She took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Richard does not do business in Seattle.” He unfolded his arms and came into the room. “What does he need that requires you to fly across the continent when you’re pregnant?”
She wondered how much he had heard. Oh, well, she had known that she couldn’t keep it a secret from Tom forever, but she had hoped to break the news to him at their offices, preferably when he was about to dash off to court and had no time to protest. “Family business.”
“What kind of family business?” Tom wasn’t budging. “Neither of you has family there.”
Lucy swallowed. “I do.”
“Who?” He sat down on the side of the bed. “I know every—” He stopped. “It’s not your mother, is it?”
She hadn’t thought of that. She seldom spared a thought for the woman who had skipped out on her, leaving her to the best parents a girl could have asked for. “It’s not her.”
Tom studied her for a long moment. “Then who?” And he didn’t sound ready to accept any more evasions. “What does Richard have to do with this?”
“Okay.” Lucy braced herself. “You’re not going to believe this.”
~•~
To: Richard Ashmore
From: Thomas Maitland
No. No, no, and no again.
Lucy is pregnant, Richard. You know what happened. You know what she’s gone through. I’ve heard the whole convoluted story, and we will discuss your “not remotely sexual” encounter with Francie later, when I’ve had a chance to cool down.
I don’t care if Francie is alive, dead, or living in a cave on Mars. I don’t care if she tried to kill Diana, you, Laura, or the man in the moon. I care about my wife, and I care about that baby she’s carrying.
If you want to find Francie, go to Seattle yourself. But not until the divorce is over. I don’t want you near her until we settle Diana’s hash.
Look, I hate telling people how to run their lives, but I have to tell you, you are living dangerous days. If Diana finds out, you’re going to pay, and so is Laura. The smartest thing either of you has done in weeks is her taking herself out of state.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Laura. She’s a nice girl. It doesn’t take a genius to see that she wins hands down over Diana. But you need to tread lightly until we have a signed settlement in hand. That includes Laura, and that sure as hell includes Miss Radioactive out there in Washington State.
So stay out of Seattle until I tell you otherwise.
Tom
~•~
To: Thomas Maitland
From: Richard Ashmore
Understood.
BETWEEN US: I did not lie to you about my encounter with Francie in August 1991. Lucy has the story wrong, but – believe me – it’s better than the truth. So let her think what she does. I will not say anything beyond that.
I’m sending Lucy an email.
Richard
~•~
To: Lucy Maitland
From: Richard Ashmore
Lucy,
I’m calling off the search. Cease and desist. I do not want you endangering your health.
Richard
~•~
To: Richard Ashmore, Thomas Maitland
From: Lucy Maitland
I am not speaking to either of you until further notice.
The pregnant one with a brain as well as a uterus!!!
~•~
In Berkeley, the owner/editor/writer/designer of the country’s most notorious right-wing web site picked up the nugget from the Boston station when a regular reader forwarded a link to him. Normally, he didn’t post show biz gossip, but this had the 9/11 connection – the grieving widow, the big business interests, the kind of delicious immorality that whipped the family values groups into a frenzy. And it had been a slow news weekend. No celebrities had murdered their wives; al Qaeda hadn’t attacked; even the politicians had shut up after wrapping themselves in the flag.
He did a couple of minutes of research, surfing to Amy Stewart’s linked message and then Googling Richard Ashmore, Laura St. Bride, and Cat Courtney. He rewrote Jake’s web entry for conciseness and clarity, swiped Amy’s picture of Cat Courtney, and queued the entire entry on the regular publication schedule for 10:00 p.m.
~•~
The house was still and silent. For the first time in days, Richard got some real work done.
He spent a fruitful evening alone, writing his lecture for UVA the next morning, punctuated by calls to his partner to discuss a wiring problem with the library and the never-ending foundation challenges of the Charleston project. He ignored Max’s plaintive pouting for a mid-evening snack. “Listen, she told me not to pay any attention,” he told the wide-eyed cat, and damned if the beast didn’t seem to understand. Max stalked off with his tail in the air, presenting his best side to the heartless tyrant determined to starve a poor helpless kitty to death.
His phone remained silent. He decided not to call.
When he finished the lecture, he opened up his email, and began to write.
~•~
Laura could not put it off any longer. She had delayed as long as she could, waiting for Meg to go to bed, sitting at the ornate desk in the suite’s library to make a list of everything she needed to do the next day, and staring at her phone, trying to summon up the nerve to press that speed dial button.
Ridiculous. This was the man she loved. The man who had said, Let me do this for you. The man who had marched Mark St. Bride off Ashmore Park for her. The man who had sought her out in the garden, respecting her need to grieve. Surely, he wouldn’t get upset over a little thing like her running off to another state without telling him, would he?
A sound from her laptop – a newly arrived email. She glanced at the screen, grateful for the delay, and received her answer.
Yes, he would indeed get upset over a little thing like that.
~•~
To: Laura St. Bride
From: Richard Ashmore
Dear Laura:
I trust this is the last time you are ever going to run away from me.
I decided not to call tonight because we both have some thinking to do, and a few days apart will give us the time and space to do that thinking. I’m tired and not very happy at the moment, and we should not talk until I’ve gotten some sleep.
Know this up front. I am not upset that you have gone to West Virginia with Meg. In light of yesterday and the discovery of your husband’s remains, it’s a good idea. I understand that you and Meg need to mourn and that I have no place in that mourning.
However, I also understand why you did not wait until I got home from church to tell me. I will tell you bluntly: Coming home to find a note that you are gone does not sit well with me. The message it sent came through loud and clear, but not the message you intended to send.
We’re equals, Laura. You are an adult. I told you last week, I don’t want to control you. I am not Cameron St. Bride. I am not interested in telling you how to live your life or raise your child or deal with his family. I will help you in any way you want, but those are your decisions to make.
Diana has always claimed that I wanted to control her, but nothing could have been further from the truth. I never wanted an adjunct or a slave. I never wanted a clone of my mother. I only wanted a marriage as good as theirs, and to this day, I don’t think I asked too much. I wanted someone I could depend on. I wanted a partner.
My parents got it right. Obviously I got it all wrong with Diana, but I do not intend to get it wrong with you. You’ve been curious as to what happened between her and me. While I do not intend to discuss that – ever – I will tell you that I came home one day to find her writing a note, preparing to leave. So I’ve had the experience of a woman walking out on me, and frankly, I don’t care to repeat it.
I love you. You wanted the words – there they are. You wanted a relationship with me – you’ve got it. But that confers certain obligations on us both, and one of
those is not disappearing without notice. If you’ll recall, I wanted something from you too – a promise that you would not leave.
We may have love, but we don’t have trust. That has to change. I am here for you. I wasn’t fourteen years ago, to my everlasting regret, but I am now, and I am not going anywhere. I need to know you are here for me too.
So take this time to get done what you need to do. When you return, we have to have a long, serious talk about what we want from each other.
I hope this is not unnecessarily blunt or harsh. I’m leveling with you because you can take it. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I pity Mark St. Bride – the man has no idea what he unleashed yesterday. There’s no fiercer creature than a lioness protecting her cub.
I took Julie down to North Carolina this afternoon, and we had a good talk. You won’t encounter any more sullenness or defiance from that quarter.
I’ll be in Charlottesville most of tomorrow. I’ll call you in the evening. If Meg needs help with her math, tell her to email me.
Get some rest. Enjoy the Greenbrier – I attended a conference there a few years ago and thoroughly enjoyed it. Do what you have to, and then come home to me.
Richard
~•~
9:50 p.m. on the West Coast:
Amy Stewart’s father sat down at his computer to wade through the emails that had piled up during his weekend fishing in the San Juans. He finally read the frantic email from his daughter, asking him to remove her post from the family message board. He immediately went to the board, entered his administrative password, and deleted her message.
Just another Internet ghost. Here one minute, gone the next.
~•~
12:59 a.m. on the East Coast:
In Williamsburg, Lucy Maitland slept, her back turned to her husband.
In Williamsburg, Brian Schneider lay awake, unable to get that prom picture out of his mind.
Outside Williamsburg, Richard Ashmore left his house for his second run of the night.
In North Carolina, Julie Ashmore sat in the dark in front of one of the dorm computers, trying to frame a conciliatory email to her cousin.
In Hampton, Diana Ashmore came in from an unusually busy night at the club, collapsed across her bed, and fell asleep within seconds.
In West Virginia, Laura St. Bride tossed and turned, alternatively staring up at the ceiling and getting up to read, again, her very first love letter from Richard Ashmore. She was trying to decide if he was genuinely angry or merely irritated when her daughter crawled into bed with her, face wet with tears.
~•~
11:59 p.m. in Texas:
In Plano, after consuming a bottle of whiskey, Mark St. Bride fell asleep.
~•~
9:59 p.m. on the West Coast:
Dr. David Montgomery unlocked his front door and stepped into the entry way, just as his wife came down the stairs. He had dealt with a four-car accident, a liquor-store shooting, a prostitute knifing, three deaths, and various civilian injuries during his shift, and he was physically and mentally exhausted. A moment later, as the grandfather clock struck ten, he forgot all that. He settled down to a late-night pizza and listened as his wife told him that three-year-old Lily had played Chopsticks all by herself.
~•~
10:00 p.m. on the West Coast:
The story appeared at the lower right corner of the screen in the news site’s signature plain black type:
Singer Cat Courtney Unmasked,
Widow of 9/11 Tycoon,
Other Woman in Family Divorce
And there it sat for less than 30 seconds before it was read.
~•~
End of Ashmore’s Folly Trilogy: Book Two
To be concluded in:
All That Burns the Dark
Ashmore’s Folly Trilogy: Book Three
~•~
Author’s Notes and Acknowledgments
At the end of All Who Are Lost, I included a lengthy historical and architectural note now posted on the Ashmore’s Folly site at http://ashmoresfolly.com/ashmores-folly-trilogy/all-who-are-lost/authors-note-book-one/. Most of the information stated in that note is also germane to All That Lies Broken, but in the interest of not making this book any longer or heavier than it already is, I won’t repeat it here!
I also included a bibliography for the trilogy, now posted at http://ashmoresfolly.com/ashmore-extras/bibliography/.
QR codes for each are at the end of this note.
~•~
This novel refers to several laws concerning divorce and mandatory reporting of wounds in Virginia and the laws of inheritance and community property in Texas. My thanks to the attorneys who lent me their expertise. Any mistakes are my own.
• The Virginia statute regarding the mandatory reporting of non-self-inflicted gunshot wounds, referenced by Lucy Maitland, can be found in the Code of Virginia at 54.1-2967.
• The Virginia laws pertaining to divorce can be found in the Code of Virginia, Title 20, Chapter 6.
• The community property laws in Texas and laws concerning gifts between spouses can be found in the Texas Family Code, Title 1: The Marriage Relationship, Subtitle B: Property Rights and Liabilities, Chapter 3: Marital Property Rights and Liabilities.
The poem that Laura quotes to Richard during the storm is by Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress. It is best known for the phrase “world enough and time,” which became the title of a well-known novel by Robert Penn Warren.
“Nessun Dorma,” the tenor aria that becomes a bone of contention between Laura and Diana, comes from the final act of Puccini’s Turandot and is one of the most famous arias in opera. While it is usually sung by tenors, several sopranos have made it their own (notably Sarah Brightman).
“Un Bel Dì,” also by Puccini, is sung in Madama Butterfly, Act 2. This has not only figured in opera but also in popular culture, including a drunken aria by Barney in a Simpsons episode (a favorite rendition).
According to the calculator at http://www.timeanddate.com/date/duration.html, the number of days between June 30, 2002 and June 30, 2052 really is 18,264 (inclusive). Laura has a long way to go before Richard will let her live down her rash comment in Jefferson’s bedroom at Monticello.
Confession time: To my chagrin, there was no thunderstorm in the Williamsburg area on the night of July 4, 2002. I needed a thunderstorm, so I invented one and am claiming artistic license. Mea culpa!
~•~
Even though writing is a solitary activity, no one writes a novel in a vacuum. I have been blessed with the support of my husband and family as I prepared to publish this story.
For everyone who supported and encouraged me, I thank you all! Especially:
• my editor: Diane Mumpower
• my beta readers: Pam Murphy, Marianna Stone, Karen Haggard
• my writing mentor: Patricia Burroughs
• my cover designer: Robin Ludwig of Robin Ludwig Design
• my co-worker: Linda Hume, who drew the maps of Ash Marine and Ashmore Park. She took my terrible drawings, the cartological equivalent of stick figures, and actually created maps from them!
• my parents and siblings, who supported me in my writing, and especially my sister, who was always only a phone call away with love and encouragement
• and, of course, my husband and family, for their love and patience.
Lindsey Forrest
Author’s note:
Trilogy bibliography:
About the Author
LINDSEY FORREST BEGAN HER CAREER AS A famous novelist in fourth grade, entertaining her classmates at recess with short stories about her favorite TV shows. A few years later, she discovered Georgette Heyer, Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, and other romantic suspense/Gothic authors, and angsty heroes (who might or might not be cold-blooded murderers) replaced her first imaginary friends. In eighth grade, she wrote her first five novels, full of shameless references to Gone with the Wind and replete with kidnapping
s, ladies in peril, heroines who took no prisoners, and the original Richard Ashmore*.
And UST?** Oh, yes. Even though, at her tender age, she had no idea what that meant.
After college, she sadly realized that she needed real money to pay the rent and buy food, so she went to work as a lead writer/editor for an international information company. She now spends her days writing about the scintillating world of income tax, saving her energy at night for a world where everyone has more important things to think about.
When she isn’t daydreaming at work about her next chapter, she is reading on her e-reader (never leave home without it!), stitching her way through her never-ending stash of needlepoint canvases, and collecting shoes, handbags, dolls… you name it.
For outtakes, news about future projects, pictures of her cat Max, and anything else she can think of to throw out there on the Internet, visit Lindsey at her web site: www.lindseyforrest.com.
* These will never see the light of day. They are locked away in a trunk for all eternity.
** Unresolved Sexual Tension, for the uninitiated.
Available Now
LINDSEY FORREST
All Who Are Lost
Ashmore’s Folly Trilogy: Book One
Always out of reach…
From the day Laura and Richard met,
their bond was true and unshakable.
He was her perfect boy knight;
she was his adoring little slave.
He shielded her against her father’s cruelty;
she worshiped him and did his bidding.
But childhood love is sweet and uncomplicated
And Laura never had a chance.
Her Prince Charming saw only Diana,
the golden girl, the fairy tale princess …
her older sister.
He never saw her…
But princesses can betray and destroy,
and happily ever after can drown
under the weight of lies and infidelity.
Reeling from the darkness of a ruined marriage,
Richard turned to the last woman
in the world he should love –
All That Lies Broken (Ashmore's Folly Book 2) Page 58
