Page 12 of The Liar I Married
“The estate manager?” Dolly nods, observing me with interest. “Yes, he is still here. He came by for a cup of coffee when I first arrived and informed me that your husband insisted he fire many of the staff. He wasn’t very pleased about it as the estate is extremely large and needs all the gardeners and other staff to maintain it. The main cutback was in the house staff. We have a cleaner who comes in twice a week, mainly to help with the washing, then there’s only me and Maria. As you know, I have a bedroom along the passageway but close to the sunroom where you are and cameras and monitors were brought in so I could watch you twenty-four hours a day. I did ask for a relief nurse, but your husband didn’t think it was necessary for a coma patient with do-not-resuscitate instructions.” She sighs. “Not that I’m complaining but I need to go out sometimes and Maria isn’t qualified to care for you.”
I look at her and nod. “As soon as I am back on my feet, I will make sure that Mr. Barns has all the staff he needs. I really need to know about my financial situation but I can’t imagine John has managed to abscond with my entire inheritance in twelve months.”
I walk into the office and stare at the shelves. One part of my head is telling me something is significant about these shelves. Curiosity drags at me and I push my walker toward them. As I browse them, my head aches and my heart thumps in my chest. Am I having a panic attack, and if so, why? What happened in this room to frighten me? What is significant about the shelves?
I try to push the feeling away. Another flashback grips me in an instant of information. I’m flipping through the pages of a notebook. I screw up my eyes, trying to remember. I can see Grandma’s writing but the words all swim together as if they’re falling off the page. I tried to reach for the memory again but it’s gone. Was it really a memory or just an injured mind playing tricks on me?
TWELVE
8 MONTHS BEFORE THE ACCIDENT
Waiting for probate to go through is like spending time at the dentist’s office. I’m expecting something bad to happen although everyone is telling me it will be okay. I’ve been back to Stonebridge Manor once a week for the last three weeks and I find myself here again today. I started my search in my grandmother’s bedroom, spending hours going meticulously through every nook and cranny. I even looked under the mattress, to find some type of a clue to what the letter referred to. Everything of value is inside one of the two safes in the house but until probate goes through, I am unable to obtain the combination from the lawyer to open them. I did however manage to question him on the contents. I insisted I wasn’t concerned about any valuables, but my grandmother’s letter had mentioned perhaps a diary or some personal letters, I needed to read. There are a number of documents inside both safes but mostly involve the running of the estate. Everything else would be included in an audit, to enable estate taxes to be paid. My grandmother was very intelligent and she would have known any access to the safes would be limited once she died, so I could only imagine she’d left something within the walls of Stonebridge Manor that held the information I was looking for.The family room has yielded nothing of interest and I’d move my way to the office, picking up and reading every scrap of paper including old newspapers I’d found tied up with string in a corner.
Grandma didn’t trust computers and refused to have a mobile phone. For me that is a relief more than a problem for I have absolutely no idea how to break into a computer. I walk into the library and throw open all the blinds. Behind me, the housekeeper, Mrs. Jarvis, is watching me in dismay. I turn to look at her. “Will you please open some of the windows? It’s very stuffy in here.”
I start on the desk, methodically going through everything but find nothing of interest. I turn and look at the rows of books on the shelves behind me. If Grandma hid something there, it will take me a year to find it. I stand in the middle of the room, slowly scanning each shelf one by one, looking for anything out of place. My attention moves to the bottom shelf over in the corner closest to the window, and I notice a small brown abnormality. I head for it and ease out a leather-bound diary. It is squeezed between an encyclopedia and the end of the bookshelf. I flick it open and fist punch the air when I see my grandma’s handwriting flowing across the pages. I’ve found it!
I sit at the small desk and a mixture of excitement and trepidation crawls over me. The diary covers five years; it will take me an age to read. I consider my options. If my grandmother had discovered something terrible, wouldn’t she have told somebody? Why did she wait until she was on her deathbed before she mentioned it? So whatever happened must have happened in the last year. I find the page and start moving forward. Most things are day-to-day entries. Local gossip and her meetings with the book club. As I get to six months before her stroke, the writing changes and becomes a little erratic.
I was in the office today when the phone rang. It was a woman looking for Joseph. She spoke to me as if I were his secretary. He wasn’t here and I offered to take a message. She said her daughter, Emily, had taken a fall from a swing and was in the E.R. She insisted the moment he walked in the door he was to come at once. I was too dumbfounded to question her, and if she hadn’t used the name Joseph, I would have considered she’d called the wrong number but I did make a note of the phone number. I might be old but I’m not stupid.
I ran my finger over the phone number; it was local. I move back to the pages, unable to believe what I was reading.
When Joseph arrived, I followed him into the office and closed the door behind us. I asked him if he’d been cheating on Dawn. The look he gave me terrified me. I thought he might strike me. When he asked me why I would ask him such a question, I told him about the message and he sprung to his feet and ran out of the door.
I stare at the writing and swallow hard. My father had cheated on my mother. Had she suffered the same way as I am suffering now? Are we both just doormats for men to wipe their feet on? I believed my parents were happy. They are planning to buy a condo in Miami, or so I thought. I stare at the wall, trying to get my thoughts into order. Come to think of it, it’s my mother who wants to buy the condo. My father prefers life here, and he’d mentioned, during a discussion in front of the family, that starting afresh at their time of life was a mistake as all their friends were here in Connecticut. I move my attention back to the diary.
After seeing the guilt written all over his face, I couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer. The next time he walked through the door I told him he was fired. I said I would tell the family that he’d decided to retire. Again I saw the anger in his face and it chilled me to the bone. I asked for more information from him about the child but he refused, saying I was a confused old lady who was just trying to make trouble. Today I called a private detective and he came to see me right away. I gave him the details and the phone number plus a substantial retainer. I needed to know everything about Joseph’s affair and daughter. His name is Jim McCloud and his number is in my phone book.
I read fast, turning the pages, sifting through the day-to-day entries until I find more information about my father.
I have all the information I need to confront him. Photographs of him with a woman young enough to be his daughter and a child. He has set them up in an apartment in Manhattan no less, using funds syphoned from my estate. He is coming later today. I will insist he tells Dawn and I’ll tell him, he’ll never get another cent fromme.
Horrified, I can’t believe my eyes. My loving caring father has another family he’s kept secret for years. Shocked, I read it again and note this entry was written two days before the letter she’d given to the lawyer. I turn the page to find it empty. I push both hands through my hair and my stomach twists. There must be more information. I turn the pages back and forth but find nothing. My heart races at the implications. That last entry was written the day Grandma suffered the stroke.
THIRTEEN
NOW
I woke this morning with dread gripping my stomach. Rebecca Lawson is coming today and I’m sitting here in a hospital gown. John hasn’t supplied me with any real clothes, or as much as a pot of moisturizer. I sent Maria to my mother’s old bathroom in the hope of finding some cosmetics but it’s apparently empty. She was, however, able to supply me with a few of my grandmother’s toiletries. She did indeed have expensive tastes, and the creams and lotions rescued from her bedroom are of the finest quality with many of the boxes unopened. Maria also found a gown and brought it to me fresh from the dryer.
I sit in bed, trying to make myself look as reasonable as possible, which isn’t really easy. I’m very thin and my legs stick out from under the short nightie like twigs. The gown will cover them and at least match the silk slippers I’ve been wearing. There’s no way I’m going to speak to Ms. Lawson in bed. I will be in the office when she arrives. One thing is for darn sure, she won’t see me using the walker. It takes me time to climb from the bed and grasp the walker. I look out of the window. The sight of the rose garden calms me. I insist on having the windows open. It’s the middle of summer, and the smell from the garden is wonderful.
I walk around the room and the only thing I recognize are the drapes. They are the same throughout the house. Heavy and old fashioned, they look like something that would be found in an old English mansion. I recall the walls had many pictures on them. The one of a bunch of daffodils in a glass vase which I’d always admired is missing; in fact at least four pictures are missing. I push my way along the passageway to view the other reception rooms. I find it difficult to open the heavy wooden doors. I must be weaker than I imagine as they were easy to open even as a child. I’m surprised to discover the furniture is covered with dust covers, and in this room all the pictures have been removed from the walls and even the figurines and the clock I recall above the mantle are missing. Perhaps they have been put in storage for safekeeping? Each room I come to is the same and it makes me feel so disoriented. In my mind I was only in here a few days ago, for the reading of my grandmother’s will. But it wasn’t a few days ago, was it? Halloween decorations were going up all over the night I had the accident. In my recurring dream, I see a jack-o’-lantern hanging from the tree my SUV is heading for.
I lean against the walker, trying to remember that night. How much of it is a dream and how much of it is the truth? I recall reading about people who have experienced bad things and never recall what happened. It said their brains are telling their minds that if they know the truth it will damage them in some way. What was the name, ah yes, anterograde amnesia. I smile; parts of my memory seem fine. If that’s what’s wrong with me, I wonder how I can unlock the secrets. Finding out what happened before the accident is the key. I recall Grandma’s diary and the revelations about my father. Maybe reading it will jog a few brain cells into action. I shuffle to the library and time does a shift. I’m suddenly back hunting down the diary but this time I know exactly where I hid it. I go to the bookshelf and edgemy way toward the window to the very last book. I remember pushing the diary back into its hiding place and run my fingers between the small space. It’s gone.
I turn on the lamp and peer into the tiny space. No one knew where I’d hidden it and I’d never told a soul. I stare at the bookcase and swallow hard. Is this another delusion? Am I imagining a past that never happened? Who would know? If I ask anyone, I just get generic answers. I must discover the truth of the lost days before the wreck. It’s the only way I’ll get to know about the girls. Where are they? They won’t even tell me if they’re dead or alive. Tears sting the backs of my eyes and I’m trembling as I try and gain control. I can’t allow Dolly to see me upset. Or she’ll sedate me again. Getting well is the only way to discover the truth.
“Mrs. Harper. A vehicle has pulled into the driveway. I believe it’s the lawyer. Should I organize refreshments?” Maria hurries to my side and examines my face. “Are you well?”
I smile at her. “Just sad to see the rooms covered up is all. I’ll wait for her in the office. Please bring refreshments.”
I push the horrid walker slowly along the passageway and into the office. The desk has been cleared at my request and the books placed neatly in a pile on a table. I push the walker behind one of the thick tapestry drapes, and taking slow wobbly steps, make it to the office chair. I’m hot and exhausted but when I sit down, calm comes over me as I smell a hint of my father’s cigars. Everyone hates them but for me the smell means he is close by and not working away in his office in Manhattan. All the men in my family worked there, in flash glass and steel buildings with wide windows. Another memory that’s clear, I can recall every inch of John’s office. His leather topped table was much like this but this one has been here through generations. I run my fingers over leather oiled by many hands, and wish I’d known all of my family who’d sat in this very chair.
Rebecca Lawson breezes in the door. She’s wearing a black business suit with a blue silk blouse, and I can’t help but notice how short her skirt is, but as John considers her attractive, I guess it’s all part of her work ethic. Her black stiletto heels had heralded her arrival, and sounded like the clip-clopping of a horse. That thought is in my mind as she drops a folder on my desk in front of me and holds out a hand. I imagine she must have forgotten the day I discovered her with my husband in the bistro having lunch.
“Rebecca Lawson.” She shakes my hand. “How are you? I believe John mentioned I’d be coming to see you about signing some papers. I’m the corporate lawyer working at Titan Brokerage with John.”
