Chapter 4

I fled to Bea' s house, the taste of Arthur' s betrayal bitter in my mouth.

She found me in her study, staring blankly at a bookshelf.

"Ellie? What is it? You look like you' ve seen a ghost."

The words tumbled out, a torrent of pain and anger. Daisy, the boy, Arthur' s monstrous suggestion.

Bea listened, her usual ebullience replaced by a cold fury.

When I finished, she didn't offer platitudes.

She poured two large brandies.

"The bastard," she said, her voice tight. "The absolute, hypocritical bastard."

She handed me a glass. "Drink."

I did. The alcohol burned, but it was a welcome sensation.

Then, Bea sat opposite me, her own carefully maintained facade beginning to crumble.

"My marriage to Senator Davies," she began, her voice low, "you think it' s just a political alliance, a bit stuffy but stable?"

I nodded, confused.

"It' s a sham, Ellie. A complete, utter sham."

Her eyes, usually so bright with mischief, were filled with a weary pain.

"Alistair Davies is a philanderer of epic proportions. He has mistresses in three states. He views me as a decorative piece, a society hostess. My 'modern ideas' he finds amusing, as long as they don' t interfere with his cigars or his... appointments."

This was a Bea I had never seen. Vulnerable. Hurt.

"I went into it with such hope," she continued, a bitter laugh escaping her. "I thought, here' s a man of power, maybe I can influence things, make a real difference. I spoke of partnership, of shared goals."

She looked at me, her gaze piercing.

"He patted my head and told me not to worry my pretty little mind about such things."

The silence in the room was heavy.

Then, she leaned forward. "Ellie, when I said 'Google' the other day... you knew what I meant, didn't you?"

I met her gaze. "Yes."

"And when I talk about needing a decent spreadsheet program instead of these damn ledgers?"

"I know exactly what you mean," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

A beat of silence. Then, the floodgates opened.

"The 21st century," she breathed. "You too?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "Civil engineer."

A look of profound understanding, of relief, passed between us. The unspoken was finally spoken.

Years of shared glances, of knowing silences, coalesced into this single, earth-shattering moment of truth.

We weren't just sisters by circumstance; we were sisters in time, cast adrift together.

Bea' s eyes hardened. "Then you know what we are, Ellie. We' re not meant to be doormats for these... these relics."

She stood up, pacing again, but this time with a new fire.

"He wants you to manage his affair? To be compassionate? Screw his compassion. You fight, Ellie. You fight for your dignity. We both do."

Just then, Arthur arrived at Bea' s doorstep, a bouquet of funereal lilies in hand.

"Eleanor, my dear, I came to apologize for my clumsiness in explaining things," he began, his voice oozing false contrition.

Bea stepped in front of me, a lioness protecting her cub.

"Get out, Arthur," she said, her voice like ice.

"Beatrice, this is a private matter between my wife and me."

"Your wife?" Bea laughed, a harsh, sharp sound. "The woman you expect to clean up your messes? The woman whose intelligence you consistently underestimate? You have no idea who you're dealing with, Pendleton."

He looked from Bea to me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Bea stood her ground, fierce and unyielding.

"Leave. Now. Before I call the press and tell them about your 'business acquaintance' in the Village."

Arthur, for once, seemed at a loss for words. He backed away, the lilies crushed in his fist.