by Molly Greene
Jack plunged out the open passenger window and sprinted toward the side door of the garage.
Madison tugged a bouquet of roses from the back of the 4Runner. She’d found Gabrielle’s favorite color at a roadside stand along the way, deep ruby red. They’d filled the car with heady perfume during the drive. She held them to her nose one last time.
With the flowers cradled in her arms, she pushed open the kitchen door. “Happy Thanksgiving,” she called out.
Gabi was speaking with one of the caterers near the bar. A prep crew busied themselves around the imposing butcher block island that commanded the center of the room. They all looked up and smiled, wishing her a happy day in return.
Servers came and went, swapping empty trays for full platters of shrimp and crab balls. Jack was already playing with Harpo and Chico, Emily’s two-year-old Maltese puppies, in their frilly bed in a corner of the butler’s pantry.
“Roses for me?” Gabi swished to her side and hugged Madison. “How thoughtful. Even though I told you to come empty-handed.”
“You look gorgeous,” Madison said. She returned the embrace with her free arm and kissed the air at Gabi’s cheek, careful not to muss her hair.
Gabrielle’s knit dress showed off her toned body. New diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She winked. “Not bad for a twenty-nine year old.”
“You’re in a great mood,” Madison whispered. “Does it have something to do with those massive rocks you’re wearing? Early Christmas present to yourself?”
“They were a gift, yes,” Gabrielle whispered back. “But I didn’t buy them. Dillon did. A peace offering.”
“Wow,” Madison said, momentarily confused. “He’s a bigger man than I gave him credit for. Did he make the gesture because he knew it was time for you to move on?”
“No,” Gabi replied. She clasped her hands together. “He begged me to take him back. He said it wasn’t any fun without me.”
“Oh.” Madison stared. “I misunderstood. From what you said the other day, I thought the split was a done deal.”
When she replied, Gabi’s eyes were just a bit too bright and her voice too high to pass for normal. “Can I have someone bring you a drink?”
“Sure. Chardonnay, please.”
Gabi chattered on. “Good news abounds today. There’s an extra man for you.” With a big smile, she took the flowers and handed them to a nearby worker. “Vases are in the pantry. Top shelf right side.”
“For me?” Madison tried to recover from the double surprise. “That means Gen has checked under the hood and given him the thumbs down.”
“Now, now, keep an open mind. Come and say hello.”
Several women chatted in the dining room, seated in deep upholstered chairs around the table. Wine goblets and plates of smoked salmon and brie were scattered about. Soft music mixed with the muted buzz of conversation.
Acres of vines belonging to Paradise Hills Winery stretched into the distance, displayed like a living Monet through the expanse of glass that comprised the back wall of the house. Dusky blades of iris circled the bank of a sparkling two-acre pond. In an island in the center, a filigreed gazebo appeared to float in midair, twinkling in a dense jacket of miniature lights. Trees were sprinkled across the shoulders of the distant hills. A mist eddied down the hillside on the far side of the valley.
The scene never failed to move her.
“Madison, you know everyone but Ashley Cohen and Sue Sumner. Ash, this is our dear life-long friend Madison Boone, real estate agent extraordinaire. Ashley is a fabulous screenwriter, and sweet Sue plays Allison on the soap, ‘One Day Beyond.’”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Madison said, and shook both women’s hands.
Genevieve stood at the window with her back to the others, looking out over the rows of dormant vines and swirling a brandy snifter in one hand. She turned at the introductions and smiled.
Her long-sleeved black frock fit perfectly, falling in shimmering swirls to a point just above her knees. Jet beads glittered at her neckline. Her hair was pulled away from her face and curled down her back.
“Gen, you look gorgeous,” Madison said. “And Yvonne, I swear you haven’t aged a minute. What’s your secret?”
“A little Botox and a lot of sex, dear,” Yvonne Delacourt replied.
The group giggled. Gen and Gabi’s raven-haired mother was short and Hollywood thin. Stilettos made up for what she lacked in stature. Her unlined face belied her age, but she had to be close to sixty-five.
Gen stepped forward. “Party time,” she whispered, then in a louder voice said, “Mom had another facelift three months ago. The surgeon is very talented.”
Yvonne threw her head back and laughed. She stood and hugged Madison. “Madison, I wish you’d rubbed off a little more on Genevieve. She can be so coarse.”
Gen smiled devilishly. “The truth can be rough, Ma.”
“Ignore her, Yvonne. You look ravishing. Where’s Pierre? I want to say hello.”
“My husband is putting on a performance in the living room.”
“Pepe Le Pew just finished a run of Shakespeare,” Gen said. “He was demonstrating his sword fighting skills last time I looked. Let’s go break it up.”
Yvonne, Genny, and Madison linked arms and walked into a lively scene in the living room. Pierre Delacourt held a poker from the fireplace. His left hand was flat against the small of his back. His form was perfect, shoulders low in his swanky suit, neck elongated, legs bent at a precise angle. He hopped forward and brandished the weapon at Hodge Tooley, who struck a similar though somewhat less professional pose with a closed umbrella.
Half a dozen people urged the players on.
Dillon Radcliffe stood away from the melee, his back to the group, holding a champagne flute by its base and looking out at the view. He turned when they came in.
The smile on his face did not quite reach his eyes.
He wore a v-neck sweater and a pin-striped shirt over designer jeans. His dark hair was bottle-streaked and brushed forward around his face like a rock star. There was a gold earring in his left ear.
“His stylist did a great job,” Madison whispered to Gen.
“With that one, beauty is only skin deep,” Gen replied.
Anna was leaning over the suede couch, speaking to a man Madison did not know. She came over and hugged the new arrival, then turned back to include the stranger. “Mad, this is Isaac–”
Pierre Delacourt caught sight of Madison and dropped his stance. His eyes widened. He walked to her, arms held wide.
“Amour. Tu m'as manqué.”
She hugged him. “I’ve missed you, too, Pep.”
“Ah, you see?” He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “No one calls me father anymore. All my girls address me by my given name or the nickname derived from some ancient cartoon, as though my time as patriarch has forever faded away.”
Genevieve laughed. “Well done, Dad.”
Madison patted his shoulder.
Pierre moved aside to embrace his wife and kiss her forehead. “Je t’aime, ma chérie,” he said. “Thank God I have you to shower me with love and respect.”
“Je t’aime aussi,” Yvonne whispered. “You know I swoon with passion when you speak French, my love.”
“Cul de sac,” he whispered. “A la carte. Chauffeur. Faux pax.”
Yvonne pretended to faint and Pierre lifted her as though she were a doll. Carrying her to the couch, he sat effortlessly with his wife on his lap. The group clapped enthusiastically at the familiar routine.
Only Dillon did not respond.
“Growing up with Pierre and Yvonne was like living in an animated film,” Genny said to no one in particular.
Hodge Tooley discarded his umbrella, then stuffed his fingers into the waistband of his cords and straightened his khaki shirt. He wasn’t a handsome man, but Anna’s boyfriend wore a perpetual smile. It was on his face when he moved to Madison and slung an arm around her shoulder.
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br /> “My girl has been gushing about your new place,” he said. “When do I get to see it?”
“Personally or professionally?” she asked.
“Either way. How’s the electrical? Anna mentioned something about an outside light not working.”
Madison cut her eyes to Anna.
“Bad bulb,” Anna said. “No big deal.”
“So far so good,” Madison said. “Eventually we’ll need to swap out some fixtures, add an overhead fan or two, maybe rewire a wall if I decide to pull it down. You know me. I’m taking my time.”
“I’m looking forward to adding my two cents when you’re ready.” Hodge pulled her close and ducked to whisper in her ear. “It’s good to see you, Madison. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“It’s good to see you, too Hodge. How has Pollyanna been treating you?”
“Very, very well.” He winked. “Have I told you how much I appreciate that introduction?”
“Just every time I see you.”
Anna laughed, then beckoned to the man she’d been chatting up. “Madison, this is Gabi’s neighbor, Isaac Chesterfield. Isaac makes wine for Paradise Hills.”
Isaac rose from the couch and smiled. His fine hair was pulled back into a minuscule ponytail. He was thin, but a noticeable paunch protruded above his belt. He extended a pallid palm.
“Oenologist,” he said.
Madison nearly cringed when he grasped the ends of her fingers and gave them a decidedly weak shake. “It must be fascinating to be involved in the wine industry,” she said.
“Yes.” He smiled wider. “Fascinating is an appropriate word.”
“Madison is a real estate agent, Isaac,” Anna said. “A good one, too. Keep her in mind if you’re thinking of buying or selling.”
“How interesting,” Isaac replied. “Real estate agent. I would imagine that might feel rather like a voyeur, looking through people’s closets.”
Gen snorted out a derisive laugh and walked away.
A pair of waiters entered the room, each holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres on the fingertips of one hand. Isaac’s attention was drawn to a young man bearing an array of sushi rolls.
Madison left and joined Gen across the room. “Where does she find them?” she hissed.
“He looks like he lives in a cave,” Genny said. “Maybe she’s been spelunking. Personally, I like my men with a little more color and social skills. A little more athletic looking. He looks like he’d have trouble walking across the street. Are you sure you want to pass, though? You could be an oenophile. Might be nice to have unlimited access to excellent wine.”
“I’d end up an alcoholic just to deal.”
Genevieve snickered. “Hey, I’m flying to Tahoe tomorrow, remember? Sure you don’t want to come?”
“No, again. But thanks for asking.”
The glass door to the outside deck flew open and Emily Delacourt Radcliffe ran through it, trailed by a friend. Gabrielle’s daughter skipped to Pierre, hugged him quickly and danced away.
She did not make eye contact with her father.
“Hi, Madison,” she said. “Long time no see.”
“Hey, Em,” Madison replied. “How’s everything?”
“Oh, you know. Boring. This is my friend, Samantha. Sam.”
Tall for her age, lithe, big-eyed Sam wore eye make-up and a tight sweater. Her stick-straight hair fell to the middle of her back. She played with it ceaselessly, pulling a piece forward and twisting it around her index finger.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” the girl replied. “Are you famous, too?”
“Nope. Just an old friend. Gen and Gabi and I grew up together.”
“Oh.” Sam’s gaze moved away to scan the room.
Gabrielle joined the group and handed Madison a goblet of wine, then circled an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Emmy, darling, would you and Sam like a soda or something? Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Have you introduced Sam to everyone?”
Emily shrugged her off. “No, Mother. Okay, Mother. Yes, Mother.”
Gabi held her daughter’s eyes for five beats before she looked away. “Maddy, would you like to come upstairs and see what I’ve done with the master bedroom? I’d love your opinion.”
“Darn tootin’,” Madison replied, making Genny snicker again. “Now or later?”
“Let’s go now,” Gabi replied. “We have time before dinner.”
* * *
They climbed the curving stairs from the foyer, strolled down a wide hallway, and pushed through a pair of eight-foot doors at the far end.
The richness of the room was a stark contrast to its previous all-white decor. The dark wood of a new bed frame and matching full-length cabinetry made the twelve-foot ceilings soar. The pale walls and trim provided the perfect backdrop to a group of expensive framed prints and flowery bedding.
Madison stopped in the doorway and heard Gen’s quick intake of breath behind her. “It looks like a spread in Architectural Digest.”
Gabrielle nodded, pleased. “I did it myself. I even designed the cabinets.” She laughed. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”
“Looks like you’re planning to bed a man in here.” Gen said. “Anyone in particular?”
“Mother is right, Gen. You are coarse.”
Genny moved to the window. The room offered a view over the back deck and the winery beyond. “So what’s happening with you and Dillon?” she asked, keeping her voice light.
“We’re together.” Gabrielle walked across the room and stopped beside her sibling. “Dillon asked if he could come home yesterday. He gave me a box from Harry Winston when I said yes.” She fingered her earrings.
“If you’re happy, we’re happy for you,” Madison moved between the sisters and tucked an arm around their waists. Anna hugged Gabi from the other side.
The door creaked open. Emily entered the room and joined the group at the window. She kept her distance as they stood, arms linked, staring out over the misty landscape.
A movement below caught their attention. Dillon Radcliffe walked onto the deck and leaned against the rail, then glanced back at the house. Sauntering to the stairs, he stepped down two treads and swung around the corner. Although he couldn’t be seen from the living room, he remained in full view of the party above.
He pulled out his cell phone and tapped a key. Speed dial. Someone answered, and Dillon struck his chest several times and gestured wildly with his free hand.
“He must be talking to his agent.” Gabrielle’s voice wavered.
“No, Mom, it’s his girlfriend,” Emily cried. “Sam and I were hanging out in the pool house last night. We heard him talking. She dumped him. He was pleading with her to see him when he got back to L.A. Just like he was begging you.”
Gabrielle froze.
“Why do you want him?” Emily whispered. “He’s a cheater. I hate how much he hurts you. Why did you take him back?” She wheeled away from the window and threw her arms around her mother. “Elle Delacourt shouldn’t let a man treat her like that.”
Tears sprang into Gabi’s eyes as she held her daughter close. She smoothed Emily’s hair, then lowered her cheek to rest against her child’s dark curls.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning Madison shrouded the furniture in sheets, assembled brushes and rollers, and painted her bedroom and sitting room the green she’d imagined in her dream. Once the tint was dry, she sponged on a brown glaze and wiped the excess off, leaving subtle shadows in the grooves of the plaster.
Her next task was the woodwork. She began to detach moldings and dismantle the interior shelving in the sitting room built-ins, removing each piece with a flat screwdriver so she wouldn’t gouge the wood.
When she pulled trim from the back of the cabinet, the plaster slipped. She pushed against it. Again it shifted. She shoved the screwdriver beneath the edge and lifted the section up. It was an old piece of sheetrock textured to look like the original wall. When she
pried at the side of the loose board, it fell out with a snap.
There was a door behind the false wall.
Was it a safe, hidden here when the house was built?
A breeze brushed her cheek, moving the air inside the cabinet. Startled, Madison sat back on her heels and peered around the room, thinking of the swallows in her dream.
Nothing stirred.
Jack slept on, oblivious.
She turned back and tugged at the handle. It didn’t budge. She pulled again, this time harder, and the door clattered open and bumped to a stop at the end of the cabinet wall.
An ornate wooden box was placed smack in the middle of the cubby. Hewn from dark walnut, the top of the box was seared with a folk art wood-burning technique popular at the turn of the century.
The image was a flock of swallows in flight.
The martins had indeed come to rest here.
Madison scoured her eyes with a fist, then leaned in and lifted out the prize. She shook it. Something inside thumped. Letters? Papers?
She twisted the latch. It was locked.
Disappointed, she took the treasure into the bedroom and put it on her nightstand, then searched the cabinet for a key.
Other than the box, it was empty.
On a whim, she searched among her jewelry for the copper plaque discovered under the rose months before. She tried it in the clasp, but the key to Nead Éin wasn’t a match.
* * *
The heavy carriage house door opened easily enough, revealing a dim interior. Madison switched on the overhead fixture, but the bulb wasn’t much help. She made a path through stored odds and ends and raised the dusty roller shades, then shivered in the sudden light.
The place held way too many spiders for her comfort. At least rodent droppings were conspicuously absent. Finnegan must be a good mouser.
Before today, Madison had only stuck her head in the door, put off by the dangling cobwebs and the clutter that covered every wall and window. Necessity called now; she needed a workplace. That was her goal today, a clean table and enough clear counter space to hold paint cans, tools, and rags.
