The Arrangement. Suzanne Forster

Rebecca, Julia’s assistant. Nice to meet you both! How was your trip?”

      Andrew stepped forward to take her hand. “Andrew Villard,” he said, “and the trip was fine, thank you. This is my wife, Alison, of course.”

      Alison and Rebecca exchanged nods. It would have been awkward to reach around Julia, who was still peering at Alison as if she were trying to piece her together like a puzzle.

      This was exactly what Alison had feared. Worse.

      Rebecca gently took over, whispering something to Julia, and then inviting Alison and Andrew in. “You must be exhausted,” she said, beckoning them to follow her into the mansion’s breathtaking pink marble foyer. “Did you leave your bags in the car? I’ll be happy to get them, but first can I fix you something to drink? Lemonade or a wine spritzer? It’s such a warm day.”

      “We’re fine,” Alison told her. “We picked up some iced tea at the airport.”

      Julia seemed to have found her voice. “Rebecca can unpack for you, if you’d like.”

      “That’s very kind, but I can handle the bags.” Andrew gave Alison a glance. “We would like some time to freshen up.”

      “Of course.” Julia nodded to her assistant. “Rebecca, show them to their room, would you? The second floor, facing the mountains.”

      “Oh, Julia, did you forget? The guest room on the ocean side is all ready for Alison and Andrew.”

      “My memory’s just fine, Rebecca.” Julia’s tone was as sharp as her glance. “I’m sure they’ll love the mountain view. Show them up, please.”

      She and Andrew had just been downgraded, Alison realized—and Julia was making sure they knew it. They hadn’t been here five minutes. Unbelievable.

      “Oh, by the way,” Julia added, “drinks are at seven on the terrace. You remember, Alison. We always gather on the terrace before dinner.” She looked searchingly at her daughter. “You will join us, of course.”

      Alison didn’t know anything about drinks at seven. She just wanted to run. Somewhere in the murky depths of her memory, she could hear demons howling.

      “That was terrifying,” Alison whispered, speaking more to herself than to Andrew. “She looked like a mannequin in a window display. Has she always looked that way?”

      Rebecca had just left them in their suite of rooms with a cheery reminder about drinks at seven. Alison found her to be effusive and overly helpful, but then anyone would have seemed effusive compared to Julia.

      The suite was actually a combination bedroom and sitting room, which opened onto a balcony with wrought-iron railings. To Alison’s eye, everything about the room was soothing and beautiful. The palm trees and elegant cane furniture created a cool garden of tranquility.

      Andrew had gone over to check out the liquor cart, a wheeled brass-and-leather showpiece that was probably an antique. It was weighed down with crystal decanters, all filled a variety of expensive and exotic spirits, of course. Julia Fairmont’s hospitality was legend. So was her bitchiness, apparently.

      “Do you think she’s changed her mind?” Alison asked. “Is she going to ask us to leave?”

      “No, she has her reasons for wanting us here, just as we have ours.” He glanced over at her. “You can’t have forgotten what your own mother looks like. We went through the albums. I showed you the pictures.”

      “I do know what she looks like. That’s the point. She’s changed. Didn’t you see it?”

      “You’ve changed. You scared her half to death with your wild-ass hair.” He laughed and picked up a slender decanter that glowed amber in the waning light. “How about something to drink? Sherry? It’ll calm you down.”

      “Ugh, I’d rather drink mouthwash.” Alison sat on the edge of a wicker chaise near the bed and tried to envision the many faces of Julia Fairmont, the ones she remembered and the ones she’d seen in the snapshots. But the masklike image never left the screen of her mind. It hadn’t seemed to bother Andrew, but for Alison it was too stark and disturbing to be dismissed.

      To calm herself, she began to mentally rehearse some of the other details she’d conjured up about her mother, with a lot of help from Andrew. Julia had never worked outside the home, but had made a career raising money for various charities. She was allergic to cats, but not dogs, and had an aversion to the color red. Her musical tastes were highbrow, but she was addicted to reality television. And almost nothing had seemed to ruffle her except the sound of crying babies. Alison had no idea why, but a wailing infant could make her mother tremble and slam doors to block the sound.

      There was more, but none of it came readily to mind. She still slipped into a fog at times and couldn’t remember anything, especially when under stress.

      “Was she always that statuelike?” she asked Andrew. “She didn’t look quite real. You’d think she had the surgery rather than me.”

      He started to say something, but Alison stopped him. “Why did we come, Andrew? She doesn’t want us here. She acted like we were avian flu carriers.”

      Alison had caught the horrified flicker in her mother’s eye, even if he hadn’t. She could only guess what it meant. Maybe all wasn’t forgiven, and she and Andrew had been summoned for some kind of confrontation. Or her mother was repulsed because Alison really did look as strange and different as she felt.

      He picked up a fifth of scotch and examined the label. She watched him, aware that he no longer drank alcohol.

      “You know why we’re here,” he said.

      His voice had taken on an edge that prompted her to change the subject. “I love this room,” she said, “but the house… It’s huge and bewildering. I’m not sure I could find my way back down to the foyer.”

      “Julia mentioned on the phone that you wouldn’t recognize the house. She’s totally redone it since you were here last. I forgot to tell you that, sorry. It’s been pretty chaotic.”

      As if by way of apology, he brought her an aperitif glass of something pale pink. She sniffed and then took a sip. Definitely not sherry. It tasted like strawberries.

      “Julia is nervous, too,” he said. “Couldn’t you see that? She wants you here. She never stopped trying to see you after the accident.”

      “Yes, but why? It’s not as if we were close in any normal mother-daughter way. Is she still angry with me? Is she curious? She has plenty of money, so this probably isn’t about the trust that was supposed to have come to me…unless she wants me to promise in writing that I’ll give up my claim.”

      “Would you do that? The money was yours. It was you who decided to walk away from it. You could always change your mind.”

      “And start another war? No, I can’t do that.”

      Did he want her to go after the money? Was that the real reason they were here? She buttoned up the light cardigan she’d slipped on over her capri outfit, but not because she was cold. It was to hide the warmth spreading over her skin. When she was nervous she broke out in hivelike splotches on her chest and face.

      “Let’s talk about something else,” she said.

      He knelt next to her chair. “Alison, your mother almost lost you. She hasn’t seen you in four years. Give her some time.”

      “But she invited us. At least she could be civil.” She touched her face. “Do I look that horrible?”

      “You’re stunning. Maybe she’s jealous.”

      Stunning? She could feel the red heat crawling up her neck. Soon the brilliance would invade her face and make her look like a burn victim. It had been a day of nasty shocks, and this was one more. Since the accident, Andrew hadn’t given her any