CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ADELE
Adele couldn’t eat, she felt so nauseated. She’d opened a bottle of Beaujolais and poured a glass, but she couldn’t drink that either; she just held it in her hand like a prop as she paced. A knock on the front door almost sent the glass flying. What if it was Rutherford, with a photographer? What if they ran a picture of her, startled, wineglass in hand? They’ll call her a drunk, a recluse, a lunatic.
She raced to the living room and peeled back the curtain just an inch to peek outside.
“Adele, it’s Sylvia and Milly. We know you’re in there. Please open up.”
“We want to speak with you.” It was Milly’s voice now. “We want to help.”
Help? How could they help anything? They’d likely brought this reporter in. It could all be a setup; maybe they’d known who she was all along and had planned the takedown. They’d buttered her up, connived to get her to teach at the club only to rip her to pieces.
“Adele, open the door,” Sylvia said. “We don’t want to cause a scene out here.”
Adele stood behind the front door thinking. She didn’t want to cause a scene either. That was the last thing she wanted. She opened the door a few inches and looked around.
“Adele,” Sylvia said, “may we please come in?”
Adele moved out of their way, and they stepped into the living room.
“Well, congratulations,” Adele said. “You figured it out. You figured out who I am, that I’m the person who ruined Margery Horn’s life.” She clapped her hands sarcastically.
“Rutherford came to us; we had no idea, honestly,” Sylvia said. “But I should not have brought him to you the way I did. I should have asked you first if you wanted to meet him, but I didn’t realize—”
“Well,” Adele interrupted, “it’s too late now. Because you brought that man to my place of work, I now will not be able to leave my house, I will not be able to work, and my life will become a repetitive, lonely hell all over again. The last twenty-plus years living under a shell was now all for nothing.”
“He says he has a lot of respect for you,” Milly said, though she could hear how pathetic that sounded when she said it out loud. “He claims he wants you to tell your side of the story.”
“Of course he’s saying that,” Adele said. “He wants to get me in the chair and expose me for the monster that I am.”
“Don’t say that, Adele,” Sylvia said. “You’re no monster, we know that. You’ve clearly been punishing yourself for way too long.”
“You don’t know the whole story.” Adele shook her head. “You have no idea what was really going on; you only know what the papers told you.”
“It’s true,” Sylvia said. “I don’t know, but I will listen anytime you want to talk. Look at what you’re doing now; look at all these women who are currently taking lessons with you. You’re giving them so much. You’re changing their lives.”
“You really are,” Milly said. “But you don’t have to do this interview. Just because he showed up and requested it doesn’t mean you have to say yes.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I should or should not say,” Adele said coldly.
“OK,” Milly said. “I know you’re angry, Adele, but I need to tell you something else. And you’re not going to be happy about this either.”
“Great,” Adele said.
“The journalist, Mr. Rutherford, he’s staying in my guest cottage.”
“What?” Adele raised her voice now. “Why would you let thathomme terriblestay in your house?”
“Not in my house, in my guest cottage,” Milly said. “It was so that I could pay for my lessons with you, if you want the truth. But I will send him on his way. I’ll tell him he can’t stay, if that’s what you want me to do. Please believe me when I tell you, I didn’t know who he was or why he was here.”
“Well, now you do. And now that you know my big dirty secret, that I’ve been living a lie, then I suppose you can splash it all over town,” Adele said, sneering.
“We would never do that,” Milly said.
“We are your friends, Adele. Friends take care of each other.” Sylvia stepped toward her. “And, besides, you’re not the only one who has a big dirty secret.”
Adele raised her eyebrows and waited for more.
