Stand-In Wife (12 page)

Viv started to sing along. “We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise—” her singing voice was awful “—than when
we first beguuu—” The last strains faded, she finished with a circled flourish and met his eyes in the mirror. “How’d that look, convincing?”

His heart sank. “Tell me you’re not conducting the choir tomorrow.”

Harry flung himself forward with a delighted gurgle and she caught him, kissing the downy head before she answered. “Okay I won’t tell you.”

“Then we’re screwed,” he said.

She leveled a look at him. “We will be if you keep setting me up to fail.”

“What?”

“I was relying on you to help with soccer…where the hell were you?”

“Since when am I at your beck and call? I left a message.”

“Too little too late.” Viv put the restless baby onto her other hip. “Don’t encourage people to rely on you if you can’t deliver on your promises.”

The echo back to Tilly’s disappointment stung. “My priorities come first.”

“And have done for months, I hear,” she countered. Harry started to fuss and she patted his back. “Good luck with whatever’s more important than your family.”

“You’re the one who’s going to need the luck!”

“I haven’t got time to cross swords with you,” she said impatiently. “Tilly’s in a snit, I still have a cake to bake, names and faces to memorize, another hymn to practice and I’m worried sick about my sister. If you’re in, Ross, then
be
in. Otherwise—” she covered the baby’s ears and glared at him “—bugger off.”

The only way to save his brother further pain was to make this farce work. Ross sighed. “I’m in.”

Viv uncovered Harry’s ears. “Then talk nice and trust
me to have
some
sense. Merry’s teaching me to conduct on Skype and if she says I’m doing well, then I must be bloody fantastic because she’s even more critical than you are.”

She swept past him, baby on her hip and a glint of tears in her eyes.

Ross followed. “What’s wrong with Meredith?” he said quietly.

Viv put Harry down. “She’s picked up some kind of infection. Iop…ison-something.”

“Iatrogenic cause?”

Her anxious gaze met his. “Yes, that’s it.”

“It means she picked it up in hospital, through procedures or treatment. More common than you’d think. Is she on antibiotics?”

“Yes, but I don’t see an improvement. Someone should be with her.”

Ross resisted the urge to say Viv would have if they hadn’t pulled this stunt. “What does Meredith say?”

“That she’ll be fine and for me to concentrate on the funeral.”

“Then let’s do that.” God knows, they had enough to worry about.

“Anyway, I need to make these kids dinner.” She started toward the kitchen. Definitely no spring in her step today.

“Shower and get out of those wet clothes first.”

“The kids are hungry.”

He began to feel caught in a vice, Viv and her misguided altruism on one side, his need to disengage on the other. “I can start dinner,” he said grudgingly.

“You can cook? No, don’t tell me.” He saw a flicker of returning spirit in her smile. “SAS guys can do everything.”

“My mother taught me.”

“Well, if you could beat some eggs for me, fry bacon and put pasta on to boil that’d be great. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No hurry. I can handle carbonara.”

“Just don’t add anything green, including herbs. Tilly’s in a bad mood as it is.”

“So training wasn’t a success?”

She pulled her hair free of its constricting ponytail and rubbed her scalp. “I let her run some of it.”

“Let me guess. It was like inviting Captain Bligh back onto the Bounty.”

Viv nodded. “We had a mutiny after ten minutes.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Ross caught himself watching her legs as she walked away, and frowned.

Twenty minutes later, the kids were eating and Tilly was pouring her troubles into her uncle’s ear. “She can’t do anything right, Uncle Ross. At soccer, we hardly even kicked the ball.” Tilly was a grade ahead of her age through sheer tenacity but she struggled to match the coordination of the eight-year-olds. She mishit the ball, kicked wildly and then blamed the pitch, the boot, the ball, the pass…. But you couldn’t question her fierce and unswerving passion for the game, or her dedication.

Viv, her hair hanging in shiny waves, walked in wearing kick-ass boots teamed with a shirt and jeans too well-fitting to be Meredith’s. “I need some ‘me’ time,” she said, mistaking his surprise as disapproval. It wasn’t. Seventeen months and suddenly his libido was firing for
this
woman?

Harry opened his mouth to greet his aunt and Ross took the opportunity to shovel in another spoonful. They didn’t need to hear “Iv” right now. “Tilly’s getting a few things off her chest,” he warned.

“And she put onions in the ground beef and then smelly
cheese on top,” Tilly continued. “She’s just not as good as Mum.”

“This isn’t a competition, Tilly.” Viv’s tone was light but it was obvious their niece had struck a nerve. “I’m just filling in. I’m good at other things.”

“Like what?” The little girl was genuinely curious.

“Building an international career in costume design,” Viv offered, pulling up a chair.

Losing interest, Tilly returned to her carbonara. “Well, Mum has a job
and
she can play soccer
and
cook mac and cheese
and
put the trash out on the right day
and
teach Brownies and drive without saying, ‘stay left, stay left’ all the time.” She paused to suck up a strand of spaghetti. “And dogs like
her,
” she finished.

“Dogs like me,” said Viv in a small voice. “Just not your dog.”

“Attilla, you could help Viv with Salsa,” Ross suggested.

She shook her head, sucking up another spaghetti strand. “I don’t have to help anyone. I’m a little girl.”

“Except how will you be able to do all the things your mum can if you don’t practice?”

Viv added, “You don’t want to end up like me, do you?”

“No,” said Tilly.

Viv’s smile faltered.

Ross coaxed another spoonful into Harry’s mouth. “Your aunt does have a cool party trick,” he said casually. “She can do a cartwheel holding a glass of wine and not spill any.” He’d seen it at the wedding.

“Really?” Tilly looked at Viv with new interest.

“I used to do gymnastics when I was a kid.”

“I thought you did ballet with Mum…I saw a picture. You were fat then,” she added.

“The exploding meringue next to the dainty princess picture? I wish she’d destroy that! Anyway I only lasted
in ballet two weeks before changing to gym.” She added reflectively, “All those tiny, careful movements made me want to scream. But I always envied your mom her sparkly pink tutu.”

As he wiped the excess food off Harry’s chin, it occurred to Ross that a free spirit would have a difficult time being an identical twin.

Tilly handed Viv her empty plate. “Mum said you wore it to a party and spilled green jelly on it and the stain never came out.”

Viv stood up with the plate. “Gee,” she said, “does she say anything good about me?”

“She said you’re the fun one.” Tilly’s tone made it clear she didn’t agree with that assessment.

Brat.

Viv turned to the sink.

“If Tilly won’t help with Salsa,” Ross suggested, “maybe you could look up the patron saint of dogs in that book of yours.”

His niece jumped to the bait. “Dogs have a saint?”

Viv dumped Tilly’s plate in the sink and dug the tattered booklet out of her back jean pocket. They fitted so snugly Ross was surprised she got a hand in there—not that he was complaining. “Every animal has a saint,” she said, thumbing through the pages. “Here we go…Saint Roch. Busy guy. He’s helping your mom’s knee. And he also covers plagues and pestilence. Hmm, I would have thought Salsa
was
a pestilence.”

“You can talk,” Ross commented.

She ignored that. “Tilly, you have a saint, too. Saint Agnes watches out for girls.”

“Lemme see.” Viv pulled a chair close to Tilly’s and they bent their heads over the book. Their hair was the
same rich brown. Suspecting he might be missing some fun, Harry squealed to get out of his highchair.

“Hang on, mate.” Ross cleaned him up with the dish-cloth first.

“Look, Tilly, Joan of Arc has the Girl Guides, which is what Brownies grow into.” Viv lifted the baby into her lap. “Girl Guides and soldiers, Ross. Isn’t the juxtaposition sweet?”

“Darling.”

But Tilly was delighted. “Uncle Ross, the same saint looks after both of us.”

“That’s cool, honey.”

“Here’s another patron for your uncle,” added Viv. “Elmo.”

Tilly gurgled with laughter. “That’s silly. Elmo is a toy.”

“Let me see that,” he said.

She held the book out of his reach. “His real name is Erasmus, Tilly, but his friends call him Elmo and he looks after pyrotechnicians. That’s a fancy word for people who enjoy blowing things up.”

“So Viv and I share a patron saint, too,” he retorted. “Since she excels in destroying the peace. Tilly, if you’re done, go wash your hands. We’ll make the cake while Viv eats.” Tilly scrambled from the table and left for the bathroom.

Viv stared at him. “You made enough food for me?” Her delight made him wonder when she’d last eaten.

“Running on empty leads to mistakes, mistakes lead to discovery.”
Nothing personal in it.
He dished up a portion and put it in front of her. She’d used her own perfume…that honeysuckle again. “I figure I’ve got an hour and a half before Charlie expects me home.” Ross held out the cutlery. “Use me.”

The remark hadn’t been intended as sexual, but their
eyes met and the cutlery clattered on the table as they mistimed the exchange.

“Harry, want an ice cream?” Ross grabbed the baby, plonking him in the highchair, then opened the freezer, tempted to stick his head in to cool down.

It disgusted him that he wanted her. He reminded himself that she was a liar, aiding and abetting a cheater to mislead his brother. That he’d been emotionally blackmailed into this scam. And that
her
brother had just sold him down the river. It helped.

When he shut the fridge Viv was eating, focused on her plate. As if it was her first good meal in days. Ross tore his gaze from her mouth. Making Harry a small cone, he reminded himself she was identical to his brother’s wife, and he’d never been attracted to her—but his body didn’t buy it. He’d thought after Dan’s betrayal today, that his life couldn’t possibly get worse. Seemed it could.

Viv cleared her throat. “Was Susan there when Charlie picked up Harry from day care?”

“She does work there.” He handed his nephew the chocolate ice cream and Harry gummed it.

“That could have been awkward…their first meeting since the breakup.”

He shrugged and picked up the cookbook lying open on the table. “I guess.”

Viv cleared her throat again. “Did Charlie mention anything about it?”

“Of course.” Ross scanned the cake recipe. “We talk about that kind of stuff constantly. How Charlie could have done things better or differently. Oh, no, wait, I forgot. I’m a man.”

“Is he interested in getting back together with Susan or not?” Viv asked impatiently.

He glanced up. “Not. Your. Business. Not my business, either.”

As Viv opened her mouth to argue, her cell rang. She checked caller ID. “Meredith,” she said to Ross. “Hey, sis.”

Ross disappeared into the walk-in pantry where he scanned the shelves for ingredients. When he emerged a few minutes later, Viv was waiting for him with a pensive expression. “Merry rang Dan to reiterate that he didn’t need to come to the funeral.” Viv saved the egg carton, precariously balanced on the top of the armful he carried and put it on the counter. “He said he’s having trouble getting a hold of you and asked her to remind you to phone.”

“I’ll do it later,” he lied. He’d blocked Dan’s number.

Viv finished her meal and started unbuttoning Harry’s ice cream–splattered bib and pajama top. “He said it’s urgent.”

“Later,” he said harshly, drawing that astute gaze.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, everything’s fine.”

“Uh-huh.” The house phone rang. “Will you get that?” she asked. “Normally I’d let call answer pick up but if you’re here…”

It could be Dan. Brown eyes challenged his. She knew it, too. The woman was smart. Holding his nerve, Ross picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“’ello? This is Jean Paul. May I speak with Vivienne, please?”

“Sure, mate,” Ross said easily. “She’s just undressing ’arry.”

“Excuse me?”

He thought about clarifying and discounted it, figuring any guy stupid enough to take on Hurricane Viv had to be a masochist anyway.

Tilly came back into the kitchen. “Where’s my ice cream?”

Ross held out the phone. “The Frenchman.”

Shaking her head, she whispered, “I’m not here.”

Ross put the phone to his ear. “She’s right here, mate, and dying to talk to you.”

S
TANDING IN THE DOORWAY
, Viv stared bleary-eyed at the empty cell charger, then at Harry who was wandering around the living room, the dog at his heels and her phone pressed to his ear. His diaper hanging in a soggy lump between his skinny bow legs, he beamed at her. Delighted to see her, delighted with his new toy—all obviously right with his world.

It was the morning of the funeral and she’d overslept.

With a moan, she moved to rescue the cell and something crunched under her foot. She lifted it to see crushed cornflakes. Her eyes followed a splotchy trail of milk and cornflakes from the kitchen to the overflowing cereal bowl on the coffee table.

She’d cleaned the place spotless last night. Now the kitchen and living room looked as if there’d been a wild party. And the TV was blaring loud enough the wake the dead—sorry, Linda. And yet somehow, Viv had slept through it. Maybe the alarm had gone off, maybe it hadn’t. It was certainly switched off when she’d woken up and stared in disbelief at the time. 9:05.

“I got breakfast for me and Harry.” Tilly didn’t glance up from the TV where two cartoon Ninjas were balletically beating the crap out of each other. “I’m being helpful, like Uncle Ross said.” Eyes glued to the screen, she waved a dripping spoon in Harry’s general direction. “Here, Harry,”
she cooed. Obediently the toddler trotted over, but Salsa and his little pink tongue got there first. Tilly laughed.

“Dog,” chortled Harry, and in his glee, threw the cell. It landed with a plop in the bowl.

With an exclamation, Viv fished it out and wiped it dry on Merry’s cotton pj’s. The battery light flickered and went out.

She tried to find a bright side. “Well, that’s all the crazy out of the way early.”

Tilly snuggled into the armchair with the remote. “I did good, didn’t I, Auntie Viv?”

“Call me Mum, Till, so you don’t forget when it’s important.”

“Mum,” said Tilly absently. She’d been captured by the Ninjas again.

Harry toddled over and wrapped his arms around Viv’s shins. “Iv,” he said.

In between getting everybody dressed, icing the cake in chocolate frosting, staging the house with flowers, and accepting a delivery from the caterers, Viv sang, “Mum-MumMum” to her nephew to reindoctrinate him.

She tried to prepare her niece for the funeral. “It’s okay,” Tilly reassured her. “I have buried a guinea pig.”

Five minutes before Ross arrived, Viv finally found a few minutes to phone Merry and tell her to reroute messages to Ross’s cell. “How are you feeling…any improvement?”

“Definitely on the mend.” Viv took her word for it, she didn’t have time to go on Skype. “I talked to Charlie last night,” her twin added.

“Really?”
Please, Charlie, don’t have brought up our argument yesterday.
“About anecdotes for the funeral…he was really offhand. I think he’s back with Susan.”

“I’m sorry, Mere.”
God, I’m so sorry.
But if the guy
couldn’t stand hearing a few home truths then her sister was better off without him.

“Yeah, well, you told me not to get my hopes up,” Merry said tiredly. “Let’s go over the chorister names again.”

“Barry the balding baritone. Cindy the frizzy-permed alto—”

“Cindy’s a soprano. Concentrate, Viv! If you mess this up—”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Of course you can pull this off,” Merry said unconvincingly. “It’s just there’s—”

“A lot at stake. I know.” Viv couldn’t keep the sharpness out of her tone. “You don’t have to repeat it. Ross’s SUV is pulling up. We need to go.”

“Good luck.”

“Shouldn’t that be break a leg?”

“I know you joke when you’re nervous but
don’t,
Viv, there’s too much at—” Merry caught herself. “Do what I do. Chew your nails.”

Except she’d cut them short yesterday. “Are you kidding, acrylic nails are ten dollars apiece.” Yuk, Yuk, Yuk. Oh, yuk.

She commandeered Ross’s cell as soon as he walked in and waited anxiously while he checked her appearance. A black Polo dress—Merry always chose clothes half a size too big because she didn’t like showing off her figure—with a matching plaited belt. Viv had teamed it with one of Merry’s carry-all handbags, low black pumps, a fine gold chain and small gold hoop earrings. She’d pulled her hair back into Merry’s customary ponytail and her only makeup was lip gloss and eye shadow. Merry wore blue, instead of the brown that suited their coloring.

In one way, at least, Viv figured she’d perfected Merry. Drawn, tired and drained of confidence.

“Perfect,” Ross approved, and tears sprang to her eyes. Encouragement had been in short supply. Viv blinked hard.

“Attilla?” Ross touched their niece’s shoulder. “Go put your brother in the car seat, hey? And you can choose the music for the ride to the chapel.” Tilly loved being in charge of in-car entertainment.

“You okay?” he said when they’d gone.

She resisted a sudden urge to lay her head against his broad shoulder. “I will be.” Viv fished the saints book out of Merry’s bag.

“You use that thing like crack.” Ross took it away from her. “We’re relying on preparedness, remember?”

“And I’m covering all the bases.” Grabbing it back, she flicked through the pages. “Saint Jude’s our man. He looks after desperate situations and lost causes.”

Ross reconfiscated it. “Where’d this come from, anyway?”

“I dressed the production of
The Sound of Music
last year and the producer gave me a thank-you gift of crystal rosary beads. The saints guide came with it. I started reading it as a curiosity and now I don’t go anywhere without it.”

She made a grab for it and he held it out of her reach.

“You can pull this off.”

“I’ve got melodies, posture tips and names all jumbled together in my head,” she admitted. “I don’t think I can keep everything straight.”

“You’ve done the work, the information will come when it’s needed.”

“Harry keeps calling me Iv.”

“Damn. I’d hoped it was a one-off.” He thought a minute. “Okay, it’s short for ‘give’ as in ‘gimme.’ Whenever he says it, hand him something.”

“Yes.” She felt a rush of relief. “That could work.”

“If things get too dicey, pretend you’re overcome and start crying.”

“Now
that
I can do.”

His mouth softened, Ross’s equivalent of a smile. He handed over the saints book. “And I’ve got your back.”

“Think you can resist the urge to put a knife in it?”

Ross shepherded her through the front door. “A British prime minister, Lord Melbourne, once said he wanted men who would support him when he was in the wrong. Today, I’m your guy.”

And tomorrow?
Viv paused on the doorstep. “How’s Charlie doing this morning?” Obviously he hadn’t mentioned her outburst to Ross or he would have lectured her by now.

“Holding up. He’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Won’t we all.”

They walked toward the SUV. “Right about now he’s picking up Aunt Agatha. Who is…?”

“Linda’s older and only sibling from Wellington,” Viv said without thinking. “Short, straight gray hair, walks with a cane. Never married, two cats…Fifi and Flo. Merry— I—get on well with her. She and Linda had periodic feuds but were speaking prior to her death.”

He reached to open the passenger door. “As I said, you’re ready.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If it all turns to custard, I won’t implicate you in any way,” she said awkwardly.

“Failure’s not an option, Viv.”

Guess the reassurance part was over. If one more person told her what was riding on this… She inhaled deeply. “Not Viv,” she reminded him. “Meredith.”

That softening of his lips again. She was starting to look out for it. “Meredith,” he repeated. In the car he swung
around to look at the kids. “Attilla, I want you to stare at this woman and say Mum ten times.”

“Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum…”

Harry clapped his hands. “Mummmm.”

“Good to go.” Ross started the engine and pop blared over the speakers.

“Uncle Ross, you only had dumb stuff,” said Tilly, “so I brought my Justin Bieber CD.”

“I was hoping for the battle theme from
Apocalypse Now,
” Viv murmured and Ross laughed, startling her.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, soldier boy?” she accused. “Impending danger, the adrenaline overload, relying on your wits.”

Ross blinked. “Certainly not.”

“Now who’s the liar?” Viv opened her bag, found her conducting notes and concentrated on key changes, entrances and cut-offs. Fifteen minutes later the SUV pulled into Puriri Cemetery’s sweeping gravel driveway.

Overhead its namesake evergreens butted massive heads, their glossy dark green canopies dotted with incongruous bursts of rose-pink flowers. Viv half expected to see Jane Austen’s Pemberley appear through the trees. Instead she found herself staring at a modern chapel, flanked on two sides by rows of cremation plaques. “If I don’t make it,” she murmured to Ross, “sprinkle my ashes at sea…this place is too regimented for me.”

“Meredith would love the neatness of it,” he reminded her. “Remember what we talked about last night. Soften your expression, don’t hold eye contact more than three seconds and lessen that hip sway when you walk.”

“You really do have an eye for detail, don’t you?” she marveled.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered cryptically.

Because she’d been so busy, Viv hadn’t reflected on
Linda’s death but as she got out of the car and saw the mourners she had to swallow a lump in her throat. Poor Linda. And poor Charlie. He stood somberly on the chapel steps, greeting people Viv recognized but hadn’t yet met. She could only imagine how he must feel. She shouldn’t have yelled at him yesterday. They were both doing their best under difficult circumstances.

Unclipping Harry from his car seat, she pointed him in Charlie’s direction. “Go give Daddy a hug.”

Charlie’s expression eased as he caught sight of his son toddling toward him. He picked up the baby. Over the heads of the crowd he thanked Viv with an unsteady smile. Guiltily she turned to close the car door and caught Ross’s eye over the hood. For the first time she understood conflicted loyalties.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “for dragging you into this. I only wanted to help my sister.”

Without reply, he flanked her, positioning Tilly on her other side. Viv picked up her niece’s hand.

Showtime.

As they walked toward the small crowd, she saw ambivalence on some faces, embarrassment on others. She was the estranged wife, the loathed or sainted daughter-in-law, depending on people’s relationships with Linda. She caught malevolent stares from Linda’s bridge and golf partners, Marsha, Caroline and Bettina.

Obviously Linda had embellished the story of how Merry had cheated on her blameless boy. Viv lifted her chin, grateful Merry wasn’t here to endure this. Noticing their disapproval extended to Ross—of course, the wicked stepson—she squeezed his arm reassuringly. He looked down, amused. “I’m used to it,” he murmured. “But you’re not. Chin
down,
Meredith.”

She did as he asked, and immediately Charlie stepped
forward to welcome her in a demonstration of public allegiance that deepened her guilt. It was easier to justify her actions when she’d thought he was an asshole.

Following his lead, other mourners came forward to commiserate. Some tried to coax the gory details of Linda’s death out of her but she deflected all questions. So, she noticed, did Ross. She guessed very few genuinely liked Linda, most were here for Charlie—workmates, squash partners, friends from church.

Only once through the meet and greet did she draw a memory blank, on a bald old man, craggy as an eagle. The dog collar helped. Pastor Fred.

“The choir is inside, waiting for you, my dear.” She tried to smile. “Now who’s looking after the children during the final hymn?”

“Ross,” she said. “Or Charlie.”

“Aren’t they both carrying out the coffin?”

She hadn’t thought about that. From the blank expression on Ross’s face, neither had he. Single, childless…why would they have factored in those last five minutes?

Viv hesitated. Tilly would be okay with virtual strangers, Harry wouldn’t.

“I’ll do it.” Viv heard the familiar voice behind her and froze. A masculine hand landed on her shoulder. Instinctively her gaze went to Ross for help, but stony-faced, he was glaring at her brother. Viv cleared her throat, drawing his attention, and telegraphed an urgent message.
He’ll know.
Unlike Charlie, her brother wasn’t in a haze of grief. Unlike Charlie, who rarely saw Viv, her brother had had a lifetime to differentiate the twins. Immediately Ross stepped to obscure her from her brother’s view as Dan moved past her to embrace his brother-in-law. “Charlie. I’m so sorry, mate.”

“Dan, I didn’t really expect any of Meredith’s family to come…given the separation.” He was obviously choked up.

“Dad would have been here, too,” Dan said, “but one of us had to stay behind for lambing. He sends his condolences.” Her brother turned around and Viv ducked farther behind Ross.

“And we need to talk later,” he added to Ross. “So, Mer—”

Viv steeled herself for the inevitable exposure.

“Uncle Dan!” Tilly stopped playing with some remote paternal cousin Viv couldn’t immediately place and raced over, Harry trotting behind. Viv spun to scoop him up. Her back was now to her brother.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Dan greeted his niece. “You’ve grown so big, give me a kiss…. Mere?” Puzzlement entered his tone. “No hug for your big brother?”

Keeping her head down, Viv passed Harry to Ross and buried her face in Dan’s shoulder. It had been two years. Why the hell hadn’t he told anyone he was coming? This was so like him. Always catching her doing what she wasn’t supposed—

He started to pull away and, panicking, Viv tightened her hold. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Ross steering Charlie and Tilly toward another well-wisher.

“Mere? You okay?” In a low voice he murmured, “I didn’t expect you to take Linda’s death this hard.”

She pushed him, forcing him to take a step backward. Pushed again. If she could get him out of earshot. At three steps he balked.