Secrets and Seductions

by Francine Pascal

“More like stalkerish.”

  “To you, maybe, but for me it’s just what I need right now, okay, Liz? Unconditional love. Some guy who will just be there for me. I mean, at least he cares where I am. Who else does?”

  “I do. Your friends do. Jake does.” Elizabeth was relentless in pointing out the good things in Jessica’s life. And it was true that her family was her lifeline, but right now Jessica just didn’t want to see it. She couldn’t seem to leave the pity party she’d been throwing for herself.

  “Mom and Dad are worried,” Elizabeth had said.

  Jessica shrugged. “I didn’t even know they were home from their latest trip.”

  “They just got in last night.”

  “Jake is going to be thrilled. I’ll take him over when Liza and Jake get back from the park.”

  “Look, I don’t want you to be angry at me, but I had to tell them a little about what’s going on with you.”

  “Lizzie.” Jessica rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was pity from Ned and Alice.

  “So what did they say about you and Bruce?”

  “I didn’t exactly spell it out.”

  “But you had no trouble telling them about me and Todd, right?”

  “I didn’t tell them everything.”

  “Gee, thanks. Hey, look at us, Lizzie. The Loser Twins.”

  “I love it. It would make a great article, ‘Advice for Failure.’”

  “Very original. Everyone is always giving advice for success. This will be a nice change, and we’re so good at it.”

  And probably for the first time in a lot of days, even weeks, the twins were smiling and enjoying themselves. No one could make them laugh more than each other. They had been doing it for thirty years now.

  Jessica turned her attention back to her computer, smiling as she remembered her conversations with her sister.

  A new message from Annie Whitman popped up, and she clicked on it eagerly.

  With Elizabeth’s help, Annie had found Bruce’s hideaway in the south of France. Annie had told Jessica she planned to go there but had to do so carefully, given Bruce’s fugitive charges. Jessica thought this was above and beyond what an average defense attorney would do, and she was grateful.

  Jessica might not have been able to go to bat for herself right now, but she would swing for the bleachers for Bruce.

  This e-mail was Annie’s reply to Jessica’s message that Robin Platt might not have been who she said she was.

  Annie sounded cautiously optimistic, and said Jessica should keep digging. Jessica found herself feeling slightly guilty for taking credit for the news, but she had promised to keep Elizabeth’s name out of it.

  She understood why Elizabeth had to be behind the scenes now. Bruce had been devastated when he’d found out Elizabeth had been renting an apartment for Robin, and the betrayal was at the heart of their recent breakup.

  The most heart-wrenching part was that Jessica absolutely knew that they were both still deeply in love. But as she had learned so painfully, sometimes love wasn’t enough. It should have been, but sometimes it just wasn’t.

  Jessica glanced back down at the e-mail from Annie.

  WE STILL NEED PROOF, she’d written. CAN YOU GET MORE?

  Jessica forwarded Annie’s message to Elizabeth and Aaron. They had to find more evidence because Bruce was innocent. She just knew it. He had to be innocent, for Elizabeth’s sake. There was no other way Jessica could see the two of them getting back together. That’s why Jessica would work so hard to exonerate Bruce. She had to because she knew how much her sister loved Bruce. She’d clear his name. For Lizzie.

  Chapter Seven

  Aaron got the message from Jessica just as he was walking into Warner Gas that morning around ten. He put his phone in his pocket. He hadn’t been back to Warner Gas in weeks. He’d been too busy with his real job, but it just so happened he had a client meeting in San Diego that afternoon, so he’d driven down early, having decided to spend the morning at Warner Gas getting to the bottom of the Rose Pally/Robin Platt mystery.

  He clutched a little bag with a chocolate-stuffed croissant that he hoped would work its magic on Nola, even though he hadn’t seen her in weeks.

  “Hey, Aaron,” Nola said, beaming at him as he walked in. “Long time no see!”

  “I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop in,” Aaron said. “I brought your favorite.” He set the white bakery bag on her desk.

  “You’re a godsend. I’m starved!”

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  Aaron glanced at Nola’s computer screen. It looked like she was sorting through a company photo album. He saw a girl in one photo who looked a tad bit like Robin Platt but clearly wasn’t, and that gave him an idea.

  “Hey, that’s not Rose Pally, is it?” Aaron asked, pointing to the picture on her screen.

  “What?” Nola looked at her computer. “Oh, no. That’s not Rose. That’s Beth Kinsella. Wait—do you know Rose?”

  “I used to know her, years ago,” Aaron said. “She lived in my neighborhood. Haven’t seen or spoken to her in a long while, but I really liked her. But wait a minute. You know Rose Pally?”

  “You’re not going to believe this: She works here.”

  “Come on. Can’t be the same one.”

  “I’ll bet it is.”

  “No way. You got a picture of her?”

  “I don’t think so, but I can do you one better. You could go see her. She works on the second floor.”

  “Wait, she’s here now?” Aaron could’ve sworn according to the records she was out on leave. She had to be out on leave. That was the only way she could be Robin Platt.

  “She was gone for a while, on maternity leave or something, but she’s back now. Just take the elevator to two. She works in Accounting.”

  Chapter Eight

  While Elizabeth waited to hear whether Aaron could get a picture of Rose Pally—potentially Robin Platt—she decided to take matters into her own hands. Even though she didn’t have proof, she decided to show up at Robin’s house unannounced, just to see what she might find.

  Elizabeth stood on the porch and rang the doorbell. She waited a bit longer than usual before the curtains parted for a quick look. Then the door opened.

  “Uh…Elizabeth,” Robin said, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “May I come in?”

  Robin hesitated for an instant, hovering behind the door as if not quite sure she wanted to open it. But then it was Elizabeth, and she had to.

  “Uh, okay, just a minute.” Robin ducked back behind the door and Elizabeth heard rustling and clinking and obvious cleaning up. Immediately, Elizabeth felt her suspicions rise: Was it just tidying up or something more? After a few moments, Robin opened the door.

  “Sorry,” she said, apologizing. “The place was a little messy.”

  Elizabeth frowned. Robin had never cared about the state of her place before. Elizabeth stepped over the threshold, glancing around sharply for any clues about Robin’s strange behavior. But the room inside looked normal, except for the scattered newspaper across the coffee table and the couch.

  “Uh, what brings you by?” Robin’s eyes settled on Elizabeth and, for the first time, Elizabeth saw hardness and suspicion in her usually unguarded face. Actually, to Elizabeth, she seemed wired—as if she’d downed one too many lattes. Her eyes, the pupils dark pinpricks, darted back and forth, and her hands shook a little. She was nervous, like she was hiding something.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Elizabeth’s voice was harder than she’d intended. Robin shifted her feet, uncomfortable. She could feel antagonism, unusual from Elizabeth.

  “Uh, fine.” Robin studied Elizabeth warily, her stance defensive.

  “Did you give your deposition to the D.A.?”

  “You know I did.” Robin’s eyes darted away from Elizabeth’s. “I went yesterday. I texted you.”

  “So how’d it go?”

  �
�Fine.”

  “What did you say?” Elizabeth pressed.

  “The same thing I told you already.” Robin’s eyes narrowed. Elizabeth hadn’t imagined it. The girl had an edge to her. “What’s with the third degree?” Robin folded her arms across her chest.

  “I just want to know.”

  “Well, I told them the same thing we’d already gone over. The thing we talked about for the paper. You know…for the story you’re writing?”

  Was writing, Elizabeth thought. Her phone dinged, indicating an incoming message. Holding the phone close to her chest, she saw the text was from Aaron.

  JUST SAW ROSE PALLY IN ACCOUNTING. IT’S NO GOOD. NOT THE SAME WOMAN.

  “Damn it,” Elizabeth cursed. She flipped her phone back in her pocket. She glanced up at Robin.

  “Something wrong?” Robin asked, and the meanness and suspicion had disappeared from her voice. Now there was only worry.

  Instantly, Elizabeth felt flooded with shame. She’d doubted Robin based on something less than a hunch. She wondered for a fleeting second if she was trying too hard to make Robin a fraud. Maybe this all boiled down to her own guilt about Bruce clouding her judgment.

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said, feeling contrite. “I’m just having a bad week. I’m taking it out on you and it’s not fair.”

  Immediately, Robin brightened. “It’s okay,” she said, giving Elizabeth a small smile. “I understand.”

  Chapter Nine

  Annie Whitman had been to plenty of luxury hotels and homes while representing some of her more high-profile defense clients, but never in her life had she seen anything as gorgeous as Bruce’s six-bedroom villa in the south of France. She’d flown there to try to convince him to return home.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” said Annie as she stepped into the exquisite interior of La Bergerie, a white stuccoed villa carved into a hillside overlooking the Mediterranean just outside of Cannes. The entire first floor was done in a soft cream with taupe accents that created a quiet background for the bold colors of the antique painted screens and magnificent paintings. The kitchen, by contrast, was all dark glass, stainless steel, and ebony granite.

  All the rooms on the ground floor opened out onto a terrace that ran the entire length of the villa with views of the sea. Down below the terrace was a horizon pool with a cascade on the far side that appeared to empty into the crystal blue Mediterranean, a sight that nearly took Annie’s breath away.

  “Look at this view—amazing.” Annie didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but nothing quite so majestic.

  Bruce barely glanced up from his laptop. He shrugged. His family had owned the villa for years. The villa could bring in up to $5,000 a night from a wealthy tourist, if he chose to rent it out, which he didn’t. He had a marvelous Philippine couple, Frank and Lynne, who ran it impeccably when he wasn’t there and even more perfectly when he was.

  It was the place he went when he needed to regroup. This was where he’d come shortly after his parents had died. He’d spent nearly a month here in solitude after their funeral, staring out into the blue water and wondering how he was supposed to carry on alone. The view never quite looked the same after that.

  And now he had other painful memories to add, the many times he and Elizabeth had come here over the three years they were together.

  He wasn’t going to allow himself to think of the past.

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” Bruce cut the conversation short and went back to his computer to finish the e-mail he was sending to his company, Patman Social Impact. He might not have been on the board of directors anymore, but he still had influence, and he planned on using it. He felt more strongly than ever before that Rick Warner and his gas-mining project needed to be stopped. He still thought Social Impact should keep the land, even if they couldn’t get the permits they needed for their wind farm. But most of the board was in favor of selling if the permits didn’t come through. And, right now, the only buyer would be Rick Warner. Just because the EPA was throwing up some roadblocks for their project didn’t mean there weren’t workarounds. He sent that message and immediately moved on to another.

  “Bruce, maybe we should talk about the case…” Annie began. That was another thing he didn’t want to think about, no matter how often she tried to bring it up.

  “Hold on a minute. I’m writing to the congressman who so gladly took my campaign contribution last fall.” Bruce tapped angrily at the keyboard. “He owes me, and now’s his chance to pay me back by getting the EPA to see reason.”

  Annie fell silent watching Bruce. As he typed at the computer, determination in his stark blue eyes, she remembered the Bruce from high school—the one who never took no for an answer. This was the Bruce she remembered: cocky, a little bit entitled maybe, but always sexy. He went straight for what he wanted and he never made excuses. Annie had loved that about him. Nothing seemed out of Bruce’s reach.

  “There,” Bruce said as he clicked send and shut the laptop. “Done.”

  Annie, who’d been waiting patiently with her legal pad and her iPhone in hand, readied herself to bring up the more difficult points about the pending attempted rape charge against Bruce. Somehow, Annie needed to convince him he had to return to the United States to face the charges, and yet part of her wondered if he was going to take that risk. After seeing his stunning villa and the safety it offered, she wasn’t so sure.

  Before she could speak, Bruce looked up and said, “Are you hungry? I’m starved. Maybe we should do this over lunch.”

  Bruce took her to his favorite restaurant, Plage L’Ondine on the Croisette, the broad avenue in Cannes that runs along the sea.

  Most of the tables were set up with umbrella protection from the sun, but others, for the sun worshipers, were out in full sun with tables dug into the sand.

  It was easy to tell that most of the other patrons were French simply by the dogs they’d brought with them. There seemed to be one to nearly every table. Some were under the tables, where pets belonged, and others were seated on chairs like small, furry guests. All were remarkably well behaved.

  Bruce suggested Les Trois Demi Homards. Each half lobster came covered in a difference sauce. He ordered the Salade Folle Ondine, a specialty with house-cured salmon and homemade fois gras.

  Bruce had been coming to Cannes since he was a child, and his French was flawless.

  For the wine he found his favorite Sancerre.

  The waiter poured them both glasses of the pale white wine and then retreated.

  Annie took a sip and thought she’d never before tasted anything so good in her whole life. The wine was icy, crisp, and perfect.

  “You really should have let me in on your plan,” Annie said, swallowing and trying to steer the conversation to Bruce’s case. “I think if you’d stayed in Sweet Valley we could’ve beaten the charges.”

  “I just wasn’t ready to take that chance,” Bruce said.

  “Well, even with you here, as long as you go back for the trial, we can still win. The D.A. really overplayed his hand this time. There’s no way Tom Colton can get a jury to convict you. He’s got circumstantial evidence at best, and no prosecutor likes to go to a jury with a case like this. There’s too much of a he-said, she-said element.”

  Bruce took a long swallow of wine and looked at Annie with grudging admiration. “I really think it’s true what they say: You are the best defense attorney in Sweet Valley.”

  “I try.” Annie smiled. “So, should we go over the facts of the case one more time? Maybe we missed something.”

  “Maybe.”

  The waiter came back and set the food down in front of them. Her lobsters’ three sauces looked rich and delicious: one was a curry, another Armoricaine, and the third was a delicate champagne. All were divine. After the first scrumptious bite, she knew it was perfection. The tail meat melted in her mouth.

  Annie Whitman was a California girl who had done little traveling. She quickly found herself taken in by everythin
g Cannes had to offer: the fabulous villa, the glorious food, and the decadence of the ambience. She marveled at all these people with their four-hour lunches in the middle of a workweek. Add to that the wine and the devastatingly charming man sitting across from her—a man she’d maybe always liked, ever since high school—and she felt herself being seduced to this new life.

  He had, after all, made love to her so many years ago. Except the making-love part was largely in her head. For him, it had been just getting laid. Just like all the other guys who had dated Easy Annie.

  “This is delicious,” she said. “Oh, my God. So good.”

  Bruce smiled. “This place never disappoints.” He took a bite. They finished the lunch along with another Sancerre. All the while Annie was trying to hold on to whatever legal credibility she had left by doggedly going back to her notes. There was no danger that the D.A. could extradite Bruce since France had no extradition treaty with the United States, not as long as America allowed capital punishment. He already knew that, so Annie gave him a tutorial on international extradition laws with the other European countries in case Bruce decided to travel. Then she went into the workings of the D.A.’s office in an election year.

  That was her last line of defense. After that she just let herself slide into the haze of the wine. She wanted badly to reach out and take Bruce’s hand in hers, but discipline kept her hand still. Her willpower, however, didn’t stop the longing.

  Lunch lingered leisurely. Soon the restaurant emptied and they, along with one other table, a young couple, obviously lovers, were left. Annie wished they’d never have to leave. Bruce paid the bill and they walked back to the car. As they crossed the street, Bruce put his hand on the small of her back, and Annie tingled from head to toe.

  Back at the villa, Bruce opened another bottle of wine, this time a light Pommard, and the two of them sat on the upstairs balcony that, because of its height, overlooked the sea and the maritime Alps as far east as Italy. The view was open to everything but people. It was just the two of them.