by Nancy Thayer
“Add maternal guilt to that,” Alice said. “To start with, I married the wrong man, a man who left us when the boys were little and who hasn’t seen them since.”
“But, hey!” Shirley sputtered. “If that guy hadn’t been their father, your boys wouldn’t be who they are.”
“I understand that. They understand that. It helps logically, but not emotionally. I’ll never stop feeling guilty for not providing them with a good father. On top of that, I worked full-time from the time my oldest boy was five. I missed so many significant occasions—piano recitals, football games, school plays. Are they traumatized for life? I didn’t think so. They both seemed successful in their work and happily married, although I never did like Alan’s wife. Now here Alan is, with all the energy of a turtle. Is he chemically depressed? Did I pass some depressed genes on to him? Did I fail to provide him with a model of a good marriage? Was I too ambitious?”
“Oh, Alice”—Faye laughed—“I feel just as guilty as you do. You provided your sons with siblings. I had an only child. Does this mean she’s never learned to share properly? Is Laura spoiled? Am I smothering her? Did we allow her to be too—I believe the psychological term these days is enmeshed—with her father and myself?”
“Each family’s different,” Alice decided. “We invent the rules for ourselves as we go along. And don’t forget, we’re part of the world we live in, and that changes all the time, too. Right, Marilyn?”
Marilyn was toying with her food. Hearing her name, she looked up and smiled. “You’re right, Alice.” It was obvious she had no idea what they’d been discussing.
“Marilyn, what is going on with you?” Shirley demanded.
“Yeah, Marilyn,” Alice said. “What’s your report?”
Marilyn blinked a few times, making a visible effort to pull herself from whatever cloud of fantasy she was floating on, back to the real world. “Well, you all know I’m working as Alice’s secretary.”
“Yes,” Faye said in an encouraging tone. “And Marilyn, may I tell you how fabulous you look these days?”
Marilyn blushed. “Thanks.”
“She’s right,” Shirley agreed. “You’ve got the glamour thing going.”
“Oh, well, maybe not glamour,” Marilyn demurred modestly.
“So,” Alice prompted, “you had drinks with Barton Baker Thursday night—”
“And I was hungover Friday,” Marilyn agreed, shuddering at the memory. “It was nice of you, Alice, to let me go home early.”
“You kept falling asleep at your desk,” Alice reminded her.
“So what did you learn?” Shirley asked.
Marilyn thought about it. “Quite a lot, actually. Barton told me Alison Cummings is ambitious, egotistical, and obsessed with the company.”
Alice leaned forward. “Is she sneaky? Is she after my job?”
“I don’t know yet,” Marilyn told her. “I’ll find out as soon as I can.”
“Don’t be too eager,” Faye warned. “You don’t want him to suspect what you’re up to.”
“I can’t be too eager, this week,” Marilyn said, looking sad. “Barton and Alison are going out of town on business. They’ve got to go back to the old Champion headquarters.”
“Probably just as well,” Alice said. “The company frowns on intraoffice dating.”
“Oh, dear!” Marilyn looked stricken. “What will I do?”
“Well,” Alice said, with a mixture of sweetness and exasperation, “you might remember that you don’t really work there. Besides, I’m your ‘boss,’ so I think I’ll be able to ignore this particular office romance.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Marilyn sighed with relief.
“You’re hiding something,” Shirley said suspiciously. “Why are you so moony?”
Marilyn tilted her head coyly. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
“With a come-on like that, you’ve got to tell us now!” Faye said.
“Well . . .” Marilyn smiled so hard her shoulders rose up to her ears. “Barton and I kissed.”
“Really!” Shirley leaned forward. “How was it?”
“Amazing,” Marilyn confessed. “I felt as if he were the nucleus of an atom, and I was the electron!”
The other three women stared at her.
“Could you elaborate?” Faye suggested.
“Well,” Marilyn flushed and giggled. “I mean, it was as if we were in our own little world, and he was the center of it, and everything in my body was pulling toward him.”
“Go on,” Shirley said.
Marilyn sighed. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Alice echoed.
“I mean, I was so flustered, I told him to stop. He did, right away. He was a perfect gentleman. He drove me back to the TransWorld garage and walked me to my car and we said good night. He told me he’d phone me as soon as he gets back in town.”
Alice flipped through her notebook. “The Champion execs will be back next Monday. Which is also, I’m pleased to announce, the first organizational meeting for Golden Moments.”
Marilyn looked confused.
“My retreat,” Shirley explained. “That’s what I’ve decided to name it. Shirley Gold—Golden Moments, see? Alice and I are inviting just a few potential investors to her condo to begin the fund-raising phase.”
“Sounds exciting,” Faye said. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to come. The Eastbrooks have a large dinner party that night. But good luck, Shirley.”
“I might be busy with Barton,” Marilyn said dreamily.
Alice snorted. “We’ll try to carry on without you.” She looked at the others. “So our next Hot Flash Club meeting won’t be for two weeks, right?”
“Right,” Shirley agreed.
“We should have a lot more to report by then,” Faye said.
“Oh, yes,” Marilyn agreed. “A lot more.”
“That’s an accurate scientific estimate, right?” Alice asked.
“Absolutely,” Marilyn replied.
21
Tuesday night, Faye was especially restless. For once the Eastbrooks had no social functions. Margie had the day off, Dr. Eastbrook was down in the clinic in his office, Lila had driven off to see Teddy, and Mrs. Eastbrook was secluded in her bedroom.
Once her duties were concluded for the day, Faye had to retreat to her living quarters, where she had her own phone, her own television, and even a small microwave and hot plate so she didn’t have to make the trek through the vast hall to the kitchen. It was pleasant enough. But it meant she was so isolated from the rest of the house, she was unable to do any proper sleuthing.
She was determined to get behind the mystery door in the family room. She was certain Lila really loved Teddy, but something was off-kilter in this family.
She sorted through the twelve keys on the heavy brass ring Mrs. Eastbrook had given her. Each key was rimmed with a colored plastic tab coded to the colors on the list in her leather organizational notebook: Front Entrance, Back Entrance, Private Passageway, and the various bedrooms, offices, and wine cellar. She didn’t have a key to the door in the family room, and The Room wasn’t mentioned on her map of the house and grounds.
Sooner or later, she thought, the Eastbrooks would have to take her completely into their confidence. Already Faye was aware that Lila disappeared through the door in the family room first thing every morning and last thing at night. Mrs. Eastbrook also disappeared through the door several times a day. Dr. Eastbrook never went there, as far as Faye could tell. It was possible, of course, that some wildly famous celebrity was tucked away there, but Faye doubted it. There were private cottages on the grounds for people of that ilk.
One more try before she gave up for the day. She would—she would go to her office, and if anyone asked what she was doing, she’d say she’d left her reading glasses there.
Still clad in her gray pantsuit, Faye slipped from her room, headed down the hall, unlocked her office door, stepped inside, and shut her door.
A bar of light glowed beneath the door connecting her office to Mrs. Eastbrook’s. Her steps cushioned by the thick carpet, Faye went to the door, leaned her ear against the wood, and held her breath, listening. It took only a few seconds for her to determine the voices were Mrs. Eastbrook’s and Lila’s.
“—not fair!” Lila cried.
“Life’s not fair, darling.” Mrs. Eastbrook sounded weary.
“But Mom, Teddy is a wonderful man. He’s kind, he’s generous—”
“I know—”
“Then let me tell him! He would understand! He wouldn’t mind!”
“Lila, we’ve gone over this before. If just one person knows, everyone knows.”
“Teddy can keep a secret! He’s absolutely trustworthy!”
“Oh, don’t be naive, Lila! You know he’d tell his parents! They’re no dummies! They might very well order Teddy to break the engagement. Then how would you feel?”
“He wouldn’t break off with me, he wouldn’t!” Lila broke into sobs so heartrending that on her side of the door Faye felt her own heart swell with sympathy. What was going on?
When Mrs. Eastbrook spoke, her voice was tender. “Darling, wait until after the wedding. Please. It’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s so hard, Mom.”
“I know, Lila. It’s hard for me, too.” Something creaked; Faye recalled how Mrs. Eastbrook’s desk chair creaked when she swiveled, and envisioned her employer rising now. A moment later, she heard Mrs. Eastbrook say, “Let’s go up to bed. You’ve had a long day. Tomorrow we’ve got that senator’s wife, and you’ll be swamped with work. Take a nice long soak and watch a silly movie, okay?”
“All right, Mom.” Lila blew her nose.
The light beneath the connecting doors went out. Faye waited. The carpet’s capacity to swallow footsteps helped Faye sneak around, but equally, it kept her from hearing others.
After five full minutes, she opened the door. The hall was empty. She made her rounds, checking to be sure all doors and windows were locked, though she’d checked them only an hour earlier.
The door from the family room was locked tight. Sighing, Faye went back down the hall to her room.
Thursday, Eugenie Eastbrook was giving a luncheon for the board of directors of a Boston-based charity. In the kitchen, Margie rushed about muttering to herself as she created brilliant dishes with a minimum of calories and a maximum of eye appeal.
Faye helped the maids set the dining room table for sixteen. She double-checked the menu with Margie, assured herself that the correct silver had been placed at each setting, removed some wilting leaves from the centerpiece, and ran an eagle eye over the room, looking for the slightest flaw. She adjusted a vase of flowers in the entrance hall and went out to the staff entrance to see whether the dry cleaner’s delivery had arrived.
It had. Doctor would need his tux that night, and it was ready, sheathed in plastic, as were several of Mrs. Eastbrook’s dresses. Carefully laying them across her arms, she went up the back staircase to the bedrooms. At the master bedroom, she knocked on the door.
“Mrs. Eastbrook?”
“Come in, Faye.”
Eugenie Eastbrook lay, fully clothed and meticulously made up, on her vast bed.
“I have your dry cleaning. Dr. Eastbrook’s tux is here.”
“Good.”
Faye hung the clothing in the various closets. “Mrs. Eastbrook, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Faye. Just tired.”
“Is there anything I can bring you? Some tea? A cool washcloth for your forehead?”
“A cool washcloth would be lovely. But no, never mind, I’d have to redo my makeup. No, nothing, thank you.”
Faye hesitated. “Perhaps some aspirin?”
“No, Faye. I’ve set my clock, but in case I doze off, just be sure I’m downstairs when they begin to arrive.”
“I will. The dining room looks gorgeous, and the food is heavenly.”
“I’m glad. Thank you.”
Faye let herself out of the room, shutting the door quietly. She went along the long hallway and into the various bathrooms, gathering towels, washcloths, and discarded laundry. On days when there was a luncheon, the two maids couldn’t serve, clear, and keep up with the regular housework, so Faye assisted. She was glad to do it. In the two short weeks she’d worked for the Eastbrooks, she’d become rather protective of them. She didn’t know anyone who worked as hard as they did.
If she had to make her report to the Hot Flash Club that day, she would say, without reservation, that Lila Eastbrook genuinely loved Teddy Becker.
And yet. Yet—there was a vein of sadness running through all three of the Eastbrooks, as if their cool reserve was holding back a flood of grief.
Friday, during her lunch hour, Faye chatted with Margie in the kitchen. Trying to appear spontaneous, she said, “It’s so lovely out today, I think I’ll take a little walk.”
“Just don’t go down by the spa and clinic,” Margie reminded her. “If they saw a stranger walking around down there, they’d think you were a reporter, come to find out who just got a face-lift.”
“I’ll stay close to the house,” Faye promised easily.
She went out the kitchen door to the back, where the delivery trucks parked. Idly, she strolled to the fountain in the center of the circle drive, tilting her head as if pleased with the patter and sparkle of water drops in the sun. She leaned against it and looked up at the sun, letting it warm her face, closing her eyes. She inhaled the fragrance of the hundreds of hyacinths and daffodils bursting up through the green grass where they’d been planted randomly, to appear wild.
Mrs. Eastbrook had gone to the Chestnut Hill Mall to be fitted for some suits, and Faye was pretty sure Lila had left, too, although “Missy” didn’t always check in with Faye. Lila’s cute little convertible wasn’t in the drive, but it could be parked over in one of the garages. Faye didn’t think so. The weather had been so nice recently.
Dr. Eastbrook’s personal Jaguar was on the circle drive, but the doctor himself was, according to the schedule, down at the clinic. No one was in the living room or dining room. If there were ever a time to check out the house, this was it.
Faye paced the length of the house to the far west side. The driveway circled back to the front of the house, passing along this wall, then there was green grass and flowers and, farther on, a small apple orchard, budding now in a profusion of pink blossoms. Faye ambled toward the orchard and wandered in among the trees.
From there she had a good look at the long west end of the house. She’d opened the curtains herself just that morning, letting sunshine flood into the family room through the high casement windows. Now she could see clearly that a room, about twenty feet wide by forty feet long, was attached to the family room. The single-story extension had one exterior door and several windows. Blinds and curtains blocked off the slightest view of what was inside.
Faye snapped off a small twig thick with pink blossoms, and left the orchard, trying to look dreamy and lost in thought as she headed back to the house. This time, she walked around to the front. When she was near the secret room, she stopped suddenly, balancing on one foot and bending down to remove her shoe, shaking it as if a stone were inside. For just a moment, she rested her hand against the warm stone of the house. With her head so close to the window, she was certain she heard— crying.
Someone was crying like a child all alone in the dark.
22
Saturday morning, Shirley drove to Stoneham for her second session with Jennifer D’Annucio. In spite of the rain spilling down, she was cheerful, almost blissful—that afternoon she and that marvelous Alice were meeting with Julie Martin. These April showers would bring flowers, and Shirley’s life was flowering, too. Hefting her massage table over her shoulder, she fairly skipped up the wet
stairs.
Jennifer threw the door open before Shirley could knock. “Come in out of the rain!” she cried, ushering Shirley into a paradise of baked pastry aromas. Prepared for the massage, Jennifer wore only a red silk kimono over her luscious body, and her black tresses fell loose around her shoulders. “I need to wash my hair,” she said, taking Shirley’s sodden rain jacket to hang over the bathtub, “but I thought I’d wait until after the massage, because of the oils you use, not that I don’t like them, I love them, and my hair isn’t dirty, I don’t want you to be grossed out, I wash it every morning, but today, since you were coming, I decided not to, I hope that’s okay.”
Jennifer was happy today, almost giddy, and Shirley was pretty sure it wasn’t the weather. “That’s fine, hon,” she said, setting up the massage table. “Do you need to use the bathroom before you lie down?”
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s a good idea—” Jennifer went into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly.
Shirley glanced quickly around the room. A vase of red roses stood on the drop leaf table. She bent over them, inhaling the perfume, checking to see if a card had come with it, with the sender’s name written on it. But, no, nothing like that. She took her CD player out of the bag, set it up on the table, and slipped in a Mozart CD.
Jennifer returned, dropped her robe, and stretched out on the table, facedown. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” she murmured. “I got to see L—my boyfriend, three nights, it was so lovely, but the weekends are always hard, he doesn’t go into the office then, so he doesn’t have an excuse to spend any time away from his house. Sometimes I get lonely, all by myself. It really cheered me up, knowing you were coming.”
Shirley kneaded the young woman’s shoulders, wracking her brain for a question that would cause Jennifer to say her lover’s name. “Did he send you those beautiful roses?”
“Ummm, yes, he did.”
“Any special reason?”