Chapter 7: What Renata Did Next
Claire came back the next morning at half past nine.
She had slept at her friend Donna's house — a small, warm place that smelled like coffee and old books — and she had slept better than she had in months.
She came through her own front door with a key she had never once been made to feel entitled to, set her bag on the hallway table, and stood for a moment in the quiet of the house.
It felt different.
The same rooms.
The same light through the same windows.
But different.
Renata was in the kitchen.
Claire stopped in the doorway.
Renata was dressed, composed, seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and her phone face-down in front of her.
She looked up when Claire entered.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
"I expected you earlier," Renata said.
"I slept." Claire moved to the counter and switched on the kettle.
She did not ask permission.
She did not explain herself.
She simply did it.
"We need to talk," Renata said.
"Before Daniel comes back.
Before Thomas gets involved with solicitors and paperwork and — before all of that."
"All right." Claire leaned against the counter and waited.
Renata wrapped both hands around her cup.
"I want you to understand something.
I never disliked you personally."
Claire said nothing.
"I disliked what you represented.
Daniel was supposed to marry someone from within our circle.
Someone whose family we knew.
Someone I could — place." She paused.
"You came from nowhere.
No connections.
No history with us.
And Daniel was completely gone over you from the first week."
"I know," Claire said.
"It frightened me."
"I know that too."
Renata looked up.
"Then you understand why—"
"No," Claire said.
"I understand the fear.
I don't accept what you did with it." She poured her tea.
"There's a difference."
Renata's jaw tightened slightly.
"I came here this morning because I want to make an arrangement.
Before the solicitors become involved." She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and placed a folded piece of paper on the table.
"I had my own solicitor draw this up last night."
Claire did not move toward it.
"It's a proposal," Renata said.
"I will sign the commercial building over to Daniel and Thomas jointly.
I will repay the private account withdrawals from my own savings over two years.
In exchange—" she tapped the paper "—you agree not to pursue any further legal action against me personally, and you agree to a private settlement rather than a public dispute."
Claire looked at the paper on the table.
"And the house?"
"The house is yours.
I'm not contesting it."
"You can't contest it.
The title is clean."
Renata's mouth pressed thin.
"Then we agree on that point."
"What you're asking," Claire said slowly, "is for me to protect you from the consequences of what you did.
In exchange for giving back what was never yours to keep."
"I'm asking for discretion."
"You sl@pped me in front of twenty people."
Renata said nothing.
"Twice," Claire said.
"In my own house."
The kettle had finished.
The kitchen was very quiet.
"I am prepared to apologize," Renata said.
The words came out carefully, like something she had practiced.
"Formally.
In writing, if necessary."
"I don't want an apology in writing." Claire picked up her cup.
"I want you to say it now.
Here.
To my face."
Renata looked at her for a long moment.
The composure held — but only just.
Beneath it, something was working very hard.
"I am sorry," she said finally.
"For what I did last night.
And for Christmas."
Claire studied her.
"Do you mean it?"
A pause.
"I mean that it should not have happened."
"That's not the same thing."
"No," Renata admitted.
"It isn't."
Claire sat down across from her.
She looked at the proposal on the table.
She did not pick it up.
"I'm going to speak to Daniel and Thomas before I agree to anything," she said.
"This involves them as much as it involves me." She met Renata's eyes.
"And I want one more thing."
"What?"
"The name of the man you paid.
The third withdrawal.
The loan."
Renata went very still.
"Your husband's letter mentioned a name," Claire said.
"I want to know who he was and what the money was for."
Renata's cup came down on the table harder than she intended.
"That," she said, "has nothing to do with the house or the building or any of this."
"Maybe not," Claire said.
"But your husband thought it was important enough to document.
And he trusted me to make sure the right thing happened." She held Renata's gaze.
"So I'm asking."
The silence stretched long enough to become its own kind of answer.
May you like
And when Renata finally spoke, what she said was not what Claire had expected.
Not even close.
