The Cinderella Act. Jennifer Lewis
equivalency diploma. He’d been married twice, and she hadn’t even had a serious relationship. They had literally nothing in common, except that they both slept under the roof of this house—her far more often than him.
Another week went by with no sign of Sinclair. Then the weekend loomed again. Friday evenings always made her jumpy. That’s when the weekend guests would show up. Usually there was warning, but not always. She kept the house in a state of gleaming readiness, basics in the fridge, fresh sheets on the beds and fresh beach towels at the ready, just in case.
In the past she’d waited anxiously near a window, hoping that Sinclair would show up, preferably without some gym-toned investment banker girlfriend in tow. Today she chewed a nail. What if he did turn up with a woman? Could she greet him with her usual smile and offer to take their bags, as if she hadn’t felt his hot breath on her neck and his hands on her bare backside?
When a car pulled in, her blood pressure soared. She immediately recognized the sound of Sinclair’s engine. Fighting an urge to go hide in the pantry, she hurried to the window. Please let him not have a woman with him. Spare her that at least, until she’d had more time to forget the feel of his lips against hers.
She cringed when an elegantly coiffed blonde alighted from the passenger seat. Thanks, Sinclair. Maybe he wanted to let her know, in no uncertain terms, that there was no possible future between them. Not that his hasty and apologetic departure two weeks ago had left any doubts on that score. Should she greet them at the door?
She wanted to run out the back door and head for the train.
You’re a professional. You can do this. She patted her hair and straightened the front of her clean pink-and-white-striped Oxford shirt. If he could pretend nothing had happened, so could she. Sooner or later they’d talk about it, and maybe they’d laugh.
Or maybe they’d never mention it. It would just be one of those wild, crazy things that happened.
Except that they usually happened to people other than her.
She pulled open the front door. “Good evening.” Bracing herself against the supercilious presence of his newest lady, she nodded and smiled.
“Hello, Annie.” His rich voice stabbed her somewhere deep and painful. “You remember my mother, of course.”
Annie’s gaze snapped to the elegant blonde. “Mrs. Drummond, how lovely to see you!” Thin as a rail and tanned to a deep nut-brown at all times of year, Sinclair’s mother gave the appearance of being much younger than her fifty-odd years. She spent most of her time traveling on exotic art tours, and Annie hadn’t seen her for nearly eleven months. Now, in her neurotic state, she’d transformed her into an imaginary rival.
“Annie, darling, I do hope I won’t be a burden.” Her big, pale gray eyes looked slightly glassy, and her tan wasn’t quite as oaken as usual. “But the doctor says I’m out of the jaws of death and ready for some sea air.”
“Fantastic.” She hurried around to the trunk where Sinclair was retrieving their weekend bags. Then the rear passenger door of the car opened. She almost jumped. A tall, slender woman with dark hair climbed out, mumbling into a cell phone.
Annie’s heart sank. Just when she thought she’d dodged that bullet, here was the new girlfriend.
She reached for one of the expensive bags, but Sinclair muttered, “I’ve got them,” took them both and strode for the door. She quietly closed the trunk, painfully aware of how he’d avoided meeting her eyes.
“Mrs. Drummond, why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea. If you’re allowed to drink tea, that is.”
She glanced back at the willowy young woman attempting to close the car door while juggling three large bags and her cell phone. It was probably in her job description to seize her bags with a smile, but she didn’t have it in her.
“Annie, dear, this is Vicki.” Mrs. Drummond indicated the girl, who looked up from her phone call long enough for a crisp smile.
Great. Vicki looked like exactly the kind of girl Sinclair didn’t need. Arrogant, cold and demanding. Shame, that seemed to be the kind of girl he liked.
Maybe he deserved them.
“Hello, Vicki. Let me take that.” Apparently she did have it in her, she thought, as she reached for the big silver bag with the D&G logo. Vicki, engrossed in her call, handed it over without a glance. Her sister always told her that she shouldn’t be waiting on these people hand and foot like an eighteenth-century parlor maid.
With a suppressed sigh, and of course, a polite smile, she led the way into the house, glad she’d kept it polished and ready as usual. Sinclair had disappeared, probably up to his room. With a heavy heart she climbed the stairs with Vicki’s bag in her hand. Vicki followed, laughing gaily into her phone. A glance into Mrs. Drummond’s usual suite confirmed that Sinclair had already dropped his mom’s bag on the bed. His room was the next one over, and she hesitated for a moment, wondering if Vicki’s bag was supposed to go in there, too.
“You don’t think I’m going to sleep with Sin!” Vicki’s voice pealed down the hallway.
Annie wheeled around. Vicki strolled along the hallway laughing. “God, no. I don’t think I even slept with him when we were teens, but it’s so long ago I can’t remember.”
“Vicki can go in the blue suite,” said Mrs. Drummond.
“Perfect. Suits my mood.” Vicki stopped and rested a bag on her hip for a moment, giving Annie time to take in her skinny gray parachute pants and skimpy white tank top, with a strange silver symbol dangling from a chain between her high breasts.
Annie blinked. “Of course.” So Vicki wasn’t Sinclair’s new girlfriend. Apparently she was someone from his past.
“Vicki’s an old and dear friend of the family. I’m surprised you haven’t met her before, Annie.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of a visit to the Drummond manse,” said Vicki, hoisting her snakeskin clutch higher under her arm. “Funny how the years have slipped past. I’m thrilled to be here with you all.”
Annie caught what might have been the barest possible hint of sarcasm in her voice, and her back immediately stiffened. Was Vicki here to take advantage of their hospitality, then make fun of them? She certainly didn’t look like Sinclair’s usual friends, with their carefully coiffed blond hair and cashmere twinsets.
“And we’re thrilled to have you here, darling.” Mrs. Drummond walked up to Vicki, placed a hand on either side of her head, and gave her an effusive kiss on the cheek. Vicki’s eyes closed for a second, and her forehead wrinkled with a pained expression. Annie stood staring. She’d never seen such a display of emotion from Mrs. Drummond. “It’ll be like old times.”
“God, I hope not.” Vicki shook herself. “I do hate traveling backwards. But it is good to be among old friends.” She looked ahead down the hall. “Which is the blue one? I’m dying for a shower.”
Annie jolted from her semifrozen state. “Sorry, it’s this way. I’ll bring fresh towels. Do you need some shampoo and conditioner?”
“I’ve got everything I need except the running water.” Vicki’s gaze lingered on Annie a teeny bit longer than was conventional. Annie’s stomach clenched. She got a very odd—and not good—feeling about Vicki. Who was she, and why was she here?
For dinner, Annie prepared one of Katherine Drummond’s favorite meals, seared salmon with blackberry sauce, accompanied by tiny new potatoes and crisp green beans from the local farmers market.
“How lovely! Obviously Sinclair remembered to tell you we were coming. I’m never sure if he will.” Katherine shot a doting glance at her son.
Annie smiled, and avoided looking at Sinclair as she served them. Experience had taught her to be prepared for almost anything. And she did get real satisfaction