Читать книгу The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist! - Liv Constantine, Liv Constantine - Страница 9

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.