Genuine Lies (4 page)

The grounds were exquisite, graced with lovely old trees and trimmed shrubs that would flower early in the mild climate. A peacock strutted on the lawn, and his hen sent up a scream like a woman. Julia chuckled when Brandon’s mouth fell open.

There was a pond dotted with lily pads. Over it arched a fanciful walking bridge. They had left behind, only hours before, the snow and frigid winds of the Northeast and come to paradise. Eve’s Eden. She had stepped out of a Currier and Ives print into a Dali painting.

Then the house rose into view, and she was as speechless as her son. Like the car, it was glistening white, three graceful stories in an “E” shape, with lovely shaded courtyards between the bars. The house was as feminine, timeless, elaborate as the woman who owned it. Curved windows and archways softened its lines without detracting from its aura of strength. Balconies, their iron work as delicate as white lace, draped the upper stories. In vivid contrast, trellised flowers in bold colors of
scarlet, sapphire, purple, and saffron sliced arrogantly up the white, white walls.

When Lyle opened the door, Julia was struck by the silence. No sound from the world outside the high walls penetrated here. No car engines, belching buses, or squealing tires would have dared to intrude. There was only birdsong, and the seductive whisper of the breeze through fragrant leaves, the tinkle of water from a fountain in the courtyard. Above, the sky was a dreamy blue trimmed with a few powder-puff clouds.

Again she had the dislocated feeling of walking into a painting.

“Your luggage will be delivered to the guest house, Ms. Summers,” Lyle told her. He had examined her in the rearview mirror during the long drive, speculating about the best ways to interest her in a quick tussle in his room over the garage. “Miss Benedict asked that I bring you here, first.”

She didn’t encourage or discourage the gleam in his eye. “Thank you.” Julia looked at the curving apron of white marble steps, then tucked her son’s hand in hers.

Inside, Eve stepped away from the window. She had wanted to see them first. Had needed to. Julia was more delicate-looking in person than she’d been led to expect from the photographs she’d seen. The young woman had excellent taste in clothes. The trim strawberry-colored suit and subtle jewelry she wore met with Eve’s approval. As did the posture.

And the boy … the boy had had a sweet face and an air of suppressed energy. He would do, she told herself, and closed her eyes. They would both do very well.

Opening her eyes again, she moved to her nightstand. In the drawer were the pills only she and her doctor knew she needed. There was also a crudely printed note on cheap paper.

As a threat, Eve found it laughable. And encouraging. She hadn’t yet begun the book, and already people were sweating. The fact that it could have come from several
sources only made the game more interesting. Her rules, she thought. The power was in her hands. It was long past time she used it.

She poured water from the Baccarat carafe—swallowed the medication, hated the weakness. After replacing the pills, she walked to a long silver-framed mirror. She had to stop wondering if she was making a mistake. She didn’t care to second-guess herself once a decision had been made. Not now. Not ever.

With careful, brutally honest eyes, she checked her own reflection. The emerald-toned silk jump suit was flattering. She had done her own makeup and hair only an hour before. Gold glinted at her ears, her throat, her fingers. Assured she looked every bit the star, she started downstairs. She would, as always, make an entrance.

A cool-eyed, beefy-armed housekeeper who called herself Travers, had shown Julia and Brandon into the salon. Tea, they were told, would be forthcoming. They were to make themselves at home.

Julia wondered that anyone could consider such a room in such a house home. Color tumbled into color, streaking and spilling over white walls, white carpet, white upholstery. Pillows and paintings, flowers and porcelain were all dramatic accents against a pristine background. The high ceiling was ornate with plasterwork. The windows were scalloped with teal silk.

But it was the painting, the larger-than-life-size portrait over the white marble fireplace that was the focal point. Despite the drama of the room, the painting dominated … and demanded.

Still clutching Brandon’s hand, Julia stared up at it. Eve Benedict, nearly forty years before, her beauty staggering, her power awesome. Crimson satin slid off her bare shoulders, draped over her lush body as she stood, laughing down at her audience, not so much with humor as with knowledge. Her hair flowed simply, dark as ebony. She wore no jewelry. Needed none.

“Who is that?” Brandon wanted to know. “Is she like a queen?”

“Yes.” Julia bent down to kiss the top of his head. “That’s Eve Benedict, and she’s very much like a queen.”

“Carlotta,” Eve said in her rich, whiskey voice as she entered. “From
No Tomorrows.”

Julia turned and faced the woman. “MGM, 1951,” Julia acknowledged. “You played opposite Montgomery Clift. It was your first Oscar.”

“Very good.” Eve kept her eyes on Julia’s as she crossed the room and extended her hand. “Welcome to California, Ms. Summers.”

“Thank you.” Julia found her hand held in a firm grip while Eve studied her. Knowing the first moments of this relationship would be crucial, she returned the look measure for measure. She saw that both the power and the beauty had aged, and had grown.

With her own thoughts well concealed, Eve looked down at Brandon. “And you are Mr. Summers.”

He giggled at that and shot a glance at his mother. “I guess. It’s okay to call me Brandon, though.”

“Thank you.” She had an urge to touch his hair, and repressed it. “You may call me … Miss B. for lack of something better. Ah, Travers, always prompt.” She nodded as the housekeeper wheeled in the tea tray. “Please sit down, I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’d like to settle in.” She took a high-backed white chair and waited until Julia and the boy sat on the couch. “We’ll dine at seven, but since I know the food on the plane was ghastly, I thought you’d like a little something.”

Brandon, who had been unenthusiastic about tea, noted that the little something included frosted cakes, tiny sandwiches, and a tall pitcher of lemonade. He grinned.

“It’s very kind of you,” Julia began.

“We’ll be spending quite a bit of time together, so you’ll find out that I’m rarely kind. Isn’t that so, Travers?”

Travers merely grunted and set delicate china plates on the coffee table before she stalked out again.

“I will, however, try to keep you comfortable, because it suits me to have you do a good job.”

“I’ll do a good job, comfortable or not. One,” she said to Brandon as he reached for a second cake. “But your hospitality is appreciated, Miss Benedict.”

“Can I have two if I eat two sandwiches?”

Julia glanced down at Brandon. Eve noted that her smile came easily and her eyes softened. “Eat the sandwiches first.” When she shifted her attention to Eve, her smile was formal again. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to entertain us while we’re here. We realize how demanding your schedule must be. As soon as it’s convenient, you and I can work out the times best suited to you for interviews.”

“Eager to get to work?”

“Of course.”

So, she’d been right in her judgment, Eve thought. This was a woman who had been trained—or had trained herself—to push straight ahead. Eve sipped the tea and considered. “All right then, my assistant will give you a schedule. Week to week.”

“I’ll need Monday morning to take Brandon into school. I’d also like to rent a car.”

“There’s no need for that.” She gave a dismissive wave. “There’s a half a dozen in the garage. One will suit. Lyle, my driver, will take the boy to school and back.”

“In the big white car?” Brandon asked with his mouth full, his eyes wide.

Eve laughed before sipping her tea. “I think not. But we’ll see that you have a ride in it now and again.” She noted he was eyeing the tray again. “I once lived with a young boy just about your age. He had a fondness for petits fours.”

“Are there any kids here now?”

“No.” The shadow came and went in her eyes. She rose then, a swift and casual dismissal. “I’m sure you’d both like to rest before dinner. If you go through the terrace doors and follow the path to the pool, the guest house is just to the right. Shall I have one of the servants show you?”

“No, we’ll find it.” Julia stood, placing a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

At the doorway Eve paused and turned. “Brandon, if I
were you, I’d wrap a few of those cakes in a napkin and take them with me. Your stomach’s still on East Coast time.”

She was right. Brandon’s first coast-to-coast flight had his system jumbled. By five he was hungry enough that Julia fixed him a light supper from the small but well-stocked kitchen in the guest house. By six, cranky with fatigue and excitement, he nodded off in front of the television. Julia carried him into his bedroom, where one of Eve’s efficient servants had already unpacked his things.

It was a strange bed, in a strange room, despite the addition of his Erector set, his books, and the favorite toys that had traveled with them. Still, as always, he slept like a rock, not stirring when she stripped off his shoes and slacks. Once he was tucked in, Julia called the main house to give Travers her apologies and regrets for dinner that evening.

She was weary enough herself to consider slipping into the tempting whirlpool tub or directly into the king-size bed in the master suite. But her mind refused to shut off. The guest house was both luxurious and tasteful, a two-story structure with warm wood trim and cool pastel walls. The curving stairs and open balcony gave it a spacious, informal feel. She much preferred the gleaming oak floors and colorful throw rugs to the acres of white carpet in the main house.

Julia wondered who might have stayed in the guest house, enjoying its own tidy English garden and the warm, scented breezes. Olivier had been a friend of Eve’s. Had the great actor brewed tea in the charming country-style kitchen with its bright copper pots and little brick hearth? Had Katharine Hepburn fussed in the garden? Had Peck or Fonda napped on the long, cushy sofa?

Since childhood Julia had been fascinated with the people who made their living on screen or stage. Briefly in her teens she had dreamed of joining them. A crushing shyness had caused her to sweat her way through auditions in high school plays. Desperate desire and determination had won her roles, fed the dream … and then there had been Brandon. A
mother at eighteen, Julia had changed her course. And she’d survived betrayal, fear, and despair. There were some, she felt, who were meant to grow up early and fast.

Different dreams, she mused as she slipped into a frayed terry-cloth robe. She wrote about actors now, but would never be one. Knowing her child slept safe and content in the next room left no room for regrets. And knowing her own strength and competence would help her give her son a long and happy childhood.

She was reaching up to take the pins from her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Julia glanced down at her faded robe, then shrugged. If this was home for the time being, she had to be able to relax in it.

Julia opened the door to a pretty young blond with lake-blue eyes and a bright smile. “Hi, I’m CeeCee. I work for Miss Benedict. I’m here to look after your son while you have dinner.”

Julia lifted a brow. “That’s very kind of you, but I phoned my regrets to the main house earlier.”

“Miss Benedict said that the little boy—Brandon, right?— was tired out. I’ll baby-sit while you have dinner at the main house.”

Julia opened her mouth to decline, but CeeCee was already breezing through the door. She was in jeans and a T-shirt, her California-blond hair sweeping her shoulders, her arms full of magazines.

“Isn’t this a great place?” she went on in her bubbly champagne voice. “I love cleaning it, and I’ll be doing it for you while you’re here. You just let me know if you want anything special.”

“Everything’s perfect.” Julia had to smile. The woman vibrated with energy and enthusiasm. “But I really don’t think I should leave Brandon on his first night with someone he doesn’t know.”

“You don’t have to worry. I have two little brothers, and I’ve been baby-sitting since I was twelve. Dustin, the youngest, was a late baby. He’s just ten—and a real mega monster.” She gave Julia another flashing smile—her even white teeth
those of a toothpaste commercial. “He’ll be okay with me, Ms. Summers. If he wakes up and wants you, we’ll call the house. You’re only two minutes away.”

Julia hesitated. She knew Brandon would sleep through the night. And the perky blond was exactly the kind of sitter she herself would have chosen. She was being overcautious and overprotective—two things she struggled not to be.

“All right, CeeCee. I’ll change and be down in a couple of minutes.”

When Julia returned five minutes later, CeeCee was sitting on the couch leafing through a fashion magazine. The television was tuned to one of the bright Saturday-night sitcoms. She glanced up and studied Julia.

“That’s a great color on you, Ms. Summers. I want to be a designer, so I pay attention to, you know, tones and lines and material. Not everybody can wear a strong color like that tomato red.”

Julia smoothed the jacket she’d paired with black evening pants. She’d chosen it because it gave her confidence. “Thanks. Miss Benedict said informal.”

“It’s perfect. Armani?”

“You’ve got a good eye.”

CeeCee flipped back her long, straight hair. “Maybe one day you’ll wear a McKenna. That’s my last name. Except maybe I’ll just go by my first. You know, like Cher and Madonna.”

Julia found herself smiling, until she glanced back upstairs. “If Brandon wakes up—”

“We’ll get along fine,” CeeCee assured her. “And if he’s nervous, I’ll call right away.”

Julia nodded, even as she turned the black evening bag over and over in her hands. “I won’t be late.”

“Enjoy yourself. Miss Benedict gives great dinner parties.”