Victor looks up as we approach, and his expression shifts from brooding introspection to practiced charm so quickly it’s like watching a channel change in real time. “Ah, the ship’s security chief and his lovely wife. Have you come to make sure I haven’t developed hypothermia? I assure you, it would take more than a Norwegian fjord to bring down Victor Darkmore.”
“Dirk Rothschild,” Marlie corrects with an eye roll. “Victor Darkmore is fictional, you narcissistic hack.”
I’m sort of with Victor on this one.
“Actually,” Ransom says, settling onto the bench beside him, “we wanted to check if you’re alright after that fall. It was quite the dramatic moment.”
“Drama follows me everywhere,” Victor sighs, gazing soulfully at the waterfall. “Thirty-eight years playing Victor Darkmore, and sometimes the line between character and reality blurs.”
“It must be difficult,” I say, taking a seat on his other side, effectively boxing him in. “Especially when life imitates art in such tragic ways.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You mean with Madison.”
“She was your wife both on screen and off,” Ransom points out. “That’s a rare situation.”
Victor glances over his shoulder, a movement so quick I almost miss it. But I don’t miss the fact that his eyes land briefly on Beth Williams, who’s watching our conversation from the edge of the viewing platform while pretending to take photos of the waterfall.
“Madison understood the business,” Victor says as his voice drops into a lower, more theatrical register. “She knew the demands of fame, the sacrifices required on the altar of celebrity.”
“Did she also understand things about the other wives?” I ask innocently.
His head whips toward me. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know.” I wave vaguely. “We heard she was doing research on them. We heard about the files she was keeping. Rumor has it, she was about to pen a tell-all.”
His eyes bulge as he continues to glare at the viewing platform. His face performs a fascinating journey through surprise, alarm, and calculation before settling into feigned nonchalance. He’s good, I’ll give him that.
“Madison was thorough,” he admits, adjusting the cuffs of his loaner sweatshirt as if they were custom French couture. “She believed in preparation. A quality I admired in her, even if her methods were occasionally unorthodox.”
“Unorthodox how?” Ransom prompts.
Victor looks between us, then leans in slightly. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Madison was collecting material for the show, not for some tell-all. Real conflicts, real secrets—she believed they would generate authentic drama. The producers loved the concept.”
“So she was investigating the other trophy wives?” I clarify.
“She preferred the termbackground research,” Victor says, his fingers forming air quotes. “But yes. She had files on each of them. Digital, physical—Madison was nothing if not comprehensive.”
Marlie floats directly in front of him, studying his face with ghostly intensity. “He’s holding back. His left eyebrow always twitches when he’s lying. Thirty years of marriage teaches you these things.”
Sure enough, there’s a subtle movement in his left eyebrow that I would have missed if I wasn’t looking for it.
“That must have created tension,” Ransom says. “Finding out your dirty laundry might be aired on national television.”
“One can never predict how the uninitiated will react to thespotlight.” Victor sniffs, staring off into the middle distance. The effect is somewhat diminished by a drop of water falling from his hair onto his nose.
“The uninitiated?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow.
“Those who haven’t been forged in the crucible of daytime drama,” he explains, gesturing grandly. “Those who don’t understand that in the theater of life, every secret eventually takes center stage.”
“Oh my goodness,” Marlie groans, floating upside down in exasperation. “He’s quoting Victor’s monologue from season twenty-three! The one where he’s justifying why he exposed his brother’s illegitimate child at the Christmas gala!”
I know that scene!
Before I can stop myself, I find myself responding, “But secrets revealed too soon can trigger consequences that even the most careful playwright couldn’t anticipate.”
Victor’s eyes widen in surprise, and—is that respect?
“Exactly!” he exclaims, suddenly animated. “You understand! That’s what I told Madison, but she was convinced the truth would make for better television than fiction.”
