Secrets

by Jude Deveraux

  Cassie looked out at Elsbeth in the kiddie pool. In her opinion, the five-year-old girl was the most beautiful child on the planet. She was sitting in the water wearing a suit of white eyelet, a matching hat, and most of a bottle of sunscreen. “Sure,” Cassie said, throwing back one of the three towels covering her. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

  She stood up and stretched. Cassie was several inches shorter than Skylar, but there was nothing on Cassie that wasn’t real. Her mother spent many hours in a gym fighting against her natural curves, but Cassie loved hers. She’d once heard Jeff’s father call her “a 1950s blonde bombshell with dark hair.” It was all Cassie could do not to giggle and let them know she’d heard.

  Skylar clutched Jeff’s arm to her artificially enhanced breasts. “No, we’re going out tonight. Just the two of us.” She paused. “He’ll have some real food for a change.”

  “Ah, right,” Cassie said. “Home cooking isn’t real food. I’ll have to tell that to Thomas.”

  Jeff coughed to cover his laugh. Jeff’s father, Thomas, lived with him, and just weeks after Cassie took the job of being Elsbeth’s nanny, he’d asked to have some of what Cassie was cooking for herself and the child. From there it had gone to Cassie preparing dinner for the three of them. At first she’d left Thomas a plate in the warming oven while she and Elsbeth went upstairs to the playroom to eat, but he’d asked them to eat with him in the breakfast nook. From there it had gone to Thomas moving them into the dining room and setting the big mahogany table with candles and silver. “No use letting these dishes sit in the cabinet,” he’d said as he put out the best china for them to use. If Cassie could use any term to describe Thomas, it would be “Old World gentleman.”

  Jeff spent the weekends with his daughter. Even if he had to work, he took her with him. Elsbeth was a quiet child who had no interest in rowdy group activities. Cassie would fill a backpack full of art supplies and Elsbeth would hold her father’s hand and go with him wherever he led. There were times when Cassie could hardly hold back the tears at the sight of the widower and the motherless child together, clinging to each other.

  The weekdays were different though because Jeff worked long, hard hours. But one night he’d come home from work to get a file he’d left behind and seen the three of them sitting at the dining table eating by candlelight and he’d joined them. By the end of the week it had become a regular event that they’d eat together. Because of Elsbeth’s age, and Thomas’s weak heart, they ate at six thirty, but Jeff didn’t seem to mind. He said it beat calling the Chinese place and eating at the drawing board in his office. Sometimes he’d go back to his office afterward, and sometimes Cassie would hear him in the big library off his bedroom. But even if he had to work, it was nice that he got to spend more time with his daughter and father.

  As for Cassie, when it had started that she was cooking three meals a day for four people, part of her wanted to protest. It wasn’t her job to be a nanny and a cook, but she’d said nothing. Instead, she began to study cookbooks as though she were taking a graduate degree in the subject.

  The best part was that cooking and eating meals together changed the household. Thomas put his name in for one of the plots that the gated community, Hamilton Hundred, had set aside for gardens, and he’d begun raising heirloom vegetables. They had purple tomatoes and blue potatoes for dinner. He began replacing the landscaper-chosen shrubs around the house with gooseberry bushes and rosemary. He planted raspberries along the back fence, and there was a blackberry bush growing smack in the middle of the front lawn.

  “You’ve changed us, my dear,” Thomas said as Cassie sautéed yellow squash and zucchini in a skillet.

  Cassie just smiled. She felt that they had changed her more than she them. On the day she’d left her mother’s house to go to college, she was as happy as a prisoner being released. The freedom at college had been wonderful, and she’d enjoyed every minute of it. It was after she graduated with what her mother called “a useless degree” in American history that the problems began. All during college she’d only had two boyfriends and she thought she was going to marry the last one. But when he’d proposed, she’d surprised both of them by saying no. With his pride irreparably wounded, he’d refused to so much as speak to her again. After Cassie graduated, she found herself a bit bewildered. For three years she’d thought that when she left school she was going to get married, have kids, and become a soccer mom, something that her mother hated but that Cassie thought would suit her.

  Instead, after graduation, she found herself at loose ends, not sure where to go or what to do. Her mother had sold the house Cassie had grown up in, so the only home she had was Margaret’s pristine, austere apartment on Fifth Avenue—and most anything was preferable to that .

  After a few weeks of stoically listening to her mother tell her what she should do with her life, Cassie’s love of American history led her to Williamsburg to see if she could find a job there. Williamsburg, with its gorgeous eighteenth-century buildings, seemed to call to her.

  For two years Cassie worked in various jobs about town. She answered telephones for lawyers, and for a while became a gofer for a famous photographer. Then she got a job as an assistant in a preschool. “I must say that you are wildly overqualified,” the woman who ran the school said, “but we’d be glad to have you.”

  It was at the school that Cassie met Elsbeth and her father, and when the nanny had been fired—for forgetting to pick up her charge for the third time—Cassie took the job. That had been a year ago. Since then, she’d managed to form a family out of the widower, his lovely young daughter, and his ailing father, and she’d been happier than she ever had been.

  But things had changed three months ago when Jeff announced that he’d “met someone.” Thomas, Cassie, and Elsbeth had looked at one another over the dining table as though to say, We aren’t “someone”?

  The tall, very thin, magnificently self-assured Skylar Beaumont had entered their lives, and nothing had been the same since. Skylar was the friend of the husband of a woman Cassie had met at the club at Hamilton Hundred, a woman Cassie had never liked. From the first day, Skylar entered the quiet, peaceful house as though she owned it. Laughing, she’d told Jeff how she planned to redecorate every inch of the place.

  Thomas and Cassie had stood there in stunned silence. Jeff’s beloved late wife, Lillian, had decorated the house, and therefore it was sacrosanct. Cassie knew better than to so much as move a flower vase because Lillian had put the vase there and that’s where it would stay.

  But when this woman came into their comfortable lives and began talking of changing everything, Jeff had just stood there smiling.

  Cassie hated the woman. She told herself she had no right to hate her, that she probably loved Jeff, but she still hated her. On her third visit to the house, Skylar had handed Cassie her expensive silk jacket and asked her to “give it a little bit of a press, would you?” Cassie had smiled, taken the jacket to the laundry room, and set the hot iron on the back of it and burned a hole through it. Afterward, she’d apologized profusely and even offered to buy a replacement. She said she’d seen that very jacket at Marshalls just last week. That had sent Skylar into a rage, insisting that she’d bought the jacket at Saks, not at a discount store.

  Cassie was sure she wouldn’t have been as bad as she was if Thomas hadn’t been standing in the doorway and covering his laughter with his hand. They had never spoken of it, but she was sure he disliked the woman as much as Cassie did.

  As for Jeff, he was clueless. He kept saying that Cassie was usually so good at what she did, so he was sure that the ruined jacket was an honest mistake.

  The result was that Skylar never again tried to establish her authority over Cassie, but war had been declared. If Skylar did marry Jeff, Cassie would be out of a job, out of a home, out of a family.

  But worse, she’d be sent away from the man she’d loved since she was twelve years old.

  2

  �
�� IHATE HER,”Skylar said. “I don’t mean I dislike her. I mean that I hate her right down to my bone marrow. With every molecule I possess. I stay awake at night planning ways to kill her. At first I thought of putting her in her place with some witty remark that would reduce her to tears, but now I think of blood. You want to hear the latest thing I’ve come up with?”

  Dana wanted to say that she’d rather do most anything than hear yet another method Skylar had come up with for killing Jefferson Ames’s nanny. But Dana knew she had to be nice, if for no other reason than because Skylar was her husband Roger’s friend. And, more importantly, because Skylar came from four generations of money and Roger’s law firm was handling all the business of Skylar’s father’s company. “I lose that account and I might as well kiss my job good-bye,” Roger had said the morning after she’d met Skylar. “I know she can be a bit hard to take sometimes, but her family is rich and I need the business. Do it for me, will you?”

  As always, Dana had agreed.

  “What did you come up with?” Dana asked, trying to smile at Skylar, but she wanted to ask if she’d yet wheedled a marriage proposal out of Jefferson Ames. Why oh why didn’t Jeff just go ahead and marry Skylar?

  “You’re not afraid that if she doesn’t marry him she’ll go after Roger, are you?” her mother had asked last week.

  “No, of course not. That’s absurd,” Dana quickly said, but it had sounded false even to her. That’s exactly what she was afraid of.

  Her husband and Skylar had been “old friends” since college. However, Dana’s idea of friends and theirs didn’t seem to be the same. Roger and Skylar hadn’t been study buddies, nor had they run around together in a group. No, they had been lovers, “almost engaged” was the way Skylar put it. They had met on the first day they entered Princeton and had been inseparable for almost two years. “We taught each other everything we know about anything,” Skylar said the first time Dana met her, howling with laughter over the double entendre. The first time she’d met Skylar, Dana worked for a day and a half preparing a meal that Roger would declare fit for his old “friend.” At the time, Dana’d had no idea what kind of friendship they’d had.

  “Remember the time we went out with Beth and Andy and the car broke down?” Skylar asked, waving a piece of roast about on her fork. “There we were, stuck in the middle of nowhere, and it began to rain.” She took a sip of her wine, barely able to hold in her laughter. “But there was a motel down the road so we—” She broke off, sliding her eyes sideways at Dana. “Oops, better not tell that story.”

  “More potatoes?” Dana asked, holding out the bowl even though Skylar hadn’t touched what she’d already taken. In Dana’s eyes, Skylar was a walking ad for “eating disorder.”

  “No thanks,” Skylar said, seeming to be oblivious to Dana’s discomfort. Or was she? Dana wondered. Could she be as unaware of other people as she pretended to be?

  “You have to forgive me,” Skylar said. “It’s just that we had such great times in college. Roger must have told you all about me.”

  “No,” Dana said, smiling. “Roger never said a word about you.”

  She’d meant for Skylar to see how unimportant she was to her husband’s life, but Skylar took it differently. “Roger, darling, you dog! Keeping me a secret. Really!”

  Roger was sitting at the head of the polished, antique table and smiling. He wore an air of contentment, as though everything he wanted was sitting at the table with him. And maybe it was, Dana thought as she excused herself to go to the kitchen to get more rolls.

  She got the bread but she didn’t go back into the dining room. Instead, she went into the sunroom and looked out the back window. It was summer now and the leaves blocked her view, but sometimes in the winter she could see the water of the James River.

  When Roger had first shown her the site he’d purchased, Dana had been ecstatic. Most of the plots in Hamilton Hundred were fat little squares, but there were a few that were on the curves of the new streets, and they were long and narrow. That meant that she and Roger could put in a long driveway and the house would be at the back of the property. Instead of having houses on each side of them, they would be nestled in the trees. Over 40 percent of the subdivision was to be left as conservation area, never to be built on. All Dana could think of was what would be good for the children they would have. She’d been an only child, but Roger had come from a family with eight children. It was both their dreams to have at least four.

  Those had been happy days, Dana thought as she looked out at the woods that she knew led down to the water. The house they would build would have room for all the children and they’d have a wonderful place to play. Through the woods to the east were lots of little houses, but next door, to the west, was the only true mansion in Hamilton Hundred. As soon as plans for the new gated community were announced, someone had bought six plots and started building an enormous house. It wasn’t until nearly two years later that they found out the resident was to be Althea Fairmont.

  Dana heard her husband and Skylar laughing in the dining room and dreaded going back in there. She and Roger had never had wild weekends in a motel before they were married. But then, to be fair, she’d refused to go to bed with him until after they were married—which she was sure was why he did marry her.

  Sometimes at night she could see lights from the Fairmont mansion, but no one ever saw the Great Lady herself. She had employees to run her errands, and when she did go out, she rode in a black limo with darkened windows.

  Years ago, Dana had dreams of her polite, courteous children befriending the old woman and…She hadn’t thought much past that, but she had imagined mentioning to people that “Althea and I…”

  But none of it ever happened. Not the children and certainly not meeting the woman who had been called “the greatest actress who ever lived.”

  Instead, she and Roger had walked through the woods and they’d met Jefferson Ames there. Like them, he’d built a house on one of the few long, skinny pieces of land. His house was on the other side of the Fairmont mansion.

  But there the similarities between the families ended. Jeff’s wife died less than a year after they moved in, just months after she gave birth to their daughter. When they met Jeff, he was so overtaken with grief that he was just a shell of a human being. Even when he was with his daughter, his eyes were empty, dead.

  It had been as natural as breathing that Dana had taken over baby Elsbeth’s weekday care after Lillian died. Dana had helped Jeff hire nannies, but they had been glad to turn the child over to Dana. Gradually, as the years passed and Dana had no children of her own, her weekdays had begun to revolve around Elsbeth.

  Roger saw what his wife was feeling and warned her not to get too attached. “Some woman will go after Jeff and he won’t stand a chance,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling. “Like you did to me.”

  As always, Dana had protested that she’d done nothing to “catch him,” as he liked to say.

  Roger had rolled his eyes and smiled. “Red silk. Black lace. Skirts cut up to here, but ‘no touch.’ You make torturers of the Spanish Inquisition seem tame.”

  Sometimes she loved his teasing; sometimes she hated it.

  He’d been right about little Elsbeth, but right in a different way. It wasn’t a wife who came in and took over, but a shy young woman with big brown eyes, lots of thick chestnut hair, and a way of looking at Jeff that was embarrassing to everyone who saw it. She was named Cassandra, and she seemed to love Elsbeth with all her heart.

  The first time Dana saw her was when she’d heard voices at the tiny strip of beach that was at the bottom of the Fairmont property. By rights, it was private property, but no one ever went to the bit of sand except Roger and her, and Jeff and his daughter.

  But one day, there was Elsbeth with a young woman Dana had never seen before, and they were laughing and playing as though they’d known each other all their lives. As Dana stayed hidden in the trees and watched, she felt such a sense of lo
ss that it was as though something inside her had broken. Pretty, quiet, motherless Elsbeth was the closest thing she had to having her own child. And now she’d been taken away as completely as though she’d moved to another country.

  That day, Dana had walked back to her house, made herself a gin and tonic, then got on her hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor. Three days later, when Jeff introduced her to Elsbeth’s new nanny, Dana tried to be polite, but she felt such anger at the young woman for stealing what should have been hers that she couldn’t keep her upper lip from curling.

  Since then, Dana had been polite to the woman, but she couldn’t bring herself to be nice to her. And the truth was that the reason she put up with Skylar without a protest was because if Jeff and Skylar married, that girl, Cassandra, would go, and maybe Elsbeth would be given back to Dana. Heaven knew that Skylar wouldn’t want the day-to-day care of a child.

  In the months after that first dinner, Dana had helped Skylar tone down her way of dressing and the way she said whatever came into her head. She didn’t want Skylar to offend Jeff. For all that it had been years since his wife’s death, Jeff was still a man in grief, and he wasn’t ready for a woman who liked to tell stories about how she and a boyfriend had tried to do all the positions in the Kama Sutra.

  So, now, Dana smiled and listened to Skylar rant about Cassie.

  3

  “ SO WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST?”Jeff asked, looking over Cassie’s shoulder at the big griddle on the stove.

  “Harvest grain pancakes,” she said, stepping away from him. Once again, he was shirtless. It was Saturday, so he was in jeans, with a T-shirt slung over his shoulder, exposing his magnificent torso. No matter how busy he was, he always found time to work out.