the Burden Of Proof (1990) by Turow Scott

Author:Turow, Scott [Scott, Turow,]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-12-19T00:40:59.843000+00:00

Weak and light-headed, he had the same sensation now. Poor Clara. Now he understood. She had bestowed her enormous gift as the groundwork of whatever plan she and Nate had laid and, only after that, had learned the nature of her new medical predicament. Perhaps it was the first Nate knew of the problem. But in the circumstance he would have had no choice but to admit his other interest--probably the young lady in the video downstairs. Infidelity among the unfaithful. Oh, yes. Stern saw it now. What a drama. It was as tragic as Madama Butterfly. Bilked.

Jilted. Diseased.

Shame and loss at every window, every door, the future an endless refraction of ugly events: a husband's wroth, a lover's departure, and the excruciating knowledge of a fortune squandered in order to buy her boyfriend the freedom he intended to spend in other pursuits. What humiliationS: L'fice a heroine of myth, Clara had lost everything through pride and desire. Sitting now on Fiona's expensive bedspread, Stern placed one hand over his heart; it felt rough and sore, pumping away within his chest.

He would have to call Cal. At once. What a story this would be to tell. Lawyer Hopkinson would drill another hole in his head. Stern wanted the papers drawn now. With the check, Nate was in a tricky position. His plan from the start must have been to hold it in order to hide the funds from Fiona and her divorce lawyer. But now, with Clara's death, with bankers and executors, with probate, he would have to move, fearing that someone might soon learn of the transaction and attempt to see it undone. The day Nate found the nerve to present his check, Stern would sue.

There would be smoke and fragments everywhere. He would grind Nate Cawley like a seed beneath a stone.

In this burst of vicious impulse, Stern was smitten suddenly, overpoweringly, with the sensation of how preposterous this was. None of this had occurred. He thought that clearly. Any second, groping for the switch, he would find the light and see where he really was. But, when he turned about, the collie was tm!y there, still watching, and the house he had lived in for twenty years was out the window, viewed at this angle from which he had never seen it before. His lip was beginning to thicken and welt from the impact of one of Fiona's rings.

He found his way down, closed the dog in the kitchen, and then, feeling that something he could never recall was utterly lost, let himself out the door.

For him, the most evocative memories of their courtship were of the times he sat in the parlor of the Mittler home while Clara played the piano. Her soft reddish hair followed just behind the occasional downward movements of her head; her eyes were fast upon the keyboard, or closed, as she turned herself over to the music. Her high intelligence sang through the instrument. The first time she performed for him, he had no idea what to say.

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