I roll up the blueprints and return them to the documents tube and then grab my mug from the bookcase and sit down to sip the coffee. I nibble on the homemade cookies, savoring each delicious bite. I don’t intend to go rushing to find the storage area just yet. I’ll wait a bit and then go. I’m not sure why I gave Amy the chance to redeem herself when no doubt she is telling George everything that transpired between us. This is the thing with trust. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.
I wait, listening for movement in the house, but hear nothing. I stand and move to the door and peek outside. There’s no one lurking around. I step back and facepalm my head. Stupid, stupid woman. I’ve forgotten about the CCTV cameras. I sit back at Jack’s desk and soon have his computer humming. I scroll through the mountain of files and then go to the program files and search for cameras. I find the software program for a security firm and then trace it to the correct files. The program named Beauford Manor Security opens and the screen breaks into multiple images of areas of the house. Right now, no one is in the hallways, so Amy has kept our conversation to herself.
I have no idea if George has access to the camera feed but I can’t risk him seeing me. I’m no computer expert by any means but turning the cameras off and on is simple. I turn off the cameras from the stairs all the way to the third floor. A complete blackout. When I’m done, I’ll turn them back on. I take a deep breath and head into the foyer, up the grand staircase as if heading for my bedroom and then continue up the stairs to thethird floor. This time I turn right and walk along a sumptuous hallway. I open one side of a huge double door and peer inside. A polished floor reflecting the light from a line of windows greets me. There is a bandstand at one end, beautiful antique chaise longues in peacock blue silk along one side and chandeliers glitter along the center of the ceiling. The drapes are blue velvet, tied back with gold ropes. “So, this is the ballroom.”
I close the door and walk along the passageway. I find bathrooms suitable for several guests but can’t find the storeroom. I keep walking to the end of the hallway and stare at the ornate carved oak wall panels. I go to each one and press them. The third one along clicks and pops open. I find a light switch beside the door and a white glow floods the room. A small chest of drawers holds clothes and a jewelry box. I see a photo album but the covered painting draws my attention. I pull back the cover and stare at the face. The young woman so lovingly portrayed has long blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes—and my face.
THIRTY-TWO
Disoriented and confused, I fall against the wall. My heart hammers with shock and I can’t breathe. What is happening? The implications rush through my mind and it’s too much to bear. I must get out of here. I grab the photo album and after closing the door behind me, I run back along the passageway and slip on the stairs, barely grabbing the handrail to prevent my fall. The photo album flies from my fingers and slides to the bottom of the steps. I stand panting for some moments and then move more slowly. I pick up the scattered images and stuff them back inside the folder. With the album gripped tightly under one arm, I somehow make it back to the office. I fall into the chair, panting, and quickly turn the cameras back on and close the computer. I must act normal and walk slowly to my bedroom. My mind is racing so fast and I can hear Jack’s words in my head. How much he loved Caroline and how no one came close to his first love until he met me. No wonder—I’m her doppelgänger. Did he marry me as a substitute for Caroline?
Once inside my bedroom, I sit at my table and flick through the photo album. There are images of Caroline and Jack at college, their wedding and honeymoon. They look so happy. The perfect couple. Jack is so young and happiness spills fromthe images. I resemble her but we’re not identical, although the painting looks more like me. In the back of my mind, I wonder if Jack intends to place Caroline’s portrait in the foyer and pretend it’s me. Is that why he took so much trouble to prevent me from seeing it? Is my marriage a lie? Uncertainty boils in my veins. Does he even love me? I pull my phone from my pocket and call Jack. The call is diverted to his secretary, Julia Hunker. “This is Mrs. Hunter. I need to speak to Jack.”
“I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.” Julia pauses for a beat. “He should be through by lunchtime. Do you want me to leave him a message to call you?”
The room seems to close in around me. I’m trapped in this house, surrounded by people I can’t trust and now I can’t speak to my husband. Trying not to lose it, I grip the phone so hard my hand hurts. “I know he had a meeting today but this is urgent. I want you to put me through to him now.”
“Mrs. Hunter, when Jack asks not to be disturbed, I don’t disturb him.” She sighs. “I’m sure you understand? He is meeting with a high-profile client to sign contracts for a new development.”
Panic curls in my stomach; it’s as if I’m falling in an out-of-control elevator. I suck in a breath. “If you want a job tomorrow, I suggest you put me through to my husband—now!”
I wait and hear clicking on the line. Julia is obviously telling Jack I’m being a problem. I break down when his voice comes on the line.
“Willow, what’s wrong?” Jack’s voice is like a soothing balm. “What is it, darling? Has something happened to the children?”
I’m crying, tears are spilling down my cheeks. “Jack, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what? Are you crying?” I hear footsteps on tile. “What’s happened?”
I tell him about the conversation I overheard between George and Amy and about my visit to the storeroom. “Why are they checking up on me and why didn’t you tell me I look exactly like Caroline? Am I a replacement for the only love in your life? Do you think of her every night we’re making love?”
Silence.
Anger wells and I want to disconnect, pack my bags and go back to LA but I stand my ground. “Well?”
“I wish you wouldn’t go through the storerooms or the loft when I’m not with you.” He clears his throat. “There are many things in my past that might need explaining, I’ve never said I was a monk. Willow, your resemblance to Caroline is just a coincidence is all. She was a long time ago. This is our time now. Please don’t allow this to upset you.” I hear a door close and Jack lowers his voice. “You’re nothing like her and no, I rarely think of her and never when I’m with you. I married you because I love you, Willow, and for no other reason. I have no idea what George and Amy think they’re doing but I’ll speak to them when I get home.” He takes a breath. “I need to get back to my client. This is a multimillion-dollar deal and I just walked out on him mid-sentence.”
I swipe at my tears with my sleeve. He is trying to soothe my ego but I can’t erase my suspicion that something is very wrong. How come I’m the only person seeing it? Two wives die in accidents, with the same people at the scenes. The staff are plotting against me with my husband and he didn’t even try to deny it. What else is he hiding from me? I’m trembling but this call is getting me nowhere. It seems I need to go it alone to discover the truth. “Okay. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Don’t be. I understand and I’ll be home soon.” He disconnects.
I’m staggered by his evasion but I’m more determined now to keep going. I need the photo album to match up the faces of thepeople involved over the time both Caroline and Laura died. I go through the album and, using my phone, copy the group images. Now all I need to do is find the same information about Laura. Will I find photographs in the loft or secreted inside Laura’s boudoir? The thought of going back inside that room sends chills down my spine. I really have no choice. I must discover who was involved because next time it might be my neck on the line.
THIRTY-THREE
I don’t care if anyone sees me running up the stairs. This is my house and it’s about time I took control. Those people work for us and, if they keep spying on me, I’ll insist that we either move or fire them. I am prepared to see inside Laura’s room this time; I unlock her door and fling it wide and then take the small table from outside and push it against the door. No one is going to shut me inside this time.
Without hesitating, I walk straight to the dressing room and open the door. I find the light switch easily and making sure the door is wide open I take the chair from in front of the dressing table and push it under the doorknob. Anger at being deceived surges through me as I scan the room. I try to put myself in Laura’s place. Where would she keep her wedding photographs? As they are not something a person would look at daily, I assume they would be tucked away in one of the closets. Meticulously I open each door, moving piles of sweaters, and then I shake my head and turn around slowly. A chest of drawers is against one wall and I slide out each one; there, right at the bottom, is a pearl-white box, with the names Laura and Jack printed in gold, and underneath the date of their wedding.
As I stare at the box, the musty smell of the room and Laura’s perfume envelops me and anxiety grips me with a ferocity that’s unnerving. I stare at the closet that contains the mannequin wearing Laura’s wedding gown, and the need to be far away from this room rushes through me. I pick up the box and, without bothering to shut any of the doors, I dash out into the hallway and head back downstairs to my room. The smell of Laura’s perfume clings to me and, after dropping the box onto the table, I dash into the bathroom and thoroughly wash my face and hands. I pace up and down my room. One part of me wants to discover their closest friends, while the other part of me fears what the truth might reveal. How far would a close friend go to protect Jack if he is responsible for the deaths of his wives?
What if I’m wrong?
A wave of exhaustion washes over me. Am I thinking straight? Has moving into this horrible house and having to compete with a dead woman altered my normally sound judgment? How much of what I’m feeling is an overreaction? I lean on the table and stare out of the window, trying to gain perspective. I’ve never allowed people to get to me like this before and, trust me, in my business people are trying to walk over the top of you all the time. Being an actor and having to constantly join the line of others auditioning for the same part has shown me sides of people I didn’t know existed. Perhaps I’ve been too critical on the staff here. After all, they have been working for Jack for many years and are obviously loyal to him. To them I am an outsider and it would be normal for them to be protective toward him, especially after dealing with Laura’s unstable personality.
I picture each staff member and recall the variations they gave me of the night Laura died and shake my head. I’m convinced there’s been a cover-up, and nothing that’s been happening since I arrived here will allow me to come to anyother conclusion. I glance down at the white box, take a breath and remove the cover. I lift out the leather-bound volume and flip over the pages. To my surprise, the sparkle in Jack’s eyes is drastically different to when he married Caroline. He smiles at the camera, but it seems false. I’ve seen him smile with happiness. He told me he loved Laura—he’s made this house and her belongings into a shrine to her memory—but the man in these photographs tells me a different story. I pass over the usual bride and groom images to look at the friends and family. Using my phone camera, I copy as many of them as possible.
I download everything I can find of Laura’s and Caroline’s weddings onto my laptop. I include the newspaper articles listing the names of the people at the wedding. I line up the pictures on my screen and, even though there is a time difference, it’s easy to make out who’s who. The group of people we went to lunch with at the yacht club have been close friends for many years and most of them from college. I notice Laura in a few of the socialite events but she isn’t with Jack but obviously moved in the same circles. The newspaper clippings I discovered about their marriage were written after the fact, more as a mention than a society event. I scratch my head, trying to make sense of it all. My marriage to Jack was very private and, as far as I know, it never made mention in any of the newspapers, so I must assume that was the same with his marriage to Laura, although she didn’t seem the type to agree to anything else but a full-on wedding with all the trimmings.
