Richard paused and smiled. “I watched how the routine of setting out your supplies seemed to calm your nerves. You knew how to be a student . . . there was comfort in the familiarity.”
Rebecca stared at Richard in amazement. He noticed all of that? And remembers it over thirty years later?
“I remember everything about you,” Richard said before taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it.
She pulled away.
“Becks . . . ”
“No.” Rebecca looked down at the table and shook her head. “No.”
“Look me in the eye and say it.”
She lifted her eyes up from the table and looked at him through two pools of tears. “I – ”
“Damn it all to hell if you two aren’t a sight for sore eyes!”
Rebecca jumped, startled, and Richard spun around in his chair. Oh my God, he thought. He held up a hand to wave off their security details.
Walking toward them in jeans and a faded golf shirt was Howard Ratliff, a classmate from HBS. Short and stocky, Howard sported a shaved, Mr. Clean hairdo and a gray goatee. He was in the Navy before going to business school and still had the vocabulary to prove it.
“Well shit, I mean look at you two,” Howard said as he arrived at their table. “Still together after all these years. I shoulda known, man,” he added. “You two were like fucking Siamese twins – joined at the hip.” Howard threw his head back and laughed, a loud, barrel-chested sound that filled the restaurant and drew glares from people nearby.
Hoping to avoid an even bigger scene, Richard grabbed a chair from an empty table next to them and pulled it between him and Rebecca.
“Here, Howard, have a seat. Join us for a few minutes.”
“Ah hell, no, I wouldn’t want to interrupt!”
What would you call what you’re doing now? Rebecca thought. “No, really, join us,” she said, motioning to the empty chair.
“Well, I have a policy to never say no to a pretty lady,” Howard replied with a grin as he sat down.
A waiter appeared and asked the new arrival for his drink order.
“No, son, I’m good for now,” he said, lifting the glass he brought with him from the bar.
When the waiter left, Howard returned his attention to his former classmates.
“So, what are you kids doing here, huh? Anniversary trip?”
Richard and Rebecca glanced at each other in surprise. It was rare to run across someone who didn’t know who they were and the jobs they held.
“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression,” Rebecca replied.
“Whatcha mean?”
“We’re not married,” Richard said.
“Living in sin, huh? Well shit, boy, didn’t think ya had it in ya!” Howard slapped his old classmate on the back so hard that Richard winced.
“No, I’m recently divorced,” Rebecca replied. “From someone else. My ex-husband and I have two adult children. I live in Washington, DC.”
“I’ve never married,” Richard continued. “I live in London. Becks – I mean, Rebecca – and I are both here for the G7 summit.”
“Well shit,” Howard said again. Rebecca remembered that was his favorite phrase at Harvard, too. We even started calling him Wellshit behind his back, she recalled, working to hide her grin.
“You don’t know who we are?” Richard asked.
“Well shit, of course I do,” Howard said, and Rebecca stifled a laugh behind her napkin. “Richard Arrington and Rebecca Lewis. Or whatever your last name is now.”
“I meant our jobs. I’m Chancellor of the Exchequer for the United Kingdom.”
“And I’m Secretary of the Treasury for the United States.”
Howard looked back and forth between the two finance ministers as if trying to decide whether or not they were joking.
Here it comes, Rebecca thought, squeezing her cheeks between her teeth to keep from laughing.
“Well shit,” their classmate said, and even Richard cracked a smile. “That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Richard replied. “You really didn’t know? Our names are in the news quite often, and the alumni magazine has done several write-ups about us.”
“Nah, man. I run a safari ranch in Zimbabwe now. I’m only in town to meet with some of my financial backers. Ain’t got
time for news and shit. Too busy taking people’s money in exchange for the privilege of culling the herds.”
Howard laughed at himself again, drawing more stares and glares from the other diners.
A few seconds later, a waiter returned to clear the dinner plates. Their visitor knew that was his cue to leave. Howard stood and returned his chair to the table next to them.
“Alright, I’ll leave you two money people alone to talk shop. Damn good to see you both, though,” he added, kissing Rebecca on the cheek before turning to shake hands with Richard. “Damn good. If you ever want to come out to the ranch, just let me know.”
“Will do,” Richard replied, knowing full well he’d never see Howard again.
“Well, that was interesting,” Rebecca said when Howard and the waiter were out of earshot.
“Don’t you mean ‘well shit, that was interesting?’ I saw you over there smiling behind your napkin.”
Rebecca let loose the laughter she had been holding in. “That’s what we called him, remember? Wellshit?”
Richard nodded. “You should laugh like that more often. Your eyes sparkle when you do.”
“Please don’t – ”
“What? It’s true. Just a friend offering an observation.”
“Sure. That’s what we’ll go with.”
Richard smiled then locked eyes with Rebecca, and everyone else in the restaurant seemed to disappear. He was soaking up as much of her as he could, and in an instant Richard’s heart and mind traveled back thirty-two years to a time when he thought they would be taking anniversary trips together like Howard had guessed.
The same memories flooded Rebecca’s mind and she lowered her eyes to concentrate on the napkin in her lap. This is too much. He wants too much. She looked back across the table and made her best effort to reign in her emotions.
“Tell me, Lord Chancellor, what are your thoughts on the proposed Rapid Response Mechanism? How can we frame economic policies to help defend democracy?”
Richard’s heart sank, but he knew Rebecca was right to change the subject. If they talked about work, he would have to listen to what she was saying. After all, he wasn’t just representing himself . . . he had 65 million Britons to think of. Yes, if the conversation was about work, Richard would have to pay attention to Rebecca’s words. He couldn’t think about the steady rise and fall of her chest, or the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like waves of black diamonds. He couldn’t get lost in eyes the color of the ocean, or feel his heart skip a beat every time she laughed.
Work, Richard reminded himself. Work is the antidote.
The two politicians spent the rest of their dinner talking about business, with people nearby never suspecting the depth of the connection flowing underneath the surface.
SEVENTY-THREE
While her mom and Richard were at dinner, Sarah ventured out of her room and up to the Bellerive Restaurant. The inside dining area was packed with other conference attendees, but she snagged a spot outside on the patio. The stone terrace was full of marble-top tables with umbrellas, and a row of green shrubbery decorated the wall separating the restaurant from the park and river below. The night air had started to turn cold, and Sarah made sure to sit on the side of the table closest to the tower heater.
She placed her napkin in her lap and fiddled with its edges. An introvert by nature, Sarah usually ordered room service when they went on road trips. But her window at the Fairmont overlooked the parking lot, and she wanted to take advantage of being in such a beautiful town. The hotel brochure said that the Bellerive Restaurant had a patio with a gorgeous view of the river. It wasn’t lying, she thought as she looked out past the hedges toward the St. Lawrence. Besides, if mom can go on a date – a freaking date! – I can eat by myself in a restaurant.
Sarah’s waiter soon arrived, and she stepped even farther out of her comfort zone by ordering a glass of red wine and the crème brûlée.
“Anything else, mademoiselle?”
“Nope, that’s all.”
Sarah smiled, proud of herself. See, that wasn’t so hard.
Halfway through enjoying her drink and dessert, a man in his mid-thirties approached Sarah’s table carrying a pint of beer and a plate full of poutine. Of average height with curly brown hair and glasses, he looked nerdy enough to not make Sarah nervous.
“Excuse me, miss?” the man said in a strong English accent. “Would you mind if I joined you? I do apologize, but there’s nowhere else to sit. I won’t interrupt your privacy, I promise. I just need a place to set my plate and glass.”
Sarah glanced behind the man and saw that the patio was indeed packed. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” The man smiled and turned his focus to his food, making good on his promise to not bother her.
His manners and friendly smile put Sarah at ease. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t mind not talking. After a few minutes, Sarah was the one who broke the ice.
“How is the poutine?” she asked. “I’ve heard people talk about it but never tried it.”
“Here,” he said, holding his plate over toward her. “Have some.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t . . . ”
“Of course you can,” the man responded, spooning some of it onto her plate. “It’s quite good.”
Sarah put a bite in her mouth and groaned. “Mmmm. That’s delicious! Thank you. I’m Sarah, by the way.”
The man reached out his hand to shake hers. “I’m Tripp.”
“Are you part of the British delegation?” she asked. I wonder if he knows about the Chancellor’s dinner date?
“I am.” Tripp nodded his head and looked around the patio. “I think we all belong to one country or another. But do we have to talk about work? This is my first free night in a long time. Let’s discuss something else.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
The second day of the conference started bright and early with a breakfast roundtable attended by all seven finance ministers. Their respective staff were in chairs placed along the outer wall of the room. Sarah saw Tripp and smiled. He nodded a greeting in return.
Rebecca, for her part, was doing everything she could to not stare at Richard the entire time. She hadn’t slept a wink the night before, lying in bed rethinking every second of their date.
The dinner was fabulous, the company even better, and Richard had gone so far as to place his hand on the small of her back as they walked out of the restaurant toward her car. They had stopped on the sidewalk, and Rebecca turned to face him.
“Thank you for tonight,” she told Richard. “Even though I was supposed to pay for it to make us even for the Giacomo’s dinner.”
Richard had inched closer to her. Close enough where she could breathe in his scent but still far enough away to not arouse suspicion from passersby.
“You’re not supposed to pay people back for a birthday gift. Besides,” he had said, lowering his voice, “there’s no way in hell I would let you buy dinner on our first date.”
Rebecca blushed. “Took us long enough, huh?”
“We’re here now. That’s what matters.” He exhaled deeply, his breath showing in the cool night air. “I know I’m pushing you faster than you want to go,” he told her, “but I really wish I could kiss you right now.”
Across the breakfast table at their meeting, Richard saw Rebecca’s flushed face and knew exactly what she was thinking about. He was the same way – re-thinking and re-feeling every moment from the night before. Every word; every smile. He soaked them up like a sponge and catalogued them in his mind . . . an addict who finally got another hit and was trying to extend the high as long as possible.
I have to see her again, he thought, ignoring the discussion around him. There has to be more. This is a beginning . . . it has to be.
SEVENTY-FIVE
The most romantic three days of Rebecca’s life came to a crashing halt on the final day of the conference. After the breakfast meeting, she had one
-on-ones with her counterparts from Germany and Japan. A meeting with the European Union’s representative lasted an hour longer than expected, and by the time Rebecca emerged from her assigned conference room at four in the afternoon, the UK delegation was gone – and Richard along with it.
Rebecca trudged through the rest of her day with a fake smile on her face. She knew nothing would’ve happened with Richard – not with that many staffers and reporters around – but I just wanted to see him again, she thought as she rode in a motorcade to the airport along with the President and the rest of his economic advisors. I wanted to shake Richard’s hand; see his smile. Something.
After climbing aboard Air Force One, Rebecca settled into her seat and pulled an eye mask down over her face. Although it was a short flight from Quebec to Washington, she was hoping to have a quick nap and recharge.
But sleep was not in the cards.
As soon as her eyes closed, Rebecca’s thoughts turned to Richard.
It was the first of a series of dreams she had about him. Every night for a week straight, Rebecca dreamed about Richard. Almost a montage at first. A close-up of his eyes. Then his smile. Then it would be her and him together: at night walking on a bridge, or perhaps alone together in a dimly lit hallway. Once – Rebecca shivered – once in her office. Or was it his? The details were hazy, but there was always a desk, or a wall, or a rail . . . something for Richard to press her up against when he took her in his arms and kissed her in the way only he ever had.
Rebecca blushed at that memory, too. The night the dream was real. Graduation night, she thought.
“Umm . . . Mom?”
Rebecca looked up to see Jonathan staring at her across the breakfast table. Having graduated from Columbia a month earlier, he was living with Rebecca that summer while waiting on business school to start in the fall.
“Are you okay, Mom? You look flushed. Are you feeling alright?”
She nodded. “Yep, I’m fine. Must be a hot flash or something.”
Every Star in the Sky Page 17
