Читать книгу: «The Last Mrs Parrish»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part I: Amber

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Part II: Daphne

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Part III

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

About the Publisher

[PART I]

ONE

Amber Patterson was tired of being invisible. She’d been coming to this gym every day for three months—three long months of watching these women of leisure working at the only thing they cared about. They were so self-absorbed; she would have bet her last dollar that not one of them would recognize her on the street even though she was five feet away from them every single day. She was a fixture to them—unimportant, not worthy of being noticed. But she didn’t care—not about any of them. There was one reason and one reason alone that she dragged herself here every day, to this machine, at the precise stroke of eight.

She was sick to death of the routine—day after day, working her ass off, waiting for the moment to make her move. From the corner of her eye, she saw the signature gold Nikes step onto the machine next to her. Amber straightened her shoulders and pretended to be immersed in the magazine strategically placed on the rack of her own machine. She turned and gave the exquisite blond woman a shy smile, which garnered a polite nod in her direction. Amber reached for her water bottle, deliberately moving her foot to the edge of the machine, and slipped, knocking the magazine to the floor, where it landed beneath the pedal of her neighbor’s equipment.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, reddening.

Before she could step off, the woman stopped her pedaling and retrieved it for her. Amber watched the woman’s brow knit together.

“You’re reading is magazine?” the woman said, handing it back to her.

“Yes, it’s the Cystic Fibrosis Trust’s magazine. Comes out twice a year. Do you know it?”

“I do, yes. Are you in the medical field?” the woman asked.

Amber cast her eyes to the floor, then back at the woman. “No, I’m not. My younger sister had CF.” She let the words sit in the space between them.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me. It’s none of my business,” the woman said, and stepped back onto the elliptical.

Amber shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Do you know someone with cystic fibrosis?”

There was pain in the woman’s eyes as she stared back at Amber. “My sister. I lost her twenty years ago.”

“I’m so sorry. How old was she?”

“Only sixteen. We were two years apart.”

“Charlene was just fourteen.” Slowing her pace, Amber wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It took a lot of acting skills to cry about a sister who never existed. The three sisters she did have were alive and well, although she hadn’t spoken to them for two years.

The woman’s machine ground to a halt. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Amber sniffed and shrugged. “It’s still so hard, even after all these years.”

The woman gave her a long look, as if trying to make a decision, then extended her hand.

“I’m Daphne Parrish. What do you say we get out of here and have a nice chat over a cup of coffee?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your workout.”

Daphne nodded. “Yes, I’d really like to talk with you.”

Amber gave her what she hoped looked like a grateful smile and stepped down. “That sounds great.” Taking her hand, she said, “I’m Amber Patterson. Pleasure to meet you.”

Later that evening Amber lay in a bubble bath, sipping a glass of merlot and staring at the photo in Entrepreneur magazine. Smiling, she put it down, closed her eyes, and rested her head on the edge of the tub. She was feeling very satisfied about how well things had gone that day. She’d been prepared for it to drag out even longer, but Daphne made it easy for her. After they dispensed with the small talk over coffee, they’d gotten down to the real reason she’d elicited Daphne’s interest.

“It’s impossible for someone who hasn’t experienced CF to understand,” Daphne said, her blue eyes alive with passion. “Julie was never a burden to me, but in high school my friends were always pushing me to leave her behind, not let her tag along. They didn’t understand that I never knew when she’d be hospitalized or if she’d even make it out again. Every moment was precious.”

Amber leaned forward and did her best to look interested while she calculated the total worth of the diamonds on Daphne’s ears, the tennis bracelet on her wrist, and the huge diamond on her tanned and perfectly manicured finger. She must have had at least a hundred grand walking around on her size-four body, and all she could do was whine about her sad childhood. Amber suppressed a yawn and gave Daphne a tight smile.

“I know. I used to stay home from school to be with my sister so that my mom could go to work. She almost lost her job from taking so much time off, and the last thing we could afford was for her to lose our health insurance.” She was pleased with how easily the lie came to her lips.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Daphne clucked. “That’s another reason my foundation is so important to me. We provide financial assistance to families who aren’t able to afford the care they need. It’s been a big part of the mission of Julie’s Smile for as long as I can remember.”

Amber feigned shock. “Julie’s Smile is your foundation? It’s the same Julie? I know all about Julie’s Smile, been reading about all you do for years. I’m so in awe.”

Daphne nodded. “I started it right after grad school. In fact, my husband was my first benefactor.” Here she’d smiled, perhaps a bit embarrassed. “That’s how we met.”

“Aren’t you preparing for a big fund-raiser right now?”

“As a matter of fact we are. It’s a few months away, but still lots to do. Say … oh, never mind.”

“No, what?” Amber pressed.

“Well, I was just going to see if maybe you’d like to help. It would be nice to have someone who understands—”

“I’d love to help in any way,” Amber interrupted. “I don’t make a lot of money, but I definitely have time to donate. What you’re doing is so important. When I think of the difference it makes—” She bit her lip and blinked back tears.

Daphne smiled. “Wonderful.” She pulled out a card engraved with her name and address. “Here you are. Committee is meeting at my house Thursday morning at ten. Can you make it?”

Amber had given her a wide smile, still trying to look as though the disease was first in her mind. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

TWO

The rocking rhythm of the Saturday train from Bishops Harbor to New York lulled Amber into a soothing reverie far removed from the rigid discipline of her workday week. She sat by the window, resting her head against the seat back, occasionally opening her eyes to glance at the passing scenery. She thought back to the first time she’d ridden on a train, when she was seven years old. It was July in Missouri—the hottest, muggiest month of the summer—and the train’s air-conditioning had been on the blink. She could still picture her mother sitting across from her in a long-sleeved black dress, unsmiling, back erect, her knees squeezed together primly. Her light brown hair had been pulled back in its customary bun, but she had worn a pair of earrings—small pearl studs that she saved for special occasions. And Amber supposed the funeral of her mother’s mother counted as a special occasion.

When they’d gotten off the train at the grubby station in Warrensburg, the air outside was even more suffocating than the inside of the train had been. Uncle Frank, her mother’s brother, had been there to meet them, and they piled uncomfortably into his battered blue pickup truck. The smell is what she remembered most—a mixture of sweat and dirt and damp—and the cracked leather of the seat digging into her skin. They rode past endless fields of corn and small farmsteads with tired-looking wooden houses and yards filled with rusted machinery, old cars on cinder blocks, tires with no rims, and broken metal crates. It was even more depressing than where they lived, and Amber wished she’d been left at home, like her sisters. Her mother said they were too young for a funeral, but Amber was old enough to pay her respects. She’d blocked out most of that horrendous weekend, but the one thing she would never forget was the appalling shabbiness surrounding her—the drab living room of her grandparents’ home, all browns and rusty yellows; her grandfather’s stubby growth of beard as he sat in his overstuffed recliner, stern and dour in a worn undershirt and stained khaki pants. She saw the origin of her mother’s cheerless demeanor and poverty of imagination. It was then, at that tender age, that the dream of something different and better was born in Amber.

Opening her eyes now as the man opposite her rose, jostling her with his briefcase, she realized they’d arrived at Grand Central Terminal. She quickly gathered her handbag and jacket and stepped into the streaming mass of disembarking passengers. She never tired of the walk from the tracks into the magnificent main concourse—what a contrast to the dingy train depot of all those years ago. She took her time strolling past the shiny storefronts of the station, a perfect precursor to the sights and sounds of the city waiting outside, then exited the building and walked the few short blocks along Forty-Second Street to Fifth Avenue. This monthly pilgrimage had become so familiar that she could have done it blindfolded.

Her first stop was always the main reading room of the New York Public Library. She would sit at one of the long reading tables as the sun poured in through the tall windows and drink in the beauty of the ceiling frescoes. Today she felt especially comforted by the books that climbed the walls. They were a reminder that any knowledge she desired was hers for the asking. Here, she would sit and read and discover all the things that would give shape to her plans. She sat, still and silent, for twenty minutes, until she was ready to return to the street and begin the walk up Fifth Avenue.

She walked slowly but with purpose past the luxury stores that lined the street. Past Versace, Fendi, Armani, Louis Vuitton, Harry Winston, Tiffany & Co., Gucci, Prada, and Cartier—they went on and on, one after another of the world’s most prestigious and expensive boutiques. She had been in each of them, inhaled the aroma of supple leather and the scent of exotic perfumes, rubbed into her skin the velvety balms and costly ointments that sat tantalizingly in ornate testers.

She continued past Dior and Chanel and stopped to admire a slender gown of silver and black that clung to the mannequin in the window. She stared at the dress, picturing herself in it, her hair piled high on her head, her makeup perfect, entering a ballroom on her husband’s arm, the envy of every woman she passed. She continued north until she came to Bergdorf Goodman and the timeless Plaza Hotel. She was tempted to climb the red-carpeted steps to the grand lobby, but it was well past one o’clock, and she was feeling hungry. She’d carried a small lunch from home, since there was no way she could afford to spend her hard-earned money on both the museum and lunch in Manhattan. She crossed Fifty-Eighth Street to Central Park, sat on a bench facing the busy street, and unpacked a small apple and a baggie filled with raisins and nuts from her sack. She ate slowly as she watched people hurrying about and thought for the hundredth time how grateful she was to have escaped the dreary existence of her parents, the mundane conversations, the predictability of it all. Her mother had never understood Amber’s ambitions. She said she was trying to get too far above herself, that her kind of thinking would only land her in trouble. And then Amber had shown her and finally left it all—though maybe not the way she’d planned.

She finished her lunch and walked through the park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where she would spend the afternoon before catching an early-evening train back to Connecticut. Over the past two years she had walked every inch of the Met, studying the art and sitting in on lectures and films about the works and their creators. At first her vast lack of knowledge had been daunting, but in her methodical way, she took it step-by-step, reading from borrowed books all she could about art, its history, and its masters. Armed with new information each month, she would visit the museum again and see in person what she had read about. She knew now that she could engage in a respectably intelligent conversation with all but the most informed art critic. Since the day she’d left that crowded house in Missouri, she’d been creating a new and improved Amber, one who would move at ease among the very wealthy. And so far, her plan was right on schedule.

After some time, she strolled to the gallery that was usually her last stop. There, she stood for a long time in front of a small study by Tintoretto. She wasn’t sure how many times she had stared at this sketch, but the credit line was engraved on her brain—“A gift from the collection of Jackson and Daphne Parrish.” She reluctantly turned away and headed to the new Aelbert Cuyp exhibition. She’d read through the only book about Cuyp that the Bishops Harbor library had on its shelves. Cuyp was an artist she’d never heard of and she’d been surprised to learn how prolific and famous he was. She strolled through the exhibit and came upon the painting she’d so admired in the book and had hoped would be a part of the exhibit, The Maas at Dordrecht in a Storm. It was even more magnificent than she’d thought it would be.

An older couple stood near her, mesmerized by it as well.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” the woman said to Amber.

“More than I’d even imagined,” she answered.

“This one is very different from his landscapes,” the man offered.

Amber continued to stare at the painting as she said, “It is, but he painted many majestic views of Dutch harbors. Did you know that he also painted biblical scenes and portraits?”

“Really? I had no idea.”

Perhaps you should read before you come to see an exhibit, Amber thought, but simply smiled at them and moved on. She loved it when she could display her superior knowledge. And she believed that a man like Jackson Parrish, a man who prided himself on his cultural aesthetic, would love it too.

THREE

A bilious envy stuck in Amber’s throat as the graceful house on Long Island Sound came into view. The open white gates at the entrance to the multimillion-dollar estate gave way to lush greenery and rosebushes that spilled extravagantly over discreet fencing, while the mansion itself was a rambling two-story structure of white and gray. It reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the wealthy summer homes in Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. The house meandered majestically along the shoreline, superbly at home on the water’s edge.

This was the kind of home that was safely hidden from the eyes of those who could not afford to live this way. That’s what wealth does for you, she thought. It gives you the means and the power to remain concealed from the world if you choose to—or if you need to.

Amber parked her ten-year-old blue Toyota Corolla, which would look ridiculously out of place among the late-model Mercedes and BMWs that she was sure would soon dot the courtyard. She closed her eyes and sat for a moment, taking slow, deep breaths and going over in her head the information she’d memorized over the last few weeks. She’d dressed carefully this morning, her straight brown hair held back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband and her makeup minimal—just the tiniest hint of blush on her cheeks and slightly tinted balm on her lips. She wore a neatly pressed beige twill skirt with a long-sleeved white cotton T-shirt, both of which she’d ordered from an L.L.Bean catalog. Her sandals were sturdy and plain, good no-nonsense walking shoes without any touch of femininity. The ugly large-framed glasses she’d found at the last minute completed the look she was after. When she took one last glimpse in the mirror before leaving her apartment, she’d been pleased. She looked plain, even mousy. Someone who would never in a million years be a threat to anyone—especially not someone like Daphne Parrish.

Though she knew she ran a slight risk of appearing rude, Amber had shown up just a little early. She’d be able to have some time alone with Daphne and would also be there before any of the other women arrived, always an edge when introductions were made. They would see her as young and nondescript, simply a worker bee Daphne had deigned to reach down and anoint as a helper in her charity efforts.

She opened the car door and stepped onto the crushed stone driveway. It looked as if each piece of gravel cushioning her steps had been measured for uniformity and purity, and perfectly raked and polished. As she neared the house, she took her time studying the grounds and dwelling. She realized she would be entering through the back—the front would, of course, face the water—but it was, nevertheless, a most gracious facade. To her left stood a white arbor bedecked with the summer’s last wisteria, and two long benches sat just beyond it. Amber had read about this kind of wealth, had seen countless pictures in magazines and online tours of the homes of movie stars and the superrich. But this was the first time she’d actually seen it up close.

She climbed the wide stone steps to the landing and rang the bell. The door was oversize, with large panes of beveled glass, allowing Amber a view down the long corridor that ran to the front of the house. She could see the dazzling blue of the water from where she stood, and then, suddenly, Daphne was there, holding the door open and smiling at her.

“How lovely to see you. I’m so glad you could come,” she said, taking Amber’s hand in hers and leading her inside.

Amber gave her the timid smile she’d practiced in front of her bathroom mirror. “Thank you for inviting me, Daphne. I’m really excited to help.”

“Well, I’m thrilled you’ll be working with us. Come this way. We’ll be meeting in the conservatory,” Daphne said as they came into a large octagonal room with floor-to-ceiling windows and summery chintzes that exploded with vibrant color. The French doors stood open, and Amber breathed in the intoxicating smell of salty sea air.

“Please, have a seat. We have a few minutes before the others arrive,” Daphne said.

Amber sank into the plush sofa, and Daphne sat down across from her in one of the yellow armchairs that perfectly complemented the other furnishings in this room of nonchalant elegance. It irked her, this ease with wealth and privilege that Daphne exuded, as though it were her birthright. She could have stepped out of Town & Country in her perfectly tailored gray slacks and silk blouse, her only jewelry the large pearl studs she wore in her ears. Her lustrous blond hair fell in loose waves that framed her aristocratic face. Amber guessed the clothes and earrings alone were worth over three grand, forget the rock on her finger or the Cartier Tank. She probably had a dozen more in a jewelry box upstairs. Amber checked the time on her own watch—an inexpensive department-store model—and saw that they still had about ten minutes alone.

“Thanks again for letting me help, Daphne.”

“I’m the one who’s grateful. There are never too many hands. I mean, all of the women are terrific and they work hard, but you understand because you’ve been there.” Daphne shifted in her chair. “We talked a lot about our sisters the other morning, but not much about ourselves. I know you’re not from around here, but do I remember you telling me you were born in Nebraska?”

Amber had rehearsed her story carefully. “Yes, that’s right. I’m originally from Nebraska, but I left after my sister died. My good high school friend went to college here. When she came home for my sister’s funeral, she said maybe it would be good for me to have a change, make a fresh start, and we’d have each other, of course. She was right. It’s helped me so much. I’ve been in Bishops Harbor for almost a year, but I think about Charlene every day.”

Daphne was looking at her intently. “I’m sorry for your loss. No one who hasn’t experienced it can know how painful it is to lose a sibling. I think about Julie every day. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. That’s why my work with cystic fibrosis is so important to me. I’m blessed to have two healthy daughters, but there are still so many families afflicted by this terrible disease.”

Amber picked up a silver frame with a photograph of two little girls. Both blond and tanned, they wore matching bathing suits and sat cross-legged on a pier, their arms around each other. “Are these your daughters?”

Daphne glanced at the picture and smiled with delight, pointing. “Yes, that’s Tallulah and this is Bella. That was taken last summer, at the lake.”

“They’re adorable. How old are they?”

“Tallulah’s ten, and Bella’s seven. I’m glad they have each other,” Daphne said, her eyes growing misty. “I pray they always will.”

Amber remembered reading that actors think of the saddest thing they can to help them cry on cue. She was trying to summon a memory to make her cry, but the saddest thing she could come up with was that she wasn’t the one sitting in Daphne’s chair, the mistress of this incredible house. Still, she did her best to look downcast as she put the photograph back on the table.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Daphne rose to answer it. As she left the room, she said, “Help yourself to coffee or tea. And there are some goodies too. Everything’s on the sideboard.”

Amber got up but put her handbag on the chair next to Daphne’s, marking it as hers. As she was pouring a cup of coffee, the others began filing in amid excited hellos and hugs. She hated the clucking sounds groups of women made, like a bunch of cackling hens.

“Hey, everyone.” Daphne’s voice rose above the chatter, and they quieted down. She went to Amber and put her arm around her. “I want to introduce a new committee member, Amber Patterson. Amber will be a wonderful addition to our group. Sadly, she’s a bit of an expert—her sister died of cystic fibrosis.”

Amber cast her eyes to the floor, and there was a collective murmur of sympathy from the women.

“Why don’t we all have a seat, and we’ll go around the room so that you can introduce yourselves to Amber,” Daphne said. Cup and saucer in hand, she sat down, looked at the photo of her daughters, and, Amber noticed, moved it just slightly. Amber looked around the circle as, one after another, each woman smiled and said her name—Lois, Bunny, Faith, Meredith, Irene, and Neve. All of them were shined and polished, but two in particular caught Amber’s attention. No more than a size two, Bunny had long, straight blond hair and large green eyes made up to show their maximum gorgeousness. She was perfect in every way, and she knew it. Amber had seen her at the gym in her tiny shorts and sports bra, working out like mad, but Bunny looked at her blankly, as if she’d never laid eyes on her before. Amber wanted to remind her, Oh, yes. I know you. You’re the one who brags about screwing around on your husband to your girl posse.

And then there was Meredith, who didn’t at all fit in with the rest of them. Her clothing was expensive but subdued, not like the flashy garb of the other women. She wore small gold earrings and a single strand of yellowed pearls against her brown sweater. The length of her tweed skirt was awkward, neither long nor short enough to be fashionable. As the meeting progressed, it became apparent that she was different in more ways than appearance. She sat erect in her chair, shoulders back and head held high, with an imposing bearing of wealth and breeding. And when she spoke, there was just the hint of a boarding-school accent, enough to make her words sound so much more insightful than the others’ as they discussed the silent auction and the prizes secured so far. Exotic vacations, diamond jewelry, vintage wines—the list went on and on, each item more expensive than the last.

As the meeting came to a close, Meredith walked over and sat beside Amber. “Welcome to Julie’s Smile, Amber. I’m very sorry about your sister.”

“Thank you,” Amber said simply.

“Have you and Daphne known each other a long time?”

“Oh, no. We just met, actually. At the gym.”

“How serendipitous,” Meredith said, her tone hard to read. She was staring at Amber, and it felt as if she could see right through her.

“It was a lucky day for both of us.”

“Yes, I should say.” Meredith paused and looked Amber up and down. Her lips spread into a thin smile, and she rose from the chair. “It was lovely to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Amber sensed danger, not in the words Meredith had spoken but from something in her manner. Maybe she was just imagining it. She put her empty coffee cup back on the sideboard and walked through the French doors that seemed to invite her onto the deck. Outside she stood looking at the vast expanse of Long Island Sound. In the distance she spotted a sailboat, its sails billowing in the wind, a magnificent spectacle. She walked to the other end of the deck, where she had a better view of the sandy beach below. When she turned to go back inside, she heard Meredith’s unmistakable voice coming from the conservatory.

“Honestly, Daphne, how well do you know this girl? You met her at the gym? Do you know anything about her background?”

Amber stood silently at the edge of the door.

“Meredith, really. All I needed to know was that her sister died of CF. What more do you want? She has a vested interest in raising money for the foundation.”

“Have you checked her out?” Meredith asked, her tone still skeptical. “You know, her family, education, all those things?”

“This is volunteer work, not a Supreme Court nomination. I want her on the committee. You’ll see. She’ll be a wonderful asset.”

Amber could hear the irritation in Daphne’s voice.

“All right, it’s your committee. I won’t bring it up again.”

Amber could hear footsteps on the tile floor as they left the room, and she stepped in and quickly pushed her portfolio under a pillow on the sofa, so it would look like she’d forgotten it. In it were her notes from the meeting and a photograph, tucked into one of the pockets. The lack of any other identifying information would ensure that Daphne would have to root around to find the photo. Amber was thirteen in the picture. That had been a good day, one of the few her mother had been able to leave the cleaner’s and take them to the park. She was pushing her little sister on the swings. On the back, Amber had written “Amber and Charlene,” even though it was a picture of her with her sister Trudy.

Meredith was going to be tricky. She’d said she was looking forward to getting to know Amber better. Well, Amber was going to make sure she knew as little as possible. She wasn’t going to let some society snob screw with her. She’d made sure that the last person who tried that got what was coming to her.

FOUR

Amber opened the bottle of Josh she’d been saving. It was pathetic that she had to ration a twelve-dollar cabernet, but her measly salary at the real estate office barely covered the rent here. Before moving to Connecticut, she’d done her research and chosen her target, Jackson Parrish, and that’s how she ended up in Bishops Harbor. Sure, she could have rented in a neighboring town for much less, but living here meant she had many opportunities to accidentally run into Daphne Parrish, plus access to all the fabulous town amenities. And she loved being so close to New York.

A smile spread across Amber’s face. She thought back to the time she’d researched Jackson Parrish, googling his name for hours after she read an article on the international development company he’d founded. Her breath had caught when his picture filled the screen. With thick black hair, full lips, and cobalt-blue eyes, he could have easily been on the big screen. She’d clicked on an interview in Forbes magazine that featured him and how he built his Fortune 500 company. The next link—an article in Vanity Fair—wrote about his marriage to the beautiful Daphne, ten years younger than he. Amber had gazed at the picture of their two adorable children, taken on the beach in front of a gray-and-white clapboard mansion. She’d looked up everything she could about the Parrishes, and when she read about Julie’s Smile, the foundation founded by Daphne and dedicated to raising money for cystic fibrosis, the idea came to her. The first step in the plan that developed in her mind was to move to Bishops Harbor.

When she thought back to the small-time marriage she’d tried to engineer back in Missouri, it made her want to laugh. That had ended very badly, but she wouldn’t make the same mistakes this time.

Now she picked up her wineglass and lifted it in salute to her reflection in the microwave oven. “To Amber.” Taking a long sip, she rested the glass on the counter.

Opening her laptop, she typed “Meredith Stanton Connecticut” into the search bar and the page filled up with link after link about Meredith’s personal and philanthropic efforts. Meredith Bell Stanton was a daughter of the Bell family, who raised Thoroughbred racehorses. According to the articles, riding was her passion. She rode horses, showed horses, hunted, jumped, and did anything else you could do with horses. Amber wasn’t surprised. Meredith had “horsewoman” written all over her.

Amber stared at a photograph of Meredith and her husband, Randolph H. Stanton III, at a charity event in New York. She decided old Randolph looked like he had a yardstick up his ass. But she guessed banking was a pretty dry business. The only good thing about it was the money, and it looked like the Stantons had piles of it.

Next, she searched for Bunny Nichols, but didn’t find as much. The fourth wife of March Nichols, a prominent New York attorney with a reputation for ruthlessness, Bunny looked eerily similar to the second and third wives. Amber guessed that blond party girls were interchangeable to him. One article described Bunny as a “former model.” That was a laugh. She looked more like a former stripper.

She took a last sip from her glass, corked the bottle, and logged onto Facebook under one of her fake profiles. She pulled up the one profile that she checked every night, scanning for new photos and any status updates. Her eyes narrowed at a picture of a little boy holding a lunch box in one hand and that rich bitch’s hand in the other—“First day at St. Andrew’s Academy” and the insipid comment “Mommy’s not ready,” with a sad-face emoji. St. Andrew’s, the school back home she had yearned to attend. She wanted to type her own comment: Mommy and Daddy are lying skanks. But instead she slammed the laptop shut.

FIVE

Amber looked at the ringing phone and smiled. Seeing “private” on the caller ID, she figured it was Daphne. She let it go to voice mail. Daphne left a message. The next day, Daphne called again, and again Amber ignored it. Obviously, Daphne had found the portfolio. When the phone rang again that night, Amber finally answered.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Amber?”

A sigh, and then a quiet “Yes?”

“It’s Daphne. Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

She made a choking sound, then spoke, louder this time. “Hi, Daphne. Yeah, sorry. It’s been a rough day.”

“What is it? Has something happened?” Amber could hear the concern in Daphne’s voice.

“It’s the anniversary.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. Would you like to come over? Jackson’s out of town. We could open a bottle of wine.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. The children are sleeping, and I’ve got one of the nannies if they should need anything.”

Of course one of the nannies is there. God forbid she should have to do anything for herself. “Oh, Daphne, that would be so great. Can I bring anything?”

“No, just yourself. See you soon.”

When Amber pulled up to the house, she got out her phone and texted Daphne: I’m here. Didn’t want to ring and wake the girls.

The door opened, and Daphne motioned her in. “How thoughtful of you to text first.”

“Thanks for having me over.” Amber handed her a bottle of red wine.

Daphne hugged her. “Thank you, but you shouldn’t have.”

Amber shrugged. It was a cheap merlot, eight bucks at the liquor store. She knew Daphne would never drink it.

“Come on.” Daphne led her into the sunroom, where there was already a bottle of wine open and two half-filled glasses on the coffee table.

“Have you had dinner?”

Amber shook her head. “No, but I’m not really hungry.” She sat, picked up a wineglass, and took a small sip. “This is very nice.”

Daphne sat down, picked up her own glass, and held it up.

“Here’s to our sisters who live on in our hearts.”

Amber touched her glass to Daphne’s and took another swallow. She brushed a nonexistent tear from her eye.

“I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a basket case.”

Daphne shook her head. “Of course not. It’s okay. You can talk about it to me. Tell me about her.”

Amber paused. “Charlene was my best friend. We shared a room, and we’d talk late into the night about what we were going to do when we grew up and got out of that house.” She frowned and took another long sip of her wine. “Our mother used to throw a shoe at the door if she thought we were up too late. We’d whisper so she wouldn’t hear us. We’d tell each other everything. All our dreams, our hopes …”

Daphne kept quiet while Amber continued, but her beautiful blue eyes filled with compassion.

“She was golden. Everybody loved her, but it didn’t go to her head, you know? Some kids, they would have become bratty, but not Char. She was beautiful, on the inside and out. People would just stare at her when we were out, that’s how gorgeous she was.” Amber hesitated and cocked her head. “Sort of like you.”

A nervous laugh escaped from Daphne’s lips. “I would hardly say that about myself.”

Yeah, right, Amber thought. “Beautiful women take it for granted. They can’t see what everyone else does. My parents used to joke that she got the beauty, and I got the brains.”

“How cruel. That’s terrible, Amber. You are a beautiful person—inside and out.”

It was almost too easy, Amber thought—get a bad haircut, leave off the makeup, don a pair of eyeglasses, slouch your shoulders, and voilà! Poor homely girl was born. Daphne needed to save someone, and Amber was happy to oblige. She smiled at Daphne.

“You’re just saying that. It’s okay. Not everyone has to be beautiful.” She picked up a photo of Tallulah and Bella, this one in a cloth frame. “Your daughters are gorgeous too.”

Daphne’s face lit up. “They’re great kids. I’m extremely blessed.”

Amber continued to study the photograph. Tallulah looked like a little adult with her serious expression and hideous glasses, while Bella, with her blond curls and blue eyes, looked like a little princess. There was going to be a lot of rivalry in their future, Amber thought. She wondered how many boyfriends Bella would steal from her plain older sister when they were teenagers.

“Do you have a picture of Julie?”

“Of course.” Daphne got up and retrieved a photograph from the console table. “Here she is,” she said, handing the frame to Amber.

Amber stared at the young woman, who must have been around fifteen when the picture was taken. She was beautiful in an almost otherworldly way, her big brown eyes bright and shining.

“She’s lovely,” Amber said, looking up at Daphne. “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

“No, not really. Some days it’s even harder.”

They finished the bottle of wine and opened another while Amber listened to more stories of Daphne’s tragic fairy-tale relationship with her perfect dead sister. Amber threw a full glass down the sink when she went to the bathroom. As she returned to the living room, she added a little wobble to her walk, and said to Daphne, “I should get going.”

Daphne shook her head. “You shouldn’t drive. You should stay here tonight.”

“No, no. I don’t want to put you out.”

“No arguments. Come on. I’ll take you to a guest room.”

Daphne put an arm around Amber’s waist and led her through the obscenely large house and up the long staircase to the second floor.

“I think I’m going to need the bathroom.” Amber made the words sound urgent.

“Of course.” Daphne helped her in, and Amber shut the door and sat down on the toilet. The bathroom was enormous and elaborate, with a Jacuzzi tub and shower big enough to accommodate the entire royal family. Her studio apartment would have practically fit inside it. When she opened the door, Daphne was waiting.

“Are you feeling any better?” Daphne’s voice was filled with concern.

“Still a bit dizzy. Would it be all right if I did lie down for a minute?”

“Of course,” Daphne said, guiding her down the long hallway to a guest room.

Amber’s keen eye took it all in—the fresh white tulips that looked beautiful against the mint-green walls. Who had fresh flowers in a guest room when they weren’t even expecting guests? The shiny wood floor was partially covered with a thick white flokati rug that added another touch of elegance and luxury. Billowy gauze curtains seemed to float down from the tall windows.

Daphne helped her to the bed, where Amber sat and ran her hand over the embroidered duvet cover. She could get used to this. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she didn’t need to pretend that she felt the dizzying sensation of impending slumber. She saw movement and opened her eyes to see Daphne standing over her.

“You’re going to sleep here. I insist,” Daphne said, and, walking to the closet, opened the door and took out a nightgown and robe. “Here, take your things off and put on this nightgown. I’ll wait out in the hallway while you change.”

Amber peeled off her sweater and threw it on the bed, and stepped out of her jeans. She slipped into the silky white nightgown and crawled under the covers. “All set,” she called out.

Daphne came back in and put a hand on her forehead. “You poor dear. Rest.”

Amber felt a cover being tucked around her.

“I’ll be in my room, just down the hall.”

Amber opened her eyes and reached out to grab Daphne’s arm. “Please don’t go. Can you stay with me like my sister used to?”

She saw the briefest hesitation in Daphne’s eyes before she went over to the other side of the bed and lay next to Amber.

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Just rest. I’m right here if you need anything.”

Amber smiled. All she needed from Daphne was everything.

SIX

Amber flipped through the pages of Vogue as she sat listening to the whiny client on the other end of the phone continuing to bitch about the $5 million house that had been sold out from under her. She hated Mondays, the day she was asked to sit in for the receptionist at lunchtime. Her boss had promised her she’d be free of it as soon as the new hire began in another month.

She’d started as a secretary in the residential division of Rollins Realty when she first moved to Bishops Harbor, and she’d hated every minute of it. Almost all of the clients were spoiled women and arrogant men, all with a hugely elevated sense of entitlement. The kind of people who never slowed their expensive cars at a four-way stop because they believed they always had the right-of-way. She’d set appointments, call them with updates, set up appraisal and inspection appointments, and still they barely acknowledged her. She did notice that they were only a little more courteous to the agents, but their lack of manners still infuriated her.

She used that first year to take evening classes in commercial real estate. She checked books out of the library on the subject and read voraciously on weekends, sometimes forgetting to eat lunch or dinner. When she felt ready, she went to the head of the commercial side of Rollins, Mark Jansen, to discuss her thoughts on a potential opportunity regarding a zoning change vote she’d read about in the paper and what a successful vote could mean for one of their clients. He was blown away by her knowledge and understanding of the market, and started stopping by her desk occasionally to chat about his side of the business. Within a few months she was sitting right outside his office, working closely with him. Between her reading and his tutelage, her knowledge and expertise increased. And to Amber’s good fortune, Mark was a great boss, a devoted family man who treated her with respect and kindness. She was right where she had planned to be from the start. It had just taken time and determination, but determination was one thing Amber had in spades.

She looked up as Jenna, the receptionist, walked in with a crumpled McDonald’s bag and a soda in her hands. No wonder she was so fat, Amber thought in disgust. How could people have so little self-control?

“Hey, girlie, thanks so much for covering. Did everything go okay?” Jenna’s smile made her face even more moonlike than normal.

Amber bristled. Girlie? “Just some moron who’s upset because someone else bought her house.”

“Oh, that was probably Mrs. Worth. She’s so disappointed. I feel bad for her.”

“Don’t waste your tears. Now she can cry on her husband’s shoulder and get the eight-million-dollar house instead.”

“Oh, Amber. You’re so funny.”

Amber shook her head in puzzlement at Jenna and walked away.

Later that night, as she sat soaking in the tub, she thought about the last two years. She’d been ready to leave it all far behind—the dry-cleaning chemicals that burned her eyes and nose, the filth from soiled clothing that clung to her hands, and the big plan that had gone awry. Just when she thought she’d finally grabbed the brass ring, everything had come crashing down. There was no question of her hanging around. When she left Missouri, she’d made sure that anyone looking for her wouldn’t find even a trace to follow.

The water was turning cooler now. Amber rose and wrapped herself in a thin terry-cloth robe as she stepped out of the bath. There’d been no old school friend to invite her to Connecticut. She’d rented the tiny furnished apartment just days after she arrived in Bishops Harbor. The dingy white walls were bare, and the floor was covered with an old-fashioned pea-green shag that had probably been there since the 1980s. The only seating was an upholstered love seat with worn arms and sagging pillows. A plastic table sat at the end of the small sofa. There was nothing on the table, not even a lamp, the single lightbulb with its fringed shade hanging from the low ceiling being the only illumination in the room. It was hardly more than a place to sleep and hang her hat, but it was only a placeholder until her plan was complete. In the end, it would all be worth it.

She quickly dried off, threw on pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, and then sat at the small desk in front of the only window in the apartment. She pulled out her file on Nebraska and read over it once again. Daphne hadn’t asked her any more questions about her childhood, but still, it never hurt to refresh. Nebraska had been her first stop after leaving her hometown in Missouri, and it was where her luck had begun to change. She bet she knew more about Eustis, Nebraska, and its Wurst Tag sausage festival than even the oldest living resident. She scanned the pages, then put the folder back and picked up the book on international real estate she’d gotten from the library on her way home that night. It was heavy enough to make a good doorstop, and she knew it was going to take some very long nights and lots of concentration to get through it.

She smiled. Even if her place was small and cramped, she had spent so many nights longing for a room of her own when she and her three sisters were packed in the attic her father had turned into a bunkhouse of sorts. No matter how hard she’d tried, the room was always a mess, with her sisters’ clothes, shoes, and books strewn all over. It made her crazy. Amber needed order—disciplined, structured order. And now, finally, she was the master of her world. And of her fate.

SEVEN

Amber dressed carefully that Monday morning. She had quite accidentally run into Daphne and her daughters at the town library late yesterday afternoon. They’d stopped to chat, and Daphne had introduced her to Tallulah and Bella. She had been struck by their differences. Tallulah, tall and thin with glasses and a plain face, appeared quiet and withdrawn. Bella, on the other hand, was an adorable little sprite, her golden curls bouncing as she cavorted around the shelves. Both girls had been polite but uninterested, and had leafed through their books as the two women spoke. Amber had noticed that Daphne didn’t seem her usual cheery self. “Is everything all right?” she said, putting her hand gently on Daphne’s arm. Daphne’s eyes had filled. “Just some memories I can’t shake today. That’s all.”

Amber had gone on full alert. “Memories?”

“Tomorrow is Julie’s birthday. I can’t stop thinking about her.” She ran her fingers through Bella’s curly hair, and the child looked up at her and smiled.

“Tomorrow? The twenty-first?” Amber said.

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe it. It’s Charlene’s birthday, too!” Amber silently berated herself, hoping she hadn’t overplayed her hand, but as soon as she saw the look on Daphne’s face, she knew she’d struck just the right chord.

“Oh my gosh, Amber. That’s unbelievable. I’m beginning to feel like the heavens have brought us together.”

“It does seem like it’s meant to be,” Amber had said, then paused for a few seconds. “We should do something tomorrow to celebrate our sisters, to remember the good things and not dwell on the sadness. How about if I pack us some sandwiches, and we can have lunch at my office? There’s a small picnic bench on the side of the building near the stream.”

“What a good idea,” Daphne had said, more animated then. “But why should you go to the trouble of packing a lunch? I’ll pick you up at your office, and we’ll go to the country club. Would you like that?”

That was precisely what Amber had been hoping Daphne would suggest, but she hadn’t wanted to seem too eager. “Are you sure? It really isn’t any trouble. I pack lunch every day.”

“Of course I’m sure. What time shall I pick you up?”

“I can usually duck out around twelve thirty.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then,” Daphne had said, and shifted the pile of books in her arms. “We’ll make it a happy celebration.”

Now Amber studied herself in the mirror one last time—white boat-neck T-shirt and her one nice pair of navy slacks. She’d tried on the sturdy sandals but exchanged them for white ones. She wore faux pearl studs in her ears and, on her right hand, a ring with a small sapphire set in gold. Her hair was pulled back with the usual headband, and her only makeup was a very light pink lip balm. Satisfied that she looked subdued but not too frumpy, she grabbed her keys and left for work.

By ten, Amber had checked the clock at least fifty times. The minutes dragged unbearably as she tried to concentrate on the new shopping center contract in front of her. She reread the final four pages, making notes as she went along. Ever since she’d found an error that could have cost the company a bundle, her boss, Mark, didn’t sign anything until Amber had reviewed it.

Today was Amber’s day to cover the phones for Jenna, but Jenna had agreed to stay so that Amber could go out for lunch.

“Who are you having lunch with?” Jenna asked.

“You don’t know her. Daphne Parrish,” she answered, feeling important.

“Oh, Mrs. Parrish. I’ve met her. A couple years ago, with her mother. They came in together ’cause her mom was going to move here to be closer to the family. She looked at tons of places, but she ended up staying in New Hampshire. She was a real nice lady.”

Amber’s ears perked up. “Really? What was her name? Do you remember?”

Jenna looked up at the ceiling. “Lemme see.” She was quiet a moment and then nodded her head and looked back at Amber. “I remember. Her name was Ruth Bennett. She’s a widow.”

“She lives alone?” Amber said.

“Well, sort of, I guess. She owns a B&B in New Hampshire, so she’s not really alone. Right? But on the other hand, they’re all pretty much strangers, so she kind of does live alone. Maybe you could say she lives semi-alone, or only alone at night when she goes to bed,” Jenna prattled on. “Before she left, she brought a real nice basket of goodies to the office to thank me for being so nice. It was really sweet. But kinda sad too. It seemed like she really wanted to move here.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Mrs. Parrish didn’t want her that close.”

“Did she say that?” Amber probed.

“Not really. It just seemed like she wasn’t too excited about her mom being so close by. I guess she didn’t really need her around. You know, she had her nannies and stuff. One of my friends was her nanny when her first daughter was a baby.”

Amber felt like she’d struck gold. “Really? How long did she work there?”

“A couple years, I think.”

“Is she a good friend of yours?”

“Sally? Yeah, me and her go way back.”

“I bet she has some stories to tell,” Amber said.

“What do you mean?”

Is this girl for real? “You know, things about the family, what they’re like, what they do at home—that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t really interested. We had other stuff to talk about.”

“Maybe the three of us could have dinner next week.”

“Hey, that would be great.”

“Why don’t you call her tomorrow and set it up? What’s her name again?” Amber asked.

“Sally. Sally MacAteer.”

“And she lives here in Bishops Harbor?”

“She lives right next door to me, so I see her all the time. We grew up together. I’ll ask her about dinner. This’ll be really fun. Like the three musketeers.” Jenna skipped back to her desk, and Amber went back to work.

She picked up the contract and put it on the desk in Mark’s empty office so they could discuss it that afternoon when he got back from his appointment in Norwalk. She looked at her watch and saw that she had twenty minutes to finish and freshen up before Daphne’s arrival. She returned two phone calls, filed a few loose papers, and then went to the bathroom to check her hair. Satisfied, she went to the front lobby to watch for Daphne’s Range Rover.

It pulled up at exactly twelve thirty, Amber noticed, appreciating Daphne’s promptness. As Amber pushed open the glass door of the building, Daphne rolled the car window down and called out a cheerful hello. Amber walked to the passenger side, opened the door, and hoisted herself into the cool interior.

“It’s great to see you,” Amber said with what she hoped sounded like enthusiasm.

Daphne looked over at her and smiled before putting the car into gear. “I’ve been looking forward to this all morning. I couldn’t wait for my garden club meeting to be over. I know it’s going to make the day so much easier to get through.”

“I hope so,” Amber said, her voice subdued.

They were both quiet for the next few blocks, and Amber leaned back against the soft leather seat. She turned her head slightly in Daphne’s direction and took in her white linen pants and sleeveless white linen top, which had a wide navy stripe at the bottom. She wore small gold hoops and a simple gold bangle bracelet next to her watch. And her ring, of course, the rock that could have sunk the Titanic. Her slender arms were nicely tanned. She looked fit, healthy, and rich.

As they pulled into the driveway of the Tidewater Country Club, Amber drank it all in—the gently winding road with precision-cut grass on either side, not a weed in sight; tennis courts with players in sparkling whites; the swimming pools in the distance; and the impressive building looming before them. It was even grander than she had imagined. They drove around the circle to the main entrance, and were met by a young guy in a casual uniform of dark khakis and a green polo shirt. On his head was a white visor with the Tidewater logo embroidered in green.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parrish,” he said as he opened her door.

“Hello, Danny,” Daphne said and handed him the keys. “We’re just here for lunch.”

He walked around to open Amber’s door, but she had already stepped out.

“Well, enjoy,” he said, and got into the car.

“He’s such a nice young man,” Daphne said as she and Amber walked up the wide stairs into the building. “His mother used to work for Jackson, but she’s been very ill the last few years. Danny takes care of her and is also working to put himself through college.”

Amber wondered what he thought about all the money he saw thrown around at this club while he nursed a sick mother and worked to make ends meet, but she bit her tongue.

Daphne suggested they eat on the deck, and so the maître d’ led them outside, where Amber breathed in the bracing sea air she loved so much. They were seated at a table overlooking the marina, its three long piers filled with boats of all shapes and sizes bobbing up and down in the choppy waters.

“Wow, this is just beautiful,” Amber said.

“Yes, it is. A nice setting to remember all the wonderful things about Charlene and Julie.”

“My sister would have loved it here,” Amber said, and meant it. None of her perfectly healthy sisters would have even been able to imagine a place like this. She tore her gaze away from the water and turned to Daphne. “You must come here a lot with your family.”

“We do. Jackson, of course, heads right for the golf course whenever he can. Tallulah and Bella take all kinds of lessons—sailing, swimming, tennis. They’re quite the little athletes.”

Amber wondered what it would be like to grow up in this kind of world, where you were groomed from infancy to have and enjoy all the good things in life. Where you made friends almost from birth with the right people and were educated in the best schools, and the blinds were tightly drawn against outsiders. She was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness and envy.

The waiter brought two tall glasses of iced tea and took their lunch order—a small salad for Daphne and ahi tuna for Amber.

“Now,” Daphne said, as they waited. “Tell me a good memory about your sister.”

“Hmm. Well, I remember when she was just a few months old, my mom and I took her for a walk. I would have been six. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Mom let me push the carriage. Of course she was right next to me, just in case.” Amber warmed to her subject, embellishing the story as she continued. “But I remember feeling so grown-up and so happy to have this new little sister. She was so pretty, with her blue eyes and yellow curls. Just like a picture. And I think from that day on, I sort of felt like she was my little girl too.”

“That’s really lovely, Amber.”