The Cottage (39 page)

“I hope the toilets flush this year when you get to Marisol,” Jimmy teased as they finished dessert, and Coop looked across the table at him with a puzzled expression, as Valerie scolded Jimmy for frightening Coop.

“It's not as bad as all that. It's just a very old house.”

“Wait a minute, back up Who is Marisol?” Coop asked with a strange look in his eyes.

“Not ‘who,’ ‘what,’” Jimmy corrected him. “That's
my mom's house on the Cape. It was built by my great-grandparents, and it's a combination of their names. Marianne and Solomon.” Coop looked as though he'd been struck by a thunderbolt as he stared at them.

“Oh my God. Marisol. You didn't tell me that,” he said to Valerie, as though he'd just been told she'd been in prison for the last ten years. That might have been easier to absorb.

“Tell you what?” she said innocently, pouring him another glass of wine. Her dinner had been excellent, but he wasn't thinking about that now.

“You know exactly what I mean, Valerie. You lied to me,” he said, looking stern, and the others looked faintly concerned. Something was happening that none of them understood. But she did.

“I did not lie to you. I just didn't explain it to you. I didn't think it mattered.” But she knew it did, and was afraid it would.

“And your maiden name is Westerfield, I assume.” She made a kind of humming sound in answer, and nodded her head. “You fraud! Shame on you! You pretended you were poor!” He looked shocked. The Westerfield fortune was one of the largest in the world, surely in the States.

“I did not pretend anything. I didn't discuss it with you,” Valerie said nervously, while trying to appear calm. But she had been worried about his reaction for a while. It was a lot for him to swallow at one gulp.

“I went to Marisol once. Your mother invited me when I was making a film near there. The place is bigger than the Hotel du Cap, and if you turned it into a
hotel, you could charge more. Valerie, that was a very dishonest thing to do.” But he didn't look as angry as she had feared he would. The truth was that the Westerfields were the biggest banking family in the East. They were the Rothschilds of America in the early days, and related to the Astors and the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers and half the blue bloods in the States, if not the world. The Westerfields made the Madisons look like paupers by comparison, but the difference was that Valerie was a grown-up, and didn't have to answer to anyone. Somehow, the circumstances were such, now that his finances were in order, or about to be, that it didn't seem like such a shocking alliance after all. And she wasn't a young girl, but he was stunned that she had never said anything to him. She was the most unassuming woman in the world. He had presumed she was a widow living on a small income. But it explained why Jimmy had been able to rent the gatehouse so easily. It explained a lot of things, about the people she knew and the places she'd been. But he'd never seen anyone as unpretentious and discreet as she was. He sat there and stared at her for a long moment, absorbing it, and then he sat back in his chair and laughed. “Well, I'll tell you one thing, I don't feel sorry for you anymore.” But he wasn't going to let her support him either. If they married, he was going to be supporting her. That was the way he wanted it to be. She could be as discreet as she wanted on her own budget, but their extravagances, and there would be many of them, would be paid for by him. “And I'm calling a plumber, if my toilet doesn't flush at Marisol, you little witch. What would you have done if I didn't
get this movie?” He'd have been in the same boat as he had been in with Alex in that case. But Valerie was more mature. It wasn't just about the money with Alex, it was about their age, and not having kids, and being perceived as a gigolo, and Arthur Madison disapproving of him. But none of that seemed relevant with Valerie, because she was the right woman for him. And he was back on his feet financially, in fact better than he'd ever been.

“If you call a plumber at Marisol,” Jimmy warned him with a grin, “my mother will have a fit. She thinks it's part of the charm, along with the roof that leaks, and the shutters that fall off. I damn near broke my leg last year when the south porch caved in. My mother loves fixing the place up herself.”

“I can hardly wait,” Coop groaned. But he already knew he loved the place. He had fallen in love with it when her mother had invited him there. It seemed to go on forever, with houses and boathouses and guest houses, and a barn full of antique cars he could have spent the entire weekend in. It was one of the most famous houses in the East. The Kennedys had often visited there when they were in residence at Hyannis Port, and the President had stayed there. Coop was still shaking his head when the others left.

“Don't ever lie to me again,” he scolded Valerie.

“I didn't. I was being discreet,” she said, looking demure, with a decided look of mischief in her eye.

“A little too discreet perhaps?” he said, smiling at her. In a way, he was glad he hadn't known before. It was better like this.

“One can never be too discreet,” she said primly.
But he loved that about her. He loved her elegance and her simplicity. It explained the distinction he had felt. She was an undeniable aristocrat even in white shirt and jeans. And suddenly he realized what it meant for Alex too. Jimmy was exactly the man she needed, he was part of her world, and at the same time, as much of a renegade as she. Even Arthur Madison couldn't object to him. And suddenly Coop felt pleased. Things had worked out exactly as they were meant to. Not only for him, but for her too. Even if she didn't know it yet, she was on the right track. And as Valerie cleared the table, and put the dishes in the dishwasher, Coop glanced at her.

“Does Alex know?”

“Knowing Jimmy, probably not.” Valerie smiled at him. “It matters even less to him than it does to me.” It didn't matter to them because it was part of them, right down to their bones. They hadn't made it up, or invented it, or acquired it, or married it. They were born to it, so they could live any way they chose. Richly, or poorly, or quietly or noisily. It was entirely up to them. And Alex was cut from the same cloth. It meant nothing to her, and she liked living as though she were poor.

“How do I fit into all that?” Coop asked Valerie honestly, pulling her close to him. She really was the woman of his life, whether she knew it yet or not. But he was determined to convince her of it eventually. Not for the money, but simply because of who she was and what she meant to him.

“You fit into it very comfortably, I suspect. You're used to all that. In fact, we might not be quite elegant
enough for you.” He had lived very well for a very long time. In fact, he was very spoiled. And now, with the movie he'd just landed, he could afford to indulge himself, and her. And he had every intention of doing just that.

“I'll adjust,” he said, laughing at her. “I can see I have my work cut out for me. I'm going to spend all my money repairing your old house.”

“Don't,” she smiled, “I like it the way it is, falling apart and crumbling, with things falling down all over the place. It has charm that way.”

“So do you,” he said, holding her tight, “and you're not falling down or crumbling.” But he knew that when she did, he would still love her. And he was likely to crumble first, because he was, after all, seventeen years older than she. She was in fact a younger woman, and a very wealthy woman. But not too young. And no matter how rich she was, he no longer cared, because he had money of his own. It had taken a Westerfield to bring him down, and capture him. But the job had been done at last, and done well.

“Will you marry me?” he asked her, as Jimmy tiptoed softly upstairs, smiling to himself. It was funny how much better he liked Coop now, now that Alex wasn't involved with him. He was beginning to think he was a pretty good guy.

“Eventually, I suspect,” Valerie answered him with a smile. He kissed her then, and then he left the house. They were leaving at the crack of dawn the next day.

The driver took them to the airport in the Bentley the next morning. Coop had four suitcases with him, and he'd had a hard time getting it down to that. But
he was going on to Europe afterwards. Valerie only had one. But she had packed in a hurry when she left.

Coop had said goodbye to Taryn when he left the house. And Valerie hugged Jimmy tight, and then kissed him and told him to take care at least ten times.

“Take good care of yourself, Jimmy,” she said and then both men hurried her out the door so they didn't miss the plane.

They left for the airport in high spirits, and both of them slept on the plane. And when they woke up, they were nearly there. She told him some of the history he didn't know about the house. It fascinated him and he couldn't wait to see it again, and share it with her. As he remembered it, it was an elegant, charming, romantic old estate, with exquisite grounds.

He rented a car at the Boston airport, and they drove slowly up the Cape. And when they got there, Marisol was exactly as he remembered it, only better now. Because he was there with her.

He helped her hammer things, and fix screens, and repair wicker furniture. They were there for three weeks, and he'd never been happier, although he'd never worked as hard in his life. But he loved doing it with her, and she worked as hard as he. She always had a hammer and nails in her pocket, and a swipe of paint somewhere on her face. He loved her and every minute that they shared.

On Labor Day weekend, they flew to London and spent three weeks there. He went straight from there to New York to start working on his movie. And Valerie went back to Boston for a few days and then joined him in New York. They lived at the Plaza for the
duration of his location shoot. And she flew back to California with him just before Thanksgiving. Taryn and Mark were married by then. They had gotten married at Lake Tahoe with only Jason and Jessica with them the week before. There was much to celebrate. Alex and Jimmy were living at the gatehouse by then. She had turned his bedroom into a laundry basket, and given up her studio. She had almost finished her residency, and been promised a permanent position on staff as a neonatologist at UCLA. She and Jimmy were talking about getting married. But he hadn't met Arthur yet.

Coop had them all for Thanksgiving dinner, even Alex, and it was easy to see how happy she and Jimmy were. Wolfgang sent over a turkey, which Paloma served wearing the leopard sneakers which she wore with a new pink uniform. The rhinestone glasses had been retired for the winter months, and much to everyone's relief, she liked Valerie. A lot. And Valerie liked her.

The tabloids carried the story the week before Christmas. As did
People
magazine,
Time, Newsweek
, the respectable newspapers and wire services, and CNN. The headlines were pretty much the same everywhere,
WIDOWED EASTERN HEIRESS MARRIES MOVIE STAR.
Others gave him top billing,
COOPER WINSLOW MARRIES WESTERFIELD HEIRESS.
In either case, the photographs showed them both happy and smiling at a small reception they gave. His press agent delivered the photographs to the press. And the following day, Valerie came down the stairs from his bedroom with an armful of towels she'd found in the linen closet.

“This works out really well, Coop,” she said distractedly. He had a week off before he started shooting again in LA, and he was trying to talk her into going to Saint Moritz for the week, but so far she didn't seem interested. She was happy at home with him, and so was he. More than he'd ever been.

“What's that?” He was looking over changes in the script. The movie was going very well, and he already had offers for others in the spring. His rates had gone up of course, so Abe was pleased.

“I just found a stack of monogrammed towels I don't think you use, and since I'm a
W
again, I thought maybe we could send them to Marisol. We need towels desperately there.”

“I suspect that's why you married me,” he said as he grinned at her. “God forbid you should buy new towels for Marisol. Could I order you some as a wedding present?”

“Of course not. These are fine. Why buy new towels when old ones will do?”

“I love you, Valerie,” he said, as he smiled at her, and then got up and came across the room to her. He put his arms around her and forced her to put the towels down. “You can have all the towels you want. Maybe we can find you some old monogrammed sheets too. If not, we can pick some up at Goodwill.”

“Thank you, Coop,” she said, and kissed him. It had been a fine year indeed.