Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (30 page)

A
N ADVANTAGE
of having been married for close to ten years was that Jordan could calculate to the hour when Richard would call. The lobbyist in him would want to pitch his case in addition to the letter his lawyers had drafted; the father in him would want to talk to the children and hear how they’d been faring while he was honeymooning in Hawaii; the ex-husband in him would want to choose an hour when it was most likely his former in-laws would be out of the house.

When the phone rang within ten minutes of the predicted hour—four hours after his plane touched down—she glanced at the caller ID and couldn’t help but wonder whether Cynthia had already acquired this kind of knowledge and, if not, how many years it would take before she understood her husband as well as Jordan did.

The children, Miriam, and she were in the double parlor, gathered around a puppet theater she’d fashioned out of a cardboard wardrobe-size moving box with maroon hand towels serving as curtains. Kate had drawn the backdrop’s scenery. It was filled with masses of flowers and a smiling sun surrounded by puffy clouds. Jordan had helped write out and cut admission tickets for the performance Kate and Max had decided to put on that evening to surprise Margot, who’d bought the puppets during their trip into town. This was the dress rehearsal. If one were to gauge the show by Olivia’s reaction, it was a smash hit. She kept clapping her hands and talking to the puppet animals. Luckily the
audience’s enthusiastic participation didn’t rattle the performers, nor did anyone notice when Jordan slipped into the adjoining parlor to answer the phone on the second ring.

“Hello, Richard.”

“Jordan, hi. I’m glad I caught you. I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, the kids are playing. Miriam’s with them.”

“That’s great, just great.” He fell silent. It struck her then that he was nervous, perhaps for the first time unsure of his power to persuade. He was actually scared of saying the wrong thing. His hesitation showed her more than any of his facile words how important spending time with the children was to him.

Taking pity on him, she said, “I got the letter from your lawyer.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I was calling.” There was another pause, then his words came out in a rush. “The thing is, Jordan, now that the work’s finished on our new place and Cynthia and I are back from our, um, trip to Hawaii, and summer is coming with the kids on vacation from school, I thought it would be a really good time to … to kind of reintroduce myself into their lives.”

“Yes.”

For some reason, nervousness probably, Jordan’s reply didn’t register. As soon as he’d drawn a breath, Richard plunged back into justifying his request. “The house has plenty of room. We’ve set up two bedrooms right next to each other. I’m going to contact Susannah and pay her whatever she asks to come and sit for them again. Cynthia and I agree it’ll be good to have another familiar face on hand so they won’t be too overwhelmed … God, Jordan, I can’t begin to tell you how much I miss them.”

It would serve no purpose to point out that if he’d only honored his wedding vows, he wouldn’t be missing them at all. And as she’d told Owen, while Richard had failed her
as a husband, he loved his children. Antagonizing Richard would be a terrible way to start this next phase of doing their best as parents. “Richard, I think it’s a good idea for the children to spend time with you and Cynthia.”

“You do!” His breath came out in a long whoosh of relief. “Ahh, Jordan, thanks. Really, thanks a million. I knew you’d do what was right.”

Yes, she could be counted on to do the right thing, she thought, a touch cynically. But if Richard believed he could use that to steamroll over her, he was sorely mistaken. “I’m willing to work out times for you to spend with the kids, but I want you to understand from the outset that you’ll need to be flexible about their visits. I don’t want them to miss out on things they might want to do here—weekend birthday parties and sleepovers, horse shows, and the like—that are bound to increase in number as the kids get older. In return, I’ll do my part to make sure you and Cynthia have as much advance warning to adjust your own schedules. The weekend and vacation visits can’t become a tug-of-war between us. Even more important, they can’t become a source of tension for the kids. If you can’t agree to that kind of flexibility—”

“I can. I do. I want this to work amicably and I want the kids to enjoy their time with Cynthia and me. They won’t if they’re missing out on stuff.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay then,” he repeated happily. “God, this is great, Jordan. You’ve made my day. So, when do you think I can have them?”

Owen walked through the woods to Rosewood. The trees were beautiful, their leaves a bright green canopy overhead. The deeper into the trail he went, the cooler the air became, relieving his simmering temper. Damn Nonie Harrison for going behind Emily’s back to complain about the “exorbitant charges” for wallpaper and curtains and
how long the job was taking and how really, when all was said and done, Emily Carson wasn’t quite at the level of the quality she’d come to expect from Owen’s firm.

Yeah, right. Nonie was sexist, plain and simple. She was bitching because a woman was working for her. It would serve Nonie right if he left her high and dry and pulled Emily off the job. Except that Gage & Associates was his baby and he wasn’t going to let anyone sully its reputation. And Nonie had a hell of a big mouth. She’d exercised it for a good hour when, forced to shelve his own work, he’d gone to Overlea to calm her down.

Not even the hour he spent explaining how even rush orders took time and getting her to acknowledge that the work which had been accomplished looked smashing placated Nonie. She wanted more from him and in her supreme egotism expected him to kowtow to her whim. “Well, I expect the cottage to be ready for my spring fête next week.”

“I’m sure Emily will do everything she can to be finished by then.”

No sooner had the issue of Emily’s ability been settled, than Nonie informed him of a cocktail party being thrown by Mitch and Karen Langdon. Mitch, like Nonie, sat on the board of the Warburg Historical Society. “You’ll come with me, won’t you, Owen dear? Mitch is quite impressed with the work you’ve done on the cottage. I’d so like you to meet him before we vote on the annual preservation award.” With that heavy-handed hint, she’d obviously assumed he was her captive.

The high point of Owen’s visit was setting her straight. “As pleasurable as that sounds, I actually think it’s better not to have contact with people who are casting votes on my work.”

“How very idealistic of you,” she said. “But in Warburg success is so much a question of who you know.”

“Nevertheless,” he replied easily, “I’m afraid I have a
prior commitment. I’m expected at Rosewood later.” Jordan had invited him to a family dinner. The kids were putting on some kind of show and insisted he be included in the festivities.

Her smile turned as hard as the stone patio on which they sat. “Unlike your employee, Ms. Carson, you obviously know how to work fast. Jordan must be so gratified by the attention.”

He hadn’t risen to the bait, merely stood and thanked her for the iced tea, which, like so many things Nonie served, was tasteless.

“Give my regards to your neighbor,” she said as he climbed into his car. “By the way, how is Hawk Hill coming?”

“We’re only at the preliminary stages.”

“I can’t wait to see it. You know, Owen, darling, I might be able to steer some prospective buyers your way.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“I assume the ever-so-talented Emily Carson will be doing the interior work?”

Enjoyable as it might have been to rouse Nonie to indignation by telling her that Jordan was decorating the house for him, he decided against it. Why provide her with material to twist into her own nasty version? Pretending not to hear her question, he started the Audi’s engine with a satisfying roar and got the hell out of there.

If anything could serve as an antidote to the horror that was Nonie Harrison, it was Jordan. Hell, he’d rather be locked up in a room with Jordan’s kids than suffer …

Owen didn’t finish the thought, for the trees had thinned, opening onto a hilly meadow. It was a terrific view from up there. He could see Rosewood’s sloping roof line, the layout of the pastures, the three horse barns, and the lush green of the majestic chestnut trees lining Rosewood’s long drive.

As he looked around, he noticed a split-rail enclosure off to his right. The fence was too low to be used as a pasture. Curious, he moved toward it.

The stone markers rising from the mowed field explained everything. The enclosure’s wooden gate, left open, seemed to invite him in.

The headstones placed near the entrance to the cemetery, along the perimeter of the fence, puzzled him at first. Comprehension dawned and he smiled. Of course the Radcliffes would wish to rest for all eternity as they had lived: in the company of their horses.

He came upon the oldest graves. The moss growing over the age-pitted stones made the letters that much harder to decipher, but from the
F
and the
G
he knew that he standing before Francis and his beloved Georgiana. She’d died first, he saw, with Francis following a few weeks later. They’d left behind sons, though. He tracked their lives and those of their offspring with measured steps.

Too brief, he thought, reading the shockingly short span of years some Radcliffes were given on earth. The tragic death of RJ Radcliffe, Jordan and her sisters’ father, had already been foreshadowed in his ancestors’ untimely ends.

The stones were newer at the far end of the plot, the last row enhanced by a glorious rosebush. In this open setting, where the sun shone unobstructed, the roses were already in full riotous bloom, their lush shade an almost exact match for the head of the other visitor.

She came to her feet, turned, and noticed him just as he spoke. “Sorry, Jade. I didn’t mean to intrude. I must have taken the wrong fork when I was walking through the woods. The trail gave out here.”

Not meeting his eye, she nodded. “It’s okay. I was leaving in any case.”

Behind her lay a mass of flowers, nestled at the base of the third stone. “Your mother?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“Nice flowers.”

“It was her birthday last Saturday. I missed it because of the show. I had to bring her something.” She shrugged.
“Not that I would have if she was alive. Mom was totally weird about her birthday. She loved throwing parties, but when I was around twelve, she suddenly put the kibosh on celebrating her own b’day. She didn’t even want a card. But as she can’t get any older, I figure it won’t freak her out to have some flowers.”

Not knowing what to reply to that statement, he opted for, “I imagine you miss her a lot.”

She shot him a look. “I’d be pretty freakin’ unnatural if I didn’t. She was my mom, after all. And just in case you’re wondering, I miss Dad, too. The difference is, Mom only has me to miss her.”

She began walking toward the gate. Owen fell into step beside her. “I’m sure she’s missed by her friends.”

“Nice thought, but no. Mom had frenemies, not friends. I think Ellie, our housekeeper, liked her, though I bet she preferred Dad’s first wife, Katherine. So besides me, there ain’t a big Nicole Warren Radcliffe fan club. Except the Rev. He’s always bringing her up when we go bowling. Of course, he’s
supposed
to be kind and forgive everyone’s sins. He suggested I come up here today. Thought it would be good for me. Cathartic. I knew he’d get all sad-eyed and quiet and throw nothing but dead balls all night if I didn’t, so I went and cut some flowers from the garden when Patrick, our groundskeeper, wasn’t around. No biggie, really. But—” She paused as if suddenly needing to choose her words with care. “But if you could keep it to yourself that I was up here and not tell Margot and Jordan, I’d be seriously grateful.”

“No problem.”

Her quick sideways glance betrayed her surprise. “Margot and Jordan really didn’t get along with Mom, so they’ll just get all weird, wanting to
talk
. They’ll twist themselves into knots trying to pretend they liked her.”

Having just enough brains to keep his mouth shut, he nodded.

“Watching them do that is too awkward for words. After all, Mom never had a nice thing to say about them. She and Margot used to go at it tooth and claw and she was pretty harsh with Jordan after Margot left Rosewood to model.”

“My guess would be your sisters understand now that being a stepmother might not have been an easy role for your mother.”

“Maybe, but there’s other stuff she did, too. Stuff that can’t be explained away with an ‘Oh, I’m older now, I understand what Nicole was going through’ line. And if there’s the remotest chance Mom was, well, no one, especially not Jordan, would ever forgive her.” In a violent punctuation to her thoughts, she gave a well-aimed kick to a dandelion that had the misfortune to be growing in her path. Its yellow head sailed through the early-evening air.

Though Jade’s sentence was jumbled, with tantalizing skips, Owen knew just enough of everyone’s story that he thought he could piece it together. Having herself suffered the pain of a spouse’s infidelity, Jordan shouldn’t be able to forgive Jade’s mother for cheating on their father.

“Anger’s not a very productive emotion.”

“Yes, it leads to the dark side, Obi-Wan.”

Ouch. Well, he’d deserved that. At least she hadn’t compared him to Yoda. “What I meant was that Jordan strikes me as someone who knows that it’s better to focus on what you can change.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a way better person than I am. You do get how terrific she is, don’t you, Owen?”

A vision came to him of Jade’s leg whipping out and dealing him the same lethal blow that she’d given to the dandelion if he didn’t answer correctly—or convincingly enough. “Absolutely.”

“Good, ’cause I promise you, you hurt her and I’ll make you sorry. Unlike Jordan, I’m into vengeance.”

He decided not to deflate her by telling her he’d already
figured out that when it came to protecting Jordan, Jade would be joined by every able-bodied person at Rosewood. A veritable private army. Instead he gave her an easy smile. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. I was only invited for dinner. And some sort of show.”