Secrets (9 page)

“Two lonely people,” Cassie said and felt guilty that she'd never before realized how lonely Thomas probably was. He'd tried to make her and Elsbeth into the sophisticated company he liked, but they weren't Althea. “He isn't overdoing it, is he? His heart isn't strong.”

“His heart?” Brent said, then smiled. “Oh, right. His heart. The only danger there is that Althea might break it. She likes to do that.”

“I think her heart has been broken a few times,” Cassie said more stiffly than she meant to.

“I doubt that,” Brent said. “I think her heart is made of iron.”

Cassie couldn't keep from frowning. “She doesn't seem to please you, does she?”

Brent smiled at her, his handsome face lighting up, and Cassie couldn't keep her frown. “She pleases me so much that I'm damned jealous of Thomas. I work myself to death to try to keep her safe, but she's never once flirted with me as she does with him.”

Cassie laughed. What he was saying was ridiculous, since he was young enough to be Althea's great-grandson.

“Can I help you with this?” he asked, motioning toward the packed attic.

“Dana—”

“Has been sent away. Althea said something about the world's committee women needing her.”

“Yeow!” Cassie said. “That sounds nasty.”

“Althea's middle name.” Brent took a knife from his pocket, flipped out the blade, and cut open a big cardboard box and looked inside.

“When she wants to be, that is. And when she wants to be nice, she can make people melt. I've decided that she's not so much an actress as a wizard who puts spells on people.”

Cassie walked around a 1930s ashtray on a stand to peer into the box beside him. “My goodness.”

“Yes,” Brent said softly, reverently. “
Queen of the Morning.
”

Inside were three of the magnificent costumes from the historical drama in which Althea played a doomed queen of a fictional country. The critics had ridiculed it because the character was an amalgamation of Mary, Queen of Scots, Anne Boleyn, and Lady Jane Grey. But the audiences loved the movie.

“Every time I saw it, I cried when they beheaded her,” Cassie said.

“Me too,” Brent said, then smiled at her. “More or less, anyway.”

She reached in and began to pull out one of the heavy dresses. It was burgundy velvet on top, burgundy silk on bottom, with a quilted gold skirt underneath. “It's beautiful,” she breathed.

“I think that would fit you,” Brent said.

“And what have you been smoking?”

“No, really. Don't you remember that Althea was pregnant during that movie?”

“Pregnant? Are you saying that to be as fat as I am she had to be pregnant?”

“I think you look like one of those Victorian women with their hourglass figures,” Brent said. “But that's beside the point. In case you haven't noticed, Althea doesn't have much on top. You'd never be able to button most of her clothes, but this one might fit.”

Cassie blinked at him. Did all men everywhere look at the figures of all women? And how could he tell about her? Every day she'd worn loose, baggy clothes.

“Try it on,” he said.

“I wouldn't dare,” Cassie said, but she couldn't keep the desire out of her voice. Try on a costume that Althea Fairmont had worn?

“Come on, she and Thomas and the kid left an hour ago. I think they were going plantation visiting, so they won't be back before evening. Let's go down to her bedroom and you can try it on. I'll get my camera, then we can go somewhere and take photos.”

The idea of seeing Althea's bedroom, plus putting on the famous dress, was too tempting to pass up. “You're on,” she said.

“Isn't there a hat with that thing?”

“Yes,” she said. “A little velvet cap with a net that goes over the hair.”

He looked in the tall box but didn't see it. “Why don't you go down and I'll see if I can find it. I think there are some shoes on the bottom.”

Cassie was holding the dress draped across both arms. “Where is her bedroom?”

“See that door there? It leads to the ground floor. Her bedroom is at the bottom.” He looked up. “Rosalie went to the grocery, so we're alone in the house, so look around if you want to.”

Cassie didn't know if she was brave enough to go snooping. Trying on a dress without permission was more than she could handle in one day. At the far end of the attic was a door she hadn't noticed before and she went down two flights until she came to the bottom. Quietly, she opened the door and listened. Not a sound in the house. Even though she was alone, she tiptoed across the corridor, then cautiously opened the door into Althea's bedroom.

It was as romantic as she'd hoped. The room was mostly white—as for a virgin, Cassie thought—but had splashes of red and green here and there. The bed, as big as a small stage, was draped in gauzy white silk. The bed skirt was white and embroidered with a border of red rosebuds, the leaves entwining with one another. The coverlet was white with red buttons, and there were tiny red silk pillows among the many white pillows.

She walked carefully across the pristine white carpet to the open door into the white marble bathroom. As soon as she saw it, Cassie smiled. It was an exact copy of the bathroom in the 1936 classic
To One and All
. Art Deco to its core.

Feeling like a criminal—and maybe she was, since she was trespassing—she stripped off her ugly, modern clothes and slid the big costume over her head. It wasn't easy to get into, and it caught, with something hanging on to her hair and not letting go. When she heard the soft knock on the door, her heart nearly stopped.

“It's me,” Brent said.

“I'm stuck,” Cassie called out, and in the next moment she felt Brent's hands on the dress. Part of her was aware that she was just in her underwear, but then, didn't she show as much at the pool?

“Be still,” he said. “There! I got it. Now careful.” He helped her slide the dress downward over her body.

The dress had been heavy in her arms, but when it was on her body, it seemed even heavier.

“Suck in,” Brent said, “and I'll get this hooked.”

As Cassie stared at herself in the wall-to-wall mirror over the gold sink, she could see herself transforming with every hook that Brent fastened in the back. Her waist was going in, hips out, and breasts up. Cassie's neat French braid had come undone, and now her thick dark hair was cascading around her face and over her shoulders.

He moved her hair to the front, over one shoulder, as he fastened the last hook. “There. I told you it would fit. Perfect.”

He looked at her in the mirror, his hands on her shoulders. He was a foot taller than she was, and his blond hair was as thick as Cassie's. “Beautiful,” he said. “Really beautiful.”

Cassie ran her hands down the sides of the dress. It was uncomfortable and it was cutting off her breathing, but a girl could put up with a little discomfort to look like this, she thought.

Suddenly, Brent's head came up and he turned toward the door. “Houston, we have a problem.”

Cassie heard the voices and especially heard the distinctive voice that was heading toward the bathroom. It was Althea, and she was about thirty seconds away from finding them. Cassie was petrified, too scared to move.

But not so Brent. He scooped her clothes off the floor as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door on the right-hand side of the bathroom. They were in an enormous walk-in closet, and she could see that it held winter clothes. There was a glass-doored area that was full of furs, and incongruously, Cassie wondered if it was a refrigerated room.

Brent didn't let her stand in the middle of the room but opened a white, louvered door and pulled her inside, then shut the door behind them. They were slammed together in the tiny room-within-a-room, chest to chest. She could feel his heart beating against her own.

Part of her thought the whole thing was funny. After all, what would happen if they were caught? Cassie couldn't be fired from a job she didn't really have. And she was sure that if Brent were fired he could get a better job than being a gardener/bodyguard.

But common sense had nothing to do with reality. They waited, their bodies pressed together, and listened for the quiet sounds of Althea's heels on the marble bathroom floor. When she came close to the door to the closet, they held their breaths, then let them out when she moved away.

For a moment they heard nothing. Had she left? Or was she in the bedroom? Cassie looked up at Brent, and he put his finger to his lips. Silently, he opened the door and looked out. Nothing and no one.

But just as he started to step out, the door to the closet opened and Brent stepped back inside with Cassie. His arms went around her and he pressed her face to his chest as they listened to Althea's footsteps on the carpet. They could hear drawers being opened and closed, then a door was opened. Cassie hadn't had much time to look about, but there were at least three doors inside the closet. The area they were in now had floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with what seemed to be cashmere sweaters. If what Althea was looking for was a sweater and she opened the door, they would be exposed.

They heard her just outside the door and Brent held Cassie tightly, as though to protect her from something, but Althea didn't open the door. Instead, they heard her call out in answer to someone that she was ready to go. Seconds later, they heard her heels on the marble floor, then the bedroom door was closed and all was silent.

“I think it's safe now,” Cassie said several minutes later. Her voice was muffled because her face was pressed against Brent's chest—his beautifully sculpted chest, that is.

“Mmmm,” was all Brent said as he put his cheek against the top of her head.

Cassie's arms were around him, the two of them holding on to each other as though they were under siege, but she dropped her arms. His grip on her didn't loosen. “Brent!” she said. “I think it's safe to leave now.”

“Do we have to?”

It wasn't easy, but she managed to step back from him about two inches. “Yes, we have to,” she said. She put her hand on the door to open it. It was dark in the little room, but she could still see his eyes gleaming.

He put his hand over hers. “Will you go out with me? On a date?”

“I'm not sure this is the time to—”

“This is the perfect time. How about Saturday? I'll pick you up at eleven and we'll have lunch, then we can…I don't know. I'll think of something. How about it?”

“And what if I say no?” she asked, teasing.

“I won't unfasten the back of that dress.”

“Is that extortion or blackmail?”

“It's the plea of a desperate man.”

His words were, of course, absurd, but they made her feel good. Maybe it was the dress that made her feel as though she were beautiful, but she could almost believe he was sincere. “Saturday at eleven it is,” she said. “I'll meet you at—“

“Oh, no, you don't,” Brent said, his voice changing from seductive to firm. “I am not to be denied the pleasure of picking you up at Jefferson Ames's house. He'll be there, won't he?”

“I assume so,” Cassie said as Brent opened the door and looked around. Why was it that so many people seemed to know Jeff? Was it from his work? He worked on commercial buildings and bridges, anything that had a superstructure of iron and steel. Maybe he'd calculated where the I-beams for Althea's house had been placed.

Brent took Cassie's hand as she stepped out of the tiny room. “Don't tell him I'm going to pick you up,” he said. “I want to surprise him.”

“Do you want to take out Jeff or me?”

“You. Definitely you.”

They walked out of the closet, through the bathroom, and into the bedroom. Brent opened the door of the bedroom and looked in the hallway, but saw no one. He turned back to Cassie. “Promise?”

“That I won't tell Jeff that I have a date?” She was confused. “Why would he care if I have a date or not? He's about to get engaged to Skylar Beaumont.”

“Think so?” Brent asked, turning to look at her. “I think we should take your photo in the conservatory. With the orchids.”

“I need to brush my hair.”

For a moment, Brent put his hand on Cassie's long, dark hair. “It's perfect as it is. Don't touch it. Stay here and let me have a look, but I think the cars are gone.”

She didn't ask how he knew that, but then she was still thinking too hard about what he'd meant about Jeff to think of anything else. There was no reason why Jeff would care if Cassie dated or whom she went out with, but it was nice to think that he would.

The house was empty, and when Brent returned, they went to the beautiful conservatory and spent over an hour taking photos of Cassie in the heavy dress. It seemed that Brent's hobby was photography and he showed up with a big tripod and a professional-quality digital Nikon. Under his direction, Cassie was able to laugh and enjoy herself, and not worry that Althea was going to return at any moment.

“Isn't that the dress the queen wore to beg for her life?” Brent asked as he looked at her over the camera.

“Yes,” Cassie said. “But the king wouldn't listen to her.”

“Remember any lines?” he asked.

Before Cassie knew what she was doing, she was performing. As a lonely child, she'd often replayed the roles she'd seen in old movies, and she had a good memory for even lengthy scenes. With Brent's subtle urgings, Cassie soon found herself on her knees, her hands clasped, and she was begging a selfish king to spare her life. She put herself so deeply into the role that when the tears came, they were real. She felt as though she was there in the moment and that she was actually begging for her life.

When she finished the scene, she came back to the present and heaved herself up, the weight of the dress making it difficult to stand. Brent was staring at her in an odd way. “What?” she asked.