Though she knew she ran a slight risk of appearing rude, Amber had shown up just a little early. She’d be able to have some time alone with Daphne and would also be there before any of the other women arrived, always an edge when introductions were made. They would see her as young and nondescript, simply a worker bee Daphne had deigned to reach down and anoint as a helper in her charity efforts.
She opened the car door and stepped onto the crushed stone driveway. It looked as if each piece of gravel cushioning her steps had been measured for uniformity and purity, and perfectly raked and polished. As she neared the house, she took her time studying the grounds and dwelling. She realized she would be entering through the back—the front would, of course, face the water—but it was, nevertheless, a most gracious facade. To her left stood a white arbor bedecked with the summer’s last wisteria, and two long benches sat just beyond it. Amber had read about this kind of wealth, had seen countless pictures in magazines and online tours of the homes of movie stars and the superrich. But this was the first time she’d actually seen it up close.
She climbed the wide stone steps to the landing and rang the bell. The door was oversize, with large panes of beveled glass, allowing Amber a view down the long corridor that ran to the front of the house. She could see the dazzling blue of the water from where she stood, and then, suddenly, Daphne was there, holding the door open and smiling at her.
“How lovely to see you. I’m so glad you could come,” she said, taking Amber’s hand in hers and leading her inside.
Amber gave her the timid smile she’d practiced in front of her bathroom mirror. “Thank you for inviting me, Daphne. I’m really excited to help.”
“Well, I’m thrilled you’ll be working with us. Come this way. We’ll be meeting in the conservatory,” Daphne said as they came into a large octagonal room with floor-to-ceiling windows and summery chintzes that exploded with vibrant color. The French doors stood open, and Amber breathed in the intoxicating smell of salty sea air.
“Please, have a seat. We have a few minutes before the others arrive,” Daphne said.
Amber sank into the plush sofa, and Daphne sat down across from her in one of the yellow armchairs that perfectly complemented the other furnishings in this room of nonchalant elegance. It irked her, this ease with wealth and privilege that Daphne exuded, as though it were her birthright. She could have stepped out of Town & Country in her perfectly tailored gray slacks and silk blouse, her only jewelry the large pearl studs she wore in her ears. Her lustrous blond hair fell in loose waves that framed her aristocratic face. Amber guessed the clothes and earrings alone were worth over three grand, forget the rock on her finger or the Cartier Tank. She probably had a dozen more in a jewelry box upstairs. Amber checked the time on her own watch—an inexpensive department-store model—and saw that they still had about ten minutes alone.
“Thanks again for letting me help, Daphne.”
“I’m the one who’s grateful. There are never too many hands. I mean, all of the women are terrific and they work hard, but you understand because you’ve been there.” Daphne shifted in her chair. “We talked a lot about our sisters the other morning, but not much about ourselves. I know you’re not from around here, but do I remember you telling me you were born in Nebraska?”
Amber had rehearsed her story carefully. “Yes, that’s right. I’m originally from Nebraska, but I left after my sister died. My good high school friend went to college here. When she came home for my sister’s funeral, she said maybe it would be good for me to have a change, make a fresh start, and we’d have each other, of course. She was right. It’s helped me so much. I’ve been in Bishops Harbor for almost a year, but I think about Charlene every day.”
Daphne was looking at her intently. “I’m sorry for your loss. No one who hasn’t experienced it can know how painful it is to lose a sibling. I think about Julie every day. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. That’s why my work with cystic fibrosis is so important to me. I’m blessed to have two healthy daughters, but there are still so many families afflicted by this terrible disease.”
Amber picked up a silver frame with a photograph of two little girls. Both blond and tanned, they wore matching bathing suits and sat cross-legged on a pier, their arms around each other. “Are these your daughters?”
Daphne glanced at the picture and smiled with delight, pointing. “Yes, that’s Tallulah and this is Bella. That was taken last summer, at the lake.”
“They’re adorable. How old are they?”
“Tallulah’s ten, and Bella’s seven. I’m glad they have each other,” Daphne said, her eyes growing misty. “I pray they always will.”
Amber remembered reading that actors think of the saddest thing they can to help them cry on cue. She was trying to summon a memory to make her cry, but the saddest thing she could come up with was that she wasn’t the one sitting in Daphne’s chair, the mistress of this incredible house. Still, she did her best to look downcast as she put the photograph back on the table.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and Daphne rose to answer it. As she left the room, she said, “Help yourself to coffee or tea. And there are some goodies too. Everything’s on the sideboard.”
Amber got up but put her handbag on the chair next to Daphne’s, marking it as hers. As she was pouring a cup of coffee, the others began filing in amid excited hellos and hugs. She hated the clucking sounds groups of women made, like a bunch of cackling hens.
“Hey, everyone.” Daphne’s voice rose above the chatter, and they quieted down. She went to Amber and put her arm around her. “I want to introduce a new committee member, Amber Patterson. Amber will be a wonderful addition to our group. Sadly, she’s a bit of an expert—her sister died of cystic fibrosis.”
Amber cast her eyes to the floor, and there was a collective murmur of sympathy from the women.
“Why don’t we all have a seat, and we’ll go around the room so that you can introduce yourselves to Amber,” Daphne said. Cup and saucer in hand, she sat down, looked at the photo of her daughters, and, Amber noticed, moved it just slightly. Amber looked around the circle as, one after another, each woman smiled and said her name—Lois, Bunny, Faith, Meredith, Irene, and Neve. All of them were shined and polished, but two in particular caught Amber’s attention. No more than a size two, Bunny had long, straight blond hair and large green eyes made up to show their maximum gorgeousness. She was perfect in every way, and she knew it. Amber had seen her at the gym in her tiny shorts and sports bra, working out like mad, but Bunny looked at her blankly, as if she’d never laid eyes on her before. Amber wanted to remind her, Oh, yes. I know you. You’re the one who brags about screwing around on your husband to your girl posse.
And then there was Meredith, who didn’t at all fit in with the rest of them. Her clothing was expensive but subdued, not like the flashy garb of the other women. She wore small gold earrings and a single strand of yellowed pearls against her brown sweater. The length of her tweed skirt was awkward, neither long nor short enough to be fashionable. As the meeting progressed, it became apparent that she was different in more ways than appearance. She sat erect in her chair, shoulders back and head held high, with an imposing bearing of wealth and breeding. And when she spoke, there was just the hint of a boarding-school accent, enough to make her words sound so much more insightful than the others’ as they discussed the silent auction and the prizes secured so far. Exotic vacations, diamond jewelry, vintage wines—the list went on and on, each item more expensive than the last.
As the meeting came to a close, Meredith walked over and sat beside Amber. “Welcome to Julie’s Smile, Amber. I’m very sorry about your sister.”
“Thank you,” Amber said simply.
“Have you and Daphne known each other a long time?”
“Oh, no. We just met, actually. At the gym.”
“How serendipitous,” Meredith said, her tone hard to read. She was staring at Amber, and it felt as if she could see right through her.
“It was a lucky day for both of us.”
“Yes, I should say.” Meredith paused and looked Amber up and down. Her lips spread into a thin smile, and she rose from the chair. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
Amber sensed danger, not in the words Meredith had spoken but from something in her manner. Maybe she was just imagining it. She put her empty coffee cup back on the sideboard and walked through the French doors that seemed to invite her onto the deck. Outside she stood looking at the vast expanse of Long Island Sound. In the distance she spotted a sailboat, its sails billowing in the wind, a magnificent spectacle. She walked to the other end of the deck, where she had a better view of the sandy beach below. When she turned to go back inside, she heard Meredith’s unmistakable voice coming from the conservatory.
“Honestly, Daphne, how well do you know this girl? You met her at the gym? Do you know anything about her background?”
Amber stood silently at the edge of the door.
“Meredith, really. All I needed to know was that her sister died of CF. What more do you want? She has a vested interest in raising money for the foundation.”
“Have you checked her out?” Meredith asked, her tone still skeptical. “You know, her family, education, all those things?”
“This is volunteer work, not a Supreme Court nomination. I want her on the committee. You’ll see. She’ll be a wonderful asset.”
Amber could hear the irritation in Daphne’s voice.
“All right, it’s your committee. I won’t bring it up again.”
Amber could hear footsteps on the tile floor as they left the room, and she stepped in and quickly pushed her portfolio under a pillow on the sofa, so it would look like she’d forgotten it. In it were her notes from the meeting and a photograph, tucked into one of the pockets. The lack of any other identifying information would ensure that Daphne would have to root around to find the photo. Amber was thirteen in the picture. That had been a good day, one of the few her mother had been able to leave the cleaner’s and take them to the park. She was pushing her little sister on the swings. On the back, Amber had written “Amber and Charlene,” even though it was a picture of her with her sister Trudy.
Meredith was going to be tricky. She’d said she was looking forward to getting to know Amber better. Well, Amber was going to make sure she knew as little as possible. She wasn’t going to let some society snob screw with her. She’d made sure that the last person who tried that got what was coming to her.
Four
Amber opened the bottle of Josh she’d been saving. It was pathetic that she had to ration a twelve-dollar cabernet, but her measly salary at the real estate office barely covered the rent here. Before moving to Connecticut, she’d done her research and chosen her target, Jackson Parrish, and that’s how she ended up in Bishops Harbor. Sure, she could have rented in a neighboring town for much less, but living here meant she had many opportunities to accidentally run into Daphne Parrish, plus access to all the fabulous town amenities. And she loved being so close to New York.
A smile spread across Amber’s face. She thought back to the time she’d researched Jackson Parrish, googling his name for hours after she read an article on the international development company he’d founded. Her breath had caught when his picture filled the screen. With thick black hair, full lips, and cobalt-blue eyes, he could have easily been on the big screen. She’d clicked on an interview in Forbes magazine that featured him and how he built his Fortune 500 company. The next link—an article in Vanity Fair—wrote about his marriage to the beautiful Daphne, ten years younger than he. Amber had gazed at the picture of their two adorable children, taken on the beach in front of a gray-and-white clapboard mansion. She’d looked up everything she could about the Parrishes, and when she read about Julie’s Smile, the foundation founded by Daphne and dedicated to raising money for cystic fibrosis, the idea came to her. The first step in the plan that developed in her mind was to move to Bishops Harbor.
When she thought back to the small-time marriage she’d tried to engineer back in Missouri, it made her want to laugh. That had ended very badly, but she wouldn’t make the same mistakes this time.
Now she picked up her wineglass and lifted it in salute to her reflection in the microwave oven. “To Amber.” Taking a long sip, she rested the glass on the counter.
Opening her laptop, she typed “Meredith Stanton Connecticut” into the search bar and the page filled up with link after link about Meredith’s personal and philanthropic efforts. Meredith Bell Stanton was a daughter of the Bell family, who raised Thoroughbred racehorses. According to the articles, riding was her passion. She rode horses, showed horses, hunted, jumped, and did anything else you could do with horses. Amber wasn’t surprised. Meredith had “horsewoman” written all over her.
Amber stared at a photograph of Meredith and her husband, Randolph H. Stanton III, at a charity event in New York. She decided old Randolph looked like he had a yardstick up his ass. But she guessed banking was a pretty dry business. The only good thing about it was the money, and it looked like the Stantons had piles of it.
Next, she searched for Bunny Nichols, but didn’t find as much. The fourth wife of March Nichols, a prominent New York attorney with a reputation for ruthlessness, Bunny looked eerily similar to the second and third wives. Amber guessed that blond party girls were interchangeable to him. One article described Bunny as a “former model.” That was a laugh. She looked more like a former stripper.
She took a last sip from her glass, corked the bottle, and logged onto Facebook under one of her fake profiles. She pulled up the one profile that she checked every night, scanning for new photos and any status updates. Her eyes narrowed at a picture of a little boy holding a lunch box in one hand and that rich bitch’s hand in the other—“First day at St. Andrew’s Academy” and the insipid comment “Mommy’s not ready,” with a sad-face emoji. St. Andrew’s, the school back home she had yearned to attend. She wanted to type her own comment: Mommy and Daddy are lying skanks. But instead she slammed the laptop shut.
Five
Amber looked at the ringing phone and smiled. Seeing “private” on the caller ID, she figured it was Daphne. She let it go to voice mail. Daphne left a message. The next day, Daphne called again, and again Amber ignored it. Obviously, Daphne had found the portfolio. When the phone rang again that night, Amber finally answered.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Amber?”
A sigh, and then a quiet “Yes?”
“It’s Daphne. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
She made a choking sound, then spoke, louder this time. “Hi, Daphne. Yeah, sorry. It’s been a rough day.”
“What is it? Has something happened?” Amber could hear the concern in Daphne’s voice.
“It’s the anniversary.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Would you like to come over? Jackson’s out of town. We could open a bottle of wine.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. The children are sleeping, and I’ve got one of the nannies if they should need anything.”
Of course one of the nannies is there. God forbid she should have to do anything for herself. “Oh, Daphne, that would be so great. Can I bring anything?”
“No, just yourself. See you soon.”
When Amber pulled up to the house, she got out her phone and texted Daphne: I’m here. Didn’t want to ring and wake the girls.
The door opened, and Daphne motioned her in. “How thoughtful of you to text first.”
“Thanks for having me over.” Amber handed her a bottle of red wine.
Daphne hugged her. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have.”
Amber shrugged. It was a cheap merlot, eight bucks at the liquor store. She knew Daphne would never drink it.
“Come on.” Daphne led her into the sunroom, where there was already a bottle of wine open and two half-filled glasses on the coffee
table.
“Have you had dinner?”
Amber shook her head. “No, but I’m not really hungry.” She sat, picked up a wineglass, and took a small sip. “This is very nice.”
Daphne sat down, picked up her own glass, and held it up.
“Here’s to our sisters who live on in our hearts.”
Amber touched her glass to Daphne’s and took another swallow. She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye.
“I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a basket case.”
Daphne shook her head. “Of course not. It’s okay. You can talk about it to me. Tell me about her.”
Amber paused. “Charlene was my best friend. We shared a room, and we’d talk late into the night about what we were going to do when we grew up and got out of that house.” She frowned and took another long sip of her wine. “Our mother used to throw a shoe at the door if she thought we were up too late. We’d whisper so she wouldn’t hear us. We’d tell each other everything. All our dreams, our hopes . . .”
Daphne kept quiet while Amber continued, but her beautiful blue eyes filled with compassion.
“She was golden. Everybody loved her, but it didn’t go to her head, you know? Some kids, they would have become bratty, but not Char. She was beautiful, on the inside and out. People would just stare at her when we were out, that’s how gorgeous she was.” Amber hesitated and cocked her head. “Sort of like you.”
A nervous laugh escaped from Daphne’s lips. “I would hardly say that about myself.”
Yeah, right, Amber thought. “Beautiful women take it for granted. They can’t see what everyone else does. My parents used to joke that she got the beauty, and I got the brains.”
“How cruel. That’s terrible, Amber. You are a beautiful person—inside and out.”
It was almost too easy, Amber thought—get a bad haircut, leave off the makeup, don a pair of eyeglasses, slouch your shoulders, and voilà! Poor homely girl was born. Daphne needed to save someone, and Amber was happy to oblige. She smiled at Daphne.
The Last Mrs. Parrish Page 2