DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest Read online

  "Mrs. Shugar is on the terrace." she said. She nodded down the long entryway. "You can go out the French doors on your right."

  "Thank you," I said. and marched over the tiles, my heels clicking like tap shoes, the noise echoing up the walls and bouncing down from the high ceiling.

  Under a large umbrella. Whitney was lounging in a pair of shorts and a white halter. The book she had been reading was beside her on a table, next to a tall glass of what looked like a pina colada. It even had the small umbrella sticking up. In my mind a thought flashed: She thinks of our home as a hotel and herself as a perennial guest.

  As I approached, she opened her left eye, then closed it and, with a sigh of annoyance, sat up, fixing the chaise behind her.

  "What brings you here. Willow?" she asked. "I thought you were so busy with your college and your brother."'

  "That's what brings me here. Whitney."

  She raised her eyebrows and reached for her drink. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "No, I'm not staying that long."

  "Oh. Well, you can sit so I don't have to keep looking up at you, can't you?"

  I sat on an upright chair by one of the tables.

  "So? Where is the fire?" she asked with a crooked smile. "Better you should ask who is the arsonist," I retorted. She put down her glass.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" she

  demanded,

  "It has been brought to my attention, painfully brought to my attention, that you have been saying nasty things about Linden and me.

  "Oh?" she asked, without attempting to deny anything. "Have you?"

  "I haven't said anything that everyone else around here doesn't think or believe:," she replied with her haughty tone.

  Whitney saw herself so high up on a pedestal of her own making that she had no fear of being challenged, and had too much arrogance to ever feel shame or defeat. I thought.

  "What kind of stupid, filthy logic is that. Whitney? I'm Thatcher's wife, This is your family now, too. You should be protecting us, not helping spread disgusting gossip.

  "I don't spread gossip," she snapped. She looked away for a moment, then turned back. her face not so much red as brassy, her eyes blazing. There were forces in her I couldn't even begin to fathom. I thought. "I am always looking out for my family.'"

  "Looking out for your family? First you tried to ruin our relationship by concocting that stupid story about Kirby Scott, and now that we've married, you're doing something even worse."

  "You can't blame me for trying to open Thatcher's eyes. You came into our lives like some northwester, blowing even-thing onshore. Who but Thatcher would marry someone with all the baggage you carry?"

  "You still think you're so superior that you know what's best for everyone?"

  She smiled coldly, her eyes so gray she looked like someone without a soul,

  "I see you're not denying the stories."

  "Of course I'm not denying them. I don't intend to give them the dimity of even being considered seriously. Who but someone sicker than my brother would tell people such things?"

  She winced, but didn't change expression. "I have pictures," she said,

  "Pictures? What pictures?" I asked. All the air seemed to have come from my lungs.

  She smiled again and lay back on the chaise,

  "You should have realized that the people who worked for the Eatons all these years developed some sense of loyalty to us. Maybe not Jennings so much, but the maids you kept-- and don't you dare go home and fire anyone!" she warned, her eyes wide with fury,

  The blood had drained from my face.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, hoping she was talking about something else.

  She smiled again.

  "The disgusting photographs you permitted your sick brother to take of you." She thrust her body toward me. "You posed nude for him, too, didn't you?"

  "No. I did not. I can't believe you had one of the maids do such a thing. Spying on us. It's so

  despicable. I can't even find the words to do it justice."

  "I'm only protecting my family," she said dryly, and sipped her drink again, "Now that you have had the nerve to bring this to a head. I must insist you have your brother committed."

  "What?"

  "I want him out of that house," she ordered. "It's the best thing for Thatcher. This way he won't be harmed by any perversions that could go on there. His reputation is everlastingly bound to my parents' and my own reputations. No one lives in a vacuum here. What you do now reflects on me and my parents. too.'

  "What about what you do?"

  "I doubt." she said with that crooked smile again, "that you will hear one substantiated piece of filth as dirty about me as people are spreading- about you.

  "You come from a family of disturbed people. What frightens me the most, if you want to know, is what sort of children you might have. I hope Thatcher gives that some thought and goes to a reputable adoption agency when the time comes to have children, if it comes. If your marriage survives."

  She sat back. confident,

  "I told you once before how I have had to come to Thatcher's aid to save him from one romantic disaster after another."

  I shook my head, the words of anger choking in my throat.

  The faces of the women of the Club d'Amour flashed before me. How right they were when they warned me about Whitney and the Palm Beach Game.

  But I refused to be as helpless as everyone thought, especially as Whitney thought.

  "Why would you do that?" I said. filling my voice with new strength and assurance.

  "What?"

  "Interfere in your brother's love life so often." "I told you To protect him. To protect my family."

  "Really? Could it be that you are the one with a sick fascination for a brother? That you are the one who dotes unnaturally on him? Despite what you think of yourself and your precious Palm Beach reputation. I have just come from lunch with a group of women who think that of you,"

  "You're lying."

  "I can see to it that you hear it from some of them, if you like. You're frustrated in your own marriage. Your husband has been heard saving things about your cold bed. You're driving me out because you want Thatcher for yourself."

  "You sick. evil--" "Me?"

  I stood up.

  "Hardly me. I don't hire the maid in your house to listen in on conversations and steal things to give to me. But. I venture to say, some of the servants here don't feel all that devotion to you that you think they do, and they could be coaxed to talk about how you show excessive affection for Thatcher," I said in a threatening tone.

  "You wouldn't dare attempt such a thing. I'll tear you to bits out there."

  "Maybe and maybe not. Maybe we'd both be bloodied beyond repair, but don't worry. I'm becoming a therapist. Years from now, I'll treat you pro bona."

  She stared at up at me, the doubt, the indecision and insecurity finally getting a beachhead on the shores of her evil mind.

  I glanced at my watch,

  "It's a little after three. By six o'clock today I will expect those pictures to be delivered to me. If I ever hear mention of them again or any more slimy rumors about my poor brother and me, I'll become a one-woman tabloid newspaper. You won't be able to go to a single charity ball, a single dinner party, a single restaurant in this town and not wonder about the eyes on you and the whispering behind your back.

  "I could live anywhere," I said cheerfully, "even Boca, but you, you'd die if you left your precious Palm Beach home."

  The expression on her face made me smile.

  "That's right. Whitney. Think of it Both Thatcher and I could practice our professions anywhere. were can you practice your profession, Whitney, except here... and hell?"

  I turned and walked away, paused and looked back at her. "Six o'clock. and I mean not a minute after," I said.

  My heels clicked on the tiles, sounding like bullets of rain behind me.

  15

  A Second Honeymoon


  .

  "I find myself continually underestimating how

  complicated and complex family relationships can be," Professor Fuentes said after listening to me describe my conflict with Whitney. We were in a cafe near the campus. "In fact." he said, looking up from his cup of coffee and smiling at me with that gentle ripple that traveled from his lips up into his eyes. "I daresay Whitney doesn't understand her motivations herself.

  "Without even having met her," he continued. "I think she really believes she is doing something good for her family, her brother in particular. If I was practicing therapy and had her as a client_. I would probably suggest she is using that as a rationalization for darker purposes, and it would be best for her to admit that, to stop lying to herself."

  "Yes, eventually you might help her, if it's possible to help her, but by then it would be too late for poor Linden and myself." I said.

  He nodded. "Probably. I think you were right to face up to her. to confront her and demonstrate that you are not some helpless pawn. At least you will get her to retreat to whispers. but I'm not optimistic that she will stop altogether." he said.

  "I know that."

  "For now. it would be wise to continue to work on Linden's development of outside interests. Nothing would work faster and more successfully than his finding someone else in whom he could invest his interest and attention."

  "I know that, too."

  "I'm sorry," he said, smiling. "I'm not being all that brilliant and helpful to you."

  "Oh. no." I protested. "You don't know how much I appreciate your listening and giving me your opinions."

  He nodded and looked down at his coffee.

  "Does Thatcher know how much you confide in me?" he asked. still looking at his cup.

  "Now. Professor Fuentes." I said. "doesn't every psychotherapist advise the spouse of his client to permit that client to have his or her space? If the sessions aren't inviolate, they can't be effective."

  He laughed.

  "Always the doctor's daughter." he declared. "I have no choice. It's who I am."

  "I know. I just don't want to be misinterpreted."

  "You won't be. Thatcher has his confidants and I have mine. I consider you more than my teacher now. I consider you a good friend," I said.

  He nodded.

  "Thank you. It is an honor I accept. Is your mother aware of any of these goings-on?" he asked.

  "No, not unless she has overheard some servant gossiping about us. Despite our moving into a much more comfortable home and her having some help, she seems more tired. Her brows are furrowed more often, her shoulders slumped. She falls asleep in her chair, and she is not eating as Yell as I would like to see.

  "But I haven't given her all the time and attention I would like. I haven't spent half as much time as I know I should with Linden. either. Thatcher has kept me pretty busy with his social schedule. The lines between what is social and what is a business affair are so blurred in his world. I don't know what's important and what isn't anymore. I'm afraid to say no to anything. I don't want to disappoint him or do anything that would hurt his business efforts."

  Professor Fuentes held his smile.

  "Aren't you also afraid of lending even a tiny suggestion of credence to the nasty rumors Whitney has engendered?"

  I looked down and then up again, nodding.

  "I feel like Audrey Hepburn in The Children's Hour, questioning every thought, every action and look, wondering if there isn't a seed of truth to the nasty tales, doubting herself.

  "When I walk with Linden now. I look everywhere to see if a maid is watching us. If he touches me. I practically jump, and every time I look up at that picture above our bed. I see more licentiousness in it If anyone else is brought to see it_. I blush as if he or she is looking at me nude.

  "And then I think, poor Linden, he doesn't deserve all this. She's done that to him, to us both! My father used to say the power is in the accusation, not the conviction. If I didn't understand him then. I certainly understand him now."

  "Thatcher has said nothing relating to any of this?"'

  "He's said nothing directly, but sometimes he says things that could have underlying meanings, or I look up and catch him studying Linden and the way Linden is looking at me. Our eyes meet for a moment. and I feel this suspicion. It's only for a fleeting second or two, but nevertheless, it's there. I think. Maybe I've just become paranoid. In either case. Whitney would be satisfied."

  "You should discuss it with him. Willow. You should do it as soon as you can and eliminate all that before it takes hold like termites and eats away at the foundation of your marriage," Professor Fuentes said.

  "Yes, that's good advice. I know I should. I must. See," I said, smiling, you are a big help. I don't know it all. I don't know even a quarter of it all."

  He laughed.

  The truth is. Willow, none of us do." he said. "Some of us just do a better job of hiding that fact."

  We both laughed, and so ended another of our precious tete-a-tetes over coffee. I went to my class. Later that afternoon, when I started for Joya del Mar. I vowed to do what the professor had recommended-- have a heart-to-heart talk with Thatcher and tell him all of it.

  Up until now, Whitney had not dared call my bluff. She had returned the pictures. I had no way of knowing if she had made copies, of course. but I thought that even she would be embarrassed enough if someone else was permitted to view them. I was still, despite her disappointment, her brother's wife. I didn't hear from or see any members of the Club d'Amour, so I hoped the gossiping had stopped. too. However, as I had told Professor Fuentes. I was still left with the damage that had already been done.

  Thatcher disappointed me when he called at the end of the day to say he had been summoned to a very important meeting in Tallahassee. He said it involved the conglomerate and the men he had met in Nice when we were on our honeymoon.

  "They are working on some state politicians. These are sort of off-the-record meetings, if you know what I mean. I'll have to be there the better part of two days. I'll be back tomorrow night." he told me.

  "Oh," I moaned,

  "Don't sound so unhappy. It's not even thirtysix hours," he said.

  "I need to talk to you, to have some time with you without any dinner guests, without any relatives or distractions, no phones ringing, no interruptions."

  "We could fly over to Nassau for the weekend." he suggested. "Yes, maybe we should do that."

  "Fine. What's it all about? Your brother?"

  "No. Not exactly about him. That's only part of it."

  "I didn't want to mention it, but maybe I should," he said. "What?"

  "I think your brother spends hours at a time lurking outside our door at night.,"

  "Lurking?"

  "Last night and once before, I went out after you fell asleep and he practically leaped for his own door."

  "Maybe it was just a coincidence," I said.

  "Maybe. Maybe not He skulks about more than ever, it seems to me. I know you and Grace think he's made leaps and bounds in improvement, but I'm still very concerned, Willow. Please think about it. And be careful," he added.

  "He's not going to hurt anyone. Thatcher."

  "There are many different ways to hurt someone. Willow. Just be more objective and alert. okay? I've got to get going. I'll call you." he said.

  "Thatcher--"

  I heard the phone click dead and stood there with the receiver in my hand for a while. Had Whitney gotten to him after all and poisoned his mind? Was Professor Fuentes's suggestion coming too late? I chastised myself for having waited this long, and especially for keeping my confrontation with Whitney a secret. That hesitation might have nurtured suspicions and doubts. If anything was truly the lifeblood and strength of a marriage, it was trust. People loved each other in relation to the secrets they kept from each other. The fewer secrets they had, the more their love grew. I had no better illustration of that truth than my father's marriage to my adoptive
mother. The secrets they kept from each other could have filled the Atlantic Ocean, and the love they ended up sharing wouldn't have filled a thimble.

  That evening. Mother did not come to dinner. Linden told me she said she had a headache and just wanted to take something for it and sleep. I went to check on her and saw she was already asleep.

  "She worries about all of us too -much," Linden said when I returned and reported that she was sleeping soundly. He sat there eating with as vigorous an appetite as I had ever seen him have. "I know I am the cause of most of that. I work too much and haunt the house, searching every shadow, but that is all coming to an end," he announced.

  "Oh? Why?"

  "Today, while you were at class, guess where I was. I shook my head.

  "Where?"

  "At your school. too." He was beaming. "I did just what I once told you I would do-- I enrolled in an art appreciation class.I'm going every Tuesday and Thursday morning at nine beginning next term. If I like the one class. I'll take two, maybe three the following term."

  "That's wonderful. Linden. You should join one of the clubs as well. It will help you meet people."

  "Yes," he said. "I might just do that." How encouraging it all sounded.

  "Where's Thatcher?" he asked, realizing suddenly that we were having dinner without him.

  "He had to attend a very important business meeting in Tallahassee. He'll be back late tomorrow."

  "Oh."

  He had a strange look on his face for a moment, the look of someone who had drifted off. I ate and watched him, and then he began to eat again, only faster. I commented on it, and he said he had to get back to work.

  "I'm doing something that I really like. It's possessed me," he admitted in a heavy whisper. "but sometimes, being possessed isn't bad. Sometimes, its what makes my work special. You understand, don't you? Thatcher wouldn't. I know. But you do." he said confidently.

  "Yes. I understand. Be possessed, but not consumed," I advised, and he laughed.

  "Seems to me.," he said. 'that's advice you should be giving to Thatcher. He's the one who works around the clock these days."

  I said nothing. He was right, of course.