The Arrangement (12 page)

Marnie lifted her head, summoning strength, but she felt like a stick figure as she walked over and stood in front of Julia. Her camisole and jeans were baggy and ill-fitting. She hadn’t had Andrew to help her pick out something this morning. She probably looked like a street person, and she had never felt more like the imposter she was.

“Your outfit is
disastrous.
What were you thinking, putting lace with denim? I don’t like those sandals, either. They’re too Birkenstock.”

Marnie touched her burgundy silk camisole. “Everyone’s doing it.”

“Everyone’s doing what?”

“Wearing lace with denim. You can wear lace with anything.”

“So this is a fashion trend? You never bothered following trends before. You’ve always had my innate sense of style.” Julia waved a hand, presenting her own outfit—a navy-and-white sundress with epaulets—as if for comparison.

“I’ve lost weight,” Marnie said. “Nothing fits, and I don’t seem to care about clothes anymore.”

“Well, that much is obvious.”

Marnie’s voice tightened with emotion. “He’s trying to poison your mind against me.”

“Bret?”

“Yes, Bret! And I’m making it easy for him because I’m not right yet. I’m not fully recovered, but—” She stared fiercely at the woman she was trying to reach, aware that some door had closed and Julia Fairmont had shut her out.

“Listen,” she said, “if you don’t believe I’m your daughter, then say so now, and I’ll go. Andrew and I will leave, and you’ll never have to see either of us again.”

Julia looked surprised, and wary. She went over and straightened the spindly chair, sliding it back into the writing desk. Probably both expensive antiques, Marnie imagined. She didn’t know what to make of Julia’s silence, but she felt a rising sense of dread as the woman closed her hands on the back of the chair and bowed her head for a moment. She was either distressed by what had happened or contemplating what to do next.

Worse, Marnie had no idea what she actually wanted Julia to say. It might be easier for everyone if she simply told them to leave.

J
ulia turned around, her gaze distant, as if she were still looking out at the ocean. She walked up to Marnie and reached out to touch her.

Marnie flinched, not sure what to expect, but Julia didn’t seem to notice her shrinking away. She caressed Marnie’s face with her fingertips, traced her cheekbones and feathered her eyebrows, all the while looking at her in an oddly unfocused way.

“Of course you’re my daughter,” she said. “Have I ever suggested that you weren’t? You look just like me. Even more than you did before, I think.”

A quick smile softened her expression. It was almost tender, and Marnie felt a strange kind of gratitude welling up. Of course it was relief, but it was something else, too. She hadn’t been the object of anyone’s tenderness in a very long time.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward.

“Don’t be silly. Come with me.” Julia beckoned her into the bedroom, where there was an elegant three-panel mirror. “Look at the two of us,” she said. “The resemblance is striking, don’t you think?”

Marnie nodded. She didn’t dare say that she barely saw the resemblance at all. They were both brunettes rather than blondes, although Julia’s raven color might not be natural—and they shared the same bone structure. She couldn’t deny the similarities, but Marnie’s expression was perpetually guarded and her naturally wavy hair difficult to control. Apparently she had no fashion sense, while the woman next to her was a Neiman Marcus mannequin. Julia was perfect—makeup just so, every hair in place.

But there
was
something else about Julia’s honed features that struck Marnie as familiar. Her stomach churned as she studied their reflections, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was or why it bothered her. Maybe she didn’t want to know.

“And there’s another reason I know you’re my daughter.”

“The piano?” Marnie ventured.

“No, the way you fought with Bret.” She gave Marnie’s hand a little squeeze. “That was my daughter,
classic
Alison. You never did take any shit from your little brother. I can remember thinking I should give the two of you boxing lessons, and let you fight it out in the ring, but I was worried about Bret.”

Julia’s laughter was infectious. Marnie laughed along, pretending to be delighted, too, but she was also aware of what had just happened. She’d won Julia’s support and sealed her own fate. She and Andrew weren’t going back to Long Island, at least not immediately.

“We need to talk,” Julia said. She led Marnie over to a striped satin chaise, where they both sat. Julia seemed almost giddy as she pulled her closer.

“Now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Julia said, “and you know about the reception, I might as well let you in on the juicy details. I haven’t thrown a big party since the house was decorated, so it has to be exceptional. Everyone will be expecting a smashing affair.”

Marnie must have looked as pensive as Julia had moments ago when she was gazing out the window. Marnie dreaded the very thought of the party, but somehow she managed a smile and a nod.

Julia squeezed her fingers again. “It’s going to be wonderful,” she said, her laughter a bit too bright and bubbly. “Everyone knows you ran off and married Andrew, and that we’ve been estranged. And your accident was front-page headlines when it happened. There won’t be a single regret. They’ll all show up, hoping for fireworks.”

Wonderful?
Marnie began to giggle, too. She couldn’t help herself, and somehow she knew Julia wouldn’t notice the tinge of hysteria, anyway.

“Guess who has a
hot
new job?” Bret looked up from his gazpacho with a sly smile. He directed the question to everyone seated around the formal dining room table except his mother. Julia, he pointedly ignored.

Only Rebecca smiled back at him, Andrew noticed. And it was a quick, strained smile at that. More trouble was brewing, which came as no surprise. Andrew had spent time with these people when he was dating Alison. It was fair to say they didn’t play well together. If given the chance, they’d probably gut each other and sell the vital organs to a body parts broker.

Julia cocked her head at Bret, who was at the other end of the table. “Who has a hot new job?” she said in a withering tone. “Surely no one seated here.”

Andrew reached for Marnie’s hand under the table. Things were still tense between them, but on their way down to dinner just now, she’d told him about the door-die confrontation in Julia’s bedroom. He’d been surprised—and proud of how she handled herself, though there hadn’t been time to let her know.

His priority had been calming her fears about her grandmother. Josephine Hazelton had won a contest and gone on a cruise somewhere. Andrew had stopped by her cottage and found it locked up. From there he’d gone to the flea market, where an elderly woman who claimed to know Gramma Jo had sworn she heard her talking about the cruise. Andrew had found it odd that the woman had no details. She couldn’t remember where Gramma Jo had gone and didn’t know when she’d be back, but she was adamant about what had happened.

Marnie had been so relieved, Andrew thought she might faint. Apparently her grandmother had talked about taking a cruise someday. It was a fond dream, and Marnie was thrilled she’d been able to do it. She’d asked Andrew to discreetly keep checking for details. She wanted to know everything, especially when Gramma Jo would be back, although they’d both agreed that Marnie shouldn’t visit her. If anyone would recognize Marnie, through gestures alone, it would be her.

Andrew hadn’t mentioned his encounter with Bogart at the yacht club. No point worrying her about that yet.

Bret grinned, doing his Cheshire cat thing until the silence grew uncomfortable.

Andrew picked up his water glass. “Who do we congratulate?”

“Could it wait a minute, Bret?” Julia rose, clinking her fork against her water goblet. “I have something to announce. If I could have everyone’s attention.”

There were only the five of them at the table, counting Julia, but she seemed determined to preempt her son, and Andrew couldn’t blame her. From what he’d seen, Bret was the sand in Julia’s Vaseline. He lived to embarrass her.

Bret sprang to his feet and held his wineglass high. “No, it can’t wait. I’ve been asked to be a spokesmodel for a line of men’s spa products.”

Julia’s eyes narrowed. “Spokesmodel? Is that like a celebrity who does commercials?”

Andrew could have told her what spokesmodeling was like. It was a lot like a rock star, and he’d dealt with his share of those. Thank God his assistant, Stacy, was handling it now, although he’d already started receiving voice mail messages from her wanting advice and counsel.

“It’s like Mark Wahlberg for Calvin Klein underwear,” Bret explained, answering his mother. “This is a new line of men’s toiletries, and they want a fresh face. They’re selling the products in discount outlets like Target and KMart, and I suppose they want the Fairmont name to add a little cachet to their brand.” He angled a glance at her. “Nice, huh? I knew you’d be pleased.”

“
Discount
outlets?” Julia looked as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “And have you accepted their offer?”

“They want an answer tomorrow.”

The way Julia was holding her dinner fork, Bret might not live that long.
Score one for Bret,
Andrew thought. Julia would never want the family name associated with low-end spa products.

Marnie started a round of applause, which seemed to catch everyone off guard, including Bret. Her soft smile made Andrew wonder what was going through her mind. He knew she was relieved about her grandmother, but she was also subtly different since that morning’s confrontation with Bret and Julia, as if she’d rediscovered something within herself. She was a fighter by nature. He had faith in her, but it wasn’t
his
faith that mattered.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” Julia held up her glass and acknowledged her son with a resigned nod. “To Bret’s new adventure.”

“Here, here,” Andrew said, to the sound of clinking glasses. He hadn’t expected Julia to go along with Bret’s “hot new job.” And maybe she wouldn’t. The night was young.

“My son is a hard act to follow,” Julia said when they were done toasting him, “but I do have a little something to share. Rebecca and I managed to secure the Dave Matthews Band to perform at the reception—and we didn’t even have to use Andrew’s services to do it.”

Her smile was demure, but her pleasure was obvious. She had just rendered her son-in-law useless.

Bret finished off his wine, his eyes still sparkling. “Tell me this party’s not black tie.”

“It’s black tie,” Julia retorted. “This is a grand occasion, Bret. We’re celebrating Alison and Andrew—and it’s also the first party in our new home, the unveiling, so to speak.”

Andrew wondered if she meant the unveiling of something more than the house. He hoped Julia didn’t have any other surprises in store, such as publicly exposing an imposter in her household. Andrew was aware that his thoughts had taken a paranoid turn, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was why Julia had so graciously accepted Marnie as her daughter, not to mention him as her son-in-law. Maybe it was all a setup.

As they returned to their first course, Andrew considered his tablemates. Bret was a piece of work. But was he a dangerous adversary, capable of carrying out a blackmail threat, or just a spoiled, rebellious overgrown kid? Andrew had no doubt Bret would make a hell of a model. He had the looks, the refinement, the ski-jump cheekbones. Hell, he was prettier than his sister. Was he also as cold and calculating?

Julia did seem capable of eating her young, as Marnie had warned, but she also seemed to care about them in some oddly desperate way. She’d accepted Marnie almost immediately, and if it wasn’t a setup, then perhaps it came out of her neediness for a relationship with her daughter. But it might also have come out of her guilt for having tried to get rid of her.

Andrew almost missed Julia’s assistant, Rebecca, who faded into the woodwork with her plain brown hair and cotton dress. She was quiet but bore watching. Dangerous currents had been known to run in still waters. Rebecca was a cipher, and he’d never trusted ciphers. He would have to find out more about her.

Andrew picked up a soft hissing sound and glanced at the ceiling, where two enormous teak fans rotated slowly, their blades revealing a mural of a tropical rain forest with animal eyes peering out of the darkness. Eerily beautiful, they reminded Andrew of his tablemates and the suspicion that pervaded the room.

“What size party are we talking about?” Bret asked his mother. “Do you think the Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego will be big enough for Alison and Andrew’s tens of thousands of friends?”

Julia ignored him. “I’ve kept the guest list small because of the short notice. We’ll have fifty for dinner, served in the large dining room, and afterward, dancing in the Chinese pavilion. It’s been enlarged and redone.”

They hadn’t seen the Chinese pavilion on their tour the other night. Andrew remembered the old version as perfect for dancing on a balmy summer evening, but Julia had complained years ago that the pagoda roof and Oriental dragons were dated. He was curious what she’d done with it.

“It sounds lovely,” Marnie said. Her smile was bright, but Andrew could hear the tension in her voice. “But I didn’t bring anything formal.”

“Not a problem,” Julia said. “I’ll have my personal stylist pick out some gowns and bring them over. You can choose whatever you’d like. Rebecca and I will help, too. We’ll make a day of it.”

Marnie went pale. “No, really, that’s—”

Andrew nudged her foot under the table. She was acting like a poor relation, not the coddled daughter of a privileged family.

“—great.” Her voice sharpened. “Maybe some champagne?”

“Oh, lots of champagne,” Julia assured her.

Andrew could see that Marnie was still struggling with this to-the-manor-born stuff. A formal reception would test her to her limits, and again he wondered if that’s why Julia had insisted on throwing it. He was also aware that Marnie had all but sacrificed herself for him. She could so easily have blown their cover when she was confronted by Julia, and gotten the hell out of this place. At the very least she could have begged off the reception, using her health as an excuse. But she’d done neither. And he owed her for that.

Naked breasts everywhere. Marnie was afraid she was going to be hit in the face by one of them. She was just tipsy enough that her reflexes were shot, and even ducking breasts seemed slightly dangerous.

“More champagne?” the stylist asked, topping off Marnie’s glass. “You’re falling behind.”

Marnie’s nod was a little exaggerated. She was sitting on the carpet, stretched out next to Julia’s chaise in a real Dolce and Gabana gown of red organza ruffles, and exhausted from trying on dresses for the last hour and a half. This shopping-at-home stuff was new to her, and a little bewildering, but the ridiculously expensive champagne was fun.

Marnie set her overflowing glass on a silver tray that had been left on the chaise. She was already slightly woozy and very loose. However, Belinda, Julia’s personal stylist, was right: Marnie was well behind everybody else.