“Me too.” I say truthfully.
“I’m looking forward to having you around again,” She says, “just don’t try to come into my kitchen and make cupcakes, or whatever it is you’re crazy about cooking now.” We both laugh. "Let them know dinner is ready, okay? And try to eat something, so my hard work doesn’t go to waste.”
When I return to the living room, the conversation and laughter is still going on. Constance is sitting beside Nick on a sofa. On his other side, a rail thin girl with striking red lips and raven black hair styled in a severe bob is sitting with her long supermodel body stretched out gracefully. She’s laughing at something Nick is saying, as is Constance. Across from them, on an armchair, Nick’s assistant Carl looks on, with a smile of amusement. He’s as dark as Nick is fair, with coffee skin, dark gray eyes, and short curly hair.
As I hover by the door, Constance turns to him. “That didn’t really happen, Carl, did it? Your boss is pulling our legs”
“Oh, it did.” Carl says earnestly, making me wonder which one of Nick’s tall tales he’s been relating. Aside from the four of them though, the room is empty.
Constance notices me at the door. “Here you are! I’d started wondering if I’d have to come get you. Did you have a nice rest?"
“Yes.” I walk in to the room and take a seat next to Carl. “I went to see Mrs. Shannon too.”
“Oh, good.” Constance smiles, “You were always very fond of her.”
I return her smile. “Well she said to tell you dinner is ready.”
“Perfect then, we’ll go eat in a few minutes.”
“You haven’t met Elaine Black, have you Liv?” Nick drawls. “She's writing the feature.”
Elaine smiles. She looks very young, at least a few years younger than me, but her blood red lips and hairstyle make her look slightly cruel. “Actually, Nick and I are working on the feature together,” She says in a soft and smoky voice, looking me up and down with sharp green eyes. "I hear you used to live here, in this house.”
“I did,” I reply.
“How nice for you.”
“Yes, how nice.” I say drily.
“Livvie…” Constance starts, then smiles softly before continuing. “Liv lived here for four years after her parents died." She explains to Elaine.
“Oh.” Green eyes turn back to me. “I’m sorry about your parents."
I shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
She turns back to Constance. “Jackson said he would show me the original plans for the house and the gardens tomorrow.”
Constance nods. “That makes sense. They’re stored somewhere in the study, I think.”
“Yes.” Elaine is smiling as she turns back to me. “He’s also going to take me through the grounds. Apparently, there are stories behind some of the sculptures in the garden that might be useful for our feature.”
Is she saying all this for my benefit, to let me know that she has laid claim to Jackson’s time? Well she can have him. I don’t care what Jackson does or with whom he does it. It’s none of my business. I’ve passed the stage where a picture of him in a magazine with a woman on his arm could reduce me to tears.
“How fascinating,” Nick says. “I’d like to see the plans and hear all about the sculptures too, Elaine. When’s Jackson available tomorrow.”
I don’t hear what she says in reply. There’s a movement at the door, and I look towards it, expecting to see Jackson. My heart has already done a small flip before I realize that no one is coming in. I sigh, disgusted at the mixture of hope and dread that makes me desperate to see him one minute and eager him to disappear in the next.
Constance must have noticed me looking towards the door. “Jackson’s having dinner at the Gorman’s,” she tells me, and I wonder what else she’s seen in my face. Her expression is bland, however, revealing nothing of her thoughts. “He hasn’t been in Foster in a while, so he's been getting a lot of invitations.”
I’ll bet he has. I wonder if Lindsay is one of the people offering those invitations. “What about Lindsay?” I ask,
my voice light and uninterested.
Constance studies my face for a moment. She knows what Lindsay did to me all those years ago, and I see uncertainty flit across her face before she replies. “She’s recently divorced from Edgar Northgate,” She tells me. I didn’t even know Lindsay had married, but I knew of the ex-husband, a well-known multi-billionaire financier who must have been at least twice her age. “She’s back at the Gorman house,” Constance continues, “although I have no idea why? Her divorce must have left her as rich as Soraya Khashoggi.”
And now she’s back in Foster, and Jackson is with her. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to listen to something Nick is saying, willing myself to ignore the memories seeping into my mind and threatening to take me back to places I thought I’d left behind, and knowing that it's no use.
Chapter Eight