Say You Will (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Nick’s cell phone rang as Santiago—the makeup
artiste
, as the man called himself—was prepping him for the Calvin Klein photo shoot. He pulled it out, smiling when he saw Rosalind’s name.

Then his smile faded—he couldn’t answer her call now. She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. She didn’t know Calvin Klein owned his ass, or that it was insured with Lloyd’s of London for several million.

“Stop that.” Santiago lifted Nick’s chin, frowning as he dabbed more stuff on his face. “I’m never going to finish your face if you don’t stop squirming. If you want to take your life into your hands and annoy Serge, fine, but it’s your ass on the line.”

“Literally,” he said, amused by his own joke.

Santiago heaved a sigh, like he was incredibly put upon. “It is
not
easy being an
artiste
.”

Especially one with an identity crisis, because Santiago had a Cockney accent.

“How’s it coming along here?” Jon asked as he walked up. “Ready for the photo shoot?”

Santiago sighed again. “It’s going terribly. This man cannot sit still.”

“He’s a race car driver. They move fast.” Jon smiled winningly at Santiago, who sniffed indignantly and then turned around. His manager made a face at the man’s back before facing Nick. “You ready for this?”

Nick shrugged. “I’ve got boxer briefs on under this robe, if that’s what you mean.”

“Most men would be excited about this opportunity.”

Yes, well, he was over it. The fact that he couldn’t tell Rosalind about any of it didn’t make him any happier, either. “I need to talk to you about that, Jon.”

“Not this again.” His manager groaned. “Listen, Nick, why don’t you take a couple weeks and go someplace warm where girls in bikinis bring you drinks? Relax, unwind, and then come back fresh to get ready for Australia. The team is counting on you to return.”

“I’m not racing in Australia, and you aren’t going to make me feel guilty for leaving the team. McGuire will be thrilled to drive in the limelight on his own, and that young kid David Jay has potential to back him.” He winced as Santiago came at him with tweezers. “Is that necessary? They’re going to be taking pictures from behind, not of my face.”

“This is going to make it all worth it,” Santiago said, plucking an eyebrow hair viciously.

“I was going to save this for later,” Jon began, “but I’ll give you the news now. Omega wants you for a comprehensive ad campaign.”

He nodded. “I hope you haven’t promised anything, because they’re not going to be happy when they find out I’m not racing any longer.”

“Nick, I wish you’d—” Jon frowned. “Wait. Are your toes pink?”

The sound of heels made them both look up. Summer waved at them as she avoided collision with a scurrying assistant. She wore her usual black uniform, but with Rosalind’s scarf tied around her neck.

“Is that your sister?” Jon asked, smoothing his shirt.

“Stepsister,” Nick corrected. “She’s the devil’s own.”

“This is exciting, Nick,” Summer said as she joined them. She kissed his cheek despite Santiago’s warning growl. “I’ve always been curious about your photo shoots.”

“This is the last one I’m going to do, so get your fill.”

“Your last?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” Jon chimed in. He held out his hand. “Jon Goody, from the Goody Talent and Media Group. I represent Nick.”

“Not for long,” he said.

His manager glared at him. “Stop talking that way.”

“What way is he talking?” Summer asked, looking back and forth between them.

“He thinks he’s going to give up racing.” Jon held his hands out like the idea boggled his mind. “Talk some sense into him, will you? I need to go talk to the Calvin Klein rep.”

Summer watched him walk away and then turned back to Nick. “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Because of Mum?”

He thought about Tabitha. “She hated me racing.”

“I know.”

“But it’s more than that. I want what I do to be permanent. I want to build something that lasts.”

“Like what?”

Like a business. Like a family. “I’m working on that.”

She paused, then asked, “Does Rosalind have something to do with this?”

“I was already thinking of leaving Formula One. Rosalind just came along at a time when I was open to the possibility of her.” He glanced at Summer unhappily. “She doesn’t know about today. Do you know why?”

His stepsister bit her lip, looking like she had when she’d been little and stolen candy from her mother’s purse.

Nick shook his head. “Are you really going to pretend you don’t know that I can’t share details of my life with the woman I’m seriously interested in, because of you?”

“Nick—”

“Tell her, Summer.” He took her hand. “She’s going to find out. Wouldn’t it be better that she found out from you?”

“Maybe.” Summer pulled her hand from his and took a step back. “I’ll think about it.”

He sighed. “Will you? Because it’s only a matter of time—”

“I said I’d think about it.” She touched Rosalind’s scarf as she checked her watch. “I need to go. I’ll see you later, Nick.”

Santiago spurted some gel into his hands and attacked Nick’s hair. “Black doesn’t go with her complexion.”

No, but it went with her actions. He stared after his sister, hoping she came to her senses before she lost more than she realized.

Chapter Twenty-five

“I don’t know of many thieves who take a private limo to break into a place,” Portia said, reclining in the back of Bea’s car.

Rosalind shook her head. “How many thieves do you know?”

“Have you seen our family’s social circle? You have to ask?”

“The fact is,” Bea said, not looking up from whatever she was doing on her phone, “I trust Nigel more than I’d trust a cab driver who didn’t know us. Nigel is loyal.”

“No one is loyal,” Viola said as she stared out the window, her mouth turned down. “Give someone incentive enough and they’ll betray you.”

They all turned to look at her. Rosalind had spent hardly any time with her second oldest sister in the last ten years, but even she heard the bitterness.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

“Nothing.” She paused. “At least nothing until your investigator brings me proof.”

Rosalind frowned. “Do you think Charles is having an affair?”

“Is it so surprising? Father did,” Viola said bitterly. “I’m beginning to think there are no honest men.”

She thought of Nick and shook her head. “You know that’s not true. Your world view is just colored by where you’re sitting now.”

“I want better seats. I thought I got orchestra, but I really got standing room only.”

Bea took her hand. “We’ll sort it out.”

Portia took her other hand. “And if we can’t sort it out, we’ll break Charles’s knees for you.”

Viola smiled.

Rosalind looked at Portia, imagining her trying to hurt anyone without breaking her nail, and she burst out laughing.

Her sisters joined in. They were still laughing when Bea’s driver pulled over and through the intercom said, “We’ve arrived.”

Bea nodded and opened the door. “Ready, ladies?”

They all climbed out. Rosalind looked around at the uniform row of houses, pressed side by side. “It’s further down, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Bea motioned to Nigel to stay and then began walking down the street like she owned it and the neighborhood, her purse in the crook of her arm. “I didn’t want the neighbors to see a black car pulling up in front of it, just in case.”

They arrived at the house and walked up to the door, where they stood and stared awkwardly.

“Maybe we should have brainstormed how to get in,” Rosalind said mildly.

“That’s easy.” Portia picked up a rock from the bushes next to the walkway and shattered a windowpane in the door. They all stared in shock as Portia used her scarf to carefully pick away the glass and reach in to twist open the door. She swept in before the rest of them.

Finally Viola asked, “What happened to our very proper sister?”

Betrayal happened, but given Viola’s apparent situation at home, Rosalind wasn’t going to voice that. “We should probably go in and do this.”

“Right.” Viola marched in.

Bea shrugged and followed. “I suppose now isn’t the time to mention that Wellington managed to have a key made for us.”

“Probably not,” Rosalind agreed.

“Don’t touch the doorknob with your hands when you close it,” her oldest sister reminded them all when they gathered in the foyer. “No fingerprints.”

Bea pulled her phone out. Rosalind was about to say it was hardly the time to make a call when the phone beamed a bright stream of light. “Flashlight app,” Bea explained.

Viola got out her phone. “I have that, too.”

Rosalind shook her head. “Who
are
you people?”

“Your sisters.” Bea gave her a feral grin. “We know where we’re all looking?”

“Let’s get this done and get out of here before someone calls the police,” Viola agreed. “The last thing I need is for my daughter to know I was arrested.”

They split up and went to their designated areas. Rosalind went into the living room, giving the space a cursory once over. It looked like a typical home, cozy and lived in, nice but not luxurious. There was a framed painting of two children over the mantle. Bijou would have called it cheesy, but Rosalind thought it was kind of sweet, the way the older boy had a protective arm around the sunny little girl.

As she searched the room, she couldn’t help wondering about the woman who’d lived there. How had she attracted her father’s attention? Her father had never seemed to be interested in a homey type woman.

Fifteen minutes later, Bea walked into the room, a metal box in one hand, holding a framed picture with the other. She set the box down on the table. “It’s locked. I found it hidden under the bed. I found this picture on the bedside table.”

She glanced at it, not expecting to recognize anyone, but then her breath caught in her throat. Sara and Nick, with their arms around each other. She gaped at the photo. “Why is their picture here?”

“Their pictures are all over the bedroom.” Bea motioned her to follow. “Come see.”

Walking woodenly, she followed her sister down the hallway. Just like Bea said, in the bedroom there were pictures of Nick and Sara. She recognized the painting in the living room now as them at a younger age.

“She had a son and daughter,” Bea said just as Rosalind remembered it too. “These must be her children.”

Rosalind sat abruptly on the bed.

“I’m guessing he didn’t mention that?” Bea kneeled in front of her, concern lining her face. “The bastard. I’ll gut him.”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“We should go.” Bea took her hand and helped her rise.

“We have to find the will,” she managed to say through the shock.

“If it’s anywhere, it’s in that locked box,” Bea assured her.

Portia and Viola met them in the hall. Viola’s face clouded with concern. “What happened?”

“Later,” Bea said with a pointed look that Rosalind didn’t miss, even in her stunned state. “I’m assuming you didn’t find anything.”

“Not a thing,” Portia said.

“I did,” Bea said. “Shall we go back to that pub and see what we have?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Rosalind said, walking out of the house before the walls closed in on her. She strode back to the waiting car, aware of her sisters trailing behind her and their whispered concerns.

But she couldn’t talk right then. She wasn’t sure what to say. Nick and Sara were the children of her father’s mistress. Had they known?

Of course they had. They’d come to his funeral.

So why didn’t they tell her?

Because they were looking for the will, too.

The air rushed out of her lungs, and she doubled over with the force of her hurt.

“
Rosalind
.” Portia’s face peered up at her, upside down. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. Right at the moment, she didn’t think she’d ever be all right.

Bea took her other arm, and they helped her into the car. As Nigel pulled away, Bea reached under her skirt and pulled out a small silver flask. “For emergencies,” she explained. “I think this qualifies.”

She took a swig, wishing the whiskey were less smooth and more biting. Niamh would give her something that’d curl her toes and purge her hurt.

When they arrived at the bar, she and Viola went to sit at a table in a dark corner while Bea and Portia ordered drinks from Niamh. The locked box rested on the table in front of them, along with the framed picture.

Rosalind couldn’t take her eyes off it.

Viola slipped her arm around her waist. “All men are lying cheats. At least you didn’t have time to get invested in him.”

Her throat closed with emotion. She nodded, because it was all she could do.

Vi slipped her arm around her shoulders and hugged her like she might have done Chloe.

Bea glanced at the two of them before handing her a hefty shot. “Drink this now.”

She was too in shock to bristle at her sister’s bossy tone. She downed it, shuddering as it went down.

Portia pulled it closer, looking around it. “We need to open this box.”

“Let me.” Bea waved it over. Pulling something from her purse, she bent over the lock, and a moment later it popped open.

“That was impressive,” Viola said in awe.

“Don’t ask,” their oldest sister said as she lifted the lid and began going through the contents. “There are a lot of pictures. A deed to that house. A few letters. No will.”

Portia reached in and plucked a photo out. “This is Father and that woman. It looks old.”

Rosalind leaned over to look. “Based on their clothing, I’d say it’s thirty years old.”

Portia wilted in her chair. “He’s been seeing her that long?”

Viola held out another picture. “The little girl looks like Chloe did at that age. You don’t think …”

Rosalind looked at the image of a young Sara. “She has the Summerhill cheeks and eyes.”