business to attend social events with some divorced male celebrities to further keep talk about Parker and her down.
But now, since Parker’s secretary had been indicted, not only the gossip columns but even the news reports were openly stating that she and Parker were alleged to have been involved with
each other for years.
Sylvie knew that she had been under close scrutiny ever since Parker had disappeared. But the fact that the de la Marco family was known to be worth a fortune had been in her favor. The prenup
records were sealed, so no one knew how much she had gotten from Eduardo’s estate. She had always been careful about discussing it.
When she had a couple of scotches, she had complained to a few close friends that she could kick herself for signing a prenup that only gave her lifetime use of the apartment, maintenance of it,
and a monthly allowance.
Of course she had never intended that she wouldn’t get more. She had been sure that she would have been able to get Eduardo to tear up the prenup, but that had not happened.
Another bone of contention was that in their four-year marriage, she could never get Eduardo to let her redecorate. Then when he died, the decorator she got made no suggestions, just followed
her instructions. Everything was all wrong, Sylvie admitted to herself. That’s why the columnists call it the brass cage. The decorator’s only virtue was that she was cheap.
But had it been stupid to start a five-million-dollar renovation now? Parker had always been generous, but he had been furious when he realized that she had gone through his wallet and found the
receipt in the name of George Hawkins for the dinghy and outboard motor as well as the address and phone number in St. Thomas. She had made a copy of it. Just a hunch, she thought, but boy did it
work out!
Parker disappeared the next day. A week later she had tried the phone number and reached him.
It amused her that he almost dropped dead when she called him.
He had taken off with five billion dollars. The money she had requested him to send was a drop in the bucket compared with what he had. So why had he sounded so angry when she called him and
asked for more money last week?
He had never been cheap with her. Every piece of jewelry she wore had been a gift from Parker. In the prenup she had also agreed that any de la Marco gems Eduardo gave her were to be returned to
the family after his death.
Once the interior decorating was finished, she would take it easy on Parker.
Sylvie made that decision sitting in a satin robe in the library, as she was picking at the breakfast that the butler, Robert, had placed before her.
She had sipped the chilled fresh orange juice and had a few bites of the fruit. But it was the coffee she really wanted. Robert had poured the first cup. She could have rung the bell that would
have sent him scurrying from wherever he was to serve her, but instead she lifted the silver coffeepot and poured the second cup herself.
It was good to have a staff attending to her 24/7. Robert also served as her chauffeur in the Mercedes S500. Much as she wanted to have a Rolls, she had listened to Parker’s warning,
“Sylvie, stay under the radar.”
Mrs. Carson, the housekeeper, was from the old school, as Parker used to say about her. “Yes, ma’am.” “No, ma’am.” She was quiet and diligent. Age sixty to
one hundred, as Parker used to put it. But of course Mrs. Carson only saw him when she had a dinner party for six or more people.
The private entrance from the street and private elevator ensured Parker’s visits alone with her were discreet. Neither Mrs. Carson nor Carla, the maid, nor Robert stayed overnight. If
Parker was coming for dinner or to stay over, he arrived after they left and was out in the morning before they arrived. Chez Francis, the five-star restaurant on the lobby floor, would send up
dinner and then remove it later.
Parker would wait in the library with the door closed
But now, since Parker’s secretary had been indicted, not only the gossip columns but even the news reports were openly stating that she and Parker were alleged to have been involved with
each other for years.
Sylvie knew that she had been under close scrutiny ever since Parker had disappeared. But the fact that the de la Marco family was known to be worth a fortune had been in her favor. The prenup
records were sealed, so no one knew how much she had gotten from Eduardo’s estate. She had always been careful about discussing it.
When she had a couple of scotches, she had complained to a few close friends that she could kick herself for signing a prenup that only gave her lifetime use of the apartment, maintenance of it,
and a monthly allowance.
Of course she had never intended that she wouldn’t get more. She had been sure that she would have been able to get Eduardo to tear up the prenup, but that had not happened.
Another bone of contention was that in their four-year marriage, she could never get Eduardo to let her redecorate. Then when he died, the decorator she got made no suggestions, just followed
her instructions. Everything was all wrong, Sylvie admitted to herself. That’s why the columnists call it the brass cage. The decorator’s only virtue was that she was cheap.
But had it been stupid to start a five-million-dollar renovation now? Parker had always been generous, but he had been furious when he realized that she had gone through his wallet and found the
receipt in the name of George Hawkins for the dinghy and outboard motor as well as the address and phone number in St. Thomas. She had made a copy of it. Just a hunch, she thought, but boy did it
work out!
Parker disappeared the next day. A week later she had tried the phone number and reached him.
It amused her that he almost dropped dead when she called him.
He had taken off with five billion dollars. The money she had requested him to send was a drop in the bucket compared with what he had. So why had he sounded so angry when she called him and
asked for more money last week?
He had never been cheap with her. Every piece of jewelry she wore had been a gift from Parker. In the prenup she had also agreed that any de la Marco gems Eduardo gave her were to be returned to
the family after his death.
Once the interior decorating was finished, she would take it easy on Parker.
Sylvie made that decision sitting in a satin robe in the library, as she was picking at the breakfast that the butler, Robert, had placed before her.
She had sipped the chilled fresh orange juice and had a few bites of the fruit. But it was the coffee she really wanted. Robert had poured the first cup. She could have rung the bell that would
have sent him scurrying from wherever he was to serve her, but instead she lifted the silver coffeepot and poured the second cup herself.
It was good to have a staff attending to her 24/7. Robert also served as her chauffeur in the Mercedes S500. Much as she wanted to have a Rolls, she had listened to Parker’s warning,
“Sylvie, stay under the radar.”
Mrs. Carson, the housekeeper, was from the old school, as Parker used to say about her. “Yes, ma’am.” “No, ma’am.” She was quiet and diligent. Age sixty to
one hundred, as Parker used to put it. But of course Mrs. Carson only saw him when she had a dinner party for six or more people.
The private entrance from the street and private elevator ensured Parker’s visits alone with her were discreet. Neither Mrs. Carson nor Carla, the maid, nor Robert stayed overnight. If
Parker was coming for dinner or to stay over, he arrived after they left and was out in the morning before they arrived. Chez Francis, the five-star restaurant on the lobby floor, would send up
dinner and then remove it later.
Parker would wait in the library with the door closed
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