by Nora Snowdon
Bettina swallowed and rubbed her forehead before she answered. “Sit down, Helen. I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of this. I have bad news. Your father has been having a little financial trouble.”
“A lot of trouble,” Edward put in grimly. He ignored Bettina’s warning frown and went over to pour a cup of tea.
“Well, the thing is,” Bettina said, “It turns out he had legal troubles with his business, as well. And honey, we got a call from the police in Zurich. It appears your father committed suicide.”
Helen shook her head. It wasn’t possible. There was some mistake.
“I’m sorry. I wish I was doing this better.” Bettina’s arms were wrapped around Helen again. “Anyway, they’re still investigating. Last week he took out a large life insurance policy, which doesn’t look good. I’m so sorry.”
Helen couldn’t breathe. This isn’t happening? “But I just talked to him last month when he invited me here. He was fine. He can’t be… I mean, why wouldn’t he…?” She couldn’t stay on a strand of thought. She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut.
Ice. It was like she was frozen in a giant ice cube and couldn’t stop shivering. Could this be a terrible nightmare?
“Mercy child, you’re cold.” Bettina rubbed Helen’s arms as she helped her to stand. “Let’s get you to bed and under your blankets.”
She let herself be walked up to her room and tucked into her bed. Edward hovered a few steps back still clutching the tea cup.
He reminded her of Antoine standing by the bed with coffee earlier and then she felt even worse. How could she waste one second of thought on that jerk when her own father had just died? Yet somehow it seemed tied in as well. She’d lost her father and craved Antoine’s arms around her. She shook her head. The Antoine she wanted didn’t exist. The real Antoine was just an actor pretending to care, while laughing about her to his friends.
Helen tried to focus on her present situation. “What should I do? I mean… Do I need to go somewhere? Is there a—?” Her throat constricted and tears welled up in her eyes. She struggled on. “Um, his body? How did he…? Oh God.” Helen blew her runny nose into the handkerchief Bettina produced.
“Don’t worry about anything, right now,” Bettina told her. She grabbed the cup from Edward and handed it to Helen. “Here. Drink some tea. Calm down. Edward has the number for your father’s lawyer. He’ll deal with the police and your father’s remains. That’s a good girl. Drink your tea.”
Helen almost choked the tea back up again. It’d been laced with some hard liquor. She forced herself to swallow the rest of it and then informed Edward and Bettina that she wanted to sleep.
A feeling of dread pressed down on her, immobilizing her. Should she call her mother? No. Her mom would turn Helen’s grief into another complaint against her ex-husband. Her friend, Maria, would be serving up the lunch crowd in New York. And Jordana abhorred emotional scenes that weren’t about her.
Helen had hoped that maybe with her charity work she could strengthen her ties with her father or at least win his respect. Now she had no one. She turned her face into her pillow, glad that it muffled her sobs. She shouldn’t worry Bettina and Edward with her grief. Helen hadn’t realized any time had passed until she noticed Bettina again standing by her bed.
“Helen, honey? There’s a man here to see you. A Mr. Christoff? Do you want to see him, or should I tell him to call tomorrow?”
Helen’s heart leapt at Antoine’s name. Then she remembered. “No. I can’t see him now, Bettina. Thank you.”
“All right, I’ll send him away. And then I’ll be back with a light supper. There are going to be rough days ahead. You’ll need to keep up your strength.”
*
It’d seemed like a good idea to hibernate. She’d spoken with the Swiss police and they’d said her father had tried to make it look like a car accident, but hadn’t been convincing. His girlfriend, named as the beneficiary of his insurance policy, was still in Zurich. Bettina grumbled that Camille was making sure that if any money fell out of her father’s pocket, she was there to catch it.
Neither Bettina nor Edward had much use for her father’s latest girlfriend. They believed she’d encouraged his gambling, hoping he’d rebuild his fortunes. He’d been increasingly reckless, bouncing checks, not paying bills, while throwing money around to pretend everything was going well.
After hiding under her blankets for almost a day and a half, Helen realized she had to buck up and see her father’s lawyer. Edward allayed her fears about the lawyer’s fees.
“Everyone else can battle over your father’s debts,” he pointed out, “The lawyer is on retainer and always gets paid.”
Helen was walking to Edward’s car when Antoine drove up. She sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself to face him.
“Helen, ma petite.” His face was gray and drawn. “I heard about your father. I am so sorry.” He reached out to her and she flinched.
No. Don’t be fooled. He’s an imposter.
He didn’t seem to notice her tension and drew her to him. “Are you all right? I have been worried about you.” He sounded so sincere that she almost believed him. And despite knowing what a jerk he was, it still felt heavenly in his strong embrace. With effort, she pushed out of his arms.
“Thank you, Antoine. I’m fine. I have an appointment. I mustn’t be late.” Ignoring Antoine’s shocked expression, she ducked into Edward’s limo, Edward started the car and they drove away. Tears streamed down her face, but at least she hadn’t given Antoine the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
The lawyer, Mr. Smithson, was nice. He explained that most of her father’s estate would be eaten up by his outstanding debts. The larger creditors, banks, developers, and his major suppliers would salvage whatever they could out of his remaining assets. The house, car, and all his possessions would be sold to cover this. And if anything was left over, then smaller creditors, his staff, and anyone else with a perceived claim of outstanding bills around town, would have to fight over it in court.
The good news was that they couldn’t come after Helen’s assets. And since her father had placed shares equaling thirty percent of Dunhill Holdings in trust for her long ago, they couldn’t touch those. Although they weren’t worth much at present, if she hung onto them, they might regain their value. Apparently, her father had sold Dunhill Holdings three weeks before his death. She didn’t have to vacate the mansion while there was still a police investigation going on, but she was not allowed to remove anything other than her own personal possessions from the property.
Helen thanked Mr. Smithson and made her way out of the cold, air-conditioned office. How had Antoine known she had shares in her father’s company? Her father hadn’t even told her. It wasn’t worth worrying about, she reminded herself. Outside in the parking lot, Edward was waiting for her.
“Are you all right, Miss Helen?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Then she remembered. “Edward? Who takes care of paying the household staff?”
“Used to be, I would present the hours to Mr. Dunhill at the end of the month. As you know, staffing requirements vary, depending if he was in town and entertaining, or if it was the skeleton crew of Bettina, Oscar the gardener, Rosa and me.” He paused, then added quietly, “Mr. Dunhill had fallen behind a little, lately.”
“Well, could you give me the full accounts of what is owed to everyone on staff? I’ll take it to Mr. Smithson and see what he can do. Then I guess I have to let everyone go. Do you require a dismissal notice or something to apply for unemployment insurance here?”
“Recommendation letters would help. Would you like me to write them for you to sign?”
“Thanks Edward, I don’t know how I could’ve coped without you and Bettina. I—” Oh crap, here come the tears again. She forced herself to continue. “Mr. Smithson said I don’t have to vacate the house right away, so if you and Bettina need a little time to find a new residence and job… I’m sorry—”
Edward’s big hand claspe
d her shoulder. “I know, miss. Bettina and I don’t want to be adding to your burden. We’ll be fine. Now let’s go see what Bettina’s cooked for dinner. There’s no point wasting groceries that have already been bought.”
*
Helen fortified herself with a quick shot of brandy then dialed Antoine’s number. It rang a couple of times before he picked up.
“Bonjour. Antoine Christoff. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Antoine. It’s—”
“Ma petite! I am ecstatic to hear your voice. How are you?” If anything, he sounded more sincere over the phone.
“I’m okay. Thanks. It’s… well… a little overwhelming.”
“Ah oui, Helen. It must be. Can I come see you? I have missed you, mon amour.”
“That would be nice. Maybe this—”
“I will be right there.”
Helen sat there listening to the dial tone in her ear. How on earth was she going to deal with him in person? She thought through her objectives. She needed money and she wanted to get rid of Antoine without feeling any more debased and stupid than she already did. Helen caught the lie. No, she didn’t want to be rid of Antoine. She had to. And this way, she could extract herself cleanly. She was still considering what to say to him, when the doorbell rang.
She called toward the kitchen, “I’ll get it.” Now she really couldn’t impose on Bettina and Edward. They’d been holed up in the kitchen since Edward had brought her back from the lawyers.
The impact of seeing Antoine standing on the doorstep was like a physical blow. “Hello, Antoine,” she managed to croak.
He engulfed her in a vice-like embrace. “Ah, ma petite.” His voice shook. “I need you in my arms.” He planted fevered kisses on the top of her head and then worked his way down to her mouth.
She’d planned to restrict their meeting to business, but couldn’t resist the pressure of his lips upon hers. With a low sigh, she reached up to caress his neck. She pressed up against him with a need that sickened her. Even knowing his disdain for her, she still wanted him. She was pathetic. She pushed him away and attempted to compose herself.
“Je suis désolé, ma petite. I forget myself.” Antoine brushed back a stray curl from her eyes. “I would like to help. May I come in?”
Helen indicated the living room. Her senses still reeled with the taste and smell of him. He sat her down on the couch and loosely draped his arm around her.
“If you need to go to Zurich, you can use my plane. Or if you wish them to bring your father’s remains back, it is at your disposal.” His soft caress of her shoulder was distracting.
“That’s fine.” Helen stood to clear her mind. “His girlfriend’s taking care of those details. There is one thing though… I need some money.”
“Of course. Anything you require, ma petite. Just tell me how much.”
“No. You can’t just give it to me. I do have some shares in my father’s old company. They may not be worth much…” Helen tried to gage his reaction. His expression revealed nothing. Then again, she already knew he was a great actor.
“You mean to sell them to me?”
“Yes. For whatever you think is fair.”
“If you wish I will keep them for you for later.”
“Thank you. Here’s my lawyer’s card. You can work out the details with him.” How abruptly would Antoine disappear, now that he’d attained his goal? “I’m sorry, I must lie down now. Thanks for coming by.” Helen led Antoine to the door.
“Ma petite. Can you not come back with me?” His warm, hazel eyes seared into her, making her insides quake. “I can help you. I would like to take care of you.”
“No thank you.” Helen’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Goodbye Antoine.” She reached up to draw his head down to hers for one last kiss. His arms encircled her waist and she leaned into him. If this kiss was all she was to have of him, she might as well enjoy it.
She ran the back of her hand down his cheek, and then continued her fingertips down his neck. One more taste. She kissed his collarbone, felt the low moan in his chest as he pulled her tighter against him. One more kiss at the base of his throat and then she pulled away. The look of pure desire infusing his eyes almost destroyed her resolution.
She gave him a quick nudge and he was outside. Before she could change her mind, she closed the door and leaned against it. Mission Accomplished. She smiled wanly. He had his shares, and she was now free.
Not that she felt free of him. That would come when she was home in Brooklyn where Antoine had no reason to continue sniffing around her. And after the lawyers, banks and everything had finished with her father’s estate, she’d have no more ties to the Bahamas either. This empty feeling would eventually disappear and her life would go on as before.
*
Uneasiness gripped Antoine as he got back into his car. Helen was hurting. Why would she not let him comfort her? She was still passionate about him. He felt that in her body’s response. Except that her eyes had lost their warmth. Almost as if she blamed him for her father’s death. She couldn’t have known he had bought her father’s company. Perhaps she was distancing herself from everyone.
Well, he would see her lawyer and ensure she had enough money. At least he could assist in that way. It was ironic, now that she wanted him to buy her shares, he no longer coveted them. He would retreat and give her time to heal. He must be patient.
*
The death announcement had appeared in the Nassau Commentator and the phone was ringing nonstop with consolations from people she barely knew, questions about the funeral, and newspaper reporters trying to get a fresh angle on her father’s death. Bettina and Edward managed to deflect many of the calls, shielding her from the venom now directed at her once-respected father. The suicide was forgivable, maybe even appropriate, but to have lost his wealth was unconscionable. His girlfriend, Camille had made mention in the obituary that the funeral would not be held for at least four weeks. It had also stated that Robert Dunhill had left behind only his grieving widow.
In view of that perhaps, Camille would not be pleased to see her. Well, after the funeral, they’d never need to meet again. Helen checked with Mr. Smithson that all the staff had been paid from the sale of her shares. There’d even been enough left over to purchase the limo and give it to Edward to keep. After all Edward and Bettina had done for her over the years, she was glad to be able to give them something back. Mr. Smithson seemed quite amazed at how much money he’d obtained for Helen’s shares. Maybe he was angling for a portion as well.
*
Something had changed when she woke up the next morning. The depression and lethargy weighing her down had been replaced by anger. Despite trying to suppress it, she kept returning to her father’s betrayal. How could he leave her like that? Was she nothing to him? Was she that unlovable?
Her mind would then unerringly go to Antoine’s beautiful face with that mocking e-mail playing on a loop in head. Maybe it was time for her to grow up. The last week had opened her eyes to how cruel people could be. The stupid thing was, she’d known her father didn’t love her. And she’d assumed the affair with Antoine would never lead to anything. So why did they both have to throw their disdain in her face. It was as if they both needed to flaunt how little they thought of her.
Helen packed her small suitcases and slung her winter coat over her arm. Then she wandered around her father’s mansion for one last time. The massive hallway with the fancy curved stairway seemed sad, like a once beautiful actress, now old and stripped of her artifice. The huge dining hall, her father had filled with the ever-changing coterie of Nassau’s beautiful and rich, was silent in condemning his fall from grace.
She gazed at the artwork that had intrigued her since childhood, some of them because they were so beautiful, most because they were hideous. These would all be sold off for vast sums of money. Then they would be scattered to various homes and galleries around the world. Nothing that her father had chosen would stay the same
, just by virtue of being separated from the rest.
Helen shook her head. She was being ridiculous. They were all just things. None of it mattered in the least. She would always have her memories of her father in this house, even if the house was no longer the same. Helen walked into the kitchen where Bettina was cleaning the fridge. Bettina had insisted that after she left, the kitchen should look as good as when she’d started working for Mr. Dunhill twenty-four years ago.
“Goodbye, Bettina. And thank you—” Helen couldn’t say any more as her throat constricted with tears. She hugged the older woman.
“Now you call us when you come to visit,” Bettina told her firmly. “We’ll be staying with my niece, Annalily, for the first while, but once we get another placement, she’ll know where to find us. Even though you don’t think so now, you will come back. The Bahamas is in your blood, child. God be with you.”
Helen nodded and went out to the limo. Edward held the door for her, his demeanor somber. They were silent on the ride to the airport. Helen felt so much older than a mere two weeks ago, when she had blithely ridden into town hoping to see her father.
Then they were at the airport. A hug and a heartfelt goodbye to Edward, and she was again going through the mindless security precautions. The Bahamas had, out of deference to the U.S., adopted several of the Homeland Security suggestions. But they were undertaken in such a desultory way that travelers felt even less secure. Helen pressed her lips into a thin smile. If there were any terrorists nearby, she’d like to get a whack at them. She was surprised at how much she wanted to hit something or someone.
CHAPTER 8
The cold, rainy weather mirrored Helen’s emotional state. After being back in New York for over two weeks, she’d thought she’d feel better again. Instead, it was as if the ability to laugh and enjoy life had been sucked from her body, leaving behind an empty shell. And it wasn’t because of losing her father. Aside from wondering if she’d be informed of his funeral, she’d stopped thinking about him. It felt like he was still alive in the Bahamas or traipsing around the world on business trips.
