A Stranger's Wife Read online

  “On my car radio. Anything concerning Jake is news. You know, Rhea, your voice sounds... strange.”

  “I think I’m coming down with a cold,” Meg said quickly.

  “Well, I have to tell you I just ran into Cecily Morgan and she swears she saw you coming out of the Ritz-Carlton this morning. She said you were getting either into or out of a Porsche with a big muscular fellow with a shaved head. Rhea, darling, what are you up to? You’re not being naughty, are you?”

  “Cecily was mistaken,” Meg said as calmly as she could. “Did she tell you what she was doing at the Ritz-Carlton this morning?”

  Laughter bubbled over the phone line.

  Meg said, “Do you mind if I call you back later? I’ve got a million things to do.”

  “Oh, all right. Shall we get together for cocktails?”

  “I’ll call you,” Meg said.

  Standing on the wide terrace looking out on park-like grounds, Meg wondered why Rhea could not be happy in such a setting. Obviously, she had everything she could possibly need or want, and Jake had certainly indulged her penchant for acquiring antiques, judging by the way the bedroom and breakfast rooms were furnished. Meg hadn’t seen much of the rest of the house, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine Rhea had spent a fortune on it.

  The only possible explanation was that Rhea simply didn’t love Jake. And that, to Meg, was more baffling than anything else. Even if she didn’t love him, how could she hate him enough to want to kill him? Mike had to be wrong about her. Surely Sloan must be engineering the plot, and Rhea was either unaware of it or being controlled by him in some way.

  Meg heard the door open behind her and turned to see Jake crossing the terrace.

  “Jess is in bed,” he said, “no doubt dreaming about gourmet food. Why did you never mention you could cook like that?”

  “Jake, I need to explain—” She broke off as the phone in her hand rang.

  He remained standing beside her, and she saw an angry glint appear in his dark eyes. “I suppose you don’t want to answer that until I leave. I’ll use the study phone to call the insurance company.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

  Meg pressed the talk-button in time to hear Mason picking up on another line.

  A muffled female voice asked for Rhea.

  “I’ll take the call, Mason,” Meg said, wondering if he had recognized that the real Mrs. Jake Chastain was on the other end.

  Meg waited until Jake reentered the house and she heard a click indicating Mason had hung up. Then she whispered, “Rhea, is that you?”

  “Where were you? I tried to call you this morning.”

  “I took the dog for a walk.”

  “Are you nuts? I’d never do that.”

  “What happened last night?” Meg demanded.

  “I’ll explain everything as soon as we can get together. But the first thing we have to do is switch places.”

  “I agree, and as soon as possible. I’m sure your husband suspects—”

  “Look, I can’t just show up there, so you’ve got to get away from the house. I’ve got an idea how we can change places without Jake suspecting. Our favorite restaurant is a little Greek place on the cliff over Moonlight Cove. Get him to take you to dinner there tonight. I’ll be in the ladies’ room at eight. Just continue to be me until then, please.”

  The line went dead.

  I’ll explain everything. Surely that included the fact that they were twins, Meg thought. They shared the same womb; how could Rhea be capable of plotting to destroy her? Or of killing her own husband? It was unthinkable. Mike had to be wrong about Rhea.

  Mike! He’d be showing up here by six and she had to play the part of Rhea until eight. She’d have to call and delay him.

  A gardener pruning roses a short distance from the house glanced in her direction then moved away quickly, but not before Meg caught a glimpse of his face beneath the brim of a straw hat pulled low over his brow and, as he walked away, saw the stringy ponytail of blond hair hanging down his back. She was sure he was the same man she had seen in St. Maarten, only then he’d worn a waiter’s white jacket.

  She turned and walked back to the house. Rhea must have sent the man to keep an eye on her. Meg supposed it would have been a natural precaution, to be sure she didn’t do anything inappropriate. But the waiter/gardener had the wily expression of a ferret and the covert movements of a felon, and Meg wondered if Rhea had checked his background before hiring him. His presence explained how Rhea knew Meg’s whereabouts.

  The entry hall was deserted. Meg tiptoed to the nearest door, opened it and found herself looking into a beautifully furnished drawing room. Meg knew a little about antiques and recognized that some of the pieces were priceless. The next door revealed what was apparently a music room, with a grand piano on a dais. Her third try took her to a well-stocked library.

  Closing the door, she looked around. Where was Jake’s study? She was about to check the remaining doors when a maid appeared, carrying a vase of fresh flowers.

  Meg had an inspiration. “Mr. Chastain is in his study. Would you tell him I’ll be in the library when he’s finished with his business?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Meg opened the library door and would have lingered long enough to see where the maid went, but the woman had paused to put the flowers on a side table and glanced at her curiously.

  In the library Meg randomly selected a volume without checking the title, and took it to an enormous leather sofa. A telephone sat temptingly on a nearby table, and she wondered if she dare call Mike. A grandfather clock stood in one corner of the library and it chimed suddenly, reminding her that time was passing.

  She was about to reach for the phone, when Jake appeared. He regarded her with mild amusement. “You’re determined to keep me guessing, aren’t you? This is the first time you’ve been in here since you ordered umpteen yards of assorted books.”

  “I just thought—” Meg began.

  His long strides closed the distance between them and he sat next to her, so close that she could feel the heat of his arm through his shirtsleeve.

  Unconsciously, Meg drew away.

  Jake snapped, “Why do you shrink from me?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then reached over and took the book from her hands.

  “De Maupassant? I wouldn’t have thought he would have appealed to you.” He returned the book to her.

  Meg read the book’s title. Fort Comme La Mort.

  Jake was watching her closely. “As strong as death.”

  “What?”

  “I translated the title for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s going on, Rhea? I’d have put your jumpiness and unusual behavior down to the fire or to Jess being here...but you were acting differently in St. Maarten, too.”

  “I didn’t even look at the title of the book,” Meg said. “I picked one at random.”

  “And I presume you intended to read it?” he asked mockingly.

  “Actually Proust is my favorite French author,” Meg answered.

  Jake laughed. “You continue to amaze me with how fast you can think.”

  Especially when I respond to you truthfully, as myself, Meg thought. She shrugged. “Have to keep you on your toes.”

  She became aware that he had slid his arm along the back of the sofa, not quite touching her. He said, “You were going to explain something to me.”

  “Oh, I was going to ask if we can go to that little Greek restaurant on Moonlight Cove for dinner tonight I thought perhaps it would be easier to discuss our problems in a neutral setting. Do you think Jessica would mind if we went out?”

  His dark gaze studied her, searching for answers to questions he evidently decided not to ask. At length he said, “I’m sure she won’t. She was pretty well wiped out when I took her upstairs. Now tell me about that delicious lunch.”

  “It w
asn’t...I really didn’t...”

  “And by the way,” he went on smoothly, “the chef at the Hotel Rhea on St. Maarten informed me that you didn’t just suggest that picnic lunch we took to the beach—you prepared most of it yourself.”

  “I...wanted to surprise you,” Meg said hesitantly. After all, it had been established that Rhea enjoyed good food, was even something of a food critic. “I’ve been studying cooking.”

  “You got very good, very fast,” he commented.

  “Not really,” Meg said. “It didn’t happen overnight. But I do have a natural aptitude. I just didn’t tell you what I was doing.”

  Let Rhea explain this one, Meg thought. After all, she shouldn’t have left me in this predicament.

  “I’m truly impressed. I misjudged you, Rhea. I thought all these months you were involved solely with pampering yourself and engaging in more frivolous pursuits.”

  He rose to his feet again. “Well, I’ll leave you in de Maupassant’s capable hands. I have to go back to the Dana Point project for a while. Will you make the reservations for dinner?”

  Meg nodded, wishing she’d asked Rhea the name of the restaurant. It probably wasn’t listed as “our favorite little Greek place on Moonlight Cove.”

  She waited until she was sure Jake had left, then went up to their bedroom. Perhaps Rhea had an address book in her desk.

  Before going through the desk drawers, Meg called Mike, got his machine, and left a message that they were going out for dinner and that she had arranged to meet the party in question at the restaurant. She promised to call him again later with more details. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard another faint click on the line before she finished leaving her message.

  Well, if someone was monitoring her calls, it couldn’t be helped. She had to make them. She’d just say as little as possible. A call to the theater confirmed that Mike had let them know she wouldn’t be in that day. The manager informed her that she needn’t bother coming back: she’d been replaced. Meg sighed deeply, wondering how much worse things could get. Without the job at the theater, it would be difficult to make ends meet, let alone pay off her debts, on what her part-time catering job paid her.

  A search of Rhea’s desk did not produce an address book, and Meg was about to go downstairs and seek out Jake’s study in order to look for the restaurant number, when there was a knock on the bedroom door and Mason appeared.

  “Excuse me, madam, but Mrs. Chastain asks that you go to her.”

  For a split second Meg pictured Rhea waiting for her, until she remembered Jessica in the guest room. Why hadn’t the butler said Mrs. Chastain senior? He wore a faint smirk, and Meg thought, He definitely suspects and thinks I’m going to give myself away.

  “I’ll go right away—Oh, and Mason, Mr. Chastain and I will be going out to dinner. Call and make reservations for us at the little Greek place on Moonlight Cove, will you?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation and Meg held her breath. Then Mason said, “Certainly, madam. What time?”

  “7:30—no, 7:45.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  Huxley was sprawled at the foot of Jessica’s bed and he roused himself to greet Meg with so much enthusiasm that Jessica scowled and said, “Damn it, Rhea, for months you made us lock him up on the rare occasion you accompanied Jake when he dropped by my house, and heaven forbid I even bring him over here. Now look at him, slobbering all over you—and you encouraging him.”

  Meg scratched Huxley’s ear. “I was afraid of him. When I finally got up the courage to make the first friendly gesture, he responded. Jessica, I’m sorry I was such an idiot.”

  Jessica didn’t appear to be mollified. “You’re up to something, Rhea. You know it and I know it. You may have pulled the wool over Jake’s eyes, but not mine. You’ve convinced him you’ve reformed, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t think this conversation is appropriate—” Meg began.

  “Scant weeks ago he told me you two were not going to make a go of your marriage,” Jessica said, her dark eyes blazing. “What happened? Did you figure out what you were giving up? The prestige of being Mrs. Jake Chastain, not to mention the money?”

  “Jake and I are trying to work things out. I’d rather not discuss our problems when he isn’t here.”

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, Rhea, but I know this—you are not the same woman who went to open the Caribbean hotel, and I don’t want to see my son hurt when you revert back to your true self. So just be warned, I’m watching you. And I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  As soon as Meg entered the restaurant she wondered why Rhea had selected such a small, intimate setting. How would she be able to slip unnoticed into the rest room? Especially since the beaming proprietor who ushered them to a choice table evidently knew Jake, and presumably Rhea.

  Hoping her twin would be heavily disguised, Meg took her seat and unfolded her napkin. She was vaguely aware of Jake choosing wine and discussing the menu.

  Glancing at her watch she saw that it was exactly 7:45.

  Meg wore a simple black dress that she had unearthed among Rhea’s endless pantsuits. Jake’s dark eyes had briefly lost their suspicious glint and expressed approval. If he noticed that she had not added jewelry, he didn’t mention it. Wearing Rhea’s clothes was a necessity, Meg felt, but wearing her jewelry seemed presumptuous. She would have to remind Rhea to remove any jewelry she was wearing before changing into the black dress and slipping on the black hose that Meg had tucked into one of Rhea’s beaded evening bags.

  When Jake suggested that Niklos, the proprietor, make their selections, Meg murmured her agreement. Looking around, she saw that every table was occupied and that there was a liberal ratio of waiters and busboys. Perhaps Rhea would arrive unnoticed in the bustle.

  Another nagging worry refused to go away. Concerned that Mike might not have picked up her message and could show up at the house at six as he’d said he would, Meg had again called him. She’d let the phone ring at least twenty times, but Mike hadn’t answered, nor had his message machine picked up as it had earlier—which seemed odd.

  “You haven’t tried your wine,” said Jake.

  Meg took a sip and nodded. “Very good.”

  He watched her with hooded eyes. “Are you ready to discuss our plans for the future?”

  “No—I mean, could we have dinner first?”

  “Do you want a divorce, Rhea, or a reconciliation?”

  Meg squirmed, but the look on his face told her he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

  He said, “I can’t believe I’m even suggesting the possibility of a reconciliation, but I’ve never seen anybody change so much, so quickly, as you have. I hardly know you anymore, Rhea. When I remember how it was between us before St. Maarten, and how it’s been the past few days...well, let’s just say that before St. Maarten I never would have considered reconciling. So that’s why I ask, do you want a divorce or...”

  Recklessly, Meg answered, “A reconciliation.”

  She saw him let out his breath slowly. “You realize there will be conditions? Sloan is out of your life, for one thing. As are any men friends you’ve been sneaking around to see.”

  “Yes, of course.” Meg knew she was answering as herself, but couldn’t seem to stop.

  He swirled the wine in his glass, not looking at her. “It’s going to take a while for me to trust you again, Rhea.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?”

  How could she possibly know? Meg glanced at her watch. Please, Rhea, don’t be late. She said, “No, why?”

  “Then why are you dealing with a private detective? Were you hoping to get some dirt on me?”

  Meg almost dropped her wineglass. “No! Honestly—”

  “Before you make the mistake of denying it, I know you’ve been calling a PI named Michael Aragon.”

  When in doubt, tell the tru
th. Or at least part of it. “Jake, I’ve been trying to trace my biological mother. That’s why I’ve been dealing with Aragon.”

  Relief flooded his face. “Has he found her?”

  “No...I’ll tell you all about it later, when we’re home. It’s a bit complicated.”

  Jake nodded, but he was looking at her in that probing way that made her wonder what other doubts he was harboring.

  He leaned forward. “While we’re clearing the air, let’s talk about Capri.”

  She gulped some wine, more than she intended. “Jake...I don’t want to talk about Capri.”

  “No more stalling,” he said sharply. “Let’s talk now about what happened in Capri.”

  Meg stared at him helplessly. She looked at her watch again: 7:50. Please, Rhea, be here!

  Jake leaned back, regarding her in a way that made her feel like an insect pinned to a board.

  Desperate to maintain the masquerade until Rhea arrived, Meg said, “Capri... was also a lovely island.”

  “Do you remember what we talked about in the Gardens of Augustus?”

  She nodded and glanced away nervously, trying to think of a way to change the subject before she gave herself away.

  But his eyes drew her back to him. “I can see it now—the flowers and ancient stonework, the sheer cliffs and the brightly painted boats in the Marina Piccola. The sea was cobalt blue that day and you...do you remember what you said?”

  Standing up abruptly, Meg said, “Excuse me. I have to go to the rest room.”

  Picking up the beaded evening bag, Meg made her way through the closely placed tables. She felt Jake’s eyes follow her.

  She found the ladies’ room door opposite to the restaurant entrance, which relieved some of her anxiety. Rhea could probably have slipped in and quickly vanished into the rest room.

  The room was empty. There were three washbasins and three stalls. Pink-and-gray tile, a vase containing pink carnations. Meg sniffed the flowers; they were real. She stood waiting, resisting the urge to check the time again.

  Two women, chatting and giggling, came into the room. Meg hastily slipped into the nearest stall. She stayed there until she heard them leave; it was now after eight.