Read Online The Rossetti Letter (v5) by Christi Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Christi Phillips
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the cost of the conference and throw in a little extra for your time.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m completely serious.” Meredith was grinning, her eyebrows raised in a positive slant, but the pen in her right hand rapidly tapped the desk, revealing her anxious energy.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” Claire asked.
“There was an incident that you’ll have to be discreet about. In other words, you can’t discuss it with Gwendolyn. Her father injured his foot a few days ago in a…a golfing accident.”
“Someone ran over his foot with a golf cart?”
“No, someone punctured it with a bullet.”
“This girl’s father is the guy who got shot by his ex-wife?”
“Yes.”
“Which means that this girl’s mother is the woman who shot him.”
“Yes.”
“But you just said she was normal, perfectly normal. Having a mother who shoots people is not normal!”
“Keep it down, he’s going to be here any minute. You have to pretend that you don’t know anything about this.”
“I thought you said her mother was ill, that she was in the hospital.”
“She is. She’s in the psych ward at Mass General.” Meredith shrugged in reply to Claire’s perturbed glare. “Temporary insanity is an illness. At least, that’s the position her attorney is taking.”
“You must be temporarily insane to think that I could be a chaperone.”
“You don’t want to do this?”
“No, I don’t want to do this.”
“Then let me lend you the money for the trip.”
“No, I couldn’t accept it.” The night before she’d tried to estimate how much it would cost to go to Venice; once she’d added up airfare, hotel, food, and incidentals, it had been well over three thousand dollars. Even at tony prep schools like Forsythe, assistant deans weren’t highly paid. The money Meredith was speaking of was probably everything she’d managed to save. “I don’t know when I could pay it back,” Claire continued. “What if I’m never able to pay it back? It would ruin our friendship. And that would be much worse than not going to Venice.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m worried about you. You’ve hardly left your house in two years. Except for the nights we’ve gone out together, which I can count on one hand, I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed in anything other than sweats and those ridiculous flannel pajamas.”
“You think my pajamas are ridiculous?”
“When you wear them for days at a time, yes.”
“They happen to be comfortable and it cuts down on the laundry.”
“How you dress is not really the point. What I’m saying is…look, I might not have the husband and the kids and the picket fence and all that, but I do have relationships that last longer than one dinner.”
“The only thing that’s important to me right now is finishing my dissertation.”
“Claire, you know I love you, and I think it’s great that you’re so passionate about the seventeenth century and care so much about what people were like then, what they thought, what they ate, what kind of fork they used—”
“It’s interesting you should mention that. Forks were almost unheard of outside Italy in the early seventeenth century. Travelers to Venice often remarked on their use, they were so unusual.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
“What’s what you mean?”
“You know about stuff from four hundred years ago, but most of the time you don’t seem to know what day it is. You need to get out of your house, and you need to go to Venice. Your adviser said it was vital to learn everything you could about that competing book. If you don’t, aren’t you risking everything you’ve worked so hard for?”
Claire sighed. Meredith was right, of course, as usual. “This girl’s father has agreed to pay for everything?” she asked.
“Everything,” Meredith said, nodding.
Suddenly Venice wasn’t out of the question, and Claire realized how desperately
“You’re joking.”
“I’m completely serious.” Meredith was grinning, her eyebrows raised in a positive slant, but the pen in her right hand rapidly tapped the desk, revealing her anxious energy.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” Claire asked.
“There was an incident that you’ll have to be discreet about. In other words, you can’t discuss it with Gwendolyn. Her father injured his foot a few days ago in a…a golfing accident.”
“Someone ran over his foot with a golf cart?”
“No, someone punctured it with a bullet.”
“This girl’s father is the guy who got shot by his ex-wife?”
“Yes.”
“Which means that this girl’s mother is the woman who shot him.”
“Yes.”
“But you just said she was normal, perfectly normal. Having a mother who shoots people is not normal!”
“Keep it down, he’s going to be here any minute. You have to pretend that you don’t know anything about this.”
“I thought you said her mother was ill, that she was in the hospital.”
“She is. She’s in the psych ward at Mass General.” Meredith shrugged in reply to Claire’s perturbed glare. “Temporary insanity is an illness. At least, that’s the position her attorney is taking.”
“You must be temporarily insane to think that I could be a chaperone.”
“You don’t want to do this?”
“No, I don’t want to do this.”
“Then let me lend you the money for the trip.”
“No, I couldn’t accept it.” The night before she’d tried to estimate how much it would cost to go to Venice; once she’d added up airfare, hotel, food, and incidentals, it had been well over three thousand dollars. Even at tony prep schools like Forsythe, assistant deans weren’t highly paid. The money Meredith was speaking of was probably everything she’d managed to save. “I don’t know when I could pay it back,” Claire continued. “What if I’m never able to pay it back? It would ruin our friendship. And that would be much worse than not going to Venice.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m worried about you. You’ve hardly left your house in two years. Except for the nights we’ve gone out together, which I can count on one hand, I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed in anything other than sweats and those ridiculous flannel pajamas.”
“You think my pajamas are ridiculous?”
“When you wear them for days at a time, yes.”
“They happen to be comfortable and it cuts down on the laundry.”
“How you dress is not really the point. What I’m saying is…look, I might not have the husband and the kids and the picket fence and all that, but I do have relationships that last longer than one dinner.”
“The only thing that’s important to me right now is finishing my dissertation.”
“Claire, you know I love you, and I think it’s great that you’re so passionate about the seventeenth century and care so much about what people were like then, what they thought, what they ate, what kind of fork they used—”
“It’s interesting you should mention that. Forks were almost unheard of outside Italy in the early seventeenth century. Travelers to Venice often remarked on their use, they were so unusual.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
“What’s what you mean?”
“You know about stuff from four hundred years ago, but most of the time you don’t seem to know what day it is. You need to get out of your house, and you need to go to Venice. Your adviser said it was vital to learn everything you could about that competing book. If you don’t, aren’t you risking everything you’ve worked so hard for?”
Claire sighed. Meredith was right, of course, as usual. “This girl’s father has agreed to pay for everything?” she asked.
“Everything,” Meredith said, nodding.
Suddenly Venice wasn’t out of the question, and Claire realized how desperately
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