Just let him know who’s in charge,” Bill advised.
“He already knows,” Jane answered. “He doesn’t respect me. He’s just tolerating me.”
They were riding side by side, the horses slouching along in an easy walk. Jane was rigid in the saddle, staring down at her mount and looking for any sign of displeasure. Bill was encouraging her to ride more aggressively, but she was afraid to do anything that might anger the animal.
Bill was relaxed, fitting easily into his horse’s movements, keeping control with the reins in one hand. He was determined to get Jane back into riding, a sport she had sworn off on her first visit to the farm. “That’s better,” he told her. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Couldn’t we get a pair of motorcycles?” she offered.
He shook his head. “We own a horse farm, not a speedway. Besides, I like it when you put your hand on my ass and push me up into the saddle.” He had no trouble riding, but without the use of his left arm, he wasn’t able to swing up onto the horse’s back. He was too proud to use a step stool. His shoulder had healed, but it would never be as good as new. The bullet had hit bone and torn away ligaments. He’d never be able to raise his arm over his head.
His business career, too, was permanently damaged. The fact that his most highly trusted executive had tried to murder him showed a certain lack of judgment. The fact that he had been subsidizing the man’s mistress for several years reflected badly on his character. The board praised him lavishly, gave him a handsome retainer as a consultant, and used his health as an excuse to put him on leave. Kim Annuzio became president, began consolidating instead of acquiring, and set the renamed Global Networks Corporation on a more modest course.
Andrews took his demotion gracefully and then embraced his new life gratefully. He and Jane moved out to the horse farm in New Jersey and moved the children into local schools. He finally had the time to become a father to his children, and uninterrupted hours to lavish on his beautiful new wife. Jane welcomed the change. She had seemed destined to have only the pieces of her husband’s life that fitted between his business commitments. Now she had all of him. It was the business that had to be satisfied with whatever moments he could spare.
Both knew that the true story of what happened would have to remain a secret between them. There could be no going back to the first murder at the chalet without exposing Bill’s role in the cover-up. Nor was there any point in explaining how and why Jane had shot her husband. That was best attributed to the jealous rage of Bill’s former mistress and the duplicity of his best friend. The fabulous Kay Parker, who had been mourned eight years ago, was best left dead. And Selina Royce could finally be laid to rest. The lake had frozen over her, and even when spring came, officials found little reason to search for the probably decomposed body.
Their version of events put all the blame on the two people who had plotted the crime and had it explode in their faces. It left Jane and Bill as sympathetic victims, which, in a sense, they actually were.
But Bill explained the true events to Jane. His marriage to Kay Parker, while an ongoing public celebration, had been a private hell. Kay, who had expected to be adored, couldn’t play second fiddle to Andrews Global Network. And Bill, headstrong in his own right, wouldn’t play prince consort to the reigning queen. Kay had retaliated with polo players, leading men, and even a few pretenders to royalty, hiding her affairs from the public but making certain that her husband knew every juicy detail. Andrews had found consolation with a woman more modest in her demands—Selina Royce. Kay, who enjoyed being the betrayer, couldn’t stand to be betrayed.
She had gone to the chalet, taken the shotgun down from the wall, and fired both barrels into Selina’s face as she came down the stairs from the bedroom. She didn’t regret that part of the blast hit her husband.
As soon as the smoke cleared, Robert Leavitt, who had always loved and admired Kay, began directing the cover-up. His purpose was to save the dazzling socialite from arrest and prosecution, and save Andrews Global Network from disgrace. Andrews went along with him for the sake of his children and his empire. But over time, Leavitt’s motivation turned sinister. The woman of his dreams had become his prisoner. Because Kay was hiding under a false identity, she had no one to turn to but Leavitt. He realized, too, that he had gained leverage in his relationship with Andrews. He was the keeper of a secret that could put Andrews in jail.
The conspiracy worked until Jane came along and Bill fell in love with her. The day Jane had seen him at Kay’s Paris apartment, he had gone there to make his final payment. He couldn’t go on lying to Jane, who was getting closer and closer to the truth. He had to cut his first wife off. Whether it was because Kay couldn’t stand the thought of her husband finding happiness without her or because she couldn’t imagine living without his lavish financial support, she had decided to strike back. Together with Robert, who imagined himself taking Andrews’s place at the head of a global communications empire, she had constructed the plot that carried both of them to their death.
Jane had found answers to some of her other questions. Cassie and Craig, who were beginning to like the idea of a home with two parents, had sheepishly admitted to putting the burr under her saddle. “We didn’t mean to hurt you,” Cassie had apologized. “We just wanted to show our father that you were no horsewoman.”
Leavitt was the most obvious explanation for the person who had terrorized her in the apartment and then closed the swimming pool cover over her head. He had full run of the apartment and could easily have rigged the circuit breaker in the foyer. And Leavitt had been at the wedding, with an ample opportunity to drug Jane’s coffee.
He was also the angel who had backed Art’s play, in exchange for Art’s keeping him fully informed about Jane’s plans and whereabouts. Art’s access to her apartment gave Leavitt a minute-by-minute account of Jane’s investigation into Kay’s death. Art had seen nothing reprehensible in his role. “The guy had a legitimate reason to protect his company,” Art reasoned. “He said William Andrews always investigated people who got close to him. And I owed him a favor. I mean, he really liked my play.”
The two attacks in France were Kay’s work. Leavitt had shown her pictures of Andrews’s new wife, and she recognized Jane the instant she saw her at the bank. She had no trouble slipping into the spa and locking the door of the sauna. And when that failed, she had dressed down to play the role of the night nurse.
At last, the questions were answered and the doubts resolved. Jane had a husband who loved her, and William Andrews had found the life that he had lost long ago. As he told his wife whenever she asked him if he missed his global empire, “Empires are overrated.”
But there was still one issue that nagged at her. “Can I ask you something?” Jane said, reining in her horse.
“About the horse? Sure!”
“Not about the horse. About us.”
He thought for a moment. “No,” he decided. “If it’s about something I’m doing wrong, I don’t want to hear about it. If it’s something you’re doing wrong, I don’t want to know about it.”
“Who said anyone was doing anything wrong?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You have that worried look you get when you’re wondering how to bring up an embarrassing subject.”
She pouted. “I was just going to ask you about something you never told me.”
“There must be a good reason why I never told you.”
Jane nudged the horse back into its easy stride. “Okay,” she conceded.
He caught up with her. “Now you’ve got me guessing. What is it that I never told you about?”
She reined in again. “I was thinking that suppose I wasn’t a reporter. Suppose I had been a lawyer or a stockbroker.”
“You mean if you were richer than I am?”
She smiled. “No. What I mean is, suppose I hadn’t been such a snoop. Suppose I hadn’t been digging into the shooting and trying to find the woman in Paris. I would have been just… your adoring wife. Running the household, entertaining your friends, trying to keep your kids out of jail. I mean, for most women, that wouldn’t be such a bad deal. Married to one of richest men on earth. Great clothes, fabulous food, private jets, penthouses, even pretty good sex.”
“Pretty good?”
“Don’t push it. All I’m saying is that most women would be very satisfied with the whole arrangement.”
He shrugged, and then agreed. “It sounds good to me.”
“So, suppose I’d just said to myself, ‘Hey, stupid, this isn’t bad. Don’t rock the boat.’ Would we just have gone on living as if I were the only one? Would you have ever told me, ‘Oh, by the way, I have another wife living in Paris. A very sexy lady with great style, wonderful taste, and dukes and earls snapping at her heels.’ Or would you just have kept me in the dark?”
He pushed his hat back and looked around thoughtfully for a few seconds. Then he said, “The question doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why not?” Jane demanded.
“Because if you weren’t such a nosy bitch, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”