Thunder crashed again.
Other servants were gathering around now, asking if Thad was okay. Thad repeated his belief that they should never have tried to take the portrait down, and the others nodded their heads.
“You can’t all believe in ghosts,” Liz said.
But their eyes told her otherwise.
Liz moved off toward the parlor, where Mrs. Hoffman was talking with one of the drivers and pointing over in Thad’s direction.
They’re blaming me, she thought.
They’re blaming me because I tried to take down their mistress’s portrait.
Liz turned and hurried out into the foyer. She had to get out. Maybe she’d take a drive—whether she had a valid driver’s license or not. She needed to get out of this house!
But what she saw at the front door both startled and gladdened her. The door was being opened by Rita, and in from the wind and the rain stumbled—
David!
How was that possible? David was in Amsterdam . . .
But it was him! The same dark hair, dark eyes, square jaw—his face partially hidden behind the upturned collar of a raincoat. And Rita was greeting him, “Hello, Mr. Huntington.”
“David!” Liz cried, running toward the door.
But as he turned to look at her, it became clear that the man at the door was not her husband. He looked a great deal like him, but he was not David.
“This must be Liz,” the man was saying. “And bless her heart, she thinks I’m David.”
Liz stopped short, confused and embarrassed.
The man approached her, dripping water all over the tiled floor of the foyer. “I’m so sorry to have gotten your hopes up, my dear,” he said. “But I’m Roger Huntington. David’s brother.” He smiled, the same dazzling, dimpled smile that David possessed. “And your brother-in-law.”
“Roger,” Liz said weakly.
David had told her that he had a brother . . . but he’d said he lived far away. He wasn’t involved in the family business. A bohemian sort, David had said, implying they weren’t close. There had been plans for Liz to meet his parents as soon as possible, but David had never mentioned anything about meeting his brother.
“Rita, sweetheart, will you take this drenched coat for me?” Roger asked, doffing his sodden outerwear. “I’d like to be able to greet my new sister-in-law appropriately.”
“Of course,” Rita said, helping Roger out of his raincoat.
When he was free of it, he approached Liz again. “How wonderful to meet you,” he gushed, extending his arms. “May I?”
Liz didn’t know what to say or do, so she simply nodded.
Roger threw his big arms around her and pressed her into his chest. He smelled musky—sweaty and vaguely sweet. He was harder, more muscled than David.
“David isn’t here,” Liz managed to say when Roger let her go.
“I’m aware of that. I spoke with my father last night and he told me he’d needed David to go to Europe on business. That damn company of theirs.” Roger smiled down at her, and his chocolate brown eyes, so much like David’s, seemed kind. “I’m not a big fan of the corporate sort of life that the other men in my family lead. So when I heard you were here all alone in this mausoleum, I thought I ought to come by and say hello.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I’m fine—”
Roger made a face. “How can you possibly be fine here?” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “With that old harridan Mrs. Hoffman haunting the place like a ghoul?”
Liz struggled to keep from betraying her own thoughts about the housekeeper.
“Rita,” Roger called over his shoulder, “will you have some extremely hot coffee brought in to us in the study? I want to take the chill off and get to know my new sister-in-law. And would you tell Mrs. Hoffman there’s no need to fuss over my being here?”
“She’s tending to Thad at the moment, arranging to have him driven to the ER,” Rita informed him.
“What’s happened to Thad?” Roger asked.
Rita looked over at Liz to provide the explanation.
“Oh,” Liz said, supremely uncomfortable. “He fell on the stairs. He may have broken his ankle.” She felt as if she might cry.
“Well, a big old buck like Thad will rebound just fine,” Roger said. “Give him my best.”
Rita nodded, then headed out of the foyer.
When they were alone, Roger turned his eyes back to Liz. “I shouldn’t be so presumptuous to whisk you away from your duties and call for coffee like I’m the master of the place. Forgive me. Maybe you had plans for the day . . .”
“No, no,” Liz said. “It’s fine, really.”
“Are you sure?” Roger smiled again. “You’re okay with having some coffee with me in the study and talking a bit? Getting to know one another?”
She returned the smile. “Of course.”
“Because I wouldn’t want to impose on your plans. I can come back another time when it’s more convenient. After all, you’re the mistress of Huntington House. You make the rules.”
Liz sighed wearily, trying not to fret over the irony in Roger’s words. “Let’s go into the study. Did you tell David you were stopping by?”
“He’s maddeningly difficult to get ahold of on his business trips.”
Liz certainly knew that to be true. They took seats on sofas opposite each other. Liz tried to steady her shaking hands by folding them in her lap. Roger noticed.
“Are you all right, Liz?” he asked.
“Oh, I guess seeing Thad topple down the stairs just upset me,” she replied, withholding the unspoken fear that was gnawing away at her: that it was Dominique who had pushed him.
But that was absurd. It was the crack of thunder that startled him.
I smelled gardenias, Liz reminded herself.
“I take it he’s okay, though?” Roger was asking. “You said maybe his ankle . . .”
“I hope it’s just a sprain. You see, he was doing a job I’d asked him to do . . .”
“On the staircase?”
Liz held Roger’s gaze. “Yes. I had asked him to take down the portrait that’s hanging there.”
“Dominique’s portrait,” Roger said softly.
Liz nodded.
At that moment Rita entered, carrying a tray with a pot of steaming coffee, two mugs, and some cream and sugar. She placed the tray on a table between Liz and Roger. “Will there be anything else?” Rita asked.
“Would you like something to eat, Roger?” Liz inquired.
“No, thank you, just some hot coffee to take off the chill from that storm outside.”
Rita left them alone.
They each poured themselves a cup of coffee, both of them taking it black. Roger looked up at Liz over the brim of his mug.
“I would hope Thad’s accident won’t deter you from getting that damn thing off the wall.”
Liz was struck by his words.
“I can’t believe my brother left it hanging there when he brought his new wife home to live here.” He set his mug down on the table, shaking his head. “Really. How insensitive.”
“I’m sure he would have taken it down if he’d been able to stay.”
Roger looked over at her, narrowing his eyes almost as if he were entering a conspiracy with her. “I suspect David would have taken it down soon after Dominique died. But you know who insisted they leave it hanging up there, don’t you?”
“I could probably guess.”
“If you were to guess Mrs. Hoffman, you’d be right.”
Liz wanted to speak freely, wanted to say exactly what she was thinking about this house and its chief housekeeper. Roger seemed so natural, so kind, so trustworthy—but still she had to be careful. She’d just met him, and she couldn’t say anything that might get back to Mrs. Hoffman and make things worse for her.
“Well,” Liz said, choosing her words, “I understand Dominique and Mrs. Hoffman were very close friends. I’m sure it’s been hard for her to accept that
she’s gone.”
“But she’s going to have to! I mean, Dominique took the big gulp more than a year ago.”
“Roger,” Liz said, taken aback by her brother-in-law’s callous words.
“I’m sorry if I sound disrespectful of the dead. But Dominique and I . . . weren’t always the best of friends.”
“Oh?”
He smiled. “Ancient history.” Roger reached over and reclaimed his mug for another long sip of hot brew. “I won’t bore you with all the details. We’ve moved past all that. There’s a new mistress of Huntington House, and I think I’m going to like her much better than the last.”
How much he looked liked David. It was almost uncanny—the way he moved his mouth, the little lift of his eyebrows, the dimples, the voice.
“David implied that you lived far away,” Liz said.
“Far away? If two miles down the road is far away, I guess so.” Roger laughed. “Our father divided the original family property in two when he and Mom decided to make Manhattan their base. David got the north part of the estate, I got the south.”
“I see. He never mentioned that.”
“Too busy closing some big corporate deal, I expect. David’s always working.”
Liz lifted an eyebrow in agreement.
“That was why I was so glad he took that cruise,” Roger went on. “He really needed it after Dominique’s death. I knew it would do him a world of good. And it did—he came home with you!”
Liz smiled. “I hope I can live up to your expectations of me.”
“You already have.” He returned her smile, kindly and sincerely. “You have no airs about you. That’s a refreshing change in this house.”
“So Dominique put on airs?”
“That’s an understatement. She considered herself the queen of Palm Beach society.”
“That will hardly be me.”
“Have you met Dad and Mom?”
Liz shook her head. “Not yet. David’s planning on having them visit . . . or maybe we’ll go up to New York when he gets back.”
“David’s a carbon copy of Dad. All work and no play.”
Liz smirked. “Well, I’ve seen David play a bit . . .”
Roger laughed. “Well, I hope you have!”
“He was so much fun on the ship and on our honeymoon. We partied late into the night in Rio—he was so much fun, singing songs and dancing—”
“David? Singing and dancing?”
“Yes!” The memories of her honeymoon lifted Liz’s spirits. “We went scuba-diving and rock climbing and he was always surprising me with bottles of champagne. . .”
Roger was grinning. “You’re good for him, apparently.”
“I hope so.” Her high spirits deflated. “But as soon as we got here, he had to rush off to work. I hope . . . I hope he doesn’t have to stay away much longer.”
“David is always trying to please Dad.” Roger put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the cushions of the couch. “Me, I gave up trying to do that a long time ago.”
“You didn’t follow into the family business.”
He shuddered. “Stocks and bonds and money markets and hedge funds . . . oh man, can you imagine anything more boring?”
“So what is it that you do?”
“I’m an artist.”
“Wonderful! What kind?”
“I paint. People sometimes, but usually abstract.”
“How interesting, and how very different from David.”
“Right now I’m experimenting with color. I find the color inside my subjects and bring it out. Like, for instance, you’ve got a lot of blue.”
“Blue? And here I thought my coloring was a rather mousy brown.”
“Oh, no, you’ve got a beautiful, iridescent blue inside you, with traces of violet around the edges.” Roger laughed. “Maybe you’ll let me paint your portrait. Replace the one that’s in the stairway.”
“Well, I’ll have to talk to David about that.”
“I have a gallery in town. I have a show coming up soon—not my work, but of a very exciting new artist from New York. I hope you’ll come.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
Liz liked Roger. After being so upset a few moments ago, she was suddenly feeling happy and light. For the first time since she’d come to this place, she was actually enjoying a conversation with someone. For the first time, she’d met someone she thought she might be able to call a friend.
A light tapping on the open door of the study drew her attention.
It was Mrs. Hoffman, looking at Roger with those beady eyes.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Huntington,” she said, moving her gaze over to Liz, “but I just wanted to let you know that Clarence has driven Thad to the ER. Shall I have another of the servants attempt to remove the portrait?”
“No,” Liz replied. “Let’s just leave it for now.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hoffman,” Roger said, standing.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Huntington.”
“We were just talking, my sister-in-law and I, about something to put up there in the stairwell instead. Don’t you think that I ought to paint the new Mrs. Huntington and give her the place of honor she so deserves?”
“Only if you paint her as realistically as you painted the first Mrs. Huntington,” the housekeeper replied. “I would think your current, more abstract style wouldn’t suit the house, or Mrs. Huntington, for that matter.”
Liz looked over at Roger. “You painted . . . the portrait that hangs there now?”
He smiled rather sheepishly. “Yes, I plead guilty.”
“Mrs. Huntington sat for him for several weeks,” Mrs. Hoffman told her, seeming to bask in the memory. “I think he captured her likeness brilliantly.”
“She . . . sat for you?” Liz asked.
“That’s when Dominique still liked me,” Roger replied.
“Why didn’t you mention that you had painted it earlier?” Liz asked.
He shrugged. “It was clear you wanted it down. And I agree with you. It should come down.” He shot his eyes over at Mrs. Hoffman. “I think it’s horrible of David to leave that portrait hanging when his new bride walked into the house.”
“It’s such a lovely piece,” Mrs. Hoffman said. “I believe it’s your masterpiece. Why would anyone want to remove it?” She smiled. “Mr. Huntington, will you be staying for lunch?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got to get over to the gallery and get ready for my show.”
“Very well then,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “Good day, Mr. Huntington.” She turned to Liz. “If you need me, I’ll be in the parlor.”
Liz nodded. The housekeeper turned and left them alone.
“It’s a wonder she can speak at all,” Roger said under his breath. “She’s had that face pulled and stretched and pumped so full of Botox it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack and fall off.”
Liz suppressed a smile. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Roger. You really are.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about painting the portrait. I didn’t want you to feel guilty about wanting it down.”
“It is very good. Technically that is. I can see you’re very talented.”
He smiled, then gulped down the last of his coffee. “I do need to get to the gallery,” Roger told her. “I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself.” Liz stood and followed him as he moved over to the doors. “Let’s have dinner soon,” Roger said as they headed into the corridor. “If David can’t—or won’t—come, then let’s you and I go out on our own.”
“All right,” Liz said. “It’s a date.”
They walked into the foyer and toward the front door.
“Don’t let this house get you too down,” Roger was telling her. “It can be mighty depressing. David rarely socializes. Force him to get out and do things.”
Liz nodded. “Roger,” she said. “Before you go . . .”
He lifted his eyebrows in anticipation of her request.
“Why did you
and Dominique have a falling-out? You said you were friends once . . . when you painted her portrait . . . but then something happened.” She stopped talking, thinking better of herself. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s fine, Liz. Nothing really happened between us. I think I just . . . I just became aware of the pretension Dominique lived with. The airs she put on. I got tired of it all. And Dominique resented that I could see through her.”
“Sometimes . . .” Liz paused. “Sometimes I think I can still feel her here.”
“What do you mean?”
As soon as the statement was out of her mouth, she regretted it. But she couldn’t take it back now. “I don’t know. Her fragrance . . .”
“Gardenias.”
“Yes. I smell it . . . so often . . .”
“No wonder. She used to douse herself with the stuff so much it’s probably rubbed off on the furniture and the drapes.” Roger laughed. “Dominique was anything but subtle.”
“I guess I’m just worried about not living up to her. You said she was the queen of Palm Beach society. If that’s what people here are expecting of me, that’s not what they’re going to get. They’re going to be very disappointed.”
“They’ll like you just the way you are.” Roger gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “Obviously David liked you well enough. He married you.”
“He hardly ever speaks of her. Hardly ever says her name. Says he doesn’t like talking about the past. On our honeymoon, I didn’t think much of it. He was so focused on me, I never gave his first wife a thought.” Liz shivered. “But since coming here . . .” Her voice faded away.
“Go on. Since coming here what?”
“I worry that David sees that I’m nothing like Dominique and he’s disappointed. He was very angry at me on the phone.”
“What about?”
“One of our former employees was murdered.”
Roger reacted. “A former employee? You mean—in addition to Audra?”
Liz nodded. “A young man. Not here on the grounds. He was found dead in his apartment in town. The police came by asking questions about him and I was upset about it. David was not very understanding when I spoke to him on the phone.”
Roger became angry. “My brother can be a total boor sometimes. Of course you were upset! Did the police think there was a connection with Audra’s death?”
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