Charitable Tryst
She’d tasted as good as she looked. Long brunette hair fell like a nun’s habit around her head. The pillow had been moved under her hips and the top sheet stripped away.
The surgeon took the woman’s delicate hand and splayed the fingers on a thick cutting board, old antique birch. In the operating room this procedure would have been easy using a small circular saw, the flying bits of bone caught by the stream of saline that constantly flushed the blade. Without such convenience, the surgeon used a very sharp, thick knife usually used by a butcher to quarter cows as they came through the slaughterhouse. The effort was no greater than pruning a rose; the finger separated cleanly just above the second joint.
Dr. Edward Killingsworth, president of the Galbraith Trust, raised his glass of champagne, and smiling at his wife of nineteen years, stood from his chair. “Thank you everyone for your generous support. The foundation thanks you, I thank you, and most of all, the children thank you.” The crowd applauded. Half the charitable donors in the great ballroom at Gotham Hall were twice his age, having to be physically escorted from their limousines if not wheeled to their tables. “And where would we be without the generous support of the Galbraith family.” He turned to his wife and raised his glass to her, smiling like he had on their wedding day¾the day he had obtained the power only her pedigree could provide. The crowd came alive with the sincerest applause.
Genevieve Galbraith was just as stunning as she was rich. She stood, draped in a Vera Wang evening gown, giving the room only a glimpse of her flawless skin, her smile humble. For many in the room, she exemplified all that they would never be: gracious, giving of themselves, honest, and a contributor to society in ways other than spending their inheritance. “It’s good to see all of you here this evening. The children’s oncology wing would not have been possible without you. Please enjoy yourselves.” She placed her napkin back in her lap with refined elegance. Her smile was refined too, concealing her lonely heart like the whitewashed windows of a closed store. There were some things money just couldn’t buy.
After dinner, Genevieve sat in the back of her Bentley coach and removed her earrings. Her attention was drawn to the blinking red light on the phone. “Yes Dear,” she said, her voice tired with disappointment.
“Beautiful event, didn’t you think? Feel like celebrating?”
She knew what he meant, a pitiful gesture, an invitation to spend the night with him and one of his beautiful young girlfriends. A divorce was something he wouldn’t grant her. Even if his infidelity was public knowledge, she had no leverage to obtain one from him. He knew too much.
The illusion of love was easily pervaded when supported by so much wealth and power, at least in the beginning of their marriage. They had produced two beautiful children, one a daughter to carry on her family’s legacy. And for that she was grateful enough to spend the rest of her life as it was, without a love of her own.
“I would celebrate your signing divorce papers. What will it take?”
“Come on. I thought you liked Veronica. At least I certainly got that impression. The both of you carried on long after I lost interest.” Her husband’s tone was full of hubris.
Genevieve sighed. “Who is she tonight?”
“This is a man’s world Gen.” The more alcohol he consumed the more he spoke through his nose with an air of entitlement.
She hated when he called her ‘Gen.’ Her name was Genevieve, the namesake passed down through each of the last thirty generations; part of a proud, generous and gracious family. Well, up to a point.
“I can entertain as many mistresses as I please. You cannot. It would ruin your family’s good name. A divorce wouldn’t change that.”
She thought of all the ways she might kill him. But she could never take a life, hell she literally spent all her time and money saving lives. She committed her rudest act against every fiber of her being, and hung up on him. A small tremor of shame washed over her and she closed her eyes. Veronica was simply beautiful. And so smart. What had she ever seen in Edward? Maybe the same things I saw in him, once, she thought.
Genevieve sat in her parlor catching up on correspondence when a house staff member entered the room.
“Madame, Tom Knight is here to see you.”
“Show him in.” Genevieve slid her stationery back in the drawer.
Tom walked into the room, hands fumbling in the pockets of his trousers, his smile strained like he was about to deliver bad news. Genevieve had known Tom since college. She had lent him money to start his own law firm, and now he was founder of one of the most prestigious criminal law firms in the country.
“Tom, it’s good to see you.” She stood, held out her hands and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Eloise waited in the threshold for instructions.
“Genevieve, I’m here because Ed has been taken into custody. He’ll be home shortly. He called me when two detectives showed up at the foundation with a warrant regarding the disappearance of a woman.”
“What?” Genevieve nodded to Eloise and the maid left.
She offered her guest a seat.
“I know this is out of the ordinary to say the least. But I didn’t want you to worry.” He drew a deep breath. “And of course you’ll need to handle any repercussions this has on the foundation.”
“Of course. Thank you for coming. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks.”
She joined Tom on the sofa. “Why would they think my husband was involved?”
“I think you should ask Ed that question.”
