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

Julia smothered a groan. Would she really have to resort to trying out her high school Spanish in order to get along? Damn that Annajane, anyway!

  “Uh—sí, Señor, es un—uh—mucha mujer—oh, you speak English? Thank the stars!”

  A line of workers, and their supplies, began to snake inside one after the other like ants of the forest. Julia, somewhat taken aback, prudently moved out of the way as the line proceeded past her and into the great vaulted living room that encompassed the front part of her beloved house. At the end of the line appeared—of all people—the lady in question herself, Annajane Kendricks.

  She was dressed fit to kill, even at this ungodly hour of the morning, and greeted her new client with the broad but synthetic smile reserved for those of another class. “Julia, darling.” Air kiss, air kiss, poof poof poof. “How nice to see you up and about already.”

  “I wasn’t given much choice,” Julia said dryly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting the project to start quite so early.”

  “Ah, well, everyone wants to have the brunt of their labors finished before the heat of the day kicks in, you know.”

  Heat of the day? Under a nicely air-conditioned roof?

  “I see. And do you normally follow along behind, keeping an eagle eye out for slipups?”

  “For a special client like you, of course. I’ll be here day and night, making sure that every little detail is completed to your satisfaction.”

  Julia stifled a groan. Oh, joy. “In that case,” tightening her belt, she turned toward the stairs, “I believe I’ll go shower and get dressed.”

  Annajane, elegant as the Queen of England in her bandbox-fresh mint green sheath, waved a negligible hand. “You go right ahead, dear. Oh, and—Julia? Just between us two girls, you must be aware that such harsh morning light is not at all flattering to one’s complexion. I have a marvelous new French crème that will whisk away those crows’ feet you have, and make the wrinkles simply disappear like magic. Remind me later, so I can write down the name for you.”

  “Thanks,” Julia managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll be sure to do that.” Not. And fled.

  “I’ll just help myself to a cup of your coffee while I’m waiting!” Annajane caroled along after her.

  “That woman!” Julia grumbled under her breath as she sprinted up the steps, down the hall, and into the master bath. No matter that the door was shut and the tub water was running. She needed to vent. “That woman!”

  “Huh? You talkin’ to me, Jules?” came a steam-clogged voice from behind the glass enclosure.

  The faucets turned off suddenly, and a thick towel flung over the top rim was pulled inside. After a few minutes of gurgling and swishing, Martin emerged, his middle modestly draped.

  Julia, pacing barefooted back and forth, gave him a disgusted look. “No need to act like a shy virgin, Mart. I’ve seen you naked before.”

  “Well, in that case, maybe we should both get naked and see what comes up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she hissed indignantly at him. “We have a houseful of people down there, already beginning to deconstruct what I have so carefully put together over the years. And you want to try playing footsie, one mere flight away, with all that going on?”

  Grabbing another towel, he shrugged. “Well, Snookums, just remember that you will have missed the experience of a lifetime by turning me down. I could also remind you that it’s your own bleeding heart got us into this predicament. But I won’t. Here, dry my back, will you?”

  With a snort of, “Dry your own damned back,” Julia stomped away.

  Her day was eaten up by routine.

  She’d managed to get rid of Martin at an earlier hour than usual, by the simple expedient of noise and clutter. And then there was, besides, Annajane’s insufferable presence. That alone would have sent any normal, level-headed husband screaming into the hills. Her decorator had wandered around for hours, drinking countless cups of coffee and getting in everyone’s way.

  Until at last, Julia, too, had vamoosed. Pleading a whole raft of errands to run, she had waved a grateful goodbye and climbed into her trusty silver Subaru to disappear. The dry cleaners, the post office, the shoe shop, the grocery store: all necessitated a lengthy visit.

  Much later that afternoon, reluctantly returned to the overpowering odor of fresh paint and sawdust—sawdust?—she settled down at her desk to make a few phone calls. One was to the Summer Ranger Camp, located north near Tallmann Mountain State Park—and not too distant from both Ossining and West Point, she’d evenly reminded those limbs of Satan: her sons; a future destination to either place lay completely in their own hands—to check on Friday’s pick-up time to retrieve the boys. Just her luck that the renovations would be ongoing once they’d gotten home, and no doubt all hell would break loose. Where else could she safely stash them until this nightmare was over?

  By four o’clock even Annajane’s apparently inexhaustible energy had given way; pleading a prior engagement, she betook her wilted self home to the Kendricks mansion down the street. Probably, reflected Julia with a touch of malice as she waved goodbye once again, to rejuvenate herself immersed in a vat of her French wrinkle crème.

  Lamplight and minor activity at the adjoining Quinley/Merrill/Quinley house caught her attention. Could Jeff and his second wife possibly be moving in? Julia’s bump of curiosity began to itch. Surely it was time to pay a quick, neighborly visit.

  The bell had a nice, solid, welcoming chime to it, which she’d never before noticed. Probably because she had so seldom been invited here while the vexatious Annajane had been in residence. Probably she was not high-brow enough.

  “Hello. I’m Julia Halliwell. From next door. I just wanted to introduce myself and say hello.” Julia tried not to stare. The lady standing on the threshold was lovely, even if awesomely pregnant, and on her head sat the most darling little wisp of a hat ever seen outside the pages of a fashion magazine.

  “How nice of you! I’m Olivia. Olivia Quinley. Please, won’t you come inside?”

  Everything was just as she remembered: ostentatious, officious, and fussy, with lots of marble and cold cut glass. Not a shred of warmth or hominess in sight.

  “The—um—side parlor, I guess it’s called. Not quite so—um—um—”

  “Formal?” Julia stepped in to help her out.

  Olivia brightened. “That’s it. Formal. Thank you.” Entering the room, she glanced around with a doubtful expression, then shook her head. “No. Definitely not. Kitchen, instead. Follow me.”

  Once settled at a white oval table of elaborate design, Julia surveyed her surroundings with a slight reminiscent smile. “Ah, yes. I do believe I’ve been invited back to this section once or twice.”

  At Annajane’s occasional blow-out parties, for which the whole cul-de-sac had been included—expeditiously trying to keep on everyone’s good side, no doubt.

  The kitchen’s color scheme of fresh cool white furniture and accessories, pale aqua walls and accents, and stainless steel appliances could certainly be considered livable—at least in Julia’s estimation. No work at all would be needed for an average family’s improvements. Probably the only room in this stultifying mansion capable of earning that distinction.

  “The place is a museum,” said Olivia frankly. After fetching two cups of fresh hot coffee from the counter, along with cream and sugar, she rejoined her guest. “I can’t imagine anyone actually living here.”

  “But apparently you are,” pointed out Julia. “I mean—why would Jeff buy it back, otherwise?” At the rueful look that crossed her hostess’s face, she laughed. “Oh, we all know that much. The whole cuddlesack is buzzing, believe me.”

  “Cuddlesack?”

  “Just a cute term one of the residents’ little girls coined years ago, when ‘cul-de-sac’ was too much of a mouthful. So we’re known as the Cuddlesack Queens. I must say, Olivia, I love the hat.”

  “My hat? Oh, good heavens, I forgot!”
Chuckling, Olivia reached up to remove the headgear and put it aside. “Advertisement, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. Advertisement for what?”

  “For my company.” After a sip of coffee liberally weakened by condiments, Olivia went on to describe Just Livvie, its inception, its growth, and how much the thriving business meant to her.

  Julia was intrigued. “All on your own? That takes a lot of gumption, Olivia. You must be very proud of yourself. So hats are making a comeback, are they?”

  Soft laughter. “I certainly hope so.”

  Conversation lagged, bloomed again, then continued sporadically. Olivia rose once to set a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table, and a few minutes later to replenish their drinks. They discussed the neighborhood, this house whose hideousness they could both agree on, their individual background and upbringing. It was a tentative reaching-out from each, the way friendships are formed on common ground, from the first moment of meeting.

  After a while, Julia, who was liking her newfound acquaintance immensely, repeated her question as to the Quinleys’ taking up residence here.

  “I don’t know. In a way, I hope not, because—well, for a number of reasons. But as soon as he found out that his former house had been put on the market, Jeff insisted on buying it.”

  “Odd. He lived such a hellish life with Annajane that I can’t imagine him wanting to bring back memories of it.”

  “Are you—um—close to her?” Olivia asked cautiously.

  “Who, AJ? God, no!” Reaching for a cookie, Julia shook her pony-tailed head in horror. “I’m too lowborn for her to associate with on a regular basis. And, quite honestly, the woman scares me a little.”

  “Mmmm. I can see why. I mean, I haven’t officially met her. But I did keep Jeff company, in the attorneys’ offices, and in court, various times. So I saw her from a distance.”

  Julia couldn’t help laughing at the fastidious tone of voice. Like someone having to deal with a spider unexpectedly appearing in the bathroom shower. “Better safe than sorry. And yet I’ve contracted with her to redo my humble abode. Part of it, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  Smoothing the pretty floral fabric of her clamdiggers—a match, in fact, for the kitchen itself—Julia settled more comfortably while she considered an answer. “It’s hard to say,” she finally admitted. “When she first asked me, I felt sorry for her. I know, I know—hard to believe. Foolish, yes? But I did. Of course, now I’m regretting my decision to start the whole darned thing. Does that make me an idiot?”

  Olivia smiled and, in her warm, affectionate way, stretched one hand across the tabletop to cover her companion’s. “I think it makes you a very nice person, Julia Halliwell. More coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’d better get back home soon. Martin—that’s my husband—will be expecting some sort of decent supper tonight, to repay him for all the mess he’s having to put up with. This has been very nice, Olivia. I hope you and Jeff do decide to stay on here.”

  “Oh, just Livvie, please. I don’t know about living in this house, though. I have my own in Westhalen, you see, and we’re all settled in there. Besides which, Jeff moved his office, and there would be a lot of details to take care of. I think,” self-consciously Olivia lowered her voice, as if someone might be around to overhear the conversation, “I think Jeff bought his old place as a sort of—I don’t know, thumbing his nose at Annajane.”

  “Thumbing his nose, huh?” Julia drained her cup with a long, thoughtful sip. “Makes sense. Getting back at her. See how far I’ve come, and all that. And now he has to decide what to do with it.”

  “Exactly. Nor have we even discussed our—hello, Nick, my lad!” Turning, she ruffled the biscuit-brown hair of her son, whose noisy arrival in the kitchen had been preceded by a burst of energy at the back door and a muffled bark. “Here, you and Bruno come say hi.”

  Introductions followed, with the boy politely shaking hands and the dog wriggling in excitement at the chance to distribute loose fur upon a whole new person.

  “Almost ten, huh?” Julia eyed young Master Quinley speculatively. “You know, I have two sons—ten and twelve—away at camp right now. They’ll be home again on Friday. If you’re here, Nick, we’d be delighted to have you come over and visit. My kids have any number of games, both indoor and out, available.”

  “That would be awesome!” approved Nicholas with enthusiasm. “Thanks a lot! Hey, Mom, this is a great back yard. Not much to do here—too many bushes and flowers—but lots more space than ours.”

  “I noticed.” Olivia’s voice sounded slightly dry. “Well, your father asked me to do some preliminary exploration around this place, so please try not to break anything while we’re here, okay?”

  “You got it. C’mon, Bruno.”

  After a few quick laps from his water bowl, and a few quick bites from his food dish, the dog hurtled along after his master, through the opened back door and out into the freedom of a late summer afternoon. The joys of ball-chasing beckoned, along with the possible surreptitious digging of some holes here and there in the rich black loam, and a circuit of the huge fenced area in the hunt for unwary squirrels. And why walk anywhere when you could run?

  “Nice kid,” commented Julia, grinning. “My two hellions will love meeting him. Especially since a dog comes as part of the package.” Rising, she brushed cookie crumbs off the table top into her saucer before carrying used crockery to the sink. “Livvie,” she said then, noticing an expression of profound weariness. “Are you all right?”

  Olivia, too, was standing, bending slightly backward away from her belly’s burden in an attempt to stretch cramped muscles. “Oh, I’m fine, thanks. Only six months along, and I’m feeling as tired and rundown as if birth is just right around the corner. You know how it goes.”

  “Sure do, honey. And I sympathize. We gals have to stick together. Listen, here’s my card, with all pertinent information. You give me a call, or stop over, any time you want.”

  “Thank you, Julia,” said her hostess, with an expression of pleased surprise. “I appreciate that. And the same holds true for me, too.”

  Unexpectedly, Julia moved forward to sweep the younger woman into a hasty but hearty embrace. “Good to know. I need to hurry on home, now, and see what damage has been done while I’ve been gone. And find something in the freezer to defrost in the next fifteen minutes.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Soaking in her spa tub, letting bubbles awash in her favorite scent surround her with fragrance, letting go all the day’s stress through soft classical renditions and an array of burning beeswax candles: these options usually served to ease the mind and relax the senses. All she would need from here on, once she emerged, would be a glass of wine and her sleep mask. And utter, perfect silence.

  But, no. Someone was bumbling around in the master bedroom, opening and closing dresser drawers, whistling like one of the demented Seven Dwarfs on his way to the diamond mine.

  “Roger!” she finally shouted at him, through the adjoining door.

  The whistling stopped. Thank God for small favors. “Yes, darling? What is it?”

  “Just quit the noise, will you? Just shut up?”

  By now he had wandered into the darkened bathroom to peer sympathetically toward her. “Sorry, dear. Of course I’ll quit the noise. Do you have one of your headaches again?”

  Lord, but the man was a pest. If she’d only realized earlier what a pest he could be, she never would have married him in such a hurry. Wouldn’t you know, her father had been proven right again. And wouldn’t he take great pleasure in her acknowledging that little fact!

  “Yes, I have a headache,” she lied through her teeth. “Do be a dear and sleep in your own room tonight, will you?”

  “Certainly, sweetheart.” He had the temerity to creep closer, enough so that he could bend and press a light kiss against her cheek. “Hope you’re feeling better in the morning.
See you at breakfast.”

  Not only a pest, but a wuss, as well. What had she ever seen in him? Annajane’s restlessness and snappishness, unusual even for her, could be blamed on pure frustration.

  “Damn him,” she muttered. “Damn them both.” With a sudden burst of spleen, she kicked a well-pedicured foot into the edge of the tub. Which hurt the tub not one iota but did do some damage to her vulnerable toes.

  Hatred burned inside her like a slow-moving fire, igniting in her veins, dictating her every move. Too bad her wild gunshots had missed their vital target those abominable many months ago! She wanted nothing more than to see Jefferson Quinley dead and cold in his casket, and possibly his wench of a second wife along with him.

  How dare they make such a fool of her? How dare they callously dump her into the hands of some state-mandated shrink, while they went on their merry way?

  She might yet, however, end up making fools of those two, after all. Annajane Merrill, world’s greatest actress. She must be, to convince her psychiatrist/psychologist/psychotherapist person (who hadn’t actually been such a slouch in bed) that she was completely cured of the need for revenge. She had also convinced not only her irascible father but also that commonplace dullard Julia Halliwell to do her bidding. If that wasn’t acting, then what was?

  Ah, the lengths she would go to, just so she could keep an eye on her former abode once it fell into the hands of her despicable ex-husband! Surely, while the job at the Halliwell house dragged on, she would be able to find some way to sabotage or even destroy whatever the new Mrs. Quinley was building.

  Curse their blackened souls!

  Which might be scourge enough, were Annajane a spiritual woman.

  Except that she was not. The Witch of Endor, perhaps. Or Morgan Le Fey. Even Baba Yaga. Or so, according to rumor, she had been painted. Always in hushed tones, of course, and always far enough removed from direct line of fire.

  As if she were possessed of some magical abilities that could kindle an enemy’s hair in flames, or strip his beating heart of blood! If she were capable of all that, wouldn’t she have done it already?