A Summer Affair: A Novel - By Elin Hilderbrand Page 0,50

and ginger turning bitter and she hurried back to the stove and killed the heat. “How’s Liam’s arm?”

“Fine. All better. Just fine.” Siobhan reached for the curry powder, the peanut butter, the soy sauce. She could chat and cook all day, but not with him. “What can I do for you, Edward?”

“I’ve called and left a bunch of messages for you,” he said. “On your office phone?”

“I just saw them this second,” Siobhan said. “Honestly, Edward, this is the first time I’ve set foot in the kitchen since Columbus Day.”

“I’m calling about the summer gala for Nantucket’s Children,” Edward said. “I’m the head of the catering committee and we’d like you to submit a bid. It’s a bar bid, plus passed hors d’oeuvres, sit-down dinner, dessert sampler at the table. A thousand people. Can you give us a bid?”

“I can,” Siobhan said uncertainly. She had several thoughts at once, and she tried to arrange the thoughts neatly in her mind, the way she’d seen Carter arrange cards in his hand when he played poker. She had been waiting for this request for quite a while. Claire had asked Siobhan to be on the gala committee back in September, and Siobhan had said yes, thinking this meant she and Carter would nab the catering job, but when Siobhan mentioned the catering, Claire backpedaled. And Siobhan had thought, There’s no flipping way I’m going to sit on the committee if we don’t get the job—and so she hadn’t attended any of the meetings, and Claire hadn’t asked why, and the whole topic was left suspended. This might have made their friendship awkward, but Claire and Siobhan’s friendship encompassed such vast territory that the summer gala catering question registered as no more than a tiny pinch.

“We’d like all the bids submitted by the first of the year,” Edward said. “Though I won’t lie to you: it’s going to be a while before we decide. Most of my committee lives in New York, and so I have to get everyone the bids, ask them to review the bids, then find time to set up meetings . . . A decision will be made sometime in the spring.”

“I’ll fax you a bid,” Siobhan said. “I’m doing the dinner auction for the Montessori this weekend, but I can probably get it to you before Thanksgiving.”

“Great,” Edward said. “You know, I was thinking of going to that dinner auction.”

“Why would you?” Siobhan said. “You have no children.”

“Well, you know me. I like to support island causes.”

Yes, she knew him. She knew he would go to the dinner auction now because she would be there. And he had probably volunteered for the catering committee because he thought it would mean they would work together. Again, Siobhan’s anger flared: Why hadn’t Claire told her? Maybe Claire had wanted Siobhan to be surprised; maybe Claire thought Siobhan would be happily surprised. Maybe Claire thought Siobhan wanted to have a fling with Edward. It was true that Siobhan occasionally mouthed off about having a fling with the produce guy at the grocery store or the UPS man—but that was just mouthing off. It was a way for her to throw darts at Carter’s picture without actually hurting him.

“I’ll fax you the bid,” Siobhan said.

“Or drop it by my office,” Edward said. He paused. “We already have two other bids, by the way.”

“Will do. Thanks, Edward.”

“Take care, Siobhan.”

She hung up. That last tidbit from Edward was meant to be what, a taunt? Knowing Edward, it was purely informative. He would never do anything unethical, like ask her to sleep with him in exchange for the job. Ha! This was so outrageous, Siobhan laughed. Then the awkward feeling set in that followed each time Siobhan saw Edward or accidentally thought about him. She still had the engagement ring Edward had given her. It was in a secret compartment in her jewelry box, tucked into a blue velvet bag. The ring was magnificent, two and a third karats in a platinum Tiffany setting; it had cost Edward ten thousand dollars. It was too big for Siobhan to wear while she was working—he had not considered her career when he bought it—and so she had worn it on a chain around her neck for a while. But within the gritty, foulmouthed funk of the restaurant kitchen, the ring had seemed ostentatious. Siobhan was afraid it would fall into the bisque; she was afraid one of the (sketchy) dishwashers would yank it off her neck as