It’s Always the Husband: the Sunday Times bestselling thriller for fans of THE MARRIAGE PACT. Michele Campbell

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СКАЧАТЬ sounds like your stepmother is making things worse.”

      “That’s what I’ve been telling you. What can I do? She has her hooks in him.”

      “You have to tough it out. We get dressed up, go out there and charm your dad. You said he loves Carlisle, right? Let’s Carlisle him to death. Make him remember how proud he is to have a beautiful daughter at his beloved alma mater, with bright, responsible roommates who’ll keep her on the straight and narrow. We’ll make him forget he’s mad. What do you say?”

      Kate swiped her arm across her face. “You think that could work?”

      “It’s worth a shot. C’mon, let’s find something for Aubrey to wear. You and I both packed for a week, we can come up with something.”

      The living room buzzed with conversation as they arrived for cocktail hour. A uniformed waiter passed hors d’oeuvres on a tray to the well-dressed guests.

      “I’ll introduce you to my father,” Kate said, under her breath. “Ignore the others. They’re Victoria’s riffraff.”

      Kate went up to her father and kissed his cheek, which he received with notable coolness. Keniston Eastman was very much what Jenny had expected – tall, imposing, scary-looking even. His aquiline nose and heavy black brows reminded her of the grim-faced portrait of President Samuel Eastman hanging in Founders’ Hall. He wore a perfectly tailored jacket and an orange-striped Carlisle rep tie, and peered at Jenny and Aubrey disapprovingly as they approached. As Kate introduced them, Aubrey shrank back. Jenny took Aubrey’s elbow and propelled her forward, so Mr. Eastman could shake both their hands.

      “Enjoying the college, are you?” he asked, in a perfunctory manner, grabbing a glass of champagne off a passing tray and taking a sip, as if he needed to fortify himself against them.

      Aubrey went pale at his question and seemed unlikely to open her mouth, so Jenny jumped in with a chipper smile.

      “We’re very fortunate to be at Carlisle, Mr. Eastman, and we know it. I was elected Whipple rep to the student council last month, and I also work in Provost Meyers’ office, so I have a lot of insight into how things stand at Carlisle at the moment. It’s a wonderful time be a student.”

      “The provost’s office? You don’t say. Gloria Meyers is a good friend.” He relaxed to the point that Jenny caught a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Tell me, what are the hot-button issues on campus these days?”

      After that, they talked for fifteen minutes straight, Mr. Eastman quizzing Jenny on the latest campaign to clean up Greek life and progress on building the new athletic facility. Kate and Aubrey looked bored, and after a few minutes, wandered away, leaving Mr. Eastman in Jenny’s capable hands. Jenny watched them edge toward the table where a handsome bartender stood mixing drinks. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny saw Kate flirting with the bartender as he shook up a martini. Was Kate really stupid enough to start drinking at her father’s party? Jenny wondered. If so, she was beyond help. A nasty look and a whispered word from Victoria took care of the problem before Keniston spotted it, however. Kate and Aubrey stepped away from the bar. A moment later, Victoria announced that dinner was served, and Jenny turned toward the dining room with relief.

      “You’re saving my ass. Dad loved you,” Kate said, catching up with Jenny as they moved into the dining room.

      “Don’t drink,” Jenny whispered urgently.

      “Huh?”

      “Just don’t drink anything alcoholic, not a drop, not for the whole night.”

      “But I’m hungover. Hair of the dog.”

      “I can’t believe I have to tell you this. The plan is working. Don’t ruin it.”

      In the dining room, the chandelier sparkled, casting a warm glow over the crystal stemware, fine china, and lavish flower arrangements. Each setting had a place card, and Jenny was disappointed to see that the three of them were seated next to the little Eastmans at the far end of the table, presumably to act as impromptu babysitters if the need arose. Jenny had hoped to be closer to the seat of power at the head, the better to continue her conversation with Mr. Eastman. She hadn’t had time yet to make clear to him that she planned a future on Wall Street herself. The questions had been on the tip of her tongue when dinner was announced – did his firm hire interns, and could she forward a résumé? – but she hadn’t gotten them out. It was a lesson. Never hesitate; never put somebody else’s interests (especially Kate’s; she had enough advantages already) ahead of your own career advancement, or the moment would pass you by.

      The upside was that, sitting in Siberia, Jenny could relax and enjoy the spectacular food and setting. The second she lifted the silver spoon to her lips and tasted the lobster bisque, she forgot to be disappointed. It was Popsicle orange and silky-smooth, tasting of cream and sherry and the sea. She savored every drop, remembering to tilt the bowl away from her to catch the last bit rather than toward her, as the etiquette manual she had pored over in preparation for this trip instructed. She was sad when the soup was done, but then the main course arrived. Back home in Jenny’s house, they had roast turkey with all the sides, American and Puerto Rican both. Every Thanksgiving, there were sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, stuffing that came from a box but tasted delicious, green bean casserole doused in onion soup with lots of cheese and fried onions, and then tostones, rice and beans, because they all loved that food, so why not? She felt a twinge of homesickness as the waiter set a plate of rarefied tidbits before her, but it vanished with her first bite. The turkey had been prepared en croûte, a tender breast wrapped in puff pastry and delicately seasoned. It was accompanied by spicy cranberry compote and two fluffy vegetable purees, one of sweet potato, the other of asparagus, both heavenly. Jenny knew what the dishes were only because of the dainty calligraphic menu that sat before her in a silver holder. She loved looking at this menu, and wondered if they would mind if she took it home. This must be what it was like to be the queen of England, or damn close anyway. She’d put up with grief from a scary dad and a jealous stepmother, in exchange for a life like this. But of course, if Keniston Eastman were Jenny’s father, he wouldn’t be angry with her. She would never give him reason to be.

      As she ate, Jenny feasted her eyes on the beautifully appointed dining room. The windows were tall and elegant, framed by blue silk drapes with elaborate tassels. By far the most impressive feature of the room was a hand-painted mural that covered all four walls, depicting New York City in an earlier time, complete with sailing ships, and a family in eighteenth-century garb picnicking beneath a tree. Looking closer, Jenny saw that the family bore an uncanny resemblance to the Eastmans. It was them, she was certain – Keniston, Victoria, and their three towheaded monsters, enjoying a lovely spring day in the eighteenth century. But Kate and her half sister Louise were nowhere in sight. The artist had omitted them. They didn’t live in this house, and apparently they weren’t worthy of preserving in paint. Officially, they weren’t part of the family.

      At the end of the meal, the other guests departed, and Jenny went up to Victoria and Keniston, thanked them profusely, and offered her services to help clean up.

      “That’s not necessary,” Victoria said.

      “But it’s a lovely offer,” Mr. Eastman said. “I’m glad you’re rooming with my daughter. If only some of your attitude would rub off on her.”

      Jenny blushed. Kate, who had been moving toward them, smiled.

      “Isn’t she awesome, Dad? I told you, I’m on the right track now. Look who I’m hanging out with.”

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