“Meredith asked that we get to the restaurant by seven so we don’t run into Rand. She wants him to be surprised.”
Jackson arched a brow. “I’m sure the bill will be surprise enough.”
I laughed dutifully, then looked at my watch. “We’ve got about half an hour, and then we’d better get going.”
The bartender placed the drink in front of me.
Jackson lifted his glass. “Cheers, darling.” He toasted me with such force that my drink ended up all over the front of my champagne-colored dress, now splashed with red.
“Oh dear, look what you’ve done.” He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.
Heat spread to my cheeks, and I took a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. Meredith was going to be so disappointed. I looked at him with no change in expression. “What now?”
He threw his hands up. “Well, obviously you can’t turn up to the restaurant like that.” He shook his head. “If only your dress were darker, or if you weren’t such a klutz.”
If only you were dead, I wanted to answer.
He called for the check. “We’ll have to go to the apartment and get you changed. Of course, by the time we do that, it’ll be too late to make it in time for the surprise.”
I forced my mind to go blank and followed him numbly from the bar. We got into the limo, and he ignored me while reading e-mails on his phone. I pulled my phone out and texted my apologies to Meredith.
Because of traffic, it took over forty-five minutes for us to get there. I smiled at the doorman, and we rode the elevator in silence. I went to the bedroom, threw the dress on the floor, and stood looking at the closet. I felt him before I heard him—his breath on my neck, then his lips on my back.
I suppressed the urge to scream. “Sweetheart, we don’t have time.”
His mouth traveled down my back, to the top of my panties. He slid them off and cupped my buttocks with his hands. He moved closer, and I realized he’d taken off his pants. I could feel him hard against me.
“There’s always time for this.”
His hands moved to cup my breasts, then he grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the wall, his pressed on top of them. I braced myself as he took me, hard and rough, moving into a frenzied crescendo. It was over within minutes.
I went into the bathroom to clean myself up, and when I emerged, my black Versace was hanging on the bedroom door. I grabbed it and laid it on the bed.
“Hold on,” he said, walking toward me. “Wear this underneath.”
It was a black Jean Yu thong with a matching strapless bra. He’d had it made to order for me, and it felt amazing—like a silk caress—but the sight of it only reminded me of what he’d done before he gave it to me. I took it from him though, and gave him my best imitation of a smile.
“Thank you.”
He insisted upon dressing me, pulling the stockings up my legs, stopping every few moments to brush his lips against my skin as he did so.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay home and let me ravish you again?” He gave me a rakish smile.
Did he really believe I had any desire for him? I licked my lips. “As tempting as that sounds, we did promise. And Randolph is an old friend.”
He sighed. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” He zipped my dress and tapped me on the behind. “Let’s go, then.”
When I turned around, he looked me up and down. “It’s lucky you spilled your drink—that one’s much better on you anyway.”
By the time we arrived, an hour and a half later, everyone was just nibbling on the passed appetizers. I gave Meredith an apologetic look as we rushed over to greet her.
“I’m so sorry we’re late—”
“Yes,” Jackson cut in, “I tried to tell her we were running behind, but she insisted on squeezing in a massage. It put us behind about an hour.” He shrugged.
Meredith’s face registered shock, and she turned to me, hurt obvious in her eyes. “Why did you text me that you spilled something on your dress and had to go home and change?”
I stood there, paralyzed by indecision. If I told her the truth, I’d have to contradict Jackson. Public humiliation would bring a heavy price. But now my good friend thought I’d lied to her just so I could indulge in some pampering.
“I’m sorry, Mer. It was both. I had a pulled muscle, I spilled . . .” I stumbled on my words. Jackson watched me, an amused smile on his face. “What I mean, is that, yes, I did get a massage—my back was really bothering me—but we still would have made it in time if I hadn’t spilled my drink all over myself like an idiot. I’m really sorry.”
Jackson shook his head and smiled at Meredith. “You know how clumsy our little Daphne can be. I’m always telling her to be more careful.”
Fifty-Six
When I first met Amber, I could never have imagined that she would become someone I depended on. I’ll admit, my first impression was of a somewhat homely and meek young woman with little to interest me except for the fact that she’d experienced a similar heartache. Her grief seemed so raw and fresh that it helped me put my own pain on the back burner to help her. I wanted to make it all better, to give her a reason to wake up in the morning.
Looking back, I suppose I should have seen the signs. But I was eager for a friend, a true friend. No, that’s not quite right. I was desperate for a sister—for my sister, which was of course, impossible. The next best thing was a friend who’d suffered the same loss I had. It’s bad enough to lose a sibling, but to watch one die a little each day—there’s no explaining that to someone who hasn’t experienced it. So when Amber appeared so unexpectedly in my life, she felt like a gift. I had no one in my life that I could trust. Jackson had done his job well, isolating me from everyone in my past and erecting impenetrable walls around my life. None of my friends knew the reality of my marriage or my life. But with Amber, I could share genuine emotion. Even Jackson couldn’t do anything about that.
The flowering friendship made him nervous—he didn’t like for me to see any of my friends more than once every few weeks unless, of course, he was there. When I’d asked him to find a job for her at Parrish, he’d been indignant at first.
“Come on, Daphne. Isn’t this little charity act wearing thin yet? What could you possibly have in common with that frumpy mouse?”
“You know what we have in common.”
He rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, will you? It’s been twenty years. Haven’t you mourned enough? So her sister died too. That doesn’t mean I want her working in my company. She’s around our family too much as it is.”
“Jackson, please. I care about her. I do everything you want, don’t I?” I forced myself to walk over to him and put my arms around his neck. “She isn’t a threat to you. She really needs a job. Her family back home depends on her. I can brag to everyone about how you rescued her.” I knew he’d like playing the hero.
“Hilda does need an assistant. I suppose we could give her a chance. I’ll call Human Resources and have her set up for an interview.”
I didn’t want to take any chances. “Couldn’t you try her out without an interview on my word? She’s smart as a whip; she’s done a better job as my cochair than anyone before her. And working at Rollins, she knows a lot about your business. She worked on the commercial side.”
“Rollins! That’s not saying much. If she’s so good, why’d they let her go?”
I had hoped to avoid telling him, but I saw no out. “Her boss was sexually harassing her.”
He started laughing. “Is he blind?”
“Jackson! That’s cruel.”
“Seriously, that dirty-dishwater hair, the ugly glasses, and don’t get me started on her lack of fashion sense,” he said, shaking his head.
I was glad that he didn’t find her attractive. Not because I cared if he strayed, but because I didn’t want anything to cause me to lose her as a friend. And working for Hilda Battley, she’d be cocooned from any funny business from the men there. I felt good
about helping her and knowing that no one would traumatize her again.
“Please, Jackson. It would make me very happy, and you’d be doing a good thing.”
“I’ll arrange it. She can start Monday. But you have to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Cancel your mother’s visit for next month.”
My heart sank. “She’s been looking forward to it. I’ve already bought tickets to The Lion King. The girls are really excited.”
“It’s up to you. If you want me to hire your friend, then I’ll need some peace and quiet. When your mother’s here, I can’t relax. Besides, she was just here for Tallulah’s birthday.”
“All right. I’ll call her.”
He gave me a cold smile. “Oh, and tell her that you’re canceling because the girls want to take Sabine instead of her to the show.”
“There’s no need to be cruel.”
“Okay. No job.”
I picked up the phone and dialed. When I hung up, heartsick at the hurt in my mother’s voice, he gave me an approving nod.
“Well done. See? You don’t need anyone but me, anyhow. I’m your family.”
Fifty-Seven
I loved having a best friend again. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until Amber came along. Her manipulation was so subtle and gradual that I never had a twinge of suspicion.
It wasn’t long until we were always in touch with each other: texting when something funny happened, phone calls, lunches. I wanted her at the house all the time. I was ready to leave to meet her when I heard his car in the driveway. Stomach lurching, I contemplated sneaking out the back, but when I looked out the window, he was out of the car and talking to Tommy, our driver. Shit.
He slammed the front door and stalked over to me. “Why do you need Tommy tonight? He said he’s picking up Amber too. Are you planning on drinking yourselves into oblivion like some sluts?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. Just a glass or two, but I don’t want to drive. She’s been so busy with work, we wanted an evening to catch up. I thought you were taking clients out tonight—”
“The dinner was canceled.” He studied me for a long moment. “You know, she’s the help now. It’s actually rather unseemly for you to be friends with her. What if someone sees you together?”
The heat spread from my neck to my face. “She’s become like a sister to me. Please don’t ask me to stop being friends with her.”
“Upstairs,” he commanded.
The girls were getting their baths; I had already said my good nights. “I don’t want the girls to hear me. I’ll have to go through the routine all over again.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his office, slammed me against the wall, and locked the door. He unzipped his pants and pushed me down to my knees.
“The quicker you get to it, the faster you can leave.”
Hot tears of humiliation ran down my face, ruining my makeup. I wanted to refuse him, to tell him how much he repulsed me, but I was terrified. The slightest resistance to anything he wanted could result in the gun coming out again.
“Stop crying! You make me sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Shut up and get to it.”
After I finished, he tucked his shirt back in and zipped up his pants.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” He laughed. “By the way, you look like shit. Your makeup’s all smeared.”
He unlocked the door and left without another word.
I stumbled to the bathroom and ran some water under my eyes. I texted Tommy and told him to get Amber and come back for me. I couldn’t let anyone see me this way.
When I finally got to the bar and saw Amber waiting, I wanted nothing more than to pour out my heart, tell her what he was really like. Her friendship had lulled me into such a strong sense of security that I almost told her the truth about why I was late. But the words wouldn’t come. And what could she do anyway?
As she looked at me with stars in her eyes, asking about my perfect marriage, I wanted to lay it all bare. But she couldn’t help me, and there was nothing to be gained by being truthful. So I did what I had learned to do best: I pushed the reality to the back of my mind and pretended that my charmed life was all that it seemed.
Fifty-Eight
The night that Meredith came to tell me that she’d discovered that Amber wasn’t her real name, at first I believed Amber’s explanation, that she’d been abused and had to run from her crazy father. After all, I understood what it was like to be a captive. If I thought I could survive and Jackson wouldn’t find us, I’d have gladly assumed a false identity. But something in her story was familiar. Then it hit me: she’d used the same phrase—I’m so ashamed to tell you this—when she told me about her boss making a pass at her. The more I thought about it, the more her story sounded suspicious. I decided to listen to my gut and investigate, but I pretended to believe her. I had my own reasons, but Meredith thought I was crazy. She’d come over the day after the confrontation.
“I don’t care what she says, Daphne. You can’t trust her. She’s an impostor. I wonder if she even has a sister.”
That was impossible, though. Even if she’d lied about everything else, she had to have a sister. I couldn’t bear to believe that someone could be so cruel as to pretend she had suffered as I had, to make up stories about a sister struggling with this dreadful disease. That would make her a monster. And my best friend couldn’t be a monster.
“I believe her. Not everyone has the resources that we do. Sometimes lying is the only option.”
She shook her head. “There’s something very off with her.”
“Look, Mer. I know you’re only trying to protect me. But I know Amber. Her grief over her sister is genuine. She’s had a rough life, and I understand that. Please, have a little faith in my judgment.”
“I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your call. For your sake, I hope she’s telling the truth.”
After she’d gone, I ran up to my bedroom, opened my nightstand drawer, and pulled out the glass turtle Amber had given me. Holding it by the edges, I placed it in a plastic bag. I threw my hair into a ponytail, pulled a baseball cap low on my face, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I left the house with only my wallet and the burner phone I’d bought a few months earlier and walked the two miles into town. The cab I’d called was waiting in front of the bank on Main Street, and I jumped in the back.
“I need to go to Oxford. This address please.”
I handed him the slip of paper and slid back in the seat, looking around to make sure no one I knew had seen me. My thoughts were racing as I considered the implications of Meredith’s findings, and I felt sick. Was it possible that our entire relationship was built on pretense? Was she using me for my money, or was she after my husband? Slow down, I thought. Wait and see.
Forty minutes later, the cab came to a stop in front of the brick building.
“Can you wait for me?” I gave him a hundred-dollar bill. “I won’t be long.”
“Sure, ma’am.”
I went up to the fourth floor and found the door marked “Hanson Investigations.” I’d found the agency online, using a computer at the library. I went inside to a small, empty reception area. No one sat behind the desk, but a door behind it opened, and a man walked out. He was younger than I’d expected, clean-cut and kind of cute. He smiled and walked toward me, his hand outstretched.
“Jerry Hanson.”
I shook his hand. “Daphne Bennett,” I said. The chances that he knew Jackson or anyone in our world were slim, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I followed him into a pleasant room with bright colors. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he took one of the armchairs and indicated I should take the one across from him.
“How can I help you? You sounded pretty shaken up on the phone.”
“I need to find out if someone who’s gotten close to me is who she says she is. I have her fingerprints.”
I handed him the bag. “Can you find who they belong to?”
“I can try. I’ll start with a criminal check. If her prints aren’t there, I’ll see if I can reach out to some folks who might be able to tap into private databases where she might have been printed for a job.”
I handed him the newspaper article with her picture. I had circled her face. “I don’t know if this will help. She claims to be from Nebraska, but I don’t know if she made that up. How long will it take before you find anything out?”
He shrugged. “Shouldn’t take more than a few days. If we find a hit, I can put together a full report for you. To be safe, let’s say next Wednesday.”
I stood. “Thanks so much. Text me if there’s any delay; otherwise, I’ll see you on Wednesday. Is noon good?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that works. Listen, Mrs. Bennett, be careful, you hear?”
“Don’t worry. I will.”
I took the stairs, feeling as though I would jump out of my skin if I didn’t keep moving. I thought about all the intimate conversations, the parts of me I had shared with her. Julie. My darling Julie. If she did anything to make a mockery of my sister’s memory, I didn’t know what I would do. Maybe it would just be a misunderstanding.
I got back into the cab to head home. Now all I had to do was wait.
Fifty-Nine
“It’s not good, Mrs. Bennett,” Jerry Hanson said as he slid the manila folder across the desk toward me. “There’s quite a bit to look through. I’m gonna take a walk, get some coffee. I’ll be back to discuss everything with you in about half an hour.”
I nodded, already immersed in the file. The first thing I saw was a newspaper article with Amber’s photo. Her eyes were heavily lined with black, and her hair was bleached platinum blond. She looked sexy, but hard. Only her name wasn’t Amber. It was Lana. Lana Crump. I read the article, then looked through the rest of the document. My hands shook as I put down the last piece of paper. I broke out in a sweat, reeling from the betrayal. It was far worse than I’d imagined. She had made everything up. There had been no sick sister, no abusive father. I had let her into my life, my children’s lives, let her get close to me and told her things I’d never shared with another human being. She had played me, and brilliantly. What a fool I’d been. I’d been so blinded by my grief over Julie that I’d actually invited that jackal into my life.
The Last Mrs. Parrish Page 26