At dinner they all move into the dining room. The meal has been set up as a buffet. There’s a long table along one wall, laden with covered silver chafing dishes, platters of salads, and baskets of various breads and rolls. A glittering chandelier provides soft lighting. There’s a scattering of tables in the dining room – some for two, some for four – with white linen cloths. Soon there is the slight clatter of silver cutlery against good china as the guests collect plates and serve themselves.
David Paley slowly fills his plate, lingering over the roast beef, horseradish, and various hot side dishes – he chooses scalloped potatoes and asparagus – wondering where he should sit. He supposes he could sit down with anyone except the engaged couple, who look like they want to be alone, and have already nabbed a table for two in the corner. A woman he hasn’t seen before, about his own age – she must be the writer – has taken a table for two. He supposes he could join her, but she seems rather forbidding, looking pointedly at a magazine on her table as she eats. She hadn’t said hello to anyone when she entered the dining room. He would most like to join the dark-haired woman, Gwen, and her rather jumpy friend.
Gwen and Riley have already filled their plates and are sitting at a table set for four. He walks over and asks politely, ‘May I join you?’
The two women look up at him, surprised; two pairs of nervous eyes size him up. Riley is glassy-eyed from too much drink too fast, he surmises. Gwen, he notices, is even prettier up close; her face is pale and fine, and she has lovely dark hair. Her features are subdued rather than flamboyant, the kind of face he imagines he could look at for a long time. He’s surprised at himself for thinking this; he’s only just met her. He suddenly wishes that she was here alone this weekend, like him, and that they could get to know one another. As it is, it’s rather awkward, especially as her friend, Riley, looks as if she would prefer not to have company.
He sees Gwen glance at Riley, who shrugs her shoulders; neither yes nor no. Not quite rude, but not welcoming either. Gwen turns to him and says, ‘Yes, of course. Please do.’
He sits beside Riley, across from Gwen, so that he can look at her.
‘Are you here alone?’ she asks, and then blushes slightly. He’s charmed by the colour coming into her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’m on my own. I came up here to get away, to think about things.’ He’s not sure why he’s telling her this.
‘I see,’ she says politely.
He feels uncomfortable talking about himself, but he doesn’t want to seem too nosy, either, by asking her about herself. It doesn’t leave much to talk about, he realizes.
‘You’re a defence attorney,’ Gwen says, when the silence verges on becoming awkward.
‘Yes,’ he says. Oddly, he can’t think of anything else to say. He finds that he’s tongue-tied. He’s not usually, but he can feel her friend oozing barely veiled hostility, and it’s disconcerting.
‘That must be interesting,’ Gwen says gamely. ‘And challenging. Although probably exhausting, too.’
‘Yes,’ he agrees. For a moment there is only the chink of cutlery on fine china as they dine on their roast beef. David finds himself noticing the flickering candlelight reflected in the glass of the windows. ‘What brings you here this weekend?’ he asks finally. Perhaps her friend will go upstairs, and they can sit in front of the fire and talk. He would like that.
Gwen glances at Riley. ‘We just wanted to get away, for a girls’ weekend,’ she says.
‘Oh.’ There’s not much he can say to that. He can hardly crash a girls’ weekend.
‘Riley and I were at journalism school together. She’s with the New York Times.’
He flicks a nervous glance at Riley, inwardly dismayed.
‘But I never actually worked as a journalist,’ Gwen confides.
‘Is that right,’ David says, his mind drifting from the conversation. ‘What do you do instead?’
‘I work in public relations for a small firm in New York City.’
‘And do you enjoy it?’ But he is already thinking of an exit strategy.
‘For the most part,’ she says. ‘It can be exciting, but it can also be a grind. Like a lot of jobs, it sounds more glamorous than it is.’
They talk for a while, about nothing much. When they are about to start on coffee and dessert – English trifle and chocolate brownies have appeared on the long buffet table – Riley, slurring her words slightly, turns and looks directly at him and says, ‘I’ve been trying to place you – what did you say your name was again?’
He looks back at her, refusing to shrink from her very direct gaze. ‘David Paley,’ he says, waiting for it. She’s a journalist, after all. They have no compunction about anything. He knows his weekend is about to be ruined.
Beverly Sullivan struggles through her meal. She wonders how it can be possible that after twenty years of marriage there is nothing to talk about. Without the kids there, interrupting, distracting, it seems there is little for them to say to one another. They didn’t use to be like this. They used to be good together. All those years of eating with the kids has made them lose the knack of conversation. They should have hired more babysitters, gone out by themselves to restaurants more, she thinks regretfully, like the experts always advise.
Unfortunately, she is positioned so that she is looking directly at the outrageously attractive engaged couple alone together in the corner. They do all the things couples in love do: they look into each other’s eyes, they smile excessively, touch each other whenever they can. Every once in a while, they laugh.
They’re so young, she thinks, they have no idea.
It’s a good thing, she thinks, that the guests at the other tables are so engrossed in each other that no one seems to notice that she and her husband are hardly speaking to each other.
He still seems annoyed about there not being any wi-fi. Unless he’s actually annoyed about something else. She can’t think what it could be. The hotel is lovely. He agreed to come here. Perhaps he’s feeling stressed and guilty about not staying at home and catching up on work. Finally, she says his name to get his attention, and when she has it, she asks quietly, ‘Is something the matter?’
‘What?’ he says. ‘No.’ He takes another forkful of the excellent roast beef.
‘You’ve hardly said a word to me since we got here,’ she says gently, careful not to sound antagonistic.
In fact, she’s a bit surprised. At home they have so little time for each other, but they are not deliberately neglectful of each other, merely too busy. Something’s changed, and she doesn’t know what it is.
‘I have a lot on my mind,’ he says a bit defensively.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ she asks. He looks at her, as if considering what to tell her. It makes her feel uneasy. Maybe there’s a problem she’s not aware of.
‘It’s just work,’ he says, ‘but I’d rather not talk about work this weekend.’
‘Fine,’ she agrees, taking another sip of wine and giving him a tentative smile. ‘We came up here to relax and enjoy ourselves, after all.’ She tries to set her uneasiness aside.
She has a nice surprise in store for him that will take his mind off whatever’s bothering him.
Chapter Six
LAUREN WATCHES THE guests at the other tables with interest. She has always been curious about people, observing them, trying to figure out what makes them tick. Studying what they do. Why does that woman Riley, at the table with Gwen and David, seem so on edge, for instance? She keeps scanning the room as if expecting someone to steal her dinner.
Ian has slipped his foot out of his shoe and now he’s touching her leg under the table with his socked toe.
‘Are you flirting with me?’ she asks coyly, her attention drawn back to the man sitting across from her. He’s terribly appealing but she’s never been able to focus on just one thing for long. Her quick mind darts all over the place. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s almost as interested in their fellow guests as she is.
‘What’s up with that Riley?’ Lauren asks him in a quiet voice.