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‘Mrs Moore.’ Ms al Abbas cuts in front of me, near sprinting from across the foyer, hand outstretched. ‘I am honored to meet you.’
Mother glances at it for a beat, her eyes meeting mine. Then a slow smile pulls at her pale pink lips and I know two things – one, this is where Chase gets his mischievous side, and two, I’m fucked.
‘Pleasure.’ Mother accepts the offered hand only to have her slim fingers flashing diamonds that have nothing to do with matrimony and everything to do with old money heirlooms, encased in both of the social worker’s.
Most people think I learned the business from my father. But watching my mother enjoy my discomfort as Chase would and hearing her invoke a million dollars’ worth of meaning into that one word with a single eyebrow arched makes me think we’ve given my father far too much credit for who Chase and I have become.
Alice’s wide eyes meet my own and I draw an infinitesimal amount of comfort in knowing she feels as ill equipped for this turn of events as I do.
But mostly I resent the hell out of this slip of a woman for putting me in this situation to begin with. The Moore most feared in all business dealings. The Moore they call an iceberg and a plethora of other cold-hearted names. All of them true.
Somehow Alice, with her innocent eyes, her unbecoming haircut and her scheming machinations, has managed to do what the Titanic could not. She’s sinking me.
‘I heard you speak once at a charity event for New York’s education project,’ the social worker continues. ‘Your donations and commitment to the children of New York is truly commendable.’
Mary and Mike blink at Mother and her diamonds sparkling under the crystal chandelier, ignorant to the many undertones surrounding them. ‘Are you a princess?’ Mary asks.
Mother’s eyes widen and she laughs, stopping suddenly as if her amusement surprised even herself. She tugs her hand free from Ms al Abbas’s cloying clutches and glides over to Mary.
Mike eyes Mother’s many-faceted necklace.
‘Oh no, sweetie.’ The woman who graduated from not one but two debutante schools, squats before Mary. ‘I’m not a princess.’
Only my mother can squat in ladylike fashion.
Bereft of my mother’s touch, Ms al Abbas claps her hands together looking like Santa bestowing gifts to the masses. ‘This is your new grandmother!’
The last word echoes in the twenty-plus-foot ceilinged foyer.
The only visible reaction from my mother is a slight pause when reaching out to tuck a strand of Mary’s hair behind her ear.
It’s probably only due to such stringent, well-mannered education that my mother refrains from incinerating the woman on the spot.
‘You don’t look like a grandmother.’ Mary frowns while studying my mother’s unlined face, perfectly upswept blonde hair and trim figure while absent-mindedly petting the damn cat.
And by petting, I mean shifting his wrinkled skin one way then another over his bones.
Mother nods, her imperial expression softening at the little girl’s genuine compliment. ‘Thank you.’
Silence follows.
This is good. People usually dislike silence in social situations.
I can use the silence to motivate the social worker to get on with whatever inspection she needs while I urge my mother out the door and—
‘Mary’s my niece.’ Alice step toward the group on the floor, easing the awkward moment.
My mother turns an interested eye to Alice and the social worker smiles again.
‘I’m watching her until her mother, uh—’ she cuts her eyes to the social worker ‘—comes back.’
‘And that’s my Aunt Alice’s husband.’ Mary points to me. ‘I saw them hugging in my hospital room.’
I pinch the bridge of my nose again. Hard.
Mother rolls her lips, as if redistributing her pale pink lipstick, then she stands with nary a knee pop or strain. Brushing non-existent lint off her cashmere trousers, the New York society queen smiles. ‘Yes, of course, dear. That’s why I’m here.’ She turns to me, smile slightly more mischievous. ‘To welcome you—’she points to demon bag of bones in Mary’s lap ‘—and to bring you your other charge you promised to look after.’
As if on cue, Mike licks himself.
