The Brother's Wife. Amanda Stevens
Although that might be difficult, considering we would need a sample of Adam’s DNA.”
Hope, who had remained quiet and introspective the entire time, surprised herself now by speaking up. “It might not be as difficult as you think. Since Andrew was Adam’s identical twin, his DNA would be a virtual match, wouldn’t it?”
Michael’s blue gaze met hers, and for just an instant, Hope felt the man’s intensity, his displeasure, then it was gone, replaced by a wan smile. “But Andrew’s dead. That’s how I came to realize I might be his brother. As I said, I saw his picture in the paper and saw how much we looked alike.”
“Yes, I know,” Hope said, refusing to concede to the man’s melancholy charm as easily as Iris had. “But Andrew went in for a physical the day before he died. The lab might still have his blood specimen. And if not, I believe the hospital took a sample the night he died.”
“If that’s true, Victor would be able to make all the necessary arrangements,” Edward said.
“Why not let Jeremy look into it?” Pamela suggested.
“I’d be happy to do whatever I can,” Jeremy murmured.
“Nonsense,” Iris declared. “Victor is like family, and he has a great deal of experience in these matters. Not to mention his discretion,” she added unkindly, but didn’t see, as Hope did, Jeremy’s angry blush at her insinuation. Iris had already turned back to Michael. “I’m so glad you came here today. You have no idea how much better I feel, just seeing you.”
He smiled at her. “You’re exactly the way I pictured you after speaking with you on the phone, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“Call me Iris, please. `Mrs. Kingsley’ sounds so formal, and I do hope we’ll become friends. Andrew and I were very close, you know. He was a wonderful man.”
Hope started to turn away, not wanting to hear Iris’s glowing memories of Andrew, which were so different from her own recollections. But her gaze met Michael Eldridge’s, and slowly, almost imperceptibly he winked at her.
Hope stared at him in shock. The action was so much like Andrew that for a moment, the thought crossed her mind again that he was Andrew, perpetrating some elaborate hoax.
* * *
AFTER MICHAEL LEFT, Hope went up to have tea with Iris in her sitting room. As she settled onto a green silk settee, Hope thought again how much she loved this room. So much of the house seemed oppressive and gloomy, with the high-vaulted ceilings, the dark wood paneling, and the ornate, antique furnishings. But this room was sunlit and cheerful, done in gold, ivory and subtle shades of green.
A discreet knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a uniformed maid carrying a silver tea service on an ornate tray. The tea was poured, and Iris took a tentative sip from a delicate porcelain cup, then dismissed the maid with a satisfied nod.
As if in silent accord, the two women set aside their cups and turned to face each other. Iris had removed her suit jacket, and the blue silk blouse brought an unexpected sparkle to her eyes. She even wore a hint of blush, Hope noticed, or were the roses in the older woman’s cheeks natural? Iris had been so pale and listless since Andrew’s death. The vital woman sitting before Hope now seemed almost a stranger.
Before Hope had a chance to speak, Iris lifted her hand, which appeared steadier than it had in months. “I know what you’re about to say. Edward has already been in to see me, and I suspect Jeremy will be up before dinner. If he can muster the courage,” she added scornfully. “Let me assure you, as I did my beloved son and his wife, that I have no intention of making Michael Eldridge my heir until we have conclusive proof he is my grandson.”
Hope smiled at the woman’s forthrightness. No need beating about the bush with Iris. “I’m glad to hear that. Although I’m less worried about your will than I am about your heart. I don’t want to see it broken again.”
The old woman’s face crumpled for a moment, as she remembered Andrew’s death. She turned away until she’d regained her composure, then once again met Hope’s gaze. “Do you think he’s another impostor?”
Hope shrugged. “I don’t know. There’ve been so many. Especially since Andrew died.”
Iris drew a long, weary breath. “But none of them looked the way he does. Did you see his eyes, Hope? He’s a Kingsley. I’d stake my life on it.”
That was exactly what Hope was afraid of. “I think we should reserve judgment until we find out more about him.”
“He’s agreed to the DNA testing,” Iris reminded her.
“Yes, and hopefully, that’ll give us the proof we need. But those kinds of tests sometimes take weeks, I understand. In the meantime, you could have an investigator check him out—”
“No.”
Hope looked at the older woman in concern. “Why not? Surely you want to find out all you can about this man.”
Iris’s chin lifted in the arrogant, stubborn manner the family had seen too little of in the past few months. “I don’t want a stranger poking around in our affairs and compromising our privacy. I want this kept as quiet as possible. You know as well as I do what the media would do with a story like this. No matter what kind of life Michael has led, they would twist things to make it sound sordid, perhaps even criminal. Look at what they tried to do to poor Andrew. It wouldn’t be fair to Michael. Besides…” Her blue eyes grew even more determined. “I already know the truth about him. All I have to do is look at him.”
Hope leaned forward, taking Iris’s hand in hers. “I know he looks like Andrew. Enough like him to be his twin brother. But looks can be deceiving.”
“But he’s exactly like Andrew. The way he walks. The way he talks, laughs, smiles. Oh, Hope.” Iris’s grip tightened with surprising force on Hope’s hand. “Don’t you see? It’s as if Andrew’s come back to us.”
* * *
THAT NIGHT HOPE couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to get the image of Michael Eldridge out of her mind. His striking resemblance to Andrew had brought back so many painful memories. She couldn’t forget the way Andrew had looked the last time she’d seen him, the anger and hurt in his blue eyes as she’d lashed out at him. The cruel set of his mouth as he’d smiled down at her, taunting her.
In the stillness of the night, their last argument seemed to echo against the walls of the bedroom they’d shared for nearly a decade. Unable to stand the torment any longer, Hope got up and crossed the room, opening the French doors to the mild April night. She stepped onto the balcony that overlooked the rear gardens, trying to distance herself from the room and from the memories.
And from the guilt.
The sky was still and clear, with a sprinkling of stars and a full moon that silvered the aquamarine surface of the swimming pool. The scent from the wisteria near her window wafted on the evening breeze, and through the trees, Hope could see the flickering light from the groundskeeper’s cottage where Jake’s father lived. Where Jake was staying. She wondered if he was there now.
She closed her eyes as Andrew’s last words came back to haunt her.
“You’ve never gotten over him,” he’d accused her. “Why don’t you just admit it? You still love him. That’s why you want a divorce.”
“This isn’t about Jake,” Hope had said wearily, placing a stack of sweaters inside the open suitcase on their bed. Andrew sat across the room from her, sprawled in a chair by the window. His dark, brooding gaze followed her every move. “It never was about Jake, except in your mind. We could have had a good marriage, Andrew. I did love you. Once. But you never gave us a chance.”
She’d seen the truth of her words flicker in his eyes, replaced almost immediately by the darkness that had become all too familiar lately. “Like hell. Don’t blame me for this. And don’t try to pretend you’re not running