Free Party Lines by Fiona Wilde Page A

open. Lindsay jogged down the
hall, determined to start her day chipper and focused to make up for being
preoccupied the day before.
    Opening
the door she saw Clara standing there and instantly began to apologize for
being a few minutes late, but stopped when she noticed the older woman’s
expression.
    “What’s
wrong?” she asked, a knot suddenly forming in her stomach.
    “My
god. You really don’t know?” Clara walked over, looking quizzically at her
campaign manager. “I’ve been trying to reach you since late yesterday afternoon
when that awful reporter from The Times started calling me.” She held out her
hand, offering Lindsay a folded newspaper.
    Lindsay
looked at Clara, puzzled, and then opened the paper to view the front page. Her
head swam as she took in the mug shot of herself under a headline that
screamed, “FAIRCLOTH CAMPAIGN MANAGER HAS CRIMINAL PAST.” And underneath that a
smaller subhead that declared “Hiring of arsonist calls candidate’s judgment
into question.”
    “No,”
said Lindsay, walking over to the couch. She could not take her eyes off he
headline. “No. It can’t be.”
    She
scanned the article as numbness spread through her with each line. “Faircloth
admits knowing about Martin’s past… .After the
conviction on lesser charges, the former activist adopted her mother’s maiden
name, repeated attempts to reach Ms. Martin were unsuccessful.”
    Lindsay
put the paper down and put her head in her hands, wondering how she could have
been so stupid. All this time he’d been using her, and she’d allowed herself to
be blinded by her own feelings, by her own submissive tendencies. What had
Clara called the kind of woman who’d fall for a guy like Ron? Stupid? Lindsay
suddenly recalled how angry that had made her. But Clara had been right. A tear
rolled down her face. She looked up at Clara, but the candidate was looking out
the window, her back facing Lindsay.
    Lindsay
could tell by her posture that she was angry, not because Lindsay had lied to
her. Clara was aware of her past. No, she was angry because she couldn’t reach
her when she’d needed her most. If she’d been accessible –as she was
supposed to be – Lindsay could have had a heads up, could have explained
the situation to the reporter in her own diplomatic way that would have
diffused the situation and softened the blow. But she had not. She’d been
unreachable, and even now she knew she could not tell Clara why.
    Lindsay
wiped the tear away. Now was not a time for tears. Even if she wanted to cry,
she didn’t deserve the indulgence. She’d been betrayed through her own
stupidity. Now she was reaping what she’d sown.
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter
Seven
     
     
     
    Her
legs felt as if they were made of wood when she finally raised herself from the
couch.
    “I
have to take care of this, Clara,” Lindsay mumbled as she reached for her
purse.
    Clara
shook her head. “I don’t know what you can do,” she said. “But if it’s any
consolation I don’t regret hiring you. I regret that they – the Hopkins
campaign – is using you to hurt me. But I still
believe in you. I just wish….”
    She
stopped and looked away.
    Lindsay
pulled the strap of her handbag over her and turned to face the older woman. “You
wish what?”
    Clara
sighed. “The past few days you’ve been so secretive,” she said. “I’ve sensed a
difference in you, Lindsay. You seem worried, distracted and I have a strong
feeling there’s something going on with you that I may have a right to know –
something you’re not telling me.”
    Lindsay
felt tears come to her eyes. “There is,” she said, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. “Clara, I’m afraid I’ve done something
stupid. Something really, really stupid.”
    “What?”
Clara Faircloth’s blue eyes grew wide.
    Lindsay
ran her hand nervously through her hair. “God, Clara. I wish I could tell you.
I really do. Not now. Not until I undo