Everything smelled so new. All the place needed was someone to move in. Amelia smiled when she sat back down at the kitchen table with her work papers in front of her. She used a purse minicalculator and worked for close to an hour. She’d spent a quarter of a million dollars renovating this house that had been her mother’s. Added to that was the original cost of the house and land: 1.6 million dollars. Before leaving England, she’d instructed her bank to pay off the mortgage company in Austin. So she was now full owner of a house worth roughly 1.85 million dollars. She’d done the work, paid for it with her own money. It was all hers.
An hour later Amelia walked out onto the back porch. It was still raining, and she shivered inside her fuzzy robe. She secured the dead bolt on the door, then turned off the lights as she made her way to the living room, where she would again sleep wrapped in the sable coat. No way was she going to disturb the newly made beds upstairs. She was sound asleep when Cary drove past the house at eleven-fifteen.
Amelia stayed in the house for four more days, waiting for what she called perfect weather. She was getting sick of deli sandwiches and pickles, but she had no other choice. When she woke on the fifth day, she could feel that it was right. She checked outside: it was airless; not a leaf in the garden moved. All she had to do now was wait. She sat on the back porch eating her sandwiches, drinking her coffee, and reading snatches from a lusty romance novel that set her teeth on edge.
At twenty minutes before noon Amelia walked into the Liberman Insurance Agency and presented her homeowner’s policy. “Cancel it and issue me a credit. I’ll wait.” The scurrying around amused her. When a Coleman canceled a policy of any kind, the whole town would know. That was all right; she didn’t care. When she left the office with the huge red CANCELED stamped across the face of the policy, she felt pleased. As of 12:01 she was uninsured.
She laughed as she got into her car. God, she felt good! To celebrate, she stopped at a steak house on the highway and ordered a T-bone, rare, a large country salad, a baked potato with butter and sour cream. Then she finished off her meal with blueberry cheesecake and coffee, left a generous tip, and returned to the house that was now hers—and uninsured.
Amelia sat on the back porch with coffee she’d heated in the microwave. It tasted awful, but she sipped at it complacently as she leafed through the romantic novel.
At seven o’clock, just as dusk was settling in, she took the gardening shears and walked across her perfect lawn to her perfect flower beds and neatly clipped exquisite perfect flowers, which she arranged in a perfectly cut crystal vase. She set them in the foyer on a cherrywood table that was a genuine, perfect antique. She returned the shears to the potting shed in the yard and resumed her seat on the back porch. The evening hadn’t gotten cooler; it was still hot and airless. Deathly still.
It was ten-thirty when Amelia left her chair on the back porch. She entered the house, closed and locked the back door. She walked through the rooms, admiring her handiwork. Her mother would have been pleased. She walked upstairs, going from room to room. Everything was perfect. She parted the draperies in the master bedroom and looked outside. She pulled the drapes in the bedroom, then did the same in the rest of the bedrooms. She didn’t turn her head for a second look. On the landing of the stairway she turned off the night-light. She walked through the downstairs, turning on the magnificent chandelier for a better look. She loved it.
She picked up her sable coat, then debated a second. People would think she was crazy, carrying around a sable coat in this weather. She folded it neatly and laid it on the back of a beautiful morris chair she’d had custom-made. The chandelier twinkled and glistened before she turned it off. The only remaining light was in the foyer.
Amelia left the front door slightly ajar when she went out to the rental car. She threw her purse into the backseat and backed the car down the driveway with only the parking lights on. She opened the trunk and removed a filled kerosene can, stuffing the car keys into the pocket of her slacks so she could use both hands to carry the can. Inside the beautiful house, she hurried up the stairs, sprinkling the kerosene as she went. Then she turned and did the same thing downstairs until the can was empty. She placed it outside the front door and went back upstairs, digging in her pockets for matches. She lit little fires that blazed into big fires. The steps were burning behind her as she rushed down to light still more fires.
The house was blazing when she closed the door for the last time. With the kerosene can in one hand, four unused matches in the other, she walked down the drive. It would be a while before anyone noticed. The fire department would come . . . maybe. She’d stand right where she was in case they did come. She’d tell them to let it burn ... to the ground.
It was almost midnight. She was free. The past was gone. Tomorrow would be a new day. Only the future remained. What she did with it would be up to her.
Amelia stood in the darkness and watched her house burn. She was officially broke now, by Coleman standards a pauper. She laughed, enjoying the feeling.
Damn, a car was coming down the road. Well, when the driver slowed and finally got out, she’d tell him the same thing. Let it burn to the ground.
Cary slowed his car and stared. Amelia’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree. When he slammed the car into park, he realized the whole damn thing was blazing, a bright red-and-yellow conflagration against the dark Texas sky. “Holy Jesus!” he groaned, about to get back into the car to go for help.
A figure emerged from the shadows. “Let it burn.”
“Amelia! Amelia, is that you?”
“Cary? Cary darling, what are you doing here?”
“I can’t believe it’s you.” The house, the fire, everything was forgotten in that one instant as Cary reached out. Amelia. How good she felt. “My God, how I missed you. I thought you were never coming back. I prayed. Amelia, I prayed.”
“Shhh. So did I. I’m free now. Look at me, Cary.”
“You’re the most beautiful creature on earth,” he said as he gazed into her loving eyes. “Look at me! I’ve lost sixteen pounds and I look like hell. Life was hell, without you.”
Amelia laughed, a young, girlish sound. “I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“In this beholder’s eyes, anyway.” Cary squeezed her tightly. He was never going to let her out of his sight again. Never. “Amelia, your house. What happened?”
“I finished it. I came back from England and finished it. I’ve never really finished anything I’ve started until tonight.” Tears glazed her eyes, but they were not tears of regret. “I was using that house just like my mother did. As an escape, a place to hide. I made myself so busy trying to regain the past that I couldn’t look ahead to the future, and I cheated myself and everyone else of the happiness of the present. I burned it down, Cary. It’s an effigy to the ghosts of the past, and I don’t need it anymore.”
“We don’t need anything, Amelia, only each other.”
Someone had alerted the Crystal City Fire Department; Amelia heard the distant whine of sirens. Quickly, she explained about the insurance and paying off the house. “Don’t let them fight it, Cary. I don’t want anyone hurt, and there’s nothing in there worth saving. Let it burn.”
Dawn broke when the last engine pulled away from the ashes of what had once been Amelia’s house. The firemen hadn’t fought the fire but had stood in readiness to keep it from spreading.
“Let’s go home,” Cary said, nuzzling Amelia’s hair. “Hey, you did something different to yourself,” he said in surprise. “I don’t know what it is, exactly, but you look great. Fatten me up, okay? My clothes don’t fit anymore.”
Amelia laughed, a joyous sound that rivaled the music of the early-morning birds.
She was finally free. Free of the past, of the ghosts that had haunted her, of fear of the future. She was Amelia Assante now. She’d be Amelia Assante until the day she died.
When the intercom in the nursery buzzed, Susan leaned over and lis
tened. “Miss Susan, Mr. de Moray is here. Will you see him?”
Susan’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes flew to the crib where Jessie was sleeping. “Did you let him in?”
“No, ma’am. He’s standing on the porch.”
“Good, let him stand there. Tell him I’ll be down in a few minutes.” She immediately called Valentine Mitchell, who chuckled when Susan explained the situation.
“Don’t panic. I’ll be right there. This saves us a lot of time and bother. Invite him in, by all means. Offer him a drink; be cordial. It’ll be the last time he ever enjoys Sunbridge’s hospitality.”
Susan’s heart refused to return to its natural beat. Her eyes were drawn again and again to the sleeping baby as she threw the infant’s laundry back into a basket. Should she call Ferris or not? She decided to deal with it herself, with Valentine’s help.
Susan opened the door and motioned for Jerome to enter. She led the way to the living room and offered him a drink. Jerome asked for a gin with a twist of lemon. With surprise, she realized she’d forgotten this was her husband’s favorite drink.
“This is as hospitable as I’ll get. Now, what do you want? Why did you come here?”
Jerome’s eyes widened. “For you, of course. Now that you’ve had the baby, maybe we can get on with our lives.”
Susan laughed hysterically. “You must be out of your mind! I haven’t heard from you in almost a year. You steal all my money, don’t call or write, and suddenly you show up and expect me to welcome you back. Didn’t you get my letters? Didn’t you get the divorce papers?”
“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Susan knew he was lying, and Jerome knew she knew; still he persisted. “I managed to get us a South American tour. The money is fabulous. Now that you have this motherhood thing out of your system, we can pick up where we left off.”
Susan hooted. “You are out of your mind! I don’t want anything to do with you. Do you realize you haven’t even asked about our daughter? By the way, her name is Jessica Margaret.”
Jerome blanched. He should have known he’d have to go through the baby to get to Susan. “I didn’t forget; it was just that the pleasure of seeing you again drove it from my mind. Of course I want to see her. Our agent said she’s crippled or something.”
“Or something,” Susan said coldly. “I noticed you mentioned a tour before Jessie, too. Well, forget it. I’m not interested. All I want is to be rid of you. Did you go through all the money you stole from me?”
“It was our money.”
“Wrong, Jerome, most of it was my money, left to me by my father. It’s all gone, right? That’s why you’re here. All I want from you is a divorce.”
Jerome changed his tactics. “Look, Susan. I need you. If you want to bring the baby, that’s okay. Get a nurse or something. We can take on the world, be really famous the way we were in Europe. You liked it—the applause and the recognition and the money. Admit it!”
“That was light-years ago. The only playing I do now is for charity to help our daughter. As a matter of fact, I’m giving a recital next week. This might surprise you, but we sold seven hundred and fifty tickets for one hundred dollars each. All of the monies will go to the spina bifida organization I’ve started here.”
Jerome’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Susan was talking about seventy-five thousand dollars! “You’re giving it away to some . . . some . . .”
“Say it, Jerome. Spina bifida. Yes, I’m giving it away. In the fall I’m giving another recital in Austin. And another thing. I want you to hear this from me and not someone else: As soon as my divorce is final, I’m remarrying.”
“Susan, please reconsider. I can’t make it without you. I want us to stay married.”
Susan’s heart was beating normally now. She looked at the man she’d been married to for so long and felt only relief that she wouldn’t ever have to see him again after today. “I have a baby now,” she said calmly. “I have to put her first. Music will always be a part of my life, but it won’t be my life. Jessie is. I’m sorry you won’t be around to enjoy her. I can’t believe you’re not interested in your own child.”
“She’s crippled,” Jerome said as if that explained everything. “But I love you,” he said, grappling for something to say.
“That’s really funny, Jerome. See how I’m laughing,” Susan said coldly.
“You’ll be sorry. I’ll never give you a divorce. I can even sue for custody of that kid. Now what do you have to say?”
“She isn’t going to say anything,” Valentine Mitchell said as she laid her briefcase on a mahogany table. “I’m Valentine Mitchell, Susan’s lawyer.’
A woman lawyer. It figured. “Well, Valentine Mitchell, Susan’s lawyer,” he said mockingly, “maybe you better tell my wife what my rights are.”
“I suppose I could do that, but why don’t I show you a few things I have in my briefcase. Maybe you’ll want to rethink what you just said.”
Jerome’s eyes narrowed. Susan was folding and pleating the folds of her dress nervously. The only sound in the room was the lock of the Gucci briefcase snapping open.
“What we have here are signed affidavits from two banks. In this hand are canceled checks and bank drafts. In this third pile here are your joint accounts, which you had every legal right to use. This fourth pile, the long papers, are the divorce agreements.”
“If you think I’m signing anything, you’re crazy,” he said contemptuously.
Valentine smiled, showing a perfect set of even white teeth. She looks like a barracuda, Jerome thought, suddenly afraid.
“I think you will,” she replied. “Now, as I said, it was all right for you to withdraw the seven thousand eight hundred sixty-five dollars in your joint checking and savings. Also the stocks and bonds in both your names. I’m not concerned with those. But the authorities take a very dim view of forgery, both in England and here in the States. And you forged your wife’s name on monies that were sent to her from her trust. You also requested some rather large advances, forged your wife’s name to the letters and then to the drafts.” She smiled at him. “You could get five to ten for that.
“Now here are the divorce papers,” she continued, “and this other legal-looking sheaf of papers is also waiting for your signature. It says, in layman’s terms, that you are giving Susan sole custody of Jessica Margaret de Moray. No alimony or child support is requested. I will give you—” Valentine looked at her watch “—exactly three minutes. At the end of those three minutes I’ll call the sheriff, who, by the way, is my granddaddy.” Valentine uncapped her silver pen and handed it to Jerome.
“You’re railroading me!”
“I suppose you could say that. It’s your choice. Prison life doesn’t agree with anyone.”
Jerome signed his name in a mean, narrow scrawl. He was seething with anger when he stared at Susan.
Valentine looked up from the papers. “What was that you just whispered? A threat? Tell me that wasn’t a threat.”
Jerome stalked to the door... then stopped and came back. Susan stared at him as he spoke, not believing a man could actually force words past tight lips and clenched teeth. “I don’t have enough money to get back to England.”
“I thought of that,” Valentine said coolly. “Check into the airport. There’s a People’s Express leaving tomorrow. I prepaid a ticket for you. Good-bye, Mr. De Moray.”
When the door closed behind him, Susan broke down and cried. “He didn’t even want to see Jessie. He called her a cripple. How could I have loved such a person?”
“Everyone’s entitled to one mistake. What did he say to you?”
“He said... he said... he made it sound like Jessie wasn’t worth loving because of her handicap. He’s the cripple, not her. She’s different, and I love that little girl more than life itself!” Susan cried vehemently.
“Then that’s all that’s important. I understand you’ll be getting married when the divorce is fina
l, I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding.”
Susan smiled. “Of course. But it won’t be right away. I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”
“Honey, Ferris Armstrong is no mistake. He’s as good a person on the inside as he looks on the outside. You snagged yourself a real hunk this time. You Coleman ladies seem to have a knack for picking winners.”
“Only after we go through hell with the losers. Thanks, Valentine.”
“My pleasure. Listen, there aren’t any more of you, are there?”
“No, I’m it. What do you think will happen to Jerome?”
“He’ll go back to England and scout around for some nice lady who is musically inclined, and then go on from there. The Jeromes of this world always keep going. I’ll get this on the court calendar, and you should be a free woman in thirty days.”
Free. What a wonderful word. Just her and Jessie. Ferris too, if she wanted him.
And she was beginning to think that she wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Maggie and Rand returned to Sunbridge over the Memorial Day weekend. They were greeted with enthusiasm and hoots of pleasure, and Maggie basked in her family’s joy at seeing her. It was Rand who announced that they would marry at the end of summer when the boys returned from Hawaii.
“We’ll have just enough time to take you guys shopping for new clothes. Do you still want to stay in New York a few days before leaving?”
“Adam said it might be a good idea,” Cole said. “The plane leaves New York on the twelfth of June.”
“Has anyone heard from Sawyer or Mam?” Maggie asked anxiously.
“Not a word,” Susan said. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
In the middle of her unpacking Maggie stopped, picked up the phone, and called Sawyer. “It’s Maggie, Sawyer. How are you?”
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