If she wants to find the secretary, she better start cataloging the rooms. There was no secretary in the parlor, nor was there one in Teddy’s, the library and cigar room they just left. And Vivian is doubtful a secretary would be in this room, which contains more of a traditional, almost dated aesthetic: dark wood-paneled walls, leather booths, a navy-blue-and-cream rug. A long wooden bar, where they are now perched on stools. Engraved on the back of the bar, behind the generous array of bottles, is a wooden plaque with the words “Canton’s Restaurant.” The space reminds her of an old country club so long overdue for a renovation the vibe has become part of its “charm.” She certainly has not sourced any furniture for it over the years.
“Who were those people?” she asks, even though she alreadyknows Jerry, the one with the buzz cut whom she thinks of asthe wrestler.She sips the ice water Michael procured for her from behind the bar.
“Jerry is one of our employees, a waiter.” Michael clears his throat. “I can’t say I blame him for getting so upset. The other man is Oliver. Oliver is Graham Thurgood’s son.”
GrahamThurgood? “Is Graham…”
“Graham’s the head of the Knox,” Michael confirms. “Oliver, his son, recently returned to town after traveling for a few years in Southeast Asia. I can’t say that people love having him back.”
“He got involved with Jerry’s sister?”
“Yes, unfortunately he did. Tara’s a waitress here, too.”
“Sounds messy,” she offers, as she sips her water. It’s hard to imagine that she and this Oliver could be distantly related. He seems reckless in a dangerous kind of way. What was he doing for a few years in Southeast Asia? For the first time, she wonders if she should just forget this whole ancestry thing. But, she reasons in the next moment, she hasn’tdoneanything yet. She’s simply at a party at the Knox. Potentially about to start dating Peter, a very handsome man. Deepening her connection with Michael, her Knox buyer. And she needs their business more than ever.
“I’m truly sorry you had to see that. It’s your first time at the Knox—”
“Second.”
“Second time at the Knox, but first social event, and here we are, hiding away. You should get back to the party when you feel ready. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He speaks haltingly, like a baby giraffe finding its footing.
“I am okay. Thank you for this, though.”
It strikes Vivian that this is the longest conversation they’ve ever had, although, according to Peter, she’s apparently discussedother topics with Michael through the years, such as what she studied in college.
The truth is, she’s never paid him much attention. He’s one of those people who gets noticed because he’s so tall, and then that one attribute overtakes the rest of him. But now, up close, she sees that his smile is slightly lopsided on account of a bent jaw. And that there’s a light brown, grayish stubble covering his cheeks, and his eyes are like hot cocoa, a warm brown.
“Michael, what do you do?” she asks. She’s a little embarrassed that she’s never asked this before—though, to be fair, she doesn’t usually strike up personal conversations with her customers. Also, the fact that he was coming from the Knox likely thwarted questions she may have had. But here, in this setting, the Knox itself, it seems okay to pry.
“I’m retired now, but I was an investment banker. Now I just dabble in some investments here and there.”
“Oh.”
He’s rather young to be retired; he looks in his fifties. On second thought, that’s nottooyoung to be retired. This is the problem with getting older: Your concept of time goes awry. You think you’re younger than you actually are, until your body invariably reminds you. “And you’ve been a member here for a while?”
“Yes. My late father was a member here, and his father before that, and…you get the picture.”
Right.She recalls Peter saying Michael hailed from a long lineage. “A fellow New Englander; why am I not surprised?”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s your vibe. It’s our vibe. Aloof. Look, it’s only taken us, what, five or six years to have a real conversation, right?”
“Seven,” he replies almost too quickly, and then he looks away, as if embarrassed.
“Do you two need something?” says a woman’s voice from behind. It’s Rose, the woman who answered the door when Vivian first came to the Knox. She might be the only one in the entire party dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, like it’s an ordinary day of work.
“No, Rose, thank you,” Michael says. “Rose, this is—”
“I know who she is,” Rose interrupts.
“Hello, Rose,” Vivian says, when it’s clear that Rose is not making the first move. Christ. They ought to get some help around here who are a little more polite.
“Vivian.” Rose gives her a curt nod. She continues to stand there, and it irritates Vivian.
Vivian rises from the stool, and Michael follows suit. She wonders, suddenly, why Peter has not come to check on her. This, too, irritates her. It should be he who is here at her side, not Michael.
“Thank you again, Michael,” she says to him. “I have a headache so I’m going to see myself out. Please let Peter know.”
