Romance: He Done Her Wrong (Cuddlesack Queens #2) Read online

  After a sip from her champagne flute, Annajane pulled a cigarette from the exquisite case in her beaded bag, along with an engraved gold Dunhill lighter. Her movement, when she casually exhaled smoke into the pristine air, earned a few glowers from fellow patrons of Le Bistro Royal.

  Arrogant as ever, thought Julia with a sigh, as she reached for her wine glass. Evidently the woman’s time spent in remand had removed none of the starch from her spine; plain to see that the attitude of superiority went wherever she did. “AJ, I do believe this is a smoke-free restaurant.”

  “So?” An arch of the brows. “They can either put up with my little quirks, or I’ll leave. I like your outfit today, it’s quite a cut above your usual stuff. New?”

  With a laugh for such unsurprising bluntness, Julia considered what she was wearing: a slim sheath in cool aqua blue peau de soie topped by its lightweight jacket whose colors recalled Monet’s Giverny garden. Of course her friend would notice. She always noticed, and judged, the details of anyone’s costume—as if serving as mannequin were the sole reason for existence.

  “Absolutely new. About a year ago, anyway. Marnie Taylor—remember her, from the Museum Board?—took me to a few nice little downtown boutiques on a shopping binge. By the time we left, my credit card was smoking. You’re looking particularly festive yourself, AJ. Having a new love in your life must agree with you.”

  Amongst all the impeccable table service, not one ashtray showed its lowly self. Undaunted, undeterred, Annajane propped her smoldering cigarette onto an eggshell-thin bread-and-butter plate for another go at the champagne.

  She didn’t preen over the comment. She never had. It would be unseemly. Trying to kill one’s estranged husband could probably be considered unseemly, as well, but Annajane Merrill Quinley Kendricks lived life by her own rules.

  “I bought this in Paris,” she shrugged off the chic silver-gray crepe frock with fluffy layered short sleeves and a wide belt to accentuate its wearer’s slender waist. Beautiful, becoming, and probably prohibitively expensive. “As a matter of fact, I bought a whole new wardrobe while I was there. I felt I deserved it, after all I had been through.”

  Julia murmured something. What tactful response could one possibly make in this situation? She was already carefully tiptoeing around several touchy subjects. It was like traversing a minefield. Not that she had ever done so, of course, but she could understand the feeling.

  “And, yes, we did have a wonderful wedding,” Annajane went on, returning to her favorite subject in all the world: herself. “Father attended, naturally, and flew in a private jet full of friends and relatives, and we celebrated with the most marvelous reception afterward. Roger is such an attentive husband. I do believe this second time around will be most successful.”

  Another incomprehensible murmur. Of all the things Julia wanted to say, this seemed safest. Come to think of it, their past conversations had usually progressed in the same vein. Perhaps that was part of the reason she had tried to avoid spending time with her occasional friend. Surely there were more important things to do than having to listen to the mouthings of a single-minded (simple-minded?) egotist.

  Which, of course, brought up the question: why had Annajane invited her to lunch today, anyway?

  “I see your house is up for sale,” ventured Julia.

  Time for another drag at the obnoxious cigarette. Surreptitiously Julia tried to wave away the smoke.

  “Yes, Roger and I discussed what to do about it. After all, there’s his own beautiful place for us, once we’re settled, and I hardly need two homes right in the same cul-de-sac.”

  “Oh. You’ll be staying in the same neighborhood, then?”

  An elegant shrug of the elegant golden shoulders. “We haven’t decided yet. Change could come—we may decide to move elsewhere in the immediate future. With the help of the internet, Roger’s art appraisal business can be done anywhere, so we would be able to travel instead of staying bogged down in one place.”

  “Well, it’s certainly great to have options.” Did she dare mention Annajane’s mental health issues? Did she dare ask for any details about those nine months locked away?

  “More than one, if we can sell that monstrosity. I never liked it, anyway.” Finally giving in to the miasma of outrage being focused upon her by those in the immediate vicinity, Annajane stubbed out her smoldering Davidoff and shoved the plate aside. “Although that may be moot. My realtor has told me that Jeff wants to buy the house.”

  Another bombshell, and this one almost knocked Julia off her upholstered chair. “Jeff! You mean—Jeff?”

  “The very same. I don’t know why. Evidently he’s remarried to that hat trick woman and settled somewhere in Connecticut.”

  “Oh. Uh. Well.” Taking a great gulp of her chardonnay didn’t really help digest this piece of information any more easily. “I can’t imagine why, either. I mean—surely…”

  “Didn’t you stay in touch with him, after our lives blew up?”

  And just whose doing was that? “No, I’m afraid I didn’t.” Although Martin might have, without mentioning the fact.

  “Hmmm.” Annajane drew in a deep breath, then apparently decided to bare all. “He was having an affair with her, you know. So, then, after I was forced to sign divorce papers, he took the little tart and squirreled her away in some hick town called Westhalen. Along with her son, who is supposedly Jeff’s from their college days. Imagine, keeping that a secret from him all these years. Oh, and she has some sort of weird headgear business. Quite a history, eh?”

  Julia’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t due to the wine. “Good heavens.”

  “Yes. You see what I had to put up with,” Annajane pointed out with great satisfaction.

  “Oh, yes. Most definitely.” Depending on how much of that story was true. “Ah, thank you,” she said with relief as Marcel glided back into position with his wares. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

  “Quite acceptable,” deemed Annajane, after a bite of the escargot dish. “What do you think of the restaurant, Julia? Will you add it to your list?”

  “Hmmm? My list? Absolutely, AJ. Absolutely I will add it to my list.”

  The meal slowly progressed, underlaid by the requisite small talk about others in their social circle, current fashions, and various idle unimportant tidbits. By the time they finally reached the point of ordering coffee, Julia was mentally heaving a sigh that this ordeal might at last be finished. There was still that pot roast to prepare for her husband’s dinner, and the boys to pick up from summer zoo camp, and several errands to run…

  That, however, was the exact moment Annajane chose to reveal her purpose for this meeting.

  “I have a favor to ask,” she confided, lighting another cigarette. “A very small, tiny little favor.”

  “Yes?” Bracing herself, Julia wondered if she should ask for a dollop of whiskey to add to her post-lunch tea, just to be prepared.

  “Well, I’m a bit at loose ends right now, until Roger and I decide our future. So I’ve decided to fall back on my redecorating business, just to tide me over. During this interim stage, how would you and Martin like to be my clients?”

  A vision of her neat, well-ordered, well-run house flashed into Julia’s mind. Comfortably if not fashionably dressed for the use of her family, with plenty of reading lamps and cushy chairs and space for two active boys, in warm colors to fit their personality and mood. Well, actually, the place could probably use a little sprucing up. Fifteen years of residence had inflicted some damage here and there, nothing that some fresh paint wouldn’t help improve; possibly new carpet where normal wear and tear were showing; draperies in the living room…

  “Redecorating. Hmmm. What—um—what would you need to do?” Visions of her home torn apart from stem to stern danced through her head, with an outraged Martin having to deal with the uproar of rooms that no longer fit his needs.

  Annajane’s smile blazed forth. “
I’ll need to take a tour, get measurements, find out what you’d like changed, do some research, make recommendations.”

  “All that, huh? How long would everything take?”

  “Well, of course, it will depend on what you decide to have taken care of. Anywhere from a few weeks to a few months or more, roughly.”

  Roughly was right. Julian could just imagine the squawking this whole proposition would set off, both from her husband and from her sons, as rugs were literally torn out from beneath their feet.

  With a sigh, she nodded. “Very well, let’s set a date for you to come over and take a look. One thing—um—I’d like to keep the cost as reasonable as possible, if we can.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll enjoy working with you, Julia.”

  Along with being able to keep an eye on the property next door, currently in a state of flux, and about to be sold to a certain centipede of an ex-husband and his tramp of a second wife.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Annajane Kendricks (née Merrill) could have posed as a poster child for the failure of the American mental health system—no matter how much money her father had spent in an attempt to rectify whatever was wrong with his supposedly perfect only child. After a brief period of time spent getting accustomed to her doctor’s methods, she had found it ridiculously easy to snooker him as to her gradual return to sanity. Child’s play, really.

  All through those months of captivity, caged up like an animal in a zoo, she had harbored only one desire, which had grown stronger and more intense every day: to seek revenge upon the man who had wronged her, and especially upon the conniving female who had aided and abetted him. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Annajane Merrill Quinley (soon to be Kendricks) was most publicly shamed and scorned.

  For the past week or so, she had been mulling over Jeff’s offer to purchase their former home. Why? For what purpose? Was his thinking as twisted as her own? Or, at least, as some had accused hers of being.

  “What do you think, Father?” she queried a few days later. “Shall we sell the place to him?”

  “May as well,” answered her irascible parent from his seat on her lemon-colored couch. He had taken time away from his office duties to stop by for a daily check-in. Although his former son-in-law no longer figured as the main object of Annajane’s wrath, Mr. Merrill couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t come up with a replacement. “What’re you gonna do with two houses side by side, otherwise? Just make sure you soak that bastard for every penny he’s got.”

  For Owen Merrill’s memory ran as long as his daughter’s, and his willingness to forgive a perceived slight ran just as short. He had not forgotten the whole sleazy affair that had ended Annajane’s apparently solid marriage. Nor would he ever absolve her husband of blame for what Annajane had suffered. The humiliation. The outrage. First the ridicule, then the shunning by her peers, many of those in her social circle.

  Best now for her to cash in her chips and leave the table. But, no. She had decided—with the help of that fop Roger Kendricks—to stick around for a while. Which would, in Owen’s opinion, only invite more humiliation. What the hell was the point?

  “You don’t think he has an ulterior motive?”

  “Ulterior motive? Huh. Probably. Wanna ferret that out, before you sign away the property?”

  Slowly Annajane swirled the swizzle stick around in her afternoon dose of Long Island Iced Tea. “I don’t know. But I do think I’d have more power in the whole transaction if I could figure out the reason for his purchase.”

  Her father shrugged. “Maybe it’s strictly a business deal. Can’t see any other reason why he’d want the house he almost died in.” Owen was nothing if not blunt.

  Irritation sent a wash of color up over Annajane’s sculpted cheekbones. “Well, if I sell my former home to my former husband, I want to keep an eye on the whole proceeding. I want to follow whatever changes he might make to the interior and the exterior. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Why?” His eyes, slightly more faded blue than her own, and much puffier, narrowed. What the hell? Was the girl backtracking now, after all that prohibitively expensive treatment she’d needed—and he’d paid for—to keep her out of jail? “What’s the point? You’re remarried and moving forward. Let it go at that.”

  “No. I will not. Jeff thinks to be rid of me so easily. It isn’t going to happen. I intend to remain a thorn in his side until he throws in the towel and gives up.”

  “Gives up what?” One of the couch’s springs creaked under Owen’s weight as he sat forward, forearms resting on pudgy suited thighs, to study her with a piercing gaze. “What’s in your head, AJ? What exactly are you planning to do?”

  “Do? Why, I’m not planning to do anything in particular, Father.” Innocence personified, with raised brows and slight smile. “I just want what’s fair. And fairness demands that Jeff suffer for the way he treated me.”

  Owen snorted. “He’s already suffered, you featherhead. Be done with him. There’s no point in hanging on to what was a bad situation. Didn’t you learn anything under that high-priced shrink?”

  The smile widened into positive slyness. If her father only realized just how much she’d learned, especially under that high-priced shrink!

  Putting aside his glass with a clunk, he rose abruptly and straightened his suit coat. “Sell the house, Annajane. Time to leave this part of your life behind and get out. Just tell your realtor you want top dollar for every brick and every stick of wood.”

  “By all means.”

  Jeff would pay financially for the privilege of sharing ownership of their once-upon-a-time home with his new wife. He would also pay in as many other ways as she could come up with.

  As she walked her father to the front door of the Kendrick mansion, Annajane was almost rubbing her hands together in glee at the prospect of what lay ahead of her, and what she would be able to do about it.

  Except that that sort of behavior would have been beneath her.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  The first white van rolled up over the driveway at 6:00 a.m. on a lovely July morning; the second followed shortly after. Within a matter of minutes, men in coveralls were scrambling out of various doors to collect various pieces of equipment stashed in and around various cubbyholes. The noise of aluminum ladders crashing and paint cans clunking roused those residents inside.

  Namely, of course, the master of the household, who greeted the arrival with a glare downward from his upstairs bedroom window and an irritated demand of, “What the hell?”

  “Mmmmfff?” With a groan, Julia Halliwell turned over in bed only to pull a great fluffy pillow over her head. “Wha—huh? Marty, wha—wha’s going on—?”

  “You tell me. Come have a look, and then let me know if this ruckus is thanks to that brainless woman you hired.”

  Another groan, some mild stretching, and Julia had awoken enough to stagger across the floor, barefoot and barely nightgowned. “Oh, drat,” she finally managed to mutter, peering down.

  “Annajane’s decorators?” Martin cocked an ill-tempered brow her way.

  “It would seem so. Drat. When I signed her infernal contract, she assured me the work wouldn’t begin until a sensible hour of the morning.”

  “Maybe this is what they consider sensible. How you were ever able to con me into going along with this, I’ll never know.”

  “Oh, Martin, if you could have seen her!” Julia sighed. “She seemed so—well, not quite desperate, but as if she could be. I felt sorry for her.”

  “Bull manure.” Only, he didn’t say “manure.” “The gal is married, isn’t she? With a damned good bunch of money on all sides, between doting Papa and that kerflummoxed new husband. Why would anyone feel sorry for whatever position she’s in? You’re just scared of her, Jules, that’s all. Admit that Annajane Kendricks is a fruitcake, and you don’t want to cross her.”

  “Well…”

&nbs
p; “Because, if you do, she’ll give you the evil eye, curse your crops, and steal your firstborn.”

  Somewhat gloomily Julia considered that possibility. Twelve-year-old Chris had been on his absolute worst behavior during this whole past week, teasing his younger brother, Chad, unmercifully, and inciting battles that rocked the roof. She couldn’t wait for the first day of school to begin, in another six weeks or so. Maybe having her firstborn stolen wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Well, no, probably it would. Annajane despised children. Anyone’s children.

  Julia sidestepped close enough to snuggle against the slight pajama-clad bulge of her husband’s middle. “All we have to do is survive a month of dust and plaster and rotary saws. Then we can get on with our lives again.”

  Chuckling, Martin swung one arm around his wife’s shoulders. “What do you know about rotary saws, pickleface? Okay, from all the hullabaloo down there I’d say they’re getting impatient. Better go let ’em in before they use a battering ram to knock down the door.”

  It was going to be a long siege, Julia reflected, as she wrapped herself into a summer robe and ran lightly down the stairs. From the moment she’d affixed her signature to the papers Annajane had shoved under her nose, she’d had a sinking feeling about this whole affair. It smelled. That was the problem. It simply smelled, and she was more and more uncomfortable with the idea of redecorating at all. Especially having to put the good strong bones of her house into someone else’s not-so-caring hands.

  Then there was the other side of the coin: the snazzy realtor’s sign that had advertised “For Sale” adjoining theirs had been removed. Clearly the former Quinley digs, deeded over to Annajane during the divorce, had passed back into Jeff’s ownership once more. What a coil. Julia could only wonder what else would happen in this once quiet neighborhood.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly, pasting on a hostess face as she swung wide the front door.

  “Buenos Dias, Señora,” chirped the white-overalled man standing on her porch, in return.