If She Only Knew (20 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
“They're looking for you inside,” he said, motioning toward Marla with the handle of the rake.
“Who is?” she asked.
“Mr. Cahill,” Lars said as he approached. His expression was hard. Condemning. “Your husband.”
She couldn't stop the flush that crawled up her neck.
“He brought the nurse he hired with him.” Lars's voice was flat but there was disdain in the curve of his lip, silent accusations in his steely eyes. He nodded to them both, then walked past the swing set to a gardening shed.
“I guess I'd better meet my new keeper.”
“Is that what you think he is?”
“Don't you?” She didn't bother to hide her agitation. “Come on, Nick, does it look like I need a nurse?” She walked through the arbor and tossed her head. “You may as well come inside and watch the fireworks.”
“You think someone's going to explode.”
“You bet I do and it might be me,” she said, hiking up the steps to the back door. “If Alex thinks I'm going to let him tell me what to do, he'd better think again.” She wiped her feet on a mat and walked inside. “I'm not letting anyone put a leash on me. Especially not my husband,” she said hotly, working herself up to an argument.
Together they hurried up the stairs to the sitting room where Alex and a tall, thin man with a short clipped beard were talking.
“There you are!” Alex said as he sat on the edge of a wingback chair, his hands clasped between his knees, his attention on the other guy. “Christ, Marla, where were you? I checked your room and called for you and I was just about to have the place searched.”
“I was in the backyard.”
“In this weather?”
She didn't answer. The wet shoulders of her jacket and raindrops on her face and the flush from the cold air should have been testament enough to her whereabouts.
“I thought you were in a meeting,” Nick said to Alex as he positioned himself near the fireplace. Flames crackled in the grate and the smell of burning wood wafted through the room.
“It was canceled so I thought I'd show Tom around. Marla, Nick, this is Tom Zayer. He's Marla's nurse.”
“Do I know you?” Nick asked, his eyes trained on the nurse. “Have we met?”
“Could be,” Tom said. “I see a lot of people. I worked Emergency at Bayside and I had a job with Cahill House.”
Nick's eyebrows became one. “You look familiar.”
Tom snorted and lifted a shoulder. “It's a small world.”
“It was at the hospital. I'm sure I saw you there.”
“Could have been.”
Marla managed a smile she didn't feel. Though her fists strained to clench she stretched her fingers and tried to keep a tight rein on her temper. “It's good to meet you,” she said to the nurse. She offered her hand and shook his. “Unfortunately my husband's made a big mistake. Despite my appearance, I really don't need someone to look after me. I'm sure that Alex will be more than glad to pay you for your trouble, but I really won't be needing your services.”
“Of course you will,” Alex cut in, and Tom, dropping Marla's hand, stepped back, held up his hands as if surrendering, and looked from Marla to Alex.
“Hey, I'm not stepping into this.”
“It's not a problem.” Alex shot Marla a look that was meant to drop the argument in its tracks. It didn't.
“I'm fine. I
don't
need a nurse. It would be a waste of Tom's time, my patience and your money.”
don't
need a nurse. It would be a waste of Tom's time, my patience and your money.”
“This was Phil's idea,” Alex said, his jaw clenched, a vein beginning to throb over his eye. Marla guessed it wasn't often anyone stood up to him . . . especially not his wife. “
He's
the doctor.”
He's
the doctor.”
“Then I'll talk to Phil,” she said, the reins of her temper slipping through her fingers.
“Hey, if this is a problem,” Tom interjected, “maybe you two should work it out.”
Alex pointed a finger at Tom. “It's not a problem. I obviously just should have discussed it with my wife in more detail.”
“A lot more detail,” Marla said, just as Eugenia's footsteps and Coco's nails could be heard in the hall.
Great, just what she needed.
Great, just what she needed.
The older woman was stripping off her gloves as she rounded the corner and Coco shot into the room, barking like mad, making a pest of herself. “Hush!” Eugenia snapped as the dog yapped at Tom. “Now! Or you'll go to your kennel. Sit!” For once the animal obeyed. “Alex, Nick . . . Marla,” she greeted. “I see you've met Tom.”
“You know him?” Marla asked.
“Oh, yes, at Cahill House when he volunteered for us. How are you?” she asked the nurse.
“Fine, fine,” he said nervously as Coco started barking again. “Maybe I should just go.”
“Marla doesn't want a nurse,” Alex explained.
“But why not?” Eugenia was crestfallen. “You do want to get better, don't you, dear? As fast as you can.”
“Of course.”
“Then it's decided.”
“No way,” Marla shot back.
“Hey, I don't need this.” Tom was reaching for his briefcase. “You folks should sort this out.”
Alex stood his ground. “There's nothing to sort out. You're hired and that's that. We'll take your things up to the servants' quarters and if you give me a minute, my wife and I will discuss it.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Eugenia picked up the bad vibes. “Why don't you come with me and I'll give you a tour of the house,” she offered. “Nick . . . would you like to come along?”
“I've seen it,” he said stiffly, but caught the hint and walked out of the room as Eugenia ushered Tom upstairs.
Coco barked wildly.
“Shut up!” Marla growled at the dog and stamped her foot hard enough to jar her bones. “No more! Do you hear me?”
Dark eyes sparked. The little pedigreed thing seemed about to yap again, but with a disgruntled woof turned and, tail tucked between her short white legs, scuttled after Eugenia and the nurse.
“Miserable beast,” Marla muttered as she turned her attention to Alex. “I don't need a nurse or a babysitter or whatever it is you think you hired,” she whispered, once she thought she was alone with her husband. “And don't give me that garbage about me not knowing what's best for me or that the doctor insists, okay, because I'm not buying it. Not one word.”
“Maybe this isn't just about you,” Alex said, a vein becoming pronounced over his left eye. “Maybe it's about Mother and Cissy and my peace of mind. How do you think I feel leaving you here with just my elderly mother or teenage daughter to look after you?”
“I don't need looking after.”
“Of course you do,” he snapped, anger flaring in his eyes.
“I'm a grown woman and this house is crawling with servants. There's Carmen and Fiona and Lars and God-knows-who-else!”
“None of whom have any medical training to speak of !” His expression was beyond exasperation and he, like Nick only moments before, clapped his hands on her shoulders. His eyes snapped fire. Marla had the feeling he wanted to shake some sense into her. “For God's sake, Marla, for once in your life, think of others, will you?” he demanded. “This is a rough time for all of us. And things aren't getting any better. I've still got the demands of the business, you know.”
“You don't have to worry about me,” she said, but some of her anger was dissipating, her self-righteous martyrdom flagging at the desperation etched across his features. Was it for her? Or himself? A thousand emotions tore through her, and in an instant she remembered another time, on this very floor, the feel of his hands over her upper arms. She flashed to the rage in his flushed face, the vein, the very same vein throbbing in his forehead.
Bitch,
he'd snarled, or had it been someone else? The fingers digging into her forearms had been there before, hard, steely, causing a white-hot pain. How many times had they replayed this same ugly scene?
Bitch,
he'd snarled, or had it been someone else? The fingers digging into her forearms had been there before, hard, steely, causing a white-hot pain. How many times had they replayed this same ugly scene?
She must've paled, her horror shining in her eyes because it was as if he suddenly realized what he was doing and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Hell, Marla, would you just, for once, not fight it?” he asked and ran shaky fingers through his hair. The fire crackled and hissed in the grate and some classical strains of music wafted on the air, at odds with the tension in the room and the rain spitting against the windowpanes. Alex reached into his pocket for a pack of Marlboros and shook one out. “Let me take care of you.”
Sagging into a chair, Marla dropped her head to her hands. “I . . . I remember . . . that we fought,” she said as she heard the click of his lighter. She looked up to find him inhaling hard on the cigarette, then walking to the mantel. “And now . . . now you lock your doors.” She glanced up at him, her head beginning to throb. “I wanted to get into the office, to use the computer, but I couldn't.”
“Sometimes I have sensitive files in my office. Files from the office or the hospital or Cahill House. I don't want the staff to find them.”
She flashed on the file cabinets she'd seen in his office. Couldn't they be locked? He didn't have to shut off the entire suite of his rooms, did he?
“I would like to think the staff is honest,” she said.
“They are. I'm just cautious. Because of my position.”
Or because you have something to hideâsomething else?
“It makes me feel more like an outsider.”
“It shouldn't.” With the hand holding his cigarette he rubbed his temple, as if fighting a nagging headache.
The clock downstairs ticked off the seconds and Marla felt miserable, wondered how far from her husband she'd drifted, how much further she would continue to drift.
“Look, honey, you're right. We did fight,” he admitted. “More often than I like to remember. But I don't lock my doors or my files because of it.” He shook his head. “No way, and . . . and I . . . was hoping . . . oh, Christ, Marla, you could have died in that accident, left me and the kids all alone and I was hoping, shit, I even prayed that you and I, we could find our way past all this.” He spewed out a long stream of smoke. “We have two children. They didn't ask for any of this mess we created.”
“No, no, they didn't.” She felt miserable about the kids and yet she wouldn't let this man or any man for that matter tramp all over. “You can't expect me to just . . . sit here in this house, to not try to find out who I am, to not try and remember.” Hot tears burned her eyes and she looked down, her fingers laced as her hands hung between her knees. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel the need to fight with him, to assert her independence? She remembered her response to Nick in the garden and closed her eyes for a second. What kind of woman was she, lusting after her brother-in-law, while she felt nothing for this man she'd vowed to love, honor and obey. Well, she was having one helluva time with the obeying part. It just wasn't her nature. She knew in her gut that it never had been. “I'm sorry for starting the argument,” she said, lifting her eyes and fighting the tears that were determined to slide down her cheeks. “But I . . .” She lifted a hand. “I'm frustrated.”
“I know, I know.” He flicked ashes into the fire. “This is going to take some getting used to. For all of us. And it's going to get worse before it gets better. The police seem to think that Charles Biggs was murdered. They're certain of it. Someone posed as an intern and suffocated him and walked out of the hospital. Got away clean.”
Marla felt cold inside. “Why?”
“Who knows? Probably some nutcase.” Alex was tense. Worried. “It probably has nothing to do with you, or the accident, but I think we should err on the side of caution. I want to beef up security around the house.”
“You think someone's going to try and do us harm?” she asked, rubbing her arms as if suddenly cold as she thought of Charles Biggs, a man she'd never met, a man she'd unwittingly helped to his grave.
“Frankly, I don't know what to think,” Alex admitted and she thought of the figure she'd thought she'd seen lurking in the window.
“I thought I saw someone in the house today.”
Alex's head snapped up. “Who?”
“I don't know. I convinced myself it was my imagination or one of the servants. I was in the garden and felt someone watching me, when I looked up, there was someone in the window, but I couldn't recognize him . . . or her.”
“Jesus, Marla,” he whispered. “Why didn't you say something?”
“Because I wasn't sure. It could have been one of the staff.”
“But it freaked you out.”
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