Best Friends Forever: A gripping psychological thriller that will have you hooked in 2018. Margot Hunt
into a hug. Then she turned to Todd and smiled. “And you must be Todd. Unless, of course, Alice decided to pick up a date for the evening.”
I could tell that Todd was charmed by Kat, and also that he hadn’t expected to be. I suspected that he wanted to categorize Kat as a “bad influence,” a snake charmer who seduced his wife away from her domestic life into wasting time and money over long, gossipy lunches. But if there was one word that could entirely sum up Kat’s character, it was that she was, more than anything else, charming.
“Don’t tell me you started pouring whiskeys for you and Todd before you got Alice a drink,” Kat exclaimed, turning to her husband.
Howard winced and said, “Oops,” while Kat turned to me with an exasperated sigh.
“He always does this. He makes sure the men have drinks and leaves us women to fend for ourselves,” Kat complained.
Howard gave a theatrical eye roll. “Women,” he said in a mock-withering tone. “Can’t please them.”
I knew we were supposed to take the exchange as witty banter, a cocktail-hour performance for our benefit. But I sensed a real simmering antagonism behind their words.
Howard and Todd found some common ground over a discussion of professional tennis, of which Howard was also a fan. While they debated the merits of Nadal versus Federer, Kat and I slipped off to the kitchen, which was another huge space featuring dark cabinets and a dramatic marble island with gold stools lining one side. A wonderful aroma of cooking food mingled with the smell of exotic-scented candles burning on the counter.
“Your house is amazing,” I said, looking around in wonder.
“Thank you.”
An older woman wearing a tan uniform came into the kitchen. She was small and plump and wore her short gray hair feathered back from her face. I shouldn’t have been surprised—of course, anyone who lived in a house like this would have domestic help—but Kat had never mentioned having staff.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Kat,” the woman said in accented English.
“Marguerite, this is my friend Alice Campbell,” Kat said. “Alice, this is Marguerite Sampson, our housekeeper.”
Marguerite smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“If you don’t need anything else, Mrs. Kat, I’m going home.”
“No, thank you, Marguerite. Good night.”
“Have a good night, Mrs. Kat.”
Once the housekeeper had left, Kat smiled at me.
“Mrs. Kat?” I teased.
“I know, it’s so silly. She’s been with us for fifteen years, and for fifteen years, she’s refused to call me Kat. Anyway, I hope you like short ribs. I’ve never made them before, but the butcher swore they would be easy and delicious. He was right on the easy part, at least. I just plunked them in the oven hours ago and haven’t touched them since.”
“They smell fantastic,” I said.
Kat pulled a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé from the enormous stainless steel refrigerator. She poured us each a glass.
“Cheers!” Kat tapped her wineglass against mine. “I’m so glad you came tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said. “It’s such a treat to have someone cook me dinner.”
“Todd isn’t at all how I pictured him.” Kat pulled out a plate of cheese and crudités from the refrigerator and put it on the counter. “He’s much taller than I thought he’d be.”
“Really? That’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing about Howard.”
“But Howard’s not at all tall! What, did you think he was a midget?” Kat exclaimed.
I laughed and relaxed. “No, actually he’s shorter than I thought he’d be. I just mean I’d pictured him differently. For some reason, I thought he’d be blond.”
“Oh, no, I’ve never gone for blond men.” Kat gave a humorous shudder. “Or redheads. No offense, because your hair is gorgeous. But it doesn’t translate well to men.”
“Really? I’ve actually always been attracted to redheads,” I admitted. “And Scots.”
“And kilts on men?” Kat teased.
“I draw the line at men wearing skirts.”
“Good Lord, what are you two talking about?” Howard asked as he strode into the kitchen. Much like his wife, Howard’s pace was a few notches faster than average. I wondered if they were both naturally quick walkers or one had influenced the other over the course of their marriage. “Tom, watch out. Our wives are talking about men in skirts.”
“Todd,” Todd said, coming in behind him.
“Right. Todd. Sorry.” Howard picked up a slice of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed it before turning his intense gaze on me. “I can’t believe your husband is such a tennis fan and he’s never been to the Miami Open.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a huge tennis tournament held every year down in Key Biscayne. All the top players go. I never miss it,” Howard said. “Kat’s father’s company has a box there.”
“Your father owns a company?” I shouldn’t have been astonished, but I was.
Kat had mentioned her parents to me only in passing. I knew they lived nearby, but I didn’t think she’d ever mentioned what they did professionally.
Howard had just bitten into another slice of cheese, and my question clearly caught him off guard, since he nearly choked. He coughed and hammered at his chest with one fist.
“Are you okay?” Kat asked. Her tone was casual as she poured a glass of water from a carafe on the marble countertop and handed it to her husband.
“You don’t know who Kat’s father is?” Howard asked, ignoring his wife’s question but accepting the glass of water. “How is that even possible? He’s Thomas Wyeth.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I wondered if he could possibly be an artist or maybe a writer. But, no, I didn’t think an artist would have corporate box seats at a tennis tournament.
“You’re a Wyeth?” Todd asked.
He had clearly caught on sooner than I had. In fact, he was staring at Kat, his mouth agape. It was almost as though she had been unmasked as a celebrity, like a member of the English aristocracy or a Kennedy.
“No, she’s a Grant,” Howard said irritably at the same time Kat smiled and said, “Guilty as charged.”
Howard and Kat glanced at one another. Howard seemed annoyed, but Kat merely arched her eyebrows and looked amused.
“You don’t mind me being a Wyeth when it comes time to use the company’s box seats,” she said lightly.
Howard opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. “Of course I don’t mind. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m playing catch-up,” I said. “Is your father famous?”
Kat let out a peal of laughter. “No, he’s not famous,” she said. “He just owns a construction company.”
“But he is actually famous,” Todd said.
“You only know his name because you’re an architect,” Kat said, patting Todd’s arm.
“No, my dear, he probably knows the name because your father is worth... What is he worth these days? Has he hit a billion dollars yet?” Howard asked