Chapter 92

ANNE GAVE A NOD to the workman on the other side of the pond, signaling him to turn on the waterfalls on both ends. Water streamed like sheets of glass over the angular stone slabs and down into the pond. She turned and smiled at Walter Von Zandt, though she wanted to throw him in the pond and hold his head under.

“What do you think?”

“Spectacular. They’re lighted at night?”

She nodded with satisfaction. With the completion of the waterfalls, the project was almost finished and the firm would get their money. Jonas, with his acute financial acumen, had set up the payment of their services through funds safely put in escrow at the inception of the project, portions of which were paid out as certain benchmarks were reached. All that was left now were some finishing touches, then the last, smallest payment would be released.

“Maybe you can stay until after it gets dark tonight and show me.” He glanced over at the man who was busily doing something with measuring instruments close enough to be in earshot. He lowered his voice. “Does that man ever do anything that isn’t right beside you? I can never talk to you in private anymore. Can you tell him to do something somewhere else?”

She shook her head. Even if she wanted him to, which she didn’t, she doubted the bodyguard pretending to be one of her workmen would listen. He stuck to her like sap on pine bark from the time they got to the garden every morning until she got back in the car to go back to Aytoun Lane, even hanging around outside when she went to use the restroom. She’d told him he was taking his instructions too seriously, but he acted like he didn’t understand. He was obviously more worried about getting on the wrong side of Terrence than he was about annoying her. Likewise, the man blandly ignored Walter’s pointed remarks suggesting he occupy himself away from Anne.

She motioned for Walter to sit beside her on the stone bench that faced the pond, and loudly explained to him how the original waterfalls had been improved upon with invisible modern technology. He nodded, listening. Then she whispered, pretending to be worried. “I think he reports what I do to my husband, Walter. I have to be careful.” Anne was more grateful than she could say for Terrence giving her this protection, especially as nothing else she did seemed to discourage Walter’s attentions.

“Reid’s spying on you?”

“I think so. You saw how Terrence is, and now he’s even more jealous.”

“This is no way for you to live, Anne.”

He tried to put his arms around her, but she shook her head and moved away.

She was tired of fending him off and decided the time had come to play her strongest card. “Walter, you don’t understand. I’m pregnant.”

His eyes flew open and his face seized up with tension as if he’d sustained a grievous blow. Clearly Terrence had been right about the effect that her news would have on Walter. Unlike the simple complication of her being married, her being pregnant with someone else’s child instantly made her undesirable. In this, Walter and her husband were alike.

She saw Walter’s jaw set and his eyes harden into flint.

“How long have you known?”

Anne tried to sound innocently unaware of the effect her revelation was having on him. “Since right before I came here.”

He expelled a long breath and shook his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She widened her eyes. “Why would I? It has nothing to do with the job.”

“So he has you. Damn him to hell. He’s won this, as well.” He spat out his words, and Anne saw an undisguised malevolence in the man’s face that made her skin prickle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, you wouldn’t. But he does.” He stood up, but his face softened as he looked at her. “I’ll let you get back to work, Anne. Take care of yourself.”

* * * * *

The car Terrence had hired for Anne, driven by the bodyguard who never said a word beyond what was absolutely necessary, took her home each afternoon after she finished work and retrieved her each morning at the Aytoun Lane house. Someone came during the day to clean and sometimes they left a dinner for her to eat when she got home. By the magic of unseen hands, the kitchen was kept stocked with foods she liked to eat and her clothes were cleaned and pressed so she didn’t have to spend time taking care of those details.

And every day the decorator left a notebook with questions and options lying on the new kitchen table for Anne. When Anne returned home in the evenings, she indicated her choices in the notebook and left it on the table for the decorator to see the next day. It was kind of a dream world. Choosing things for a life they would have had if so many things hadn’t gone awry. Would Terrence live here when she left, she wondered. Or would he sell the house?

At night, she would drink her herbal tea and walk around the house and think, what would he like here, what would be comfortable for him there. In the bookcase of the study they had planned would be his, she put the whiskey and brandy he liked and a few volumes of books that she thought he might like, books she’d bought during her rare shopping excursions. She imagined him sitting in study, having a brandy and looking over some of his work papers or maybe studying the screen of his laptop at the end of a day after they’d had a casual dinner together. His new chess set would be set up, and maybe she’d have the courage to play with him. Or maybe she would be curled up on the sofa reading a book to be close to him, with the baby next to her.

Then she would shake herself back to reality and wonder where he really was, what he was doing as she stayed alone in the big house. She knew she couldn’t call him again. She’d tried so many times, got only his voice mail, left messages and never heard back from him. Every time she called him and didn’t leave a message, Harry called her right away to make sure nothing was wrong. That was a bit embarrassing, as obviously Terrence had him call her to see what she wanted, so Harry had to know that she’d called her husband and he just didn’t want to talk to her. So she’d stopped calling without leaving a message. She’d almost stopped calling and leaving messages, as well. Now she only called when she couldn’t stop herself.

But tonight she would have company. Pippa and the children.