Page 40 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“Is it dinner time already?” She glanced at the skylight high over the staircase and noted that the sky was darkening.

“No, not until eight. But Mrs. Eugenia likes things organized.”

“That, I believe,” Marla said imagining her unbending, socially conscious mother-in-law. She doubted if Eugenia ever bent a rule, much less broke one, and she couldn’t imagine the little woman ever adjusting a schedule.

As they walked across the hall, Marla said, “I checked. James isn’t in the nursery.”

“He’s downstairs. With Fiona and Mrs. Eugenia.”

Good. One less concern for the moment.

As deftly as a museum director, Carmen showed her the rooms on the third floor—Cissy’s bedroom, painted in yellow and, it seemed, forever a mess with books, computer discs, CDs and magazines strewn all over the floor. Her vanity was covered with jars and tubes of makeup, her walls plastered with posters of teen idols . . . some of the faces looked familiar, but none of the names came to mind.

Another room on the floor was the guest room and Marla looked for any trace of Nick. There was none, of course. The room was as precisely decorated as her own. Too perfect with its matching oil paintings, color-coordinated drapes and carpet and casual, understated elegance. Fake. Phony. Why she felt this way, Marla didn’t understand but she felt that her life and this house were a sham.

“What about Fiona—where does she sleep?” she asked as they walked along a corridor banked by soft lights.

“The live-ins are upstairs on the top floor,” Carmen explained. “The cook, maid and probably the nurse when he arrives.”

“Nurse?” she repeated.

“Mr. Cahill hired a round-the-clock nurse.”

“For me?”

Carmen winced and rolled her dark, expressive eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“No, it’s fine. I would have found out sooner or later.” They walked to the elevator. “You said ‘he.’ ”

Carmen held up a hand and stepped inside the elevator. “I thought Mr. Cahill said the nurse was a man. Tom something or other, I think, but don’t quote me.”

“I w

on’t,” Marla promised, and as the car ground down to the second floor, she felt, for the first time, that she’d actually bonded with someone in this towering, beautiful, cold house that was her home.

They walked along a wide corridor that Marla assumed was the heart of the house. It was dark except for a few lamps that burned on tables. Soft music flowed from hidden speakers, and paintings that she suspected were originals decorated the walls. Floral print runners covered the hardwood floor and branched into several rooms.

She followed Carmen into what appeared to be the living room with intimate clusters of chairs and couches, potted philodendron and ferns nestled between small tables and a massive stone and brick fireplace that rose to a tooled copper ceiling that reflected the lamplight with a warm, mellow glow.

Through sliding doors, Carmen showed her a music room. Antique instruments adorned the walls and a concert grand piano gleamed in a corner surrounded by windows overlooking the city.

Another door led to the library, complete with glass-enclosed shelves that climbed to the ceiling. A wooden ladder attached to the bookcase rolled on casters from one end of the collection to the other. A globe was nestled in a corner near the fronds of a potted fern, and an aquarium, complete with neon-colored tropical fish, gurgled near the bay window. Marla doubted she’d ever withdrawn one of the leather-bound volumes, never stood at these windows, never curled up on one of the soft-looking pillows on the love seats . . . but then how would she know?

“Here are the photo albums,” Carmen said, pointing to a shelf in a corner. Marla picked up the first volume, opened it and stared at her wedding day fifteen years ago. She and Alex, younger looking, he in a black tuxedo, she dressed in a white lace dress with a train that went on for miles. Other pictures of the church, the wedding party, the cake and reception.

An entire family assembled, with the exception of Nick. He wasn’t in a single shot. But then he’d claimed to be the “outlaw” and she suspected that translated into black sheep as well. Rogue. Outcast. A man who kept his own set of rules which, she imagined, were often at odds with those of his brother and mother. No wonder she found him fascinating at a very basic and dangerous level.

Cloistering those particular thoughts, she studied one of the family assembled at the wedding reception. Eugenia, dressed in indigo, her chin thrust forward in pride, stood near a tall, gray-haired, distinguished-looking man who seemed bored by the festivities. Samuel Cahill, Marla knew instinctively. Along with Alex and Marla, there was another older couple as well. No doubt her parents. Marla’s throat closed as she stared at the couple. The woman was reed-slender, with a pointed chin and haughty expression. Short dark hair, piercing eyes and a beaded dress of pale pink showed off her slim figure. The man at her side was tall and rangy, a John Wayne type who looked out of place in his expensive suit. His smile, if you could call it that, was forced, as if he were always impatient.

Hardly the warm family she was looking for, Marla thought with more than a shred of disappointment. Worse yet, she didn’t recognize her own parents. The woman especially. There was nothing about her that touched her memory, and the man . . . no . . . she felt a flicker of something stir deep inside her, but she wasn’t certain and she didn’t like the feeling. It wasn’t warm or familiar, no . . . it was more like hatred . . . a deep-seated loathing.

“No,” she whispered, feeling sick inside.

“Mrs. Cahill?” Carmen’s voice jarred her out of her reverie. “Is something wrong?” she asked, and Marla, embarrassed, snapped herself back to the present. The look on her face must have mirrored her thoughts because Carmen’s smile fell away. “I . . . I’m sorry. This is probably too much for you. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, I’m fine . . . just a little disoriented and please, enough with the Mrs. Cahill, call me Marla.”

“If you say so,” Carmen said as Marla snapped the wedding album shut and replaced it.

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