Three hours later, dirty and sweaty, and with aching muscles, I admitted defeat with one-and-a half crates still left to unpack. Tomorrow would have to do, although I knew it would mean a fight. But I just didn’t have the energy.
At 6 PM David drove up in his pride and joy: a newly purchased silver Camaro, vivid symbol of his promotion. He frowned at the unpacked crates, and I waited for the anatomization of my day: where had I been, what had I done, who had I seen. But instead he tapped his watch, a habitual gesture of irritation.
“We’re due at the Vorstadts’ in an hour, and you’re not dressed.”
“Who?”
“Captain Vorstadt has invited us for drinks.”
“You didn’t say.”
“I put it on the calendar, Caroline. Didn’t you check the schedule?”
No, sir. Sorry, sir.
“I thought you might have mentioned it, that’s all, David.”
“I want to leave at 1850. Wear the green cocktail dress.”
I hated it when he ordered me around – which was most of the time, admittedly. But it was really grating on me.
“I’m tired, David. I’ve been unpacking crates for the last three hours: it’s exhausting.”
“Making life and death decisions all day is exhausting, Caroline. For once, could you just do something to support me? I don’t ask for much, considering the lifestyle I give you.”
I bit back the retort that sprang forward. What was the point? We’d been here before. I’d never won an argument with him yet. It was so damn tiring to even try.
“Fine. I’ll go shower.”
I dressed quickly, applied a little eyeliner, mascara and some clear lipstick: the minimum make-up I could get away with. David liked women ‘to look like women’: that meant heels and make-up. Not really my look, inasmuch as I had one. He wore his favorite sports jacket and an open-necked shirt. He still looked handsome, I suppose.
“What did you do today?” he said, breaking the silence as we drove the short distance to the party.
“Before I spent three hours unpacking crates?”
“Just half a crate, I noticed.”
Pedantic ass.
“I read a book at the beach. Before the crates were delivered. Oh, I bumped into Sebastian.”
“Who?”
“The Hunters’ boy. You know, from last time we were here.”
He grunted, which could mean anything, but I suspect it meant he didn’t remember. David wasn’t good at remembering people; something of a handicap for a doctor. It gave the impression he was cold.
“Who’s going to be there tonight?”
“I wasn’t given the guest list, Caroline.”
Jeez, I was only asking.
Mrs. Vorstadt met us at the door of her townhouse.
“David, how lovely. And you must be Caroline. I’m Donna.”
Donna was a strong-looking, attractive woman in her fifties. She kissed me on the cheek. Her breath smelled of gin and tonic.
“Do come in.”
The room was crowded and noisy, people spilling out into the large yard at the rear of the house. A barbeque was spitting away under an awning: men gathered in little groups drinking beer from bottles and laughing loudly; women huddled together sipping Manhattans, their high heels sinking into the recently watered turf. I was glad I’d worn my flats, despite David’s frown of disapproval.
I mentally prepared myself for an evening of tedium. But it was worse than that.
Donna furnished us with the mandatory beer for David and cocktail for me, then ushered us towards a couple who seemed vaguely familiar. When the blonde turned, I recognized her icy smile.
“I believe you know the Hunters from last time you were in San Diego.”
“Caroline, dear,” said Estelle in a cool voice. “And David, you haven’t aged a day.”
We air-kissed insincerely; the men shook hands and Donald wandered off to speak to some of the other officers.
“Hello, Estelle.” I spoke mildly without inflection. “I saw your son today.”
She stared at me in disbelief. “Sebastian?”
“Yes. At the beach. It was a nice surprise.”
“He was at the beach?”
For God’s sake, I’m not talking Serbo-Croat.
“Yes.”