V Is for Vengeance

impatience. “Good god, Gretchen. He’s not Mafia. Where did you get that idea?”
    “The equivalent,” she said. “You told me so yourself.”
    “I did no such thing. I said I did business with him once upon a time. I said he was a tough customer.”
    “You said worse than that and you know it,” she replied.
    The maître d’ seated the two men at a corner table, and Nora found Dante facing her, visible just over Channing’s shoulder. The juxtaposition was an odd one, Channing’s slim elegance in contrast to Dante’s more substantial build. Channing’s hair was white, clipped close on the sides with a short rough on top. His brows were almost invisible and his face was narrow. Dante was silver-haired and his complexion was a warmer tone. Dark brows, gray mustache, deeply dimpled cheeks. With his features lined up against Channing’s, she could see how pinched her husband looked. Maybe the strain of his secret life was taking its toll. Nora had always thought Channing was good-looking, but she wondered about that now. His face was drained of color and he looked like he’d lost weight. The waiter appeared at the table and they ordered their meal and a bottle of Kistler Chardonnay.
    She felt herself detach, a state that was becoming all too frequent with her of late. Whatever Robert’s business with Dante, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it now. Gretchen would have enlightened her, given half a chance. In their social set, gossip was a sport. There was no “fact of the matter,” only rumor and innuendo. Points were awarded for anything juicy, regardless of the truth content. This was what she knew of Dante, that he’d come to her defense. This was what she also knew, that he’d offered her a way out.
    She tuned in to Robert’s conversation with Channing and heard him propose lunch and a round of golf.
    “You have a tee time?”
    “Don’t need one on Sundays. The course won’t be crowded. We can walk on anytime we like.”
    Channing caught Nora’s eye. “Is that okay with you?”
    “Fine.”
    The talk shifted to Robert’s last round of golf. He’d played Pebble Beach the weekend before, and the two men discussed the course. Neither she nor Gretchen played golf, which meant the two men could hold forth while nothing was expected of them. The salads arrived and the topic of conversation shifted again, this time to the cruise to the Far East the Hellers were taking at the end of June. They compared notes about cruise lines, and Nora was able to keep up her end of the conversation without effort. Once she disconnected, everything was so much easier.
    Channing poured her another glass of wine. He smiled when their eyes met, but there was no emotional content. She missed the early days of their romance. Thelma was now the recipient of all that she had cherished in him. If she were honest about it, she’d acknowledge how little of herself she’d given Channing in the past few years. The disconnect wasn’t the direct result of his affair, it was habitual to her.
    The petrale sole turned out to be a mistake. White and flavorless, lying in a pool of butter. Nora picked her way through the meal, and in the lull between the entrée and dessert, she excused herself and headed for the ladies’ lounge. She went about her business, ran a comb through her hair, reapplied her lipstick. She’d felt so clever disguising her feelings from Channing, making sure he had no inkling of where she was or what she knew. But in pretending not to care, she’d actually ceased to care. Reviving her old feelings for him seemed to be out of her control.
    As she emerged from the ladies’ lounge, she saw Dante coming down the corridor. She felt a jolt—tension or apprehension, she wasn’t sure which. He wore a pale gray suit and a dark gray dress shirt with a black tie. The combination gave him the look of a gangster, which he was either unaware of or didn’t care to hide. She knew he’d timed his leaving the table to coincide with her return.
    She said, “What are you doing here?” Somehow the question seemed accusatory, which wasn’t her intent.
    “I told you I’d be here. I’m having dinner with a friend.”
    “I thought you were just making conversation.”
    “I was. You left the office, I decided I better have a look at the guy lucky enough to be married to you. I don’t think he appreciates what he has.”
    She dropped her gaze. “I have to get back.”
    “Why don’t you have a drink with me