Perry and me, is it?”
Janelle hesitated just a fraction of a second before she said quickly, “No, of course not. Darlene is just a young jealous wife who doesn’t fit in. I don’t know why Perry married her.” Then she corrected herself. “Of course I do. Everybody does. His first wife, Dora, was a down-to-earth, plain-looking woman who didn’t quite adapt to the social status that came with Perry’s financial success. After Dora’s death a couple of years ago, along comes sexy, ambitious Darlene, only a few years older than Perry’s son, Gary. Well, you can guess the rest. Perry got himself a trophy wife, but pays the price of being married to a jealous woman in the bargain.”
“And she thinks he’s pulling some kind of trick on her?”
Janelle nodded. “She refuses to have any kind of memorial service for him. According to her, you and Perry have cooked up some scheme to drain all the money and leave her without any.”
Trish steadily met Janelle’s hazel eyes. “And what do you believe?”
“I think it’s a lot of poppycock,” she answered readily. “Why on earth would you be faking amnesia?”
“Thank you,” Trish said wearily. Trying to convince others that she couldn’t remember was an added burden to an already overpowering load.
“You let me handle Darlene,” Janelle said, setting the pictures and the album on a side table. Then she frankly eyed Trish. “Is Mr. Davis planning on moving in with you?”
“No, of course, not. I already feel guilty about all the things he’s done for me. There’s no reason to turn his life upside down, too.”
“Then I’ll stay here with you for a few days, and run interference. I can be a bear cat when the need arises—at least, that’s what the people at the office whisper behind my back.” She hesitated. “And when you feel ready to check things out at the company, just let me know.”
The thought of facing that kind of demanding inspection in a company of people she didn’t remember sent a cold prickling up her spine. She couldn’t remember anything about her role as a partner in Atlantis Enterprises. Her expression must have shown her disappointment because Janelle quickly put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
“It’s all right, Patricia—”
“Don’t call me, Patricia,” Trish said with stiff lips.
“All right,” Janelle agreed quickly. “Would you like to see the rest of the house, Trish? And catch up with Sasha?” At Trish’s frown, Janelle said, “You hired her as your housekeeper a year ago. She comes in early to fix your breakfast, does the housekeeping chores during the days and leaves after fixing dinner—if you’re eating at home,” she added, as if that wasn’t the usual case. “Don’t be afraid to ask her to do anything that will make you feel at home.”
Trish nodded, but she didn’t know what the housekeeper or anyone else could do to make her feel at “home.”
W HEN A NDREW ARRIVED later in the day, Sasha told him that Ms. Radcliffe was resting, but had left instructions that she was to be informed when he arrived.
“Would you like to wait in the small parlor?” the housekeeper asked, her large dark eyes curious as she smiled at him. Obviously, the drama of her mistress’s unexpected return had brightened up her routine life, thought Andrew.
“Yes, thank you.”
Sasha led him across the hall to a cozy room that was half the size of the living room, and furnished with a stylish upholstered sofa and chairs in a casual decor. He was surprised to see a small spinet piano placed in the corner of the room, and several original watercolors hanging on the wall. It was obvious that someone was a lover of music and art. Trish? He remembered the way she had responded to his efforts with his guitar, and he suddenly felt chagrined at the amateur level of his offerings. Was she an accomplished pianist? Had she spent as much as his yearly salary on one of these original paintings? A bigger
Janelle hesitated just a fraction of a second before she said quickly, “No, of course not. Darlene is just a young jealous wife who doesn’t fit in. I don’t know why Perry married her.” Then she corrected herself. “Of course I do. Everybody does. His first wife, Dora, was a down-to-earth, plain-looking woman who didn’t quite adapt to the social status that came with Perry’s financial success. After Dora’s death a couple of years ago, along comes sexy, ambitious Darlene, only a few years older than Perry’s son, Gary. Well, you can guess the rest. Perry got himself a trophy wife, but pays the price of being married to a jealous woman in the bargain.”
“And she thinks he’s pulling some kind of trick on her?”
Janelle nodded. “She refuses to have any kind of memorial service for him. According to her, you and Perry have cooked up some scheme to drain all the money and leave her without any.”
Trish steadily met Janelle’s hazel eyes. “And what do you believe?”
“I think it’s a lot of poppycock,” she answered readily. “Why on earth would you be faking amnesia?”
“Thank you,” Trish said wearily. Trying to convince others that she couldn’t remember was an added burden to an already overpowering load.
“You let me handle Darlene,” Janelle said, setting the pictures and the album on a side table. Then she frankly eyed Trish. “Is Mr. Davis planning on moving in with you?”
“No, of course, not. I already feel guilty about all the things he’s done for me. There’s no reason to turn his life upside down, too.”
“Then I’ll stay here with you for a few days, and run interference. I can be a bear cat when the need arises—at least, that’s what the people at the office whisper behind my back.” She hesitated. “And when you feel ready to check things out at the company, just let me know.”
The thought of facing that kind of demanding inspection in a company of people she didn’t remember sent a cold prickling up her spine. She couldn’t remember anything about her role as a partner in Atlantis Enterprises. Her expression must have shown her disappointment because Janelle quickly put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
“It’s all right, Patricia—”
“Don’t call me, Patricia,” Trish said with stiff lips.
“All right,” Janelle agreed quickly. “Would you like to see the rest of the house, Trish? And catch up with Sasha?” At Trish’s frown, Janelle said, “You hired her as your housekeeper a year ago. She comes in early to fix your breakfast, does the housekeeping chores during the days and leaves after fixing dinner—if you’re eating at home,” she added, as if that wasn’t the usual case. “Don’t be afraid to ask her to do anything that will make you feel at home.”
Trish nodded, but she didn’t know what the housekeeper or anyone else could do to make her feel at “home.”
W HEN A NDREW ARRIVED later in the day, Sasha told him that Ms. Radcliffe was resting, but had left instructions that she was to be informed when he arrived.
“Would you like to wait in the small parlor?” the housekeeper asked, her large dark eyes curious as she smiled at him. Obviously, the drama of her mistress’s unexpected return had brightened up her routine life, thought Andrew.
“Yes, thank you.”
Sasha led him across the hall to a cozy room that was half the size of the living room, and furnished with a stylish upholstered sofa and chairs in a casual decor. He was surprised to see a small spinet piano placed in the corner of the room, and several original watercolors hanging on the wall. It was obvious that someone was a lover of music and art. Trish? He remembered the way she had responded to his efforts with his guitar, and he suddenly felt chagrined at the amateur level of his offerings. Was she an accomplished pianist? Had she spent as much as his yearly salary on one of these original paintings? A bigger
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