One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [197]
Annalisa selected a white gabardine pantsuit of which Billy would have approved. When she thought of him now, it was always with a slight bitterness. His death had been both pointless and unnecessary.
The deposition was held in a conference room in the offices of the Brewers’ law firm. Sandy wasn’t there, but Connie was sitting between two members of the Brewers’ legal team. At the head of the table was the counsel for the state. Connie looked frightened and wan.
“Let’s begin, Mrs. Rice,” said the state counsel. He wore a misshapen suit and had boils on his skin. “Did you ever see the Cross of Bloody Mary?”
Annalisa looked over at Connie, who was staring down at her hands. “I don’t know,” Annalisa replied.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Connie showed me a cross, yes. But I can’t say if it was the Cross of Bloody Mary or not.”
“How did she describe it?”
“She said it belonged to a queen. But it might have come from anywhere. I thought it was costume jewelry.”
“Did you ever have a discussion with Billy Litchfield about the cross?”
“No, I did not,” Annalisa said firmly, lying. Billy had died for the stupid cross. Wasn’t that enough?
The questioning continued for another hour, and then Annalisa was dismissed. Connie walked with her to the elevator. “Thank you for doing this,” Connie murmured.
“Oh, Connie,” Annalisa said, and hugged her. “It’s the least I can do. How are you? Can’t we have lunch?”
“Maybe,” Connie said hesitantly. “When all this is over.”
“It’ll be over soon. And everything will be okay.”
“I don’t know about that,” Connie said. “The FCC has barred Sandy from trading because he’s under investigation, so we have no money coming in. I’ve put our apartment on the market. The lawyers’ fees are huge. Even if Sandy does get off, I’m not sure I want to live in New York anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Annalisa said.
Connie shrugged. “It’s just a place. I’m thinking we should move to a state where no one knows us. Like Montana.”
That evening when Paul got home, Annalisa tried to tell him about her day. Going into his office, she found him standing before his giant aquarium, staring at his fish. “Connie says they’re going to have to sell their apartment,” she said.
“Really?” Paul said. “What do they want for it?”
She looked at him in astonishment. “I didn’t ask. For some reason, it didn’t seem appropriate.”
“Maybe we could buy it,” Paul said. “It’s bigger than this place. And they’re desperate, so we could probably get it for a good price. Real estate is going down. They’ll have to sell quickly.”
Annalisa stared at Paul, the knot in her stomach tightening in fear. “Paul,” she said cautiously. “I don’t want to move.”
“Maybe not,” Paul said, keeping his eyes on his fish. “But I’m the one with the money. Ultimately, it’s my decision.”
Annalisa stiffened. Moving slowly, as if Paul were unbalanced and could no longer be trusted to react like a normal person, she edged toward the door. She paused and said softly, “Whatever you say, Paul,” quietly closing the heavy double doors behind her.
The next morning, Lola Fabrikant woke at noon, groggy and slightly hungover. She wrenched herself out of bed, took a painkiller, then went into the tiny bathroom to examine her face. Despite the amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before at a birthday party for a famous rapper, her skin looked as fresh as if she’d just returned from a spa. In the last couple of months, she’d learned that no matter what she put in her body, or what she subjected it to, the effects never showed on her face.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said of her apartment. The tiny bathroom was grimy, scattered with makeup and various creams and potions; a bra and panty set from La Perla was crumpled on