The Last Mrs. Parrish

by Liv Constantine

  Bella was leaning against her mother, almost asleep, when Tallulah said, “Are we going right to the apartment, Daddy?”

  “Yes, I—”

  But before he got another word out, Bella shot up, now wide awake. “No, no, no. Not the apartment. I want to go where Eloise is. I want to sleep at the Plaza.”

  “We can’t do that, sweetheart,” Daphne had said. “We don’t have a reservation. We’ll do that another time.”

  Bella wasn’t having it. “Daddy, please. I’ll be the first one in my class to stay where Eloise lives. Everyone will be so jealous. Please, please, please?”

  At first Amber had wanted to grab the little whiner and wring her selfish little neck, but there was something in her that Amber recognized, something that made her see how she could turn her into an ally instead of an enemy. And anyway, who cared whether they stayed at the apartment or the Plaza? Either one was a treat for Amber.

  * * *

  The next morning Amber rolled over, pulling the duvet closer around her until it touched her chin. She sighed and wriggled her body against the silky sheet, feeling its softness caress her. She’d never slept in such a sumptuously comfortable bed. In the one next to hers, Tallulah stirred. The suite had only two bedrooms—Bella had bunked with her parents, and though Tallulah hadn’t looked too happy about sharing a room with Amber, she’d obliged. Amber threw off the covers, rose, and went to the window. The Grand Penthouse Suite looked out over Central Park, and New York lay before her as if for the taking. She scanned the beautiful room, with its tall ceilings and elegant furnishings. The suite was fit for royalty, larger than the average house. Jackson had succumbed to Bella’s request, of course, had even sent his chauffeur to get clothes for everyone from the apartment. Unbelievable, how easy it was for the rich—how unfairly easy.

  She slipped off the pajamas Daphne had lent her, then showered and dressed in the clothes she’d also been given last night: a pair of blue wool slacks and a white cashmere sweater. The material felt divine against her clean skin. She looked in the mirror, admiring the perfect cut and clean lines. When she glanced at the bed, she saw that Tallulah still slept, so she tiptoed quietly out of the room. Bella was already up, sitting on the green tufted sofa with a book in her hands. She looked up briefly as Amber entered, said nothing, and gave her attention back to the book. Amber sat on a chair opposite the sofa and picked up a magazine from the coffee table, not saying a word and pretending to read. They stayed that way for the next ten minutes, silent, uncommunicative.

  Finally, Bella closed her book and stared at Amber. “Why didn’t you go home last night? This was supposed to be a family night.”

  Amber thought for a moment. “Well, Bella, to tell you the truth, I knew everyone at my office would be envious if they knew I got to stay at the Plaza and have breakfast with Eloise.” She paused for effect. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about the family thing. You’re right about that. I should have gone home. I’m really sorry.”

  Bella tilted her head and gave Amber a suspicious look. “Your friends know about Eloise? But you’re a grown-up. Why do you care about Eloise?”

  “My mother read all the Eloise books to me when I was little.” This was total bullshit. Her mother had never read anything to her. If Amber hadn’t spent all her spare time in the library, she’d be illiterate now.

  “Why didn’t your mom take you to the Plaza when you were little?”

  “We lived far away from New York. Have you ever heard of Nebraska?”

  Bella rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ve heard of Nebraska. I know all fifty states.”

  This brat was going to take more than camaraderie and kid gloves.

  “Well, that’s where I grew up. And we didn’t have enough money to come to New York. So, there you have it. But I do want to thank you for making one of my dreams come true. I’m going to let everyone at the office know that it was all because of you.”

  Bella’s face was inscrutable, and before she answered, Jackson and Daphne came into the room.

  “Good morning.” Daphne’s voice was cheery. “Where’s Tallulah? It’s time for breakfast. Is she up yet?”

  “I’ll go see,” Amber said.

  Tallulah was up and almost finished dressing when Amber knocked and went in. “Good morning,” she said to her. “Your mom asked me to check on you. I think they’re ready to go down to breakfast.”

  Tallulah turned to look at her. “Okay, I’m ready.” And they walked together to the living room where the others waited.

  “Did you girls sleep well?” Jackson’s voice boomed as they headed to the elevator. They all spoke at once, and as the elevator descended, he looked at Bella and said, “We’re going to have breakfast with Eloise in the Palm Court.”

  Bella smiled and looked at Amber. “We’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she said.

  Maybe she finally had this little hellion in her pocket, Amber thought. Now it was time to work on Jackson.

  Fourteen

  Amber and Daphne sat beside each other at the Parrish dining room table, which was covered in paper, including the list of attendees and a ballroom diagram of the table arrangements. Since almost all of these people were unknown to Amber, Daphne was dictating the seating for each table while Amber dutifully entered all the information into an Excel file. There was a lull as Daphne studied the names before her, and Amber took the opportunity to gaze around the room and out the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the sea. The room could comfortably seat sixteen for dinner, but it still had a feeling of intimacy. The walls were a muted gold, a perfect backdrop for the magnificent oils of sailboats and seascapes in gilded frames. She could imagine the formal dinner parties they must have here, with elegant place settings of china, crystal, fine silver, and table linens of the highest quality. She was pretty certain that there was not a paper napkin to be found anywhere in the house.

  “Sorry to take so long, Amber. I think I finally have table nine figured out,” Daphne said.

  “No problem. I’ve been admiring this beautiful room.”

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Jackson owned the house before we were married, so I haven’t done very much to change things. Just the sunroom, really.” She looked around and shrugged. “Everything was already perfect.”

  “Gosh, how wonderful.”

  Daphne gave her an odd look that passed quickly—too quickly for Amber to identify it.

  “Well, I think we’re finished with the seating. I’ll send the list to the printer to make up the table cards,” Daphne said, rising from her chair. “I can’t thank you enough. This would have taken forever without your help.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. I’m happy to do it.”

  Daphne looked at her watch and then back at Amber. “I don’t have to pick the girls up from tennis for another hour. How about a cup of tea and a bite to eat? Do you have time?”

  “That would be great.” She followed Daphne out of the dining room. “Could I use the restroom?”

  “Of course.” They walked a bit farther, and Daphne indicated a door on the left. “When you come out, turn right and keep walking to the kitchen. I’ll put the tea on.”

  Amber entered the first-floor powder room and was stunned. Every room in the house offered a staggering reminder of Jackson Parrish’s great wealth. With its polished black walls and silver picture-frame wainscoting, it was the epitome of quiet opulence. A waterfall slab of marble was the focus of the room, and on top of it sat a marble vessel sink. Amber looked around in wonder once again. Everything original, custom-made. What would it be like to have a custom-made life, she wondered?

  She washed her hands and took one last look in the mirror, a tall, beveled piece of glass set in a frame that looked like rippled silver leaves. As she walked the length of the corridor to the kitchen, she slowed to look at the art on the walls. Some she recognized from her exhaustive reading and Met courses—a Sisley and a stunning Boudin. If these were the real thing, an
d they probably were, the paintings alone were worth a small fortune. And here they were, hanging in a little-trafficked hallway.

  As she entered the kitchen, she saw that tea and a plate of fruit sat waiting on the island.

  “Mug or cup?” Daphne asked, standing in front of an open cabinet door.

  The shelves of the cabinet looked as if they could have been a display for a luxury kitchen showroom. Amber imagined someone using a ruler to measure an exact distance between each cup and glass. Everything lined up perfectly, and everything matched. It was disconcerting in some strange way, and she found herself mutely staring, mesmerized by the symmetry.

  “Amber?” Daphne said.

  “Oh. Mug, please.” She sat on one of the cushioned stools.

  “Do you take milk?”

  “Yes, please,” Amber said.

  Daphne swung the refrigerator door open, and Amber stared again. The contents were lined up with military precision, the tallest at the rear and all labels facing front. The absolute precision of Daphne’s home was off-putting. It felt to Amber like more than a desire for a neat home and more like an obsession, a compulsion. She remembered Sally’s account of Daphne’s time in a sanitarium after Tallulah’s birth. Perhaps there had been more going on than just postpartum depression, she thought.

  Daphne sat opposite Amber and poured their tea. “So, we have just two weeks before the big night. You’ve been amazing. I’ve felt such a wonderful synergy with you. We both have so much of our hearts invested in this.”

  “I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t wait until the fund-raiser. It’s going to be a huge success.”

  Daphne took a sip of tea and placed the mug on the counter between her hands. Looking at Amber, she said, “I’d like to do something to show my appreciation for all your hard work.”

  Amber tilted her head and gave Daphne a questioning look.

  “I hope you’ll let me buy you a dress for the fund-raiser,” Daphne said.

  Amber had hoped this was going to happen, but she had to play it carefully. “Oh no,” she said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Please. I’d really love to. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

  “I don’t know. It feels like you’re paying me, and I didn’t work on this to get paid. I wanted to do it.” Amber smiled inwardly at her brilliant show of humility.

  “You mustn’t think of it as payment. Think of it as gratitude for your immense help and support,” Daphne said as she pushed back a blond wave, her diamond ring flashing brightly.

  “I don’t know. I feel sort of funny having you spend money on me.”

  “Well,” Daphne said and paused. “How would you feel about borrowing something of mine, then?”

  Amber could have kicked herself for protesting too much, but she guessed borrowing a dress was the next best thing. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that. I would feel better if you weren’t spending your money.” As if this woman didn’t have millions to burn.

  “Great.” Daphne stood up from the stool. “Come upstairs with me, and we’ll look through my closet.”

  They climbed the stairs together, and Amber admired the Dutch masters on the wall.

  “You have magnificent artwork. I could spend hours looking at it.”

  “You’re more than welcome to. Are you interested in art? Jackson is absolutely passionate about it,” Daphne said as they reached the landing.

  “Well, I’m no art expert, but I do love museums,” Amber replied.

  “Jackson too. He’s a board member of the Bishops Harbor Art Center. Here we are,” Daphne said, leading her into a large room—given its size, it could hardly be called a walk-in closet—filled with racks of clothing lined up in perfect, parallel rows. Every piece of clothing was in a transparent garment bag, and two walls were lined with shelves that held shoes of all styles, arranged by color. Built-in drawers on a third wall held sweaters, one each, with a small see-through panel to identify them. At one end of the room stood a three-way mirror and a pedestal. The lighting was bright but flattering, without the harshness of department-store fitting rooms.

  “Wow,” Amber couldn’t help herself from remarking. “This is something.”

  Daphne waved her hand dismissively. “We attend a lot of functions. I used to go shopping for each one, and Jackson said I was wasting too much time. He started having things sent to the house for me to look at.” She was leading Amber to a rack near the back when suddenly a young woman came walking into the room.

  “Madame,” she said. “Les filles. It is time to pick them up, non?”

  “Oh my gosh, you’re right, Sabine,” she exclaimed, looking at her watch again. “I’ve got to go. I promised the girls I would get them today. Why don’t you just look through these dresses till I get back? I won’t be long.” She patted Amber’s arm. “Oh, and, Amber, this is Sabine, our nanny.” She rushed out of the room.

  “Nice to meet you, Sabine,” Amber said.

  Sabine, reserved, gave a small nod of her head and in thickly accented English responded, “My pleasure, miss.”

  “Mrs. Parrish told me you’d been hired to teach French to the girls. Do you enjoying working here?”

  Sabine’s eyes softened a moment before she regained her austere composure. “Very much. Now you will please excuse me?”

  Amber watched as she walked away. So she was French—big deal. She was still just a nanny. But, Amber thought, Daphne’s friends would all think it was so grand, not the usual Spanish-speaking nanny, but one who would teach her daughters French.

  Amber looked around the room in wonder. Daphne’s closet, indeed. This was more like having an exclusive department store at your disposal. She sauntered, slowly examining the rack upon rack of clothes, all meticulously sorted by color and type. The shoes were lined up with the same fastidiousness as the china in the kitchen cabinets. Even the spacing between garments was uniform. When she got to the three-way mirror, she noticed two comfortable club chairs on either side—apparently meant for Jackson or whoever was nodding approval as Daphne modeled her choices. On the rack Daphne had indicated, she began to look through the dresses. Dior, Chanel, Wu, McQueen—the names went on and on. This wasn’t some chain department store sending clothes for Daphne to look at; these were couture houses making their designs available to a moneyed client. It boggled her mind.

  And Daphne was so casual about all of it––the luxury, the fine art, the “closet” full of designer suits, dresses, and shoes. Amber unzipped one of the bags and brought out a turquoise Versace evening dress. She carried it to the three-way mirror and stepped onto the pedestal, holding the beautiful dress against her body and staring at her reflection. Even Mrs. Lockwood had never brought anything remotely like this to be dry-cleaned.

  Amber hung the dress up and, when she turned away, suddenly noticed a door at the far end of the room. She moved toward it and paused with her hand on the knob only a moment before opening it. Before her was a sumptuous space that was a dazzling mix of luxury and comfort. She walked around slowly, her fingers brushing the yellow silk wallpaper. A white velvet chaise longue sat in a corner of the room, and the light from the Palladian window threw dazzling prisms of color on the walls as it pierced the crystals that hung from the large chandelier. She reclined onto the chaise, looking at the picture on the opposite wall, the only piece of art in the room, and felt herself drawn into the peaceful scene of trees and sky. Her shoulders relaxed, and she surrendered to the stillness and calm of this special place.

  She closed her eyes and, imagining this was her room, stayed that way for a while. When she finally rose, she examined the space more closely, the delicate table with photographs of a young Daphne and her sister, Julie. She recognized the slight girl with long, dark hair and beautiful almond-shaped eyes from photographs she’d seen throughout the house. She moved to the front of an antique armoire with an abundance of small drawers. Reaching over, she opened one of them. Some lacy underwear. Another with exotic soaps. More of th
e same in the other drawers, all meticulously folded and placed. She opened the cabinet and found mounds of plush bath towels. She was about to close the door when she noticed a rosewood box toward the back. Amber took it in her hand, undid the catch, and opened it. Inside, nestled on rich green velvet, sat a small pearl-handled pistol. She gently lifted it from the box and saw etched on the barrel the initials YMB. What was this gun doing here? And who was YMB?

  Amber wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there when she heard the sound of voices and doors opening and closing. She quickly replaced the gun, took one more glance around the room to make sure she hadn’t disturbed anything, and left. As she reentered the clothing room, the children came bounding in, Daphne close behind them.

  “Hi, we’re back. Sorry we were so long. Bella forgot her painting, so we went back to get it,” Daphne said.

  “It’s fine,” Amber said. “The dresses are all so beautiful, I can’t decide.”

  Bella frowned and whispered to her mother, “What’s she doing here?”

  “Sorry,” Daphne said to Amber and then took Bella’s hand. “We’re finding a dress for Amber to borrow for the fund-raiser. Why don’t you and Tallulah help her? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “All right,” Tallulah said with a smile, but Bella looked at Amber with undisguised hostility, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the room.

  “Don’t let her upset you. She just doesn’t know you well enough yet. It takes Bella a while to warm up.”