Chapter 2: Her Father Knew My Name
Faith stared at her phone as though it had betrayed her.
"What?"" she whispered.
The guests around us had begun moving again, but nobody seemed interested in the luncheon anymore. Two women stood beside the ruined cake, pretending to inspect their napkins while openly recording the scene. A man near the fountain lowered his sunglasses.
I could practically hear the calculations happening in their heads.
Was Eleanor Whitmore a victim?
Was Faith Delano finished?
And how much trouble could a single afternoon create for people who depended on the goodwill of other wealthy people?
Faith pressed the phone against her ear.
"Daddy, she hit me!""
Richard Delano's voice came through sharply enough for those standing nearby to hear.
"I heard you. I asked whether you understand who she is.""
Faith's eyes darted toward me.
"She's some old club member!""
"Her name is Eleanor Whitmore.""
"I know that!""
"Then listen to me carefully. Do not touch her again. Do not say another word to her. And for God's sake, stop making a scene.""
Faith's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I took a folded linen napkin from the table and dabbed a smear of frosting from my wrist.
"Your father sounds upset," I observed.
Faith glared at me.
"Shut up.""
"That may not be the best strategy today.""
She turned away and spoke into the phone.
"Daddy, she's humiliating me in front of everyone!""
"Faith, you humiliated yourself.""
The call ended.
Faith stood motionless, cream dripping from a strand of blonde hair onto her shoulder.
Her friends suddenly discovered urgent reasons to look elsewhere.
Madison approached her cautiously.
"Maybe we should get you cleaned up.""
Faith slapped Madison's hand away.
"Don't touch me!""
Then she rounded on the crowd.
"Everybody put your phones away! This is a private event!""
A woman in a pale blue dress raised an eyebrow.
"Faith, you shoved her in front of two hundred people. What did you expect?""
"I didn't ask you!""
"You didn't have to.""
I recognized the woman as Margaret Ellis, a retired federal judge who had been a member longer than I had. Margaret rarely raised her voice. She didn't need to.
Faith's face tightened.
"This is ridiculous. She attacked me!""
Margaret glanced at my scraped hands.
"After you pushed her onto the ground?""
"She slapped me first!""
"After you pushed her onto the ground," Margaret repeated.
Faith spun toward me.
"You're going to regret this.""
I looked at the frosting covering her collar.
"I suspect you'll be busy enough regretting it yourself.""
She stepped toward me.
A security guard moved between us.
"Miss Delano, please calm down.""
"Do you know who my father is?""
The guard's expression remained neutral.
"Yes, ma'am. And I know who Mrs. Whitmore is.""
Faith looked as though he had slapped her, too.
I left them arguing and walked toward the terrace, where the club's general manager, Peter Lawson, was hurrying toward me.
Peter was fifty-three, with silver at his temples and a habit of tugging his cuffs when he was nervous.
Today, he was tugging them so hard I thought he might tear a button off.
"Mrs. Whitmore," he said breathlessly.
"Are you hurt?""
"Only my pride, Peter. And possibly the dress.""
He looked at my hands.
"Please, let me get the first-aid kit.""
"That would be kind.""
"I'm also terribly sorry about what happened.""
"Thank you.""
His eyes flicked toward Faith, who was now shouting at the security guard.
"Her father is on his way," Peter said quietly.
"So I've gathered.""
"There may be a complication.""
I waited.
Peter lowered his voice.
"Mr. Delano's development company has been negotiating a major agreement involving the club's adjacent property. The board has been under considerable pressure to approve it.""
"And?""
"And he believes the agreement is practically settled.""
I looked toward the main building.
"Does he?""
Peter swallowed.
"Mrs. Whitmore, I know you prefer not to discuss business at social events, but the board chairman has been trying to reach you all morning.""
That caught my attention.
"Why?""
"He said it was urgent.""
Before I could ask more, a familiar voice cut across the terrace.
"Where is she?""
Richard Delano had arrived.
He crossed the lawn in a navy suit, his expression thunderous. Two men followed him, one carrying a leather portfolio and the other speaking rapidly into a phone.
Richard was sixty-one, tall, broad-shouldered, and polished in the way of men who had spent decades persuading others that confidence was the same as competence.
He spotted Faith first.
For a fraction of a second, his face softened.
Then he saw the cake.
"Good Lord.""
Faith rushed toward him.
"Daddy!""
She threw her arms around him, smearing frosting across his lapel.
"She attacked me! She slapped me and shoved my face into the cake!""
Richard held her at arm's length.
"Stop.""
"But—"
"I said stop.""
Faith stared at him in disbelief.
He looked past her.
Straight at me.
The anger drained from his face so quickly that I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
"Eleanor," he said.
"Richard.""
He approached with measured steps.
"I sincerely apologize for my daughter's behavior.""
Faith recoiled.
"Daddy!""
He ignored her.
"She's young. Impulsive. She doesn't always understand the consequences of her actions.""
"Twenty-eight is old enough to understand that pushing someone can cause serious injury.""
"You're absolutely right.""
His agreement was so immediate that the surrounding guests began exchanging looks.
Richard lowered his voice.
"Perhaps we could discuss this privately.""
"Why?""
"Because this is an unfortunate misunderstanding.""
I looked at the grass stain on my dress.
"Which part was misunderstood? The shove, the laughter, or her suggestion that I needed a nurse?""
Richard's jaw tightened.
"None of that should have happened.""
"Then we're in agreement.""
He glanced toward the phones still pointed in our direction.
"I would appreciate it if everyone could put those away. My daughter has been upset, and emotions have run high.""
Margaret Ellis stepped beside me.
"Richard, I wouldn't worry so much about the phones. I'd worry about the witnesses.""
He gave her a strained smile.
"Margaret.""
"Richard.""
The two exchanged a look that carried years of club politics.
Richard turned back to me.
"Let me cover the cost of your dress. And whatever medical attention you need. We can settle this quietly.""
I studied him.
"Is that how you settle every problem?""
His face darkened.
"Excuse me?""
"Offer money before anyone has determined what actually happened?""
Faith suddenly shouted, "She's doing this because she hates successful people!""
Several guests laughed.
Not with her.
At her.
Richard closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"Faith, get in the car.""
"No!""
"Now.""
"I'm not leaving while she stands there acting like she's better than me!""
I stepped closer.
"I don't think I'm better than you, Faith. I think you have mistaken other people's restraint for permission.""
She trembled with rage.
Richard grabbed her elbow and began guiding her away.
Then his assistant approached, carrying the leather portfolio.
"Mr. Delano," he said urgently.
"We have a problem.""
Richard barely glanced at him.
"Not now, Martin.""
"It's the property agreement.""
That stopped him.
Martin looked at me, then back at Richard.
"The board has called an emergency meeting. They need Mrs. Whitmore's signature before they proceed.""
Faith let out a bitter laugh.
"Why would anyone need her signature? She's just a member!""
Martin didn't answer.
Richard slowly released his daughter's elbow.
He looked at me as if he were seeing a ghost.
"Mrs. Whitmore," he said, "I was hoping we could speak before the meeting.""
I folded my hands in front of me.
"About the development?""
"Yes.""
"Then I suggest you bring the entire board into the room.""
His expression changed.
"All of them?""
"Every member.""
I turned toward the building.
Behind me, Faith muttered, "This is insane.""
Richard didn't respond.
Because he finally understood something his daughter had never bothered to learn.
The club wasn't merely a place where I spent my afternoons.
It was a place where I had spent thirty years building relationships, protecting its history, and making decisions that people like Richard Delano could not afford to ignore.
As I reached the terrace doors, Peter hurried after me.
"Mrs. Whitmore?""
"Yes, Peter?""
He glanced around before handing me a cream-colored envelope.
"This arrived for you shortly before the luncheon. The chairman instructed me to deliver it personally.""
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper bearing the club's official seal.
At the top, in bold letters, were the words:
*EMERGENCY BOARD RESOLUTION — OWNERSHIP AND DEVELOPMENT RIGHTS.*
Beneath them was a name I hadn't seen on official club business in six years.
Charles Whitmore.
My late husband.
And beside his name was a signature that looked disturbingly familiar.
May you like
My own.
Only I had never signed that document.
