What Lies Beneath (4 page)

Forgiving her was the right thing to do. Cynthia nodded, a faint smile curving the corners of her full, pouty lips. Her eyes were devoid of tears now and lit with the optimistic excitement of new opportunities. After weeks of seeing her so battered and beaten down, she was almost glowing. She did truly look beautiful, regardless of what she thought. So beautiful that he was filled with the undeniable urge to kiss the smile from her lips.

He leaned in, pressing his mouth gently against hers. It was little more than a flutter or brush across her abused skin. A silent reassurance that things would be okay even if it didn’t work out between them.

At least that was the idea. In an instant, his whole body responded to the touch of her, and he knew the reaction at the hospital had not been a fluke. He’d felt a surge there but had convinced himself he’d just gone too long without sex. Maybe that was still the case, but every nerve ending urged him to cup her face and drink her in. But he didn’t dare. For one thing, he didn’t want to risk hurting her, since she wasn’t fully healed. And for another, it was the first step down a rabbit hole he’d be unable to crawl back out of.

“Think about what you want your life to be. And what you want us to be,” he whispered against her mouth. Then he pulled away before he changed his mind and did something he’d regret.

* * *

Cynthia didn’t feel beautiful. She didn’t care what Will said. That kiss was likely just out of pity. To make her feel better for realizing she’d been a miserable, beautiful woman once and a sweet, broken woman now. She could tell he was uncomfortable about it. His cell phone rang, and he immediately took the opportunity to disappear into what she supposed was his home office. She was left to her own devices to make herself comfortable and get used to her new, old home.

The problem was that it didn’t feel much like home. The whole space had an institutional quality about it. She appreciated the clean lines and indulgent fabrics, but it was too modern for her taste. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture that called to her to come and snuggle into it. The couch was firm, cold leather. The chairs were wood or metal without much padding. After poking around, she settled into the bedroom to watch television. The large, luxurious bed was perfectly comfy and the ideal place to lose herself in some mindless entertainment.

When that lost its appeal, she decided to take advantage of her bathroom and take her first real shower since the accident. She undressed and gently removed her arm brace, making a face when she saw how skinny and pale her arm was underneath. Then she stood languishing under the multiple streams of boiling hot water for a good half hour. The shower made her feel more human, more normal, but once she sat down at her vanity, normal disappeared.

They’d kept mirrors from her the first few weeks. Pauline—er…
her mother
—had insisted on it. She didn’t want Cynthia to get upset. Cynthia didn’t know how she was supposed to look, but it didn’t take a mirror to realize there had been a drastic change, and not for the better. The pained expressions on the faces of those who knew her were enough. So she hadn’t asked for a mirror.

Then one day Dr. Takashi removed the last of the bandages and brought a hand mirror with him. Cynthia hadn’t wanted to look at first. She had no idea what she would find. Her mother was an attractive older woman, and her younger sister, Emma, was cute in an awkward, teenaged way, but she had no assurance she didn’t take after her father. George was a regal, commanding man, but she wouldn’t say he was handsome. He had a nose like a hawk’s beak and eyes that appeared cold and beady when he focused unhappily on hospital staff.

Looking in the mirror that first time had been hard, but it had gotten easier. Every time she saw her reflection she looked better. The expressions on her family’s faces were encouraging. But the one thing no one had done was bring her a photo of how she looked before the accident. Her mother had brought in a shoebox of pictures, pointing out different people for her to try to remember, but not a single one had her in it.

Returning to the apartment, one of the first things she was greeted with was a large canvas photo of her and Will. She was almost startled when she rounded the corner to the living room and came face-to-face with her former self.

It looked like the kind of engagement portrait that would go in a newspaper announcement. Her long, dark hair was swept over her shoulder, revealing large sapphire earrings that complemented the royal blue dress she had on. Will was looking handsome, yet casual, in khakis and a light blue dress shirt. They were sitting together under a tree.

The woman in the portrait had elegant, delicate features. Her skin was flawless and creamy, her eyes a clear, bright green. Her makeup was applied so well it took a keen eye to notice she had any on at all. She looked every bit the daughter and fiancée of two powerful Manhattan families.

She’d expected to be upset when she finally saw a photo of herself, but she found the experience to be oddly vacant. It was like looking at a picture of a stranger. Disconnected.

Now, watching her reflection in the partially foggy mirror, it was hard not to draw the comparison and catalog the vast differences. The high cheekbones and delicate nose had taken the brunt of the accident. Time would tell if the plates and implants Dr. Takashi used would bring back the prominent features.

Only the eyes and the smile looked like the portrait to her. Smiling in the mirror, she admired her new teeth. They were much like the photo, though they, more than anything, still felt wrong when she tried to eat or talk. And the eyes…well, the expression behind them was different. Perhaps when the photo was taken she wasn’t so confused.

Her hairstylist had blown her hair straight after cutting it that morning. It was twisted up in a towel at the moment, but she knew the unruly kink would be back once it dried. She wondered how she would blow it out again with one good arm, then decided she didn’t care enough to bother. Wavy hair was the least of her worries.

With a sigh, Cynthia poured a bit of lotion from the hospital into her hand and gently rubbed it into her face and neck. It was supposed to help with the scars and overall healing. Somehow, she doubted it would do enough.

More than anything, even if she never looked like she did in that portrait again, Cynthia wanted to feel right in her own skin. And she just didn’t. Lotion couldn’t fix that.

“I bet that felt nice after all those sponge baths.”

Cynthia snapped her head to the side and found Will leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands buried in his pockets. He’d been working for so long she’d forgotten he was home.

Self-consciously, she tugged her towel up higher over her breasts and held it tight to keep it from coming undone. She could admit to herself she was attracted to him—the blush spreading across her face was evidence of that—but being mostly naked in front of him was a distinct disadvantage. They may very well have seen each other naked a hundred times, but she had no recollection of it. He was a stranger, like he’d said earlier. Everyone was, including herself.

He noted her reaction, stiffening instantly and taking a step back. “I’m sorry. This probably makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t think about that. I’ll go.”

“No, don’t,” she said, reaching out to him before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to be alone any longer. She’d wandered, confused and sad, through the apartment all afternoon, hoping anything would jog her memory. Having him here, even with her half-naked, was a welcome change.

He paused, then held up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

Will returned a moment later with a fluffy, ice-blue chenille bathrobe. “This was your favorite. You liked to wear it in the evenings to curl up on the couch and read a book with your favorite glass of wine.”

Cynthia stood, still clutching her towel, and let him drape the robe over her shoulders. She slipped into the enveloping warmth, dropped the towel to her feet and tied the robe closed. It immediately quelled her concerns, covering her from neck to toe.

With the hot shower and the soft robe, she really couldn’t imagine feeling any better. At least until her fingers brushed his as she adjusted the collar. The glide of his skin across hers sent a tingle down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool marble and tile bathroom. She gasped softly and his fingers pulled away. She turned to look at him, her heart beating erratically in her chest. How did he do that to her with a simple touch? “This is great,” she muttered sheepishly. “Thanks.”

He nodded, stepping back, but still watching her in a way that made her want to readjust her robe under his scrutiny. She wished she understood what was behind his gaze. He had an intensity about him that attracted her, but she couldn’t decipher what it meant when he focused it on her. Was it desire? Subdued anger? Curiosity?

“Are you hungry?”

Apparently, she was confusing the look of lust with hunger. “Yes,” she admitted. The last thing she remembered eating was some manifestation of Salisbury steak before she was discharged.

“What would you like?”

“Anything but hospital food,” she said with a smile.

“Okay,” he said, matching her grin. “I’ll go pick up something and bring it back. There’s a nice Thai place not too far from here. Would you like to try that?”

“Sure. Just don’t get me anything too spicy,” she offered. She had no idea if she would like it or not, but that should be safe enough.

With a nod, Will turned and left. Seconds later she heard the front door open and close behind him.

To prepare for dinner, she detangled her hair and went to the closet in search of something comfortable. Some of the clothes were too tight, but Will mentioned she’d been dieting for the wedding. She flipped farther into the racks, finding some older things in a larger size. She was eyeing a stretchy pair of yoga pants when the phone rang.

For a moment, she was startled, not quite sure what to do. It felt like answering someone else’s phone, but it wasn’t. The call might very well be for her. Telling herself that it could be Will, she went into the bedroom and picked the phone up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cynthia?” the man’s voice asked, but it wasn’t Will. This voice was deeper, quieter, as though he didn’t want anyone to hear him but her.

“Yes, this is Cynthia. Who’s calling?”

The man hesitated for a moment. “Baby, it’s Nigel.”

Nigel. The name didn’t ring even the slightest bell, although he said it as if it explained everything. But he called her “baby.” She didn’t like that at all. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. I’ve had an accident and the doctors diagnosed me with amnesia.”

“Amnesia? My God, Cynthia. I’ve got to see you. These past few weeks I’ve been going mad with worry. Your cell phone is disconnected. I couldn’t get into the hospital because I wasn’t family. All I know is what I read in the papers about the crash, and it wasn’t much. Please tell me I can see you soon. Maybe tomorrow while Will is at work?”

Cynthia’s stomach sank. Will hadn’t elaborated on the details of her affair, but it didn’t take much to realize Nigel was her lover.

Will’s voice crept into her mind.
You have a choice.

And she did. The past was the past. Will had offered her a clean slate and with it, perhaps a future together. At first, she hadn’t been quite certain what to make of it. She had obviously been unhappy with Will before and wasn’t certain if a bump to the head could make everything better between them. But she at least wanted to try. For now, she wanted Will to stay. The man on the phone would ruin any chance they had.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, wait. I’ll take an early train from the Bronx and meet you for coffee.”

“No. Please stop calling. Goodbye.” She disconnected and set the phone back onto the cradle. A few seconds later it rang again, the same number lighting up the screen. She didn’t answer it. The phone finally went silent and she waited nervously for a moment, but he didn’t call back.

That done, she took a deep breath and returned to the closet to get ready for her first dinner with Will.

Three

W
ill sat at his desk, staring blankly at his laptop. After dinner, he’d returned to his office to work as he usually did. He spent most evenings working. Newspapers didn’t run themselves, and given that most of his days were filled with unproductive but necessary meetings, it was the only time he could dig through his email and actually get something done. Some people might’ve been bothered by the long hours he put in to keep the
Observer
at the top of its game, but Will didn’t mind. In fact, over the past few years, his office and unending stream of work had become a sanctuary from his failing relationship.

And yet tonight, with at least a hundred unread emails in his inbox, he couldn’t focus on the work. His thoughts kept straying to Cynthia.

He watched her roam around the apartment through the glass French doors that separated his office from the living room. When he’d left to pick up dinner, he thought things were okay between them. Better than okay if he let himself think too long about her shower-damp skin and the skimpy bath towel she was wrapped in. He hadn’t seen that much of Cynthia’s body in quite some time, and his visceral reaction to her was immediate and powerful. Fortunately the brisk walk to the takeout place had served as a cold shower, and by the time he had returned, he had it under control.

But now she seemed nervous around him. They’d eaten their Thai food in the dining room, filling the space between bites with harmless small talk. But he noticed an edge that wasn’t there earlier. When the phone rang, she nearly launched from her seat to beat him to answering it, and it was just Pauline checking to make sure she was settled in. The mother and daughter chatted while he cleaned up dinner and disappeared into his office.

Will couldn’t help but think that maybe she’d picked up on his attraction and it made her uncomfortable. He’d mentioned the possibility of a future together—nothing was impossible—but he wasn’t sold on the idea. He just wished his body and brain were on the same page.

He wasn’t surprised when she disappeared into the bedroom fairly early. She was probably exhausted after her first day out of the hospital. On top of the physical challenges, their talk had stirred up a lot of information that could be stressful to process. Dumping their past on her today was probably a mistake with her fragile condition, but she wanted honesty.

Given her nerves around him, he should probably sleep in the guest room tonight. It would make everyone more comfortable, and he could use the space to keep objective about all this.

With the apartment silent and dark, Will was able to focus on his work again. He finally shut down for the night near midnight. He would be up the next day by six, but those were standard hours for him. He could sleep when he was dead. Or retired. Whichever came first.

The next morning, he was up, dressed and having coffee by the time Cynthia stumbled into the kitchen. She was wearing navy silk pajamas under her robe, her hair pulled into a ponytail. Her eyes were still blurry and her face lined from a night of heavy sleep. The woman he knew would never let anyone, not even him, see her like this. She always emerged from the bedroom with her hair and makeup done. Will had to swallow his surprise in a large swig of coffee. He really needed to come to terms with Cynthia as a new person, but it was hard to change his every expectation of her.

“Good morning,” she said, gently rubbing her eyes.

“Morning,” he replied, getting up to refill his mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I tried some in the hospital and didn’t like it.”

Will returned to the table and slid a plate with a couple pieces of buttered whole-wheat toast toward her. He couldn’t stomach much more than that this early, but if he didn’t eat something, he’d never make it through the morning column reviews. “I made some toast. There’s tea and cocoa in the cabinet if you’re interested.”

Cynthia settled into one of the kitchen chairs and took a piece of toast from the plate. She seemed a lot more relaxed than she had last night, and Will was relieved. Perhaps some time alone in the apartment would help her adjust.

“I hate to leave so soon after you got up, but I need to get to the office. I’m going to try not to stay too late.”

“You work a lot,” she commented.

Will shrugged, rising from the table and putting his mug in the sink. “I do what I have to. Now, the maid should be here today around noon, so you won’t be alone. I asked her to make dinner so we don’t have to go out. She’s planning to go through all the classic recipes so you can try them. I think we’re up for pot roast tonight.”

“Okay.” She nodded, although her brow was wrinkled in confusion again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It feels weird to have someone cook and clean up after me. I guess it probably shouldn’t, but it does.”

“I’m sure you’ll adjust to the luxury of it in no time, especially once you try Anita’s eggplant parmesan. She’s truly gifted in the kitchen. If you need anything,” he said as he slipped into his suit coat, “call my cell phone. I’ve left you a list of numbers on the refrigerator, including your folks and some friends if you get lonely.”

“Thank you,” she said, standing up to see him out.

They walked to the front door, where he grabbed his laptop bag. “I’ll see you tonight.” On reflex, he started to lean in to give her a goodbye kiss. In that fraction of a second, he noticed her eyes widen and her body tense up. Given her reaction after yesterday’s kiss, it was probably a horrible idea, even as a casual goodbye. He stopped short, pulling back awkwardly, and instead threw up a hand to wave and darted out into the hallway.

Traveling down the elevator, Will could only shake his head. What the hell was he doing? He certainly wasn’t acting like a man on the verge of moving out. He was getting sucked in by her, like quicksand. The more he struggled, the more he was sure to sink.

It was better he get to the office as quickly as he could. At least there, he knew what he was doing.

* * *

Cynthia stared at the closed apartment door, more confused than ever. Her heart had fluttered in her chest when she thought he might kiss her. Their kiss the night before hadn’t really counted and just left her anxious for more. Will had set his hostility aside after their talk yesterday, but things were hardly on track for serious romance. She knew it was too soon for any of that. Kisses would only complicate things.

But that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about what his kisses would feel like or how his mouth would taste. When he leaned close to her, the scent of his spicy cologne was enough to send her pulse racing. It made her thankful she wasn’t still hooked up to hospital monitors that might give away her attraction to him.

Shaking her head, she locked the door and went back to her room to get dressed for the day. She wasn’t exactly sure why—she had no intention of leaving—but it seemed like the thing to do. Reaching into the back of the closet, she pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a long-sleeved blouse in a dusty shade of pink and then slipped them both on with a pair of loafers.

Returning to the kitchen, she boiled water for tea and slathered another piece of toast with raspberry jam she found in the refrigerator. When the tea was ready, she poured a cup, grabbed her toast and went to explore the room Will had said was her private office.

She’d glanced at it briefly the day before but hadn’t ventured inside. After their talk—and Nigel’s call—she was afraid of what she’d find. Today, she wanted to tackle her past head-on and set it aside for good. She settled at the glass-and-chrome desk and ate while taking it all in. A large space on the desk was cleared off for her laptop, which had been destroyed in the crash. Stacked around it were glossy magazines and file folders. It was all very neat and precise. It made her want to reach out and shuffle some of the pages around. There was simply too much perfection.

Across from her desk were a red leather love seat and a chrome-and-glass coffee table. Several large advertising posters and a few framed magazine ads were hung on the wall for products she recognized. Her best guess was that these were campaigns she designed. Her family told her she was a successful partner in a Madison Avenue advertising agency.

Looking at them, a feeling of unease washed over her. Not only were they completely unfamiliar, but she had no thoughts about the marketing strategies that went into them. All she could come up with was that she liked the dress one of the models was wearing. That was it.

Without her memory, she was going to need a career backup plan, and fast. Especially if Will opted to leave as planned. He’d left the door open for a relationship, putting the ball in her court to decide what she wanted. If she’d really hurt him as badly as he’d said, he was right to leave and she wouldn’t blame him. But last night’s discussion with Nigel had shown her that she did want to try for more with Will. She wanted him to stay, and not just for the financial support.

And yet, knowing he always had one foot out the door made her hesitant to invest too much. She might be the one to get hurt this time. It was a sobering thought that sent her scrambling for a chore to occupy her mind.

Cynthia opted to start shuffling through paperwork, partially out of curiosity and partially out of the hope that it might jog something in her head. She opened files and thumbed through pages about different campaigns and clients. Mostly it was unfamiliar gobbledy-gook. The advertising lingo was completely lost on her.

Setting them aside, she opened a drawer in her desk and fished around. At the front of the drawer were neatly stacked and aligned office supplies. Further back was a pile of envelopes. Cynthia pulled them out and eyed the outside. They were all addressed to her. Some of the postmarks went back as much as a year.

Picking the oldest one, she removed the letter and started reading it. It was a love letter from Nigel. An actual, handwritten love letter. It was sort of an odd thing to do in this day and age, but he explained in the first one how he thought it was the only sincere way to express how he felt. Email was cold and impersonal. She’d probably kept the incriminating letters for their sentimental value.

With a sigh, Cynthia sat back into her chair. She knew she’d had an affair, but being confronted with evidence of it was disconcerting. It was quite the romance they’d shared. He was a struggling artist she met at a gallery show. Since that time, they’d been meeting secretly at lunch, going away for weekends together under the guise of business trips and taking advantage of Will’s long hours by flaunting their relationship in the apartment she shared with him.

The letters were more romantic than she’d expected from a fling. She couldn’t know what she wrote back to him, but they seemed to be in love. It boggled her mind, not jiving with what everyone told her about herself. How did an uptown society girl fall in love with a poor artist from the Bronx? She didn’t understand. Was she just using Nigel, or was she too embarrassed to be with him publicly? Daddy and Mother certainly wouldn’t approve. Did loving Nigel and marrying Will somehow give her the best of both worlds?

Cynthia felt sick and was thankful to only have toast in her stomach. She thought she wanted to regain insight into her old life, but now she never wanted to remember the truth. She wanted to erase it all.

Piling the letters into a heap on her desk, she dug around for anything else incriminating. Her laptop and cell phone were gone, so any digital evidence of her relationship with Nigel went down with the plane. If and when she got a new computer, she’d purge anything left behind in her accounts. Will had already mentioned replacing her cell phone. She’d make sure to ask for a new number that Nigel couldn’t get his hands on. In her office file cabinet, she found a folder with various cards from Valentine’s Day and her birthday inside. None were from Will. Those were added to the pile, as were some photos of Cynthia and a blond man she didn’t recognize. They looked far too cozy and the location far too tropical. She could take no chances with this. It all had to go.

By the time the housekeeper, Anita, arrived, Cynthia had a fairly large stack of things to destroy. She went out to meet the woman in the living room. She was a pleasantly plump older woman with graying hair. Quite efficient, she’d already begun dusting the mantle over the fireplace when Cynthia found her there.

The fireplace. Perfect.

“Miss Dempsey.” She smiled, although Cynthia didn’t detect much sincere warmth behind it. “It’s so good to see you back home. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Her housekeeper didn’t seem to like her either. Did anyone? “Please, call me Cynthia. And you’re no trouble. I’m happy to have someone here with me. Let me know if I can help you with anything. I feel bad just sitting around watching you work.”

Anita looked as though she were struggling to hide the surprise on her face, simply nodding when she apparently failed. “Thank you, Miss Dempsey, but I can manage. Do you need anything before I get started?”

Since she asked… “Actually, I’m a little chilled this afternoon. I’d love to just curl up with a book in here. Any chance we could get the fireplace going?”

* * *

That Saturday was an unseasonably warm fall day. By this time in November, people were usually heavily bundled or shoveling out of the first snow, but it was in the high sixties. Will had started off that morning working in his office as usual, but seeing Cynthia wander aimlessly through the apartment tugged at him with guilt.