The Wife Who Knew Too Much - Michele Campbell Page 0,1
were fixtures on the social scene in New York and Southampton. Mrs. Levitt was famous for her lavish parties and fashion sense, and appeared frequently in publications such as Vogue, Town and Country, and Avenue. Her ethereal beauty—she was known for her pale skin and red hair—made her a favorite subject of fashion photographers.
The Levitts’ accomplishments as developers of commercial real estate in the United States and abroad, and as collectors and donors of late-twentieth-century contemporary art, were often overshadowed by scandal. The couple were frequent subjects of tabloid stories concerning Mr. Levitt’s extramarital affairs. In the years since Mr. Levitt’s death, Mrs. Levitt was believed to have found happiness with her second husband, Connor Ford. Mr. Ford is currently an executive at Levitt Global, having enjoyed a meteoric rise within the company since his marriage to Mrs. Levitt.
Mr. Ford did not respond to repeated requests for comment in regard to this story.
Memorial Day weekend
The night Connor Ford walked back into my life, I was waitressing, just trying to make ends meet.
I was standing by the bar at the Baldwin Grill, waiting to pick up drink orders for my tables, when I happened to glance out the window. A sexy black sports car with New York plates was just pulling into the parking lot, and I remember thinking, That guy must be lost. We don’t rate the jet set, and that car screamed money. Don’t get me wrong. The Grill is right on Baldwin Lake, one of the prettiest spots in New Hampshire. This area used to be ritzy back in the day. But not anymore. We draw a rowdy crowd in the summertime, folks from Mass., New York, and Jersey who can’t afford the shore. Partiers and big drinkers. They come for the local microbrews scrawled on the chalkboard and the big-screen TV tuned to the game. But they’re not the rich and famous, no way.
As I watched, a man got out. A tall, gorgeous man. And it was him. He glanced at the restaurant with an air of purpose and started walking toward the entrance. I couldn’t believe it. My heart was pounding. I started to sweat.
Connor and I were together for just one summer, back when I was seventeen. It was a tumultuous summer for us both. We fell into each other’s arms and stayed there, clinging for dear life, until they pried us apart. To this day, nobody has ever reached me like he did. I’d been married and divorced, in and out of my share of half-assed relationships. But I’d never gotten over him.
Now, there he was, looking cool and gorgeous in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. And here I was, pushing thirty, makeup melting off my face, my clothes smelling like food, as the love of my life walked through the door ten feet from where I stood. What did I do? I panicked. I backed into a customer, knocking his half-empty beer out of his hand and onto the floor, where it rolled around and splattered people’s shoes.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Let me take care of that,” I said.
In the ensuing chaos, as I raced to get paper towels, mop up the mess, and replace the poor man’s drink, I lost track of Connor in the crowd. On this Friday before Memorial Day, the Baldwin Grill was jammed to capacity. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into some beefy, red-faced guy who was sloppy drunk. Which made me wonder—what the hell was Connor doing here, anyway? His family sold their lake house years ago, after his grandmother died. The lake had gone downhill since then, while Connor had only come up in the world. He’d married a woman who was rich and famous, and their pictures were constantly in the tabloids. Shouldn’t he be on a yacht somewhere with Nina Levitt, instead of at a second-rate sports bar, rubbing elbows with the common people?
Could he possibly be looking for me?
“Hey, Tabitha, I just sat a hot guy in your section,” the hostess called out as I passed by with my tray of drinks.
And I knew it was him.
I almost turned around and told her to give him to somebody else so he wouldn’t see me like this. Let’s face it, even if I wasn’t waitressing, I’m not what I was at seventeen. Who is? But we were fully booked tonight, and short-staffed. There was nobody to cover my table. I’d have to face him, whether I liked it or