“‘As soon as possible upon this reading, my sister, Cassandra Hartley, will collect the contents of a safe-deposit box at the main office of my bank. Enclosed with this will is the key to aforementioned box. No one but Cassie will be allowed to open the box or be present when she does.’” Derek Hattery cleared his throat, before adding, “‘This is my final will and testament. Signed, in sound mind and body, on this day…’” His voice trailed off as he named a date two weeks before. The room became so quiet that for the first time Jason could hear the sound of traffic on Madison Avenue twenty or so floors below. It could have been worse, Jason told himself. At least she had not hurled any of her accusations at him from beyond the grave. It could have been much worse. At least the sad, ugly secrets they had shared would remain their own.
Derek Hattery leaned across the desk and held out a tiny key to Cassie.
“This is yours. Remember, she wants you to open the safe-deposit box immediately.”
Cassie stared down at the key, cold against her palm. With it and the terms of the will, she realized, she was about to unlock a world as outsized—as beyond her grasp—as anything Alice had seen beneath the looking glass. She would be rich. Miranda had left her everything. Her thoughts flew immediately to the dressing room full of clothes: the hundreds of pairs of shoes, the shelves stacked with hat boxes, the rows of silk blouses, the racks of evening dresses, the chestful of jewelry. She would be very rich. The lawyer had mentioned cars and checking accounts. She stared down at the key: it was all hers … and it was also all wrong.
“The clothes and jewelry I understand,” Cassie said, looking from the lawyer to Jason. “But the rest? The investments, the houses. Don’t they belong to Jason?”
She sensed immediately that she had said the wrong thing. Hattery cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair.
“As I said, this is what she wanted as of two weeks ago. It’s true that prior to that time…”
“I’m sure she thought this through carefully,” Jason cut in. “Miranda was deeply attached to you, Cassie. I know she always felt guilty that she didn’t get to see you more. I’d guess this was her way of making up for that. Of making sure you were taken care of no matter what happened.” Jason was improvising, Cassie knew. Hattery knew it as well. Jason was as shocked by what Miranda had done as any of them: Cassie had seen it on his face when Hattery read the will. Why was he pretending differently? she wondered. Was he just trying to make things easier for her?
“So, there’ll be no contestation?” Hattery asked, obviously relieved.
“Of course not, Derek. Listen, if Miranda hadn’t made these changes, I probably would have myself. Cassie is Miranda’s only living relation … besides Heather. She absolutely deserves everything.” His tone was a bit more believable now, Cassie felt. She longed to trust him. Why did she continue to sense that he was hiding something?
Jason and Cassie rose to go.
“Uh, one last thing,” Hattery said, standing to shake hands. “Remember, Cassie is to open the box … by herself. You’re not to be in the room, Jason.”
“Of course not, Derek. I heard you the first time. I have no intention of being anywhere near the damn place. I’ve a meeting downtown. Come on, Cassie. I’ll drop you at the bank on my way.”
The barred door banged shut at the end of the hall as the bank clerk left and Cassie was alone in the small, overbright room. She hesitated a minute, looking down at the oblong metal tray the clerk had taken down from the wall of safe-deposit boxes. She had learned from the clerk that Miranda had last opened the box two weeks before. The day Cassie had left, refusing the job. The day Miranda had changed her will. Whatever Miranda had been going through, whatever secrets she had been unable to share, the answers, Cassie sensed, lay in the contents of this metal tray. Why else had Miranda insisted Cassie open it alone? Her fingers shook slightly as she pulled the tray toward her.
She raised the metal top slowly, expecting to see … what? Cassie searched through the carefully folded papers—birth certificate, marriage license, passport, stock certificates—but there was nothing unexpected. She pulled the sheath of papers out of the metal box, spread them across the top of the table, and went through them one by one. With growing disappointment, mingled somewhat with relief, Cassie realized that there was nothing unusual about any of the documents as far as she could tell. Certainly nothing that demanded the kind of privacy Miranda had stipulated. What had Miranda been thinking of? She felt around the inside of the tray one last time. Far at the back, to the left, her fingers brushed up against something cold … smooth … square. She pulled it out slowly.
There, smiling up at her, were her parents, herself, and Miranda. It was Cassie’s graduation-day picture, beautifully encased in an ornate antique frame. What was it doing here? Cassie wondered, turning it over, searching for clues. What was Miranda trying to tell her … if anything? That family mattered? That Miranda wished she and Cassie had been closer—as Jason had insisted was the case? As Cassie transferred the various papers and the photo to her shoulder bag, she once again tried to come to terms with Miranda’s strange bequests. But no matter how she tried to view her older sister’s actions—as a burst of generosity for a sister she had ignored, as a way of landing one last blow in a long-running battle with her husband—Cassie remained confused and more than a little troubled.
She took a taxi back uptown to the town house. She could easily afford taxis now. She could afford a great many things. But the thought, rather than lifting her spirits, made her feel burdened. The choices before her now seemed harder, not easier. Her quandary about taking the job at Magnus Media, for instance, only intensified with the realization that a better salary, greater benefits, were no longer important. She now had the luxury of deciding what she really wanted to do for a living, and where she wished to do it. As she slowly climbed the front steps, she realized how much more difficult and complicated her life had suddenly become.
“Where’s Heather?” Cassie asked as the maid took her coat.
“In her bedroom, I believe, ma’am. With Miss Boyeson.”
“Heather?” Cassie called as she climbed up the front stairs. “Heather … I’m back.” Cassie opened the door to her niece’s large, chintz-covered bedroom. No one was there, but she could hear water running in the adjoining bathroom. Miss Boyeson was alone in the spacious pink-tiled room, arranging fresh towels on the heated rack.
“Where’s Heather?” Cassie asked.
“She’s not in her bedroom? I told her to start in on her homework.”
“No, she’s not there,” Cassie replied. “How long since you’ve seen her?”
“Five minutes,” the older woman said. “Ten at the very most.”
Cassie hurried back down into the corridor, opening doors as she went and calling, “Heather … where are you?”
She found her at last where she least expected to: in the guest bedroom she had taken to thinking of as her own room. Heather was sitting cross-legged on her bed, clutching a throw pillow to her chest, her face blotchy from crying.
“Heather … what are you doing here?”
“Waiting … for you.”
“Miss Boyeson told me you were supposed to be doing your homework.”
“I know,” Heather said. “I told her I would. I told her I’d do anything she said, so long as she didn’t tell on me. But … I don’t think I can stand it anymore. I have to tell someone. I tried to tell Daddy, but…” Tears started to flow down her cheeks.
“Okay,” Cassie said, sitting down beside her niece on the bed. “What’s all this about? Come on, honey…”
“I … was the reason Mommy died.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
“She … she … told me,” Heather explained, trying to keep her sobs in check. “The last time I saw her. She came to my room to say good night and got really mad because it was pretty messy. She said…” Heather hesitated, tears wel
ling up again.
“What did she say?”
“She said I was going to drive her to an early grave.” Heather said the words in a whisper, her eyes wide with fear. “You see? And that’s exactly what happened.”
“Oh, Heather,” Cassie said, laughing with relief. “That’s just a turn of phrase, a sort of joke. It’s nothing to take seriously. Believe me, you had nothing to do with the car accident.”
“That’s not what Miss Boyeson said,” Heather replied gravely. “She was in the room when Mommy told me. She remembered. She told me it was my fault, but she wouldn’t tell if I was good and did everything she said. But I don’t care anymore. I feel too terrible. I’d rather everybody knew. And punish me. Do you think I’ll go to jail, Aunt Cassie?”
“No, Heather,” Cassie said, pulling her niece into her arms and smoothing back her hair. She tried hard to keep the anger out of her voice. She’d have to get to Jason right away. If she had anything to do with it, Miss Boyeson would be on the street that night, her bag of ugly little threats beside her. The world could be so very treacherous. Nothing was safe. Hatred could be hovering behind the nicest smile. The darkest thoughts could be at work in the brightest places. You never knew where you might find a Miss Boyeson, bending over the bed, carefully pulling back fresh white sheets for a child she’d already filled with nightmares.
Nine
“She’s leaving now. I told her to get her things together. Charles will drive her to a hotel downtown. I gave her two weeks’ pay. What I really wanted to give her was…”
Jason paced in front of the fireplace in the library, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. His face was dark with anger.
“I know,” Cassie said. “I felt the same way. Where did Miranda find her? From a service? We should call and tell them what happened. This woman should never be allowed anywhere near children again.”
“I should have listened more closely to Heather,” Jason went on bitterly. “I kept telling her everything was all right, the whole time not even knowing what was wrong.”
“We both should have listened. I sensed something was off with her. But I’ve been so caught up in my own problems—”
“No, that’s not true,” Jason stopped her. “You’ve been wonderful, Cassie. Don’t think I haven’t seen it. The way you’ve taken care of the house. The servants. Heather. I just left it all in your hands. I’ve been … I’ve been in hell.”
At last, Cassie thought, he’s going to open up to me. She sat on the couch, hardly breathing, waiting for him to begin. He stopped pacing. He stood in front of the fire, looking down. The antique Austrian grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half hour. It was nine-thirty. Heather was, at last, safely asleep upstairs. Everything seemed ready for Jason to finally explain so many things to her. The silence continued. One minute, two. Cassie realized how tense she was, how concentrated her thoughts were on the man in front of the fireplace. His shadow spread across the far wall. She realized, too, what a looming, outsize role he now played in her life. The images of his face, his infrequent smile, were never far from her thoughts. And at the sound of his voice—her whole body felt lighter, freer. She felt flushed when she was near him, as if his presence alone could warm her. The silence stretched. Cassie could hear the sound of cars passing below in the rain. And still she waited.
When he spoke suddenly, he was unexpectedly direct: “You must wonder about me, Cassie.”
“Yes,” she said. What was the point of pretending? “I do.”
“I can almost hear your thoughts sometimes. It’s funny. I can hear you asking—who is this man my sister was unlucky enough to marry?”
“Unlucky? Why is that?”
“Surely you guessed.” Jason turned to her, his face half-hidden in shadow. “We weren’t exactly happy together.”
“Why not?”
His laugh was bitter, self-mocking. “I doubt you have time to hear all the reasons.”
“Actually, I have all the time in the world. I’ve just inherited a small fortune. Solely for the reason, as far as I can tell, that Miranda was too angry to leave it to you. That’s really why, isn’t it, Jason? It had nothing to do with her caring about me.”
“I don’t know. She didn’t consult me, though I suppose that was more than a little obvious by the way I acted today.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Cassie replied. “But I think I already know the truth. Miranda didn’t go to all the trouble of changing her will in order to leave me the money. She did it to keep you from getting it. My question now is why? And why, specifically, two weeks ago?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“That’s not the same as saying you don’t know.”
“I can’t tell you, Cassie. There are many things I just can’t talk about. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be evasive or cold. I’ve been going through such a black time…” His voice trailed off as he stared into the fire.
She longed to cross the room, to touch his arm, turn his unhappy face toward hers. If only he could feel how warm she was, how much she cared.
“Why can’t you tell me?” she asked finally.
“Because it wouldn’t do me any good,” he said. He turned to her. “And it might do you harm.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jason.” Cassie felt exasperated. She also felt a little scared of him suddenly. His look was so intense, and yet impossible to probe. “I’m not asking about national security matters or industrial secrets. I just want to know about my sister, about her life, why she suddenly turned to me just before she died.”
“I already told you.” His tone had turned cold in a split second. “She realized that you mattered. That family matters. We both realized that. Too late.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do. I don’t understand … why all these questions? These doubts?”
“Why? Because I’m not a fool. From the moment I stepped into this house, the two of you were at each other’s throats. I heard bitter fighting here that weekend. The next thing I know, Miranda’s dead. Then she leaves everything to me. The will didn’t even mention your name, Jason. And I’m supposed to believe it’s because she suddenly discovered she loved me. I don’t think so.”
“You think it’s because she hated me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No … well, I don’t know.” What did she mean? She stopped a second and tried to pull her disparate thoughts together. “I’m just saying that something must have happened. That weekend I visited. Something was going on. She was so anxious that I move here. That I take the job at Magnus Media.”
“What job? She never mentioned this to me.”
“It’s a newswriter position.”
“And? Is it worth your while? Are you considering it?” He left the fireplace and came over to sit beside her on the couch. Why did she feel that he was changing the subject on purpose? Whatever his intentions, Cassie found it impossible to distrust him when he was only inches away.
“I haven’t had much time to think about it,” she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She was grateful the room was so dark, that he couldn’t see how he affected her.
“I want you to think about it, Cassie.”
“Okay,” she said, swallowing hard. “Why exactly? What difference does it make to you?”
“I think you know. I think we both know.”
Cassie could hear her heart beating. No, it was crashing. Pounding in her ears. Roaring through her veins. He took her right hand. Her fingers were hot against his cold palm. In one unbelievably quick movement, he pulled her to him, strong arms encircled hers, cool lips closed over her mouth. It was like drowning. No, it was like diving—deep down into the clearest, coldest water. She felt a tightness in her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
“Please…” She pulled away briefly, her hands pushing against his chest. “This is wrong.”
“No, it can’t be.” He pulled her to hi
m again, his right hand caressing her neck, her cheek, smoothing back her hair. “I’ve been thinking of holding you since that first night.”
“No, please … Jason … don’t…” But it was too late. She felt herself give way to him, drift with the shimmering current of his touch. It was impossible. It couldn’t be true. But his kisses—demanding and needful—told her otherwise. He had been drawn to her, too. He had been thinking of her, too. Those nights in Raleigh when she had woken breathless from dreaming about him, when her arms and lips had ached to touch him, he had been dreaming of her, too. And now this. It was like one of those dreams. She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper: here were the demanding lips, the probing tongue, the powerful arms pinning her against the back of the couch. She felt his hand move down her arm, caress her waist, drift down her thigh … without thinking, she felt her legs spreading.
He broke away. He sat up, leaned back, breathed deeply.
“Oh, Lord.” Cassie sighed, struggling to sit up as well. Distractedly she tried to brush her hair back into some semblance of order. She ran her fingers over her tender lips.
“I’m sorry,” Jason said, touching her arm. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean…”
He didn’t mean anything by it, Cassie concluded silently for herself. The realization spread through her body as quickly as pain. Of course—he was lonely. He was suddenly terribly, bitterly alone. Yes, he and Miranda had had their problems. Their life together had not been happy, as he himself had admitted. That didn’t mean that Jason hadn’t loved Miranda. How could any right-thinking man not have adored her beautiful older sister? Cassie asked herself. She thought back on the ugly fighting she had overheard, the outrage in both of their voices. For the first time she thought how closely longing and jealousy could be intertwined. How easily passion could pass for anger, love for hate. What in the world had she been thinking of? It wasn’t Cassie whom Jason had wanted to hold, had longed to kiss. It was the memory of Miranda.
Heart and Soul Page 7
