The Chase: A Novel Read Free

made some crack about earning a living. Claire seized upon the odd statement the way a terrier might a bone.
    David had a six-figure income. Claire’s income was much lower, obviously—she made nothing working for her charities, and the Humane Society paid little. Still, they were in the highest tax bracket. They had savings and investments, much of which had come from a small trust fund she had come into at the age of twenty-five. Now Claire caught his gaze again. “Are we having money problems, David?” This was a much easier subject, she thought with relief.
    His expression was impossible to read. “Things could be better.”
    She felt her eyes widen. “What does that mean? We have savings, investments, our incomes—”
    “I’ve made some bad investments. We’ve taken a fucking hit. And I do not want to discuss our finances now,” he said flatly.
    Claire was stunned, but she knew that monetary problems could be fixed. Clearly, though, this was not the time to raise the subject, an hour before their first guests would arrive. She mustered a smile. “I’m sorry.” She touched his cheek. “I want you to have a good time tonight, David. It’s your birthday. I want you to be happy and worry-free.”
    He didn’t hesitate. “I am happy. I’m just very pressured right now.”
    Claire was the one to hesitate. “Are—you sure?”
    He paused before saying, “Yeah, I’m sure,” and avoided her gaze.
    She knew he was lying to her. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked with sympathy.
    He turned away. “It’s just the usual business crap.”
    She didn’t believe him. She said to his back, “David, no matter what is happening with us, we do have a history and I am your wife. I am here for you. You know that.” She meant every word. At the very least, she owed him her loyalty.
    He slowly turned back. “Actually, Claire, I have screwed up. Royally.” There was fear in his eyes.
    Claire felt an answering fear. She had never seen him this way. She remained outwardly calm. “What happened?”
    He hesitated. “I can’t tell you. But I may be in trouble,” he said, as he turned away again. “Big trouble.”
    Claire stared after him. What in God’s name did “big trouble” mean?
    The first guests were just arriving, and everything was as it should be. The decorations were fabulous—a combination of peach-hued rose petals strewn everywhere, even on the furniture, and hundreds of natural-colored candles in various shapes and sizes and clusters on every conceivable surface, all burning softly and giving the entire house a warm, ethereal glow. The bar had been set up in the closest corner of the living area to the entryway, with the flower petals strewn artfully over the table, amid the bottles and glasses, and over the floor. A tuxedoed waiter stood at the door with a tray of champagne flutes; another waiter stood beside him to take wraps. The deejay had set up in the back of the living room, and soulful jazz softly filtered through the house.
    Claire began greeting guests. Her home quickly filled with some of San Francisco’s most renowned and wealthy residents; there was also a scattering of Los Angeles media moguls and New York businessmen, mostly high-finance types. Claire knew almost everybody, through either David’s business or her charities. Her real friends she could count on one hand, but she socialized frequently, and she genuinely liked many of the people she dealt with.
    Claire saw her father enter the house. A mental image of the Courbet hanging on her bedroom wall flashed through her mind.
    Jean-Léon Ducasse was a tall Frenchman with a thick head of gray-white hair. He had fought in the Resistance during World War II, and although he had immigrated to the States in 1948, he still did not consider himself an American. Everything about him was very Old World. He smiled as he came to Claire and kissed her cheek. “You look wonderful,” he said. He had