"I guess it'll all come out in the wash now that she's back. Jesus. Wait'll this one hits the rumor mill. The gossips're going to have a field day. Well, I should get back in there, be the dutiful money man." He clapped Garvin on the shoulder, managed a grin. "And I thought this was going to be another of those dull charity dinners."
When Ethan retreated into the dining room, Annie touched Garvin's arm, just a brief graze. Her eyes, he saw, had warmed up. "I've been flinging accusations at you," she said, "when you didn't want to come in the first place tonight. The foundation—your wife—"
"Your accusations aren't undeserved, Annie."
She smiled a little. "Did I say they were?" She glanced into the dining room, squared her shoulders. "Well, I might as well get this over with."
Annie Payne, a woman to do what had to be done. Garvin followed her into the dining room, where people were making an obvious effort to carry on with the evening. But he had no illusions that they were unaffected by Sarah's presence. How could they be? She sat at one of the round tables, sticking out like a vase of loud, cheap plastic flowers. And loving every minute of it.
Out of the corner of his eye Garvin saw Cynthia Linwood spot them and excuse herself from her husband and sister-in-law, then charge their way. She had her small hands clenched into tight fists at her side, as if to keep the rest of her from coming unraveled. She ignored Garvin completely and fastened her eyes on Annie. "Well. I see the doubters were right." Her tone was sharp, but at least she kept her voice low. "You didn't have the kind of money for the painting you bought last Saturday. Sarah put you up to it."
Annie remained calm, neither self-righteous nor defensive. "Sarah and I had an agreement. I couldn't break it on my own."
"So you let everyone think what they wanted to think." Without waiting for Annie to answer, Cynthia pivoted around at Garvin. "You could have warned us, Garvin. John—the shock—" She bit back her anger. "Here he is trying to move ahead with his life..." She swallowed, fighting sudden tears, and gave up trying to explain. "Excuse me. There are people I need to greet."
Garvin tried to stop her, but she ignored him. Annie swept a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray. "I suppose we deserved that," she said. "Shall we go see how Sarah's faring?"
"You're taking this in stride."
She shrugged. "In Cynthia Linwood's place, I'd probably have slugged one of us. Maybe both."
"I'll keep that in mind next time I piss you off."
She gave him a small smile. "Do that."
With a quick sip of champagne, she breezed past him. Garvin could see that no matter how much she'd anticipated it, her encounter with Cynthia Linwood had embarrassed her. But Annie Payne was one to brave her way through thick and thin. It wasn't just stubbornness, he realized. It was also determination and no small measure of courage.
He followed her to the table where Sarah had settled, her chin resting on her cane as she listened to her brother. "What doctors have you seen?" John was asking her.
Sarah waved him off. "It doesn't matter."
"It does matter. God knows what all this disease has affected."
Her taste in clothes, for one, he seemed to suggest. He was still pale from the shock of seeing his sister after five years, especially, Garvin presumed, in the condition she was in. Sarah hadn't come home subdued and remorseful. She'd come home reclusive and eccentric, a woman no one—even her own brother—would recognize as the one who'd run out on her family at the height of its worst crisis.
She spotted Annie and gestured for her to come closer. "There you are, dear. John, you've met Annie Payne, haven't you? She has a delightful new gallery on Union Street. I'm afraid I lured her into our family whirlwind. She had no idea what she was getting into, absolutely none."
"Yes, I've met Annie." Drawing on his well-bred manners, John managed a quick smile at her. "A pleasure to see you again."
She nodded. "You too."
"We'll get this all sorted out sooner or later." He glanced at Garvin, some of the amiableness dissipating. "Won't we, Garvin?"
"I'm sure," he said.
Sarah peered around her brother at Garvin. "I've been telling John I've spent most of the past five years in the desert southwest. I've ached and ached since I've been back in San Francisco." She chattered on cheerfully, although Garvin had no doubt she wasn't unaware of the current of tension in the room. "Of course, it's so damp this time of year. I never even used to notice the rain."
Her brother inhaled. "Sarah—"
"Did I tell you I went by the house the other day? It was so strange. I can't believe you found a buyer so fast, given its history."
John averted his eyes, obviously uncomfortable with Sarah's easy allusion to the tragedy that had occurred in their family home. Annie seized the moment to scoot off into the crowd with her glass of champagne. Her stiff back and brisk pace suggested she neither wanted nor expected Garvin to follow. But he did.