Southern Belle. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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could he?” she uttered suddenly, voice cracking. “How could he have been such a bastard?” She looked away, hiding her face with her hair, as the full implication of Harlan’s deceit came rocketing home.
Meredith eyed Elm, wished she could console her but recognized she must make her friend face the whole truth. “He’s damn fortunate your father didn’t hear about it. Harlan seems to have a knack for getting lucky,” she added dryly.
A nasty, creepy sensation stirred in the pit of Elm’s stomach. “Go on. Tell me who was in line before Jennifer.” She felt sick, yet she was determined to learn every last iniquitous detail.
“Well, she’s the first who’s really gone around flaunting it, but I understand there’ve been a few. Most of them were out-of-towners. He had a girl up in Charleston for a while, a secretary at a bank, I believe. He’s been very careful. I think this is the first time he’s done anything so public. I was pretty surprised. Heck, if something like this hit the tabloids, Harlan’s chances of being reelected would be zilch.” She held Elm’s eyes for a full fifteen seconds, making sure Elm registered the full import of the words that had been in her craw for too damn long. Then she sat back and watched her friend carefully, feeling sad. Elm had been through a hell of a lot and didn’t deserve this. She glanced anxiously across the desk.
“How did you find all this out?” Elm said, letting out a sigh.
“Tom told me.”
“So, Tom knew. My God. I…Christ, this is all so crazy.” Elm rose abruptly, dragged her fingers through her hair, her mind a mess of scrambled wires being gnawed at and shredded by persistent rodents. This couldn’t be happening.
“What are you going to do?” Meredith asked slowly.
“Do?” Elm turned, glanced absently past her at the dull cream wallpaper plastered with Meredith’s credentials—Old Miss, Harvard and Yale—and asked herself the same question. What was she going to do now that she knew, now that she was fully aware of the facts and couldn’t hide behind blissful ignorance any longer? It had taken only seconds for the world as she knew it to fall apart. How long would it take for her to do what eventually would have to be done?
For a moment Elm’s pulse raced, followed by a debilitating wave of dizziness. She’d had a few of these bouts lately. In fact, she’d been to see Doc Philips about them and he’d sent her tests to Dr. Ashby, a specialist in Atlanta. But this wasn’t the same kind of dizziness, she reassured herself. This was different, caused by fear from the latest onslaught.
A new thought intruded in her already saturated mind. Surely her father, the redoubtable, venerated and oh-so-respected senator, couldn’t have known any of this? Surely her father wouldn’t have hidden the truth from her all these years? Surely Harlan’s political future didn’t mean more to him than his daughter’s life? Her stomach lurched once more and she swallowed. That was impossible. She refused to believe that her own father could have been aware of Harlan’s behavior. He would never have betrayed her, however dearly he hoped to put Harlan in the Oval Office. Or was she just trying to fool herself once again?
She collapsed rigid onto the chair, hands trembling.
“Elm, are you okay?” Meredith eyed her anxiously, wondering if she should get coffee, water or something stronger.
“I want to file for divorce.” The words came tumbling out almost as an afterthought, as though someone else were speaking.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Meredith sat up, startled. “That’s a huge step, Elm. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you’d better think it over very carefully.”
“My mind’s made up.” She sounded strangely firm and resolute.
“But, Elm, the election, the—”
“Fuck the election. I’m through. Get the papers together, Mer. And after I’m gone, you can tell him.”
“Elm, I think you should consider the—”
“As of this moment, I’m hiring you as my attorney,” Elm interrupted, pushing back the chair and rising.
“I can’t. There’s a conflict of interest, we’re friends.” Elm shrugged. “You figure it out. I won’t be here, anyway. I’m leaving.”
“Where’re you going?”
“To Gioconda in Switzerland. I’ll stay with her at her chalet in Gstaad.”
“But it’s Christmas in two and a half weeks, Elm, you can’t just walk out. Think of all your social commitments, the—”
“Frankly, I couldn’t give a damn. Just don’t let Daddy get a whiff of any of this yet.”
“Elm, it’s really not a good idea to make this kind of decision in the heat of the moment,” Meredith insisted. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” She came around the desk and laid an anxious hand on her friend’s arm.
“I have to get out of here. It’s the only way, Mer. Call me at Gio’s when the papers are ready to sign. Please get it done fast. And thanks.”
“For what, screwing up your life?” Meredith shook her head bitterly. “I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”
“Don’t. We both know this had to happen one day. Everything you said was true. I just didn’t want to recognize it. And now that I have, there’s no way I can sit back and take it as I have all these years.” She leaned over and gave her friend a quick hug.
Passing a worried hand through her pageboy haircut, Meredith sighed as she watched her friend leave. Elm was right. It would have come to this, anyway. Still, she was shocked and surprised at the rapidity of Elm’s decision. She prayed she wouldn’t regret it. She’d expected every sort of reaction—tears, anger, frustration—but not this. Not cold, rigid decision. My God, she realized, collapsing again in her chair, Elm had simply transformed into another being. For a moment she wondered if she should advise someone, even call Harlan or Senator Hathaway, the housekeeper—heck, anyone.
Then she realized she couldn’t.
Technically, she was now Elm’s legal representative and as such was bound to do what her client had requested: namely, prepare divorce papers and stay quiet about it.
She stared at the file she’d been working on, the legal challenge to the privatization of the Mogachee Municipal Waste Processing Plant, and sighed. Maybe Elm would calm down by tomorrow and realize she was being too precipitate. Not that Meredith blamed her for wanting rid of Harlan as fast as possible. Still, there were a number of things to be taken into consideration. Elm was a very wealthy woman, and the publicity…
Leaning back in her chair, she considered Harlan. He certainly deserved anything he got, even being dumped two weeks before Christmas. Still, she was herself a die-hard Democrat, and the party couldn’t afford to lose Harlan’s seat to the Republicans. On the other hand, Meredith had to admit, under all that boyish, suave, Kennedy-style charm, Elm’s husband was a dirtbag who’d gotten lucky thanks to the old-boy network that functioned on past favors and future dues. She shrugged, wishing she hadn’t been the one to confirm what Jennifer Ball, in her unsubtle, vindictive way, had let loose.
She could just imagine Jennifer, with those long, glossy legs she was so proud of, striding arrogantly over to Elm in full view of her less-well-endowed former classmates—now full-fledged veterans of the garden club, bravely fighting any incipient signs of middle age—and baring her capped white teeth at Elm. Jennifer had always loathed Elm, knowing she’d never have Elm’s beauty, poise, wealth or privileged position in Savannah society, and she would have made darn sure her little entourage of doting admirers—including Hannah Ramsey, Tiffany Fern, and that two-faced bitch Elsa MacDonald—were present for Elm’s humiliation. Jennifer had been divorced twice, and had had several affairs with notable local citizens. Luring Elm’s husband to her side was a natural evolutionary step, and one that must have been especially satisfying. Not that Harlan needed much enticement, Meredith reflected grimly.