Luis was an accomplished lover, but he was also an uneducated man with a pregnant wife, so she’d definitely decided not to continue their sexual tryst. Last night was the final time. It was memorable and now it was over.
She’d slept with her new diamond earrings on the bedside table, and the first thing she did when she woke up in the morning was to admire them. They were simply the most beautiful pieces of jewelry she’d ever possessed.
Marta brought her breakfast on a tray.
“What a lovely day it is today, Marta,” she said, smiling at the woman.
Marta nodded, her face surly. She’d seen the señora bringing Luis into the house the previous day. She’d seen him follow her up the stairs into her bedroom, then she’d seen him depart several hours later. It wasn’t right. Should she warn his wife? But if she did, Luis would be out of a job and she knew his family did not have much money.
One thing she did know, and that was, as the Bonars’ housekeeper, the safest thing was to keep her mouth shut.
However, she couldn’t help confiding in her cousin, Rosa, the Bonars’ cook in Acapulco.
“What the señora does is nothing,” Rosa spat. “Señor Bonar has mistresses everywhere. It is good she does it back to him.”
“Luis is a nice boy,” Marta insisted. “I know the family, his wife is pregnant.”
“So what?” Rosa responded. “If I was sleeping with a man other than my husband, I’d choose someone young too.”
“And married?” Marta said disapprovingly.
“You can’t blame the woman. Señor Bonar is a pig—he ignores his wife and manhandles me. I’m forced to accept the way he humiliates me in front of his friends. He often threatens to fire me, then he thinks it’s so funny. I loathe him.”
“Why don’t you quit?” Marta asked.
“Why don’t you?” Rosa responded.
They both knew that neither of them could afford to.
Unaware of the heated conversation going on downstairs, Irma glanced at the morning paper, ate her scrambled eggs and toast, and finally got out of bed. Had Marta noticed the diamond earrings lying on her bedside table? She probably should have put them away; tempting the staff was not wise.
Excited at the thought of Anthony taking her to Las Vegas, she realized he had not taken her anywhere in years. This could be a new beginning. A second honeymoon.
She went into the bathroom and ran a bath.
When Anthony phoned her later she wasn’t surprised. She’d been expecting to hear from him.
“My earrings are beautiful,” she said. “I can’t wait to wear them.”
“I haven’t left yet,” Anthony said. “I’m still here.”
“You are? Why?”
“There was a problem with my plane. Didn’t wanna bother you, so I spent the night at a hotel.”
“You should’ve come home,” she said, thinking of the consequences if he’d discovered her in bed with Luis. It did not bear thinking about.
“We’ll have lunch again before I leave,” he said. “I’ll take you back to the same jewelry store, buy you somethin’ else. Wouldja like that?”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m gonna send the car for you.”
“What about Las Vegas?” she asked hopefully. “Am I still going with you? I can pack and be ready to go with you today.”
“Not a bad idea,” he said. “Do that. Don’t bring much with you—only a small bag.”
“But if it’s a big opening, surely I’ll need a gown?”
“You’ll pick up whatever you want in Vegas. An’ don’t forget t’bring your earrings.”
“As if I’d forget.”
“See you later,” he said, hanging up the phone and calling for The Grill.
“Yes, boss?”
“Go get it now,” he ordered. “An’ make sure the car bringin’ my wife is delayed on the way here.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Make it fast.”
“Yes, boss,” the big man said, his wide face impassive.
Anthony rubbed his eyes and thought about what he’d do if the evidence was incriminating.
Someone would end up dead.
That he knew for sure.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
The funeral of Penelope Whitfield-Simmons was a somber affair. It took place in Pasadena and there were almost a hundred mourners gathered at the graveside. Front and center was Penelope’s only son and heir, Henry Whitfield-Simmons.
Henry stood with his head bowed. Later he maintained the same desolate expression as people lined up to offer him their condolences. He recognized most of the women—they were his mother’s friends, the pack of vicious gossips she’d surrounded herself with. The same women who’d either laughed at him or ignored him. It was different now that he was about to inherit the Whitfield-Simmons fortune.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” one of the women said, gripping his arm with a clawlike hand. “What will you do?”
I will be very happy, he thought. Very happy and very rich.
“I’ll manage,” he said, adding a forlorn, “We’ll all miss her so much.”
“I know, dear,” another woman said, patting his shoulder as if he were a pet dog. “Your mother was so fond of you, Henry. She talked about you all the time.”
“She did?” he said, not believing her for a minute.
“Yes,” the woman continued. “She was worried that you’d never find the right girl. I was delighted when she phoned me last week and told me that you had indeed met somebody.”
“She was right,” Henry said. “I have.”
“That’s wonderful news. The right girl will help you get over this sad occasion. Penelope wanted nothing more than to see you happily married, and perhaps one day have children of your own.”
“It’ll happen,” Henry said, imagining what a beautiful baby he and Maria would produce. “If we have a daughter, we’ll call her Penelope.”
“Such a precious sentiment,” the woman sighed.
Henry nodded. Yes it is.
There was a formal reception back at the mansion. It seemed to Henry that most of the people who attended wanted nothing more than to drink and eat and gossip amongst themselves. They were certainly not there to mourn Penelope Whitfield-Simmons, and although some of them mentioned her in passing, it was more of a social occasion.
“She was so young,” one woman said. “To think that the poor dear simply went to sleep one night and failed to wake up the next morning.”
“Yes,” Henry said. “According to the doctor, her heart stopped beating.”
“It’s so sad,” the woman said. “But at least it was a peaceful ending.”
His mother’s lawyer was there, a heavyset man wearing a suit and horn-rimmed glasses.
“We have a lot to talk about, young man,” the lawyer said, approaching him in a blustery fashion.
“We certainly do,” Henry replied, getting right to the point. “I understand that I am the sole beneficiary.”
“Your mother told you that?”
“She certainly did. We discussed everything, especially my upcoming trip.”
“You’re going away?”
“Yes. I have an important trip to make that I cannot postpone. I’ll be leaving at the end of the week. My mother was arranging for a substantial amount of cash for me to take. Since I am the sole heir, I’m sure you will see that it is taken care of before things are officially settled.”
“How much did your mother promise?” the lawyer asked.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Henry said calmly. “And also please have your office arrange a black American Express card for me. I’ll need it while I’m traveling.”
“Where will you be going, Henry?”
“Europe. In the meantime I’ve decided to put the house on the market, so perhaps you can take care of that too.”
“You’re putting your mother’s house on the market?” the lawyer said, expressing surprise. “Surely you shoul
d think about this for a while.”
“I do not need to. My mother and I discussed it many times. She didn’t want me living here by myself surrounded by memories. She was adamant that when she died I must sell the house.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll be in touch. And I wish to have the money and the credit card before the end of the week.”
The house was delightfully peaceful when everybody finally left and he was alone. The live-in couple retired to their apartment above the garage, while Markus went home at night.
Before Markus left, Henry had informed him that he would shortly be going on a trip. “Prepare the Bentley,” he’d ordered.
“Mrs. Whitfield-Simmons’s Bentley?” Markus had said, acting as if she were still alive and likely to object.
“The Bentley is mine now, Markus, so make sure it’s gassed up and ready, because last time I took the Volvo it ran out of gas. That was your fault. Isn’t your job to see that each one of the cars are fully gassed at all times?”
Markus had shied away from Henry Whitfield-Simmons, who seemed to have developed a new aggressive personality overnight. “Yes, Mr. Henry,” he’d muttered.
“Then if you wish to keep your job, make certain it’s done.”
Alone in the house, Henry wandered around, realizing that the only part of the house he was really familiar with was his own room. Now he could go where he wanted, touch whatever he felt like touching. As a child the only words he remembered his mother saying over and over were, “Don’t touch that, Henry, you’re so clumsy, you’ll break it.”
Now he could break anything he felt like, because everything was his.
He sat in Penelope Whitfield-Simmons’s bedroom and read her obituary in the Times. Then he carefully cut it out and placed it in his wallet.
Penelope Whitfield-Simmons was dead.
It was her own fault.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
“Jeez,” Ace whistled. “You didn’t warn me that you lived in a freaking palace.”
“This is just a rental place,” Max said casually, greeting him at the door. “Our real home’s in Malibu.”
“A rental?” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “More like a hotel. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Now that you’re here, come on in,” she said, taking his arm, trying to conceal her excitement at seeing him.
“I dunno why I said yes to this,” he mused.
“Oh, I do,” she said teasingly. “You were desperate to see me again. You couldn’t wait!”
“You’re a cocky little thing, aren’t you?” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“So I’ve been told,” she replied, leading him into the grand entry hall.
“I feel like I’m in the lobby of a Hilton,” he said, gazing around.
“Mom would love to hear that,” she said, laughing.
“Is the dragon lady around?”
“She’d freak if she heard you calling her that. And no, she’s safely in Vegas awaiting our presence.”
“Does that mean I get to meet her?”
“Of course,” she said, still holding on to his arm. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs, I’ll show you your room.”
“I have a room?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I thought the whole point of my coming here was that we were heading straight to Vegas.”
“We’re leaving first thing in the morning,” she assured him. “Tonight you get to see L.A.”
“It wasn’t what we planned, Max.”
“Plans change, and Harry’s got a new SUV, so—”
“Who’s Harry?” he interrupted.
“I told you about Harry, he’s my gay friend. You don’t mind that he’s gay, do you?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Just thought I’d fill you in.”
“You think he’ll try to jump me?”
“Sure,” she joked. “Scared?”
“Shaking,” he deadpanned.
“My other friend, Cookie, is meeting us later with Harry,” she said, opening the door to the guest room.
“Is she gay too?”
“No. Now stop it,” she said, laughing again.
“Am I supposed to sleep here?” he said, throwing his duffel bag on the floor. “It’s bigger than my entire house.”
“It’s not that big. By the way, did you bring a tuxedo?”
“Do I look like the kinda dude who has a tuxedo?” he said, giving her a quizzical look.
“No,” she said, hardly able to take her eyes off him. “But I told you the opening was like, black tie, didn’t I?”
“How do I know what black tie means? I brought a suit and I brought a tie. Sorry—neither of them are black.”
“We could rent you a tuxedo,” she suggested.
“No thanks.”
“Why not?”
“The penguin look doesn’t suit me.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Kinda,” he replied.
“Let’s go down to the kitchen then.”
He followed her downstairs where she asked Philippe to make them a sandwich. Then she led him out to the pool.
“This place is like something out of a movie,” he marveled. “It’s so big.”
“Our house in Malibu is much nicer. I love the ocean, don’t you?”
Philippe brought them out toasted-cheese-and-tomato sandwiches and a selection of soft drinks.
“You really live the cushy life, don’t you?” Ace said.
“Uh, how’s your girlfriend?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He threw her a penetrating look. “If I was still with her, do you think I’d be here?”
“You mean you broke up?” she said, attempting to sound casual, but desperate to find out everything.
“You got it.”
“What happened?”
“She dumped me.”
“She dumped you?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d she do that?”
“’Cause I was supposed to meet her the night we got kidnapped, and when I never turned up she was pissed, so she went off with one of my friends.”
“Wow! That’s not nice.”
“This is even not nicer—they both got drunk and got it on. When I found out, it was my turn to be pissed, so I guess you could say we kinda dumped each other. End of story.”
She was dying to ask him a ton more questions, but then she figured it wouldn’t be cool if she showed too much interest.
“What’s going on with you an’ your boyfriend?” he asked, springing open a can of Coke.
“Uh … we broke up,” she mumbled.
“Who did the dumping?”
“Who do you think?”
“You?”
“I caught him out with another girl, so I said good-bye.”
“We’re some pair.”
“Are we a pair?” she asked hopefully.
“No, we’re two people who just got caught up in a bad scene and now we’re friends.”
“Sure we are.”
“Hey, Max, I’m not forgetting how old you are, so don’t go reading anything into this trip.”
“What’s my age got to do with anything?” she said, irritated.
“You’re sixteen, Max. I’m here as your friend an’ that’s all.”
“Ooh,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. “And there was little old me thinking you came to ravish my teenage body.”
“I came ’cause I needed to get away,” he said, quite serious.
“Not to see me?”
“To see you too. Oh yeah,” he added, lightening up, “an’ to get that twenty bucks you owe me.”
“Like I’d forget,” she said, digging in her jeans pocket and handing him a couple of crumpled tens. “See, I had it all ready for you.”
“I was kidding.”
“It’s your money, take it.”
Later they met up with Cookie and Har
ry at the Cheesecake Factory in Beverly Hills.
Cookie took one look at Ace and liked what she saw. “Definite babe magnet,” she mouthed to Max behind his back.
“Ace just broke up with his girlfriend,” Max announced as they sat down.
“That’s convenient,” Harry said, paler than ever. “Now you two can get it on.”
Max threw him a furious look.
“My dad’s taking a plane up to Vegas tomorrow, so if we don’t feel like driving, we can fly with him,” Cookie said, ordering a Diet Coke. “Anyone wanna do that?”
“I thought we were testing out my new car,” Harry interjected. “Got a few records I wanna break.”
“What do you feel like doing?” Max asked, turning to Ace.
“You people are unbelievable,” he said, wondering what he was doing hanging out with this bunch of rich kids with whom he had nothing in common. “Planes, new cars—I’m not used to this.”
“Yeah, well, since you and Max are hooking up, you’d better get used to it,” Harry said, picking up the menu.
“Nobody’s hooking up,” Max replied, glaring at him. What was wrong with Harry? He was behaving like a dick.
“That’s right,” Ace said. “We’re just friends.”
“Really?” Cookie said disbelievingly.
“I guess Max told you what happened to us?” Ace said. “It was some screwed-up experience.”
“Yeah, like major spooky,” Cookie said. “I warned her about weirdos online, but Max never listens to anyone.”
“Please don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Max said quickly.
“I was all for going to the cops,” Ace said. “She wouldn’t let me.”
“Good boy,“Harry sneered. “You’ll find it pays to be obedient around our Max, she’s a total control freak.”
“Shut up, Harry,” Max warned. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” he answered sulkily.
“Max told us you were kinda like a superhero,” Cookie said. “Y’know, rescuing her, getting her outta there.”
“I did what I had to,” Ace said modestly, while Harry made a face and pretended to throw up.
During the course of the dinner, Max discovered several things about Ace. He did not smoke, he did not do drugs, and he went to church with his brother every Sunday. He was so unlike most of the boys she knew, and she was fast becoming totally crazy about him. By the time they’d finished eating and had made their way to the club Harry was so sure they’d get into, she was feeling quite dizzy, and not in a bad way.