Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
His thumb and finger continued to hold her chin captive. The forced tilt of her head wasn’t necessary; Claire wouldn’t look away even if she could. She knew his tone and saw his restraint. She also knew he was doing what he did—trying to control a world that was uncontrollable.
While she contemplated her response, he spoke. “Do you want to discuss this more?”
After a prolonged silence, her green eyes began to shimmer. She didn’t speak, yet by the softening of his gaze, she knew he was listening. Finally, she said, “Fine, I won’t discuss it, but if we’re going out without Francis, I want to drive the boat.”
Tony released her chin and their room filled with his laughter. Brushing his lips over hers, he replied, “Oh, my dear, over my dead body!”
Claire didn’t know why she’d been so hesitant. The water was beautiful, glistening and sparkling in all directions. Every trip she’d taken had been to town. Tony’s island was the opposite direction with all new sights. As they passed island after island, Claire wondered how anyone could possibly know which direction they were traveling or where they were.
Tony explained the instruments he’d only recently learned to read. They had a compass, a depth finder, and a virtual map with a grid and coordinates. They also had their cell phones and two-way radios to access help if necessary. When the islands came close together and the straight in between narrowed, Tony showed Claire how the depth finder indicated the boat’s proper position. Running into underwater rocks could be as detrimental as hitting one of the above water cliffs.
While they were still a ways away, Tony pointed toward the West. Claire followed his hand. The view took her breath away. The island he’d discovered was beautiful, the perfect south pacific deserted isle away from the numerous islands they’d just passed. It didn’t take a depth finder to tell them that the water became shallower closer to their destination. The sea lightened with rings of turquoise as it surrounded the white sandy beach. Beyond the shore were palm trees and other lush plants. As they neared the island, colorful flowers dotted the terrain. When Tony finally anchored the boat off the shore, Claire was equally as excited to see this new land.
Hand in hand, they walked on the soft sand as Tony showed Claire all he’d already discovered. She loved the sound of his voice. Never could she have imagined Anthony Rawlings so excited about something like a hidden freshwater waterfall. Under the canopy of vegetation, they ate the meal Madeline prepared and listened to the soft breeze through the palm trees. Helping Claire down to the cool shaded sand, Tony insisted she rest.
With her head and back against his chest, she drifted between her reality and a dream world. It was during one of those states where Claire realized they were the same. For a short time, they had the dream. As she lingered between wake and sleep, the sweet aroma of flowers filled her senses and she tentatively opened her eyes. Orange, yellow, and red filled her vision. The most colorful bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen was right in front of her.
“Oh, Tony! They’re beautiful!”
The lush shades of green and bright colored flowers didn’t right Claire’s world as much as the chocolate brown eyes smiling down at her.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
“I’m glad you talked me into coming here. It’s amazing.”
He helped her to her feet and they walked toward the shore. The tide had come in making the beach narrower and the boat farther away.
“How long did I sleep?”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve had so much trouble sleeping at night lately; I wanted to let you rest as long as you could.”
“If we wait then the tide will go back out.”
“And the sun will set. I don’t want to try to get us back in the dark.”
Claire smirked. “You could let me drive. I’ve had a nap.”
“My dear, you could sleep for hours, and I’m not giving up the helm.”
“So, are we swimming for it?”
Claire saw the wheels turning in Tony’s head. He was working out the possible scenarios in his mind. To her, it was simple—they were both good swimmers.
When Claire began to remove her sundress and expose her bathing suit, Tony reached for her hand, stopping her movement. “No, I’ll swim for the boat, and bring it back closer.”
If she weren’t pregnant, Claire would argue; however, she obviously was. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she lifted herself on her toes and kissed his lips. “Be careful.”
Tony promised, as he shed his shirt, kissed her one last time, and waded into the sea. Claire watched nervously as he dove under the crystal water. It was then Madeline’s words came back to her, reassuring her—darkness verses light. The sun was still bright. Scanning the panoramic scene, Claire was able to see under surface of the clear calm water. “It’s safe,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, as the familiar pounding in her temples and new tightening in her midsection screamed out their warning.
Lowering herself to the sand, Claire took deep breaths and searched the horizon for her husband. With each passing minute, his figure became smaller and smaller. It was then she realized, not only was the tide coming in, but the boat was drifting out. Could the rising tide have lifted the anchor?
The radios and their phones were on the boat. She got back to her feet. The boat was now on the edge of the turquoise circle. Beyond that ring, the waters deepened. Pacing a track in the sand, Claire spoke reassuringly to their child, “It’ll be all right. Your father’s a good swimmer. He can do this. He can save us.”
Were her words meant to comfort the little life within her or to comfort her? Claire didn’t know. She wanted to scream his name, call him back, have him beside her, but she knew he’d never hear her. She could yell until she was hoarse, but no one could hear her.
The sun sank lower, and Claire refused to move. Sometimes she’d imagine she saw the boat coming toward her, and then she’d blink and it would be gone. Her mind went all directions: Would—could she survive? Would anyone find her? Was Tony still swimming? How long had it been?
We have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon .
—Franklin D. Roosevelt
Sophia waited inside the downtown Iowa City Restaurant, shivering inside her thick wool coat. Growing up on the East Coast, she wasn’t unaccustomed to cold; however, there was something excessively bitter about the Iowa December wind. As she watched the snowflakes swirl through the air beyond the windows, she buried her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. The gray skies weren’t producing enough snow to cover the drab ground, just enough to exacerbate her spirits. Experience told her that December was only the beginning of the miserable cold. Iowa would get worse before it got better. I wish we were back in California. Even Sophia was surprised by the thought. She never would’ve imagined considering the West Coast home.
Straightening her neck, Sophia encouraged herself, if I can have those thoughts about Santa Clara, maybe one day I’ll be able to consider this home. It was more wishful thinking, but she was trying. After all, things were going very well for Derek.
He loved his new job, even with the challenges Rawlings Industries faced. Each evening, when he’d return home to their new house, Sophia saw pride in her husband’s eyes. She knew he was a hard worker, yet to be singled out by Anthony Rawlings—even under such strange circumstances—Derek considered it his noble duty to help this company stay afloat.
Timothy Benson took a personal interest in Derek. Sophia thought it was funny how Tim and Derek were so close in age, while many of the others she’d met at the Rawlings corporate headquarters were older, probably closer to Mr. Rawlings’ age. Tim was forming his personal team of consultants, men and women with fresh ideas ready to take on the challenges of a struggling fortune 500, multibillion dollar conglomerate. He wanted people willing to face cameras, the press, and boards of directors—people who when confronted, would stand firm in the belief that Rawlings Industries will survive. It was likely that very soon, the SEC, Securities Exchange Commission, would be investigating Rawlings Industries. Many times, personal wrongdoings by high ranking business people translated to professional wrongdoing. Tim was determined that Rawlings Industries would make it through such an investigation. In the process, he declared that not only would every division be transparent, but without blemish. The founder and CEO may be missing, and there may be continued allegations regarding issues in his personal life; however, the company Anthony Rawlings started from nothing—was steadfast.
Claire Nichols’ sister and brother-in-law continued to cause Rawlings Industries headaches. An entire division of the Rawlings’ legal team, whom Derek explained should be concentrating on company matters, was fully devoted to Anthony Rawlings’ personal legal issues. To date, they’d managed to stall production of Claire Nichols’ memoirs, but Derek said they probably couldn’t be delayed much longer. Apparently, it was a publication tactic from the Rawlings’ team. Traditionally, books released near the holidays don’t fare well in sales. Knowing they’d eventually lose the war, the legal division’s plan was to continue the fight until a time when the release would be theoretically less successful.
In this instance, Sophia questioned their tactics. As an artist, she knew publicity was publicity. The additional exposure the memoirs received from the suits and counter suits would likely propel the book My Life As It Didn’t Appear to number one in no time.
Thankfully, Iowa wasn’t as backwards as Sophia had feared. The Quad Cities and the universities all helped to make it more than a large corn field thousands of miles away from the nearest coast. Sophia had met many of the people in Derek’s new circles. Their wives were nice. Sophia especially liked Sue, Tim’s wife; however, with one small child and one on the way, their priorities were considerably different. Sophia and Derek discussed children and the possibility was there. Right now, he needed to concentrate on work. Sophia knew that when she had a child, she wanted to do it for the right reason—being lonely in a new state—in her opinion—wasn’t the right reason.
Deep down, Sophia knew that before she became a parent, she needed to work through some personal thoughts and feelings regarding her birth parents. Since the phone call back in California, Sophia hadn’t heard from the woman claiming to be her mother—of course, she had told her not to call. Sometimes she’d wonder about the woman. Was she still married to Sophia’s father? Was she ever married to him? If they’re not together, did she know where he was? What about siblings—did she have any?
The Rossi’s were always open about her adoption; it never bothered Sophia—until they were gone. While they were alive, they did everything to fill her life with all the love and support parents do. Perhaps, now that they’re gone, it was a void Sophia subconsciously wanted filled; however, how did she know if the woman from the phone call was capable of filling that void?
Sophia wasn’t completely without friends. She’d met an acquaintance—repeatedly—at different venues. Although admittedly, Marie was slightly eccentric, Sophia found her presence comforting. There was something familiar about the woman that Sophia couldn’t pin-point. With time, when at gallery openings or invitation only showings, Sophia found herself scanning the crowd for the older woman’s face. With so many changes, Marie seemed to be a reoccurring constant; therefore, when Marie invited Sophia to lunch at the Atlas on Iowa Ave, near the University of Iowa’s campus, Sophia gladly accepted. She decided that it was nice to have someone to talk with—someone with similar interests.
“Can you believe how cold that wind is today?” Marie’s voice pulled Sophia from her internal thoughts.
Smiling, Sophia shook her head. “No! I know we didn’t live out in California for very long, but I miss the climate out there. I liked the more constant temperature.”
Marie laughed. “Oh, my dear, this is just the beginning; wait until the snow really starts to fly.”
After settling at a table, they chatted about nothing in particular. It was nice to forget the wind outside, the move to a new state, and just talk. Marie’s gray eyes gave Sophia a sense of warmth she didn’t understand. As an artist, she often dissected people’s faces without realizing she was doing it. Sophia saw sadness and loss in Marie’s eyes; however, there was also a spark of excitement that tugged at her like a magnet. When Marie would suggest a new exhibit or a museum, the ideas seemed extraordinarily inviting. In some ways, it was like a mirror at a circus. Marie’s eyes reminded her of her own—yet they were different—complicated—multi-tasking. Sophia couldn’t put her finger on it...nevertheless, she was drawn, like a moth to a flame.
“Did you enjoy your trip out East for Thanksgiving?”
Sophia nodded. “We did. It was short, but it was nice to see my in-laws.”
“Since you visited your husband’s parents for Thanksgiving, will you be traveling to your parents for Christmas?”
Sophia looked down. “No.”
Reassuringly, Marie’s hand covered Sophia’s. “I’m sorry, did I say something upsetting?”
“It’s all right. It’s just that...my parents are no longer with us.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry. I won’t pry.”
Forcing a smile, Sophia sat straighter. “Really, it’s all right. I’ve—had wonderful parents, but t—they’ve only recently passed away, late last summer. It was a car accident.”
Marie shook her head. “I had no idea. I’m truly sorry.”
“Oh, my in-laws have been wonderful. It just takes...time.”
“Now, your husband—Derek—is that his name?”
Sophia nodded.
“Does he have siblings?”
Sophia went on to describe Derek’s family—he’s an only child—his parents were very anxious for them to add a branch or two to the family tree.
“How do you feel about that?” Marie asked.
Shrugging her shoulders, Sophia said, “We’ve been talking.”
Marie grinned. “I’m sure you know—that’s not how it happens.”
Sophia’s cheeks reddened. “Yes, I believe my mother gave me that talk, when I was quite young.”
After lunch, they walked through some of the college shops before parting for the afternoon. Later, when Sophia told Derek about her day, she wouldn’t remember the exact words of their conversation only that it flowed without effort.
With all Derek had happening with his new responsibilities, Sophia knew that he was pleased that she was getting out of the house and meeting people.
As the sun set below the horizon, and the lingering shadows cast their last shades of what might have been onto the isolated beach, a hand fell to Claire’s shoulder.
At first, she hesitated, unsure if the connection was real or imagined. When she could no longer decipher, Claire turned to see the face—the eyes—the man for whom she’d prayed.
Claire’s resolve melted with his touch. The sobs she’d been suppressing erupted as Tony pulled her up to his embrace.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you...” her words were barely audible behind the bellowing cries.
“Shhhh...” If he hadn’t been holding her, Claire wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stand. As she nestled near, his bare chest quivered with exertion. After a moment, they settled on the soft, warm sand.
“Did you ever reach the boat? Or did you finally swim back?” Claire asked, realizing the boat wasn’t in sight.
“It’s anchored around the bend.” He squeezed her tighter. “Believe me, I considered turning around, but I didn’t know which way was shorter the longer I swam; then, as I came back, I couldn’t tell which beach was which.”
“How long did you swim?”
Tony shook his head as a tired grin emerged across his lips. “A lot longer than I’d planned.”
She buried her head into his shoulder. “I kept praying and telling our baby you were safe, but...” the tears came back.
Smoothing her hair, he explained, “I contacted Francis. He knows where we are. He recommended we spend the night on the boat.”
“On the boat?” Claire questioned.
“Yes, we don’t want to be separated from it again, and there’s a small bed in the cabin under the deck.”
Claire nodded. She’d been below in the boat before—it was a calmer ride if the seas were rough.
“In the morning, when the sun comes up, I’ll get you home—I promise.”
She looked up to his tired eyes. “I don’t care where I am, as long as you’re there.” She struggled to stand. “Let’s go. You must be exhausted.”
Taking what was left of Madeline’s lunch time feast, they walked the shore around the bend. With the silver glow of moon light, Claire saw the boat only a short way out, bobbing silently in the virtually calm sea.
When they were both on board, Tony lifted the anchors and took them into slightly deeper water. “When the tide goes down, we don’t want to be marooned,” he explained.
Claire grinned. “I’m impressed. Who would have ever imagined Anthony Rawlings learning the ins and outs of marine navigation?”
Lowering the anchors once again, Tony purposely left slack in the rope. When he looked up and saw Claire’s questioning emerald eyes, he added, “See, Francis so nicely mentioned—perhaps I didn’t do that the first time.” Somewhat sheepishly, he added, “He’s right, I didn’t.”
She reached for Tony’s cheek. “I’ve said it before, and I still believe it’s true, you can teach—”
Tony interrupted, “My love, now that the adrenaline is gone, I definitely feel like that old dog. Let’s go below and get some sleep before the sun rises.”
If the cabin had been truly meant for sleeping—the designers didn’t plan for it to be shared by a 6’6” man and a pregnant woman. Regardless, Claire and Tony worked their way into the small space. The rhythmic bobbing of the boat was surprisingly comforting as Claire maneuvered herself in an effort to become comfortable. Once they were settled, Tony said, “Do you know what this reminds me of?”
“Sardines?”
She heard his laugh in the dark cabin. “No, I was thinking of our trip to Europe—the yacht on the Mediterranean.”
Her mind went back in time. It seemed like two other people in a different life. “I suppose if I pretend this four inch foam mattress is really a king sized bed and the ceiling is six feet above my head instead of two—”
Tony’s lips found hers, stopping her words. “Yes, there are a few differences.” Trailing the tips of his fingers along her shoulder and down her midsection as Claire lay on her side facing him, he continued, “Perhaps it’s the rocking of the waves, or the sweet sound of your breathing in my ear; regardless, it reminds me of then.”
“I suppose I can see a few similarities.”
“One day—one day we’ll go back, and the yacht we rent will have enough room for all of our children.”
Fighting, once again, to relieve the pressure in her lower back, Claire replied, “Children? I’m pretty sure the ultrasounds have only shown one baby.”
His voice fought the exhaustion to which his body had already surrendered. “Oh, but think how much fun it will be to create more...”
When his words turned to breathing, Claire kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Good night, Tony.”
He may have said it was her breathing that reminded him of the past, but it was his breathing that gave her hope for their future. Only hours earlier, the world turned gray—color was gone—now in the darkness of the boat’s cabin, Claire remembered the colors of the flowers Tony had picked. She saw the blue of the sunlit ocean and the greens of the plants. It didn’t matter that they weren’t in their bed or their room, all that mattered was that he was safe—she was safe—and they were together.
Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next.
—Jonas Salk
Harry conferred again with the Boston field office. Since their face-to-face meeting almost a month ago, Agent Baldwin was, again, fully assigned to the Sherman Nichols/Anthony Rawlings case; however, now it had the added dimension of Catherine Marie London Rawls. As much as Harry personally hated to admit that Rawlings’ cooperation and confessions fit perfectly into the Harry’s timeline, gaps still existed.
During his confessions, Rawlings recalled the death of his parents. He claimed an irrational commitment to his grandfather, as his reason for protecting Catherine London Rawls. His parents were gone; therefore, as a tribute to his grandfather, he did what he could do to save London from a life in prison. At the time, he believed his parents’ deaths were the result of an accident—a discussion that became heated and grew out of control. He knew at the time, there was a history of bad blood between Catherine and his parents. After his father, Samuel, had successfully voided Nathaniel and Catherine’s marriage, she’d been pushed to her limit. Rawlings tried to reach his parents first, hoping to utilize his stellar negotiation skills. He failed—not in the negotiation—in reaching his parents before Catherine.
Rawlings recounted personal knowledge of his grandfather’s mission—to make the people responsible for his incarceration and their families pay. The first person on their list was Sherman Nichols; however, by the time Rawlings had the money to fulfill Nathaniel’s vendetta, Sherman and his wife had already passed. The next person was Jordon Nichols—Sherman’s son. According to Rawlings, there was a network of connections which when utilized, and well compensated, would provide any target with an untraceable deadly accident. He didn’t know the details, didn’t have time for them, but agreed to supply the money. Rawlings and Catherine discussed the plan ad nauseam. Rawlings willingly admitted a sense of obligation to fulfill his grandfather’s agenda. As an entrepreneur and businessman, he would and could affect the lives of others; however, giving the order to take a life was significant—even for him. Rawlings claimed to have procrastinated with that order, making London wait—even though she protested.
According to his confession, Rawlings claimed there were other parts to the plan which he told Catherine needed to be confirmed before he’d authorize the Nichols’ demise. One such task was securing the scholarship for Valparaiso University. Before Rawlings finally agreed to the deal, fate stepped in—the Nichols car crashed in a true accident.
The other family that was unknowingly involved in the vendetta was that of Jonathon Burke, the securities officer who helped build the FBI case on Nathaniel. During the span of time between Nathaniel’s death and Rawlings ability to financially fulfill the vendetta, Burke also died of natural causes. The next in line was Allison Mason, Burke’s only child. Certain that fate wouldn’t be as kind as to help their cause again—Rawlings agreed to pay the money to ensure her demise—the network was utilized. Rawlings claimed that he didn’t know the details of the impending accident until after it occurred. Both, Allison and her husband perished.
These were people completely off the FBI’s radar. Upon further investigation, Harry learned the Mason’s deaths had been officially ruled accidental—a tragic fall from a trail, while hiking in the Grand Teton National Park. If Rawlings hadn’t admitted to knowledge of this incident, it would never have been found. Each year, about 150 people die in national parks. Most went under reported; some visitors slipped on wet trails or leaned too far over guard rails. Regardless of the incident, they made poor publicity for the nation’s national parks and received little attention. Up until that moment, no one suspected that the death of Jonathon Burke’s only daughter, Allison, and her husband were anything other than a true accident.
Soon, the FBI would contact their niece—their only surviving relative—and seek permission to exhume their graves. Tissue samples were needed to confirm the presence of actaea pachypoda.
The next people on Rawlings’ and London’s list were Emily and Claire Nichols. This was the next generation—children of children of children. Rawlings admitted to watching Claire off and on for years. He didn’t know why he was obsessed—but he was. Although a fatal accident had always been the plan, Rawlings found it unacceptable. He told Catherine that there were some fates worse than death and created the perfect storm of events for what he assumed would be Claire’s worse fate. It involved orchestrating circumstances in her life which would lead to Claire’s need for money—his one expendable asset. He coordinated her disappearance, with the intent to allow Claire to work-off her family’s debt while discrediting her credibility at the same time. When he was done, her arrest, humiliation, and incarceration would secure the payment of her debt and allow her to live. He didn’t foresee emotions derailing his plan.
Reading Rawlings’ account of his acquisition nauseated Harry. He couldn’t help but compare it to hearing Claire’s account—months earlier. The difference was the emotion. Claire recounted a private hell; Rawlings recited a well calculated plan.
Claire also answered FBI questions. Her accounts mirrored Rawlings; he’d confessed everything to her before the questioning. Never once did either one of them mention actaea pachypoda, or any connection to poison. Months ago, Harry petitioned for blood samples from Jordon Nichols and Simon Johnson. His requests finally came through. It took longer than he expected, which didn’t matter. Since Claire and Rawlings were playing house somewhere in the South Pacific, time wasn’t an issue. The results were irrefutable: Jordon Nichols’ retained blood sample tested positive for actaea pachypoda—Simon Johnson’s did not.
Interestingly, the transcripts of Rawlings’ admissions, which Agent Jackson shared with Harry, also contained information on Simon Johnson. He wasn’t associated with the Sherman Nichols’ case, yet Rawlings included Johnson in his list of confessions. He stated Johnson’s demise was simply a by-product of learning what was possible. Rawlings had learned it was possible to make people disappear. His first choice was by business. If that didn’t work, then there was always plan B. Rawlings utilized the network he’d discovered years ago. This time, he willingly paid the money to have Simon’s plane altered, forcing it to cease functioning in-flight. Rawlings knew Johnson was an accomplished pilot and said he wasn’t sure if Johnson would be able to maneuver out of the situation; nonetheless, he paid to have a job done.
When the case began, Harry thought verification would give him peace. He was wrong. It was just as Amber had said, Rawlings was still out there, and Simon was still dead. There was something else; Harry’s law enforcement gut wouldn’t drop his suspicions. The evidence didn’t match. The NTSB’s report indisputably claimed Simon’s plane was in top notch—inspection worthy—condition. No evidence of tampering was found during their investigation. Why would Rawlings confess to a crime he didn’t commit?
And Jordon Nichols? Harry had more questions than answers. Why would Rawlings admit to knowing about the plan, claim it was never fulfilled, yet have him poisoned?Could it be that Rawlings was trying to mislead Claire? But why plan an auto accident if poisoning were already on the agenda? Was Rawlings just that big on overkill—literally, or was there more?
The back alley attack and threat to Harry’s family also bothered Harry. Why would Rawlings want him off the case and threaten Harry’s child, if he were planning on confessing everything?
Of course there was still London. Perhaps she was the one threatening Harry. Claire said she threatened her child. Did she want him off the case? How did she even know he was on the case? All of the interaction with London alluded to her being blissfully unaware that she was under suspicion. According to Marcus Evergreen, London was only cognizant of the case against Rawlings for the possible recent abduction of Claire Nichols.
The entire country was aware of such allegations. After all, John and Emily Vandersol were still pursuing that angle to anyone who’d listen.
Claire rolled on the large bed, relishing the soft sheets against her skin. After their campout, in the cabin of the boat a few weeks ago, their bed was much more comfortable. Smiling, she reached for the man whose warmth filled her days and nights. Instead, her touch met cool satin. Lingering in her cocoon, she enjoyed the ceiling fan’s gentle breeze as it moved the humid air around the grand bedroom. When she closed her eyes, the scent of his cologne permeated her senses. Beyond her haven, she heard the sounds of morning—birds singing their morning wake-up songs and the ever present surf.
Forcing herself from the heavenly bubble, she reached for her robe and walked toward the veranda. A veil of tropical vegetation filtered the sun’s sultry penetration. Stepping around the fragrant flowers and large lush leaves, she took in the marvelous view. Even after over two months, it still took her breath away. Leaning against the folding wall, she relished the endless blue sky with wisps of white filling the space above the horizon. On most mornings, turquoise dominated. Sometimes, if the sun were just right, the waves sparkled florescent. Farther out, away from the shore and her paradise, the waters darkened. The blue became indigo, purple, or gray, often reminding her of the fog-covered mountains near Palo Alto.
Wearing a white bikini and white lace cover up, she made her way to the front lanai. As her bare feet padded across the smooth bamboo floor, Madeline’s friendly rich voice brought her to present. “Madame el, may I bring you tea?”
Claire smiled, “Yes, Madeline, thank you, but please, no food...I’m not hungry.”
“No, Madame el, you must eat. I’ll bring you muffins and fresh fruit.”
Claire shook her head—arguing would be pointless. She settled into the cushioned lounge chair, elevated her feet, turned on her iPad, and waited for the daily news to load. It wasn’t the first story to appear on her homepage, but her own picture immediately caught Claire’s attention. She clicked and read the title:
