Betsy nodded as tears filled her eyes. “Yes. Anything.” She bowed her head, “Dr. Ford, I’m out of my league here.” Tears ran down her face. “I’m literally all Vee has left. But I’m old…I won’t be around forever. I’m doing the best I can…it just doesn’t seem to be helping.”
Dr. Ford rubbed her arm. “Betsy, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re still grieving, too. You lost your only son, not to mention the fact that your pain is compounded now that the case has gone cold. You have no closure. She has no closure. But you two have each other and will go through this together.”
She tilted Betsy’s head up, “You will get through this, Betsy. You will. And I will be there every step of the way.”
Betsy wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”
Chapter 2
Victoria swept the hair out of her face, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. She twisted her blue sapphire necklace in between her fingers as she gazed at the canvas.
She cocked her head to the left, assessing the colors. Yellow, blue, green, red.
She dipped the tip of the brush in blue, mixed it with deep purple and lightly stroked the top of the canvas. Today she painted a lush green meadow lined with large oak trees and flowering bushes. Off in the distance were shades of light blue fading into a dark, menacing blue. A storm on the horizon.
Her workroom was a small space attached to her office. It was her personal space. Her private solitude. The walls were painted a glossy deep blue. Sconces with flickering light, resembling a candle, lit the room. Her easel was placed in front of a large window, overlooking Lake Austin. More than one hundred paintings lined the walls and stacked the floor. All were her paintings. A lifetime of pictures. It had been thirty years since that dark, fateful night and Victoria had painted every day since.
She painted every day, before and after work. It was her release, her personal expression. Some women took pills to relax and clear their heads. Victoria painted.
She gazed out the window at the beautiful fall morning. The sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. Brightly colored leaves danced in the wind as they fell from the trees. The days were getting cooler, which was a much-welcomed change from the sweltering Texas heat.
She glanced at the clock. Almost ten, time to open. After setting her brushes in water, she stood up and removed her apron. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed she had been successful at keeping the paint on the board and off herself. She smoothed her black, wide-legged slacks and straightened the delicate lace collar on her white silk shirt. She slipped into her black Christian Louboutin high heels and left the room, closing and locking the door behind her.
The art gallery was exquisite. Victoria wouldn’t have it any other way. The floors were white and grey streaked marble. The walls were white, although the dim lighting cast a warm golden glow across the gallery. Grey leather sofas and chairs were strategically arranged through the rooms. Bold colored pillows decorated the seats, adding a splash of color. Everything in her gallery was carefully thought out and placed with a purpose. Just like her life.
Her gallery featured an eclectic mix of art: primarily paintings and well-chosen sculptures placed throughout the three showrooms. Victoria’s personal love was Modern Art, but lately the gallery had been most successful selling Contemporary Art. This week, she featured an Andy Warhol exhibit. Tonight she would host a party for all her fabulous friends, investors, collectors, media acquaintances and donors.
Her six hundred dollar heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked to the front door. Glancing outside, she saw her assistant, Brooke, shuffling down the sidewalk balancing an armful of boxes and folders, her fake Prada purse hung haphazardly over her shoulder. Victoria smiled as she unlocked the door and held it open for her disheveled assistant.
“Here, let me help.” She pulled a stack of folders out of Brooke’s hands.
“Phew, thank you!” Brooke scooted past Victoria.
Brooke was a tiny, bubbly blonde with never-ending energy. Victoria hired her right out of college and she’d been her assistant ever since. Despite the decade age difference, the two had formed a strong business partnership. Brooke was one of the few people Victoria trusted. She understood discrepancy and most importantly, respected Victoria’s boundaries. She never pried into her personal life, never tried to get too close, but would jump in front of a bus to save Victoria. Brooke knew things, saw things, and assumed things about Victoria’s life. The good and the bad. But she knew to only address those things if Victoria did first. Which was never.
Brooke took a deep breath. “How are you? Crazy? Boy, I am!”
“I’m good, actually. Things seem to be going smoothly. Davis should be here soon to start getting things ready.” She closed the front door and flipped the closed sign over to open. “Come on, let’s get this stuff in the back.”
Brooke fell into step behind Victoria. “I received the Samson’s RSVP last night. Which means everyone’s coming except for eight people.”
“Good. Let’s hope they all bring their wallets.”
“Let’s hope they get good and liquored up beforehand.”
Brooke was one of Victoria’s staff of three. The gallery also had a sales assistant and an art director.
Jessica, a tall, curvy, brunette thirty-something, was the gallery’s sales assistant. Natasha, a straight shooting, no nonsense blonde bombshell, was the art director.
Victoria had met Natasha over twenty years ago and the two hit it off instantly. Over the years, they had become very close. Natasha was the only person Victoria let into her personal life, outside the gallery.
The gallery couldn’t run without Natasha. She handled almost all of the sales and managed the relationships with collectors and artists. She was the face of the gallery, which is exactly what Victoria preferred. Victoria owned the gallery for no other reason than for her passionate love affair with art. Her skill set was not schmoozing the collectors or making appearances. Victoria’s preference was to stay in the shadows and manage the gallery like a well-oiled machine. Most importantly, the gallery was her escape.
They deposited the folders and boxes into the back room and made their way to Victoria’s office. The room was a stark contrast to the gallery. The spacious office had soothing beige colored walls and dark hardwood floors. A large, cherry oak desk sat in the center of the room. A brown leather sofa was centered in between two matching chairs facing her desk. Lush ficus trees sat in each corner of the room and nature inspired paintings hung on the walls. A large window allowed for natural light. Next to the window was a slender door leading into Victoria’s personal paint room. That door was always locked.
While the gallery décor was somewhat intimidating, her office was warm and welcoming.
Victoria took her place behind the desk as Brooke sat on the sofa across from her. Opening her notebook, Brooke slid on her glasses and traced her finger down the calendar.
“Okay, so today we have two large groups visiting. One at eleven and one at two. The eleven o’clock is a local church group. The two o’clock is a hoity toity women’s group.”
“Hoity toity women’s group?”
“A bunch of stay-at-home wives who formed some sort of Ladies who Lunch group.”
Victoria sighed. “I’m sure I know all of them.”
“Oh, the lifestyles of the rich and famous.” Brooke smiled. “Okay, now on to the party tonight.” She flipped the page. “We’re closing down the gallery at three o’clock, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Great. Davis’s team will be anxiously awaiting to take over and begin setting up. The caterer will be here at four-thirty. Doors open at six-thirty.”
Victoria smiled. Although she knew everything was taken care of, she believed it made Brooke feel more appreciated if they went down the long checklist of her duties. “Great, thanks, Brooke. Okay, a few more things. You’ve worked out all the details with the step and repeat?”
“Yes, Davis will lay out the red
carpet and backdrop. The media knows when to be here.”
“Parking is taken care of?”
“Yes, we’ll shuttle from the parking garage if need be.”
“Lastly, my dress…”
“Will be here in thirty minutes. Hair and makeup will be at your house at five o’clock.”
Victoria smiled, “Thank you, Brooke.”
“Oh, and one last thing, I’ve confirmed that your interview will air tonight on the ten o’clock news.”
Victoria’s stomach tickled with nerves. Her media contact had been pestering her for months to do a short interview on the success of the gallery. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, but they also wanted to showcase some of Victoria’s personal paintings. After much consideration, Victoria agreed to it, as long as it could be a joint interview with Natasha. Natasha was, after all, the face of the gallery. And, she was Victoria’s security blanket when it came to the public eye.
“Make sure they air the approved cut.”
“Of course.” Brooke paused. “By the way, did I ever tell you how amazing that painting of your father is?”
Victoria smiled. “Thank you.” She looked down. “I could have painted that with my eyes closed.”
“It looks so real. He was very handsome.”
Breaking the awkward silence that fell in the room, the front bell dinged alerting them to someone’s entry into the gallery.
Brooke jumped up, “I’ll get it.”
* * * *
Victoria patiently waited as the large iron gate flanked by two stone lions slid open. She took a deep breath and drove up the winding driveway. The cool fall breeze danced through the trees that lined the driveway. Orange and yellow leaves bounced across her windshield. The grounds men waved in her direction as they clipped the perfectly manicured lawn. At the top of the driveway stood a three story, ten-thousand square foot Mediterranean style mansion. Her house. Her prison. She pulled underneath the porte-cochere and turned off the engine.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Henry.”
“Good afternoon, Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey was the lead groundskeeper, part-time chauffer and part-time whatever else was needed. At sixty-five years old, he was a true southern gentlemen and insisted on wearing a suit every day. Victoria liked him very much, and the feeling was mutual.
“May I take your car to the garage?”
“Please. Thank you, Jeffery.” She gathered her purse and briefcase, walked up the steps and opened the double doors into her home.
“Ah, good afternoon Mrs. Henry!”
Victoria smiled, “Good afternoon Beth.”
Beth was their efficient, hardworking, live-in housekeeper. Prompted by her husband, Victoria hired Beth within the first week they moved into the mansion. She was in her mid-sixties with kind, wrinkled eyes and deep laugh lines, and had been a housekeeper all her life. Although Victoria told her she could wear whatever she liked, she always wore a black uniform with her long grey hair tied back in a bun. Beth worked every day with a genuine smile on her face. She and Victoria had developed an unspoken respect for each other.
Beth reached forward, “Would you like me to take your purse and coat?”
“Just my coat please. Is William home?”
“Yes ma’am, Mr. King is in his office.”
Expressionless, Victoria glanced at the staircase. “Thank you Beth. How’s your mother?”
A smiled spread across Beth’s face. “She’s doing much better, thank you so much for asking, Mrs. Henry. And, thank you, again, for your financial assistance.”
“Glad to hear she’s doing better. Remember, if she needs anything at all, you let me know.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
As she did every day when she stepped through the doors, Victoria bent down and removed her high heels, one by one, before taking the staircase up to her bedroom.
“May I take those for you?”
Rubbing her heels, Victoria looked up at the housekeeper. “Beth, why do women do this to their feet?”
“To be desirable to men, I suppose.”
Another glance at the staircase, this time, her expression was cold. “What a silly notion, Beth.”
Beth smiled, “I agree.” She glanced down at her ugly black flats, “I’ll let you wear mine if I can wear yours.”
Victoria let out a low chuckle. “Anytime, Beth.”
“Would you like a drink?”
Victoria pondered for a moment. “Yes, please. Send it up to the bedroom.”
“Will do. The usual?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anything from the kitchen? Edward made a lovely clam chowder.”
“No, thank you.”
Victoria handed Beth her coat and shoes as she started up the elegant double staircase.
“Hello, Mrs. Henry.” A low, deep voice called from the bottom of the stairs.
Barely glancing over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “Alek.”
She reached the top of the staircase and walked down the long corridor to the master suite. The room was bigger than most apartments. It boasted a fire place, sitting area with a chaise lounge, large sweeping windows and a four poster, king size bed. She’d chosen a cream colored pallet to promote calmness and rest.
Flinging her Hermes purse on the floor, she walked into her elegant marble bathroom. She gazed in the mirror, touching her cheek. She looked tired, worn. Exhausted.
She began slipping out of her clothes when she heard footsteps.
The muscles in her shoulders tightened. She took a deep breath, unclenched her jaw and tried to relax her face.
“Ah, my dear Vee.”
She pulled her unbuttoned silk shirt closed with one hand and looked toward the doorway. “Hello, my love.”
Her husband crossed the bathroom, stepped behind her and lightly kissed her neck. “I missed you.”
Her fingers curled into a fist. “Yes, I expected you back days ago.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her comment. “Oh, work. The business doesn’t run itself you know.”
“So, Mexico was good, then?”
“Yes, very busy.”
She reached for her robe. “I see Alek is back.”
“Yes.” He stepped in front of her, tossed the robe on the floor and reached for her waist. “I know you don’t like him, dear. Hell, the whole house knows you don’t like him.”
“I don’t understand why we need a bodyguard in the house.”
“Honey, look around, we have a lot to keep safe here. These days, people are desperate,” motioning around the enormous bathroom, he continued, “some people would kill for what we have.” He fingered her diamond earrings. “We’re envied, you know.”
She gave her husband a lifeless smile.
He cocked his head to the side and smirked, stepping close to her. His eyes flashed with desire as he looked her up and down.
“Mmm, I missed you, Vee.”
Her skin crawled as he slid his hands under her unbuttoned silk blouse and trailed his cold fingers up her sides. Her pulse picked up as she stood stoic and expressionless—an all too familiar reaction to her dear husband’s touch.
He gazed lustfully into her eyes, cupped her full breasts and pressed them together. He’d always loved her breasts, or any pair of breasts for that matter.
With a small smile on his face, he began rubbing her nipples through her bra. She tilted her head as he leaned down into her neck. Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she was dead behind the eyes. Vacant.
His wet tongue flicked against her earlobe, followed by a sharp nip. He always got straight to the point.
Becoming less gentle and more frantic, his hands began to tremble and his breath became fast as he undid her lace bra and flung it across the room. The straps caught on her favorite bottle of perfume, sending it flying off the counter and shattering on the floor–a very unfortunate causality of this romantic rendezvous.
He guided her up against the wall and
spread her arms wide. She squirmed under his touch as his mouth slid down her neck, onto her breast.
His hands clumsily rubbed over her skin, his nails feeling like knives against her flesh.
Fighting the disgust that overtook her, she forced herself to wrap her arms around him. She was his wife, after all. And, she didn’t have the energy to make up an excuse right now, and especially not for the fight that would no doubt ensue after she did so.
He groaned in satisfaction as her manicured nails swept against his back. Panting now, he pressed his swollen self into her hip and rubbed against her. Harder, faster, her back slammed against the wall. With one hand on her breast, he slid the other between her legs and under her black silk panties.
Unable to fake it anymore, she pulled away. She’d rather swallow glass than satisfy his animalistic thirst right now.
He looked at her, his eyes wild with lust. “Touch me, Vee.” He gritted his teeth, yanked her forward and pressed himself harder into her hip. “Oh God, fuck me, Vee.”
As if she willed it to happen, they were interrupted by the intercom. He dropped his hands and stepped over to the microphone.
His voice reeked with irritability. “What?”
“I have Mrs. Henry’s drink here.”
He rolled his eyes and released an exhale. “Okay. And, hey, bring me a whiskey.”
“Yes, sir.”
Victoria tried to hide the relief in her eyes as she side- stepped her husband. She was almost out the door when he called after her.
“Vee?” His voice low and menacing.
She stopped in her tracks. With her back turned to him, she responded, “Yes, dear?”
A moment ticked by. “Wives have certain obligations, you know.”
She didn’t turn around. Disgust ran like goose bumps up her body. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Somehow, I doubt you’re deprived, my dear William.”
Lethal Legacy Page 2