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Jonas took the phone and stared at it before replacing it to his ear. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”
“Just call Sandra.”
“She’ll have shows this weekend.”
“So have her come next week.”
Jonas scowled, tempted in spite of himself. Sandra was a long-ago lover and good friend. She’d been a rock during the ugly breakup with Missy. “You’re a piece of work.”
“I owe you one, bro.”
Jonas hung up the phone, shaking his head. He could stand up to the highest-level executives in the company. But around his brother he became as indulgent as their grandfather, who used to bring cookies and candy from Germany when he visited, as if Jonas and Erik were still kids. Really good cookies and candy. They didn’t object.
Taking consolation from the knowledge that if he didn’t want to make the trip to Lake George, wild horses couldn’t make him, he dialed Sandra, whom he’d known for ten years, since the night he’d gone to one of her shows on a musician friend’s suggestion. She’d spotted him in the audience and had come over to his table. They spent the intermission together, then time after the show, then made a long, hot night of it—that night and several others. For two years, if they weren’t seeing other people, they’d hook up for a night, once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. He’d liked the uncomplicated nature of their sexual relationship and was disappointed when she ended it and broke off contact. Happily, they met again by chance a few years later, and had started a platonic friendship. Who knew, maybe they would end up together forever. They joked about it now and then.
Sandra picked up. “Hey, hottie, what’s happening?”
“Want to come with me to Lake George for a long weekend?”
She gasped theatrically. “Oh, you are so speaking my language.”
“Seriously? You don’t have a show?”
“I’m between them, and can’t stand myself anymore. You called just as I was about to become a heroin and shopping-channel addict. I don’t know which one’s worse.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled. She had a fairly edgy sense of humor, to put it mildly. Came from a rough childhood in South Boston. “Put down the needle and the remote and pack your bags.”
“When do we leave?”
“Considering the week I’m having, not soon enough. Saturday morning? I have a dinner meeting Friday.”
She clucked her tongue. “Only you would have a business meeting on a Friday night.”
“He’s a client in town for a conference.”
“I’m telling you, they own your very fine Jon-ass.”
“Ha.” He bristled at the dig. “Maybe not for long.”
“Yeah?” She dropped the sensual lounge singer act she did so well, her voice rising to its normal sweet pitch. “No offense, but I’ve been hearing that for a while.”
Jonas sighed wearily. “I know. But I’m getting closer. We can talk.”
“Good deal. Saturday suits me fine. What brought this on, by the way? I thought you were going to get rid of the place.”
“We’ve been summoned to chaperone young Erik and his latest target.”
“Erik needs a chaperone? What’s wrong with that boy? Or more to the point, what’s wrong with the woman? Frigid? Closet gay? From a past century?”
“I was just asking him the same thing. Between you and me, I think it’s a case of ‘she’s just not that into him.’”
“Ah. I suppose even a master can fail sometimes. Well, after all the stories you’ve told me, I look forward to watching him in action.”
“That makes one of us.” His voice came out more brusquely than he intended. “I’m sure he can’t teach you a thing.”
“You got that right.” Her voice went back to the sensual purr she used in her act to great effect. Sandra had been performing since she could walk, in community theater, in equity shows and her favorite—singing jazz and show tunes in clubs around Boston. She was beautiful, sexy, magnetic and a hell of a singer. “I also look forward to hanging out with you, Jonas.”
“That definitely makes two of us.” He hung up the phone, still annoyed with Erik and with himself for being persuaded, but now thinking the weekend might be just what he needed. A chance to get away, gain some perspective on life and work and what he wanted to do next. Lake George was a good place for that kind of deep thinking. And he’d have the chance to catch up with an old friend.
Nothing strange about that. He always looked forward to seeing Sandra. The odd thing was his immediate follow-up thought: that he was also looking forward to seeing Allie.
2
Hi Allie,
Erik asked me to email you to confirm that I’ll be at Lake George on Saturday (the 19th)—he didn’t think you believed I was coming. Obviously you’re a smart woman. I’ll make sure he behaves, though I’m guessing you can take care of yourself.
By the way, sorry you got laid off. The world makes no sense sometimes. I’m sure you’ll find a job soon. Mine isn’t thrilling me these days—I’m dreaming about starting my own company.
Wow. I haven’t admitted that to anyone yet. Barely even to myself. So now you know my deepest secret.
Jonas
P.S. It will be good to see you again. I enjoyed meeting you in New York
Hey Jonas,
No, I probably won’t need your protection, but I also enjoyed meeting you last Christmas. Erik said you’re bringing your girlfriend. Was he telling the truth there, too?
Thanks for the sympathy on being laid off. I’m sure something else will turn up. It’s the limbo that’s hard. Luckily I’ve had every crap job a teenager can land, so I won’t starve.
As for your new company, congratulations! But if that’s your deepest secret, you need more excitement.
Allie
Hi Allie,
I’m bringing an old friend. Sandra.
As for needing more excitement, hmm. Maybe being back at Lake George will inspire me to wilder things?
On that note, why are you stuck vacationing with Erik? I would think there’d be an army of Manhattan men clawing for your attention. Or do you just turn them all down? You should come to Boston. It’s a great city.
Jonas
Hey Jonas,
Ha! The only men clawing for my attention want me to pay my bills. As for Boston, you’re seriously tempting me.
Allie
I bet you say that to all the guys.
Jonas
Only the ones who do.
Allie
* * *
ALLIE CLIMBED OUT of Erik’s Mercedes after a long, bumpy ride down a tree-lined gravel driveway branching off a road halfway up the west side of Lake George. She inhaled the light, cool air with relief, having spent too many miles listening to Erik’s horrible music.
The Meyers’ property and Morningside—really, they named their house?—were even more stately and elegant in person than they’d looked in the pictures Erik showed her. Determined not to betray her intimidation or awe, Allie dragged her suitcase out of the backseat, waving off the very solicitous Erik who’d come around to help. He was being the perfect gentleman—almost too perfect. Less like a concerned friend and more like a guy lulling his intended victim into complacency. On the way over, he’d taken her to a lovely bistro off Interstate 87, and had seemed a little too eager to refill her wineglass, a little too eager to compliment her, touch her arm, bump hands and shoulders when they were walking. Maybe she was paranoid, but her guard was up—to put it mildly—and she was very glad Jonas and Sandra would be arriving the next day.
Jonas, anyway. Sandra, not so much.
Stop! Honestly, one meeting last Christmas and a few emails and she was as giddy as a preteen with a crush, obsessing over every word he’d said. Allie was the only person he’d told about wanting to start his own company? Uh-huh. Did she remember whose brother he was? Boston was probably littered with women who were “the only person he’d told.”
Shutting down those thoughts, she turned to face Morningside, which was lit with a soft glow from outdoor lights and the moon. The place was imposing. Eight bedrooms, Erik had said, in two gleaming white stories. A wide screened-in porch—or should she say a ver-an-da—wrapped around the north side, punctuated by a white balustrade and a lattice fence that effectively hid unsightly underparts. The south end of the house, also two stories, sat slightly lower, like a stunted afterthought. Black shutters—Dark green? Navy? Hard to tell at night—downstairs, and on the second floor, dormers relieved the whiteness. Farther north on the property and closer to the lake was the silhouette of a smaller house, begging to be explored. By the water stood a third structure, a boathouse, she’d guess. Surrounding the family compound, a fern-strewn pine and hardwood forest covered hills that came right to the water’s edge on either side of the curving sand beach. The grass around the house looked freshly mowed. She wouldn’t be surprised if the sand by the lake had been raked, too. The place had been thoroughly readied for the Lord of the Manor’s visit.
Sarcasm aside, Morningside was tranquil and totally private. Allie was glad that she wouldn’t have to cope with a cluster of mansions, women twirling parasols, wearing bonnets and the latest frocks, their gold-plated opera glasses trained on Allie, anticipating her every faux pas.
Okay, wrong century, but real fears.
From an early age she’d been conscious of class status in a way no one else in her blue-collar family seemed to be. Not that she’d grown up in the jungle, though at times Brooklyn felt that wild. But she’d been the only one of her siblings so determined to put that life behind her. Which she had. Just not this far.
“You like it?” Erik’s blue eyes were bright with pleasure, or maybe just reflecting the moonlight.
“How could I not?” She gestured to the house and grounds, acting as if this was just the latest in the long line of similar vacation mansions she’d stayed in. “It’s beautiful. So quiet.”
“C’mon, I’ll show you inside. You can have Mom’s room upstairs.”
She fell in step beside him on the flagstone path. “And where do you sleep?”
“I’ll be in Dad’s room.” His voice was casual. “There’s a connecting door, but you can lock it if you’re worried.”
Allie stopped walking. “How many keys?”
“Allie, Allie, Allie.” He bent to take her suitcase up the front steps. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
Said the shark to the seal. “If you say so.”
“I do. Jonas and Sandra will be here tomorrow. They’re sleeping down the hall and will hear your screams of terror and revulsion if I attack you.”
“Uh, yeah, thanks, Erik, that helps a lot.” She gestured toward the small cottage out back. “So what’s that place, the butler’s quarters?”
“Nah. Escape pod, used by various people over the generations. Mom had sleepovers there with girlfriends. I think my grandparents honeymooned there. Jonas slept there when he was a teenager. My great-grandfather used it most. He was a writer with five kids and needed peace and quiet.”
“How nice for your great-grandmother that he had somewhere to go.” She rolled her eyes, imagining the poor woman managing five screeching kids while her husband peacefully awaited inspiration.
Erik dismissed her with a wave. “They probably had one nanny for each kid. Great-Grandma Josephine was a party animal. Wait till you see her outfits.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Tomorrow.” He unlocked the front door. “The light will be better up in the attic.”
Inside, the house was cool and still, but with none of the mustiness one would expect from a place shut up for so long. Erik hit a switch and a brass chandelier sprang to light, illuminating the tiled foyer and curving staircase ascending to the left. To the right, against the wall under a huge gilt-framed mirror, stood a glass table on which sat a low vase of perfectly dried flowers—lavender, hydrangea, roses and curly willow.
Glimpses into the surrounding rooms revealed similar decor. Subtle, simple, nothing overdone. Everything reeked of elegance and good taste. Julie had that talent. She could absently throw on skinny pants and any old shirt and look ten times more chic than Allie trying her hardest. Dad’s wife, Betsy, was the same way, only she was openly smug about it.
Maybe the gift of effortless style came with the money genes.
“It’s late, I’m beat.” Erik gave a long, loud yawn. “I’ll treat you to the full tour tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem.” Allie followed him up the staircase, hiding her oh-so-low-class disappointment. She felt like a little kid, wanting to see everything now! The downstairs, the upstairs, the cottage, the boathouse. She wanted to take a long moonlit walk by the lake, lie on the beach and count stars...
But okay, she’d still be here tomorrow night, and several more after that. She’d get her moonlit walk, probably more than once.
Upstairs, the landing was furnished with a grandfather clock and old-fashioned daybed. Near a window overlooking the lake were a smaller wing chair and a bookcase. It was a perfect spot for a rainy day.
“Yours.” Turning right down a long hall, Erik pushed open the first door on the lake side and ushered Allie in.
“Wow.” She walked to the center of the good-size room and turned slowly, taking it all in. The bed was the centerpiece: a white iron frame with curving lines, decorative but not overly ornate, covered in a bold floral quilt with matching pillows. Around the windows hung a more subdued fabric, displaying the same pattern in a smaller print. A few watercolor landscapes brightened the pale yellow walls. A bedside table supported a fresh bouquet that nearly matched the bedspread. Under her feet, a blue-and-white rug lay over carefully preserved hardwood. All of it managed to look perfectly haphazard and totally put together at the same time.
She could never live here.
Turning once more, she noticed something laid out on the bed—
“What is that?” Allie pointed accusingly at the nightie. It was cotton eyelet with embroidered pastel roses. Very sheer. Very short. Very low-cut.
“Our housekeeper prepared the room for you. You’re welcome to wear it if you want, otherwise, just hang it up and forget about it.”
She met Erik’s guileless eyes, unamused. “Thanks. I brought my own.”
“Okay.” His smile didn’t waver. “Anything else you need tonight?”
No. “Not a thing, thanks.”
“Good night then.” He grasped her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead, standing just far enough away that she didn’t feel she needed to call him on it. “Welcome to Morningside, Allie. I’m really glad you decided to come. We’ll have a great time.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Another kiss, this one on her cheek, and a closer embrace, just this side of platonic. She had to admit he smelled good, expensive and masculine, but that was about it for her attraction. After he left, she hurried to close the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Allie had unpacked and was lying in bed, listening to Erik humming through the connecting door—locked, she’d checked—and the faint lap of waves outside, nothing at all like the honk-and-siren sounds of Manhattan. The earplugs she wore every night still lay on her bedside table, waiting for her to get sleepy enough to put them in. As long as she was wide-awake, she might as well tune in to the natural world around her.
An hour later, she was still lying there. The swishing of the waves had gotten more vigorous and the wind had picked up. She could hear Erik snoring.
