Читать книгу My Baby, Your Son - Anne Peters - Страница 8

New York City

“Excuse me, Miz Bingham…”

“Yes?” With a sigh, April turned her attention from the stunning view of Central Park in June to the shriveled- potato features of Spuds Miller, her twin brother Marcus’s portly factotum. “Is the limo here?”

“No, ma’am.” The old man extended a bulky manila envelope. “This just came for you by messenger.”

“Oh?” April accepted the package without enthusiasm. One of the drawbacks of being a renowned concert pianist was being inundated with a barrage of musical scores from struggling composers and wannabes. Usually, though, there were people around to intercept them. “Where’s my mother?”

“Miz Rhinegold and Mr. Marcus are in the den, having one of their…uh, discussions.”

“I see.” April grimaced. “And here I thought we’d for once be able to make an uneventful getaway.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With an inward smile at the old man’s pointedly non- committal attitude, April glanced down at the envelope. “‘Harper and Tymes, Attorneys At Law,’” she read, and asked Spuds with a frown, “Isn’t that the firm that handled Aunt Marje’s will?”

“I believe so, yes.” Much more than a servant, Spuds Miller was up on everything that concerned the Bingham family, but believed in keeping a low profile. “A Mr. Cur- tis, I believe.”

“Exactly.” Puzzled, April tore open the envelope. Let- ting it drift to the floor, she stared at the leather-bound volume in her hands. The initials M.B.S. were stenciled on the front in faded gold.

“Marjorie Bingham Smythe.” A small catch roughened her voice. “Oh, Spuds, I can’t count the times I’ve watched my aunt write in this journal.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Spuds bent to retrieve the discarded en- velope, peered inside and extracted a folded sheet of vel- lum. “It appears there’s a letter to go with it.”

“Thank you.” One-handedly, April shook it open. In an undertone she read, “Darling April, by the time this reaches you, I’ll be dead and buried. Cliff House and the rest of my estate will have been settled, divided equally between Marcus and you. I’ve kept aside this diary for your eyes only….”

April’s voice faltered. In silence she rapidly scanned the few lines that followed and looked up. “I need to sit down.”

She groped for the nearest chair. Spuds rushed to pull it close. “Shall I—”

“No,” April interrupted with an emphatic shake of the head. “Just leave me. Please, I—”

“Of course.” Ever discreet, Spuds was already on his way. “Not to worry.”

Her gaze once again on the letter, April made no reply. From its pages, she read with eyes gone gritty and with the blood pounding in her ears, you will learn that a terrible secret has been kept from you, a secret I find I cannot bear to take with me to the grave. Darling April, your baby, your son, is alive….