“I guess it would be a good chance to get out of the city and make some new friends,” I muse, pretending to be surprised that she’s asked me to go with her.
“My thoughts exactly.” Ellie drinks the rest of the wine in her glass and then takes the bottle from the coffee table and pours herself another. She’s looking to drown her problems in bubbly tonight and I’m all for it. I wonder how her husband would feel if he knew she was drinking like a fish before bed. Then again, how much does he really care when he spends all of his waking hours and a few of his sleeping ones at the office?
“How long have you and your husband been married?” I ask politely.
“Seven years in July—we’ve been together for almost ten though. We eloped to Niagara Falls, then road-tripped our way around New England, and when we got back to the city we moved into this apartment and both started working full-time at my dad’s company. We’re in different offices though—I used to think that was a blessing—who really wants to work with their spouse all day? But now that I see Jack next to never... well, sometimes I think working in the same office would have saved our marriage.”
“Saved it? Are you having problems?” I drain the rest of the wine in my flute and then pour myself another.
“Just the usual things I guess.” Ellie shrugs. “Sometimes Ithink of his work as like his mistress. I didn’t ask for a workaholic husband, but here I am, spending all my nights alone while he sleeps on a couch in the Financial District.” Sadness hangs like a cloud over her.
“That must be hard,” I reply.
Ellie nods. “Jack says I need to work harder to make friends, maybe get some new hobbies. He thinks it would help with the depression and sleepwalking and whatever. I know he’s right, but I work a lot and despite the fact that there’s eight million people on this island, unless you’re a barfly, it’s hard to make friends.”
“You’re preachin’ to the choir, sister.” I shoot Ellie a reassuring smile. “Well, for what it’s worth I think you should definitely attend that fancy party this weekend. There’s no harm in checking it out, maybe make some new connections.”
Her smile is soft, submissive. I see why a man like Jack likes her. Ellie is weak, insecure, easily controlled.
“I have a lot of social anxiety and I struggle in groups. But I’ll go if you go with me,” she replies. “Anyway, you fit in with high society women like this more than I do—maybe the invitation was meant for you.” Ellie gives me a weak grin.
I nod, smile, then agree. “Okay then. I guess we have a party to go to this weekend.” I take a deep breath, thinking how everything is falling into place so perfectly. “To us—making new friends in this godforsaken city.”
“To us.” We cheers and then each take a drink of our champagne.
Ellie doesn’t realize it, but we’re toasting to more than just friendship. We’re toasting to a new future, to opportunities that promise to change both of our lives.
For better or worse.
Four
Ellie
“Elyse Taylor!” A woman approaches me, arms outstretched, as we enter the palatial Georgian mansion on Friday evening. I lean in for a hug, taking in the cloying scent of her expensive perfume and barely suppressing a sneeze. “It’s so nice to officially meet you,” she gushes.
I'm not sure what I expected on the hour-long drive up from the city, but it wasn't this. I feel hopelessly out of place among so much luxury. The woman's smile is wide and her golden blonde waves flow in an elegant waterfall down one shoulder. I’d guess she’s around sixty, but you wouldn’t know it if it weren’t for the faint crow’s feet around her eyes. I can tell she’s the kind of woman who fills her schedule with Botox and facelifts and filler appointments in between her charity work and shopping trips to Bergdorf’s.
“Hi—thank you for inviting me. This is my friend, Aubrey Collins. I hope you don’t mind that I brought a plus-one for the weekend.” The woman's gaze flickers to Aubrey and she gives a quick frown before her measured expression returns. I’m suddenly embarrassed that I didn’t ask about bringing abuddy along—but how could I? There was no RSVP number or contact information on the invitation. Besides, what kind of woman would I be if I agreed to a weekend away with a group of strangers without some sort of built-in support system? I may be naïve, but even I know better than to risk that.
“The Society is very exclusive...” her icy-blue eyes narrow at Aubrey, a shrewd look crossing her face. “Bringing someone along is really quite bold and frankly untoward,” she continues, and I wilt, thinking she might just send us back to the city because I've already broken some unspoken rule. Her gaze moves up and down Aubrey's form. “Well, I guess we can make do with an extra this weekend. You don't mind sharing a room, I hope?”
“Not at all,” I say.
The woman's eyes flicker from cold to amused. “It's nice to meet you both. I’m Kat Volkov, your hostess for the weekend. Welcome to Bedford and my home, Tempsford Manor.”
“Thank you for having us.” I adjust the overnight bag on my shoulder. “I have to confess, I’m a little confused about why I’m here.”
“Oh come, come. We’ll talk about it over aperitifs.” She gestures for Aubrey and me to move further into the house. “The ladies are waiting on the patio—they’re thrilled to meet our newest recruit. We’re very selective about membership. Only one new member annually, and the group’s decision must be unanimous. How was your drive from the city? Paulo was prompt, I hope?”I feel my eyebrows rising. One new member a year? How on Earth did they choose me?
“The drive was great,” Aubrey chimes in as we follow Kat to the heated patio that overlooks the estate grounds. The home is the epitome of old-world luxury: Italian tiles, an opulent double staircase, and marble pillars separating the various rooms. I’veonly ever seen homes like this in movies—never in real life. My father has a lot of powerful and well-connected friends and clients, but he made a point of keeping his business and personal lives separate when I was growing up. I found myself at home with a nanny most nights while he networked with movers and shakers around the city and sometimes around the world.
“Ladies,” Kat coos as we step out onto the patio, “let me introduce you to Elyse Taylor—please give her a warm welcome into our little society. And this is her friend, Aubrey Collins.”
“I go by Ellie, actually.”
“Well,Ellie,”—Kat’s smile is tight—“Here we only use formal names. So much of the modern world has fallen into casual colloquialisms. The Society is an intentionally elevated experience.”
I catch Aubrey’s eye. She quirks one eyebrow and I have to suppress a laugh. I can’t wait to be shown our room later and to giggle behind closed doors about this pretentious moment. But then, maybe Aubrey is used to a more elegant life than I am. I realize then that I don’t really know much about her, despite the fact that I roped her into this weekend getaway with a group of strangers.
