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Sherman was as unctuous as ever, Erica thought, peering at him across his massive desk as he shuffled papers regarding her estate, and spouting empty platitudes. Still, he’d not uttered one condescending comment in the few minutes she’d been in his office, probably because Aunt Betty was at her side.
She smiled at her aunt, grateful for her company. There was no sign of the distraught woman she’d comforted a few evenings ago. Today, Aunt Betty seemed resolute, as though she’d come to some major decision. She asked Sherman several questions—about mutual funds, yields, and tax shelters—which he was only too eager to answer.
He handed Erica several folders of records. “Look these over, if you will. It’s a listing of your investments and real estate holdings—what they’re worth today, and what they’ve earned over the last fourteen years since I became executor and trustee of your estate.”
Erica opened a folder and thumbed through pages filled with columns of numbers. In truth, she understood very little of what she saw.
Sherman caught her expression of confusion and laughed. “Don’t worry. Next week, we’ll go over every item in detail. You’ll understand it thoroughly by the time we’re done.”
“What does it add up to?” Erica asked, regaining her aplomb.
“Twenty million, fifty-six thousand dollars. More or less. All yours when you turn twenty-five.”
“Unless something happens to me.”
“Hmm. If you should die before your twenty-fifth birthday, the estate, according to your father’s will, is bequeathed to your two aunts, to be divided equally. Ten million twenty-eight thousand dollars each.”
There was silence.
“Over ten million dollars,” Betty said reverently. “I’ve never been this close to that much money.”
Shocked, Erica glared at her aunt. “Aunt Betty! You only get it if I die.”
Her aunt put an arm around Erica’s shoulders. “Don’t upset yourself. You know I want you to be well and happy. I’m simply astounded by all that wealth!”
“Of course, nothing will happen to our Erica,” Sherman interjected smoothly. “She’s destined to lead a long and happy life.”
Erica looked at him solemnly. “How do I know it’s all there?”
“Erica!” Betty gasped, her turn to be shocked. “What a question! Sherman’s been executor of your estate for all these years. Your father trusted him implicitly.”
Sherman raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, displaying his star sapphire cufflinks. But her question had obviously unsettled him.
Erica was glad, for once, she’d gotten past his armor.
“A perfectly reasonable question, Betty, from someone not familiar with trusts and estates. And it does show Erica is willing to undertake the responsibility of her inheritance.” His tone had turned condescending.
Touché, Erica thought. I suppose I deserved that.
He turned to her. “You see, there are all sorts of checks and protections, my dear. Laws that protect an heir. I could explain them now in detail, if you care to hear me out.”
Erica shook her head, her ears burning with embarrassment. “Not necessary,” she mumbled. For all his faults, she had no reason to consider Sherman anything but scrupulously honest. Her father had trusted him, so she would, too. “I trust you, Sherman.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that.” He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we proceed?”
“What if I want to turn it all into cash?” Erica asked.
She could have kicked herself. Why was she being perverse, asking these provocative questions? To irritate Sherman? To let him know she was an adult and a person to be reckoned with? If so, this was one hell of a way of proving it.
He chose to answer her question. “Of course, your holdings can be liquidated into cash. But why do something that foolish?” He seemed hurt by the suggestion. “You’ll lose money if you sell your bonds before they come due. Study the papers I’m giving you. They explain how your investments make money. You can live very nicely off the interest and dividends.”
“I was merely asking. I should familiarize myself with every aspect of my portfolio. Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.”
A sense of power surged through her body. For the first time in her life, she was in control. And she couldn’t resist wielding her power over Sherman Hartley who, so often in the past, had made her feel she went through life with a smudge of dirt on her face.
“I plan to make a study of investments,” she continued, as though this were a decision she’d come to some time ago instead of at that very moment, “so I can manage my portfolio.”
“I advise you not to do anything rash, my dear. We are talking about a great deal of money.” He leaned over to pat her arm. “I’d be more than happy to assist you in any way I can. Your father always valued my counsel when it came to finances.”
“That was several years ago.”
“Erica!” Aunt Betty chimed.
But, to Erica’s surprise, Sherman burst out laughing—a deep, belly guffaw, unlike any sound she’d ever heard him make. It filled the office.
“I do believe our Erica is feeling her oats. This calls for a celebration.” He pushed the intercom. “Miss Fitzroy, bring in a bottle of sherry and three glasses, please.”
Waterford, Erica was pleased to notice, when the tray was set before them.
Sherman poured and proposed a toast. She sipped her sherry, and observed the change that overtook their little group. Client, relative, and attorney were transformed into three longstanding friends. The matter of Erica’s inheritance was dropped for the time being, with the understanding that she would return to the office on Tuesday to sign the necessary papers and spend some time familiarizing herself with the accounts.
“Oh, my goodness, I almost forgot! Monica will have my head if I fail to relay her message.” He held his pudgy hands to his face in mock terror.
They waited for him to explain.
“You’re both invited—and Constance, of course—to dinner tomorrow night in celebration of Erica’s birthday.” He sent Erica a penetrating look. “Unless you have other plans.”
“No, I haven’t,” she said after a stunned pause. “Not with Terry’s death and all. To tell you the truth, I haven’t given any thought to my birthday.”
And before she could explain that she’d rather not make a big to-do about her twenty-fifth birthday, Sherman was rubbing his hands together and beaming.
“That’s settled then,” he said, taking her hesitancy for acceptance. “We’re delighted you can come. Jason will be there, of course. He tells us you enjoyed your Monday evening together.”
Erica glared at him, but Sherman didn’t notice, as he’d chosen that moment to pour more sherry into everyone’s glass. “Erica, is there anyone else you’d care to have us include? Monica said to be sure to tell you the more the merrier.”
She would use such a trite expression, Erica thought unkindly. She was annoyed with Monica for having extended the invitation, annoyed with herself for not coming up with a refusal in time. Was there anyone to invite? Doug immediately came to mind, and she shook her head vehemently to rid herself of his image.
“There’s no one I can think of.”
Aunt Betty stood and clasped Sherman’s hands between her own. “A birthday dinner for Erica! How kind of you and Monica. Sherman, I don’t know what we would have done without your help all these years.”
Dutifully, Erica kissed his cologne-scented cheek. “Thanks, Sherman, and thanks for all your help.”
He beamed at each of them. “It’s been my pleasure to look after your interests. After all, you’re like family to us.” He cleared his throat. “Then we’ll be six for dinner. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
“Eight o’clock,” Aunt Betty echoed.
They sipped their sherry. How very civilized, Erica thought.
She glanced at the hunting pictures on the wall and suppressed a giggle. It was like being trapped inside a comedy of manners where everyone went by the rules, including herself. Then she caught Aunt Betty eyeing her watch, and she glanced down at her own. It was eleven-thirty.
They’d spent most of the morning discussing her inheritance. Soon, she’d have enough money to live the rest of her life in comfort. She could travel. Buy a house in another state. Buy houses in several states. She wished she had a burning ambition, or a particular career she wanted to pursue, but nothing came to mind.
Sherman ushered them to the outer office, and kissed them goodbye. He’s a happy man, Erica realized. He enjoys his work, adores his wife, and now he gets along with Jason.
“Jason?” Erica was astonished to see his long, lanky frame leaning over Miss Fitzroy’s desk. From the sound of things, he’d reduced his father's grim secretary—who, until this moment, Erica would have sworn lacked the necessary facial muscles to smile—to the state of a silly teenager.
Jason straightened as they approached. “Hello, Erica, Miss Madsen.” He doffed an imaginary cap. “Imagine finding you here.”
“I understand we’ll be seeing you tomorrow night,” Aunt Betty gushed.
“I'm looking forward to helping Erica celebrate her birthday.”
Jason’s wink set Erica’s teeth on edge. Monday night’s “date” was only too clear in his mind. She felt like kicking herself for not rejecting Sherman’s invitation outright. She could have said she was busy. Though she couldn’t have counted on Aunt Betty not to show surprise about any imaginary plans. And Sherman would simply have changed the date of Monica’s dinner.
Erica sighed. She was going to this dinner party, so she might as well make the best of it.
“Monica spent all of last night deciding on the menu,” Jason went on. “And she’s hired someone to serve.”
“It’s very kind of her to want to do this for me,” she said stiffly, confused.
Why would Monica assume she and her aunts would be free tomorrow evening?
Of course! Either Constance or Betty had told her.
“Kind enough, once I came up with the idea,” Jason bragged. “But I have to hand it to Monica. She’s going all out to make this a gala celebration. I promise you, Erica, you won’t be disappointed.”
So, Jason was behind it all! Damn it! The sooner I leave Manordale, the better off I’ll be. She was sick and tired of people planning her life as though she were a rag doll with no will of her own. Somebody always seemed to want something from her, something she wasn’t prepared to give. Draining her of the precious time and energy she needed to figure out what she wanted from life.
She was fed up with being manipulated, first by her aunts, now by Jason. But no one was going to keep her in that office one minute longer.
“’Bye, Jason. We have to go.” She sailed out, almost slamming the door on Aunt Betty.
“You weren’t very kind to poor Jason,” her aunt accused as they stepped into the elevator.
“Poor, Jason, my eye.”
They walked down the block to the Main Street Diner and were seated immediately, their orders taken.
“Now, Erica, dear, I have less than an hour,” Aunt Betty said as she glanced at her watch, then around the half-empty diner. “I only hope it’s enough time to explain everything, so you can understand and...and not think too badly of me.”
Erica nodded, her mouth too full of her tuna fish sandwich to speak. Aunt Betty might have a luncheon date, but she didn’t. And she was ravenous after that session with Sherman.
Aunt Betty made a few more false starts. Her eyes darted about the room, looking anywhere but at Erica. She was as fidgety as a soon-to-be father pacing a maternity waiting room.
“I don’t know exactly where to begin,” her aunt said for the third time. She stared into her untouched coffee as though she hoped the answer might rise up from the milky brown liquid.
Erica resisted the impulse to grab her aunt by the shoulders and insist she spit out what she wanted to say. Instead, she started on the second half of her sandwich.
“But before I begin, there is one thing I must ask of you.” Aunt Betty’s fluttering hand reached across the table and landed on Erica’s arm. “Please,” she said in a voice so low it was barely audible, “not a word of this to anyone, Erica. And that especially means your Aunt Constance.”
After the scene the other evening, Erica was not surprised by this request. “You can trust me, Aunt Betty.”
“Of course, I’ll tell Connie just as soon as I’m able to. But not yet. Not now.” Betty took a deep breath. Her words emerged like a gust of wind. “Erica, I’m going to be married. Very, very soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Aunt Betty! I’m delighted! I’m thrilled!” Erica jumped out of her seat to hug her aunt.
Betty said nothing, but her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.
“I’m very happy,” her aunt said quietly. “I really am, but there are many...complications.”
“Who is he? Where did you meet him?” Erica could barely contain her curiosity. This news was out of the blue.
“He’s someone I’ve known for a very long time. In fact, you’ve met him once or twice.”
“I have?” Erica was puzzled.
Aunt Betty’s voice fell to a whisper. “It's Ron Jennings.”
She gasped. “Mr. Jennings?” Her voice betrayed her shock and disbelief. Mr. Jennings was the principal of the high school where Aunt Betty had been teaching for the past eighteen years. And, as far as Erica knew, he was married.
“Shh,” Aunt Betty admonished. “Keep your voice down.”
“But Mr. Jennings,” Erica said in a stage whisper. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, he’s—”
“Erica, be still and let me explain.” Aunt Betty sat up straight in her chair and sighed. When her emotions were seemingly under control, she began.
“Ron and I became—er—friends many years ago, just before his wife fell ill. I know it sounds callous, trite even, but they never got along. They were sleeping in separate bedrooms even before we got involved. Sylvia’s one of those passive, clinging women whose strength lies in her tenacity,” Aunt Betty said bitterly.
“Anyway, just as Ron was about to ask her for a divorce, they learned that Sylvia had a debilitating disease and would need constant care as long as she lived. Decent man that he is, Ron couldn’t bring himself to leave her.”
She stared at her aunt in astonishment. “When did all this happen?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
“My God! Seventeen years ago!”
She was too taken aback to do more than gape at her aunt. She had always thought of Aunt Betty as sexless. Virginal. Didn’t she always titter like a silly girl when she spoke to a man? It was a shock to discover she’d been involved with someone all these years. And with her principal!
Did they go to motels or did they do it in his office? The image of Aunt Betty in this improbable situation made her giggle. She had to turn away and cover her mouth.
But Aunt Betty was chuckling herself. “Don’t worry, Erica. We haven’t been skulking around town all these years like we are now. Quite the opposite. After Ron made the decision to stay and care for Sylvia, we agreed not to see each other. It was too painful.”
“But you saw him in school,” she said softly.
Aunt Betty nodded. “Every day. We simply did our best to avoid one another. I still cared, even though I tried to put Ron out of my mind. I succeeded for short periods at a time.”
Erica shook her head. “How awful for you. But wasn’t there anyone you could talk to about this?”
A smile lit Aunt Betty’s face. "Your mother. My sister Helen knew all about Ron. She was the only person I could share this with, the one person who understood what I was going through. How I felt. She didn’t feel compelled to tell me I was a fool to get involved with a married man.” The smile disappeared. “Then, somehow, Connie found out. She was so appalled, she avoided me for months.”
So, that was why her aunts had been estranged all those years ago! At least some ancient mysteries were getting cleared up. Erica watched her aunt sip her coffee. In spite of her natural sympathy for Aunt Betty, she was intrigued, as well. Who would have imagined that her chattering, scrawny aunt had been experiencing a lifelong passionate love affair? And right under her very nose!
“How did you and Ron get together again?” she asked.
“One day, this past fall, we found ourselves alone in the parking lot. We started talking, went out for a drink, and after several meetings, decided we wanted to spend what was left of our lives together. Regardless of Sylvia.” Aunt Betty’s mouth set in a grim line.
“When did he ask his wife for a divorce?”
“About three months ago. And a stronger housebound woman you’ve yet to meet. She’s putting up one fierce fight. Doing her best to bleed him dry. She insists on round-the-clock nurses, which she doesn’t really need. Along with the house, the furniture, and his car, although she hasn’t driven in years. And he still has one son to put through college.”
“Is that why you meet him late at night?”
Aunt Betty nodded. “Sylvia knows he’s involved with someone, but she doesn’t know with whom.” Her face turned crimson. “We think she’s hired a private detective so she can make as big a scandal of the situation as possible. Poor Ron. He meets with his lawyer at least twice a week to discuss her mounting demands. It’s been very hard on both of us.”
Poor Aunt Betty. She took her aunt’s small hands into her own. “I never realized how much you were going through.”
“Then, of course, there are other problems. Your Aunt Constance, for example. I feel terrible about leaving her. At times, I feel as though I can’t do it, but then I get angry and remind myself she’s been married. She’s had her own life.” Betty fixed her eyes on Erica’s. “I’m fifty-four years old, Erica. I’m entitled to some happiness, too.”
“Of course, you are,” Erica readily agreed. “Is that why you’re so worried about Aunt Constance’s health?”
“Partly. She won’t admit it, but her heart condition’s gotten worse. That’s why she sold her car this winter. Not because of that small accident she had—the one she claims shook her up so badly.”
So, Erica hadn’t seen Aunt Constance’s car parked in front of the house when she’d returned from upstate New York. Whose was it?
Aunt Betty went on. “Connie insists on pretending that nothing’s changed. That she can still handle the house and the cooking and all her organizations. But sometimes I come home and find her napping. And she’s breathless after climbing the stairs.”
Erica recalled Aunt Constance’s bursts of anger against Aunt Betty, against herself, and it suddenly all made sense. Aunt Constance wasn’t angry as much as she was terrified. She knew she was sick, and she was afraid of losing the only home she’d had for fourteen years. She couldn’t share her worries with her best friend and companion because that friend and companion was keeping secrets from her.
There was one thing Erica could do. At the first opportunity, she’d let Aunt Constance know she was welcome to stay in the house on Chestnut Drive as long as she lived. Still, that didn’t deal with the problem of Aunt Constance’s poor health.
“What should we do, Aunt Betty? To make sure she gets proper care.”
“I don’t know what I can do, Erica. I suppose you can stay with Connie. Keep an eye on her.”
“Me?” Erica's eyes widened with panic. She gasped for breath. Her worst fear was coming true! She was doomed to be trapped in her childhood home forever.
Aunt Betty patted her hand reassuringly. “Erica, honey, don’t worry. You needn’t stay with her if you don’t want to. It’s just that we have to think of something. It will take planning and money.” She eyed Erica intently. “All I’m trying to say is, you’re old enough to know the true situation so you can help me make the necessary decisions, and it doesn’t all fall on my shoulders.”
Aunt Betty’s words were sensible enough, but something about her tone and the calculating gleam in her eye made Erica squirm.
“Which brings me to another matter.” Aunt Betty’s stare was riveting, as though all the force of her small body were concentrated in her eyes, which gripped Erica in their hold. She knew that look too well. Her aunt rarely used it, but when she did, it never failed. “Because Sylvia’s being so greedy, Ron and I are starting our married life strapped for money. I happened to tell him about your inheritance. Naturally, it came up in conversation.”
“I don’t see why,” Erica sputtered. Her short hairs bristled with indignation.
Aunt Betty loosened her mesmerizing hold on her and smiled—a saccharine, artificial smile. “And we were wondering—that is, I was wondering—if you could see fit to make us a modest wedding gift of, let’s say, fifty thousand dollars?” Her smile widened, multiplying the number of wrinkles already crossing her face. “Or more. But that’s certainly up to you.”
Erica winced. The winsome veneer her aunt had hoped to present was no more than a grotesque mask that did nothing to disguise her brazen request.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she said coldly. “I’m very appreciative of everything you’ve done for me, but ever since I’ve come home, I find everyone’s trying to tell me how to lead my life and spend my money.”
“Why, Erica, whatever are you talking about?” Betty was obviously offended. “I’ve not interfered with you since you’ve come back. And I’ve done my darnedest to see that Constance doesn’t nag you. As for the wedding gift, it was only a suggestion.”
“I suppose so,” Erica said reluctantly. It was true. Nobody could make her live with Aunt Constance or order her to give Aunt Betty money. But life wasn’t that simple. Even though her aunts weren’t as interfering as they used to be, they still managed to invade her life. As did the Hartleys. Maybe Betty was too wrapped up in her own problems to realize that, lately, Erica’s life had become very difficult and complicated.
“I’m really happy for you, Aunt Betty. I hope everything works out the way you want it to.” Erica forced herself to smile. The blatant request for money had taken the joy from her good wishes.
Aunt Betty pushed back her chair. “I’d better leave now if I’m to meet Ron on time.” She reached for the check.
“I’ll get it,” Erica said, taking it from her.
Betty made no sign of protest. She kissed Erica’s cheek, but when she spoke, her voice was matter-of-fact. “Thank you, Erica. And please give some thought to what I’ve told you. Ron and I could use your support.”
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, not hiding her displeasure at this second request for money. Aunt Betty had no right to make her feel as though her future happiness depended on Erica’s generosity.