“Sixty seconds on, thirty seconds off. Power intervals.” He dropped the phone and reached for her hand, but, when she didn’t respond, withdrew his. “I ran into Camilla’s sister. Someone else is coming up later today, I guess. Another friend of Camilla’s.”
“Today?” she blurted, then tried to appear absorbed by the ugly knit tote for sale.
“Yeah, you knew other people were coming? I thought it was just this group.”
“I—she mentioned something about it. I just thought it was later this weekend.”
“Nope,” Scot said, and wiped his forehead, flinging tiny beads of sweat onto Evelyn, whose whole body tensed. He headed toward the bathroom. “Today. The caretaker was just taking the boat over to pick them up.”
Evelyn could see a narrow sliver of bathroom from her seat; Scot was folding his clothes and placing them, stacked, on the sink, so they wouldn’t develop wrinkles during the five minutes he would spend in the shower. She heard him turn the water on, then groan as he stepped in. She couldn’t pull this off with Scot here.
His BlackBerry began ringing. Evelyn slid backward against the bed, so Scot couldn’t see her from the bathroom if he got out of the shower, then reached across to look at it. DAVID GREENBAUM WORK, the screen read. It took her only a moment to locate the phone icon on the BlackBerry.
“Scot Tannauer’s line,” she said pleasantly.
“What? I need Scot,” said the gruff voice on the other end.
“I’m so sorry, he stepped out for a moment. Maybe I can help? This is Evelyn Beegan, his girlfriend.” She practically choked on the word.
“Yeah, I need to talk to Scot.”
“Something’s come up at work?”
“You could say that. I know he’s up prancing around the Catskills, but tell him to call me, Greenbaum, right away.”
“The Adirondacks. It sounds serious, Mr. Greenbaum. You’re sure you just need him to call you? You don’t need him in the office?”
“How is he supposed to get into the office when he seems to have gone away for the weekend with his girlfriend?”
“We’re not far from the city, honestly. If he leaves now, he can be in the office by tonight.”
“Good. Fine. Good. Have him come straight here.”
“He’ll be there.”
A few minutes later, she heard the shower turn off. She didn’t want to see Scot fresh from the shower, mussed and clean and hopeful, like a little boy. She stood with her back to the bathroom door and knocked on it. “David Greenbaum called,” she said. “He kept calling, so I picked up, in case there was an emergency.”
“What did he want?” Scot said, anxious.
“He needs you back in the city. ASAP.”
“Darn it,” Scot muttered. “I should call him.”
“No, it’s okay. He said just to head back. Not to call.”
“Darn. I’m going to have to go. I’m really sorry.”
“No, it’s work, and it’s okay. He sounded kind of mad.”
“I should never have come.”
“It’s fine. I’ll go figure out when the next train is. I think there’s one around four and you’ll be back in the city tonight.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” He peeked out from the door and kissed her shoulder, and a look of pain flashed across her face.
After she got off of the Amtrak toll-free line, she relayed to Scot that there was a 4:05 train to Albany, and he could switch there for the city, then she arranged for a taxi to wait for him at the marina and told him to wait by the dock for the caretaker to take him back to town. She went down to find the cook to let him know that they would be one fewer for dinner and was walking back from the dining building when she heard the roar of the motorboat at the main boathouse, meaning the caretaker was back with Jaime. She ducked into a clutch of trees, the undergrowth plants tickling her ankles, and heard Scot talking in English-accented Spanish.
“So it’s ‘Es un placer—’”
“Placer,” someone else said, correcting Scot’s pronunciation, in a voice that sounded like it had been steeped in pine trees and tobacco.
“Placer hacer negocios—”
“Negocios.”
“Con ustedes.”
“Sí. Perfecto.”
“Placer hacer negocios,” Scot repeated. “Thank you. I have to go to Mexico City in a couple of weeks for a meeting—encuentro, right?—with a … clientado?”
“Cliente,” said the rich voice. “You’ll do just fine.”
“What the fuck, Scot? What is this, Spanish Immersion Day?” Evelyn heard Nick say. “Jaime, buddy.”
“Oh,” said Scot. “Oh, I just thought I would try out some of my Spanish.”
“Nick, how are you?” said the voice, now in an alluringly deep British accent with a tinge of American. “It’s not a problem at all, Scot. I’m glad you could practice. I have no doubt you’ll do very well down there. Pleasure meeting you. Good luck getting back today.”
“Thank you. Gracias. I just need to—have you seen Evelyn? I thought she was supposed to be here, but, I’ve got to—well.”
Evelyn checked her watch. If the train was at 4:05, Scot would have to leave immediately. She stayed within the trees.
“Can you tell her I had to go?” Scot said.