"He said . . . that . . . you were . . . a bad . . . man."

Phil leapt out of the tub, grabbed his robe, and threw it on. "Damn it to hell, woman. Why didn't you call me right away?" He slammed back the screen door and stomped into the house. "Which phone?"

"In the kitchen." She trotted after him. "What are you doing?"

"What you should have done. Hit star 69." He held the phone to his ear and listened. After a few seconds, he expression darkened and he threw the phone across the room. It hit the far wall and burst apart.

"What?" said Chris.

"He used a goddamn pay phone." He turned to her, grabbing her by her arm. "What else did he say? I want it word for word."

"You're hurting me." She tried to squirm away.

"Tell me!"

She'd never seen such rage in his eyes before and it terrified her. "I told you. He said he knew what you had stored on Old Mill Road. That you were a bad man. And that he'd be in touch."

"You're leaving something out."

"No . . . no, I'm not."

He struck her hard in the face with the back of his hand.

"Phil," she gasped.

When he let her go, she crumpled into a chair. She couldn't believe what he'd just done. It took her a minute to absorb the shock of the blow. When she finally looked up, she saw that he'd walked over to the screen doors and was standing, looking out at the hot tub. She wanted to ask him what it all meant, why he was so upset, but she was afraid to say anything, afraid she'd set him off again. She touched her eye, felt the puffiness and the bruise. "God, Phil." She started to cry.

He turned around. "Chris, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please, I didn't mean it." The next second he was kneeling next to her, wrapping his arms around her. "Let me see your eye."

She looked away.

"Chris, you've got to forgive me. That call, it just made me crazy for a second."

"Who is he? What's going on?"

"Nothing I can't handle, sweetheart. Don't worry. God, look what I did." He touched her face. "Let me get you a cold washcloth."

"No. I'm fine."

"Chrissy, you have to understand. This has been a horrible day. I called my exes to tell them I'd remarried and they both went ballistic all over me. And then, hell, I find out my best project manager has been stealing me blind. For months. I had to fire him on the spot. It couldn't be worse timing. I'll have to pick up the slack until I can hire someone new, and that means more hours at work, less time with you. Honey, please say you forgive me. It will never ever happen again."

She didn't move. She wanted to believe him.

"Just promise me one thing. If that guy ever calls again, you tell me right away. If I'm not home, call me on my cell. It's very important, okay?"

"Okay."

"Chris, I love you. More than anything in this world."

"Do you?"

"How can I make it up to you? Just tell me." He stood up and pulled her into his arms.

She couldn't relax. Her body felt tight, unyielding.

Phil stood back, held her by her shoulders. "You're afraid of me."

"A little," she managed.

"Don't be, please. Oh, please," he pleaded. "Don't be."

"It's . . . all about trust, isn't it, Phil?"

He let go. "Come on outside. You need to unwind in the tub. I'll rub your back, just the way you like." Without waiting for her, he opened the screen, took off his robe, and climbed back in. "Come on, honey. Why don't you pour us each a glass of single malt."

Feeling like a zombie, she moved to the shelf where they kept the bottle, took it down, and poured them each a stiff drink. To steady her nerves, she tossed hers back, then poured herself a second.

Once out on the deck, she handed a glass to Phil.

"Are you going to come in?"

"I don't know." She stood looking down at him.

"Chrissy, you're my whole world."

"Am I?"

"Absolutely."

Inside, she began to shiver. "I went out to lunch with Bram Baldric this afternoon."

"Baldric? What the hell were you doing with him?"

"He's a friend. A good friend. He took me to the Speakeasy Cafe."

Now it was Phil's turn to be silent.

"I saw you with that woman, saw you kiss her. Do you love her, too, Phil?" She was taking a big chance. If he'd hit her once, he could hit her again. But she had to know the truth, had to stand her ground. "Who is she?"

"Just . . . somebody I used to date."

"Used to date? Seems to me you still do."

He shook his head-and kept on shaking it. "I never meant for you to see that."

She took another swallow of the Scotch. The liquid burned her throat, warmed her deep inside.

"Okay," he said, brushing a shock of gray fringe off his forehead. "So I was with her this afternoon. But I had to tell her about us, didn't I? About our marriage. And I wanted to do it in person. I care about her, Chris. But I don't love her, not like I do you. We had lunch. I thought, hell, why ruin a good meal? But then, when we were done, we went back to her house and I told her that I'd gotten married and we had to call it quits."

"Were you sleeping with her while I was living with you?"

"No. Never. Not once. I stopped right after you moved in. But I still saw her every now and then. It was casual, just friends. Lunch, or coffee. That's all. I swear it. Maybe she thought the relationship was headed somewhere else, but I never did."

"What's her name?"

"Barbara Kerwin. My company built an addition on her place, a bedroom, a few years back."

How convenient, thought Chris. But she didn't say it.

"You have no right to judge me, you know. You were out with Baldric. So what was all that about?"

"He's a happily married man, Phil. He promised to introduce me to Victoria Svensvold, the woman who might give me a job testing recipes."

"Never heard of her."

"She's very famous, writes cookbooks. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Meaning I've lied to you?" He spread his arms across the back of the tub again. "You know, Christine, don't get all hot and bothered on me now, but you could learn something from Barbara. She really knows how to take care of herself. She understands fashion and she looks damn hot for a woman her age. If you ask me, you could spruce up a little, go find yourself something to wear other than jeans and tank tops."

Chris was dumbfounded. "You never said before you didn't like the way I dressed."

"Well, I'm saying it now. As of yesterday, you're my wife. That gives you status in this town. Act like it. Do you think I enjoy walking around with a woman who looks like she's just come from a Grateful Dead concert? Go to a hairdresser and get your hair styled. Get someone to help you with your makeup. Buy yourself some new clothes. Dresses. I don't care what it costs. I want you to look good. Sexy. I want other guys drooling over you. Are we clear?"

She didn't know what to say. Suddenly, this was no longer about him; it was about her. Her shortcomings. He'd succeeded in making her feel small, ugly, diminished. In an attempt to hold back tears, she tilted her head away and shut her eyes.

She felt him move to the seat closest to her. When he touched her, she pressed her lips together and looked down at him. "If I'm such a loser, you shouldn't have married me."

"Oh, honey. Don't look so sad. You're the one who love movies, right? So look at it this way: I'm Henry Higgins and you're Liza Doolittle. Do what I tell you and everything will work out just fine-like a true movie romance."

In the last few hours, Chris had suddenly lost faith in the rosy picture those old movie favorites portrayed. Or maybe she'd just lost faith in Phil. But something had gone wrong in her world and she wasn't sure it would ever be right again.

21.

Anika sat across the desk from Sophie in one of the Maxfield's comfortable club chairs. She looked tired as she crossed her legs and leaned back, trying to get comfortable. She was dressed casually in khaki chinos and a mulberry V-neck sweater. Sophie wondered if Anika had lost weight. She seemed even thinner than usual-and usual was just a shade this side of skinny.

As they talked, Anika pulled absently on the gold chain around her neck.

"I saw Andy this morning," said Sophie. "He spoke to a full house at the Times Register. All the employees. I think it was a good move. How's he doing? I can imagine he feels pretty overwhelmed at the moment."

Anika abandoned the necklace and moved on to examine a piece of lint attached to her sweater. "He's up and down. To be honest, it's been a rough year, Sophie. For both of us."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. Well. Whoever said this life was easy . . ." She laughed, but her face didn't register any amusement.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Anika folded her hands in her lap. "You're a good friend. I appreciate the offer, but I don't know what it would be."

"I assume that since you and Andy inherited Bob's estate, you'll probably want to quit your job here at the hotel."

"No," said Anika, looking startled. "That's not what I want at all."

"Well, I just thought-"

"I need this job. I intend to be back at the beginning of next week, just like we planned."

Sophie was baffled and couldn't help showing it.

"Work is important to me," said Anika. "I love my job here at the Maxfield. It's even more important to me now."

Sophie couldn't imagine why. The entire world was open to Anika now. She could buy her own hotel if she wanted to.

"I need to be . . . self-supporting."

"You do?"

She bowed her head. "The thing is . . ." She hesitated, then plunged in. "I've been thinking of asking Andy for a divorce."

Sophie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I had no idea."

"No. Nobody does. But then nobody's lived through the last year with us. It hasn't been pretty."

"Have you talked to Andy yet?"

"No. I can't, not right now. He's been hit with so much. But as soon as he gets on his feet, I intend to move out."

"Anika, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Yeah." Her mouth quivered and her face reddened as she pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying. "The worst part of it is, I still love him. I just can't live like this anymore."

Sophie waited while Anika pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes.

"He's . . . so up and down. So restless. He has terrible insomnia. Sometimes, we don't talk for days. I'm not sure he even notices. And then, out of the blue, he's on a high. Feeling great. It's like living with two men. Or three . . . or four. I never know who's going to come home at night."

"Maybe he needs to see a psychotherapist."

"He's talked to several. But nothing seems to help."

Sophie had to choose her words carefully. Hearing this only made her want to confront Anika all the more. "Look, it's not my intent to upset you, but Andy said something to me this morning that kind of threw me."

Anika stared back, her expression tightening.