Jack and Camille stared at this strange woman, their eyes wide in confusion and fright. .
“If you don’t call me mommy, your real mommy will be killed. She’ll be dead. You understand?”
Tears welled up in Jack and Camille’s eyes.
“No bawling either,” said Natasha. “When daddy gets back in the car, what are you going to call me?”
“Mommy,” said the twins in unison.
“Great. Now we understand each other,” said Natasha.
Declan returned with drinks and candy.
Natasha handed candy bars to the twins.
“Now what do you say?” she said giving them her sweetest smile.
“Thank you,” they whispered.
“Thank you who children?”
“Thank you mommy.”
Getting the children to call her ‘mommy’ had been a stroke of genius thought Natasha. She patted Declan’s knee.
“Okay daddy?"
Declan glanced back as the children sitting quietly in their seats. He could scarcely believe these two well-behaved cherubs were his. The boy looked like him. The girl looked like someone else he knew.
“Yeah, I think so,” he said.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Natasha slipping the car into gear.
In three hours they would arrive at the family cottage. In three hours they would be home. All Natasha’s dreams of a perfect married life with Declan and two children would finally be realized.
***
Linda Jackson was nonplussed to learn that Jack and Camille had already been picked up. Linda didn’t much care for Elizabeth Harding. She was too beautiful for one thing. Although she’d been perfectly pleasant, Linda thought Elizabeth also had an air of stuck- up reserve about her. She must’ve changed her mind about letting the twins come to the party, thought Linda. She could’ve at least phoned to let her know. Oh well, it wasn’t a big deal. Now she only had eight children to deal with instead of ten. That was fine with her.
***
Elizabeth squirted an atomizer of Cartier ‘Pasha’ on her neck and wrists. It was a divine, expensive scent. She rubbed her wrists together then ran her finger over the small tattoo that she shared with Declan. Yin and Yang. Two halves that made a whole. She would forever be one half, never completed. She supposed it was possible she might meet someone one day, but the reality was more likely to be a life spent on her own. At least she had Declan’s children. They gave her life meaning and purpose, and of course love. So much love. She wondered how they were getting on at the Jackson’s. In the meantime, she had cause to celebrate with Effie.
Just that morning Gwen Stefani had agreed to be on the cover of Rags ‘n’ Beats’ premiere issue. Next week Elizabeth would dispatch a photographer and writer to interview the star and take pictures of her clothing line. She and Effie were already tossing around ideas for a second issue to feature Nicole Kidman’s children’s clothes. Even though Nicole herself wasn’t in the music business, her husband Keith Urban was a big country music star. The couple were having a kiddy’s line made in concert with Busatti, makers of exquisite Italian linens and cloth. Elizabeth had decided she might take a trip to Italy herself to interview Giovanni Busatti, the courtly old world gentleman who still operated his worldwide family business from the medieval village of Angihiari, in Tuscany.
***
Elizabeth checked her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing a beaded one shoulder satin dress in charcoal grey. She’d pulled her hair to one side so it hung over the shoulder of her dress leaving her alabaster neck and shoulder completely exposed. The scar, where that evil woman Natasha, the one Effie dubbed ‘Na-trash-a’, had stabbed her was now barely visible. She was ready to greet guests.
The front room was already half-filled with people when Elizabeth walked in. A delicate little Asian girl accompanied Peabody, who was wearing a polka-dot suit. The girl, who reminded Elizabeth of a butterfly, turned out to be a dancer with the Canadian Ballet Company. Elizabeth had assumed Peabody was gay. Never assume, she admonished herself. She began saying ‘hellos’
.
Effie, resplendent in an emerald green silk Indian jacket, was already making the rounds chatting away in voluble tones. As soon as she saw Elizabeth, Effie grabbed her by the hand.
“This is him, our investor,” she whispered pulling Elizabeth towards a stocky man in a bespoke suit.
“Elizabeth, meet John Sweeney.”
Elizabeth found herself looking into a pair of hooded grey eyes. John Sweeny had been a handsome man. Even though his face had slid down to incorporate fleshy jowls, he retained an attractive, magnetic quality.
“Congratulations on your new magazine.I’m delighted to be a part of it.”
“We’re delighted as well,” said Elizabeth.
“A good friend of mine is in the ad biz. He’s got several important clients who’d be perfect for you. I’ll be calling him to make sure he includes Rags ‘n’ Beats in his next media buy.”
“How fabulous is that?” said Effie raising her eyebrows at Elizabeth.
“It truly is,” said Elizabeth. “We’re most grateful.”
“I’m spreading the word about you gals. It’s not who you know, but who knows you that counts.”
“You’re right Mr. Sweeney,” said Elizabeth.
“John,” he said. “Call me John.”
“Would you excuse me for a moment John?” said Elizabeth. She had glanced towards the front door and seen Joan accompanied by a very handsome man. Who on earth was he?
One of the servers helped Joan off with her coat and took it to a makeshift cloakroom. Joan looked stunning in a royal blue lace and tulle-sheathed dress with a V-necked front and back. Her face had been artfully made-up and her long, blonde hair styled into an attractive bob.
“Hello darling,” said Joan kissing Elizabeth on the cheek. She turned to the man beside her.
“Elizabeth meet Byron Sparks.”
CHAPTER FIFTY -TWO
Traffic had been heavy leaving Toronto on Friday afternoon but now Natasha and Declan were well on their way to Northern Ontario.
“My tummy hurts,” complained Jack as they turned east on Highway 118 leading to Dorset.
“Not long now honey,” said Natasha. “We’re going to be there soon.”
Jack squirmed and made whimpering noises. A few seconds later the car filled with the sour smell of vomit. In a chain reaction, Camille was also sick over the back seat.
“Christ almighty,” muttered Natasha pulling onto the shoulder. Bringing the brats might’ve been a mistake.
Declan looked at her in alarm.
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked.
“Too much candy I expect.”
She took some sheets of paper towel from the glove compartment and handed them to Declan.
“Here you go Decky. When they’re sweet they’re mine. When they’re sick they’re yours.”
Uncomplaining, Declan climbed in the back seat and cleaned up the mess, choking back his own gag reflex.
“Maybe we should stop and get something for them,” he suggested to Natasha.
“Yeah, Gravol. We’ll pick some up in Dorset,” she said.
“How much further?” asked Declan.
“Another half hour or so.”
After a stop at the Dorset general store where Declan purchased supplies, Natasha checked her rear-view mirror. Camille and Jack were looking extremely sleepy. By the time they got to the cottage, the kids would be out cold. What a stroke of brilliance to keep the little brats dozy and groggy with Gravol. She stepped on the gas.
***
Joan finished a glass of champagne. She was feeling slightly giddy, especially when she thought about what might happen after the party. Hopefully, Byron would be in her bed. She thought perhaps she should send him a clear signal first. If he wasn’t interested she’d know and not make a fool of herself. Perhaps a kiss on the back deck if no one was out there.
She looked for Byron but couldn’t se
e him. They’d spent some time talking to a friend of Effie’s who, coincidentally, had purchased one of Byron’s photographs. Byron seemed comfortable talking to everyone, particularly Elizabeth. Where was Elizabeth anyway? Joan couldn’t see her either.
Elizabeth was in the guest bathroom freshening up her lipstick. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. What a great party it was turning out to be.
Just as Elizabeth unlocked the door someone tried the handle and pushed it open, bumping into her. It was Joan’s date, Byron Sparks.
“Sorry,” he said smiling.
“That’s alright,” said Elizabeth.
“You know, ever since we were introduced I’ve been puzzling over where I’ve seen you before,” said Byron. “I just can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Elizabeth twisted the ponytail that fell over her right shoulder causing Byron’s eyes to flicker down.
“That’s it,” he said.
“What’s it?” asked Elizabeth.
“I can put my finger on it after all. Literally. It’s right there.”
Byron reached down and touched the small scar at the base of her neck.
“You’re the girl from the coffee shop. You came and sat for me.”
“Sat for you?”
“You came to my studio in the Distillery. You very generously allowed me to photograph your scar.”
“Oh my God, it’s you,” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Of course, yes. Ages ago.”
Standing in the hallway Joan couldn’t hear what was being said but she saw the intimate gesture. She saw Byron touch Elizabeth’s neck. Byron had told her he’d been a bad boy in his youth. Men don’t change, she thought,. She should have known better than entertain thoughts of having sex with him, particularly when she knew he was going to meet Elizabeth. All men seemed naturally drawn to her.
Even though Joan was only four years older than Elizabeth, she suddenly felt a decade older. Joan had been married to a much older man. Perhaps his age had rubbed off on her. She suddenly felt foolish and disappointed in herself. Byron could stay and flirt with Elizabeth as much as he wanted. She was going to pick up Jack and Camille. She gathered her coat from the cloakroom and wrapped it around herself. She could hail a taxi on the street.
By 8 p.m. the majority of guests were gathering up their things to leave. Puzzled, Byron approached Effie.
“Have you seen Joan?” he said. “I can’t find her.”
“No,” said Effie. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Byron did a quick check around the house and back deck.
“I can’t imagine where Joan’s gone,” he said to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth checked her watch. “She’s gone to pick up Jack and Camille for me.”
“But surely she would have said something. I was going to go with her but I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Anyway, thank you for a lovely party.”
“You’re most welcome,” said Elizabeth.
“Come by the gallery sometime and see your photograph,” said Byron.
“I will. Thank you.”
Byron kissed her cheek and left.
The Jacksons lived ten blocks from Effie and Elizabeth. The ride should have taken no more than ten minutes but traffic was snarled due to an accident and took twice as long.
Joan asked the cab to wait while she collected the children. Maybe she’d take them back to her house so Byron and Elizabeth could be alone. She was glad she hadn’t embarrassed herself by inveigling Byron into a kiss. The twins would provide company tonight. She’d call Elizabeth and suggest they stay over.
Joan rang the doorbell. She could hear children yelling and running around inside. A big man in a clown costume opened the door.
“Ah, not a moment too soon,” he said. He extended a meaty paw. “I’m Phil Jackson, aka Flower the Clown.”
“Joan Thomas,” said Joan, shaking his hand and stepping inside.
“This way,” said Phil leading Joan down a polished hardwood hallway and into a living room covered in balloon animals and children’s toys. The room had been upended with sofa cushions acting as a fort. Two boys wrestled on the floor. A girl in a princess costume was leaping onto the fort yelling, “I can fly.”
“Which one is yours?” said Phil. He winked at her. “Soon as they’re all gone, I’m pouring myself a stiff one.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Joan laughing. She thought Phil looked frazzled. “Is there another room where children are?” she asked. “I don’t see mine. There’s two of them, a boy and girl. Twins. Jack and Camille.”
“A few have been picked up already,” said Phil. “But they were on their own. No twins.”
Joan was taken aback. “I’m sure they’re here.”
Phil yelled for his wife. “Linda?”
Linda Jackson emerged from a kitchen wearing an apron. Her face was smudged with flour.
“Did we have any twins here?” asked Phil. “This lady Joan seems to think they were at the party.”
“Oh goodness,” said Linda. “They were supposed to come. Jack and Camille right?”
Joan nodded.
“When I arrived at school they’d been picked up. I thought it was a bit strange that Elizabeth didn’t let me know.”
The look on Joan’s face told Linda Jackson that something was seriously amiss.
“Who…who was it that picked them up, do you know?” asked Joan, her voice shaking.
“I’ve no idea. I got there on the dot of 3:30 and they’d already left,” said Linda wiping her hands on her apron.
“There must be a good explanation,” said Joan. “Thank you. I’d better go and make some calls.”
In the cab, on the way back to Elizabeth’s, Joan called Eleanor Springfield. She wanted as much information as possible before she spoke to Elizabeth. What in God’s name had happened? Someone had picked up the children, but who?
Eleanor Springfield answered on the first ring. She listened to Joan’s story and said she’d call her back immediately after speaking to the school nurse. Joan’s phone rang just as she was pulling up in front of Elizabeth’s house. Joan listened in disbelief. The nurse had been quite positive. She’d checked the identity against the photographs provided by Elizabeth. There was no doubt at all. The person who picked up the children was their father, Declan Thomas.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Jack and Camille were fast asleep in a room with bunk beds. Declan had carried them in from the car, along with groceries and suitcases containing their new clothes.
“Did you have to buy all these?” asked Declan as Natasha unpacked.
“Sure Decky,” she said. “It’s a new start for us. A new life, so why not new duds?”
He shrugged. “I guess. So we’re the only ones here?”
“Only cottage on the lake,” confirmed Natasha.
“Wow,” said Declan. “Must’ve cost your father a lot.”
“Money’s nothing to Pops,” sniffed Natasha, “he makes it in his sleep.”
“So what’s the plan? What are we going to do?’
Natasha was busy replacing an old framed photograph of the cottage with her wedding photo. She set it above the fireplace.
“What we’re going to do is live here,” she said. “You and I are going to have a wonderful life with our beautiful children.”
“Don’t they have to go to school though?”
“They’re still young. It doesn’t matter if they take some time off. But there’s a village school in Dorset,” said Natasha. “I didn’t really like that school they were in. I’ll phone and tell them we’ve pulled the kids out.”
“But what am I gonna do? I can’t hide here indefinitely.”
Natasha sidled over to Declan, grabbing his belt and pulling her towards him. She ran her hands over his back.
“You, my dear sweet husband, are just gonna love me.” She gave him a kiss. “Don’t worry Decky. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve just gotta chill and get your strength back.” On the wor
d ‘strength’, Natasha ran her hand slowly down his fly. Again she felt a stirring but it wasn’t nearly what she was hoping for. She sighed.
“I hope you don’t take too long Decky. I got my needs ya know.”
Declan looked sheepish.
“Sorry.”
If this lack of sex went on much longer Natasha would try to find Declan some Viagra. She yawned. It had been a long drive and she was still suffering the dregs of jet lag.
“I’m gonna get me a shower,” she said. “If you’re hungry, grab yourself something from the fridge.”
While Natasha showered, Declan looked around the three-bedroom cottage. It was a charming combination of rustic and modern, set on a promontory with every room overlooking the lake. Originally a single log cabin, the private getaway had been renovated over the years to include a wide living room with a stone fireplace. Two picture windows at the end of the room looked over a darkening lake. Declan could make out a dock and rowboat at the bottom of gently sloping rocks. He wandered into a narrow glassed in porch containing a small bed and a couple of rocking chairs. An assortment of fishing poles and oars were stacked in one corner. On the wall was a pair of antique snowshoes along with two pen and ink drawings of Native American Indians, their faces staring haughtily out at him.
Out of curiosity, Declan opened a toolbox containing fishing lures, weights, and line. He lifted the top compartment. This was interesting. An industrial slingshot. Declan picked it up. For some reason the feel of it was reassuring. He pulled back on the sling. It was made of good, sturdy rubber. He grabbed a handful of fishing weights and stepped outside a screen door. The air hummed with cicadas and the intermittent honking of bullfrogs. A wolf howled in the distance.
Taking a powerful flashlight from table in a corner of the porch, Declan picked his way carefully down to the dock. One thin shred of stubborn pink sky hung in the west, rapidly being consumed by darkness. A rosy full moon rose in the east.
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