Dark Homecoming (6 page)

V
ariola made her way down into the wine cellar where she kept some of her more exotic spices. She was looking for something specific. A very special recipe was called for.

She had seen what Mrs. Hoffman had done to the new Mrs. Huntington. A cruel trick.

So that is how it will be
, Variola thought. No alliances there. Mrs. Hoffman does not intend to accept the new wife.

And where would that leave Variola?

Mrs. Hoffman was a cruel woman. Variola had never liked the old plastic-faced harridan, even if she'd had to work with her, and make her peace with her, these past few years. But from the day she had first met the housekeeper Variola had seen deep into her soul, and discerned only darkness there. A cold, bitter darkness.

Variola opened a small wooden box she kept on a low shelf, beneath the burgundies. She withdrew a dried flower. She was about to place it to her nose and test its fragrance when she heard a step behind her. Variola spun her head around like an owl, eyes blazing.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” came a soft voice.

“Mrs. Martinez, what are you doing down here?”

“She frightens me,” the older woman said.

“Ah, you have no need to be frightened of Mrs. Hoffman. What she did was needlessly cruel, but Variola can take care of her.”

Mrs. Martinez frowned. “Mrs. Hoffman troubles me, but it is not she who I fear.”

“Then who?”

“Mrs. Huntington.”

Variola laughed. “Are you becoming like all the rest of them now? Afraid of a ghost that walks these halls?”

“No, not the first Mrs. Huntington,” Mrs. Martinez replied. “This one! The new one.”

Variola laughed again, a sound that echoed through the cold, damp wine cellar. “And why should that little sparrow frighten you? She could barely frighten a mouse!”

“You know why she frightens me.”

Variola's dark eyes hardened as they bore down on Mrs. Martinez. “No. I do not know why she frightens you.”

“Because of what might happen.” The older woman paused. “Happen again.”

“You disappoint me. You have no faith in Variola.”

“Oh, but I do, but—”

Variola smiled. “No buts. Tell me, Mrs. Martinez. If it happened again, whose side would you rather be on? Mine or Mrs. Hoffman's?”

The older woman wasn't sure how to answer. “I believe you have a kinder heart, but she . . . she will stop at nothing.”

“When the time comes, you will be on my side,” Variola told her.

“I'm still frightened.”

Variola waved her away. “Go upstairs, Mrs. Martinez. Speak no more of this. None.”

All of them fools
, Variola thought, sniffing the dried flower and determining it to be perfect. Why couldn't they all trust Variola to make sure everything worked out?

“I
'm so glad you called, David,” Liz said into the phone. “It's been so wonderful talking to you . . . I miss you so much . . .”

“I miss you, too, darling, and I'm sorry this call has to be so short.” David's voice sounded so far away. “But we have a revolt of investors on our hands. I've got to rush from meeting to meeting, soothing ruffled feathers and making promises . . .”

“I understand, David. But when will you be home?”

“It might be another week.”

“Another week!”

“Liz, I can't help it. I'm sorry.”

“But you said just six days . . . it's been five already. . . another week?”

“Really, darling, there's nothing I can do.”

She pulled back, careful not to sound too needy. “All right,” she said. “I'll just count the days, David.”

“That's good, sweetheart, so will I. In the meantime, keep enjoying the pool . . .”

“David,” Liz said, cutting in before he could say goodbye.

“What is it?”

“I had a crazy thought . . . I don't know . . . maybe . . . maybe I ought to consider some breast implants . . .”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Liz worried the call had been dropped.

“David?”

“I hope you're joking, Liz.”

“Well, I—”

“I can't believe you'd say that! Don't even think about such a thing! Jesus Christ, what did you have to say that for? Now, I'm late. I've got to go.”

“David, I didn't mean to anger you. It was just a silly thought.”

“A very silly thought. Goodbye, Liz.”

He hung up the phone.

Liz stood there holding her phone. A soft knock came at the door of her room.

She opened it to see Rita holding a tray.

“You wished your dinner sent up to your room, Mrs. Huntington?”

Liz nodded. “Thank you. You can put in on the desk there.”

Rita did as she was instructed. Liz couldn't help but notice how attractive the maid was, how full her breasts and hips were.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Rita nodded and left the room.

Liz sat down at her desk. As she picked at her pasta primavera flavored with Caribbean spices, she logged on to her computer and was thrilled to find Nicki—her darling Nicki—online.

“So, how's it going?” her friend messaged her.

“Wonderful,” Liz messaged back without delay.

“Liar.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you. You always say things are wonderful when they're not. If they were really wonderful, you would have said something like ‘amazing' or ‘awesome.' ”

Liz admitted Nicki was right. They clicked onto Skype so they could see each other. How wonderful—or rather, how awesome—it was to see Nicki's face. Her shiny black eyes, her easy smile, the way she tossed her thick brown hair back when she laughed.

“I'm finally heading back home,” Nicki announced. “I'm leaving the ship and the world tour early.”

“Whatever for?” Liz asked. “I thought you were having a great time.”

“I thought you were, too, then you up and got married.”

Liz smiled weakly. “Has the same thing happened to you, too, Nicki?”

Her friend laughed, tossing her hair. “No way, sugarbabe. I'm immune to Cupid's arrow, remember? No, I just got a better gig in Atlantic City, and the cruise ship is being kind enough to let me out of my contract, just like they let you.”

“What's the gig?”

“Harrah's, baby! The biggest resort in town! I'm starting at the top! One of the lead dancers in a new nightly revue—
and
I get to help choreograph and design the whole thing!”

“That's . . . that's amazing, Nicki.”

Liz was envious. She listened as Nicki rambled on about the details of her new job. She asked a few questions and Nicki responded with undisguised glee. How exciting it was, Liz thought, to be going to Atlantic City, to be able to design and choreograph a new show. That was something Liz had always wanted to do herself, something she had looked forward to doing someday in her career.

Then she'd up and gotten married.

Immediately Liz rejected her envy of Nicki. Her friend didn't have what she had—a terrific husband who loved her very much. The very fact he'd gotten so angry at her for suggesting cosmetic surgery meant that David loved Liz exactly the way she was. She had to believe that. She thought about how much she loved David in return—how the sight of him still caused her heart to leap a little, how the touch of his lips on her neck still thrilled her beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She wouldn't trade David for all the shows in Atlantic City, even if she got to choreograph them all! She had to remember that. She had to!

But it was difficult, given how alone and disliked she felt in this big house.

“So, tell me,” Nicki said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Liz said.

“As I said before, you're a liar.”

“Really, Nicki. Nothing's wrong. David is the most amazing husband. I adore him. It's just that . . .” Her words trailed off.

“Just that what?”

“Well, he had to go away on business.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Almost a week.”

“Poor baby, but I guess the honeymoon is over.”

“That's just it,” Liz said, finishing the last of her wine. “We had such a marvelous honeymoon and now . . . well, now I'm afraid this is what my life is going to be like. Stuck here in this big house alone for much of the time while he travels on business.”

“Is it such a terrible place to be stuck in?”

“Oh, it's a gorgeous house. And the gardens are equally as beautiful. I don't want for anything. There are maids and houseboys to wait on my every need, and a magnificent chef . . .”

Liz's mind passed quickly over the faces of all the people who worked in the house. She remembered the eyes of those staring at her out at the pool. Maybe she'd been mistaken. Maybe they hadn't been laughing at her. Maybe they had just been told to be there in case Liz had requested anything. They were her servants, after all, who were supposed to be at her beck and call. But Liz couldn't get used to that fact. A woman like her didn't have servants.

“I'll bet you'll get pretty good at bossing them all around,” Nicki said.

“I hardly think so. I just kind of keep to myself. The whole time David's been gone, I've eaten in my room.”

“Sweetie—you can't be a hermit! It's your own house!”

“Yes, but until David gets back, I don't feel at home here.”

“Look, Liz, you married a very successful man. You knew right from the start that he was going to be away from home a great deal. You've got to find your own rhythm. You've got to learn to do your own thing.”

Liz nodded. “David suggested I open a dance studio.”

“Brilliant idea! You'd be terrific!”

“I don't know. I'll think about it.”

Nicki drew closer to her camera, so that her face nearly filled Liz's computer screen. It made Liz miss her friend a great deal.

“So, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”

“What's that?”

“Have you talked to your mother since you got back from your honeymoon?”

Liz sighed. “I've tried. I've called several times. But she's either been asleep or out. At least, that's what Deanne tells me. I think she might be fibbing, however.”

“You think your mother is avoiding talking to you?”

“I'm beginning to think so. She's still upset that I got married without her there. And David and I never got the chance to see her when we got back from our honeymoon. We had to get down here. We'd planned on going up to see Mom in a week or so, but now, with David being called away, I don't know if those plans will change.”

“Fly her down to see you. I'm sure David can afford a private jet to get her.”

Liz couldn't help but laugh. “Mom, here? Oh, no. I don't think so.”

“I'm sure your siblings would come with her.”

“Even worse! George would be out smoking weed on the back patio and Deanne would be sprawled out on the couch watching the Home Shopping Network all day!”

Nicki smiled. “They're your people, Liz.”

Liz smiled herself. Yes, they were. And suddenly she missed them, too. A wave of guilt surged through her.

“Okay, and now for the second sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Nicki said.

“What else could there be?” Liz asked.

“Any mementos of the dead wife lying around?”

The question stopped Liz cold. If thoughts of her family disturbed her, the mention of Dominique chilled her to the bone.

“Only like everywhere I look,” Liz responded.

“No way!”

“There's a huge portrait of her in the stairwell that I have to pass every time I go up or down. That's part of the reason I've been staying in my room.” Liz paused. “She was very beautiful.”

“Tell David to take that thing down!”

Liz shook her head. “I can't. Not yet anyway. Eventually, when he gets back.”

“Um, hello, when did the body snatchers make off with my tough friend Liz? Cuz I don't recognize this milquetoast.” Nicki shook a finger at her. “It's your house now, sweetheart. Not hers.”

Liz laughed lightly. “I just don't feel that way yet. Her fragrance—gardenias—is everywhere. Sometimes I think the servants still spray it everywhere so they can remember her.” She paused. “They were apparently very devoted to her.”

“I can't believe that David left that portrait hanging! I'd confront him if I were you, Liz.”

“I will,” she said, though she knew she didn't sound convincing. “When he gets back I'll ask him to move it somewhere else.”

“Really, Liz, honey, you're going to have to stand up for yourself.”

“I know . . .”

“I'm not sure you do. You're hiding out in your room!”

“You're right, and so I should get going,” Liz said, deciding to end the conversation. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “I'll go downstairs and try to be social. Most of the help will be going home soon for the night anyway, and I should say goodbye before they go.”

“No live-ins?”

“Just Mrs. Hoffman and the chef, Variola. Everybody else goes home. We have a couple of shifts here at Huntington House, seven to three and three to eight. By eight-thirty the entire place is dark and quiet—unless there's a party. David tells me in those circumstances, everybody gets overtime.”

“All right, baby, you go downstairs and be social. Don't forget—you're the mistress of the house now.” She blew her a kiss. “Keep in touch, okay? Once I'm off the ship, you can call me anytime.”

“I will. And congratulations on the new job. Really.”

“Love you, Liz.”

“Love you, too.”

They signed off.

Liz stood and took a deep breath.

She really
should
go downstairs. Make small talk with the staff. Learn something about them. Like their names, to start. She only knew Rita and Variola by their first names. She had no idea what Mrs. Hoffman's first name was, or Mrs. Martinez's for that matter. Any others' names, if she'd been told them, she had now completely forgotten.

I'm terrible
, Liz thought to herself.
I should go down there right now and project confidence and cordiality and everything will get better.

But she didn't want to. All she wanted to do was crawl into her bed—that big, canopied haven—and go to sleep.

Liz became aware of the ticking of the clock on her mantel. It was a soft, reassuring sound, background noise throughout the day. She glanced over at the clock and saw that it was nearly seven-thirty. The sun was beginning to set, filling the room with crimson light.

But there was a sound competing with the ticking clock, Liz realized. How long had that sound been there? A knocking sort of sound, a banging of some kind. Soft and muffled. Sometimes it seemed to fade away, but when Liz listened closely, it was still there.
Tap, tap, tap . . .
She drew closer to the mantel. No, it wasn't coming from the clock. It seemed to come from another part of the room . . .

Liz tried to follow the sound, but suddenly she lost it. She listened, but all she heard once again was the ticking of the clock. She dismissed the sound as the rattle of a pipe.

Looking back over at her desk, Liz spotted her dinner plates. Was she going to place the tray with its dirty dishes outside her door, in the hallway, as if she were staying in some hotel?

No
, she told herself.
Take them downstairs yourself. Be friendly. Make them like you.

They
did
like Dominique, Liz believed.

Mrs. Hoffman sure seemed to. She lost no opportunity in bringing up the name of the late Mrs. Huntington. How witty Dominique was. How charming. How eloquent. How talented. How beautiful.

The young men of the house, like that impertinent Jamison, had been obsessed with Dominique. What was it that David had said?
Some of the boys who worked here became almost obsessed with my late wife. They tried to get her to pay attention to them. They imagined all sorts of things about her . . .