A Summer Affair: A Novel - By Elin Hilderbrand Page 0,79
square glasses. Claire’s good mood tumbled. Was Siobhan mad? Claire thought back: They hadn’t talked in two days. Claire had left a message, or maybe two, which Siobhan hadn’t answered. This was unusual, but Siobhan was busy. She was throwing a party! Claire threaded her way through the crowd until she spotted Siobhan offering a rib to Adams Fiske. Claire tapped Siobhan on the shoulder.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Siobhan said flatly.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?”
Siobhan nodded toward the hallway, where it was dim and quiet. Claire followed, her heart scuttling.
“What is it?” Claire said.
“I spoke to Edward.”
“And?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He gave the catering job to someone else. For the gala.”
“He did what?”
“He gave it to À La Table.”
“Genevieve?”
“Genevieve.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“It gets better.”
“What?”
“Because Edward wasn’t even the one who told me. I found out from Genevieve herself. I saw her at the farm market, and you know her, she couldn’t keep herself from spilling it, she was so happy! She just had to tell me: she got the catering job for the Nantucket’s Children Summer Gala!”
“Oh, shit.”
“So I went home and I called Edward and he confirmed it, he took their bid. They came under by nearly forty dollars a head.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You didn’t know this?”
“I had no idea.”
“Because I asked him if you knew, and he said he sent you an e-mail.”
“Oh,” Claire said. “Well, he might have. I haven’t checked my e-mail . . . in a couple of days.”
Siobhan took a step closer to Claire, so that the edge of the platter of ribs nudged Claire in the stomach. Siobhan’s glasses slipped down her nose, and her face flushed pink. “Edward knows nothing about food and even less about wine. You could serve him peanut butter on a cedar shingle and he’d say it was delicious. Or a glass of vintage lighter fluid. Why did you put him in charge of catering?”
“He volunteered. And I thought he’d pick you. I was sure of it.”
“But he didn’t pick me, did he?”
“Oh, Siobhan, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What else do you want me to say? Tell me and I’ll say it.”
“You were wrong to put Edward in charge of catering. It was a gross error in judgment on your part. You were sure he’d pick me, but if you had any common fucking sense, or better still, if you had just asked me, I would have pointed out that Edward has just been waiting all these years for a chance to screw me over, for an opportunity to humiliate me the way he feels I humiliated him by breaking the engagement and marrying Carter. Otherwise, why would he have picked Genevieve? She sucks! Her food tastes like shit, she actually makes an appetizer using Froot Loops, and she hasn’t timed an event correctly since she got into the business. He picked her because he knows she’s my rival; he knows I detest her. It would have been better if he had chosen some fancy-pants New York caterer. But Genevieve! The reason she came forty-dollars-a-head under is that she hires her sixteen-year-old daughter and her daughter’s friends to serve.”
“I am so sorry,” Claire said. “I was wrong to put Edward in charge.”
“Don’t just feed my words back to me, Claire. I find that very patronizing.”
“At the time, at that meeting, he was singing your praises, telling everyone how great you were, and I thought it was a sure thing.” Claire reached out and touched Siobhan’s arm, but Siobhan pulled away suddenly and nearly dropped the platter of ribs. Claire was pretty drunk—she didn’t seem to be handling this situation the right way—but Siobhan might have been drunker.
“You know what the worst part is?” Siobhan said. Her voice wavered and her eyes filled with tears. “You’re different. Since you took this stupid job as cochair, Claire Crispin, you are a different person.”
“I’m not different,” Claire said.
“You lied to me about being at Tupancy back at Christmastime,” Siobhan said. Her voice was now a furious whisper. “I saw you, you nearly fucking ran me over, and then you denied ever being there.”
Claire scoffed, though inside her, discomfort bloomed. She had been at Tupancy with Lock, they had been seeking a private spot, and it had been startling to come across Siobhan, so startling that Claire drove on, convinced that she was mistaken. What should I do? she had asked Lock. And he had said, Deny it.
“I can’t believe you’re taking me to task for something that happened back before