Genuine Lies

by Nora Roberts

  clinked crystal to crystal in a toast.

  “Tell you what, Kenneth,′ she said, ‘you stay out of my bed, and I’ll stay out of yours.’” He lifted his hand, palm out, fingers spread. “How could I resist?”

  “And you both kept the bargain?”

  If the question offended or surprised, he gave no sign. “Yes, we kept the bargain. I came to love her, Miss Summers, but I was never infatuated. In our own way, we forged a friendship, and sex was never involved to complicate matters. It would be dishonest to say that there weren’t moments during the decade I worked for Eve that I didn’t regret the bargain.” He cleared his throat. “And, risking immodesty, I believe there were moments she regretted it as well. But it was a bargain we kept.”

  “You would have started as Eve’s assistant about the time she married Rory Winthrop.”

  “That’s right. A pity the marriage didn’t work out. It seemed they were better friends than partners. Then there was the boy. Eve was devoted to him from the first. And though many would find the image difficult to focus, she made an excellent mother. I grew quite attached to Paul myself, watching him grow up.”

  “Did you? What was he like …” She caught herself. “I mean what were they like together?”

  But he hadn’t missed the first question, nor the look in her eyes when she’d asked it. “I take it you and Paul are acquainted.”

  “Yes, I’ve met most of the people who’ve been close to Eve.”

  When a man spent most of his life serving people, it became second nature to glean facts from gestures, tones, phrasing. “I see,” he said, and smiled. “He’s become quite a successful man. I have all of his books.” He waved a hand toward the shelves. “I remember how he used to scribble stories, read them to Eve. They delighted her. Everything about Paul delighted her, and in turn he loved her without question, without reserve. They filled a void in each other’s lives. Even when Eve divorced his father and ultimately married again, they remained close.”

  “Damien Priest.” Julia leaned forward to set her glass back on the tray. “Paul didn’t care for him.”

  “No one who cared about Eve cared for Priest,” Kenneth said simply. “Eve was convinced that Paul’s aloofness toward him stemmed from jealousy. The plain fact was that even at that age, Paul was an excellent judge of character. He had detested Delrickio on sight, and held Priest in the lowest contempt.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve always considered myself to be an excellent judge of character as well. Would you mind if we moved out to the deck above? I thought we’d have a light lunch.”

  The light lunch proved to be a small feast of succulent lobster salad, baby vegetables, and crusty bread lightly herbed, enhanced by a smooth, chilled Chardonnay. The bay spread below them, dotted with boats, sails puffed up by the breeze that smelled richly of the sea. Julia waited until they were toying with the fruit and cheese before she brought out her recorder again.

  “From what I’ve already been told, I understand that Eve’s marriage to Damien Priest ended acrimoniously. I’ve also been filled in on some of the details of her relationship with Michael Delrickio.”

  “But you would like my viewpoint?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  He was silent for a moment, looking out over the water at a bright red spinnaker. “Do you believe in evil, Miss Summers?”

  It seemed an odd question to come in the sunlight and gentle breeze. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “Delrickio is evil.” Kenneth brought his gaze back to hers. “It’s in his blood, in his heart. Murder, the destruction of hope, of will, are only a business to him. He fell in love with Eve. Even an evil man can fall in love. His passion for her consumed him, and, I’m not ashamed to admit, it frightened me at the time. You see, Eve thought she could control the situation as she had controlled so many others. This is part of her arrogance and her appeal. But one doesn’t control evil.” “What did Eve do?”

  “For too long she simply toyed with it. She married Priest, who struck a chord with her vanity and her ego. She eloped with him on impulse, partly to put a buffer between herself and Delrickio, who was becoming increasingly demanding. And dangerous. There was an incident with Paul. He had walked in on a scene where Delrickio was being physically threatening to Eve. When he attempted to intervene—hot-headedly, I should add—Delrickio’s ubiquitous bodyguards took hold of him. God knows what damage they might have done to the boy if Eve hadn’t prevented it.”

  Julia remembered the scene Paul had described to her. She stared, wide-eyed at Kenneth. “You’re telling me you were there. You saw it, saw that Paul might have been maimed, or worse. And you did nothing?”

  “Eve handled it quite well, I assure you.” He dabbed at his lips with a lemon-colored linen napkin. “I was superfluous as it happened, standing at the top of the stairs with a chrome-plated .32, safety off.” He laughed a little and topped off the wineglasses. “When I saw it wouldn’t be needed, I stayed in the shadows. Better for the boy’s manhood, wouldn’t you say?”

  She wasn’t sure what to say as she stared at the debonair gentleman whose silver hair ruffled dashingly in the breeze. “Would you have used it? The gun?”

  “Without a moment’s hesitation or regret. In any event, Eve married Priest shortly after that. Exchanging evil for blind ambition. I don’t know what happened at Wimbledon; Eve never discussed it. But Priest won the tournament and lost his wife. She cut him completely out of her life.”

  “Then you weren’t fired over Priest?”

  “Hmm. That may well have been a part of it. Eve found it difficult to adjust to the fact that she had been wrong about him and I had been right. But there was another man, one who meant a great deal more to her, who indirectly caused the severing of our professional ties.”

  “Victor Flannagan.”

  This time he didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Eve’s discussed him with you?”

  “Yes. She wants an honest book.”

  “I had no idea how far she meant to go,” he murmured. “Is Victor aware …?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah. Well then, Eve’s always had an affection for fireworks. Through two marriages, over thirty years, there’s been only one man Eve Benedict really loved. His marriage, his tug-of-war with the church, his guilt over his wife’s condition, made an open relationship with Eve impossible. Most of the time she accepted it. But other times … I remember once finding her sitting alone in the dark. She said: ‘Kenneth, whoever said half a loaf is better than none wasn’t hungry enough.’ That summed up her relationship with Victor. Sometimes Eve got hungry enough to look for sustanence elsewhere.”

  “You disagreed?”

  “With her affairs? I certainly thought she was throwing herself away, often recklessly. Victor loves her as deeply as she loves him. Perhaps that’s why they cause each other so much pain. The last time we discussed him was shortly after her divorce plans became public. Victor came to the house to see her. They argued. I could hear them shouting all the way up in my office. I was working with Nina Soloman. Eve had brought her in, asked me to train her. I remember how embarrassed Nina was, how timid. She was far from the slick, confident woman you know today. At that point Nina was just a stray, a frightened little puppy who’d already felt the boot too many times. The shouting upset her. Her hands shook.

  “After Victor stormed out, or was kicked out, Eve burst into the office. Her temper was far from over. She spewed out orders at Nina until the poor girl raced out of the room in tears. Then Eve and I had it out. I’m afraid I forgot my position long enough to tell her she’d been an idiot for marrying Priest in the first place, that she should stop trying to fill her life with sex instead of taking the love she already had. I said several other, probably unforgivable things, about her life-style, her temperament, and her lack of taste. When it was over, we both were quite calm again, but there was no going back to our former positions. I had said too much, and she had permitted me to say
too much. I chose to retire.”

  “And Nina took your place.”

  “I believe Eve softened toward her. She felt tremendous compassion for the girl because of the ghastly things she’d been through. Nina was grateful, understanding that Eve had given her a chance many wouldn’t have. All in all, it’s worked out well for everyone.”

  “She still speaks of you fondly.”

  “Eve isn’t one to bear a grudge against honest words, or honest feelings. I’m proud to say I’ve been her friend for nearly twenty-five years.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to ask. Looking back, do you regret never being her lover?”

  He smiled over the rim of his glass before he sipped. “I didn’t say I was never her lover, Miss Summers, only that I was never her lover while in her employ.”

  “Oh.” The humor in his eyes had her responding with a laugh. “I don’t suppose you’d like to expand on that.”

  “No. If Eve choses to, that’s her business. But my memories are mine.”

  Julia left feeling sleepy from the wine, relaxed from the company, and pleased with the day’s work. During the brief wait in the terminal while her plane was readied, she labeled the tape and put a fresh one in her recorder.

  A little ashamed of the weakness, she slipped two Dramamine on her tongue and washed the pills down at the water fountain. When she straightened she caught a glimpse of a man across the lobby. For a moment she thought he’d been watching her, but she told herself she was just being self-conscious as he turned a page in a magazine that apparently had his full attention.

  Still, something about him nagged at her. There was something familiar about that sun-streaked mop of hair, the glossy tan, the casual beach-boy look.

  She forgot it and him when given the signal to board.

  She settled down, strapping in and gearing up for the short flight back to L.A. She thought that Eve would be amused to hear her impressions of Kenneth over dinner that evening.

  And with any luck, she thought while the plane bumped down the runway for takeoff, this would be her last flight until the one that took her home.

  Home, she thought, clinging to the armrests as the plane took to the air. There was part of her that yearned for the solitude of her own house, the routine of it, the simple fact of it. And yet, what would it be like to go back alone? To leave love now that she’d found it. What would happen to her relationship with Paul with him on one coast and her on another? How could there be a relationship?

  The self-sufficient, independent Julia, single mother, professional woman, needed, and how she needed, someone else. Without Paul she would continue to raise Brandon, she would continue to write, she would continue to function.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to picture herself going back, picking up where she had left off, moving quietly, solitarily, through the rest of her life.

  And couldn’t.

  With a sigh she rested her head on the window glass. What the hell was she going to do? They’d discussed love, but not permanance.

  She wanted Paul, she wanted a family for Brandon, and she wanted security. And she was afraid to risk the last for the possibility of the others.

  She dozed, the wine and her own thoughts coaxing her to sleep. The first jolt awakened her, had her cursing herself for the instant streak of panic. Before she could order herself to relax, the plane veered sharply to the left. She tasted blood in her mouth from her bitten tongue, but worse, much worse, was the coppery flavor of fear.

  “Stay in your seat, Miss Summers. We’re losing pressure.”

  “Losing …” She forced back the first bubble of hysteria. The strain in the pilot’s voice was enough to tell her screaming wouldn’t help. “What does that mean?”

  “We’ve got a little problem. We’re only ten miles from the airport. Just stay calm and strapped in.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Julia managed to say, and did them both a favor by putting her head between her knees. It helped the dizziness, almost helped the panic. When she forced herself to open her eyes again, she watched a sheet of paper slide out from under the seat as the plane dipped into a dive.

  OUT, OUT, BRIEF CANDLE.

  “Oh, Jesus.” She snatched at the paper, crumbling it in her hand. “Brandon. Oh, God, Brandon.”

  She wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t. Brandon needed her. She willed the nausea back. The single overhead bin popped open, spilling out pillows and blankets. Over the prayers that spun inside her head all she could hear was the roar of the spitting engine and the pilot shouting into the radio. They were coming in, and coming in fast.

  Julia righted herself and grabbed her notebook out of her briefcase. She felt the shudder as they dropped through a thin layer of clouds. Her time was running out. She scribbled a quick note to Paul, asking him to look after Brandon, telling him how grateful she was to have found him.

  She swore richly when her hand began to shake too hard to hold the pencil. Then there was silence. It took her a moment to register it, and another longer moment to understand what it meant.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Fuel’s gone,” the pilot said between his teeth. “Engines are dead. We’ve got ourselves a good tail wind. I’m going to glide this baby right on in. They’re ready for us.”

  “Okay. What’s your name? Your first name.”

  “It’s Jack.”

  “Okay, Jack.” She took a deep breath. She’d always believed will and determination could accomplish almost anything. “I’m Julia. Let’s get this thing on the ground.”

  “Okay, Julia. Now put your head between your knees, grip your hands behind your head. And say every fucking prayer you know.”

  Julia took one long last breath. “I already am.”

  “Better guard the ball.” Paul panted as he feinted over Brandon’s shoulder. The boy grunted and pivoted away, dribbling the ball with small hands and deadly concentration.

  They were both sweating—he more than the boy. Age, he thought as he dodged Brandon’s bony elbow, was a bitch. He had the kid on height and reach. So he was holding back. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to—

  Brandon ducked under Paul’s arm and hit a lay-up dead on. Eyes narrowed, Paul rested his hands on his hips while he caught his breath.

  “Tie score!” Brandon shouted, doing a quick dance that involved a lot of scraped-knee pumping and skinny-butt wiggling. “That’s six-all, dude.”

  “Don’t get cocky. Dude.” Paul dabbed at the sweat that had dribbled through the bandanna he’d tied around his forehead. In a show of nonchalance, Brandon wore his Lakers cap jauntily backward. He grinned when Paul retrieved the ball. “If I’d put that hoop up to regulation height—” “Yeah, yeah.” Brandon’s grin widened. “Big talk.” “Smartass.”

  Immensely flattered. Brandon let out a whoop of laughter at the muttered comment. He could see the answering grin in Paul’s eyes. And he was having the time of his life. He still couldn’t believe Paul had come over to see him—him— bringing a hoop, a ball, and a challenge for a game.

  His enjoyment didn’t lessen when Paul whizzed by him and sent the ball through the net in a nearly soundless swish.

  “Lucky shot.”

  “My butt.” Paul passed the ball to Brandon. He might have picked up the hoop on impulse. He might have bolted it over the garage door thinking Brandon would enjoy the opportunity to shoot a few baskets now and again. Even the one on one had been impromptu. The thing was, he, too, was having the time of his life.

  Part of the visit that afternoon had been calculated. He loved the mother, wanted to be a part of her life—and the most important part of her life was her son. He hadn’t been completely sure how he’d feel about the possibility of instant family, of taking another man’s child into his heart and home.

  By the time the score was ten to eight, his favor, Paul had forgotten all about that. He was just enjoying.

  “All right!” Brandon waved a triumphant fist after he’d tipped another o
ne in. His Bart Simpson T-shirt was plastered to his shoulder blades. “I’m right on your tail.”

  “Then get ready to choke on my dust.”

  “In your dreams.”

  Distracted by his own chuckle, Paul lost the ball. Like a hound after a rabbit, Brandon pounced on it. He missed his first shot, wrestled for the rebound, and hit the second.

  When Paul’s dust had settled, Brandon had edged him out, twelve to ten.

  “I’m number one!” Brandon skipped over the concrete pad, arms stretched, fingers pointing to the sky.

  Eyes narrowed, hands resting on his knees, Paul watched the victory lap and sucked in hot air. “I went easy on you. You’re just a kid.”

  “Bull!” Cherishing the moment, Brandon ran a circle around him, his lightly tanned skin gleaming with sweat and bad Bart sneering.