Free Knit in Comfort by Isabel Sharpe Page B

we’ll get smashed.”
    She followed him out, peering at a pile of mail on her way. David Langley. Where had she heard that name? “Megan says hi.”
    â€œWhich necessitates a ‘hi’ back?”
    â€œIf it’s that much strain, don’t bother.”
    He turned to grin at her, light brown eyes doing this incredibly sexy Paul Newman down-at-the-corners thing. The transformation made her want to gape. “I like you, Elizabeth. Have a seat.”
    â€œThank you.” She sat on the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair, a little flustered.
    â€œWelcome to my nightmare.” He clinked his glass with hers, then drank and closed his eyes. “Mmm, that virgin sip is always the best.”
    â€œCheers.” At her first taste of the fragrant icy liquid the Dorothy Parker quote popped. “‘I love to drink martinis, two at the very most. Three I’m under the table. Four I’m under the host.’”
    He actually laughed that time, and Elizabeth felt another quick shock of attraction. “Shall we get you to four and see what happens?”
    â€œUm…no?” She took a larger swallow, feeling a dopey blush coming on. “What’s your nightmare, gin? Squirrels? Your backyard? Comfort? Life?”
    â€œI’m surprised no one has rushed to fill you in.”
    â€œMegan said I should ask you.”
    â€œReally.” He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. A musical note rang out from contact with the wet crystal. “That was fine of her.”
    â€œWill you tell me?”
    â€œYou’re probably the only person in the country who doesn’t know.” He shifted down in the chair, butt nearly at the edge of the seat, shoulders hunched, muscled legs stretched long. “My wife wrote a book called When Women Rule , the premise of which was that war-making men have freed women throughout centuries to take charge, and that when each war was over, they’d cede some authority, but not all. Her theory is that we’re heading gradually toward a world in which women will rule.”
    Elizabeth gasped. David Langley. The story on the cab radio must have been the latest on his wife, Victoria something. “Yes, yes, I haven’t read it, but heard of it, of course, who hasn’t?”
    â€œExactly. All the world loves a scandal. And there is sucha lovely headline-grabbing irony in the fact that for her New York Times best seller, she ripped off her theories and roughly an eighth of her prose from an obscure book written during the Depression.”
    â€œBy a man.”
    â€œBy a man.” He laughed; the sound was painful.
    â€œI heard a story on the radio only recently…” The reporter had mentioned David. Was Victoria being prosecuted now? Was their divorce being finalized? Elizabeth hadn’t listened that closely. “I knew your name was familiar. I just didn’t put it together.”
    â€œWell now you have, and congratulations.”
    â€œI’m sorry. Really, David. That must have been awful.”
    â€œIt still is.” The beginnings of a slur made her wonder how many martinis he’d had before she showed up. “My Vicky flew too high with wings of wax, if I might borrow a tired mythical metaphor.”
    â€œBeats feet of clay.”
    â€œI suppose.” He glared murderously at a squirrel perched on the fence between his and Megan’s yard. “She not only broke our marriage, but sacrificed scholarship in pursuit of celebrity. That, I’ve had the harder time forgiving her for.”
    â€œThen maybe it wasn’t much of a marriage to begin—” She smacked her hand over her mouth, then lifted her fingers.
    â€œSorry, David. Note to self, engage brain before speech.”
    â€œYes, it was an average marriage. But it was my average marriage, Elizabeth, and therefore painful to lose.” He watched the squirrel disappear over into Megan’s garden.