Читать книгу Trading Places - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 7

How many husbands are too many?

We have it on excellent authority that Sharlayne Kenyon has flown East for a rendezvous with potential husband number seven. Be careful, whoever you are! You could end up as an addendum in the book she keeps threatening to write—you know, the one that will name more names than the telephone book….

Gina Godfrey, U.S. Eye

ALICE WYNN LOVED working for Sharlayne Kenyon.

It was beyond a doubt the best thing that had happened in her thirty-two, mostly hard-luck, years. Not only did she love the job; it paid very well indeed.

That did not, however, mean that Alice was beyond having a little fun at her glamorous employer’s expense. With a dead-on knack for mimicry, which she’d had since childhood, she’d easily perfected a takeoff on Sharlayne that never failed her. It was a wonderful means of relaxing strangers and getting her own way in circumstances such as the one in which she currently found herself.

Mr. Wilbert’s cook, it had turned out, was not interested in listening to special requests from anyone. When Alice made her perfectly reasonable request that butter, cream and all other high-calorie substances be excluded from Sharlayne’s meals, the cook had pinned the interloper with a stern gaze.

“Don’t tell me my business, young woman,” she said. “I’ve been preparing Mr. Wilbert’s meals long enough to know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Alice agreed, aware of the averted gaze of the young kitchen helper chopping vegetables at a butcher block table in the middle of the enormous kitchen. “It’s just that Miss Kenyon has very delicate digestion. She simply can’t handle rich foods—although she loves them, she truly does.”

The cook’s helper said eagerly, “I haven’t seen her yet. Is she really as beautiful as she looks in all those magazines?” She put down her knife and waited with breathless attention.

“More beautiful,” Alice declared. “And sweet as pie.” Usually. “It’s a joy to work for her except for this one little thing—about her meals, I mean.” She gave the cook an apologetic glance. “She gets really testy when she can’t find anything she can eat. You understand.”

“I suppose.” The cook spoke grudgingly, apparently not in the least bit mollified. She turned her glare on her helper. “Get to work! We don’t have all day here.”

“Sorry.” The young helper picked up the knife and held it poised over a carrot. “Are all the stories about her really true?” she asked Alice.

“Most of them,” Alice said. She switched easily to a deep-voiced near drawl to add, “And you don’t know the half of it, honey. Nobody does.” She winked.

Even the cook had to laugh at the impersonation, and was still laughing when the butler entered. He looked around with a guarded expression, which quickly turned to a frown. “Where is she?” he demanded. “I distinctly heard Ms Kenyon’s voice.”

The laughing girl with the paring knife laughed harder. “You heard Alice,” she said. “She does a great impression of her boss. Do some more, Alice.”

“Well…” Alice glanced at the cook, who was no longer laughing. Better jolly her along a little more. “If you insist. Have you ever heard the story of her first wedding anniversary?”

“Which husband?” the cook inquired.

“First. He was a garage mechanic, the only poor man she ever married. According to legend, he took a gift to his beautiful young wife on their first-week anniversary.”

“One week?” Even the cook was interested now, while the butler, although pretending not to pay the least attention, had an ear cocked to catch everything.

“And a good thing, too,” Alice retorted, “because the marriage only survived about six months.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Guess what he got her.”

“A diamond?” the kitchen helper guessed.

“Candy and flowers,” the cook predicted.

“Wrong on both counts.” Alice loved this part of the story. “He handed her a pretty box, and when she ripped off the wrappings she found…a blender.”

Alice recoiled in perfect imitation of Sharlayne’s own frequent telling of the tale. “And Sharlayne said, ‘If it’s not something to put on this body, I don’t even want to touch it!”’

Her audience of three roared with laughter, which cut off abruptly. With a sinking feeling, Alice knew before she even turned around that this time she might very well have gone too far. The best job she’d ever had, and now she’d be out on the street because she just couldn’t pass up an easy laugh.

But turn she must. Sure enough, Sharlayne stood in the doorway, beckoning to her like the spider to the fly.

But why was she smiling?

Alice had had an uneasy feeling from the moment almost a week ago when Sharlayne had announced that she and her two assistants were flying East. She didn’t know why, since she frequently traveled with her employer. She just knew she’d been nervous about the whole thing for no good reason.

Now she knew why. She’d had a premonition of doom.

MR. WILBERT LED Sharlayne and Alice into an elegant room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He certainly appeared to belong in these rich surroundings, not too surprising. Sharlayne had said rather calculatingly that he came from old money.

Lots of old money.

Alice spared a glance around, admiring the leather-covered tomes with gilt edgings, the heavy dark furniture, the brocaded draperies. How many of these books had Wilbert’s own company published? How many of the items in this room were family heirlooms?

How long could Alice avoid the inevitable?

Taking a deep breath, she turned—and stopped short at the sight of Tabitha, who was just entering the room. Sharlayne’s personal assistant wore her usual disapproving expression. Alice didn’t take it personally, supposing that the woman simply didn’t want anyone invading her turf.

Was she about to get her fondest wish?

Alice sighed and said a tentative, “Sharlayne—”

“Before we begin,” Linden Wilbert put in, “may I offer everyone a glass of wine?”

“Nothing for me,” Alice said quickly. “I’d just like to get this over with, if you don’t mind.”

“We do mind,” Sharlayne said sweetly. “Thank you, Linden. That would be lovely.” She gestured for Alice to take a seat.

Thoroughly confused, Alice chose a brass-studded leather chair beside a fireplace cold in May. She’d seen Sharlayne lose her temper only once and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Why was she pussyfooting around now? Being the kind of person who’d rather get any unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible, Alice was nonetheless forced to wait until the wine was duly delivered.

Then she said, “I apologize, Sharlayne. I wasn’t making fun of you, honest.”

“No?” Sharlayne’s brows arched above guileless eyes. “Who were you making fun of?”

“No one.” Alice made it a point not to look at Tabitha, who was probably purring by now. “I just wanted to score brownie points with the cook. She wasn’t real happy to hear about your dietary requirements.”

Mr. Wilbert seemed distressed. “I should have spoken to the cook on your behalf, Sharlayne,” he apologized. “She does tend to be testy.”

“I was only trying to get on her good side,” Alice explained, trying not to sound defensive, “but I shouldn’t have used you to do it.” Sharlayne said nothing, so Alice added a resigned, “If you’re going to fire me, let’s get it over with.”

Sharlayne’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think? That I’d fire a good and loyal employee over a little thing like that?”

“Well, actually…yes. I know loyalty is really important to you. I also know I was out of line.”

“As you have been on many other occasions, and I didn’t fire you then, did I? You’ve been doing that takeoff on me almost from the day I hired you.”

“You knew?” And then Alice understood: Tabitha, blank faced and superior, was a stool pigeon.

Sharlayne smiled that dazzling smile. “You should know better than to believe everything you read and hear about me, Alice. I’m not really all that dumb.”

“Lord, if there’s one thing I never thought you were, it’s dumb,” Alice said fervently. “This is a real relief. I owe you big-time. How about I promise I’ll never let myself get carried away like that again, for starters.” She lifted her right hand, palm out, to verify her vow.

“Oh, dear,” Sharlayne said. “That’s not what I want to hear at all.”

“You don’t?”

Sharlayne shook her head.

“Then what?” Alice leaned forward, aware that Tabitha was doing the same. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t a party to it, either.

But Mr. Wilbert was. “Sharlayne, do you really think you should go forward with—”

“Shh.” Sharlayne kept her level gaze on Alice. “I won’t deny it hurt to learn that you, my trusted friend and employee, were making fun of me behind my back.”

“I wasn’t,” Alice protested. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all.”

Sharlayne sighed. “I was not flattered. But you see, something’s come up where your knack for mimicry may come in handy.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

“It’s very simple, really. I need some space to finish my book and I can only think of one way to get it.”

“You mean there’s some way I can help? Of course. Name it.”

An almost cunning expression appeared on Sharlayne’s lovely face. “Oh, good,” she said. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. You heard her, Linden. You’re a witness, too, Tabitha.”

Tabitha let out her breath in a short hiss. “What are you up to?” she asked sharply. “What can Alice possibly do for you that I can’t?”

Sharlayne’s smile was beatific. “Alice can be me,” she said. “And now I know she will.”

DINNER WAS ANNOUNCED before Alice could do more than say a thoroughly confused, “Huh?” Sharlayne and Mr. Wilbert ate in the formal dining room; Tabitha had a tray sent to her room; and Alice grabbed a sandwich and took it outdoors to eat on the terrace overlooking a lovely formal garden.

What in the world was Sharlayne up to now? “Alice can be me,” she’d said, yet that must surely be a joke. No one could be Sharlayne Kenyon, but most especially not Alice Wynn.

For openers, Alice was relatively unsophisticated. A registered nurse, she’d spent nearly a decade caring for an invalid grandmother in her small Nebraska hometown. Only after her grandmother’s death had she been free to look around for a job—and a life—of her own.

Hooking up with Sharlayne had been a stroke of good fortune. Alice had gone to visit a distant cousin in California, and when she’d happened upon an automobile accident, had gone to the aid of the injured. One of the victims was Sharlayne, who’d suffered a broken leg and a terrible scare: she’d thought at first that her face might be scarred.

In her matter-of-fact way, Alice had reassured Sharlayne. When Sharlayne was released from the hospital, she’d hired Alice to tend to her at home on a temporary basis. That had quickly evolved into full-time employment, with Alice in charge of meal planning and the general health of the household. She’d set up an exercise schedule and saw to it that Sharlayne, who had couch potato tendencies, stuck to it. From the beginning, Sharlayne had also used her new employee for general gofer duty, which hadn’t bothered Alice in the slightest. She hadn’t spent ten years fetching and carrying for a crotchety old lady for nothing.

The job was fun, the surroundings elegant, but the biggest plus was a generous salary that helped defray the staggering hospital bills for Grandma’s final illness. With a light finally visible at the end of her personal tunnel, Alice settled in for a long run.

She’d never imaged being so close to so much glamour. For a little girl from Nebraska, it was dazzling. Through Sharlayne, Alice had met many beautiful people, among them a gardener with whom she’d had a brief but passionate affair. Strangely enough, perhaps, she’d never met any of Sharlayne’s rich and famous ex-husbands, although she’d heard many stories about them.

Yes, she definitely owed her boss. The method of repayment, however, eluded her.

When Sharlayne summoned Alice later that night, she went with some trepidation. Again, she entered the library to find the same three waiting for her. She sat down without invitation, her knees suddenly rubbery.

Sharlayne’s smile would set a garden statue at ease. “I’m sure you’d like an explanation,” she said gently.

Alice nodded.

“You know I’ve been trying to finish my book,” Sharlayne said. “It’s going quite well, actually, when I can find the time to work on it. That’s where you come in.”

Alice waited.

“I want you to pretend to be me so I can slip away to some hiding place and finish the manuscript,” Sharlayne said, as if proposing nothing out of the ordinary. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Alice and Tabitha said in unison.

Tabitha threw in a scathing glance. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious,” Sharlayne said calmly.

“Nobody,” Tabitha said flatly, “will ever believe this Plain Jane is you.”

Alice sputtered, searching for words to defend herself that didn’t come. She’d be the first to admit she was no Sharlayne Kenyon but neither was she a Plain Jane.

“When I get through with her,” Sharlayne said with total confidence, “her own mother will believe she’s me. It’s not that big a deal, Tabby.”

Tabitha huffed and puffed, muttering “Hopeless” and “Ridiculous” and “Insane.”

Sharlayne laughed. “No, seriously.” She turned back to Alice, who sat speechless with astonishment. “This will work,” she said. “How tall are you?”

“F-five-eight.”

“Me, too. Our bodies are also basically the same. They should be—we do the same workout every day. I’m a bit more buxom—”

“An understatement,” Alice observed, looking pointedly at Sharlayne’s generous cleavage.

“That’s why God invented push-up bras, dear.”

“But—but—you’re blond.”

“Ever hear of bleach?”

This suggested she probably wouldn’t be swayed by the fact that Alice’s hair was twelve inches longer. That’s why God invented scissors. “Our eyes aren’t exactly the same color,” she stated as though she’d finally settled upon a valid difference.

“That’s true. Yours have less gray in them. But nobody will notice that unless they see the two of us together, which they won’t. Blue is close enough.”

“Okay, then—” Alice began again, grasping for straws. “My nose is shorter.”

“Again, unless we stand side by side, who’s to know? Besides, makeup will go a long way toward negating that.”

“Sharlayne.” Tabitha’s tone was agonized. “This is insane. She’d never get away with it.”

“She will if I put out the word I have laryngitis,” Sharlayne said triumphantly. “If I set her up in the New York apartment, there could be a problem. But we won’t do that. She can move into the new house in Beverly Hills, where nobody’s met me. You’ll be with her, of course. Everyone knows that where I am, you are, too, Tabby.”

“No!” Tabitha turned on Alice in a fury, as if the situation were her fault. “I should be with you, Sharlayne, wherever you’re going.”

Sharlayne shook her head. “Impossible. If you’re not with her, nobody will accept that she’s me.” Leaning forward, she squeezed Tabitha’s hand. “You’ll do this for me, dear. I can’t imagine you’d ever let me down.”

The uncharacteristically mute Linden said into the sudden silence, “I’m beginning to see how this could actually work.”

Alice turned to him, wide-eyed. “You can?”

He nodded. “There are certain basic similarities. If no one gets close enough—”

“Aha!” Alice gazed at everyone triumphantly. “There are always people around you, Sharlayne. How could I keep them away?”

“You won’t have to. I’m going to hire a bodyguard to run interference for you.”

“A bodyguard! I couldn’t put up with a bodyguard. Besides, how do you know you can trust him to keep the secret? Something like this could be worth a lot of money to a scandal sheet like the U.S. Eye.”

“He can’t sell information he doesn’t have. He’ll think he is guarding me, of course. Everybody will. You’ll put on that act you do so well for the help, then lay low until I finish the manuscript and come back. You’ll have the run of the whole house, the pool, the tennis courts—everything. You’ll live in the master suite and be queen of all you survey. It will be the experience of a lifetime.”

“She’ll never pull it off,” Tabitha reiterated.

“Damn it!” Alice was getting sick and tired of hearing that. She glared at Tabitha. “If Sharlayne thinks I can—”

“I know you can,” Sharlayne said quickly. “Do this, Alice. When it’s over, I’ll be very grateful.”

“You will?”

“So grateful that I’ll pay off the rest of your grandmother’s medical bills.”

Alice was stunned. She had no idea Sharlayne was even aware of those bills. “Be careful,” she said a bit uneasily. “You’re talking big bucks.”

“I’m aware of that. I know your debts to the penny.” She leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Let’s cut to the chase. Is it a deal?”

Alice looked down at the sleek hand, with its faultless manicured nails, then at her own competent hand, which resembled a paw next to all that perfection. Ever since she’d met this woman, she’d wondered what it would to like to be so beautiful, so famous, so sought after. Now, out of the blue, she had a chance to find out. Even so…

Tabitha gave a grunt of disbelief. “I’m warning all of you, this is a ridiculous idea. It will never work. Alice won’t be able to carry it off and disaster will—”

“It’s a deal,” Alice said abruptly, tossing in a hostile glance for her nemesis. “If you think it can work, Sharlayne, I’m willing to give it the old college try.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

Sharlayne’s relief was palpable, and a shock to Alice. Somehow she got the feeling that something else was going on here, but what could it possibly be?

“SHARLAYNE.” Linden took her hand between both of his, forgetting that she was more than an hour late for breakfast. “You’ve never looked lovelier.”

She smiled and patted his cheek, her touch lingering. “How sweet of you to say so.”

“Hardly sweet.” He drew her toward the table set up in the sunroom—at 11:00 a.m., to the cook’s horror.

Sharlayne settled gracefully into the chair he offered. “Did you sleep well?” she inquired, dropping the linen napkin into her lap.

“Not particularly. I was thinking of your double.”

“Alice kept you awake?” She reached for the silver coffee carafe and poured for both of them, an almost smile tilting those bewitching lips.

He would not be put off. “I’m not sure Alice understands what she may be getting into. I’m not sure you understand what we may all be getting into.”

Sharlayne’s beautiful face remained clear and untroubled. “You worry too much, Linden,” she scolded, simultaneously teasing and enticing. “None of us is getting into anything except a little plot to deceive the media and the busybodies of the world. It’s a little game, that’s all.”

“Be that as it may.” He offered her the basket of fresh croissants, now grown cold. “With your permission, I’ll arrange for the bodyguard right after breakfast. When do you want to leave for your hideaway?”

She considered. “Next Friday,” she finally decided. “That should give me time to remake Alice and get her set up in the new house.”

“All right. I’ll handle the arrangements.”

“No one is to know I’m not really being guarded,” she said quickly. “You understand that? Not the bodyguard, not the agency—just you and me, Alice and Tabitha.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t like it. “I only hope you understand what you’re doing.”

“Trust me, darling.”

When that dazzling smile fell upon him, what else could he do?

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Linden dialed 1-800-HERO and waited patiently for the voice to announce, “S. J. Slade Insurance Agency,” then asked for Samantha Spade Archer.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Archer doesn’t speak to anyone,” the woman said, sounding stunned that anyone would suggest otherwise. “Her daughter might be able to help you.”

“I don’t think so,” Linden said. “Mrs. Archer is a personal friend. Please tell her that Linden Wilbert is in need of a bit of insurance.”

“If you say so, sir.” She obviously didn’t believe him.

Mere moments later, Sam’s husky voice exploded in his ear. “Linden, as I live and breathe. Long time, no hear, sweetheart.”

“Too long.” He found himself smiling. He could picture the elegant Samantha, dressed in ankle-strap heels and tight little forties suits worn with pearls. “Tell me, how’s Mr. Samantha Spade?”

Her throaty laughter sounded indulgent. “That’s Mr. Wil Archer to you, buster—and he’s fine. So are the daughter and son-in-law and grandson.”

“Delighted to hear it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the reason for this call.”

“True. I’m in need of your professional services.”

“Looking for a little insurance, are you?”

Insurance: her euphemism for bodyguard. Sam carried discretion to new heights.

“Not me,” Linden said. “A friend of mine. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? Sharlayne Kenyon?”

Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I’ve heard of her. Who hasn’t? So what’s the story?”

“She needs someone to run interference for her,” he said. “Someone to keep the press at bay, to hold back the throngs—that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like she needs a press secretary, not one of my highly trained operatives.”

“She wants someone she can count on in an emergency,” he improvised. “Not that she expects an emergency, but you know how it is with a woman as famous as this one.”

“Yeah,” Sam said dryly, “I know how it is. When do you need this glorified errand boy?”

“Now, Sam, don’t talk that way. Sharlayne is a highly strung, artistic individual. She’s exhausted and needs peace and quiet, which is what she’s hoping your guy will help her get. Can you do anything for me?”

A long silence followed. Then she said, “Of course, sweetheart. Just tell me when and where and I’ll have your man standing by.”

THE QUESTION WAS, which man?

Samantha Spade sat at her desk, staring at two folders before her. The agency was overextended already. Business was booming and she didn’t have a whole lot of choice here.

Two operatives were available. One had just returned from a harrowing assignment that required him to spend several days piloting a desperate senior citizen through Florida swamps in an ultimately successful attempt to avoid his vengeful heirs, eager to collect sooner rather than later.

The other was brand-new, bright eyed and bushy tailed; he had just signed on and trained and was waiting for his first assignment.

She flipped open his folder. Jed Kelby, thirty-three. Heir to a winery in California’s Napa Valley. Six years an officer in the U.S. Marine Corps. Might have made a military career if his father hadn’t died, requiring his presence at home. When his younger brother had stepped forward to take over Kelby-Linus Wines, Jed had looked around for something to do that might offer a little adventure.

Samantha, who’d known the senior Kelby in the wild days of her youth, had been taken aback when Jed knocked on her door one day and asked for a job. Not that she’d found anything wrong with his credentials; far from it. The tall—six foot two—Jed, with his straight, short dark hair and piercing eyes, was a true poster Marine. He was eager for the opportunity and ready to work hard to deserve it.

Still, she’d had reservations that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Maybe it was that he seemed too good to be true, too much a straight arrow. People in Sam’s business sometimes had to stretch a point or two, without being told officially that they should. If she had one real concern about Jed, it was that he might be too much by the book and not innovative enough to protect his life and that of his charge.

Would it be fair to make his first charge a man-eater like Sharlayne Kenyon?

“YOU’VE BEEN ASKING for it, sweetheart, and you’re about to get it—a chance to prove yourself.”

Jed’s pulse picked up, but he held himself at ease. “What’s the job?” he asked casually, as if it didn’t matter.

“Guarding a beautiful woman.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Someone everybody knows. You have heard of Sharlayne Kenyon?”

“Jeez.” He sucked in his breath. “What is it? Kidnapping threat? Blackmail? Stalker?”

Samantha laughed, but he didn’t think she looked entirely comfortable. “None of the above. She’s tired. She wants someone to fend off the press and public so she can get some rest.”

“She wants—” He stared at his boss, in the grip of bitter disappointment. “You’ve been saving me for this?”

“You might be the only man in America who’d object to being cooped up with Sharlayne Kenyon for a few weeks. Just don’t get too cocksure, okay?”

“Cocksure about what?”

“About your ability to treat her like just another client. Of course, that’d be a stretch for you, since she’ll be your first client.”

“If that’s your subtle way of telling me to keep my hands off, save your breath. I’m a professional.” He grimaced. “Okay, a new professional, but everybody starts somewhere.”

Sam nodded as if satisfied…or resigned. “Just remember the rules according to me. Thou shalt not get involved with thy client. It can get thee both killed.”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “I got it, Boss. Don’t give it another thought.” He grinned, determined to make the best of the task. “From what I hear, she’s too old for me anyway.”

Samantha’s great guffaw rocked the room. “Oh, you fool!” But she said it affectionately. “You don’t know women like this one. She’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.”

“Naw,” he scoffed, “not me. I’m not a skirt chaser.”

“No,” she agreed, “what you are is an idiot if you try to match hormones with an adventuress like Sharlayne Kenyon. But what the hell. Boys have to grow up someday.”

She opened the file, all business again. “Now, here’s the deal…”