The Arrangement. Suzanne Forster

the front door fiasco. She’d worn her hair up, thinking it might make a better impression, and evidently it had.

      Clouds of expensive perfume swirled around them as Julia stepped back and clasped Alison’s hands. A smile softened the angles of her face, but Alison’s intuition was working overtime. She could sense the crackling tension. Julia was as anxious as she was.

      Alison also caught a whiff of alcohol mixed in with the perfume, and it wasn’t her own drink.

      Somehow, just knowing this very formidable woman was nervous allowed her to relax. But it also made her wonder what flaws her mother’s seeming quest for flawlessness might be hiding. She was known in the society pages as a fashion maven, but Alison had never thought of that as a cover until now. The makeup and designer clothing seemed more extreme than before, and she couldn’t shake the notion that Julia Fairmont was slowly transforming herself, whether intentionally or not, into something resembling a department store mannequin.

      “Alison isn’t the only who looks beautiful tonight,” Andrew said, coming over to them. He offered his hand, and Julia hesitated only slightly before taking it. She was clearly making a supreme effort to be cordial.

      Andrew sounded as if he meant it, and Julia smiled, to Alison’s great relief. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a nightmare, after all. Only Bret hadn’t risen to the occasion. He’d ignored his mother’s time-out and left the chair to storm into the house. Interesting how the rebellious little brother routine made him appear much less sinister.

      “Here you are,” Rebecca said, bringing Julia a brandy sour and a plate of assorted appetizers. “Try one of the mussels and see what you think.”

      Alison excused herself and walked to the edge of the deck, which overlooked a charming cove of sapphire water, thirty feet below. Beyond that the Pacific stretched like an infinite edge pool. At high tide, the waves crashed thunderously against the rocks, but now all was calm.

      Julia came and stood next to her, holding the stem of her glass with perfectly manicured fingers. Her emerald-and-diamond wedding set glowed in the waning light.

      “The view doesn’t change,” Alison said, “but this house has. It’s beautiful.”

      Julia shrugged as if it was nothing. “I could hardly improve on the view, but the house needed attention. It hadn’t been redecorated since you and Bret were small.”

      That would have been over twenty years ago. “I don’t remember,” Alison said, “but I can’t imagine it being more beautiful than this. You’ve preserved the classic lines, but made it look fresh.”

      She hoped that was what Julia wanted to hear. She’d begun to understand the plight of Anastasia, who was either a total fake or the rightful heir—and not even she had known which.

      “Alison, look what I found.”

      Alison turned to see Bret coming toward her, carrying framed family photographs. He had two, which he held up as if for show-and-tell. He seemed to have miraculously sobered up.

      “Do you remember where this was taken?” he said, pointing to what looked like an enlarged snapshot of a lighthouse on a lonely promontory. He even turned so the others could see it.

      The scene didn’t look remotely familiar to Alison. Andrew was standing by Rebecca, watching the Fairmont family reunion. Alison gave him a covert glance, but he shook his head. He couldn’t help her this time.

      “Sorry, I don’t,” she said.

      “You don’t?” Bret pretended to be shocked. “Let me guess, transient amnesia? Sounds like a bum with a bad memory.”

      Alison didn’t respond. He was baiting her. His eyes gleamed when he was pleased with himself, and they were gleaming now. He’d been suspicious of her since he arrived this evening, but Alison didn’t have it in her to deal with his sniping tonight. Being under attack like this was what she’d feared most.

      “Let me see that.” Julia snatched the photograph from Bret, pried off the backing and drew the picture from the frame. She read the date on the back.

      “This picture was taken on your trip to the British Isles, Bret. It was the summer you graduated college. I put the date and place on the back when I had it framed.” She glowered at him. “Apologize to your sister. She doesn’t recognize the place because she was never there.”

      Bret’s shrug was nonchalant, but Alison realized he’d been trying to pull one over on her. Thank God she hadn’t taken a wild guess. He wasn’t just out to test her. He was trying to trap her.

      “Oops, my mistake,” he said. “How about this one? The little prodigy couldn’t possibly forget her big recital, could she?”

      Bret held up the other photo. It was of Alison at the baby grand in the living room of this house. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she was probably playing Für Elise, the only piece she’d ever committed to memory.

      Alison had the oddest sensation as she stared at the picture. It felt as if the dead places on her face were spreading to the rest of her body, and she was going numb. This really was too much. He wasn’t going to stop until he’d reduced her to rubble.

      Julia let out a hiss of frustration. “Bret, your sister nearly died from head trauma, and she didn’t come home to play the piano for your amusement. Now give me that picture and stop badgering her.”

      Bret handed over the picture. “I guess you’re right. You never liked her playing, anyway.”

      “I didn’t say that!”

      “You said it to anyone who would listen. You said it to her, isn’t that right, Alison? Mom never thought you had any talent.”

      “Drop it, Bret,” Julia said threateningly.

      Bret had some kind of comeback, but Alison wasn’t listening. She slipped around and left them arguing as she went into the living room. She saw the baby grand against the windows of the far wall, and her pulse quickened.

      A moment later, she sat down at the piano and stared at the keys. The blood pounding through her heart made her hands shake. Her head buzzed so loudly it blurred her vision. She could barely distinguish black from white.

      She placed her hands on the keys, an octave apart. She pressed one key and then another, trying a chord or two, but nothing was coming back to her, nothing at all. She could hear the music playing in her head, but her fingers didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t make the connection.

      She closed her eyes a moment, straining to remember, fighting, but her mind was empty. There was no point. She started to get up, and then glanced back at the keyboard. Her hand hit the keys in frustration. The noise jarred her, but her fingers opened and began to move. It didn’t feel as if she was making conscious choices, but something was happening. She hit one wrong note after another. She winced and grimaced and tried again, and gradually it came, one tentative note and then a second. Soon she had a recognizable melody. Für Elise.

      She didn’t play it well, but she played it, and when she looked up, the entire family was there, watching her. Julia, Andrew, Rebecca, even Bret. Andrew was the one who started the applause.

      6

      Alison lay awake in the dark, unable to believe that she was sharing a bed with her husband. He was lying on his back, as quiet as she was, but he wasn’t sleeping, either. It was too still. Not even a breath could be heard. And yet electricity crackled in the space between them. She could almost hear the noise it made.

      That was why he hadn’t moved, and neither had she. Not even to roll over and look at the clock. She was afraid to do anything that would force him to speak or in any way have to acknowledge his presence in this bed with her. God forbid they should touch.

      Within the veil of their private world, they were separate agents. If anything was holy, it was the distance they’d created between them. They rarely even communicated beyond the necessities of their arrangement… and