The Mulberry Tree

by Jude Deveraux

  Carol said that she had made a pot roast for dinner. “But what do I serve before and after?” she wailed.

  The camera went to Carla, who said, “I know, Mom. How about using those preserves you bought at the grocery?”

  The next scene was played in double time, with Carla in the kitchen, dressing her mother (her pulling panty hose on was hilarious), while Carol opened jars from the Mulberry Tree Preserving Company and made a beautiful plate of hors d’oeuvres. The youngest daughter took a frozen pound cake from the freezer and poured a jar of marinated cherries on top of it.

  The camera slowed down to show a beautifully coiffed and dressed Carol (three hours with Opal, under Arleen’s direction) serving hors d’oeuvres to her husband’s boss and his wife (Mr. Shelby and Arleen, who was wearing Chanel). The last scene was the two couples sitting at the dining table, finishing the cake. The boss turned to Alex and said, “You get the promotion and the raise.”

  When the commercial was over, Patsy grabbed the remote, turned the set off, and looked at everyone. “Well?” she said.

  Rick started the applause, then everyone joined in. Matt got the bottles of champagne out of the refrigerator and filled glasses. “To the Mulberry Tree Preserving Company,” he said, and everyone drank.

  Laughing, they went outside to the food, dissecting every aspect of the commercial. But Bailey hung back and found Matt alone in the kitchen.

  “Did you like it?” she asked. “Really like it?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “It was great. It got your point across, and it was funny. You couldn’t ask for more.”

  “What would you change?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

  They were alone in the house. “Matt, I’m sorry about lately. It seems that—”

  Bending, he kissed her on the nose. “It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.” He went back into the living room and picked up the remote, Bailey right behind him. “You mind if I catch the news?”

  “You mean the football scores, don’t you?”

  Matt smiled. “You’re beginning to know me too well.”

  “Maybe not well enough,” she said, and looked him hard in the eyes.

  Matt’s smile grew warmer. “How about another glass of that wine, and maybe we could—”

  “Snuggle down and watch an old movie?” she asked.

  “Certainly snuggle down,” he said, smiling back at her.

  “Two glasses of champagne coming up,” Bailey said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  When Bailey returned, the news was on, and when she heard the name “Manville,” she halted, standing behind the couch, a glass of champagne in each hand.

  A woman on the news was crying. “They’ve closed the plant,” she was saying. “And I have three kids to support and no job.”

  The newscaster looked back at the camera and said, “This is just one of many plants and factories that Atlanta and Ray Manville have shut down in the last few weeks.”

  When Bailey gasped, Matt turned to glance at her, but her eyes were on the TV.

  “The Manvilles have put Wall Street in a turmoil as they dump stocks, sell everything that once made up the empire of multibillionaire James Manville, and turn it into cash.”

  On the screen was Ray, surrounded by reporters and furious people who’d lost their jobs. He was flanked by three bodyguards and four lawyers as they pushed their way through the crowd. Ray stopped in front of one microphone. “My little brother knew how to run all these businesses, but my sister and I don’t. We’re just simple country people, so we’re selling up and getting out,” Ray said, then started pushing again.

  “But what about all the people you’re putting out of work?” the reporter asked.

  “They’d be out of work when we went bankrupt, wouldn’t they?” Ray snapped at the man.

  As Ray got into a waiting limo, the camera went back to the reporter. “It’s been estimated that Atlanta and Ray Manville have so far collected one-point-four billion—that’s billion—dollars in cash. And where are they putting their dollars? Not in an American bank. Since the accidental drowning of James Manville’s former attorney, Phillip Waterman, yesterday—”

  That’s when Bailey dropped the glasses of champagne on the floor, and when she stood there in frozen silence, her eyes wide and staring, Matt came around the couch and led her to sit down. He was listening to the TV, but he was watching Bailey.

  “—the business liquidations have doubled,” the reporter continued. “No one knows the reasons behind these sales—and especially not the reason for the speed. Back to you, Nancy.”

  In the newsroom, behind the heads of the two anchor-people, was a photo of the late James Manville and his wife, and the reporter was speculating on where his widow was now. “Could she have prevented this, Chuck?” the woman was saying. “If his wife of sixteen years had stayed and fought, would this be happening now?”

  Suddenly everything in Bailey’s mind started spinning, and the walls seemed to be closing in on her. She slumped forward and would have hit the floor if Matt hadn’t caught her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Is she okay?” he heard Carol ask from behind him.

  “Fine,” Matt said, trying to keep his voice calm. “She dropped the glasses and cut her hand, and she’s a little faint. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I’ll clean it up, and if you need anything, let us know,” Carol called through the door.

  Matt put Bailey on the bed, then went to the bathroom to get a cloth soaked in cold water. Sitting down by her on the bed, he put the cool cloth on her forehead.

  Instantly Bailey tried to sit up, but Matt pushed her back down. “Get hold of yourself. Calm down. Don’t let them see that you’re upset, or they’ll ask questions.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean. I—”

  Matt wiped her face with the cold cloth. “James Manville is your Jimmie, isn’t he? I recognized you in the photo. Your face is thinner now, and your nose is different, but it was you.”

  When she hesitated, Matt said, “Don’t even think of lying to me! There were so many odd things about you, like how you don’t know how to do simple things, like order from a catalog, yet you’ve been all over the world. And you—Anyway, I knew you’d either been isolated in some rich prison or— Truthfully, I couldn’t come up with an answer to explain what you were like. All I’ve known is that you have one really big secret.”

  “And now what do you plan to do about it?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Hit you up for a loan,” he said.

  “I don’t— Oh, I see. That was a joke.”

  “A bad one. Is the Phillip who drowned the same man who paid for cleaning and clearing this place?”

  As that memory flooded back to her, Bailey put the back of her hand to her mouth. “Phillip. He’s Carol’s husband. The girls’ father. Oh, Matt, she doesn’t know. She’s been angry at him because he’s been working such long hours, so I don’t think he knows she’s here. Knew,” Bailey said, and tears came to her eyes.

  “Stop it!” Matt said, his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t do this. Who was the call from, the one in the middle of the night?”

  “It was Phillip,” Bailey said, choking back tears. “He was warning me about . . . I can’t think. He was warning me about something, but I can’t remember what.”

  “Since you’ve been here, you’ve been asking a lot of questions of everyone. Why?”

  “Jimmie asked me—I mean, he left me a note with his will. He wanted me to find out what happened.”

  “Happened about what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just—” She broke off as she opened her bedside table drawer and removed her address book. Stuck between the pages was the note that Phillip had given her.

  Matt took the note and read it. “What does this mean? He wants you to find out the truth about what?”

  “I don’t
know,” Bailey half shouted. “I don’t know,” she said again, then lay back on the pillows. “What am I going to tell Carol? I don’t know how, but Phillip’s death is my fault. Maybe if I had found out the truth, and maybe if I’d listened to Phillip, maybe—”

  “Your only fault has been in not confiding in me,” Matt said. “Now, listen, here’s what I want you to do. I want us both to go back out there and pretend that you haven’t heard devastating news. I’ll tell Violet to keep Carol away from all media until you and I can talk to her. And I’ll think of something to get rid of all of them as soon as possible. Then you and I are going to sit down and have a talk. Agreed?”

  Part of Bailey said she wanted to stand on her own two feet, but another part wanted to put her head on Matt’s big shoulder and let him take over. The cowardly part won out.

  “Thanks,” Matt said when he saw her face relax. Taking her hands, he pulled her off the bed, smoothed back her hair, and looked down at her. “Not bad,” he said. “You look like you’ve just had a tumble.”

  “No such luck,” Bailey said, sniffing.

  “Now she tells me,” Matt said with such sincerity that Bailey came close to smiling. He took her hand. “Now, come on, chin up, we’ll get rid of them soon.”

  Matt did as he said. They went outside, and everyone looked at them in speculation. Matt went straight to Violet and whispered something to her, but no one noticed because they were all staring at Bailey. When she couldn’t meet their eyes, they smiled, as though they knew what she and Matt had been doing in her bedroom. All it took to make all of them leave was for Matt to yawn and say, “Whew, it’s been a long day.”

  Everyone except Alex said they needed to leave. Patsy said something to Rick, Rick said something to his two sons, then they whispered something to Alex. Alex said, “But I hate video games.” That’s when Carla walked over to him and struck him in the ribs with her elbow. “Hey! Why’d you— Oh, yeah, I think I’ll leave too,” he said, then he winked at Bailey.

  Thirty minutes later, Bailey and Matt were alone in the house. He made her a strong cup of tea and set her down on the sofa. “Now talk,” he said.

  It didn’t take long for Bailey to tell Matt every fact she knew. That her billionaire husband had died suddenly and left his fat widow with nothing had been on the news across the globe. Matt had seen the note, and all Bailey had been able to find out in her time in Calburn was that Jimmie had, maybe, been Frank McCallum’s son.

  “Then who the hell are Atlanta and Ray?” Matt asked.

  Bailey’s eyes widened. “How would I know? For all that this town is Gossip Heaven, there are big secrets everywhere. If Jimmie is one of Frank’s kids, then I guess Atlanta and Ray are Frank’s other kids.” She put her hands over her face. “This has all happened too fast. When I saw them in your photo, I—”

  Matt pulled her hands down. “My photo? What are you talking about?”

  “You have a photo of Atlanta and Ray in your shoe box,” she said.

  “Those two ugly teenagers?” Matt asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “And you flat-out lied to me that you didn’t know who they were.”

  “I—” she began, but he waved his hand.

  “I’ll get my box.” He left the room and came back moments later with the shoe box, then held up the photo. “I’ve never paid much attention to this picture and I’ve thought many times that I should throw it away, but I didn’t.” He put the box of photos down on the coffee table. “I want you to tell me every word that Phillip said to you when he called.”

  Bailey had to admit that her mind had been so full of starting the business that she hadn’t listened very carefully to Phillip, so it was hard to remember the details. And what she did remember had to be explained, so Matt could understand.

  After a while he got up to get Bailey another cup of tea. When he returned, he said, “Maybe Manville had your mother sign a permission slip but never told you he’d done it.”

  “That’s what Phillip said, but that doesn’t make sense. I told Jimmie that I would be nineteen on my next birthday. There would have been no reason for him to think that he needed to get permission from my mother. I told him—”

  Suddenly, Bailey’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God.”

  “What is it?”

  “I . . . I don’t believe this.”

  “What?!”

  “When I met Jimmie, he gave me an award. I was in the—” For a moment, Bailey was too stunned to speak. “I was in the under-eighteen division.”

  Matt leaned back against the couch. “I want you to tell me every word about the day you met him. Everything.”

  Twenty-one

  “I’d like to know who in the hell said I’d do this,” James Manville said, sneering at the little man with the badge on his chest. Jimmie was tall and big, and he was wearing black leather racing gear. His lion’s mane of hair and his thick mustache added to the size of him.

  “It was, uh, part of your contract, sir,” said the little man. “The fair guaranteed your car a place in the—”

  “All right,” Jimmie snapped. “What is it I’m supposed to judge? Flower arranging?” He looked over the head of the little man to his two employees, and they chuckled quietly at their boss’s joke.

  The little man didn’t know Jimmie was making a joke. “No,” he said as he consulted his clipboard. “It’s preserving. Jams and jellies.” He looked up at Jimmie. “I apologize, sir. To ask someone of your stature to judge something as lowly as this is unthinkable, and of course I will see that whoever did this is fired. He—”

  “Where?”

  “You mean who?”

  “No!” Jimmie snapped. “I mean what I say. Where is the preserving exhibit?”

  “It’s, uh, this way, sir,” he said, trying to keep up with Jimmie and his entourage.

  “Lillian, he liked you!” Sue Ellen said.

  “No, he didn’t,” Lillian Bailey answered, clutching the four blue ribbons she’d won. “He was just being polite.”

  “Are you kidding? How many judges kiss the cheeks of the winners?”

  “Why would he—” Lillian began, but she couldn’t continue, because the fourth time that James Manville had kissed her cheek, he’d whispered, “Meet me by the Ferris wheel at three,” and Lillian had nodded.

  “I have to go,” Lillian said, then ran toward the main arena, where she knew her mother and sister would be. Dolores was planning to sing today, right after the first car race. The race he was in, Lillian thought, and a thrill shot through her.

  Her mother and sister had been assigned a small area at the back of the arena. It was open at the front, canvas on three sides. A piece of plywood was set across saw-horses at the back, and Dolores sat in front of a mirror, applying mascara. She had on her smallest cowgirl outfit, the one with all the fringe.

  “There you are,” Freida Bailey said when she saw her second daughter. “Don’t just stand there, make yourself useful. See what you can do with your sister’s hair.”

  Lillian picked up the hairbrush and began to stroke her sister’s hair.

  “Would you mind!” Dolores snapped. “I’m going to get mascara all over myself if you keep jerking me around like that.”

  “Sorry,” Lillian said, then drew in her breath. How was she going to tell them that James Manville—the James Manville—had asked her to meet him? Would they grab her and squeal in delight, as Dolores and their mother did when Dolores won a singing contest? “I won,” Lillian said.

  Freida was looking in the big trunk that they carried from show to show. “I can’t find your little pistol,” she said.

  “It’s in there somewhere,” Dolores said. “Keep looking.”

  “I won,” Lillian said louder, then caught the brush in her sister’s hair. Dolores yelped in pain.

  “Really, Lillian!” Freida said. “It’s wonderful that you won another blue ribbon, but then your jams always win, don’t they? Couldn’t you make yourself useful and help? Your sister is going onst
age in ten minutes, and it’s rumored that James Manville is going to be in the audience. He’s not married, and he’s rich.”

  At that statement Freida and her eldest daughter looked at each other and laughed.

  And suddenly, Lillian couldn’t stand being there. “Oh, no!” she said. “I forgot. I have to—” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a quick lie. Instead, she just turned and ran out of the arena, and when she heard her mother call, she kept on running. She had hours before she was to meet “him,” and she wanted time alone to savor the anticipation.

  “I can’t believe this,” Matt said. “You were seventeen years old, and Manville was how old?”

  “Twenty-six,” Bailey said.

  “And I guess you did meet him at the Ferris wheel?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bailey said, and closed her eyes in memory. When she blocked out all that had happened since then and thought only of that one wonderful day, it was the sweetest memory of her life. “Yes, I met him, and I had a glorious day. Jimmie was like a kid. It was as though he’d never been a child. We went on rides, and he took me to see his race car. At that time he was known as much for his daredevil racing as for the money he’d made. They opened the speedway just for him, and he took me for a couple of laps around the track. He even let me steer.”

  “He let you know that he liked you,” Matt said softly.

  “Yes,” Bailey said. “He made me laugh, and he did like me, old-fashioned liked me. He liked what I said and did. He liked the look of me, and considering that I was fat and had a nose the size of—”

  Matt put a fingertip over her lips. “Manville saw what you really are. He saw inside you, and he approved.”

  “Yes,” Bailey said. “Sometimes I’ve thought that approval may be the strongest aphrodisiac in the world.”

  “It is when you’ve had little of it in your life,” Matt said softly. He was holding her hand and caressing it.

  “Right,” she said. “But it wasn’t one-sided. I also felt something needy inside him. If I’d been older, I would have been cynical. I would’ve thought he was a dirty old man out for the virginity of a young girl. But I’d been hit on by an older man before, and it felt creepy. Jimmie made me feel wonderful. And in spite of our age difference, I didn’t feel we were different.” Bailey looked away for a moment. “Maybe it was because when I met him I was an old woman, or at least that’s the way I saw myself, and he was a man who seemed to have missed out on being a child.”