Bret glanced at Andrew’s hand, but didn’t take it.
Andrew slapped Bret’s arm rather vigorously and continued to make conversation. “What did you mean by ‘how convenient’?”
Bret’s eyes took on the gleam of a hungry rat’s. “Oh, nothing, just thinking how convenient it would be to have an unreliable memory.”
Alison brought the sour to her lips, wincing at the sudden pungency of the lime. She could tell by Bret’s behavior that he was drunk, but it was hard to believe anyone would put on such a pathetic display. If she’d had any doubts about the abject hatred she and her brother were supposed to have felt for each other, she could put them to rest. He was an obnoxious boor, and he’d obviously had it in for her since he was old enough to say her name.
What was it he’d called her when they were growing up? Alisuck. How mature.
“I see we’re all here. Isn’t that wonderful!”
Alison turned as her mother walked onto the terrace. She’d changed into a silk Emilio Pucci print in bright pink and turquoise, and her mood seemed to have lightened with it.
“Forgive me for holding things up. Does everyone have a drink?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Bret said.
“You look like you’ve had plenty, Bret,” Julia said sharply. “Sit down and sober up.”
Bret’s bloodshot eyes widened. He looked good and rattled, but got himself to the nearest chair and sat down.
Alison caught the twinkle in Andrew’s eye. Was he thinking the same thing she was? Possibly the dragon lady of Sea Clouds had some redeeming qualities.
“Alison, don’t you look beautiful. I love what you’ve done with your hair.”
Julia sounded pleasantly surprised as she walked straight over to her daughter and embraced her. Alison tried to relax in her mother’s arms, but affection was the last thing she expected after the front door fiasco. She’d worn her hair up, thinking it might make a better impression, and evidently it had.
Clouds of expensive perfume swirled around them as Julia stepped back and clasped Alison’s hands. A smile softened the angles of her face, but Alison’s intuition was working overtime. She could sense the crackling tension. Julia was as anxious as she was.
Alison also caught a whiff of alcohol mixed in with the perfume, and it wasn’t her own drink.
Somehow, just knowing this very formidable woman was nervous allowed her to relax. But it also made her wonder what flaws her mother’s seeming quest for flawlessness might be hiding. She was known in the society pages as a fashion maven, but Alison had never thought of that as a cover until now. The makeup and designer clothing seemed more extreme than before, and she couldn’t shake the notion that Julia Fairmont was slowly transforming herself, whether intentionally or not, into something resembling a department store mannequin.
“Alison isn’t the only who looks beautiful tonight,” Andrew said, coming over to them. He offered his hand, and Julia hesitated only slightly before taking it. She was clearly making a supreme effort to be cordial.
Andrew sounded as if he meant it, and Julia smiled, to Alison’s great relief. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a nightmare, after all. Only Bret hadn’t risen to the occasion. He’d ignored his mother’s time-out and left the chair to storm into the house. Interesting how the rebellious little brother routine made him appear much less sinister.
“Here you are,” Rebecca said, bringing Julia a brandy sour and a plate of assorted appetizers. “Try one of the mussels and see what you think.”
Alison excused herself and walked to the edge of the deck, which overlooked a charming cove of sapphire water, thirty feet below. Beyond that the Pacific stretched like an infinite edge pool. At high tide, the waves crashed thunderously against the rocks, but now all was calm.
Julia came and stood next to her, holding the stem of her glass with perfectly manicured fingers. Her emerald-and-diamond wedding set glowed in the waning light.
“The view doesn’t change,” Alison said, “but this house has. It’s beautiful.”
Julia shrugged as if it was nothing. “I could hardly improve on the view, but the house needed attention. It hadn’t been redecorated since you and Bret were small.”
That would have been over twenty years ago. “I don’t remember,” Alison said, “but I can’t imagine it being more beautiful than this. You’ve preserved the classic lines, but made it look fresh.”
She hoped that was what Julia wanted to hear. She’d begun to understand the plight of Anastasia, who was either a total fake or the rightful heir—and not even she had known which.
“Alison, look what I found.”
Alison turned to see Bret coming toward her, carrying framed family photographs. He had two, which he held up as if for show-and-tell. He seemed to have miraculously sobered up.
“Do you remember where this was taken?” he said, pointing to what looked like an enlarged snapshot of a lighthouse on a lonely promontory. He even turned so the others could see it.
The scene didn’t look remotely familiar to Alison. Andrew was standing by Rebecca, watching the Fairmont family reunion. Alison gave him a covert glance, but he shook his head. He couldn’t help her this time.
“Sorry, I don’t,” she said.
“You don’t?” Bret pretended to be shocked. “Let me guess, transient amnesia? Sounds like a bum with a bad memory.”
Alison didn’t respond. He was baiting her. His eyes gleamed when he was pleased with himself, and they were gleaming now. He’d been suspicious of her since he arrived this evening, but Alison didn’t have it in her to deal with his sniping tonight. Being under attack like this was what she’d feared most.
“Let me see that.” Julia snatched the photograph from Bret, pried off the backing and drew the picture from the frame. She read the date on the back.
“This picture was taken on your trip to the British Isles, Bret. It was the summer you graduated college. I put the date and place on the back when I had it framed.” She glowered at him. “Apologize to your sister. She doesn’t recognize the place because she was never there.”
Bret’s shrug was nonchalant, but Alison realized he’d been trying to pull one over on her. Thank God she hadn’t taken a wild guess. He wasn’t just out to test her. He was trying to trap her.
“Oops, my mistake,” he said. “How about this one? The little prodigy couldn’t possibly forget her big recital, could she?”
Bret held up the other photo. It was of Alison at the baby grand in the living room of this house. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she was probably playing Für Elise, the only piece she’d ever committed to memory.
Alison had the oddest sensation as she stared at the picture. It felt as if the dead places on her face were spreading to the rest of her body, and she was going numb. This really was too much. He wasn’t going to
