Page 11 of The Liar I Married
That’s the first time he’s ever called his income, “our” money. Funny, how suddenly when I get money it’s “ours.” I stand and pour him a cup of coffee. “Are you hungry? I know it’s late but I can throw together something.”
“No, I’m good, thank you.” John meets my gaze. “I had a business dinner. It’s happening more and more now I’ve been promoted. I’m afraid it means I won’t be home as much for dinner. Give me time and I’ll delegate some of the work but just now, I can only go with the flow.”
You’re never home now.I sigh. “It must be difficult for Ms. Lawson to keep her figure when she’s out to lunch and dinner all the time.” I reach over and pluck a long blonde hair from his shoulder. “She’s left her calling card I see.”
“Well, at least she’s easy on the eye.” John smiles at me. “I could have been saddled with an old crone. Usually the clients are so taken by her, I can drive a good deal.”
I shake my head, trying to cover my feelings. Am I making too much of the fact he finds his workmate attractive? “I’m sure she does but I believe she’s overstepping the mark when she tries to come between a husband and wife’s private conversation. What was she doing in your car anyway?”
“I explained I had a client waiting and it’s usual for me to take her to the meetings as she’s the firm’s corporate lawyer.” John blows out a long, frustrated breath. “I’d arranged to drop by to collect her, so I could spend more time with you. What was so important? You’re not pregnant, are you? I’m not sure I could cope with a baby right now.”
I look at him in disbelief. How could that even be possible? “Then you don’t have to worry, do you? I called to tell you I’d inherited over one hundred million dollars and thought it would make you happy.” I stand, pick up my phone, and head for the stairs. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t forget to lock up.”
“Jessie.” John follows me to the steps. “You can’t keep pushing me away like this.”
I turn and look down at him, unable to believe my ears. He’s trying to turn everything around as usual and blame me for our marriage problems. Is this sudden change of heart due to the fact I’ve inherited the Stonebridge estate? “I’m not driving you away, John. Not at all. I just find it difficult to get close to you when you come home smelling of perfume.”
“I’ll take a shower and send my suit to the dry cleaners in the morning.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure why that would be upsetting to you, Jessie. I apologize I hadn’t noticed. I guess sharing an office with someone all day, who lathers herself in fragrance, means some would transfer to me. As you said, she is an employee. I will insist she refrains from wearing fragrance inside my office.”
I giggle at the absurdity. “Honestly, John, you can’t do that. She’s an attorney and knows the rights of people in the workplace. It’s like telling her she can’t wear the short skirt and stiletto heels. The times when the boss was allowed to insist on personal details is over. I would suggest you don’t get so close to her, especially as she’s leaving hairs on your collar.”
“How do you know it’s not one of yours?” John starts up the stairs toward me.
I laugh and wave a hand in the air. “Because I’m a natural blonde. We women know the difference.” I head into the bathroom and lock the door, confident I’d scored my first point. I just wish it would make me feel better. The uncertainty of my husband spending so much time with a single woman he admires is festering into a wound my heart can’t survive.
ELEVEN
NOW
I’ve got to get away. I’m sure someone is trying to drive me insane. I know there were photographs of my girls in the family room. I can remember clearly going to buy the frames and giving them to Grandma to put on her dresser. Is this all part of a plan to take Stonebridge Manor away from me? It takes an effort for me to push the walker through the door and along the passageway to the library. This is one of my favorite rooms in the house. As a child, I would sit on my grandma’s lap in the big comfy chair beside the fire and listen to her read stories. Now, as I cross the threshold, cold seeps into my bones, like a warning from the past. I scan the room although nothing has changed; it’s empty because Grandma is no longer there to greet me with a smile.
I’m exhausted and sweat runs down between my shoulder blades but I’m determined to keep going. Pushing the walker is easier in this room as the floors are highly polished wood, the color of rich mahogany from many years of polishing. The walker makes a soft rumbling sound with a slight squeak as I make my way to the bookshelves and the line of photo albums. All have been leatherbound and have the years on the spine in gold lettering. I look along the line and select the books from thedate my daughters were born. I place them on the seat of my walker and take them to a desk beneath a window overlooking the rose garden.
I start turning the pages slowly and speed up when all the photographs I know should be there are missing. I scream in frustration, throwing one of the books against the wall. It crashes to the ground, spilling photographs across the floor. I tear at my hair, trying to force my muddled brain to think straight. The photographs should be there. Where are they?
Footsteps thunder along the passageway and Dolly arrives, a frown wrinkling her brow. I need an excuse or she’ll figure I’m losing it again and stick me with a needle. “I was looking at the photo albums, trying to recall everyone’s names. I became frustrated. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“I thought you may have fallen. I’m glad you’re okay.” Dolly bends to pick up the photographs and albums splayed out across the floor.
It’s all too much for me and I’m swaying like a snake getting ready to strike. “I couldn’t find the book from the year before I had the accident. I wanted to see if everyone came to the manor for Christmas as always.”
“I’ll see if I can find it for you. “Dolly scans the line of books. She plucks one out of the center and brings it over to me places it on the desk. “No wonder you couldn’t find it, it was out of order.”
My fingers tremble as I open each page. I recognize everyone in the shots but my girls are missing. I flick through the pages and then stop, going back and forth. The immaculately bound volume has pages missing. They’d been cleverly removed using a knife but the rough edge of where a page should be, remains. I look at Dolly. “See? There’s a page missing from here.”
“I don’t think so.” Dolly runs a finger down the inside of the book against the spine. “It looks perfectly fine to me.” She turns the pages back and forth, examining them. “Maybe it’s your eyesplaying tricks on you. It can happen after you’ve been in a coma so don’t worry about it too much. I bet when you come back in a couple of weeks and look at these again, they’ll all look perfectly normal to you too.”
Without warning, a flash of a memory strikes me like lightning. I’m reading a letter from my grandmother and she is telling me not to believe anything anyone says.“In a couple of weeks they’ll all be perfectly normal to you too.”Does that mean they plan to replace the books, so I have no proof that the page ever existed? And who isthey? Is Dolly a part of a conspiracy against me for whatever reason—or am I losing my mind?
I can’t breathe in this room and want to throw open the windows to allow the scent from the rose garden to come inside. Confusion is closing in on me from every direction. I can’t rely on my recollections but I need them to get well. My gaze follows Dolly as she replaces the books on the bookshelf and then turns to face me. I force myself to smile, likely looking more deranged than agreeable. “I’m going to try and make it to the office.” I step out into the passageway and Dolly follows close behind. “It seems so quiet without my mom and dad here. They always had the radio or TV blaring. Did you know they purchased a condo in Florida? After my grandmother died, they only remained here for a few months so that my father could tie up some loose ends. The probate on the will was still going through.” I stare at her, suddenly realizing that was almost a year ago. “That must have been just before my accident. The IRS got involved and needed to be satisfied before it was settled. It was fortunate the staff wasn’t fired and they continued to be paid during that phase or the grass would be up to the eaves.”
“I don’t know anything about the business of the estate, Mrs. Harper.” Dolly looks confused. “I believe my paycheck comes from your husband.”
My husband?Surprised, I head slowly toward the office. The thought of John being in control of my investments turns my stomach. Why is it upsetting me? It would be natural for me to ask him to manage the investments. He is excellent at his job and makes people millions but something in the back of my mind is nagging at me. As I walk into the office and look around, I try to expand on the memory of reading a note from my grandmother. What did it say? Nothing else filters into my mind apart from recalling opening an envelope and seeing my grandmother’s distinct writing on the page.
I stand at the door, surveying the scene before me. It is much the same as when my father left it. As the financial adviser to my grandmother, he handled the estate finances for a year before my grandmother died. I recall my father being upset that she’d suddenly decided to take the estate out of his hands. She’d employed a brokerage firm to take over her portfolio and a financial advisory company to take over the running of the estate but complained they were too sterile and had planned to move again. Then she’d suffered a stroke and I can only assume that John stepped in and took over. I can’t for the life of me remember the few months before the accident. It’s coming back so slowly, like a dripping tap of knowledge.
As I look out of the window at a gardener, trimming the bushes, another memory comes to the front. Stonebridge Manor has an estate manager, Mr. Barns, who keeps everything running smoothly inside and out. My grandmother gave him a substantial annual budget to take all the stress and worry away from her. Shouldn’t Dolly be paid by Mr. Barns? She is, after all, an employee? I notice Dolly is still hovering behind me, no doubt waiting for me to have another outburst. I turn to look at her over one shoulder. “Do you know if Mr. Barns is still working here? He has a small cottage in the grounds.”
