“You see, my husband died.” Tears began to pour down my face and I ducked my head so that Lauryn wouldn’t see.

“Sure, honey, I know.”

“Do you really think Neris will be able to put me in contact with him?”

“Like I said, honey, we’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, but—”

“Great talking to you.”

She was gone—and here came Franklin, clapping his hands together, rounding up his girls for the Monday Morning Meeting, even though it was Tuesday.

I was still getting pretty good newspaper coverage. So it was a bit of a shock when Ariella said, from the head of the table, “What’s going on with you, Anna?”

Shit. I’d thought I was flying beneath the radar: being effective, but not so effective that I’d come to Ariella’s attention.

However, all those long hours I’d been putting in paid off and I was able to give a decent answer. “The biggest project I’m working on at the moment is Candy Grrrl going to Super Saturday in the Hamptons.”

Super Saturday was a high-profile, celebrity-ridden charity fund-raiser. It had started as a sample sale by designers like Donna Karan and had grown over the last decade to one of the events in the Hampton calendar. Members of the public (but it was the Hampton public, so it was very select, really) had to pay in—a lot, like several hundred dollars—but once you were in you got to buy designer clothes for next to nothing; there were giveaways, treatments, raffles, and a sensational goody bag when you left.

“Our stand is twice as big as it was last year, we’re giving away Candy Grrrl beach bags, and best of all, I’ve persuaded Candace to actually come and do makeovers. Getting her in person should be a huge draw.”

Off the top of her head, Ariella couldn’t find anything to criticize in that, so she turned on Wendell. “You’re doing Super Saturday, too, yeah? You got a world-famous makeup artist coming along?”

“Dr. De Groot will be attending,” Wendell said.

Dr. De Groot was Visage’s skin-care scientist. He was the oddest-looking man I’d ever met—he was actually frightening—and he definitely took his work home. We reckoned he practiced chemical peels and Restylane injections on himself. Maybe even the odd bit of surgery in front of the bathroom mirror. He was shiny and stretched and frozen and lopsided. I know I was a fine one to talk with my mutilated face, but really, anyone who met him would never use Visage again.

“The Phantom of the Opera?” Ariella said. “Try to get him to wear a bag over his head.”

Wendell nodded efficiently. “Done.”

Ariella seemed to sag. There was no one to yell at; we were all too efficient today. “Go on.” She nodded at us all. “Beat it, get out of here, I’m busy.”

Back at my desk a message was waiting on my computer.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Neris Hemming

We have noted your request for a one-to-one reading with Neris Hemming. Due to her busy schedule, Ms. Hemming is fully booked for several months. When a vacancy becomes available her office will contact you to arrange a half-hour phone reading. The cost for Ms. Hemming’s time will be $2,500. We accept all major credit cards.

Cripes, it had gone up a lot since Mitch had talked to her. Not that it mattered, I was thrilled that they’d got back to me. If only I could talk to her now.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Several months?

How long is several months?

I mean, “several months” is far too vague, I need to start planning, I need to start counting down to when I’ll be talking to you.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Several months?

Between ten and twelve weeks, usually, but this is not a guarantee, simply an estimate. Please note this in any legal action.

What? People sued because they didn’t get to talk to Neris in the promised time? But I knew how desperate I was, I could understand people losing their head if they were all set to talk to their loved one on a particular date and it fell through.

There was also an attachment full of exemption clauses. It was couched in convoluted legalese, but the gist was that if you didn’t get to hear what you wanted from Neris, no way could you hold her responsible, and although she could cancel for any reason she liked, if you weren’t there at your appointed slot, you’d forfeit your money.

There was also an e-mail from Helen.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Tediarseity

Break in routine! Detta drove to Donnybrook in personality-free Beemer and went to vile dress shop. You know the type—small boutiques for rich old bats. Have “exotic” names like “Monique’s” and “Lucrezia’s” and only sixteen things in stock and snobby old assistants who say, “These stinky expensive items are just in from Italy—gooooooooorgeous, aren’t they?” And “This yellow would be lovely on you, Annette, really brings out your teeth.”

Didn’t go in, just hovered outside like homeless person because (a) place was too small and Detta would have spotted me, and (b) once you’re through doors of shop like that, if you try to leave without buying anything, they shoot you in the back with sniper’s rifle.

53

Friday, the ninth of July, my birthday; I was thirty-three. To add insult to injury, instead of enjoying a nice peaceful evening at home, crying my eyes out, I was being forced to endure “a great night out.”

Rachel wanted to make sure that my first birthday without Aidan was a lovely affair: a lovely restaurant and lovely presents with lovely people who loved me. It would be a bloody nightmare.

I’d begged her to reconsider. I’d reminded her how difficult I found any social event and one that had me at its epicenter would be close to unendurable, but she was immovable.

I was late getting home from work. I had ten minutes before Jacqui came to pick me up and I wasn’t remotely ready. I didn’t even have a clue where to start. Teeth, I decided. I’d brush my teeth. But when I picked up my toothbrush, a dreadful pain, like a streak of electricity zipping through me, shot up my arm, through my ribs, and down through the marrow of my legs. I still had the arthritis/rheumatism-style aches, but in the last few days they’d been joined by these shooting electric jolts. Once again the doctor said that this was “normal”; all part of the grieving process.