Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (81 page)

“He seemed nice to me,” I said.

“He is nice to
all
young ladies,” he
muttered.

It wasn’t long before we were back at the
mansion and I was helping myself to another drink.

“I think you’ve had enough tonight. Why don’t
you get up to bed,” he said, trying to take the drink from my hand.
I quickly snatched my hand away, causing the glass to fall to the
floor and shatter in a hundred pieces. I started to laugh
hysterically, then suddenly began to cry as I knelt down and
carefully tried to pick up each of the broken pieces of glass.
Richard leaned over and lifted me up. “Edgar can tend to this. It’s
time for bed,” he said insistently. Without another word, I agreed
to go to my room and again sleep off my drunken stupor.

The next morning I didn’t feel as bad as the
first time I’d had too much to drink, but Agnes did give me a cool
cloth for my head and insisted I rest until Richard came back from
his morning appointment.

I lay in bed until my headache went away,
then, before noon, I dressed and found myself waiting impatiently
in the parlor for Richard’s return. Edgar asked stiffly if I needed
anything. When I said, “No, thank you,” he managed to stay clear of
me.

I was relieved when Richard arrived, and
thought perhaps he would want to take me for a walk and show me
more of the city. However, he had one thing on his mind, and that
was to tell me all about his late morning meeting with the editor.
“John Hudson . . . he is my boss and editor-in-chief . . . was
elated with my sketch of you,” Richard declared, his eyes wide and
filled with excitement. “He wants you to be on the cover. It is
just as I thought; I knew he would be captivated with your stunning
looks.” Richard came to me and sat down, then explained how he
would take care of everything for me. “You just have to show up.
The rest, all the other details, will be left to me.”

I didn’t understand why he thought I would be
the least bit interested, or how sketching me for the cover of one
of the world’s most famous magazines would allow me to lay low and
out of the eye of the law.

“I know what you're thinking. Nevertheless,
it’s not a big commitment. And we will use an assumed name,”
Richard said reassuringly, and he took hold of my hands. “Then you
can have enough money to get your father out of all of his
financial troubles. You would like to do that for him, wouldn’t
you?” Richard’s dark eyes narrowed down onto me, seeming to look
for any sign that I might be a terrible daughter and not want to
help my father any way I could. Little did Richard know it was all
a lie, that Daddy was dead and not in financial trouble as I’d led
him to believe. There was no way I could reveal my deception. I
didn’t want to risk losing my safe harbor, and I reluctantly,
agreed.

“Good. Very, very good,” he said excitedly.
“I promise I will handle all the details. Even your name. You shall
go by the name Vivienne.”

I sat stunned speechless at the idea of using
the name of a dead woman he had once been most fond of. Richard saw
my surprise and disbelief, though he chose to ignore it.

“Tomorrow we are going out to the estate to
spend a few days, and when we return, we’ll get started on the
cover. For now,” he said, facing me with eyes full of excitement,
“I am inspired, and I want to do another personal sketch of you.
After all, you did promise me one more.”

There was excitement and passion in Richard’s
eyes. It reminded me of Heath. I was flabbergasted and didn’t know
what direction he was taking me. I had assumed that my stay with
Richard would be quiet and subdued, that I would stay in the
shadows of the city until I was able to sneak away and return to
Maine without being discovered. The last thing I had ever wanted
was to be in the spotlight, for any reason, good or bad.

Richard soon had me upstairs in his private
room, directing me on how to sit. “The light is perfect today,” he
mumbled to himself, while taking out the supply of paints instead
of pencils. “And I think I will do an oil painting of you. I have
only dabbled with paints. I always wanted to do one of Vivienne.
”

He stood back and studied me for a while,
then began to work. I wondered what about that young woman made him
so obsessed. Was it the way Heath was with Clara - a simple crush -
or was it something more, something as dark and disturbing as
Warren’s manic obsession with my mother and then me? I had become
aware of how men fixate on women, how they do nothing but think and
breathe them. I saw firsthand how a simple crush could lead to a
tumultuous fixation and eventual tragedy.

“How did you meet her?” I asked pensively,
when he was heavily engrossed in his painting.

He didn’t answer me, so I asked again. Then
he peered over the canvas at me, with eyes smoldering with a pain I
had seen more often than I could count.

“She was Judith’s maid,” was all he said,
then went back to painting without another word. He concentrated
heavily, and for some time I believed he wasn’t satisfied with his
work.

“I don’t know . . .” he continued to mumble
under his breath. Maybe he wanted her image on the canvas instead
of mine and didn’t like what was coming of the portrait. I felt
almost sorry for him as he appeared to struggle to find the
connection between his hands, his eyes, my image, and the haunting
image of Vivienne that he must have kept vivid in his mind.

The hours passed, and I grew tired of sitting
still. My neck was beginning to tighten, and I was bored, until
Richard stopped and asked me to change position. “I would like you
to undress for me. I want to finish you in the nude.”

“I won’t do that,” I answered, afraid of the
mere thought of it. I never wanted a man to see me undressed again.
To my deep regret, I had undressed for Warren, to tease him and
taunt him into desiring me. He took advantage of my youth. He had
realized that I was naïve and abused me in a way that left me
emotionally scarred. And, of course, I couldn’t shed my clothing
and allow Richard to see the wounds - the evidence of the brutal
whipping by my cruel grandmother.

Richard again tried to convince me that he
was a professional and that he saw the naked body as a work of art,
not as a sexual object, though adding, “Except when I am not
standing behind an easel. Then, Lillian, I am a man like any
other.”

“I can’t,” I cried in dismay, attempting to
contain my tears. Richard stood before me and placed his hands on
my shoulders, looking down at me square in the eyes. He asked,
“Don’t you trust me?”

I hesitated, choking back my sobs. I tried to
pull away, but he brought me into his embrace and hushed me as a
loving father would. “Tell me what has happened. I am your friend,
your confidant. Let me help you,” Richard whispered in my ear as he
stroked my long hair.

“Not now, please, Richard,” I implored.

“All right, all right. Not today,” he agreed
for my sake, then tenderly kissed away my tears and pulled
back.

I was shaken and distressed, and when Richard
left to do some business for a few hours, I hurried to down some
brandy, which eased my anxiety, helped me relax, and made me forget
all the terror, which although I tried to fight it off, I
continuously suffered.

While Richard was gone, as night approached
once again, I was drunk, wandering throughout the enormous city
mansion. The rooms were not locked. Apparently, there was nothing
Richard wanted to keep secret and locked away, unlike at Sutton
Hall, where every room contained shocking secrets.

I took my time exploring all the luxurious
unoccupied rooms on every floor, opening drawers, pulling out items
of clothing, and then carelessly shoving them back in. Then, in one
drawer, a drawer in a dresser in Richard’s own room, I found dozens
of photographs. They were of pictures of summer days at a lake.
Richard was dressed as dapper as ever, rowing Judith in a boat as
she sat like a queen, with a fancy parasol shielding her from the
blazing sun.

I held the photograph in my hands, laughing
to myself, remembering the days Heath would row Ayden and me out to
school. There was nothing notable about those days. They were harsh
times, the weather problematic, the seas rough, the wind bitter,
especially in the winter months. I remembered how cold it was, but
I would have given anything to be back there, to have my youth
returned, or never stolen away.

I was about to put the photographs away,
amused with seeing Richard in such an uncharacteristic pose - he
must have broken a sweat rowing her around - when I was startled
with Edgar’s sudden appearance.

“How dare you snoop through Mr. Parker’s
belongings!” he bellowed, and quickly rushed over and grabbed hold
of my arm.

My heart was in my throat, as I feared his
anger. His large eyes were bulging, and the vein in his neck looked
as if it was about to pop.

“Please stop; you're hurting me!” I cried. As
I tried to free myself from his grip, absolute panic seized me. I
recalled Warren grabbing me, wanting to kill me. That is when I
pushed him into the path of an oncoming wagon and saved myself. His
death was my only means of escape.

“I knew when I first laid eyes on you that
you were a good-for-nothing tramp, just like all the women Mr.
Parker brings into this house,” Edgar said through clenched teeth.
His face was only an inch from mine, and it was red - blood
red.

“Let me go!” I screamed.

“Women like you take advantage of men like
Mr. Parker. He never learns,” he sneered. He shoved me down onto
the bed and began to tear off my dress. I screamed out in fear and
tried desperately to squirm out from under him.

“I will teach you a lesson, so you will
remember never to . . .”

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?” Richard yelled
from where he stood in the doorway.

Edgar fell off the bed and hurriedly tucked
in his shirt as I jumped up and ran to Richard, sobbing and shaking
uncontrollably.

“She was going through your belongings; she
was stealing from you, Mr. Parker,” Edgar stammered to explain.

Richard’s eyes were full of rage. He
approached Edgar and abruptly grabbed hold of his collar.

“Sir, please, it was her fault. She tried to
seduce me. She began undressing for me so I wouldn’t tell you what
she had done!”

“That’s not true!” I sobbed.

Richard didn’t waste another moment. He
lifted Edgar off the floor and pushed him forward, leading him out
of the room. When they were in the hall, he ordered, “Pack up your
things, Edgar. Your services are no longer needed.”

“Mrs. Parker won’t permit this,” he shot
back.

“My wife has no say in the matter.”

Edgar gave me a look of disgust, and hurried
off. When the elevator doors closed, Richard came to me and
demanded an explanation. “Did you do as he suggested?”

“No, no, Richard. I admit I was looking
around, bored. But I would never . . .” I stopped, and full of
shame, I placed my hands over my face to hide my tears.

“It’s all over now. Edgar will no longer be a
threat to you,” Richard said with little sympathy. He brought my
hands down roughly to make me face him. “But I am not pleased that
you went snooping through my room.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied flatly.

“Go to sleep. We have a full day ahead
tomorrow,” Richard said, and he went to make certain Edgar was
packing up his belongings.

I tossed and turned all night as another
summer storm rolled across the vast metropolis. The thunder shook
the house and sent me under my covers, praying the night would come
to a quick and peaceful ending. While my eyes were sealed shut, I
recalled what Edgar had attempted to do and was sickened at the
thought of what could have happened. If Richard hadn’t walked in, I
would have been violated once again. How can any man be
trusted
?
I wondered, as the light from the new day gradually
filled my room. I eased out of bed, grateful to have braved another
storm. I knew for certain I would have to be more careful than ever
sailing through the occasional storms of life and must avoid danger
at all costs.

“It is a lovely day for travel,” Richard
declared, taking in a long, deep breath of the cool, dewy summer
morning air as we headed out of the city and up north along the
Hudson River.

I sat awkwardly beside him while he gazed out
from the coach at the beautiful day, thinking he still must be
angry with me. It was my fault he lost his butler. If I hadn’t
snooped around, Edgar would still have his position. I believed
that when Judith heard, she would dislike me even more.

Richard mentioned nothing of the previous
night. He rested most of the way. I believed he had been gone all
night, for he was wearing the same attire as the day before and
smelt of stale cigars and worn ladies’ perfume.

When we arrived at the summer estate many
hours later, I was relieved to get out and stretch my cramped legs.
That was when I slowly gazed around, once again in awe of what
great wealth could obtain.

The colossal castle-style mansion was built
of sand-colored granite, and presented pinnacled roofs, peaked
windows, soaring towers and turrets, all surrounded by broad,
sweeping, emerald green lawns that stopped at the edge of the
sparkling river. Nearly every window of the grandiose mansion faced
the mountains with a magnificent view.

“This, my dear Lillian, is where the upper
crust of New York wine and dine, play games, and have unlimited fun
all summer long,” Richard remarked, as he took hold of my arm and
led me along the wide, thick, perfectly manicured grounds, past
several large fountains and marble pavilions, to where there was a
small group of guests playing badminton. The only person I
recognized was Judith. She was conversing with a young woman who
was holding a racket in one hand and a drink in the other.