Serendipity

by Fern Michaels

  “What could you have done? Nothing. I don’t want or need pity. I have friends for the first time in my life, a kind, caring staff: I even have a cat.”

  “But no family,” Jory said sadly. “Do Ross and Jasper know?”

  “Of course not. They wouldn’t care.”

  “Justine, you don’t know that.”

  “I know that for a fact. When you get to the end of your life, Marjory, you look at things a bit differently. I was not legally married to Jasper. Oh, we went through a ceremony the same way you and Ross did, in front of a magistrate. Justine Connors married Jasper Landers and Justine Connors signed the marriage certificate. But there is no Justine Connors Landers. Not legally. My real name is Ethel Pullet. My birth certificate and passport say so. I consulted three different attorneys, and they all told me the same thing. There was no need to file for divorce, because legally I was never married. That sort of makes Ross illegitimate, and he would not like to know that. Jasper would take all kinds of hissy fits. No, they wouldn’t care. I’m in my acceptance mode, as I call it.”

  “I can’t accept that,” Jory said stubbornly.

  “Which part?” Justine said testily.

  “The whole thing. If they knew you were ill, they’d come here. I’m certain of it.”

  “Not ill, dying, Marjory. Do you think I want them to see me looking like this? It bothers me that you’re seeing me, but you and I became friends. We are, aren’t we?” she asked.

  “Of course we are. I’m here, that should prove something to you.”

  “I guess I wanted to hear you say it out loud. You are my only tie to the past. As much as we dying people say we don’t care about things past, we do. We all lie. I need a bit of rest now. You talk to me, tell me all about Ross and his father, but first pour me a double shot of whiskey. No ice.”

  “Are you allowed to have it?”

  “No, but don’t let that stop you from pouring it.”

  Jory worked a smile onto her face. She poured generously, adding the same amount of whiskey to her own glass. She grinned. “I see us getting tanked here, Justine.”

  “When I can manage it, I usually have three of these. Knocks me right out. Now talk. Wait, do you have any cigarettes?”

  Jory opened her purse. “You aren’t allowed to have these either, are you?”

  “No, but don’t let that stop you from lighting it for me. Give me the whole pack and the ashtray.” Jory shook her head, but handed over the cigarettes and ashtray. “Now, start,” Justine ordered.

  Jory threw her hands in the air. “There’s not that much to tell, Justine. Ross and Woo have three offices now, in Brewster, Paoli, and Germantown. Jasper still works for them. I sent you the article that was in the paper extolling their virtues and low rates. Jasper moved to Paoli. He sold your house in Society Hill, and Ross sold his. I really don’t know where they live now.”

  Justine puffed at the cigarette, coughed, then sputtered as she gulped at her whiskey. “How did he take your dust-off?”

  “Well, he wrote me one letter, and I sent it back unopened. For a long time I thought I loved him. I wanted . . . I guess what I was trying to do was recapture the past, trying to see if I could turn the clock back and make things work the right way. It was foolish on my part. I cared for him. I have this friend who is a psychiatrist, whom I talk to and have coffee with when things trouble me. He helped me see that even though I said I didn’t blame Ross for my inability to have children, I was blaming him. What it boiled down to, Justine, was, I was a green, inexperienced kid who knew diddly about sex and things like protection. Ross, a young man of twenty-five, should have known to use a condom. I had no prenatal care. When Ross came back into my life, I took everything he offered and was punishing him. Not marrying him, not giving in, was my way of digging in the knife. Payback time, Justine. You should understand that it’s not nice, but I did it. I probably would have buckled if I didn’t have my revenge. I know that’s wrong, I knew it all along, but it was something I had to do for me. It was wrong of him too, Justine. I can’t have children. I wanted children so bad. A woman isn’t a woman unless she has a child. Seymour says that isn’t true, but it’s true for me. I’m not whole. I want to be whole. I need to be whole and I can’t be. Not ever.

  “Ross said he’d marry me anyway. The key word here is anyway. I got that secondhand from Pete. I believe in my heart that Ross knew Woo and I had . . . something. He picked just the right moment to tell Woo he was going to marry me. Pete was vulnerable, grateful to Ross for all he’d done for him. It was the first day Pete returned to work. In fact he stood me up to have dinner with Ross. Ross didn’t care about his and Pete’s friendship, but Pete cared. He didn’t tell Ross about us, and chose Ross over me. I could have loved Pete, Justine. For a long time I told myself he broke my heart. I threw myself into the magazine and worked twenty hours a day just so I wouldn’t have time to think about either Ross or Pete. I’ll say one thing, though, Justine, Pete was great in the sack.”

  Justine whooped with delight. “Tell me!”

  Jory told her. Both women giggled like schoolgirls.

  Justine held out her glass. Jory filled it. They fired up cigarettes. “Tell me about Griffin Ballon,” Jory said.

  “Ah. Now, there’s a man.” Justine sighed. “He’s an international banker who just happens to be an attorney. He’s thirty-seven and a widower with three children. His wife died five years ago giving birth to his youngest son. He’s been handling my affairs, and we became good friends. He’s sinfully rich and sinfully handsome. He travels all over the world. He was supposed to be here for your arrival, but he was called to Hong Kong three days ago. We always spend the holidays together. The children think of me as their grandmother. He’s going to try and make it back before you leave. He’s taken the children with him. I’m going to miss them this year. But you’re here so it won’t be too lonely.” She crooked her finger for Jory to lean closer. “This man is your destiny, Marjory. I feel it here,” Justine said, thumping her fragile chest.

  Jory flushed. “We don’t even know one another, Justine.”

  “I’ve told him every single thing I know about you. I’ve shared your letters with him. He knows about Ross and Pete. Everything, Marjory. I didn’t spare myself either when I was telling tales. He’s warm, compassionate, and understanding. He’s a wonderful father, and I would imagine he was a wonderful husband. He loved his wife dearly. He wasn’t born to wealth, he’s earned what he has. He reads Serendipity from cover to cover. I caught him staring at your picture, the one inside where it says you’re the publisher. He said, after thirty or so minutes of careful study, that your face was full of character, vulnerability, and life. Then he said, and this is a direct quote: ‘I think this young woman is someone I want to meet and get to know.’ Well, I jumped right on that statement and proceeded to tell him all about you. Every time he calls or comes out here, he asks for the latest information on you. He’s already in love with you, even if he doesn’t know it.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a picture of him around, do you?”

  “They’re all over the place. I wanted to make sure you saw them,” Justine said. “The best one is on the mantel, with his children.”

  Jory carried the framed photograph back to the chair she’d been sitting in. “Oooh, he’s handsome. You weren’t kidding, Justine. The children are beautiful. My destiny, eh? You’re sure of that, Justine?”

  “Just as sure as I know I’m going to die. I said that deliberately, Marjory, to make you believe me. By the time you leave here I think you’re going to feel the same way he does. He travels to America every six weeks or so. Sometimes he leaves the little one with me. The two oldest are in school and have a nanny. Now, I think it’s time you went into my drawing room to see my Christmas tree. I want your opinion on it. I’m sure it’s all lit up. Run along, through the double doors and down the corridor to the first door on the left. I expect you to be effusive in your compliments.”

&nbs
p; Jory opened the door of the drawing room and gaped at the most magnificent Christmas tree she’d ever seen in her life. It was so fragrant she swayed dizzily. She tried to take it in all at once as something about the room teased at her memory. She walked around the room staring at the fireplace, at the comfortable chairs and sofa. The lighting seemed to be the same, the desk in the same place, the wicker basket holding the logs. It was her living room in Chestnut Hill.

  Piles and piles of presents were everywhere, on the tables, on the mantel, in the corners and along the walls. The space under the tree was piled high, right up to the branches. She walked over to the tree to examine the fine ornaments she knew must have cost a fortune. She saw it then, right in front of the tree and hanging on a piece of green yarn. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the sound she thought might carry out to Justine in the parlor. Ross’s wreath, the one he’d made that year so long ago. She carefully untied the string and carried it back to the parlor. She dangled it in front of Justine. “Where did you get this?”

  “Where do you think? I had Clarence go to your house and steal it. He didn’t want to do it, but he did because he knew it was important to me.”

  “Shouldn’t I be saying, too much, too little, too late?” Jory cried, blinking away her tears.

  “Probably.”

  “You’re a phony, a fake, Justine,” Jory said, wiping at her tears.

  “That too,” Justine said, blowing her nose.

  “Ross is getting married on New Year’s Day.”

  Justine struggled to a sitting position. “No!”

  “Don’t give me that, Justine. You probably knew before I did. He’s marrying Lena Davis.”

  “So she finally got him. I didn’t know, Jory, I swear I didn’t.”

  “Maybe you should call him and wish him well.”

  “Maybe I should do a lot of things. Right now I have to concentrate on dying,” Justine said sourly.

  “Damn you, Justine, you’re making me cry,” Jory blubbered.

  “In that case it’s time for bed. You’ve had a long trip. I’ll have the cook bring you up some hot cocoa and a nice sandwich. We’ll talk again in the morning,” Justine said wearily. “My houseman will see you to your room and then carry me to my chair. I have one of those fancy rail things that carries me to the second floor. Griffin insisted I have it installed. Such a wonderful man,” Justine said, her head rolling in fatigue.

  In her room, Jory found herself gasping in delight. It was obvious a lot of time and effort had gone into making the room comfortable for her. She was tempted, but only for a moment, to take a running leap onto the four-poster bed that required a step stool to get into it. Instead she stepped on the stool and boosted her rear end until she was sitting on the side. “Ahhhh,” she murmured, “this will guarantee a good night’s sleep.” She flopped backward only to slide off the bed a moment later.

  This room was no accident. She knew in her gut it had been decorated just for her. She could smell the newness in the window hangings, and some of the packing creases were still in the sheer curtains beneath the champagne-colored satin draperies. Somewhere, someplace, she’d seen a room almost identical to this one. And then she remembered a back issue of Serendipity, from which she had copied the bedroom right down to the wheat-colored carpet and burnt-orange throw pillows. She sat down in a light oak rocking chair that was so comfortable she knew she could fall asleep in it. She got up immediately to walk around the cozy room. The fire burned brightly in a huge fireplace whose hearth contained a wicker basket of logs and a poinsettia plant so large it looked like a tree.

  Christmas in Switzerland.

  Was this what the Swiss called a chalet? Tomorrow she would have to ask Justine. Tomorrow she was going to talk to Justine about a lot of things, providing her ex-mother-in-law was up to it.

  Jory looked around for her bags and was stunned to see them in the corner, her clothes in the closets and dresser drawers, which were slightly ajar. She fished out a warm flannel nightgown and stripped off her clothes in front of the fire. The elegant champagne coverlet had been turned down earlier, the Swiss lace trailing down the sides of the bed. The sheets and pillow slips had the same exquisite lace as the coverlet. The fluffy pillows beckoned her.

  Jory walked past the fireplace and would have had to be blind not to see the four pictures of Griffin Ballon on the mantel. She smiled and saluted the unknown banker as she made her way into a bathroom that left her speechless. Everything was marble and gold-plated. It was also carpeted and as big as her bedroom in Chestnut Hill. The tub was huge, capable of holding at least three people, and sunken. A shower and a bidet took up one corner next to a matching commode. Huge, thick, bright orange towels were stacked on marble shelves and hanging on what looked like gold towel racks. A stereo system was built into one of the marble walls along with a recessed phone unit. An intercom was next to the phone. The marble vanity was long, taking up one entire wall with three basins. In each corner there were luscious poinsettias, and underneath each of the Christmas plants were pictures of Griffin Ballon. Jory hooted with laughter. She was still laughing when she finished brushing her teeth. “I’m intrigued, Griffin Ballon,” she said, swiping at one of the pictures with her toothbrush. “Definitely intrigued.”

  Jory turned off the light and eyed the four-poster from her position in the bathroom doorway. She dug her toes into the swirl of carpet as she prepared to do what she’d wanted to do since entering the bedroom—leap on the bed. She flexed her knees, took a deep breath, ran across the room and, her arms outstretched for leverage, leaped on the bed. “I did it,” she giggled as she snuggled down beneath the fragrant, scented sheets. She was asleep in minutes, her feet curled around the two hot-water bottles the houseman had placed under her covers earlier.

  Jory woke to muted sounds in her room. She cracked one eye open to see one of the maids replenishing the fire. She snuggled deeper into the covers. “What time is it?” she called to the maid.

  “Nine o’clock, miss. Would you like me to draw your bath?”

  “No, I’ll take a shower. Is Mrs. Lan—Miss Pullet awake yet?”

  “No, miss, she doesn’t come down till noon. Would you like breakfast served here in your room or in the dining room?”

  “Downstairs will be fine,” Jory said. “How is Miss Pullet this morning?”

  “She’s resting. She rises quite early, has her coffee, and reads the newspaper. She does seem to be in better spirits today than she was yesterday. Miss, this really isn’t my place to be telling you, but Miss Pullet was very concerned about this bedroom. She had decorators come all the way out here almost every day, making sure this room was just like a picture she had cut from a book. She had the bathroom redone too. Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ll be sure to tell her how gorgeous it is, and I won’t say you said anything. It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Yes, miss, it did. I heard the decorator talking prices, and Miss Pullet said she didn’t care how much it cost. She said the person—meaning you, miss—who was to sleep here, was very special.”

  “She said that?” Jory exclaimed.

  “Yes, miss, she did. Miss Pullet talks about you all the time. The staff has been anxiously waiting for your visit. Miss Pullet thinks the world of you, miss. When she received your letter saying you were coming, she got herself so worked up we had to call the doctor to quiet her down. She told Justin—that’s the houseman—that she regards you as a daughter. It’s such a pity she never had any children. She does love Mr. Ballon’s young ones. A proper granny she is to those children. Will there be anything else, miss?”

  “Ah, yes, one little thing.” Jory crooked her finger for the maid to come closer to her bed. “Is Mr. Ballon everything Jus—Miss Pullet says he is?”

  The maid smiled. “And more. Miss Pullet has it in her mind that you two are a perfect match. That’s all they talk about when he comes for dinner. You couldn’t do better than Mr. Ballon, miss,” the maid sai
d, winking at her. “He’s rich, but he’s nice too. He always has a kind word for the staff, and he tips us to give extra attention to Miss Pullet. We fuss about her anyway, and none of us want to take his tips, but he insists. It’s a pleasure to work here. Miss Pullet is very good and kind to everyone, and she does adore Mr. Ballon’s children. Will there be anything else, miss?” the maid said, nervously looking at her watch.

  “No, no, I’ll get up now and be down for breakfast in a bit.”

  In the bathroom, Jory turned Griffin Ballon’s pictures facedown before she stripped off her nightgown. Her body felt flushed when she stepped into the shower. She tried not to think about Griffon Ballon and all the wonderful things she’d heard about him. Instead she fixed her thoughts on Justine and the things the maid had said. Tears mingled with the dripping water from the shower.

  How had all this happened, all the wonderful things that happened during the past seven years?

  Justine was her benefactor, a surrogate mother of sorts, and her friend. She’d come to depend on Justine, calling her at all hours of the day and night for advice, writing her long letters, confiding in her, and now, just as she was making a success of things, Justine was dying and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  Justine referred to herself as a tough old broad, by which, Jory supposed, she meant to say she could handle anything, even death. Damn it, she liked Justine. More than liked her. Liking her had nothing to do with the help Justine had given over the years. She damn well genuinely liked the older woman, and she would grieve when she passed on.

  Jory stepped from the shower to wrap one of the huge orange towels about her body. The room was full of steam, warm and cozy. She looked at the foggy mirror. Her index finger traced a heart and then the name Jory. She added an arrow and a giant question mark. She smiled ruefully, wondering if she would go through life alone or with someone who would love her unconditionally.