ShadowsintheMist (19 page)

Consequently and much to my relief, Grant spent a large
percentage of his time at Dirkston Towers in Chicago, working around the clock
and using the penthouse to snatch what little sleep he could. If I thought it
feasible, I’d have gone back to my cabin but I felt obliged to take over the
running of Beacon and help sort out some of the confusion there.

When Lottie heard of Alicia’s close call, she didn’t come to
work for a week, claiming that the house was surely jinxed. I had to coax her
personally before she’d agree to return. Martha was showing the strain and
tension of disorganization and seemed to have aged overnight. I insisted she
take a couple of weeks off. This meant finding someone to fill her shoes. In
the meantime, I took on the work myself.

Colin spent the majority of his waking hours either at the
marina or at the hospital. He too, seemed to feel Alicia’s overdose was
partially my fault. He spoke very little and made obvious detours to avoid me.
I guessed Alicia was doing nothing to change this unfair prejudice but I
refused to let it get to me. The only person who seemed unaffected by it all
was Rudy Coleman. He continued to drift about the estate tending to his regular
duties methodically. I watched him with a mixture of respect and incredulity.
It seemed to me that no one should be quite so composed.

David still shadowed me but since Colin spent long hours at
the hospital with Alicia, he was obliged to put in a larger share of time
tending to business. Giles took over the vigil, visiting Beacon regularly on
the pretext of boredom or loneliness, trying to help out where he could. Most
times I was grateful for his company, though naturally I would have preferred
David. Still, there was a comfortable air about Giles that made it easy to
relax in his presence. I needed that to soothe my raw nerves.

It was less than a week after that fateful Friday that Darla
LaTrobe descended upon Beacon. I was rummaging in the attic trying to inventory
the furniture stored there, when the doorbell rang. There was no one around, so
I raced down the three flights of stairs to answer it myself. When I threw open
the door, I was out of breath, streaked with dust and perspiration and clad in
my oldest clothes, a frayed bandanna tied over my hair. The woman poised
statuesquely on the veranda regarded me with unconcealed surprise. Then she
gave a remote smile, adjusted her fashionable little leather shoulder bag and
spoke in a husky purr.

“Good morning. I’m Darla LaTrobe. Would you be so kind as to
inform Mrs. Fenton I’m here?”

My first thought was that one of the reporters had found her
way onto the grounds. Then I noticed the leather suitcase at the bottom of the
steps and realized she couldn’t have gotten past the guard without a pass. I
regarded her suspiciously. She was strikingly attractive in a crisp, tailored
sort of way.

Though not tall, her posture and high heels disguised it.
Her hair was a dark chestnut that gleamed like satin in the sun. Cut bluntly
and tapered at the sides, it neatly followed the line of her well-defined jaw.
She wore a cream beret of soft angora and a two-piece suit of lightweight gray
wool. In one hand, she held a briefcase with the initials “D.M.L.” engraved in
gold. Her large brown eyes assessed me with arrogance from beneath perfectly
shaped brows. I disliked her immediately.

“I’m Suzanna Dirkston,” I said coolly. “You must be looking
for me. I don’t use my husband’s name.”

Her gaze never faltered and her smile merely widened a
fraction. She held out a graceful hand. “Ms. Dirkston,” she said readily. “I’m
Mr. Fenton’s secretary.”

I wiped my own hand on my jeans and shook hers. So, this was
the woman Alicia had referred to.

“Nice to meet you…Miss LaTrobe?”

At the questioning inflection, she nodded. “Yes, it’s Miss
but please, call me Darla.”

I was disconcerted to note that she could turn up the
corners of her mouth quite beautifully without actually parting her lips. It
gave her a decidedly feline appearance.

Determined not to let her intimidate me, I lifted my chin
and smiled back. “Won’t you come in? I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I was just
doing a bit of inventory in the attic. If I’d known you were coming…”

I left the sentence dangling, along with its inferred
accusation. Darla lifted her chiseled brows. “Don’t tell me Grant didn’t tell
you? But of course, he’s been so busy! I’m so sorry. Should I come back later?”

“No, of course not. Perhaps you’d care for a cup of coffee
while we discuss…whatever it is you’ve come for?” My voice held a chilly note.
It annoyed me that Darla used Grant’s first name so familiarly. I wondered if
it was purposely meant to convey a degree of intimacy.

“I’d love something. Would you possibly have tea? I’ve never
acquired a taste for coffee.”

“Certainly. Come with me.”

Ignoring the luggage, I led the way down the passage to the
rear parlor. Darla gazed about with admiration. “My! It’s certainly imaginative,
isn’t it? The house, I mean.”

“Yes. Isn’t it?”

I excused myself after motioning her to a seat. Lottie was
in the pantry making a list of items for her weekly trip to the supermarket.

“Lottie, could you please arrange a tray with coffee and tea
and some of those little biscuits with jam?”

“Why sure, Suzanna. We got company?”

“You might say so,” I grunted. “Grant’s new secretary, Miss
Darla LaTrobe.”

She pulled a silver tray out from a corner cabinet. “I’ve
heard of her. Seems she’s not too bad to look at.”

I eyed her quizzically. “Where did you hear about her?”

“I don’t really remember.” She gave me a sly glance. “Heard
tell, though, that Mr. Grant thinks mighty highly of her.”

“I’ll bet he does,” I muttered. I was becoming increasingly
irritable. “I’m going upstairs to change. Just bring the tray into the rear
parlor when it’s ready. Thanks!”

I strode out of the kitchen, pushing aside the swinging
doors so that they banged against the dining room walls. Lottie was baiting me
and I had no patience for it.

* * * * *

“You really didn’t have to change on my account,” Darla said
as she raised honeyed tea to her lips and sipped daintily.

“I didn’t,” I replied. “I was just about to change anyway
when you arrived. Another biscuit?”

“No. Thank you. I have to watch my figure.”

And I’m sure you’re not the only one who watches it
.
Out loud, I said, “Now, what brings you to Beacon?”

She set the china cup back on its saucer and raised her
eyes. “I really feel terribly bold, Miss…er…Miz Dirkston.”

“Call me Suzanna.”

“Thank you, Suzanna. Anyway, I expected Grant would’ve
already explained to you. I hardly know where to begin.”

By now, my patience was worn very thin. “Is it some papers
or documents that Grant wants? Has he sent you to fetch them?”

“No, no. I… That is… Grant has… Well… Grant actually sent me
here to work on a number of contracts. You see,” she lifted the corners of her
mouth again, “he thinks I might accomplish more if I worked out of his lovely
home—less distractions, you know. And it would also save him the trouble of
having to travel back and forth so often.” She laughed—a husky chuckle. “It
seems Mr. Dirkston kept much of the company’s paperwork here and Grant finds it
such an annoyance to flit back and forth just to find things.”

I was sitting rigidly in my chair, hardly able to believe
what the woman was saying. “Why doesn’t Grant just move the paperwork to the
office?”

She turned her hands palms upward. “I can’t tell you that,”
she replied. “I suppose he wants to leave things as they are for a while. As a
matter of fact, since the stockholders’ meeting and his election as company
chairman—”

“What are you talking about? What election?”

Darla looked surprised. “Why, last week at the AGM,” she
said. “You must remember. Grant had your proxy.”

I stood up abruptly. “I signed a proxy voting affirmative to
the company officers remaining as they were.”

“And so they did,” she said quickly. “But Mr. Dirkston held
the position of chairman and it was necessary to call an emergency election to
fill the vacancy. It was mentioned in the covering letter. Your proxy
authorized Grant to vote in your absence. Naturally, we all knew you would want
your husband in the position.”

I sat down again slowly, thinking back to the day Grant
presented a ream of papers for me to sign. It was shortly after Jenny’s brush
with death and I hadn’t read the documents as thoroughly as I should have.
Grant gave me a condensed explanation of it all but I didn’t pay much
attention.

If I was aware the leadership of Dirkston Enterprises was at
stake, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed anyone to vote on my behalf. Grant
must have known this and used my preoccupation and worry to his own advantage.
I was appalled. Already he was manipulating me and I fell for it. I didn’t want
Darla LaTrobe to see my annoyance, however, so I forced my face to remain
composed.

“Yes,” I lied, “I remember now. How silly of me. And you’re
right. Who else would I have voted for, even if I was able to attend?”

Darla took another sip of her tea and eyed me over the rim.

Quickly, I changed the subject. “Of course, you’re welcome
here, Darla,” I said, trying in vain to lift the corners of my own mouth. “I’m
sure Grant knows exactly what he’s doing.”
And pigs fly!

“Yes, I’m sure he does.” She hesitated. “I think, Suzanna,
that it’s his wish to continue just as before by allowing the company to run
under its own steam. He’s not one to ruin a good thing and your father arranged
things so the position of chairman required minimal hands-on duties. He was
wonderful at delegating authority, you know. It’s only reasonable Grant would
prefer to spend more time here with you, don’t you think?”

I bit back a cutting retort. I knew the woman must be well
aware of the reason for our marriage and I sensed a gauntlet had been thrown to
the floor between us. I didn’t back away from the challenge but replied calmly,
if a little stiffly, “Luckily, Grant and I are adult enough to accept temporary
separations but it’ll be nice to have him home more often. And having you here
to tend to the paperwork will certainly give us more time for each other.”

I watched with a sense of victory as Darla lowered her eyes,
pleased she could find no rebuttal. Enjoying her discomfort only briefly, I
rose. “You must be anxious to freshen up. Have you brought your luggage?”

“Only one case, I’m afraid. I left it outside. The rest will
be delivered tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s fetch it and I’ll show you to the
guest room.”

She nodded and we retraced our steps. I picked up the
obviously expensive case and lugged it into the house and up the winding
stairs.

“Don’t you have servants to do that sort of thing?” she
asked.

“We have servants,” I replied through stiff lips, “but I
wouldn’t dream of bothering them with something so trivial.”

I refused to let the woman goad me. I saw no reason to
explain our current domestic situation. Instead, I quickened my pace and flung
open the door to a guest room as far from my own room as possible. Grant’s room
was nearby. This, I thought, would make it very convenient for the two of them.
It could only give me reason to gloat should they be discovered in some
compromising position.

“Here you are,” I said and heaved the case onto the dark
paisley spread of the four-poster. “I hope you’ll find everything you need.”

It was a man’s room decorated with heavy antiques. The walls
were a rich walnut and the polished floorboards were softened only by a
scattering of plush, Indian rugs. The windows didn’t face the lake but
overlooked the garage and the paddock beyond. The draperies were of gold velvet
tied back with tasseled cords. From the center of the ceiling hung an ancient
five-pronged chandelier. There was a small en suite with no bath, only a
shower. The room was also renowned for being the coldest one in the house in
winter.

I felt decidedly smug as Darla looked about. I knew I was
being petty in choosing this room but I didn’t care. It was my way of telling
Ms. LaTrobe and Grant that I wasn’t someone to be easily reckoned with.

Surprisingly, Darla appeared thrilled with the decor and
assured me that she would indeed be comfortable. I apologized for not airing
the room but added that if I’d known she was coming, a great many things might
have been prearranged.

After a brief account of the household’s dining schedules, I
left her to her own devices and went to my own room to pound out some pages on
my manuscript. It seemed the only way to get my mind off Grant’s
underhandedness.

* * * * *

Darla made herself at home immediately. Within hours, she
met and ingratiated herself with Lottie and Rudy and, more especially, Colin,
who made her acquaintance over an informal lunch in the kitchen. I came upon
them laughing comfortably over ham sandwiches while Lottie smiled on, stirring
a large pot of soup. I was famished but merely mumbled a sullen greeting, snatched
slices of ham and cheese and a can of soda and retreated before anyone could
comment.

I had time to notice that Darla had changed into pink slacks
and a soft, designer-knit sweater. The beret was gone from her head and her
slick, shining hair swung as she chatted.

The haste of my departure bordered on rudeness but I couldn’t
stand to bandy small talk just now. I’d been unable to type a single, sensible
word because of my fury at Grant. And now I was even more ready to find fault
with him. I decided to change back into my work clothes and return to the
attic. There were some pieces of furniture and bric-a-brac that I didn’t even
know existed and it was soothing to sort through them and consider whether they
should be kept or disposed of.