There were pictures of flower gardens and old ivy-covered stone walls and gates.
“Either you or your designer has very good taste.”
“You know art?”
She shrugged. “I recognize Monet and Barber. And I guess I know what I like.”
“Do you?”
She pivoted around to face him. Her heart skipped a beat at the look of sensuous suggestion on his face, in his voice. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about fine art. Was he flirting with her? Establishing his claim? Or had her imagination overtaken her common sense? Still...he was her husband. Maybe he was reminding her of that fact.
Not sure how to respond, she turned to look at the painting hanging over the mantel. A little girl with long reddish-blond curls stood in the corner of her room, presumably being punished for something she’d done. Her dog, a little brown terrier, stood guard against anyone who would come near his child. A name flashed through her mind. Murphy. She turned to Wade. “Is...Murphy here?”
A sharp frown met her question. “Who?”
“Murphy.”
The gracious warmth of his welcome instantly turned to icy cold foreboding. “There is no one named Murphy in this house.”
His clipped reply indicated she’d struck a nerve. But why? Who was Murphy? Why did she remember that name when there was no face to go with it?
“I have work I need to take care of. Henry, our chef, put a menu next to the phone. I have taken the liberty of arranging your first meal based on the foods you generally like. If it isn’t acceptable to you, feel free to order something else. Call the number on the bottom of the menu once you’ve made your selection.”
“That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Your mother’s phone number is on your bedside table in case you don’t remember it.” With a sharp nod, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
What was that all about? She had no idea why simply asking about a name would cause such a change in behavior. His sudden hostility caused regret to surge through her. Apparently there was someone named Murphy who stood between them. It wasn’t a good feeling. How could she remember that name and not remember her own husband? A numbing chill slid over her. Was another man the reason Wade had acted so distant?
A soft knock on her door brought her out of her worried contemplation.
“Yes? Come in.”
The door opened to a stout young woman in a nondescript black dress and shoes.
“Excuse me? Mrs. Masters? I’m not sure if you will remember me. I am Rowena. Roe. Mr. Masters asked me to assist you with anything you need.”
“Oh. That’s very thoughtful. Thank you, but I’m fine.”
The maid hesitated before saying, “I hope you feel better very soon.” Then she backed out of the door.
“Roe?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I think... Could I change my mind? Would you mind helping me draw a bath?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am. I’d be happy to.” She hurried past Victoria and disappeared into the bathroom.
Victoria ventured into the huge closet while Roe started the bath. It was lined with clothing for every occasion. Many garments still had the price tag attached; others were still in the designer’s bag. Shoes filled one wall, and in the built-in bureau, there was lingerie in every style and color.
She was a clothes hog. It looked like she’d bought more clothing than she would need in a year. Maybe two.
“Your bath is ready, Mrs. Masters.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at Roe. “You’re very kind.”
That earned her a surprised, wide-eyed stare from the housekeeper. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Grabbing a robe, she ventured toward the elegant powder room, then on to the beautiful marbled bathroom. The oversize jetted tub couldn’t have been more appealing if it had been edged in twenty-four-carat gold. Across the room, a glass shower large enough to hold five looked equally tempting. But right now, she wanted to soak away the hospital smell. The dull ache in her head persisted, but hopefully the warm water would take care of it. Soon she was lying back, eyes closed, as the hot jets of water massaged away the soreness from her bruised body. She grabbed the liquid soap she’d selected from a wide array of bath salts, soaps and shampoos in a cabinet. Soon she was inhaling the wonderful exotic scent and enjoying the sense of cleanliness it offered.
When her fingers began to get pruny, she knew it was time to get out. After toweling dry, she slipped on the fluffy white robe. She found both a comb and a brush, plus a new toothbrush and some toothpaste in one of the drawers. Standing in front of the large mirror, she combed the tangles from her long dark hair.
As she looked at her reflection, a feeling of unease passed through her. Something was off. It was probably just the bruises and cut lip. She turned her face to the side. Maybe some swelling remained. “Stop it!” she muttered to her reflection. She had enough to worry about without adding to it.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Masters?” Roe called from the bedroom.
Excellent question. Placing the comb back in the drawer, Victoria headed to the bedroom. With the succulent smell of the food being wheeled into the room, she let the internal quandary go for now.
As good as the food looked and tasted, she did little more than sample a couple of the dishes. Her appetite had disappeared along with any positive hopes that coming here—coming home—would rekindle her memory. So far, all it had served to do was add more unknowns to the growing list. She felt tired and melancholy. Her husband’s earlier reaction to her inquiry about the name stirred apprehension. Everything she thought she would find here was still missing. In fact, she had an overwhelming sensation that she didn’t belong here. In this house. She couldn’t explain it, but the feeling was strong.
After the food cart had been removed, she found a clean nightgown, pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed. She really should call her mother. Even though she didn’t remember her.
Finding the number written on a sticky note, she placed the call.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Hi, Mom. Mother.” What did she call her? “It’s me, Victoria.” There was an obvious pause on the other end.
“Oh, my dear. You don’t sound at all like yourself. Are you still in the hospital?”
“No. No, I’m at home.”
Another pause. “Are you telling me that man dumped you off at his house and left? That might be a cause of action for abandonment or mental distress. You really should speak with Burt as soon as possible.”
What was she talking about? “Uh...Wade has been with me the entire time. He’s still here.”
“Oh.
