blown it totally, Rebecca realized. She wasn’t going to get this job. She could always tell when the interviewer started studying her résumé in the middle of everything. She predicted he would soon lift his head, bestow a dismissing smile and send her off with some polite comment that would let her know she was low on the list.
Rebecca glanced at her surroundings. She’d been so intent on answering Matthew Berringer’s questions, she hadn’t taken much notice of the room. Sunny and spacious, it appeared to be a library or study. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the furnishings were large, comfortably worn pieces upholstered in leather and tapestry fabrics. There were many framed photos. Some looked quite old. Most looked like family groups.
Area rugs in traditional designs covered the polished wooden floor, and an impressive carved oak desk stood in front of glass doors that led to a covered terrace. The doors stood ajar, allowing the spring air to fill the room.
When the interview began, she’d expected Matthew Berringer to take a seat behind the big desk. Instead, he’d sat on a couch across from her and offered her coffee from a silver service. The gesture, though small, had helped put her at ease.
She took a moment to raise her china cup and take a sip. The coffee was cold, but at least it gave her something to do.
In the tense silence, Rebecca could hear the ocean, just steps away from the terrace of the beachfront property. The steady rhythm of the waves was soothing and helped her relax.
It was a pity she wasn’t going to work here. The Berringer mansion—merely Grant Berringer’s summer home—was so beautiful, the kind of grand old place she’d so far only admired from a wistful distance. Earlier Matthew Berringer had told her a little about the estate, which was set on ten acres of ocean-front property. The twelve-bedroom mansion, designed in the style of a French Norman manor house, was built in the 1920s for a wealthy oil magnate, part of New York’s aristocracy. The stones had been shipped from Europe, as well as the craftsmen who had put the place together. The carved stone architectural details included gargoyles with all too human faces. With its wide, rambling structure, courtyards, slate roof and turrets, the place looked more like a miniature castle, Rebecca thought, nestled in a grove of woods near the sea. The decor within was fit for royalty, as well.
Not only did she need a new job, but she and Nora, her six-year-old daughter, needed a new place to live by the end of the month and an apartment in one wing of the huge house was part of the deal, in addition to a generous salary. Matthew Berringer had already shown her the rooms, which were lovely. Certainly enough space for her and Nora for the summer. If Grant Berringer required her services for longer than the summer and Nora had to return to school, Rebecca had told Matthew Berringer some other arrangements would be necessary. But he hadn’t seemed put off by that potential complication. He’d stated that he’d be happy to hire a tutor for Nora or enroll her in one of the fancy private schools nearby. Rebecca felt satisfied by his reply. Although she had read Grant Berringer’s medical records and discussed his condition with Matthew, she still needed to see him with her own eyes to gauge how long he would need her help.
Living on the beach for the summer, in such luxurious surroundings, no less, would have been heavenly. But…she’d blown it all with her irrepressible need to be honest.
Well, she wasn’t really sorry. She’d only told Matthew Berringer the truth. People always say they admire honesty. In theory, perhaps, but not in actuality, she’d noticed. Not in her case, anyway. Perhaps she’d helped him, in a way. He’d be wary of the next applicant, who might claim to be able to have Grant Berringer behind his desk in no time flat.
Finally, Matthew Berringer looked at her. The irritation in his expression had disappeared.
“I know what you’ve told me is true, Ms. Calloway. I know the real motivation has to come from within Grant. I just don’t want to believe it, I guess. I keep wishing I might find someone who could snap their fingers and make my brother well again,” he admitted.
“I understand. I really do,” she sympathized. “Just about everyone I meet who is caring for a loved one feels the same.”
“But my brother’s case is different from most you’ve had in the past,” Matthew Berringer said. “He has had an extraordinary loss. Many people use the word tragedy when they’re describing a sad but not necessarily unusual event. My brother, however, has lived through a tragedy, a devastating event that cost him…everything. And left him with an impossibly heavy burden of guilt, in the bargain.”
So far, Rebecca had only learned that Grant Berringer had been in a car accident. She’d heard that he’d been the driver and there was one passenger involved who had died instantly. Grant had escaped with multiple injuries the most severe to his right hip and leg. Those were the basic facts, but obviously there was more to the story.
“Why don’t you tell me everything about your brother’s accident? Everything you think is relevant to his recovery, I mean. I do need to know the complete details in order to evaluate the case.”
Loss was something she knew about. She could empathize with Grant Berringer. But at the same time, she had been through so much in her life, Rebecca wasn’t sure she had the resources to handle an unusually demanding assignment.
Matthew Berringer’s cool blue-eyed gaze met hers, then he looked away. It seemed he was gathering his thoughts. “I’ll try to keep this brief and to the point,” he said. “My brother was engaged to be married. He and his fiancée, Courtney Benton, were returning to the city after spending the weekend at the country home of one of my brother’s clients. It was bad weather, a sudden heavy rainstorm, and my brother apparently lost control of the wheel. The car skidded off the road and crashed into a cement wall. Courtney was killed instantly. My brother was in a coma for two weeks. When he woke up and learned what had happened, he barely had the will to go on living.”
“Oh, dear…that is heartbreaking,” Rebecca said softly. She had heard many sad stories during her career, but this was one of the saddest. That poor man. She couldn’t imagine his grief…or his guilt.
“And to complicate matters even further, my brother has some memory loss. He can recall events leading up to the accident. Leaving the home they were visiting and such. But he can’t remember anything that happened right before the crash occurred. He can’t even remember if he and Courtney were trying to pull over and wait out the rain.”
Matthew Berringer sounded amazed but somewhat frustrated. “The doctors say he may never remember.”
“They may be right,” Rebecca agreed. “I have heard of such situations before. It’s a reaction to extreme trauma or stress. It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from memories that are too painful to relive.”
“Yes, I understand all that.” As Matthew Berringer nodded, a lock of his smooth brown hair dropped across his brow, and he impatiently brushed it back. “But I often suspect that if Grant could remember all that happened that night—no matter how distressing those memories might be—perhaps he’d be able to move forward, to work through his grief and rebuild his life.”
“Yes, it might help him a great deal. But it’s a catch-22 of sorts, isn’t it?” she added. “He will get stronger if he remembers. But he’ll only be ready to remember when he gets stronger.”
“It’s a riddle inside a riddle.” Matthew shook his head, and Rebecca could sense his frustration and sadness. Matthew had also experienced a loss, she realized. The loss of a brother who was once vital and strong, an equal in friendship and camaraderie, for it was clear that the two were quite close.
