The Last Mrs Parrish: An addictive psychological thriller with a shocking twist!. Liv Constantine

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      “Well, that’s where I grew up. And we didn’t have enough money to come to New York. So, there you have it. But I do want to thank you for making one of my dreams come true. I’m going to let everyone at the office know that it was all because of you.”

      Bella’s face was inscrutable, and before she answered, Jackson and Daphne came into the room.

      “Good morning.” Daphne’s voice was cheery. “Where’s Tallulah? It’s time for breakfast. Is she up yet?”

      “I’ll go see,” Amber said.

      Tallulah was up and almost finished dressing when Amber knocked and went in. “Good morning,” she said to her. “Your mom asked me to check on you. I think they’re ready to go down to breakfast.”

      Tallulah turned to look at her. “Okay, I’m ready.” And they walked together to the living room where the others waited.

      “Did you girls sleep well?” Jackson’s voice boomed as they headed to the elevator. They all spoke at once, and as the elevator descended, he looked at Bella and said, “We’re going to have breakfast with Eloise in the Palm Court.”

      Bella smiled and looked at Amber. “We’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” she said.

      Maybe she finally had this little hellion in her pocket, Amber thought. Now it was time to work on Jackson.

       FOURTEEN

      Amber and Daphne sat beside each other at the Parrish dining room table, which was covered in paper, including the list of attendees and a ballroom diagram of the table arrangements. Since almost all of these people were unknown to Amber, Daphne was dictating the seating for each table while Amber dutifully entered all the information into an Excel file. There was a lull as Daphne studied the names before her, and Amber took the opportunity to gaze around the room and out the long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the sea. The room could comfortably seat sixteen for dinner, but it still had a feeling of intimacy. The walls were a muted gold, a perfect backdrop for the magnificent oils of sailboats and seascapes in gilded frames. She could imagine the formal dinner parties they must have here, with elegant place settings of china, crystal, fine silver, and table linens of the highest quality. She was pretty certain that there was not a paper napkin to be found anywhere in the house.

      “Sorry to take so long, Amber. I think I finally have table nine figured out,” Daphne said.

      “No problem. I’ve been admiring this beautiful room.”

      “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Jackson owned the house before we were married, so I haven’t done very much to change things. Just the sunroom, really.” She looked around and shrugged. “Everything was already perfect.”

      “Gosh, how wonderful.”

      Daphne gave her an odd look that passed quickly—too quickly for Amber to identify it.

      “Well, I think we’re finished with the seating. I’ll send the list to the printer to make up the table cards,” Daphne said, rising from her chair. “I can’t thank you enough. This would have taken forever without your help.”

      “Oh, you’re welcome. I’m happy to do it.”

      Daphne looked at her watch and then back at Amber. “I don’t have to pick the girls up from tennis for another hour. How about a cup of tea and a bite to eat? Do you have time?”

      “That would be great.” She followed Daphne out of the dining room. “Could I use the restroom?”

      “Of course.” They walked a bit farther, and Daphne indicated a door on the left. “When you come out, turn right and keep walking to the kitchen. I’ll put the tea on.”

      Amber entered the first-floor powder room and was stunned. Every room in the house offered a staggering reminder of Jackson Parrish’s great wealth. With its polished black walls and silver picture-frame wainscoting, it was the epitome of quiet opulence. A waterfall slab of marble was the focus of the room, and on top of it sat a marble vessel sink. Amber looked around in wonder once again. Everything original, custom-made. What would it be like to have a custom-made life, she wondered?

      She washed her hands and took one last look in the mirror, a tall, beveled piece of glass set in a frame that looked like rippled silver leaves. As she walked the length of the corridor to the kitchen, she slowed to look at the art on the walls. Some she recognized from her exhaustive reading and Met courses—a Sisley and a stunning Boudin. If these were the real thing, and they probably were, the paintings alone were worth a small fortune. And here they were, hanging in a little-trafficked hallway.

      As she entered the kitchen, she saw that tea and a plate of fruit sat waiting on the island.

      “Mug or cup?” Daphne asked, standing in front of an open cabinet door.

      The shelves of the cabinet looked as if they could have been a display for a luxury kitchen showroom. Amber imagined someone using a ruler to measure an exact distance between each cup and glass. Everything lined up perfectly, and everything matched. It was disconcerting in some strange way, and she found herself mutely staring, mesmerized by the symmetry.

      “Amber?” Daphne said.

      “Oh. Mug, please.” She sat on one of the cushioned stools.

      “Do you take milk?”

      “Yes, please,” Amber said.

      Daphne swung the refrigerator door open, and Amber stared again. The contents were lined up with military precision, the tallest at the rear and all labels facing front. The absolute precision of Daphne’s home was off-putting. It felt to Amber like more than a desire for a neat home and more like an obsession, a compulsion. She remembered Sally’s account of Daphne’s time in a sanitarium after Tallulah’s birth. Perhaps there had been more going on than just postpartum depression, she thought.

      Daphne sat opposite Amber and poured their tea. “So, we have just two weeks before the big night. You’ve been amazing. I’ve felt such a wonderful synergy with you. We both have so much of our hearts invested in this.”

      “I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t wait until the fund-raiser. It’s going to be a huge success.”

      Daphne took a sip of tea and placed the mug on the counter between her hands. Looking at Amber, she said, “I’d like to do something to show my appreciation for all your hard work.”

      Amber tilted her head and gave Daphne a questioning look.

      “I hope you’ll let me buy you a dress for the fund-raiser,” Daphne said.

      Amber had hoped this was going to happen, but she had to play it carefully. “Oh no,” she said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

      “Please. I’d really love to. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

      “I don’t know. It feels like you’re paying me, and I didn’t work on this to get paid. I wanted to do it.” Amber smiled inwardly at her brilliant show of humility.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ