A Summer Affair: A Novel - By Elin Hilderbrand Page 0,34

but even as Claire palmed her cell phone, she knew she could never tell Siobhan. Siobhan—although she was Claire’s best friend and the closest thing to a sister Claire had ever had—would not be able to handle this news. This was not some half-baked fantasy about the trash boy or the UPS man knocking on the door and Claire or Siobhan inviting him in. This was not Siobhan putting a dare out there, and then jumping out of harm’s way at the last minute. This was real; this had happened. Claire could not tell Siobhan. She could not tell anyone.

On Tuesday, Claire broke her own rules (she didn’t even know she had rules, but as she climbed the stairs of the Elijah Baker House, her heart hammering, she knew this was not wise, showing up the very next day, out of the blue). And yet she couldn’t help herself. Bruce Mandalay had sent Claire a fax at home—the contract and rider for Max West’s performance—and Claire wanted to drop it off for Lock or Adams to peruse. Matthew was playing for free, but there were some things in the paperwork that concerned Claire. He was bringing Terry and Alfonso from his band (bass and drums—he never played without them), and they needed to be paid ten thousand dollars apiece. In addition, Nantucket’s Children was in charge of hiring four contract musicians, who also had to be paid. There were pages of production notes, which Claire could not make heads or tails of—spotlights, instruments, amps, sound systems, microphones. The rider specified that the band had to be put up in five-star accommodations, with all kinds of food and drink, down to the cherry Italian ice, Nilla wafers, and Quik chocolate milk, which made Claire laugh because it reminded her of late-night trips with Matthew to the 7-Eleven twenty-five years earlier. The most alarming thing was a clause at the end of the contract, which Lock was supposed to sign, regarding the fact that, because of Matthew’s drug and alcohol problems, Bruce couldn’t ensure the performance. A Post-it note was stuck to this page, written in Bruce’s hand: He’s doing this as a personal favor to Claire, and wild horses won’t keep him away, but . . .

But it was Matthew. He was always at the mercy of his addictions.

Claire wanted to give the contract and rider to Lock as soon as possible. This was business. It was all in the name of attacking her line items before the meeting. She had every reason to be stopping by the office, and yet she felt obvious, as if she was throwing herself at Lock’s feet.

The classical music was playing. Claire knocked on the door frame and poked her head in. Her eyes went right to Lock’s desk—empty.

“Claire?”

Gavin Andrews looked at her expectantly from behind his desk.

“Hi, Gavin. How are you?”

“Me?” Gavin said. He looked down at his red-and-navy-striped tie—like something a prep school kid would wear—as if checking on himself. “I’m fine.”

Claire didn’t actually hear him say “fine”; she was too busy scanning the office—no Lock—and at the same time trying to discern if Lock was in the boardroom or the kitchen or the bathroom. No, he wasn’t here. She felt relief first, then deflation.

“Is Lock here?” Claire asked pointlessly.

“He’s at lunch with some donors,” Gavin said. “What can I help you with?”

Claire regarded Gavin. She didn’t like him, and it had nothing to do with his being a pale replacement for Lock. Gavin was best described as smug, snooty, and condescending. Also, he was hard to pin down. Who was he? How old was he? Claire put him at thirty-five, though he might have been thirty-two, or thirty-nine. He was exceptionally good-looking, with blond hair and clear green eyes and smooth-shaven cheeks, and like Lock, he always wore a shirt and tie. But he was persnickety and critical; the one time Claire had engaged him in a personal conversation, he told her that as a rule he never dated a woman more than three times. More than three times, he said, and they started sniffing around for a wedding ring. Gavin lived in his parents’ house out by Cisco Beach. His parents were older; they lived in Chicago and only made it to Nantucket for the month of August. The parents had money, though it was unclear how much of this trickled down to Gavin. He was forever complaining of the high cost of living on Nantucket (though Claire assumed he lived