Southern Belle

“Mrs. MacBride?” Ally, Meredith’s rake-thin secretary, halted her sprint down the hallway and stopped, surprise evident on her pallid face. “Were we expecting you?” she asked, an anxious frown appearing as she mentally reviewed the day’s agenda.

“No. I don’t have an appointment,” Elm replied. And for the first time in memory she did not apologize or add if it’s not convenient I’ll return another time, or don’t bother Meredith if she’s in an important meeting. Right now—to use Meredith’s language, rather than her own—she didn’t give a flying fuck how busy her friend was, she needed to speak with her. Now.

“Right.” Ally, immediately businesslike, took charge. “If you’ll wait here just one second, Mrs. MacBride, I’ll check if she can see you right away. Why don’t you take a seat?” She indicated the group of studded leather sofas and armchairs strategically placed in the inner alcove, overshadowed by a gigantic Christmas tree, that looked out over the secluded garden and served as a waiting room.

“Thanks. But I’ll just wait here.” Elm smiled politely in the poised manner that was a part of her nature, and stayed put.

“Sure. I’ll—” Ally smiled nervously, indicated Meredith’s door, and after the briefest of knocks disappeared.

“Elm!” A booming baritone echoed behind her and a large palm clapped her on the shoulder. “What are you doing here, young lady?” Ross Rollins, senior partner, ex-state supreme court judge, and intimate friend of her father, Senator George Hathaway, shook her hand with delight. “Well, if this isn’t a wonderful surprise. Best get one of those gals in there to find us some coffee.” He gestured to the hall at large.

“Actually, I just popped in to see Meredith.”

“Sure. Now, tell me, Elm—” Ross slipped a broad arm about her slim shoulders “—how’s that handsome husband of yours doing, eh? Getting ready to win another term, I’ll bet. A little bird whispered to me that he has some pretty ambitious aspirations this time round. Particularly now that Jeff Anderson’s gone,” he added, lowering his voice. “Sad he went so young, very sad indeed,” the older man muttered, donning a suitably concerned frown for the recently deceased house minority leader. “Still, might just be Harlan’s lucky break, mightn’t it?”

She was saved from answering by Meredith, who appeared, beige-skirted and white-shirted, on the threshold of her own little empire.

“Hey. This is a surprise.” Meredith pecked Elm on the cheek, registering her friend’s pale, set face. With a quick word she dismissed Ross, linking her arm with Elm’s and sweeping her toward the open office door. “What brought you in here?” she asked, mentally filing the municipal-trash case—it would just have to wait—her bright eyes studying Elm’s fixed smile and controlled posture.

Something was obviously wrong, she reflected uneasily. In all the years they’d been friends—and that went back longer than she cared to remember—and not once since she’d begun practicing law, had Elm ever appeared unannounced. She invariably called first, making sure in that soft, elegant, well-mannered way of hers that it was convenient. “Come in. It’s good to see you.” She smiled more brightly than she felt.

“Sorry not to have called,” Elm murmured, following Meredith into her large, square, high-ceilinged room, a maze of stacked legal files, cardboard boxes with their contents labeled in thick black marker, and piles of miscellaneous documents waiting to be filed and delivered to the document bank. The desk was the one orderly area in the entire room.

“What’s wrong?” Meredith said as soon as the door closed. She pointed authoritatively at a new gray chair bought last week to replace the sagging green one that had finally collapsed. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Elm stared straight at her and remained standing. “Mer, did you know?”

“Know what?” Meredith’s brows met in a dark ridge over the bridge of her straight, thin nose.

“That Harlan was having an affair with Jennifer Ball?” Elm’s voice sounded almost casual, as though the discovery of her husband’s affair with one of Savannah’s most notorious divorcées was an everyday occurrence.

“Oh, Jesus!” Meredith sank behind her desk and pushed her glasses back into position. The day she’d long been dreading had arrived. The shit had finally hit the fan.

“Well? Did you?” Elm’s black shades stared blankly at her.

“I—look…kind of, okay?” She let out a sigh and again gestured for Elm to take a seat.

“And you never said a word.” Elm gripped the back of the chair.

“Look, sit down and I’ll explain.” She’d always known that one day Elm would suffer a rude awakening from the daydream she’d been living for more than a decade. Just hadn’t expected it would happen today.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elm asked tightly. She sat on the edge of the gray chair and removed her shades. “Why didn’t you warn me, Mer? And by the way,” she added, her tone bitter, “just who else knows that my husband is fucking Jennifer? Everyone except me, I suppose?”

“Pretty much,” Meredith muttered, suddenly wary. Elm never used bad language.

“I repeat, why didn’t you tell me?” Elm pinned her mercilessly, her eyes two huge chestnut pools of pain, anger and crushed pride.

“Hell, Elm, how could I?” Meredith burst out, cringing inwardly. Should she have told her? Would it have been fairer?

“You’re my friend,” Elm bit back, “the only friend I trust in this damn cesspool. But you didn’t see fit to warn me. I don’t understand.”

“Hold it. It’s not quite that simple,” Meredith countered, leaning forward and reverting to the measured tone she used to announce a lost case to a client. “How could I tell you,” she queried deliberately, “what you didn’t want to know?”

“Of course I would have wanted to know,” Elm countered with a scathing laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, hon, but that’s not strictly true.” Meredith leaned farther forward, elbows posed on the desk. “For twelve years—make it thirteen, if you include your engagement—you’ve stuck Harlan so high upon a pedestal that you made sure he was unreachable. Even by you.”

“That’s absurd,” Elm spluttered.

“Oh, yeah? Well, why is it, then, that during the entire course of your marriage I have never once heard you criticize him, or even say a single negative word about him?” Meredith asked, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t approve of criticizing one’s spouse.” She grimaced at her prissy words.

“Right.” Meredith sucked in her cheeks and nodded. “Very laudable, I’m sure, but at times I have to say I found it hard to swallow. Hell, I love my Tom but I’m always bitching about him.”

“That’s different.”

“In what way?” Meredith quirked an interested brow.

“I don’t know—” Elm gestured nervously “—it just is.”

“Bullshit. You made up your mind Harlan was going to be Mr. Perfect, then you stuck to that notion through hell and high water, even though I reckon you knew it wasn’t working out right from the start,” she said shrewdly. “Look, I’m sorry it’s happened this way, Elm, but maybe it’s time to wake up and smell a megadose of double espresso?”

“It would certainly seem so,” Elm murmured dryly, nervously fiddling with the sunglasses on her lap, the bitter truths she’d denied for the better part of her adult life rising in her throat. “I guess I must be plain stupid not to have seen this coming,” she said finally. “I must need fucking bifocals,” she added, her mouth set in a tight line Meredith had never seen before.

“Don’t beat up on yourself.” She reached across the desk and touched Elm’s icy fingers. “You did it because of the way you are. I’ve never known you to take on a cause and do a half-assed job. Take the garden project you’re working on right now. I’ll bet nobody shovels more damn earth than you do, nobody plants more seedlings. Or your exhibitions.” She shrugged and smiled. “It’s all the same, Elm. You throw yourself into everything you do, give every ounce of your being. Only, sometimes others don’t meet your expectations and you’re bitterly disappointed. Problem is,” she added, picking up a pen and doodling speculatively, “not everyone—and that includes your hubby—has your high standards or is as dedicated and sincere as you.”

“Gee, thanks! Knowing I’m an obsessive perfectionist who’s blind to the world makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Rubbish. You know that isn’t so.”

“Really? Then how do you explain that Harlan’s gotten away with this affair? And I suppose there must have been others. It’s only that Jennifer is the first one who couldn’t resist the temptation of telling me Harlan’s a great fuck! I suppose I should be grateful to her,” she added grimly, knuckles strained and white from gripping the glasses, as though crushing them might relieve some of her bewildered anger.

“Not so fast,” Meredith countered. “Let’s go back and review the circumstances. Right from the start, long before you married Harlan, you’d convinced yourself that he was Mr. Right.”

“He was. At least he seemed—right.” Elm bit her lip and glanced at the porcelain ashtray on the desk, wishing she smoked.

“For whom?” Meredith’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You or Uncle George?”

Elm’s head flew up, then she hesitated. She’d been about to protest vehemently, but her friend’s words made her stop. She glanced toward the window. Was it true? Had she wanted Harlan to be perfect because her father was so enchanted with the idea of his prospective son-in-law’s glittering political future? She let out a long sigh, then met Meredith’s eyes straight on. “Both, I guess.”

“Exactly.” Meredith nodded, satisfied. “Harlan had all the prerequisites of the successful politician—handsome, great charisma, old family. Poor as church mice, of course, but hey, who gives a damn since he’s in some way related to Oglethorpe and the founding of Savannah, right?” She enumerated the qualities, ticking them off one by one. “A truly great candidate. Your father’s dream boy. The son he never had.”

“There was nothing wrong with that,” Elm replied defensively.

“No, except that somewhere along the line, having Harlan in the family became more important to him than your own happiness.”

“That’s not true,” Elm lied. “I truly believed I’d be happy with Harlan, and there was never any question of Daddy—”

“I know, I know,” Meredith soothed, “he’s the other Mr. Perfect in your life. But let’s face it, Elm, I remember talking when you got engaged. Christ, you had so many dreams, such focused expectations. Remember all the idealism? How convinced you were that being his wife would be a fulfilling path? That together you would achieve all sorts of worthy objectives?”

“You make it sound all trite and stupid and it wasn’t. I really did believe it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Meredith smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to diminish your dreams. They were very worthwhile. It’s just a pity Harlan never believed in them. Let’s face it, babe,” she said, leaning back and letting her large leather chair swing, “Harlan never expected to make you an active partner in his politics. Twelve years in, you’re still his lackey. Expected to throw great parties and enhance his social status, but shut out of making any significant policy contributions.

“Not that you aren’t doing great things on your own—your painting exhibitions are phenomenal, you’re becoming known. Hell, that Frenchman—who’s supposed to be an international art specialist—Le Souche—who was in town last month even bought one. And working with abused women to restore the gardens at Oleander Creek is one heck of a worthy cause.”

“But?”

“Elm, face it. Harlan’s reneged on his part of the bargain. He’s ignored your input. I mean, has he ever solicited your advice about any aspect of his platform? I didn’t see him asking you about whether that massive waste-processing plant he green-lighted would have any impact on the environment. You’d think that since it’s just up the creek from your plantation, he’d have sought your involvement on that, at least. He’s just been using you—and you’ve let him.”

“That may be partially true,” Elm admitted grudgingly, regaining some of her poise. “Of course, perhaps if you’d seen fit to tell me all this sooner, I might have avoided some of it,” she threw out reproachfully.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Elm, who are you trying to fool? You know very well you wouldn’t have listened to a word I had to say.”

“I might have.”

“Bull crap.”

Elm swallowed, seriously shaken. All these years she’d carried the load of her inadequate, unsatisfying, empty marriage alone, convinced no one but she knew the truth. Now she felt cheated at her own game. “God, I just wish you’d told me how you really felt,” she repeated, shaking her head, bewildered.

“Elm, honey, put yourself in my shoes.” Meredith let out a gusty sigh. “How could I, in all fairness, turn around and tell you that Jennifer was bragging to anyone who’d listen that she’s bagged Harlan MacBride, when it was obvious you didn’t want to hear, or want to know, or want to see? Hell, we lunched last week and you were still singing Harlan’s praises. The one and only time,” she said through gritted teeth, “I ever came close to bursting your bubble was a few months ago, when you were recovering from that last IVF treatment and Jennifer was preening about Harlan taking her to the Cloisters for a romantic weekend.”

“I can’t believe he did that.” Tears of rage and disappointment hurtled to the surface. “How 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. The man apparently had a hard time keeping his pants on.

But divorce. Even she was shocked. After all, Harlan and Elm were an institution.

Did Elm have any idea of all that was on the line? Meredith wondered, concerned. With everything Harlan had to lose, there was no way he was going to take this lying down.

Tapping her pen rhythmically on her yellow legal pad, Meredith thought the matter over. Perhaps in a couple of days, when Elm had calmed down, she could talk to her reasonably, persuade her to wait at least until after the holidays, not make a rash decision in the heat of the moment. And then, if she was still determined to go ahead, then maybe Elm could have it out with Harlan and come to some kind of civilized arrangement. Not that he deserved it. Far from it. But in the long run, it would be better for all concerned.

When the phone rang, Meredith grabbed it as though her life depended upon the call. Anything right now, she figured, even old Mr. Tompson’s estate case—which she loathed—would come as a welcome relief.

3

“Bitch,” Harlan MacBride muttered, then slammed down the phone so hard the antique mahogany desk shuddered. Had Elm gone fucking nuts?

Meredith Hunter’s words echoed ominously.

Elm wanted a divorce.

It was unthinkable.

He’d never have guessed she had the guts to cross him this way, or that she’d take such a drastic step and then disappear. She’d been missing for days, making things damned uncomfortable for him—he’d only just now learned that she’d hightailed it to Switzerland, to that crazy Italian friend of hers whom he’d never liked, Gioconda Mancini.

Harlan flexed his fingers, eyes narrowed. Fuck Elm. She had no right to do this, no right at all. And fuck Jennifer for having opened her big sexy mouth. She was a great lay, and that tongue of hers could work wonders, but obviously he’d misjudged her ability to keep her goddamn trap shut.

He should have been more careful, he admitted, his lower lip twitching. But all those damn IVF treatments had been such a drag. Worse, he’d had to carry on the pretense of giving a shit—cosset Elm after the implantations, agree to the doctor’s recommendation that he stay out of her bed—when he had far bigger matters on his plate. It wasn’t surprising he’d let off steam with Jennifer. Any man would have. Elm should be grateful to him for being so understanding instead of flying off in a sulk.

And now she was threatening divorce, he reflected grimly. If he wasn’t meticulous about defusing her snit, Elm could spoil his re-election chances. She of all people knew he’d won his House seat on a platform promoting strong, Christian family values. Hell, the goddamn campaign posters that were going out next week showed him holding her hand and surrounded by smiling kids. Not his kids, mind you, he reflected, annoyed.