by Fran Louise
“I’m not sure this is appropriate,” I said.
She answered with a haughty smile.
“You should probably speak to Jay if you have questions.”
“Oh, tosh,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Come, now. I won’t pretend the situation’s anything less than tawdry, but we must deal with it like civilised adults. We are women of the world, you and I, Stella.” She strode into the kitchen, perfume and silk billowing in her wake. “I want a glass of champagne. What do you think? Is the sun past the yardarm?”
I watched, a little astonished, as she rummaged in the wine cooler.
“I hate this house,” she said finally, straightening with a ‘tut’ of disapproval. “I’ve always hated it. The housekeeping staff are atrocious. Not even a bloody bottle of Chablis.” She lifted her brow at me and then frowned. “We’re in the provinces now, darling. Can you drink alcohol, or does it go into the breast milk?” Distaste wrinkled her nose. “You are breastfeeding, I presume? It seems to be all the rage again from what I hear.”
I couldn’t help but smile, though the amusement was mostly bewildered. Was this woman for real? She’s been on the verge of a nervous breakdown this morning. I couldn’t vouch for her sobriety, but she seemed pretty in control otherwise.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake … I can see why he likes you,” she said suddenly. “I’ve never met a man more incapable of small talk. He borders on savage. I presume your relationship is probably mostly about sex.”
My jaw slid open.
“You don’t have to answer that,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to!” Nerves twanging, I snatched my laptop off the counter. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do. I’m here in D.C. to work, contrary to whatever you’ve been told.”
“Nobody told me a damned thing,” she said, following me with her eyes as I strode towards the door. “Where are you going?”
“To the garden,” I said with exaggerated patience. I placed my laptop down on the table. Ignoring her, even though I was quaking inside, I opened the parasol above the table, the square, black fabric casting a wide shade. I pulled a chair in front of the laptop and sat down.
Who the hell did she think she was? And once again, how the hell had I ended up the mistress in this damned scenario?
I’d already booted up the laptop and logged in by the time she approached. She stayed by the wall, in the sunshine. She was tall; as tall as Jay in those heels, with almost the same tone of blond hair and tawny skin. Her eyes were narrowed slits against the sun.
“You’re a journalist, aren’t you?” She had a way of asking questions without prompting a response, rather as a way of displaying her already vast knowledge of the subject. “The Tribune.” She grimaced. “I don’t read it. It’s a little too liberal for my liking.”
I resisted the urge to question her politics. Instead I tried again to read an email that was swimming in front of my eyes like SpaghettiOs.
“Do you have a by-line?”
I lifted my gaze and frowned against the glare of her presence. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You probably do,” she said. Her gaze flattened as she considered me. “You don’t really believe he’ll leave me ... do you, Stella?” This time she did sound somewhat curious, if amused. “Did he tell you he’d leave me and marry you, and live happily ever after with you and that—child of yours?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve never asked him to, either.”
“Oh. How very gracious of you.” The smile descended. “You are here, though—aren’t you? I’m sure this dreary little townhouse is a step up from whatever you’re used to. Jay must be quite the catch in your circles.”
I laughed aloud. “No, I think he’s probably a catch in your circles,” I said, still amused as I turned back to the screen. “In my circles we don’t try to catch men. This isn’t the nineteenth century.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Oh, really? Do you feminist types not angle after rich, good-looking men? I thought evolution was supposed to secure the human race, not damn it to all hell.”
Leaning my elbow on the table, I rubbed one eye. “Are you looking for a debate on feminism or Darwinism, Elizabeth? Because I have work to do.”
She stepped forward quickly. Though the movement was tempered, there was such a wealth of volatility about it that I recoiled.
“Jay is my husband,” she said. Her body was rigid with control, a vein evident in her forehead. “That child of yours will only ever be a detail in his life; a monthly check and trust fund, to be precise.”
Rage was like a cold, wet blanket descending. I sat back carefully.
“She isn’t his heir,” Elizabeth went on. “She’s a bastard. Make all the jokes you want, but inheritance is no laughing matter. It’s not a legacy from past times—not when you’re responsible for the kind of fortune Jay and I are responsible for.”
Bastard? Nina? “Wait a minute, now-”
“No, you wait!” She took a deep, calming breath, looming over me like a cloud. “You have no right to be here, in my house. My marriage isn’t some tawdry affair conducted in secret. It’s a partnership, between Jay and me and our families, founded on true values. One doesn’t go about dissolving such a partnership over minor details like a child out of wedlock.”
“You’re in the middle of a divorce,” I reminded her, coming to my feet.
“Gestures,” she said. She tossed a hand into the air, red nails glinting like a weapon. “He’s making a point; if he’d wanted to divorce me, he would have it done it already. Jay isn’t an indecisive man.”
“Fine. So, why don’t you tell him this?” I threw the words at her. “Jay invited us here. He’s the one who wants his daughter in his life. This has got nothing to do with me.”
“Don’t play me for a fool!” she exclaimed. “I know all about seducing a man away from his wife. You’re an amateur. You’re nothing—you’re an incubator for his seed. He’ll tire of you the same way he tires of all of them. Only you were stupid enough to get pregnant.”
In that moment, staring into the contorted features of Elizabeth Benson-Fitzsimmons, a genuine tremor of fear coursed through me. For all her lofty elocution, she was clearly a woman under duress. The question was: just how unstable was she?
“What do you want?” I asked again. “If you really want me out of here, all you have to do is speak to Jay. The only reason I’m here is because he wants to get to know his daughter.”
She was watching me with dark amusement now. “Liar.”
My stomach flipped. “No, I’m not. If you’re so sure I’m a liar—if you’re so sure Jay won’t divorce you—why are you threatening me?”
She leaned in close enough to my face that her breath, slightly fragrant with alcohol, fanned my skin. “You stupid girl,” she said. “He and I come from the same world—a world you don’t inhabit. You can never inhabit. You might be able to distract him for a while, but you can’t give him what he really needs.”
“And that would be?” I asked.
She laughed. “For me to know,” she said, “and for you to guess.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jay
The house was deathly quiet when I got back. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting: wailing children and dinner on the stove? I looked around at the half-dark, wondering where Stella was. I’d spent a hell of a morning trying to settle Elizabeth, and had finally left her at her hotel before lunch. She’d been exhausted and ready to sleep off the overnight trip from New York. She hadn’t called, so I presumed she’d slept through the whole day. She’d probably been sedated; she’d self-medicated through smaller crises than this one.
I cracked my neck and considered the verdict from this morning. I still didn’t know what it meant. I couldn’t get information fast enough, but I was useless here in Washington. Even having spent the entire day with Fueller, I was still blundering around on the sidelines of the investigation. I needed to know what Harry had offered
them; if he hadn’t already, he was sure to start talking in return for a reduced sentence.
And what about the information the feds had obviously collected from the bugs in my apartment? I knew on a rational level that I had nothing to worry about, but rationality was, unfortunately, a luxury I couldn’t afford right now. The truth was, I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t know how—if—Elizabeth was implicated, nor did I know to what extent my father had been involved in sketchier areas of Harry’s dealings. Ultimately, I didn’t know for sure if they’d offered me up as a scapegoat.
Ante familia nihil venit … my ass.
Nonetheless, all of this had to wait. I’d promised Stella I’d be here; I’d insisted she, and Nina, stay in this house. I owed it to them to be present. Elizabeth and her family would have to wait.
I wandered down the hallway, trying to shed the day’s anxieties. The disquiet, pulsing in me like muscle cramp, slowly died down as I approached the kitchen. In its place I could feel a rising sense of anticipation. It solidified into something much more complex as I stepped into the kitchen and found Stella, sitting alone at the table.
I guessed Nina was in bed. I was, surprisingly, disappointed. I’d expected to be too tired to deal with an infant, but it occurred to me that Nina’s perfumed innocence would be the perfect antidote to such a complicated day. Unsettled, I took in the surroundings, looking for differences. The room was clean and tidy, a few items of baby paraphernalia dotted here and there along with the scent of sterilising fluid. It smelled like a family home for possibly the first time in its century-long existence; not exactly pleasant, but oddly comforting.
Stella smiled but she didn’t get up, or speak. The clean lines of her features looked ghostly in the dim light from the laptop in front of her. I soaked in the sight, realising I’d been looking forward to seeing her, too.
“Hey,” I said, softly. I set my keys and the phone down on the island.
“Hey,” she said.
I approached the table. “Working?”
She nodded.
My eyes swept her features. “Is Nina asleep?”
She nodded again. She made another attempt at a smile but she was so rigid that it looked more like a grimace. The ache returned, vibrating just under my skin.
“She went down about a half hour ago,” Stella told me, “You can go up, if you like, but she’s out for the count.”
I nodded. I didn’t make a move. She was more than tense, I realised, recognising a thickness in her voice. Was she upset?
“What did you guys do today?” I asked, leaning my hips against the counter a safe distance away from her. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, watching, waiting.
She shrugged, and her neck and shoulders seemed fragile under the dark fabric of her dress. “Not much,” she said. She made that half grimace, half smile again.
She was angry. Was it because I was late? I’d told her to call me, and she hadn’t, so I’d presumed she’d been occupied all day.
“There’s not much you can do with a baby in tow,” she said. “Life gets real simple.”
The air was thick, partly from the heat of the day, partly from the sheer massiveness of everything she wasn’t saying. Hell, she was like a cocked gun ready to go off. I could feel it in the same way I might smell gunpowder in the air.
I went about the usual night-time routine, checking the back door was locked and the windows closed. I had no plans to coax her out of her shell. That shell was probably the best place for her right now. I’d dealt with one too many wailing women today.
To her credit, she didn’t try to goad me. Elizabeth would have sensed the retreat and gone in for the kill. Stella, however, went back to work. Nonetheless I could feel the tension coming off her in waves as I foraged in the refrigerator for a beer. I wondered vaguely if she was more the passive-aggressive type. The silence stretched between us, tearing. The sound of the lid coming off the bottle seemed inordinately loud, and she glanced up, frowning.
I offered it in her direction. “Want one?”
She shook her head. Taking a swig, I crossed into the den and sat on the sofa, putting some space between us. What a day … turning on the game, I stared at the screen blankly, going over events in my head. After dropping Elizabeth off I’d headed straight out to Bethesda, to Fueller’s family home, for a conference. Fueller had been jovial about the quick trial and sentencing of Harry Benson, and even happier about my decision to resume the divorce. He’d pronounced everyone in the clear, but I couldn’t share in his enthusiasm. Not yet.
“Did you eat?”
I looked up, surprised at the soft sound of Stella’s voice. She was standing in the archway, arms crossed and her body curved against the frame. She wasn’t looking at me, but at the screen.
“I had dinner at a friend’s house,” I said in a low voice. “Sandra should’ve left plenty of stuff in the freezer.”
She nodded. “We were fine.”
I stared at her, finding it difficult not to. It had been a shitty day. The oblivion of her soft willing body was a tempting thought. Would she be willing?
It was probably a bad idea. Frowning, I let my head fall back on the sofa as I played with it nonetheless. I did need to let off a little steam. She looked like she could use it, too. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. My libido certainly knew which way it was voting; I could feel my body tensing in all the right places at the prospect.
She moved into the room. The fabric of her dress rustled against her skin, and I caught the faintest outline of her body as she passed in front of the light.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
Disappointment slammed down like a shutter on my fledging arousal. I glanced at the clock to see it was just after nine. “Already?” I cocked one brow.
“It’s been a long day.”
It sure had. I exhaled heavily. “Okay,” I said. I turned back to the screen.
“We need to talk tomorrow,” she said stiffly.
Ah ... so she was going to engage. I narrowed my eyes on her again. She wasn’t bristling for a fight, exactly, but she meant business. Something had been brewing in this house while I’d been gone. I supposed I should be pleased that she wasn’t insisting that we hash it out now. We’d have clearer heads in the morning.
Curiosity jabbed at me again as I considered what it could be about. The scene with Elizabeth this morning? My absence today? Was Stella the needy type? She’d never seemed like it before—quite the opposite—but I had to admit, I had no idea who she really was. She was the mother of my child and yet all I’d really registered about her was that she had very ticklish feet. And she liked tea for breakfast rather than coffee, unless she was very tired. And she was easily one of the most complex, erotic lovers I’d ever had, though I had to admit that might just be that my response to her was complex and erotic.
The tension bubbled over and I sat up, taking my feet off the table. I regarded her steadily. “Come here,” I said, before I’d even analysed what I was doing.
She eyed me up and down. “Why?”
“I’m not going to bite,” I said, smiling at her wariness. Something dark stirred low in me. “Come here,” I said again. “Sit down.”
She remained where she was, arms crossed, but I sensed a hesitation in her, a softening. I held her gaze. I’d never had any problem persuading Stella to share my bed before. It was one of my favourite things about her. She was sweet and fun and playful, and sinfully passionate when she was fired up. Exactly what I needed tonight.
“You seem tense,” I said.
“I’m tired,” she said in a low voice.
I took a swig of beer. “You need to relax,” I said, “switch off a little. You won’t be able to sleep.”
She considered this. She chose that moment to slide her gaze down the length of my body, as though considering it as an option. A jolt bolted through me. Her eyes were wide—I could see it had been an involuntary movement—but I held her accountable.
Yes,
that’s it, sweetheart … just let go.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she said finally.
Damn ... why does it need to be a good idea? “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Cute, Jay.”
I stared at her a moment longer. My body was hard; she knew what I wanted. I could see it in the weight of her expression, the shadow behind her eyes. I could sense that she wanted it, too, even if she was resisting it.
The moment stretched between us like an unanswered question.
“I have work tomorrow,” she said, and the tension snapped. “We need to talk in the morning before I leave.”
I looked away. “Okay,” I said. “Sleep well.”
“You, too,” she said.
Once she’d gone, I shook my head and let out a small laugh. “Coward,” I said under my breath, though I wasn’t sure which one of us I was accusing.
#
A couple of hours and a cold shower later, I finally called it a night. I wanted to look in on Nina—like the kid with the new bike, I had a compulsion to keep checking on her. But I didn’t feel comfortable sneaking into the same room where Stella was sleeping.
By midnight I was wide-eyed and rock hard again, staring up at the ceiling. Denial was an ache searing low in my stomach. It didn’t help that I could smell Stella everywhere. Yanking the covers aside, I turned on to my side. She’d only been in the house a day and her scent was practically ingrained in the furniture. She’d never been in this bedroom. How the hell could I still smell her scent in here?
Had I been kidding myself, insisting that she stay here at the house instead of go to a hotel? Sure, I was intrigued by the prospect of observing Nina’s daily routine over the next week, but I had to admit, against all better judgement, that I was bitterly disappointed, now that it was clear that I’d be sleeping alone for the duration.
I sighed again. As much as I hated to admit it, I had to put the brakes on. I couldn’t complicate the relationship with Stella anymore than it already was. This—desire between us might have been casual so far, temporary, but it was just as engulfing as a flash fire if we gave it enough air. We were parents to a little girl now … there would be nothing casual about anything we did ever again, including sex. Besides, Stella was complicated. The very reasons that had drawn me to her as a lover made me run scared when I considered that she was the mother of my child. She clearly wasn’t capable of a relationship. She’d bristled around me, to say the least, since we’d established I was Nina’s father.