Free The Affair by Colette Freedman Page A

coat-bundled old lady materialized out of the shadows. She glared into the car at Kathy.
    “Yes . . . no . . . possibly.” She tried her best smile.
    “Well, make your mind up,” the old lady growled.
    “I’m supposed to deliver a Christmas present to a Miss”—she deliberately consulted the sheet of paper—“a Miss Burroughs. I think she lives here.”
    “Number eight.” The old woman turned and pointed up to the cupola, toward a brightly lit window. A fully-lit miniature Christmas tree twinkled behind the bubbled glass. “Used to be one building, but it got broken up into four units. I’m on the ground floor in number two. Stephanie Burroughs is above me in number eight. Smallest unit but she seems to like it. Did some construction there when she first moved in, but other than that she’s been a model neighbor.” The old woman drew a breath, delighted to have a captive audience. “Now, there’s a married couple in six who are quiet but they have a baby on the way. And don’t get me started what that noise is going to be like. Thankfully, they’re at the back off the building. In number four, there’s a man I don’t particularly care for. He’s a hippie.”
    “Oh, so I do have the right address!” Kathy interrupted before the old woman could speak again.
    “You do. But you’ve wasted a trip. She’s just gone out.”
    Kathy tried her winning smile again. “I don’t suppose you know where she was going?”
    Now the old lady looked at her suspiciously. “Why? You make personal deliveries?”
    “This is a special delivery. I’m under strict instructions to place it directly into her hands. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
    “A surprise? Oh, I love surprises. Bet it’s from her boyfriend. She’s always getting flowers delivered.”
    “He must be a very thoughtful man,” Kathy said evenly, choking back the panic. “If you do see her, would you mind not saying anything about the surprise? I don’t want to ruin her present.”
    “Mum’s the word. I’m the soul of discretion, young woman. The soul of discretion.”
    “Thank you so much. Merry Christmas.”
    “And a Merry Christmas to you too.”

CHAPTER 11

    I t was after nine by the time she got back, and everyone—Julia, Brendan, and Theresa—was in a foul mood. Robert hadn’t come home yet.
    Julia started putting on her coat the second Kathy turned her key in the lock. “I thought you’d be back an hour ago,” she snapped.
    “I went as fast as I could,” Kathy said. She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it quickly again. She knew she had a tendency to talk too much, especially when she was nervous, and she was terrified she was going to blurt out her fears to her sister. “Were the kids all right?”
    “They were fine, I suppose, though they insisted on ordering takeout. I don’t believe in fast food, Kathy, you know that. You never know what you’re eating.”
    “It’s not fast food, it’s—”
    “It’s unhealthy. Full of salts and sugars and monosodium glutamate.”
    “They only have it once in a blue moon as a treat.”
    “Really, Sis? Because they seemed pretty familiar with the menu,” Julia said, voice thick with suspicion. “Brendan seemed to know it by heart. He ordered his kung pao chicken by number.”
    “Should I open a bottle of wine?” Kathy asked, moving past Julia, heading into the kitchen. She knew Julia would refuse.
    “No, no, I should go. Ben will wonder where I am.”
    Kathy moved back down the hall and gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek. Julia smelled of lavender powder, the same talc their mother had worn. Kathy wondered if it was by accident or by design. As she’d got older Julia had come to physically resemble their late mother; she had her hair cut and styled in a slightly more modern version of both their mother’s cut, and that of her namesake, Julia Child. Like their mother and the late chef, Julia always wore a string of pearls, blue blouses, and sensible skirts.