The Secret Heiress (16 page)

Eventually, she told herself, Manhattan would be like Shanghai and Singapore. The sky would be the limit, here as there. She would see to it.
Oh, yes,
she thought.
This is great, but it’s not good enough.

T
he dirt road leading up to the cabin in the Berkshires was treacherous. Even though the snow had been plowed and they had his Jeep, Matt took the curves slowly. “Four-wheel drive won’t help on ice,” he told Ariadne. “Nothing much will help on ice.”

“Is it much farther?” she asked, gazing out at the skeletal trees that lined both sides of the road.

He glanced at her and grinned. “Are we there yet?” he said. “I think you’re anxious to get off this road.”

“No, I’m used to it,” she said. “Remember, I live in northwestern Connecticut.”

“It’s just around the next curve. Less than a mile.”

“It’s really beautiful up here,” Ariadne said. “Pristine. It’s almost as if it’s untouched. Like real wilderness.”

“That’s not quite the case,” Matt said, maneuvering the Jeep around a hairpin curve. “There’re ski resorts nearby and summerhouses here and there, but it’s still fairly isolated and unspoiled.” He pointed ahead, to the left. “There’s the road that leads up to my place.” He slowed down and made the turn, downshifting for the steep incline.

The road was little more than a path cut through the forest. In places, the branches of tall trees intertwined above it, giving it the appearance of a tunnel. At the top of the hill, they came to a small clearing and Matt’s cabin.

“Oh, this is spectacular,” Ariadne said enthusiastically. “It looks enchanted. Like something from a fairy tale.”

“I hoped you’d like it,” Matt said. “It’s small and simple, but I love the place.”

The driveway formed a circle in front of the cabin, and in what would be its grassy center come spring stood a large steel sculpture, a contemporary piece that was all angles jutting out into the surrounding space.

“Did you do the sculpture?” Ariadne asked.

Matt nodded. “It’s my fallen star.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said admiringly. “And I love the idea that a star fell directly in front of the cabin in the ideal spot for it.”

He chuckled. “A very happy accident.”

Matt got out of the Jeep, then went around and opened Ariadne’s door. “Be careful,” he said. “There are some icy patches, and I know you have a tendency to slip.”

She gave him a mock frown. “You’ve only seen me slip on ice once.”

He led her up the steps onto the porch and unlocked the door. They both wiped and stomped snow off their boots. “My humble abode,” Matt said, ushering her inside and switching on a light.

Ariadne glanced around the very big room with a huge stone fireplace. Off to the right, a counter separated off the kitchen. Subdued winter light poured in through a huge central skylight. “This is so great,” she said.

A stack of kindling had already been laid in the stone fireplace, and Matt crumpled some newspapers to stuff under it. In another minute the wood was ablaze, crackling and snapping. Warmth began to fill the large room.

“I’m going to go out and get some more firewood,” Matt said. “I haven’t replenished the baskets in here or the log holder on the porch, and I think we ought to have a roaring fire, don’t you?”

“That would make it even more perfect than it already is,” she said.

“Make yourself comfortable. It’ll only take me a few minutes outside. Then I’ll make us something hot to drink.”

Ariadne shrugged out of her parka, and he hung it on one of the coat hooks near the front door. “You want me to help you bring in wood?”

“No, I can handle it,” he said. “Take a tour of the place, and if you want, put some water in the kettle. It’s on the stove. Some hot tea would warm us up.”

“Will do,” she said.

“I won’t be too long,” he said. “If you hear something like thunder on the porch, it’s just me dumping logs to stack.” He headed back outside.

Ariadne went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Afterward, she began exploring the cabin.
He did suggest it,
she thought as she began to roam. A large, comfortable sofa was placed in front of the fireplace, with big overstuffed chairs on either side. Atop a coffee table were several maquettes. A small dining table was positioned under windows on a far wall, and built-in bookcases lined either side of the fireplace. They were overflowing with all kinds of books, she noticed, from art to fiction to non-fiction, with a lot of history and political works. A staircase at one end of the room led up to a big balcony and what looked like other rooms. She wandered into a small hallway that led to a bathroom and a cozy, inviting bedroom.

Retracing her steps to the living room, she noticed a big ax leaning against the wall near the front door. Its blade glistened as if it had recently been sharpened. Ariadne laughed to herself.
Matt is not a serial killer. He’s a perfectly sane and wonderful man who chops wood!
She climbed the stairs that led up to the balcony, wondering what she would find.

The balcony walls were lined with bookcases, punctuated with two doorways, and against the balustrade overlooking the living room there was a big desk. On it were stacks of paper and other supplies, pencil and pen holders and such, all of it neatly arranged. A computer hummed. Lots of people never turned theirs off, she knew, although she usually shut down hers. Curious, she touched the mouse, and the big, flat-screen monitor came to life.

The computer was in Outlook Express, and an e-mail was highlighted. Sitting in the desk chair, she glanced at the e-mail. She wanted to know more about Matt, but she felt guilty at the same time. Mail was personal, after all.
Well, it can’t be too personal,
she reasoned.
Not if he left it on the computer like this.

She saw that the e-mail was from an “A.Single.”
What an odd name,
she thought. Or
was
it a name? It could be a cute way to signify a single person, couldn’t it? Like a name someone might use in a chat room, she thought with a twinge of jealousy. She quickly perused the e-mail, but it didn’t make any sense to her. It was almost as if it read in code. A.Single wanted an update on “her.” If Matt had done what he’d asked about “her.” “Her,” frustratingly, was never identified by name.

The message was signed “Adrian.” That was the
A
in
A.Single,
she thought, but it posed another mystery. Was Adrian a man or a woman? The name could be either.

At a resounding thunk from the front porch, Ariadne nearly jumped out of her skin. She laughed to herself nervously.
It’s only Matt dumping firewood,
she thought,
just like he warned me that he would.
But she decided it was time that she quit snooping. She didn’t relish the idea of being caught reading his e-mail. She got to her feet, eyeing the two doorways surrounded by bookcases.

She went to the first one and opened it. Inside was another bedroom, this one quite large and definitely Matt’s. Although it was neat like the rest of the cabin, it was more lived-in than the bedroom downstairs. A large skylight opened directly over the bed with a blind that could be open or closed to shut out the light. Against the wall opposite the foot of the bed was a flat-screen television and CD-DVD player on a stand. Near it was a fireplace. A sculpture—entwined lengths of brushed steel—dominated a corner. Books were piled on one of the bedside cabinets and on the floor next to it. Several framed drawings dotted the walls, and she circled the room, looking at them.
They’re drawings for his sculptures,
she thought.
Part of the preliminary planning he told me about.
They were very well-done, art in their own right as far as she was concerned. She passed a big dresser decorated with another few maquettes, and checked out the bathroom. It had a large Jacuzzi as well as a walk-in shower and a big vanity with sink. On one wall was another sculpture, this one of geometric shapes—circles, squares, parallelograms, and so on—finished in a glossy white. It made her think of a Léger.

Ariadne went back out onto the balcony, looking down at the big living room. The cabin was truly beautiful, she thought. It was not decorated to be “cute” or “country” or to look like a mountain lodge, as so many of these places were. She’d seen a few that belonged to the families of friends from boarding school or college. Here, there were no stuffed trophies. No deer heads, pheasants, or fish. No bearskin rugs on the floor or Native American blankets on the walls or beds. The decor was restrained, modern, and clean, with a decidedly masculine air about it. The only knickknacks were Matt’s maquettes and sculptures.

She heard another loud thunk on the porch and went down the stairs to the living room and saw that the tea water was boiling furiously. She switched it off and started looking for tea bags in the cabinets. Matt came in the front door, his arms loaded with firewood.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

“That’s great,” she said. “Where’re the tea bags?”

“In the cabinet just to your right,” he said. He went to the big basket by the stone fireplace and neatly stacked wood in it, then placed some in the fireplace. From the kitchen, Ariadne watched as the fire started to dance high with flames.

“What kind of tea would you like?” she asked.

“The green tea, please.”

He went to the front door and took off his boots, placing them on a mat to dry off, then hung his parka on a hook. He put a CD in the player. Soft music soon filled the room. “What is that?” Ariadne asked.

“It’s a DJ compilation,” he said. “All kinds of things that have been rearranged and tinkered with. This is one of the Café del Mar CDs. Do you like it?”

“It’s great. I’ve never heard it before.”

“There are a bunch of them out there now,” he said.

He joined her in the kitchen. “Now for the crowning touch.” He opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of brandy. “How about a dollop? It’ll get your heart beating, as my dad used to say.”

“Why not?” she said.

He poured a small measure in each cup of tea, then handed her a mug. “Let’s go sit. I could use a breather after carrying all that wood. Normally I keep the basket in here and the stack on the porch replenished, but I’ve been so busy lately I let it go.”

They sat on the big oversize couch in front of the fireplace, and Matt put his feet up on the coffee table. The fire was roaring, and its warmth felt wonderful. Dusk was rapidly descending, and light in the room was growing dim. Matt reached over and switched a lamp on, turning the dimmer down, so that it gave off a soft, low light. “Are you comfortable?” he asked. “You can put your feet up.”

“I’m fine. This feels so good,” she said. She sipped the tea. “And the brandy helps.”

“Good. The brandy and fire should warm you up, and if they’re not enough, use one of the throws.” The arms at either end of the sofa were draped with big wool throws.

“I feel great,” she assured him.

“Did you have a look around?” he asked.

“Yes, and I love this place. Really love it. It’s homey, but not cute, you know?”

“Thank God,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not crazy about cute.”

“I’m not, either,” she replied. “I love your sculptures and maquettes. Oh, and your drawings, too. They look so . . .
right
here.”

“Thanks,” Matt said somewhat sheepishly.

Ariadne was curious about the odd e-mail and wanted to ask him about it, but wasn’t certain about how to approach the subject. Finally, she said, “I was looking at your computer, and it came on when I hit the mouse.”

“It was just asleep,” he said. “I never shut it down.”

“There was this strange e-mail on it,” Ariadne went on. “I guess I’m terrible, but I looked at it.”

She thought she saw him tense slightly. “What was it?” he asked.

“Something from somebody named Adrian,” she said. “It was all about a woman or girl. All this stuff about ‘her.’ It was so odd that I—”

“Ah, it was nothing,” Matt said. “Nothing important anyway.”

Ariadne sensed that he was embarrassed, and she was sorry that she’d brought it up. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said apologetically. “I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt said, reaching over and patting her shoulder. “Please. It’s not anything personal or important at all. He’s a friend of mine and makes silly games out of all his e-mails.”

Ariadne’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied by his response. She wondered what the message was really about. It had been composed so that anyone reading it other than Matt—herself for instance—wouldn’t be able to decipher its meaning. She remembered the first time they’d met, Matt had said something about having worked for the government in the past.

And now, seeing the way he lived made her all the more curious. He’d taken her to an expensive restaurant in Great Barrington. He had this cabin in the mountains, and a place like this did not come cheap. Where did the money come from? she wondered. Doing restoration work at the Clark didn’t provide for this sort of lifestyle, did it?