A tap plunked against my door. Mary entered with a tray. “Chicken and rice soup. Homemade. And a nice piece of rye bread with butter.” She set it down on my bed stand and stood back, her hands folded in front of her. “You look a wee bit better.”
I eased up onto my pillows. She reached to fluff them before slipping the tray onto my lap. “Can you manage this, or shall I help?”
I gave her a weak smile. “I can manage, but please stay and chat. I’m tired of being alone.”
She cocked her head. “Dear, I’ve been here most of the time the past few days, keeping my eye on ya.”
“You have?”
“I thought since you seemed more alert and awake, you’d want to be alone.” She smoothed the bedding around my legs. “No matter. I’m happy to rest my bones awhile.” She went to the curtains and drew them all the way back. Dust escaped the captivity of the folds and floated in the sunbeam.
“Is it nice outside?”
Mary laid her hands on her hips. “Yes, it’s rather warm and pleasant. I wish these old windows cranked open. Why they ever welded them shut, I don’t know.”
I did, but why venture there again? I took a jittery spoonful of soup and slurped it.
Mary smiled. “Good for you. Eat as much as you can to gain your strength.”
I laid the spoon down. “Mary, what’s going to happen to me?” My voice shook.
She shot to my side, crouched on the edge of the bed and grabbed my hand. “Oh, my dear. Don’t concern yourself with that. Just get well.”
Tears began to drip down my cheek onto my nightgown. I wiped the first few away with my napkin. “He scares me.”
“Mr. Manning? Oh, sweetheart, he only wants the best for you.” She patted my hand. “You had it all wrong. He explained it all to us.”
“He did?”
“Yes. The dreadful car accident in Texas caused you to miscarry, didn’t it? The trauma disturbed your mind. You began to be paranoid, believed him to be a secret agent or some nonsense.” She cocked her head and took a breath. “Anyway. He’d met Andrew on business and showed him your picture. Well, Andrew went pale. Said you were in spitting image of his dead sister, who herself had been killed in a car accident. That bonded them I guess. The two stayed in touch.”
“Really? He never told me…”
“I’m sure he must have. You weren’t in the right frame of mind to let it sink in. Mr. Manning said over the next year you became worse. You kept trying to escape. Got this maintenance man named Tom sucked into your fantasy world and ran off with him.” She clucked her teeth and pointed to my tray. “You aren’t eating. It’ll get cold.”
I took a bite of the roll. My mouth half-full, I mumbled. “Go on. My mind is still fuzzy…”
Mary gave me a wise smile. “Dr. Wilson said you might experience mild amnesia.” She wiggled herself further onto the bed and smoothed her skirt. “You see, Andrew came up with this plan. Bring you here to receive personal care. After all, we practically have an in-house concierge physician here, now don’t we?” She gave me a sweet grin.
Right. How convenient.
Mary continued. “Dr. Wilson agreed the peace and quiet, plus the fresh country air, might be just the trick. Two birds with one stone. Robert could concentrate on helping Andrew get this place back on its feet, knowing you were close by and in the best of care. It benefited everyone.”
I gulped down a spoonful of soup. It threatened to return to my mouth.
Mary nodded. “A win-win—isn’t that what they call it? Robert has ideas for bringing money into the estate. Convert it into country retreat for high class businessmen courtesy of Michael’s vast connections in the right circles. Andrew would be his partner.”
My eyes widened. Niamh’s customers had been those types. Niamh guessed right. Robert wanted to turn this place into an exclusive British version of the Playboy Mansion.
“Plus, they thought if the Baroness had you around, it might bring joy in her last days, since you resemble Niamh. Her health is failing, as you know. So is her mind.”
“They haven’t introduced me to her.”
Mary nodded. “I am sure they planned to do so, slowly. After your state of mind improved. Under Dr. Wilson’s watchful care, the two of you can be such comfort and support to each other. She’s a wonderful lady.”
She rose and fluffed my pillows again.
“Mary. You believe him? Mr. Manning?”
She bent down and caressed my cheek. “He loves you, dear. His eyes shone with tears when the ambulance brought you back. He hunted night and day for you. Didn’t sleep a wink until they’d found you at that ratty hotel.” Her nose scrunched.
My eyes fixed on her. She really had, as we say in Texas, bought the whole story lock, stock, and barrel. I asked one more question.
“What happened to the other ladies in the hotel room?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “I don’t think there were any others, dear.”
I sat up with such force it sloshed the soup onto the tray. “But there were. The real Niamh and Glenda, my friend who brought me to England.”
Mary’s face paled. “Ssshh. Relax. Drink your soup. I’ll be right back.” She backed towards the door. As she left I heard her whisper, “Jane. Call Dr. Wilson. Mrs. Manning’s having delusions again.”
A chill raced through me. Dear Lord, protect me. Tom, or Glenda, if you’re alive, please, one of you rescue me.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The sedative Dr. Wilson injected into my arm did calm me. The headaches throbbed less and I could think more clearly. I decided the best way to get a handle on all this was to cooperate. Keep my ears and eyes open, be a good girl, and be patient.
The next few days, my strength allowed a short shuffle around the manor. Twice in the warmth of the afternoon, Mary strolled arm in arm with me in the garden. The sunshine and fragrant summer air revived my senses. The lavender and freesia kissed my nose with fresh sweetness. Butterflies darted to drink in their fill of the fragrances. Birds flittered and chirped. Part of me wanted to dwell in an English garden forever.
I prayed off and on for Glenda as well as for Niamh. I had no idea what happened to them. Obviously no one admitted they even existed. But Niamh had to be alive. Surely Andrew wouldn’t have approved of the true demise of his own sister, would he? Maybe they shipped her off to some other part of Robert’s network of sex slavery. The thought sickened me.
Mary washed my hair and gave me a refresher tint of the brown. “They want you to keep up the appearance of her, for the grandmother’s sake. They have ordered you new contact lenses, too. You will meet her soon. She has observed us walking in the garden. They are easing her into the idea of meeting you.”
Wow, Robert had such a spell over these people. Well, he’d become an expert at it. After all, I’d once lived happily-ever-after under his deceptions. Until with one kiss, my dashing knight, Tom, had woken me. Tom. Did he know any of this was going on? Or was he still “across the pond,” as the British say, chasing old leads and false trails fed by Becky?
Her treachery made me pause. I’d trusted Becky. What a poor judge of character on my part. Who else had I assumed told me the truth? They couldn’t all be in on this vicious plot connived by my husband. It seemed absurd, like a cheesy spy episode on TV. Get a grip, Jen. You are becoming paranoid, just as Robert has made them all believe.
I picked up a pillow and tossed it. It slammed into the painting.
The gazebo depicted in it again caught my eye. Something about it still piqued my curiosity. I strolled over to it and peered past the brushstrokes. Sure, this was the place where Niamh and Barry met. Something deeper lured me.
The creak of the door opening interrupted my thoughts. Robert stood at the threshold, partially silhouetted in the wedge of light. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that accented his physique. As he inched towards me I smelled the aftershave he’d obviously splashed on for my benefit. My favorite. The one Tom always wore but Robert said he
didn’t like and refused to wear. One side of my mouth raised in a smirk. So, we are into chemical warfare now, huh? Bring it on.
He walked over to me, hands clamped behind his back. “A beautiful rendition of the gazebo, isn’t it? Almost fairytale-like.”
I leaned against the furniture underneath it. “Yes, it is. Very serene.”
He scuffed his foot against the oriental rug. “I guess many of these old manor houses have them.”
Where did this casual conversation lead? “You wanted something?”
The twinkle in his eye made me realize that something was me. I took a deep breath and swallowed down my disgust. I skirted past him to the wing chairs by the window. “Shall we sit?”
“Of course.” He followed me.
I counted to ten in my head. Steady, Jen. Keep the upper hand.
He crossed his leg, but then uncrossed it. He coughed into his fist.
I cocked my eyebrow. The second time since my arrival I detected nervousness from him. I’d never seen him this way, not even when I walked down the aisle towards him as the organ played. “Robert? What is it?”
He leaned forward and tented his fingers. “Jen, are you, um, up to having a long talk?”
I opened my mouth, but he spread his hands out, palms up. “I mean, if you’re not, I can come back in a day or so. Andrew and I are heading on a small business trip to meet some investors in the estate. This could wait until we return.”
Why was he telling me this? I repositioned myself in the chair. “No. I’m fine. Dr. Wilson’s injections are helping.”
He blinked as a brief grin emerged. “Jen, let’s be honest with each other, okay?”
I choked. “Honest? When, on God’s green earth, have you ever been honest with me?”
He hung his head. “Fair question.” He slapped his leg, stood up, and went to the window. “You have no reason to ever trust me again.”
“At least we agree on something.”
He took in a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “Jen, I’m trying. Really. Just hear me out, okay. This is tough.”
“Humph.” I stared at this man I’d once shared a bed with and thought I knew so well. But never had I witnessed this side of him. His stance appeared different, vulnerable. When he turned to me, the rims of his eyes had reddened. His Adam’s apple plunged as he sat back down.
“Jen, I don’t even know how to ask you to…” He swallowed. “To forgive me. When I saw you crumpled on the floor of that hotel room, you were so pale. You barely breathed. I thought…”
Tears swam in his eyes. I watched one roll out of the corner. He brushed it off with the palm of his hand and sucked in a long breath. I waited. Lord, steady me. Don’t let me react.
His next words cracked out of his vocal chords. “I thought I’d killed you.” He stared at me. “I thought, dear God, what had I done to you? I didn’t know what to do, how to undo it. It reminded me of the night you expelled the baby. You were in so much pain. The cramps, your screams. The blood.”
My fist clutched my stomach. “I still have nightmares about it.”
He stretched his hands towards me. In a soft voice, he said, “So do I. I see the fetus in that towel and my gut flips.” A few more tears slipped down his cheeks.
He wiped his face and sniffled. I waited for him to compose himself. Was this all a rehearsed act?
“When you slumped on the floor in the hotel room, and by my own hand, I…” He swallowed. “I realized what I’d become. The reality hit me like a cold, hard slap in the face.”
Don’t let him get to you. I breathed in every ounce of courage I had. After a moment I said, “What do you want, Robert?”
He raised his eyes to peer into mine. “You.”
I stared at him, my expression motionless as marble.
He stood and paced. His words shot from his mind in rapid fire. “I know. I have no right. I’ve cheated on you. Lied to you. Abused you. Dear God, I persuaded you to...abandon your beliefs.” He swept his hand across the side table and smashed the lamp to the floor. The shattering glass echoed over and over in my ears. I think I screamed.
Mary and one of the goons dashed in the room. Robert waved his arm. His eyes flashed. “Get out. Now. Leave us alone.”
They backed away and closed the door.
He kicked the larger shards with his shoe to the corner of the room as he mumbled curses. I clutched my blouse, afraid to move, not so much from being cut by the crystal as being sliced by his mood. After a few moments of picking up the remaining pieces and placing them in the wastebasket, Robert’s demeanor calmed. He gazed out the window again and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’ve thought about that baby. Wondered if it was a girl or a boy. What color hair it might have had. Would it have my eyes or yours?”
I gulped back my own hurt and jutted out my chin. “Marisol’s baby had your eyes and nose— before you changed them to be Mr. Manning.”
I watched him straighten his shoulders. His muscles rippled under his shirt. “I never saw it. Where is her baby now?”
I curled my legs underneath me. “I have no idea. Ward of the state of Florida in foster care, I imagine.”
He shook his head. But he still stared out onto the front lawn below. “I thought maybe you’d want her. I figured”—he stopped and cleared his throat—“in some small way it might make up for…”
I slammed my hands onto the upholstered chair arms. “Ours? Are you serious? Do you know how much seeing your child by her stabbed me in the heart?” I let out a sob. “Why, Robert? Why her and not me?”
Robert rushed to me. “Oh, Jen.”
I jumped out of the chair. “Stay back. Don’t you dare touch me.” Hot tears flowed down my cheeks onto my blouse.
He sunk to his knees. His words came out in pained pauses. “Babe. I am so, so sorry.”
I stomped my foot. “Go to hell. By all that is holy, it’s where you belong.”
I dashed to the adjoining bathroom, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. My pulse banged against my chest and in my ears. I couldn’t breathe. I turned on the bath taps full blast and let the noise fill the room before the wail blasted from my toes into my throat. Then, I slithered onto the cold tiled floor and sobbed until my whole body hurt.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
After a while, I scrubbed the tear stains from my face and splashed on rose-scented body freshener. My ear cocked to the door. Silence. Maybe he’d left.
But, when I cracked the door open, my heart plummeted to my stomach. Robert sat, bent forward, in the wing chair. His head dangled to his chest, his arms interlocked and outstretched between his knees. Disheveled hair strands shadowed his face in the late afternoon sun. As if in slo-mo, his eyes, sagged in dark shadows, raised to meet mine.
I walked towards him, metering my steps. His nostrils flared as he leaned back and gazed at the wall off to my right. His hand jittered as he reached for a tumbler of water. On the tray sat another glass and a half-full carafe. “Want some? Mary brought it in. She’ll bring tea if you prefer it.”
Late in the day, British tea meant more than steeping bags of Earl Grey and Darjeeling. It included sweet pastries, small cakes, and scones. All would probably ricochet in my stomach at this point. “No, thanks. Water’s fine.”
He poured some of the clear liquid into the empty tumbler and held it out for me.
I stopped, wary of the lure.
“It’s not drugged. I promise. See?” Robert refilled his glass, downed a long swallow and rose to pace the floor.
Before my knees wobbled, I slipped into the other wing chair and crossed my legs. I took two sips, let the coolness cascade past my tonsils, and set the glass down. “I thought you’d left.”
He stopped in mid-stride, his back to me. “No. We need to clear the air, Jen.” He half-turned to me and locked his gaze upon me. “Once and for all.”
Warmth from the setting sun streamed through the leaded glass to caress my shoulders, like a cloak of protection. God was with
me. I straightened my back into the chair. “Okay. If that gives you some closure.”
He scoffed. He swiveled on his heel to face me and took two steps forward, hands out-held. The lines on his brow deepened. “I come to beg your forgiveness, and you talk of closure. Great.”
He ran an unsteady hand over his chin, but with a sigh, stood more erect. “Okay. Fine. I’d hoped otherwise, but there it is.” He blew a slow breath out his cheeks. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
“I don’t know who I love, Robert. Other than God.”
His eyes flashed. “Found religion again, huh? Pastor Jake’s doing I guess. Or Tom’s.” He spat out Tom’s name as if it contained venom. “He always did try to Bible thump me.”
Great Jen, you hit a nerve. “I mean, I can’t ever be in love with the man you are now. I could never, ever…”
His tone escalated. “Okay, I get it. I’m the devil incarnate in your eyes. Dish out the wolf bane and garlic. Clutch your cross.”
I fingered for the chain around my neck.
His eyes narrowed, but, after a moment his expression became stone-like. “There’s a lot barricading us now, isn’t there?”
“Yes, I suppose there is.”
He sat down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Ask me any question, Jen. I promise you an honest to truth answer.” He crossed his chest. “God as my witness.”
I interlaced my arms over my chest. “I’m not the prosecuting attorney, Robert.”
He chortled. “In a way you are.”
I took another sip of water.
He flicked his hand. “I mean it. Ask away.”
My mind spun like a game show wheel. What question would it land on first? “There were shots fired.”
His face remained calm. “Yes. Glenda caught a bullet in the arm. She’s in the hospital in Bath under observation. Nothing serious, though.”
“Does she work undercover for you?”
My husband’s eyes widened only for a second before returning to their staunch expression. He repositioned in the chair. “She’s NCA.”
I waggled my finger at him. “Whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God.”
Legitimate Lies Page 21
