Amber’s heart stopped. Photos? In a newspaper? She’d been so careful to avoid the photographer that night. When had he gotten a picture of her? Daphne brought the newspaper in and handed it to her. She picked it up with trembling hands and scanned the pictures. There she was, large as life, completely recognizable. Her name wasn’t there, not that it would have mattered—her face was the problem. She just had to assume that this small-town newspaper with its limited range would not be seen farther afield.
“Would you excuse me?” She needed to get out of that room and calm her nerves. She closed the bathroom door, put the lid down on the toilet seat, and sat with her head in her hands. How could she have been so careless? After a while, her breathing settled and she promised herself she would be more vigilant in the future. She splashed some water on her face, stood up straight, and slowly opened the door. She could hear Ruth and Daphne as she walked back to the conservatory.
“Mom, you don’t understand. I have my hands full here.”
“You’re right, Daphne, I don’t understand. You used to love singing in the church choir. It seems to me you don’t do any of the things you used to love. You’ve let all this money go to your head. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll remember your roots and come down off your high horse.”
“That’s completely unfair. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know what I see—two nannies, for heaven’s sake. And one that just speaks French. Really! A daughter who’s spoiled rotten that you can’t control. The club, all your lessons. For goodness sake, I practically have to make an appointment to see my granddaughters. What’s happened to you?”
“That’s enough, Mother.”
For the first time, Amber heard real fury in Daphne’s voice. And then the sound of the nanny and the girls coming down the stairs. They all entered the conservatory at the same time, and the conversation between mother and daughter abruptly ended.
Bella ran to Daphne, putting her head on her mother’s lap. Her cries were muted, and then she looked up and said, “Tallulah got so many presents, and I only got two. It’s not fair.”
Ruth leaned over and stroked Bella’s face. “Bella, darling, it’s Tallulah’s birthday. When it’s your birthday, you’ll get all the presents. Right?”
Bella jerked away from her grandmother’s hand. “No. You’re ugly.”
“Bella!” Daphne seemed horrified.
Jackson suddenly appeared, strode over to the sofa, and picked Bella up. She wiggled and squirmed, but he held her tightly and she finally was still. He put her down on the other side of the room and, kneeling so they were eye level, spoke quietly to her. After a few minutes, they came back together, and Bella stood before her grandmother.
“I’m very sorry, Grandmamma,” she said, and bowed her head.
Ruth gave Daphne a triumphant look and took Bella’s hand. “I forgive you, Bella. But you mustn’t say things like that in the future.”
Bella looked at her father and got only a stern look in return. “Yes, Grandmamma.”
Margarita peered into the room and announced that dinner was ready. Jackson took Ruth’s arm, and the two of them marched into the dining room together, Bella and Tallulah right behind them. As Daphne rose, Amber gave her a pat on the shoulder.
“It’s been a long day. Bella’s just overtired. Don’t let them all get to you,” she said to her.
“Sometimes that’s really hard,” Daphne said.
“You’re a wonderful mom. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not.”
“Thanks, Amber. You’re such a good friend.”
In a way, Daphne was a wonderful mother. She gave her kids everything, especially love and affection. She was certainly a better mother than Amber’s, who’d made it clear every day of her life that her kids were a loathsome burden.
“Don’t leave yet. Stay and have dinner with us,” Daphne said.
Amber wasn’t sure that dinner with an exhausted, exasperated Bella and a disapproving grandmother was going to further her plans in any way. “I’d love to, Daph, but I have tons of laundry and cleaning to do. Thanks for asking, though.”
“Oh, all right,” Daphne said, linking her arm in Amber’s. “At least come to the dining room and say good night to everyone.”
She obediently followed Daphne into the room where the family was all seated and being served by Margarita.
“Good night, all,” Amber said, waving her hand. “It was a wonderful party.”
A chorus of farewells came from the group, and then Jackson’s smooth voice rang out. “Good night, Amber. See you tomorrow at the office.”
Nineteen
Amber dressed carefully for her first day at Parrish International. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore plain gold-colored hoop earrings and minimal makeup. Getting up at four o’clock to catch the 5:30 train was murder, but she had to make a good impression. How anyone could stand doing this on a long-term basis was beyond her. Hopefully, it would only be temporary.
The glass tower that housed Jackson’s company was enormous, and she marveled that he owned it. It must have cost a fortune to own a building like this in Manhattan. The lobby was empty except for security, and she nodded as she scanned her identity badge and was green-lighted through the turnstile. When she reached the thirtieth floor, she was surprised to see a few people already in their offices. She’d have to get an even earlier train tomorrow. Her tiny cubicle was outside her boss’s office. She would be reporting to his first assistant, Mrs. Battley, or Mrs. Battle-Ax as Amber thought of her after their meeting last week at orientation. The Battle-Ax was somewhere between sixty-five and seventy-five with steel-wool-gray hair, thick glasses, and thin lips. She was the very definition of no-nonsense, and Amber hated her on sight. She had made it clear that she wasn’t pleased that Amber had been thrust upon her. It was going to be a challenge getting the old bird to like her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Battley. I’m going to get some coffee. Would you like some?”
She didn’t look up from her laptop. “No. I’ve already had my one cup. I have some filing for you, so please see me when you’ve gotten yours.” Amber cast a discreet glance in the direction of Jackson’s corner office. His door was closed, but she could see movement through the slatted blinds covering one glass wall.
“Do you need something?” Battley’s gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Sorry, no. My coffee can wait. I’ll take the filing now.”
“Here you are,” she said, handing Amber a pile of papers. “And here’s a list of new clients to add to the database. I’ve left instructions on your desk on how to do so. You’ll also need to add their websites and all social media channels to their profiles.”
Amber took the folder and returned to her tiny cube. She’d traded in her office with a window view for this claustrophobic cube, but at least now her plan was progressing. The hours passed as she immersed herself in her work, determined to be the most efficient assistant Old Battle-Ax had ever had. She’d brought a bag lunch and ate at her desk, working without a break. At six o’clock, Battley was standing at her cube with her coat on.
“I didn’t realize you were still here, Amber. You can leave at five, you know.”
She stood up and gathered her things. “I wanted to finish up. I like to come in to a clean desk in the morning.”
This actually elicited a smile from the older woman. “Quite right. I’ve always felt the same way.”
She turned to leave, but Amber called out, “I’ll walk down with you.”
They walked in silence to the elevator bank, and when they got on, Amber gave her a shy smile.
“I want to thank you for giving me this chance. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
Battley raised her eyebrows. “Don’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Mrs. Parrish told me how valuable your opinion is to Mr. Parrish,” Amber said. “She made it quite clear that I was here
on a probationary basis. If you don’t find me up to snuff, then I’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Amber could tell that the woman’s pride made her believe this bullshit. Battley stood a little straighter. “We shall see, then.”
Yes, we shall, Amber thought.
* * *
After a month, she’d still had no direct contact with Jackson, but Old Battle-Ax had begun to rely on her more and more. Amber would arrive at least fifteen minutes before her, so that she could bring Battley her morning coffee with a little something extra in it. Amber had a three-month supply of Elavil from her internist. She had told him that she was having panic attacks, and he’d recommended it. He did mention some possible side effects: short-term memory loss and confusion. She’d started dosing low, and hoped that Battley’s predilection for flavored creamer obscured any trace of the pills in her coffee.
Battley arrived that morning, seemingly more confused than normal. Amber noticed that her pace had become slower and that she paused often, looking around her desk as if unsure of what to do next.
When Battley got up to go to the bathroom, Amber quickly went into her office and took the woman’s keys from her purse and moved them. She then refiled a folder that was sitting on her desk. Battley came back to her office and searched for the missing file, panic in her eyes. At the end of the day, Battley opened her purse and looked inside. Amber watched as she moved the contents around and finally poured everything out on her desk. No keys. She looked stricken. “Amber,” she called. “Have you seen my keys?”
Amber hurried into Battley’s office. “No, I haven’t. Aren’t they in your handbag?”
“No,” she said, almost in tears.
“Here,” Amber said, taking the purse from the desk. “Let me look.” She pretended to root around. “Hmm. You’re right. Not here.” She stood a moment as if thinking. “Have you looked in your drawers?”
“Of course not. I never take them from my pocketbook. I would never put them in my desk,” she insisted.
“Why don’t we look, just in case.”
“Ridiculous,” Battley huffed, but opened the drawer. “See, they’re not there.”
Amber leaned over to look and then glanced past them, at the wastebasket next to the file cabinet. She pulled it toward her.
“They’re in the trash can.” Amber reached in and pulled them out, handing them to Battley.
Battley stood still, staring at the ring of keys in her hand as she swallowed hard. It was apparent that the woman was distraught, but all she said was good night before turning and leaving without another word. Amber smiled as she watched her walk away.
A few days later Amber rearranged the cards in Battley’s Rolodex—she must have been the last person on earth to still have one. As the weeks wore on, the stress was having the intended effect—a haunted look of constant worry was in the older woman’s eyes. Amber felt a little bad about what she was doing, but the woman really needed to retire. Her time would have been much better spent with her grandkids. She’d told Amber she had five and complained that she didn’t get to see them enough. Now she’d get to be with them more, and Jackson would probably give her a good retirement package—especially if he believed she had dementia. Amber was doing her a favor, really.
And didn’t Jackson deserve someone more hip and this-century helping him out? He was probably keeping her on out of loyalty. Amber was doing them both a favor, when she thought about it. This morning, she’d printed off a paper with gibberish and slipped it in between the pages of a report Battley had just finished. She knew the woman would think she’d really lost it when she saw it, and of course, she’d never mention it to anyone. Amber figured it would only take another few weeks. Between her eroding self-confidence and the mistakes she was soon to make, arousing Jackson’s suspicions, Amber would be sitting pretty in Battley’s office in no time.
Twenty
It took much longer than Amber anticipated, but after three months, it had all become too much for Battley, and she handed in her resignation. Amber was now filling in while Jackson began the search for a new head assistant. She was still in her tiny cubicle, while Battley’s office remained vacant, and while it bothered Amber that he hadn’t yet considered letting her step in permanently, she was confident he would soon find her indispensable. She had already spent the past seven nights learning everything she could about his newest clients from Tokyo—it was amazing what people put on their social media profiles. Even if they did have the smarts to set up their privacy settings properly, what they didn’t realize was that every photo they were tagged in linked to someone else’s page, and not everyone was as diligent. Between using her background-check software and trolling all the social sites, she had a comprehensive picture of each of them, including their disgusting predilections. She had also conducted a thorough search of their recent business deals to get an idea of their negotiating skills and any tricks they might have up their sleeves.
Jackson summoned her to his office, and she gathered the report on the client. He was leaning back in his black leather chair, reading something on his iPhone. His jacket was off and his shirtsleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms. The Parrishes had just returned from Antibes. She figured they were able to practice the French language they seemed to worship. He didn’t look up as she entered the office.
“I’m slammed today, but I forgot Bella’s play at camp is this afternoon. I have to duck out after lunch. Move my appointments.”
What must it be like to have a powerful father who cared enough about you to take time from his busy schedule to come to your play? And the little brat appreciated nothing. “Of course.”
“Did you make reservations at Catch for Tanaka and his team tomorrow?”
“Actually, no.”
His head snapped up. She had his full attention. “What?”
“I made them at Del Posto. Tanaka loves Italian, and he’s allergic to shellfish.”
He looked at her with interest. “Really? How do you know that?”
She handed him her report. “I took the liberty of doing some research. On my own time, of course,” she added quickly. “I thought it would be helpful. With social media it’s not that hard to find things out.”
He smiled widely, giving her a glimpse of his perfect teeth, and reached out for the report. After thumbing through it, he looked up again. “Amber, I’m very impressed. Great initiative. This is fantastic.”
She beamed. She bet Battley didn’t even know how to use Facebook.
She stood up. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go take care of sorting your appointments.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, immersed in the report again.
She was making progress with him, although she was a little disappointed that he didn’t seem to notice how good her legs looked in the short skirt and high heels she’d worn that day. He was that rare commodity—a man who only had eyes for his wife. Daphne, on the other hand, seemed complacent, like she took it for granted that he worshipped her. It irritated Amber. It was obvious to her that Daphne wasn’t as passionate about Jackson as he was about her, and that she really didn’t deserve him.
She opened up Jackson’s calendar on her computer and began contacting his afternoon appointments to reschedule. As she was about to make another call, he appeared.
“Amber, why don’t you sit in Mrs. Battley’s office until we find her replacement? It’ll be more convenient to have you right outside. Give Facilities a call; they can move your things.”
“Thank you, I will.”
She watched him as he strode away, his Brioni suit looking as though it had been hand-crafted by the gods. She wondered what it would be like to wear a garment that cost more than some people made in a year.
She picked up her phone and texted Daphne.
Are you free tomorrow? Would love to meet for a drink.
Her text tone sounded. Sure. I’ll have Tommy pick you up and we can go to Sparta’s. Seven thirty good?
&n
bsp; Great! See you tomorrow.
If Daphne was having Tommy drive them, it meant she was in the mood to drink, which was perfect because Amber was ready to get her to spill her guts. She had discovered that after one martini Daphne became much more relaxed, making it easy to pour a few more down her throat.
Twenty-One
The Parrish Town Car was waiting outside her apartment right on time. She was about to call out a hello to Daphne when she realized the backseat was empty.
“Where’s Mrs. Parrish?” she asked Tommy as he opened the door for her.
“Mr. Parrish came home unexpectedly. She asked me to collect you and drop you at Sparta’s, then swing around for her.”
She felt annoyance choke out her good mood. Why hadn’t Daphne just called and asked if they could move the time back? She felt like an appointment being handled. And why should it matter that Jackson came home? Why didn’t Daphne just tell him she already had plans? Where was her backbone?
When she got to the bar, she chose a cozy table in the corner and ordered the 2007 Sassicaia. It was $210, but Daphne would be picking up the bill, and it served her right for making Amber wait. She took a sip of the red delight and savored the opulent flavor. It was amazing.
She looked around as the lounge began to fill and wondered if any of Daphne’s so-called friends would be coming in tonight. She hoped not—she wanted Daphne all to herself.
Daphne finally arrived, looking harried and, frankly, a little unkempt. Her hair was a bit frizzy and her makeup splotchy.
“I’m sorry, Amber. Just as I was leaving, Jackson came in, and . . .” She threw her hands up. “Not even worth getting into. I need a drink.” She glanced at the bottle, and a little frown furrowed her brow.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered a bottle. I forgot my reading glasses and couldn’t really see that well, so I asked the waiter for a recommendation.”
The Last Mrs. Parrish Page 10