The Ashford Affair Read Online Free PDF

because her lease had run out, but Clemmie suspected it was because she was worried about her. Granny Addie had professional care, a team of nurses who came in shifts, but Clemmie’s mother was of the “if you want it done right, do it yourself” variety.
    Mother nodded towards the bar. “Get yourself a drink and I’ll take you over to her.”
    “How stiff a drink do I need?” asked Clemmie, but her mother had already turned away, exchanging an air-kiss with one of Uncle Teddy’s offspring.
    Clemmie made for the bar.
    It was set up like all of Granny Addie’s parties, going back as far as Clemmie could remember. She presumed that the bottles had been drunk out and replaced over time—and the bartenders tended to change party to party—but otherwise it all looked exactly the same. A folding table had been placed in a corner with a white cloth over it, crowded with bottles and glasses. It was always in the same corner, a little alcove between a window facing out onto 85th Street and the door to the den. On the far side of the room, a wall of windows showcased the apartment’s glory, a view out over Central Park.
    One of the catering staff was behind the makeshift bar, briskly squeezing a wedge of lime into a tall glass filled with ice and clear liquid. Even from yards away, Clemmie smelled gin. The bartender must be mixing them strong. Good.
    There was a man waiting for his drink, his back to Clemmie. He took his drink from the bartender, slipping a few dollar bills discreetly across the cloth.
    If she hadn’t been sure who it was before, that would have clinched it. You weren’t supposed to tip at private parties, but Jon had always ignored that, wanting to make sure the waitstaff got a fair deal.
    Clemmie resisted the childish urge to flee, wishing she still had Dan’s ring as armor. Not that she needed armor. They were adults now, past that sort of thing.
    Clemmie waited until he turned, gave him a chance to see her. She nodded at him in greeting. “Hey, Jon.”
    “Hey,” said Jonathan, raising his gin and tonic. “One for you?”
    “Please.”
    She waited while he relayed the request to the bartender. Unlike the other men in the room, Jon was dressed in khakis and a blazer, rather than a suit, although he had chosen a traditional blue blazer, rather than going all professorial with tweed and patches. She remembered him here in this same room, years ago, in pretty much the same uniform, an awkward adolescent in khakis and bow tie. She would have been in patent-leather shoes, sulking over being put in a little-girl dress at twelve, the two of them trying to sneak drinks from the bar while their respective parents weren’t watching. Of all Aunt Anna’s “offspring,” Jon had been around the most, at least until he went off to Stanford for his Ph.D.
    They’d bickered incessantly as teenagers, each trying to one-up the other. Jon was three years older, an advantage he had employed mercilessly. But Clemmie was the actual daughter—well, granddaughter—of the house; she belonged to Granny Addie, Jon was there by accident. It had evened the scales.
    They hadn’t stayed in particularly good touch, but there had been vacations and odd overlaps, including that embarrassing weekend in Rome, when she had puked all over his shoes. She didn’t particularly care to remember either the state of Jon’s shoes or the random—and entirely unprecedented—events that had followed.
    They had made a deal never to talk about Rome.
    She had always thought Jon looked a bit like Val Kilmer. Val Kilmer or Harrison Ford in his early Indiana Jones days. Jon had the sun-streaked brown hair, the wiry build, the spectacles. Not her type, of course; she was more of a Kevin Costner girl, but she could see how it made Jon popular with his students, especially the female ones. The Val Kilmer resemblance was still there, but Jon looked tired. Tired and older. There was gray in his light brown hair that hadn’t been there