DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest Read online

"Thank you." I said.

  The conversation left me feeling a bit depressed. but I scrubbed it out of my mind like some ugly stain and hoped it wouldn't reappear. Of course, the moment I saw Whitney at an event shortly afterward, it all flashed before me in a red sash of fury. Her first remark, which was almost a

  compliment, was, "You don't look very pregnant."

  "Some,, women don't really show until their seventh or even eighth month. I take it you were not one of those." I said. I wasn't unfriendly, but there was no warmth in my voice. We were standing among nearly a hundred other party guests in a beautiful garden setting.

  "No," she said bitterly. "I even hemorrhaged in my third month with Laurel and almost lost her." Her eyes grew small. suspicious. "If you and Thatcher were planning a child so soon, why did you return to college?"

  Conversing with someone close by. Thatcher heard her question, and his eyes fixed on me while he waited to see what I would say.

  "What difference does that make?" I replied, assuming what I now called my "Palm Beach personality." "We'll hire a nanny and I'll practically not skip a beat. You had a nanny for each of your children until they were twelve. I understand, I don't think I'll need one that long, but if I do. I do." I gave a nonchalant shrug, then smiled at her and added. "After all. Whitney, it's only money. You don't really wonder why it was no concern for us, do you?"

  I saw Thatcher's smile widen.

  Whitney, who was stone-faced most of the time, actually blanched.

  "That's not the point," she stammered.

  "What is the point, Whitney?" I asked, looking as if I really wanted to know.

  "I didn't think you were the sort who would delegate those responsibilities to someone else."

  "What sort is that, Whitney?" I pursued, stepping closer to her.

  "Never mind."

  "No, I'm curious. What sort is that, Whitney? More responsible, caring, loving. what?" I asked, my face in her face.

  She was flustered now and in retreat, her eyes shifting from side to side, looking for some avenue of escape, someone else to engage in conversation, but no one was close enough.

  "You don't mean neurotic, do you?" I pursued.

  Finally, she hoisted those shoulders of hers, giving her the look of another two inches of height, and looking down at me said. "If you must know, I didn't think you had the social background to tolerate so many servants in your life. It takes some getting used to when you're not born to it.'"

  "Oh, don't worry about that," I said with a hollow laugh that was loud enough to draw attention. "When it comes to being spoiled. I'm just as much a socialite as you are."

  Thatcher was unable to contain his laugh now. Whitney glared at him, looked arrows at me, and then walked away. "You're getting the hang of this thing," Thatcher whispered.

  "Maybe," I said. "but I don't enjoy it half as much as you think. Isn't it time to go?"

  Despite the front I put up and how easy the first weeks had been. I did experience some discomfort over the next two months. I didn't have any bouts of nausea and vomiting, but I did find my energy sapped more often and took more naps than I usually did.

  As soon as I'd told him I was pregnant. Thatcher had taken me to an obstetrician he considered one of the best in the area, a client of his. Dr. Herman Marko, a man in his late forties. Dr. Marko was very good at explaining everything, but he had a contrived pleasantness about him that gave me the impression he was kind and friendly only to the point of necessity. I told Thatcher I thought he was a man who counted his smiles and spent them as efficiently as an IRS examiner.

  Thatcher retorted with his standard response to comments I made about the friends and associates to whom he introduced me: "You're analyzing too much. Just relax. Stop being the psychiatrist's daughter."

  I was sensitive enough about it to consider that he might be right, so I put aside my negative feelings. After my sixteenth week, I had an ultrasound that Dr. Marko declared proved without a doubt I was going to have a girl. That was when I suggested the name Hannah to Thatcher. He didn't seem very excited about it and simply replied, "We have time to decide."

  Whenever I returned home after a doctor's visit. Linden was there to greet me and question me about it. He was, as was Mother, very excited to hear that we were having a girl. In the beginning, I thought Linden's interest in my pregnancy was sweet and loving, and both Mother and I were amused and delighted with his questions, the way he doted on me, and offered suggestions: but gradually, something about the intensity of his questions and the way he reacted to some things I told him-- pressing his lips together hard, turning his eyebrows in under the folds of his forehead, stiffening his body-- began to concern me.

  He was, it became evident, second-guessing the doctor. He began to challenge his opinions. offering me contrary documentation about the recommended vitamins, exercises, and diet, and about the doctor's reactions to my symptoms and complaints.

  "You're better off staying away from doctors," he muttered one day. "Get a good midwife."

  Of course. I thought he wasn't really serious. but the comments and complaints he made to Mother assured us both he was. Eventually. we had to sit him down and talk to him to try to relieve his anxieties.

  "It's going fine. Linden," I said. "I'm doing very well. Nothing I am experiencing is out of the ordinary."

  "Some of the things they do can affect the child," he insisted. "Later on, I mean. They treat you like just another statistic, another scientific fact, and nothing more. There's nothing personal about modern medicine. They think we are all here to support the bottom line. Doctors, he spit.

  After he left us. Mother turned to me and said she was beginning to understand.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Linden blames some of his difficulties on the way I gave birth to him. As you know, my pregnancy was something Jackie Lee and I hid from the Palm Beach world. It was her idea that we would try to get people to believe she was Linden's mother. and that way, I wouldn't suffer any disgrace. I think in retrospect it was her way of protecting her own reputation as well. for she didn't want to be known as the woman who had failed to see Kirby Scott's lecherousness and protect her only daughter. People would wonder where she was while all this was going on.

  "Jackie Lee found a doctor who would be discreet, and as you know. I gave birth to Linden in the house. I'm sure in his mind he considers all that-- the subterfuge, the cover-up. the subsequent lies and deceptions, my condition, all of it--responsible for his difficulties,

  "Despite his anger and his refusal to be social, he does understand that he is not mentally healthy."

  She dabbed away the tears.

  "He has told me many times he knows what he is like and what's wrong with him, but he accepts it, just like any disabled person."

  "Yes," I said. "I understand. We shouldn't cause him to feel bad about caring. I'll speak to him later."

  She smiled.

  "He's so lucky to have a sister like you."

  And I'm lucky to have a mother like .you," I replied.

  We smiled and hugged each other. Despite the majesty of our estate, the beauty of our property, and the protection it gave us from the problems most people had to face outside our walls, we still felt vulnerable.

  We walked on marble floors. We had servants to help us. We had an army of professionals out there to call upon when we needed them, but we couldn't help looking over our shoulders from time to time or pausing to listen for the footsteps of malevolent fate lurking behind the curtain of some shadow, waiting eagerly for an opportunity to lunge at us and steal away the happiness and hope we had so recently enjoyed.

  There was no doubt "It" was out there. Like that dark ship Linden often saw slinking over the water in the darkness. It came from the horizon, rising and falling with the waves. relentless. Its prow directed at Jaya del Mar, Its ghostly sailors poised. eager.

  The buoys sounded in the night.

  Warning.

  All we could do was wait and ho
pe It would somehow turn and pass by us.

  It didn't.

  I wasn't deliberately looking for excuses not to join Manon and the women of the Club d'Amour for lunch when they called a few weeks later. but I had a conflict at school that I couldn't avoid. Manon sounded very annoyed.

  "I appreciate that you're attending college. Willow," she said. "but we're attending the real world. You should not neglect it."

  I had no idea what she was referring to. but I didn't get angry. I apologized and promised to make a real effort to see them all soon. She hung up in a huff. and I did not expect to hear from her or any of them again, but the following Tuesday. Jennings had a message for me when I returned from class. It simply read, Manon Florette. Call immediately, and her number.

  Figuring it was just another of their dramatic social crises. I did not rush to a phone. I changed, spent some time with Mother, and then returned to my suite and girded myself for what I imagined was going to be some silly conversation. She answered on the first ring,

  "I've been waiting for your call. Your butler told me when you were expected." she snapped.

  "I'm sorry. Some unexpected things came up," I said. "You have no idea how unexpected," she retorted. "What is it. Manon?"

  "The others have all set aside whatever they were doing to meet with you. Be at the Rosebud in fifteen minutes. You know where it is and you know it's close by."

  "What is this about?"

  "Just be there," she said. and hung up before I could offer some excuse. I was annoyed. but I couldn't help being somewhat curious. This was over-the-top. even for the members of the so-called Club d'Amour.

  The Rosebud was a small coffeehouse. but it had a very pretty garden patio from which you could see the ocean. if you had the right table. I had no doubt Marion would have the right table. but we weren't meeting there to enjoy the scenery. I could see them sitting on the patio when I arrived. I was surprised that they were all there before me. It made me think they had all been at Marion's home when I called. all waiting with her. That realization turned my heart into a tiny drum, the beats increasing with every step I took toward the entrance of the restaurant. I went in and through the small lobby to the side door to the patio. They all looked my way, all with the same intense expression. It took my breath away,

  "What's going on?" I managed, and sat. The waiter pounced.

  "Just coffee," Marion snapped at him. He nodded and fled,

  "We have told you what we do, why we formed our alliance," Manon began, nodding at the others. They were all focused on me.

  "So?"

  "We have rather hard news for you. Naturally. because of your present condition, there was some debate as to whether we should reveal anything at this time. but after a thorough discussion. we all decided your condition made it even more essential we don't put it off."

  "Put what off. Manon? All this high drama might be exciting to you all, but--"

  -Thatcher is having an affair." she blurted. "Actually, it would be more accurate to say continuing one.

  "Absolutely more accurate." Marjorie piped up.

  I glared at her for a moment and then, my heart now pounding, turned back to Manon.

  "What are you saving?"

  "Years ago, before you arrived on the scene. Thatcher had what everyone thought was a very serious relationship with a woman named Mai Stone."

  "I know all about Mai Stone," I said quickly.

  "Do you?"

  Their smiles annoyed me.

  "Yes. I know he was serious about her, but she left him for a very wealthy prince and--"

  "She did and she didn't. From time to time, we heard of her secret forays back to Palm Beach, her sexual assaults on young Mr. Eaton," Manon continued,

  "They even had a love nest of sorts." Sharon said.

  "A beach house that Addison Steele, a rich friend of his, has here." Liana added. and I felt my face turn so red, I thought the blood would pop the top off of my head.

  The waiter brought the coffee and set it down. No one spoke, but everyone stared at me. Then Sharon turned to Manon,

  "I told you it might not be healthy for her. She looks at she's going to abort right on the spot."

  The waiter raised his eyebrows,

  "That's all," Manon said, dismissing him. He retreated quickly. "Are you all right?" Marjorie asked.

  I nodded.

  "Why do you say this has gone on?" I asked in a small voice.

  "We were hoping for your sake that it wasn't going on We had our suspicions, and it did take some time to verify certain facts. The first is the most obnoxious of all, we have agreed, right. girls?"

  Heads bobbed in unison.

  "What is the first so-called fact?" I asked.

  The air around me seemed to grow hotter and hotter with every passing second, making it more and more difficult to breathe.

  "He had the audacity, the disgusting audacity, to see her on your honeymoon. They met in Nice while you were staying in that chateau in Eze." Manon said.

  "How did he get away from you for so long on your honeymoon?" Sharon asked. "We were all wondering about that."

  I sat in disbelief, recalling his sudden, very important business meeting.

  "How do you know these things are true?" I asked. My throat was so tight. I strained to speak.

  "Marjorie's parents have some friends who are close friends of Mai Stone's in-laws. Some of this came out in ordinary conversation, and then Marjorie began to pursue it for us."

  "I followed up with my sources, one of whom is his secretary, Terri Wilson."

  "Terri?"

  "I know." Manon said. smiling. You thought she would cut off her tongue before talking about Thatcher's private affairs. Well, she doesn't talk about any business affairs. but I think his behavior finally got to her and she couldn't help talking to someone about it."

  "We went to college together." Marjorie said. "She's not any sort of busybody, so don't go telling anyone she is," she warned, those eyes of hers turning into tiny hot coals.

  To continue," Manon said after sipping some coffee. "we have learned that Mai Stone has been making her raids frequently ever since."

  I started to shake my head.

  "We anticipated your skepticism, of course. None of us, none of the women we've helped, wants to believe that the man she loves and who professes to love her above all other women would betray her, but they do," she said with a glint of cold, steely anger in her eyes.

  "Oh, yes, they do," Marjorie seconded.

  "Anyway," Manon continued, reaching down to take a folder from her Gucci bag, "we have from time to time employed a private detective. Everything is done discreetly, of course, and he has proven to be an efficient and effective source of information for us.

  "Once we learned of Thatcher's little betrayals, we hired a detective at our own expense, from our club dues, so to speak, to gather the information you would need. It's all here." she said, holding out the folder to me, "dates, times. places. There are even some pictures,"

  I stared at the folder she proffered.

  "It's yours," she emphasized. "A gift from us." "A gift." I said softly. "Some gift."

  "We understand how you feel. We've all felt the same way at different times, but we've all been grateful for the support we lend to each other as well. Willow. That's why we invited you to join our group, Manon said. "You might as well take it and look at it." she added, pushing the folder at me.

  I still hesitated.

  "You will need this for other reasons, Willow. I don't know what you will decide to do about it, but if you intend to get a divorce, you had better have this, knowing that you are moving to divorce an attorney, who, we assume, has created a prenuptial agreement."

  The look on my face told her she was right on target. She offered the file again.

  I took it gingerly. Between the covers of the folder was the death of love, the revelation of lies and broken promises. It was filled with tiny arrows directed at my heart. My fingers t
rembled. I was terrified by the thought of opening the file and looking at what it held, yet drawn to do it as well.

  "Are you all right?" Sharon asked, putting her hand over mine. "No," I said. My eyes stung with hot tears.

  "One of us should drive her home," she told Manon, "Of course.

  I shook my head.

  "Willow, we hope you understand why we did this for you and don't resent us for it." Mallon said.

  I looked from one to another. Were their motives so altruistic? Did they do it for the cause of womanhood, as they would have me believe? Or did every betrayal, every little treachery they uncovered, reinforce their own cynical beliefs about loving relationships? Did it help them feel better about their own failures? No one was honest and true: therefore, what happened to them was not unexpected or unusual and they certainly needn't blame themselves.

  Maybe that was their true motivation, but I still couldn't blame them for it. Who wants to feel unwanted, unneeded, victimized, and, especially, at fault for it? At least they were doing something to give themselves a sense of self-respect and self-worth. I thought.

  "No,' I said. "I don't resent you for this.'

  "It's better that you know all this now, Willow. You're fortunate, in a sense.'

  "Fortunate? How can you say that?"

  "This early, your investment in someone isn't as deep and complete as the investment other women have made and lost."

  "We're having a child!" I cried.

  All of the glue I had called upon to keep my face together crumbled. The tears broke free of the dam my eyelids had tried to put up against them. My lips quivered. My whole body began to shake.

  "I understand," Manon said softly. She reached for my hand. but I pulled it back and stood up.

  "I have to go home," I said. "Sharon will drive you."

  "No. I don't need anyone to drive ine. I have to go home," I muttered and started away, but in the wrong direction, nearly falling over a couple at another table. They looked up with surprise. I shook my head, mumbled an apology, and turned toward the door.

  The members of the Club d'Amour all stood. "Willow!" Liana called. She took a step toward me.

  I shook my head and rushed out of the restaurant. When I reached my car. I fumbled with my keys and dropped them. I got down on my knees and found them. then hurried to insert the key in the door. The girls were right behind me.