False Pretenses (24 page)

“Rowe Chalmers is out of your life. As far as I could tell, he was the biggest problem.”

“You don't know the half of it,” she said quietly. She slowly turned to face him. “Why would you want to see me when you believe I murdered my husband?”

“I don't. Think you murdered your husband, that is. No way on God's green earth could you have done something like that.”

“You sound so certain. Too bad I didn't know you then. What a character witness you'd have made. Also too bad that Mr. Moretti believed so ardently that I was a cold-blooded bitch. Still believes, for that matter.”

“Moretti's an ass.”

“A very angry ass.”

“Is there anything else you'd like to ask me, Elizabeth? To test me out, I guess?”

She rubbed her palm against her hair, dislodging the rubber band. A strand of it stood straight up on her head. Jonathan thought it endearing. He vaguely heard the phone ring.

Elizabeth didn't know what to say, and she was saved from trying to come up with something when Kogi appeared. “Excuse, please, ma'am, but Dr. Hunter is on the phone. He wants to know what time to come for dinner.”

She saw Jonathan stiffen up like a poker.

Like an angry rooster who'd just spotted another rooster in his hen yard.

“Tell Dr. Hunter that seven o'clock will be fine, Kogi,” she said very calmly.

Kogi nodded and left the room.

“Well,” Jonathan said, rising to his feet. “I guess that sort of answers everything, doesn't it?”

“Not really,” Elizabeth said, defeated.

“Just what does that mean, lady?”

“Jonathan,” she said, “please. Thank you for your victor's gesture.”

“Shove it,” he said, and walked away from her, not looking back. She heard the front door slam.

She raised her hand, an unconscious gesture, then slowly let it fall.

 

“Brad, what's wrong?”

He wanted to yell at Jenny that he couldn't get it up, it was as simple as that.

“Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

Did she always have to be such a wimp? “I'm not angry at you, Jenny,” he said, and rolled over onto his back. He looked up at the motel-room ceiling. Why had he brought her here anyway? He felt her hand tentatively slide down his stomach to his groin.

“Don't,” he said. He heard a small sob, and felt like he'd just kicked his puppy. He turned back onto his side, facing her, his fiancée, the woman he was supposed to marry and spend the rest of his life with.

“Look, Jenny, I'm sorry. It's just that I've got a lot of things on my mind right now. It's really got nothing to do with you, okay?”

Jennifer nodded, of course. She wondered if he wanted her to go down on him. He liked sex that way,
very much, but she was afraid to do it. She felt miserable and didn't know what to do about it. She said softly, “I think I'll go shower. We should be back to your grandmother's house in an hour.”

Brad grunted, relieved when she rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. He wished he had someone he could talk to. He wished he could see Evan. Evan would understand, he always did. But Evan was in Greece, probably screwing every young man he could find with the buy-off Laurette had provided.

You and Trent should change places.
That was what Catherine had told him. Let old Trent come back here and be under Grandmother's veined hand. Why not? He wasn't poor, he could skip out, he could do anything he pleased.

There wasn't even the pleasurable thought of destroying Elizabeth any longer. They'd been found out and all major leaks were shut off. He ran his companies, sure, but now he was under Elizabeth's hand just as much as his grandmother's. He'd been coasting the past couple of months, existing really, nothing more.

He rose from the rumpled bed. He heard the shower shut off. He prayed Jenny wouldn't come out naked. He didn't think he could stand it.

He was going to break it off. First, Grandmother. He was smiling when Jenny, wearing a towel, emerged from the bathroom.

 

The ballroom in the Dickerson mansion in Back Bay glittered under the chandeliers. The guests and the myriad flower arrangements were stunning, the noise level sedate. Jewels shimmered, men and women danced to the band. Catherine shook Mrs. Dickerson's hand, murmuring, “Thank you so much for having me on such short notice. You're very kind.”

“Certainly, my dear. Our pleasure. How is your grandmother?”

“She's fine.”

Another couple came up behind Catherine, and Mrs. Dickerson patted Catherine's hand, saying, “Go enjoy yourself, my dear. You already know many of the guests.”

Oh, yes, Catherine thought, walking slowly into the ballroom, but there's only one I want to see, must see.

She took a proffered glass of champagne from a silver tray held toward her by a Dickerson servant, and sipped it.

She saw Amanda Montgomery, the center of attention in a small group of people. Rowe wasn't with her. Then she spotted him with a group of businessmen next to a potted palm in the corner. He looked very solid, trustworthy, and Catherine knew she'd been right to come. She set down her empty glass on a tray and made her way through the crowd to him.

She lightly placed her hand on his arm. He turned in mid-sentence, surprise and something else in his expression. He just stared at her.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said gaily. “I have come to take Mr. Chalmers away to the dance floor.”

“What a ludicrous surprise. May I ask what you're doing here?” Rowe wasn't at all amused. He realized. on a gut level that she looked good, so good that he'd like to haul her out to the balcony and make love to her, but that was ridiculous, of course.

“I was invited. Can't you just say hello to me, Rowe, like you're glad to see me for once?” Catherine placed her hand in his, her other on his shoulder. “Dance,” she said, pressing against him.

He began to move automatically. “Catherine, if you don't stop doing what you're doing, I'm going to have to turn my back on everybody.”

“I get to you that much, Rowe?”

“Bitch, you know exactly what you're doing.”

“Dance, Rowe.”

He sighed. “What is it this time, Catherine?”

She tilted back her head to look at his face. “You
want to know something? I don't have anybody I can talk to, that I can trust. Except you, as odd as that might sound.”

“Bull.”

“All right. I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Elizabeth the other day. I apologized to her, at least I tried to. I've never seen her look more surprised.”

He stared at her, nonplussed. “Why did you do that? You hate her guts.”

“No, not anymore. I needed to know something, but I knew she couldn't help. You want to know something else? I believe that if she could help, she would.”

“I believe the world is going flat. This is the evil woman who murdered your father, remember?”

“I was wrong. I've been a fool.”

He eyed her. “That makes two of us,” he said. “What changed your mind?”

“You, a bit, then Christian Hunter, then Elizabeth herself put the lid on it. I guess I needed someone I could see to blame. And Elizabeth was the obvious person to have done it. Now, not knowing who did it, thinking that could be a member of my family—” She broke off, seeing Amanda over Rowe's ‘shoulder, staring at her. God, if a look could kill . . .

She said quietly, “If I'm no longer a bitch, does that mean you're no longer a bastard?”

“You can't change the past, Catherine.”

“No, but you can change the future, and learn to live with the past.” She smiled a bit. “I think Dr. Hunter said something of the sort to me. He's right, you know.”

The music stopped, and they stood there unmoving, looking at each other.

“Well, what's this? Catherine Carleton? What are you doing here?”

Rowe released Catherine slowly, easily. “I see you
remember Catherine, Amanda. She's here because she was invited and happened to be in Boston.”

“Hello, Amanda. Lovely diamonds you're wearing.”

“Thank you. Why don't you go somewhere and play, Catherine? With someone else. Rowe, our dance?”

Rowe wasn't at all surprised when, at one o'clock in the morning, he returned home and found Catherine waiting for him in her car. She joined him at the front door and smiled. “Amanda did tell me to go play, Rowe.”

“It's late,” he said, turning the key in the lock.

“May I come in?”

“It's not a good idea, and you know it, Catherine.”

She grabbed his lapels and kissed him. He finally pulled her hands away. “You do that again, and we're going to end up in bed.”

She kissed him again. “Isn't that why you came here? Alone? You knew, didn't you, that I'd be here?”

He kissed her.

 

“Delicious dinner, as usual,” Christian said, patting his stomach and sitting back in his chair.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said automatically, her thoughts still on Jonathan Harley.

“You're a million miles away tonight, sweetheart.”

She flinched at the endearment. “Forgive me, Christian. Business problems, always, more of them, jumping out at the oddest times to make me crazy.”

“Well, I want you to drop them, all right? I have something important to ask you, Elizabeth.”

Oh, no, she thought, staring at him. Please, no.

“Here's Kogi with your favorite coffee, Christian.”

While Kogi poured, Elizabeth's eyes were drawn again to his watch—Timothy's watch, which Christian had said he'd seen and admired.

Something nagged at her, but she couldn't put her
finger on it, something she should remember. Lord, Jonathan Harley had turned her into an idiot.

“What are you thinking now, Elizabeth?”

“I was just thinking that I had to be wrong about something. Nothing important, not really. Shall I play for you, Christian?”

“Very well.”

She played until he stopped her. He said very gently, standing behind her at the piano, “Marry me, Elizabeth.”

She became very still.

“I love you, Elizabeth, have loved you for the longest time. Marry me.”

“I can't, Christian,” she said, turning on the piano bench to face him. “I'm sorry, but I can't. You are my dearest friend, you know that. But I don't love you, not like I should to marry you.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No. Oh, Christian, can't we continue as we have? You've done so much for me and—”

“Yes,” he said, “I have. I lied for you. I lied for you because I loved you, even then. I have tried to protect you. If I hadn't involved myself, you might still be with Rowe Chalmers, and the Carletons would have had their revenge.”

She stared at him, but she realized she wasn't surprised, not really. “You sent me that anonymous letter about their meeting, didn't you?”

“Yes, certainly. I've watched over you, Elizabeth. There's that other man, the one I saw bringing you home that night. Who is he?”

“No one of any importance at all.”

“Elizabeth, I'm trained to know when someone is lying. Who is he?”

She suddenly felt afraid. Something in his eyes alarmed her. Jealousy, she thought, it had to be jealousy.

She tried to smile. “Just an acquaintance, Christian.
Someone I've locked horns with in business, that's all. Now, please, be my friend. Can't we—”

He grasped her upper arms and pulled her upright. Two cavemen in one day was her last thought before he bent his head and kissed her, hard.

 

H
e forced his tongue into her mouth; his hands tightened about her face to hold her still. Elizabeth began to struggle. He was hurting her.

“Hold still, Elizabeth.”

She arched her back, pressing with all her strength against his chest. She managed to pull her head back. “Christian, stop it! What's the matter with you? Stop it.”

As quickly as he'd grabbed her, he let her go. He dropped her arms and stepped back.

“Marry me,” he said. His breath was coming hard.

She shook her head, feeling numb.

“You have to.”

Anger shot through her. “I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Now, I think you'd better leave, Christian.”

He realized at that instant how much he'd blown it. He'd scared her, then made her angry. He'd lost his head. “You won't marry anyone else, Elizabeth. You can't.”

“That,” she said, her eyes glittering, “is very probably true.”

“This man, the other one—”

“Would you just stop it? Please, leave. Christian, I just can't take any more right now.”

He looked at her, really looked at her. She'd changed. He felt it. Changed irrevocably toward him. It wasn't that he'd scared her. He'd lost her. He closed his eyes a moment. He'd gotten so close, moved so slowly and carefully, and now . . . A wife couldn't testify against her husband. The damned watch . . . would she remember? What would she do?

“I'm going,” he said.

She watched him pull on his jacket, stuff his pipe, the English tobacco, into his pocket.

“Christian . . .”

He turned to face her.

“I'm sorry, truly.”

He said nothing.

 

“You damned bitch, you betrayed me! Bitch!”

Susan moaned. He was hurting her, really hurting her. He was biting her mouth, and she tasted her own blood.

“You deserve what I give you now.”

She felt him shudder, finally, felt his body go slack. He was lying on top of her, dead sweating weight on her. She was having trouble breathing.

“You betrayed me,” he said.

“Oh, no, Christian,” she gasped. “I'd never betray you.”

The fury, the red haze that had gripped him, began to fall away. “Elizabeth,” he said.

Then he opened his eyes, reared back onto his hands, and stared down into Susan's white face. No, no, it wasn't Susan.

“Bitch,” he said again softly. He struck her, the flat of his palm against her white cheek. He felt her struggle beneath him, heard her cry out, and struck her again. He watched the red imprint of his fingers on
her cheek. She made a small bleating sound and he stopped cold.

He pulled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. Susan huddled beneath the sheet, saying nothing. He'd struck her once before, not hard, and she'd thought it was just his way of being playful. This wasn't play, this was something that was mixed up, something frightful.

Christian finally rose, and began to dress. He didn't look at Susan, just said coldly, “Your rent is paid for the next month. Then I want you out.”

“I can't get out fast enough,” she said, and wished she'd kept her mouth shut when he whirled around, his face tight with rage. His hands were clenched, and she was suddenly very afraid.

“None of you is worth anything,” he said, flinging himself down on a chair to put his socks and shoes on. “You're all deceitful, ungrateful bitches.”

Susan was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She thought of all the piano lessons, her endless hours of practice. And for what? To play the part of another woman, and now Christian hated that woman, hated Elizabeth Carleton. So she'd betrayed him, had she? Smart lady. And Christian had taken it out on Susan. She heard him mutter more obscenities, and that shook her. Never before had she heard him curse, yet the ugly words were spewing from his mouth.

Finally he fell silent. Susan prayed he would just leave. He did. She spent twenty minutes in the shower and the next hour packing her things. She dragged her suitcases off the bed, then looked at the wrinkled covers, the drying patches of dampness. She shuddered, her hand unconsciously going to her cheek where he'd struck her. She walked from the bedroom, into the living room, past the piano.

She paused at the front door. The beautiful apartment looked suddenly like a prison, but now she was free.

 

* * *

 

“I want you to show Jenny the photos, Grandmother.”

Laurette felt her breathing grow shallow. Then she got hold of herself. “Brad, what is all this about?” She watched him, saw him standing tall and straight, defying her. She waited. He was confused, that was all. Someone had spoken to him, made him uncertain about what was best for him.

“I will not marry Jenny. You can let me break it off, or you can show her the photos and let her do it. And there will be no more blackmail, Grandmother.”

“Your wedding is next month.”

“No way. It's all your brainchild, Grandmother. I want nothing more to do with it.”

“You will not speak in such a way to me, Bradley. How dare you, you stupid boy.”

“I may be stupid, but I am no longer a boy, Grandmother. I'm a man. How dare you try to control my life? Catherine was right, she said—”

“Ah.” Laurette sat back in her chair. So it was Catherine he'd listened to. “So you went whining to your sister.”

“No, actually Catherine saw the photos, quite by accident, of course. She, at least, cares about me. She came to me.”

Laurette felt a sharp pain in her left shoulder, then a numbing sensation down her arm. “Brad, I care about you, I know what's best for you. You must do what I tell you. You're not a man, not yet. Not until you marry Jenny, until you give me a great-grandchild. Then you'll be a man, then you can do—”

The pain grew suddenly sharp, unbearable, and she clutched at her breast. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “No, not yet, there's so much, so much—”

“Grandmother!”

Brad watched her slump forward, her head striking the desktop.

 

* * *

 

Catherine listened to Rowe singing in the shower. She grinned. She felt good—no, she felt marvelous. Then she heard the doorbell ringing insistently downstairs.

She wondered what to do. Rowe hadn't heard a thing. She slipped out of bed and pulled on his velvet bathrobe.

“Who is it?” she called out as she skipped down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence; then, “It's Amanda Montgomery. Come, Mrs. Grady, let me in.”

Who was Mrs. Grady? Rowe's housekeeper, probably. She made up her mind in that moment, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.

The two women stared at each other, Catherine with a slight smile on her mouth, Amanda so stunned she couldn't move, much less talk.

“You!”

“Hello, Amanda. Are you certain you wish to come in? As for Mrs. Grady, perhaps today is her day off.”

“You damned slut. Get out of my way.”

Amanda wanted to kill. She shoved Catherine out of her way and walked into the entranceway. She looked up and saw Rowe striding onto the upper landing. He had a towel knotted at his waist, nothing else.

Rowe had the sudden image of himself walking onto the stage of a very bad comedy. Catherine was wrapped in his bathrobe, her hair tousled. And Amanda was staring at him. He realized that she didn't understand, that she was incapable of believing what was right in front of her. She was used to getting what she wanted, and in this case she'd wanted him, and had him, until now.

“Amanda,” he said. He didn't move. He wasn't that big a fool.

Quick as a striking snake, Amanda turned and
slapped Catherine hard, so hard that her head snapped back.

“You rich, conceited, miserable—” Catherine saw red and dived for her, feeling the exquisite silk sleeve rip between her fingers. She felt Amanda's long fingers grab at her hair, and she felt the pain in her scalp. Then they were on the floor, yelling, gasping, kicking.

“Oh, Jesus,” Rowe said, and bolted down the stairs. “Stop it, both of you!”

He tried to pull Amanda off, and got a fist in his stomach. A bloody cat fight, the like of which he'd seen only at the movies.

He finally grabbed Amanda under the armpits and yanked upward. She tried to kick him, all the while screaming at Catherine.

He shook her. “Stop it!” He saw Catherine scramble to her feet, but she didn't attack, merely stood there, as if she couldn't believe what was happening herself.

“Amanda,” he said again, not releasing her.

“You bastard,” she said. “Let me go.”

“I'm afraid to.”

She jerked her arm forward, then back, her elbow connecting with his abdomen. He let her go.

And backed up quickly.

Mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. Her blouse was ripped at the shoulder and torn out of the waistband of her slacks. Amanda looked from Rowe to Catherine. “You deserve each other,” she said, and pulled off the engagement ring. She flung it across the floor, and it was the loudest sound in the room.

“I'll ruin you for this, Rowe Chalmers.”

“God, I've heard that before,” he said. “Look, Amanda, I'm sorry about this, but . . .”

“But what?”

“You're right. You don't deserve to be saddled with a bastard like me. Good luck, Amanda.”

She slammed out.

Rowe and Catherine just looked at each other.

She said at last, “She thought I was Mrs. Grady.”

“Hellfire,” said Rowe, raking his fingers through his wet hair.

“Your towel is slipping.”

“Catherine, you should be beaten senseless. Why did you open that door?”

“At least you're not going to have to spend your life with that horrible woman. She's not a nice person, Rowe.”

“And you are? And I am?”

“We're a couple of winners, yeah, you're right.”

“What now, Catherine?”

“Let's go upstairs and discuss it.”

“Yeah, that's exactly what we'll do if we go upstairs.”

“Your towel is slipping.”

He laughed. He realized that he hadn't laughed in so very long. It felt good. He felt free.

 

Elizabeth felt the warmth of the pastrami sandwich through the paper bag. It was Kogi's night off, and she'd gotten this craving. She was salivating, just thinking about that beautiful rye bread covered with mustard. Not the spicy French sort, but good old American mustard.

She'd walked to the deli on Madison near Eighty-fourth, and now, with the wonderful smell of the sandwich filling her nostrils, and the soft evening air ruffling her hair, she began to feel human again. It was growing dark, and she automatically quickened her pace.

Things could be worse. She'd made an appointment with Laurette Carleton for tomorrow. She would try to reason with the old woman. At least she was doing something positive. She was taking action.

She started humming a song from
My Fair Lady.
She looked down the street, then began to walk across.

The whooshing sound of the car didn't penetrate her consciousness until she heard someone shout. She jerked around and saw a large dark blue sedan bearing down on her. It was accelerating, madly, right at her.

She stood frozen until a rush of adrenaline shot through her. She leapt a distance she would normally have believed impossible, then twisted, landing on her back between two cars. She felt the heat of the car envelop her as it roared by. She became aware of pain in her back. The cars were practically touching, and she'd struck against the bumper of one, then bounced off the front grille of the other.

“Lady, are you all right?”

She looked up to see an older man staring down at her. He had a beer belly, and the stomach button of his shirt was missing. He was balding.

“My pastrami sandwich got crushed,” she said.

He helped her up. “You all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“That maniac! He could have killed you.”

“My sandwich,” she said again, looking down at the crushed bag on the street.

He shook his head. Shock, most likely. “Let me call an ambulance, all right?”

“No . . . oh, no, I'm all right. I live just in the next block.”

“I'll walk you there.”

He fell in beside her, ready to catch her if she fell.

“You're missing a button,” Elizabeth said.

He blinked. “Yeah, the missus, it's her way of getting back at me for being fat. She won't sew it back on until I lose ten pounds. That's her offer.”

“I'm sorry.”

Gallagher jumped up and ran forward. “What the hell—?”

“A guy nearly ran her down. My name's Foggerty. You'd better see to the lady here.”

Foggerty left her in Gallagher's shaking hands, wondering what the hell the world was coming to. Well, it was New York, and full of crazies.