Kate’s forehead creased with pain, but Trey had a feeling the pain was less physical and more emotional. “She is eighty-six years old, Trey. Maybe her mind is starting to slip a bit.”
“Yeah, but all that stuff about secrets and lies? What could she possibly be talking about?”
Kate took another sip of her tea and when she placed the cup back on the saucer she released a deep sigh. “Trey, I know how fond you were of my father, but to be honest, he wasn’t a very good husband and he definitely wasn’t the greatest of fathers.”
“What do you mean?” Trey couldn’t imagine the man who had mentored him as being anything but a wonderful man. Walt had shown Trey infinite patience, had spent hours talking to him, leading him in learning the family business and encouraging Trey’s natural competiveness and ambition.
“You probably don’t know that my mother miscarried three sons before she finally had me. My father never let her forget that she had been unable to give him what he wanted most—a son. He was verbally abusive both to my mother and to me. The one thing that seemed to transform him was your birth. He saw you as the son he’d never had. I imagine some details of my mother’s tumultuous relationship with my father are coming to play in her mind.”
Trey studied his mother, thinking about what she’d just said. Was it possible that Eunice’s breakdown had merely been her replaying portions of her own past in her mind? She’d told him she remembered the days of old but had trouble remembering what had happened the day before.
“And you’re sure there’s nothing more to it?” he asked.
Kate averted her gaze from his and rubbed her forehead once again, as if attempting to ease a much bigger headache than she’d professed to have suffered earlier. “I’m sure I don’t want to talk about it anymore. My mother is old and who knows what goes on in her mind anymore.”
“Then I’ll leave you to drink your tea in peace and quiet,” he replied. He got up from his chair and left her room.
If he’d been troubled before about how his grandmother had reacted to the news that he was running for senator and his mother might be seeking the presidency, the conversation with his mother certainly hadn’t eased his concerns.
Was Eunice really suffering from the onset of dementia or working through issues she’d had with her husband? Or were there secrets and lies someplace in the family history that might be dangerous to both his own and his mother’s political future?
Chapter 5
The ring of the phone awakened Debra. She jerked up, scattering envelopes not just across the kitchen table but also to the floor.
A quick glance at the kitchen clock let her know it was after eleven. The phone rang again and she jumped up from the table and frowned as she saw that the caller ID indicated a private number.
She grabbed the cordless phone from its base. “Hello?”
Nobody spoke, but Debra was certain somebody was on the line. “Hello?” she repeated. “Are you there?”
Silence, although the line remained open and the faint sound of somebody breathing sent a chill up her spine. “Is this some sort of juvenile prank phone call?” Debra asked and was rewarded by a click.
She hung up the phone, unsettled by the call but grateful that the ring had awakened her. She still had envelopes to finish up addressing and apparently had accidentally fallen asleep in the middle of the process.
The hot cocoa she’d fixed earlier was now cold in the pot. She poured herself a cup and set it in the microwave to warm and then returned to the kitchen table where she’d been working.
As she sat back down at the table she remembered the dream she’d been having while she slept. It was more than a dream, it had been a memory of a conversation she’d had with her mother when Debra had been about ten years old.
Debra had wanted to know why she didn’t have a daddy who lived with them. Why she was never, ever allowed to talk to her father or see him.
Debra’s mother, Glenda, had tried to explain to Debra that her father was an important man and that he had another family he lived with and Debra would be a bad girl if she ever tried to contact her father because she would destroy his life.
As she grew older Debra had recognized that the truth of the matter was that her mother had been far more enchanted with the generous support checks that came every month than she had probably ever been with the wealthy married man she’d slept with that had resulted in Debra.
The support checks had allowed Glenda to not have to work, to continue to have a party-girl lifestyle that had ultimately killed her in a drunk driving accident the summer after Debra had graduated from college. Those support checks had stolen Debra’s childhood as she’d tried to take care of a mother who was drunk most of the time.
The dream had created ancient memories of rejection, the wistful hopes of a little girl who had just wanted her daddy to want her back. The pang of wistfulness the dream had evoked still lingered in the depths of her heart.
And she was about to place a child of her own in the very same position.
No, it won’t be the same at all, she told herself as she dropped down to her knees to retrieve the envelopes that had fallen to the floor when she’d jumped up to answer the phone.
She gathered the envelopes and then sat back down at the table and took a drink of her cocoa. Glenda hadn’t been much of a mother, preferring her booze and men to spending much time with her lonely daughter.
Debra would be better than that. She would make sure her child knew the depth of her love. She’d love her son or daughter so madly, so deeply, that he or she wouldn’t feel the absence of a father figure.
Besides, there was a chance that eventually Debra would meet a man and marry and then the baby would have a stepfather. She could still create a family unit.
The phone rang again. Debra frowned and once again got up from the table. And again the caller ID displayed a private number. “Hello,” she snapped into the receiver.
Silence. Just like the call before.
“Stop calling, you jerk,” Debra said and slammed down the phone. She unplugged it from the wall. If anyone important needed to get ahold of her, they’d use her cell phone. Her landline seldom rang and usually it was only sales calls. Anyone who knew her always called her on her cell.
Once again she sat at the table and rubbed her eyes wearily and then took another drink of her cocoa. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She needed to get the last of the invitations stuffed and addressed before morning.
She knew that most people in Kate and Trey’s positions hired professional calligraphers to do the hand writing, but early in her employment with Kate, Debra had taken classes so that she could develop the skills so that nobody would have to be hired. It was just one effort a young new employee had done to try to make herself as indispensable as possible.
It was well after midnight when she finally finished. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
The townhouse had a guest bedroom and bath and a master suite upstairs with its own large bathroom. Debra stumbled into the bathroom and quickly shucked her clothes.
It had been a ridiculously long day. After her meeting with Trey she’d contacted the printers who were standing by to get the invitations done. They’d been delivered to her at the estate right before she’d left to go home for the day.
She’d also made a doctor’s appointment for the next day, deciding to get that off her mind instead of putting it off.
Too tired to think about a shower or bath, she pulled on her nightgown and headed for her king-size bed.
The last thing she did before tumbling into bed was unplug the cordless beside her, not wanting her sleep disrupted by any further obvious prank phone calls.
Despite the late night her alarm went off at six and although her desire was to linger b
eneath the sheets and the navy-and-peach-colored spread, she got up without hitting the snooze button.
After a long hot shower and getting dressed, she plodded down the stairs, feeling almost as exhausted as she’d been when she’d finally gone to bed.
She plugged her phone back in, rechecked the caller ID and was surprised to see that the blocked calls she’d received the night before didn’t show up there. Neither did any other calls show up in the history.
Odd, she thought as she leaned against the counter and waited for her teakettle of water to boil. Maybe her machine was on its way to answering machine heaven. It was certainly old enough to die a natural death.
She’d decided to skip the coffee this morning, knowing that she should have as little caffeine as possible in her condition, and instead stick to a nice hot cup of tea and maybe a couple of crackers. Although she didn’t feel nauseous yet, she remembered the uneasy roll of her stomach the day before when she’d thought about food first thing in the morning.
The neatly addressed invitations were ready to go in a large tote bag on the table. They would be picked up by a special mail carrier at ten that morning from Debra’s office.
She went to the cabinet that held her favorite mug, a pink Support the Cause mug that was her go-to vessel for either hot tea or cocoa.
The mug wasn’t in its usual place. She frowned at the conspicuous empty spot in the cabinet. Where was her mug? She felt a déjà vu from the morning before when she’d had the frantic hunt for Trey’s guest list.
Although she hadn’t used the mug for a couple of days, she walked over to the dishwasher that was full of clean dishes and checked for it there. There was no sign of it.
As the teakettle whistled, she moved it off the burner and then grabbed a teabag and another mug to make her tea.
Still, the mystery of the missing mug bothered her. On impulse before sitting down, she walked over to the refrigerator and checked the freezer, grateful that she didn’t see the familiar pink cup nestled uncomfortably next to the frozen pizza.
She sat at the table and drank the hot tea and nibbled on a couple of saltines, wondering if she was slowly losing her mind. First the list yesterday and now the mug today. Maybe she hadn’t even really gotten those phone calls last night. Maybe she’d only imagined them and that’s why they didn’t register on the telephone caller identification.
Despite the fact that it was Saturday, she had a doctor’s appointment that afternoon at two. Maybe she’d ask her doctor if pregnancy could make a woman go stark raving mad.
She left her house by seven, deciding to go in a little early since her plans were to leave early for her appointment. She still felt tired. Thankfully tomorrow was Sunday and if she felt like it she could sleep until noon.
When she’d initially taken the job with Kate, she’d known it was a six-day-a-week job, that the hours were often unpredictable and could include evenings, but she hadn’t cared. As far as she was concerned, working for Kate wasn’t just a job, it was her passion.
As she pulled up to the side entrance of the gate she was relieved to see Secret Service Agent Jeff Benton on duty. He waved her on through with a cheerful smile.
At least this morning she didn’t have to start her day with another creepy encounter with Jerry Cahill. She got out of her car and noticed that several of the agents stood in front of the carriage house. Even from the distance she recognized Robert D’Angelis, Daniel Henderson and Jerry Cahill. She figured it was a morning meeting of assignments and knew that on most Saturdays the senior Secret Service man, Robert, gave Kate a security update.
Myra was pulling a tray of golden biscuits out of the oven as Debra came into the house. “Mmm, those look yummy,” she said as she greeted the cook.
“Ms. Cecily is joining Ms. Kate for brunch this morning,” Myra explained.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Debra was surprised by the tiny flair of jealousy that winged through her. Of course Cecily and Kate would be growing close, fostering the beginning of a relationship that would probably be a lifelong one. By the time the election happened, Cecily would be Kate’s daughter-in-law. Trey was smart enough to know that being married would make him a more enticing candidate.
“I’ve got biscuits done and I’m about to make that cheesy egg casserole that Ms. Kate loves. I’ve also prepared little fruit cups.”
“Sounds delicious, I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”
“Would you like a little plate of your own?” Myra asked.
“Thanks for the offer, but no, thank you. I already had some breakfast this morning,” Debra replied.
As Myra busied herself cracking eggs into a large bowl, Debra carried her purse and the large tote of envelopes to her office. Once there she took off her coat and then sat at her desk, fighting against the unexpected jealousy that had momentarily filled her as she thought of Cecily McKenna.
She had no right to feel jealous. She had no right to wish things could be different, because it was just a waste of energy.
Instead of examining the unusual emotion, she shoved it aside and turned her computer on, knowing that she needed to get all her work done early this morning in order to head out around one for the doctor’s appointment. She was lucky that her doctor saw patients on Saturday.
What she needed to get together for the morning were table dressings that were available for the dinner party that would now take place in just a little under two weeks’ time. She wanted to have a list of tablecloth colors and dinnerware options for Trey on Monday. They also needed to discuss how the head table would be dressed and what kind of centerpieces he wanted for each of the tables.
Details, details. A successful event was always in the minutia of the details and Debra wanted this particular dinner party to be perfect, not just because she was in charge of it, but because it was for Trey.
The special mail courier arrived and Debra was grateful to hand him the tote of invitations, knowing that they would go out today and probably be received by invited guests by Monday or Tuesday at the latest. The RSVPs were due the following week. Debra was expecting very few regrets.
She and Stacy had exchanged half a dozen emails when a knock fell on her door and Cecily poked her head in. Cecily McKenna was a beautiful woman. Her hair was raven-black, cut short and chic, and her eyes were doe-brown. Her features were classically elegant, and when she smiled it gave her face a warmth that was instantly inviting.
“Hi, Debra. I just wanted to stop in before meeting with Kate and let you know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing to help Trey.”
“No problem, we’re all working toward a common goal,” Debra replied, hoping her smile hid her unease at the unusual visit.
“I wanted to give you my personal thank-you,” Cecily replied. “This isn’t just important to the family and staff and me, but I think it’s important for all of the people of North Carolina. Trey is the right man for this job and the dinner party is the first step in assuring that he’s considered a legitimate contender.”
Cecily released a tinkling burst of laughter. “Listen to me babbling on. You know that about Trey already.”
“He’s definitely got my vote,” Debra replied. As she saw the stylish black slacks, gold blouse and tasteful necklace and earrings that Cecily wore Debra felt downright dowdy with her hair in a messy knot at the back of her head and the olive-green skirt and blouse she’d bought two seasons before off a clearance rack.
At that moment Kate called to Cecily. “Oh, gotta go. It was nice seeing you again, Debra. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the future.” With another one of her warm smiles, Cecily stepped back and closed Debra’s door.
Debra released a deep sigh. Everything would be so much easier for her if she hated Cecily, if Cecily was snarky and egotistical instead of nice. Things would be so much easier if Debra truly beli
eved that the beautiful woman was all wrong for Trey.
But Debra knew Cecily was the right woman to be at Trey’s side. She was bright and articulate, she came from a stable wealthy family and had influential friends and she appeared to genuinely love people, just like Trey.
Yes, they would make a perfect power couple. It would only be so much easier if in the past three minutes Debra hadn’t realized that she wasn’t just crushing on Trey Winston...but that she was in love with him.
* * *
Trey got a phone call from Debra at noon. “We need to get together on Monday to finalize the rest of the details for the dinner party,” she said. “Is that doable for you?”
“Actually, Monday isn’t good for me,” he replied. “I’m going to be tied up in meetings all day long. What about tomorrow? What’s on your Sunday menu?”
He knew he’d surprised her by the long silence that followed the question. Hell, he’d surprised himself with the question. What was he thinking?
“Actually I was going to try a recipe for bourbon barbecue pork chops,” she said tentatively.
“Sounds delicious. Could I maybe wrangle an invite from you and we could talk about the business end of things over dinner?” Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what in the hell he was doing. It was obvious he wasn’t thinking rationally at all.
He already had dinner plans with Cecily for this evening, there was no reason for him to eat dinner with Debra tomorrow night to discuss work issues. And yet he didn’t take back his words. He was surprised to realize he didn’t want to.
“Around six?” she asked hesitantly.
“Works for me,” he agreed.
When he hung up his phone he didn’t want to consider what he looked forward to more: an elegant fine dining experience with the beautiful Cecily or a smoky bourbon barbeque dinner with his mother’s personal secretary/assistant?
HER SECRET, HIS DUTY Page 7