the record, I do not represent criminals or dictators and I would never condone or facilitate their activities. My clients are hard-working professionals looking for tax effective ways to manage their money. I help them.”
“Yeah, to help themselves,” I mocked.
“Why should that bother you?” James asked, sounding truly perplexed. “Many of my clients are like Caroline, people who are successful because they have drive and intelligence. They don’t sit around and expect others to work for them. You languish at home, perfectly capable of doing the same but choosing not to. You should aspire to be more like Caroline—an honest, professional woman of outstanding integrity.”
I was speechless. If love was blind then James needed a guide dog to steer him clear of the bitch sitting next to him. Then again, it probably wouldn’t work. Caroline had years of practice hiding her true self.
I couldn’t look at her. She’d be preening and blushing with pleasure and the sight would make me sick. I stared into James’s eyes instead, suddenly struck by the image of a summer blade of grass dipped in gold.
“Gold dust doesn’t stick,” I said, much to everybody’s bemusement. They could make of my words whatever they wanted, because I didn’t even know what I meant by that.
“Never mind Paisley, darling, we’re used to her tirades,” Caroline said.
The conversation turned to the wedding and I slumped back in my chair, my food cold and forgotten. James looked serene, the sanctimonious prat, whereas I felt anything but. I was seething, aroused by our exchange and wanting to fly across the table and take my convoluted emotions out on him.
What the hell was wrong with me?
James observed me so discreetly I doubted anybody else noticed. Every time our eyes met it was like swallowing hard liquor, a burning jolt that travelled straight to the pit of my stomach. When I saw his next glance I was ready.
<< Hungry? >>
His fist clenched around his glass. I concentrated on squeezing ketchup over my cold chips, just to do something to keep my eyes off him. When I looked up he was watching me again.
<< Can’t stop staring , can you? >>
His gaze went to my cheek. << You’ve got ketchup on your face. >>
I wiped it off with a scowl and the corners of his lips lifted. When the meal was finished I got the cake I’d picked up and set it on the table. My top gaped open in front of James as I fumbled with the matches, taking my time to light my candle. Unmistakable desire flashed in his eyes before he caught himself and looked away.
Caroline’s voice floated around the kitchen, her vowels longer than the Queen’s. “Trisha and Sandy are travelling down next weekend for bridesmaid’s fittings with Veronica and Harriet. Afterwards we’ll be dining at La Piemontesa.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no such thing as plain old eating and drinking for Caroline. These days she “dined,” “took tea” or “enjoyed refreshments.” The more she talked about her plans, the more my serotonin levels dropped. I knew all about those from rehab. They rise sharply when you’re high and when they drop they take you with them. For some people that means a lot of whinging or crying; for me it means bad-tempered rudeness.
My madwoman might be stuck away in the attic but my inner bitch was free to roam.
“You mean I’m not a bridesmaid?” I interrupted, laying on a little false accent of my own. “I’m gut’ed.”
“You can help the best man,” Caroline said.
“I’d rather get off with him, thanks.”
My father banged his fist on the table. “Elizabeth Paisley Benton!”
Oh, crap, he was going to make me pay for that little remark. My mother reached a fluttering hand out, smiling nervously at James. Watching her attempt to control my father’s rage, it occurred to me that he couldn’t do anything in front of our posh guest.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hand on heart. “I’d rather fuck the best man’s brains out than