A Secret in Salem (3 page)

She took his breath away.

As Olivia pulled away from the shop, Charley caught his eye and flashed her perfect smile. In that split second, Shawn felt as if he knew her.

It didn’t take long for Claire to gobble down the dinner they’d brought back to the boat. She was dozing off on her plate when Belle joined her and Shawn at the teak table in the main cabin.

“She made you that nervous, Belle?” Shawn questioned his bride as she returned from the head.

“To quote our daughter—yup!” Belle answered. “Do you mind putting her down for the night?”

Shawn kissed Belle on the tip of her nose and carted the little one
to the back of the yacht. It was only a matter of feet. This wasn’t a megayacht, after all. The three separate cabins gave them enough space to move around in, but even Shawn would have to admit that at times the quarters got tight for two adults and a rambunctious almost-four-year-old.

Shawn and Belle were especially careful with Claire, who’d endured a tumultuous first few years and once nearly drowned at the hands of her mother’s ex-husband, Philip. Although Claire was only two at the time of the accident, she seemed to have adjusted. But they still always feared being on the water would bring back terrible memories in the mind of their precious little girl.

Within minutes, Shawn was back.

“Out like a light,” he said, whispering so as not to awaken Claire. “Even with all that’s going on up there,” he added, nodding to the deck. “Join me?” he asked with a smile.

Belle was exhausted but decided not to argue. She knew that every now and then she needed to give in.

Monte Carlo Harbor was rocking. August in Monte Carlo was the most spectacular time of the year. Tourists from around the globe rubbed shoulders with the few thousand permanent residents and swelled the population to over a hundred thousand. Most of them stayed in rental homes, villas, and the magnificent hotels that dotted the coastline. Others lived on the hundreds of boats, from thirty-footers to the block-long yachts with live-on crews numbering in the dozens, most of which bobbed quietly and empty during the low season.

“Welcome to paradise, Tink,” Shawn said as he helped Belle
to the deck. There was a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot, Belle’s favorite champagne, and fresh strawberries.

“Got this idea from your mom and dad.”

Belle’s eyes clouded.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Shawn said in a comforting tone.

“Mom says he’s better, but I’m not sure,” Belle answered, and then added, “You know my mother. Always keeping a stiff upper lip for us kids, whatever she’s going through.”

“We’ve got a week until we see them,” he said as he popped open the champagne. “For now, let’s just think about us.”

Shawn kissed her, his tongue darting inside her mouth. She smiled warmly and then kissed him with more passion.

“I love you, Shawn,” she said with conviction.

“Same back.”

They sipped the Veuve Clicquot.

“What should we do until then? There are so many places to see. Any thoughts?”

“You already know,” Belle answered.

“The aquarium, the museum, of course—oh, and Club 55 is supposed to be amazing. It’s a two-hour trip by sea, but Princess Stéphanie’s there whenever she’s home. Or La Colombe d’Or. Great food and real Matisses, Renoirs—all those guys—bolted to the walls, and it’s less than an hour to get there by boat.”

Belle laughed. “As if you care.”

“You do.”

“It’s really not our scene, but thanks.” She brushed the brown floppy hair from his forehead, then added knowingly, “Tell me where I really want to go.”

“Princess Grace’s grave.”

She nodded. “How she influenced fashion is still phenomenal. Like Katharine Hepburn or Coco Chanel.”

“To die so young…such a tragedy,” she added.

Shawn clinked his Riedel champagne flute to hers, the only two nonplastic glasses on the boat. “But a great love story.”

Belle looked into his eyes. As impetuous as Shawn had been when they were teenagers, he could be incredibly romantic.

He slid his hand under the back of her polo shirt and pulled her close. Then he unfastened her bra with a flick of his fingers.

Belle knew where this was going and bristled slightly, which he felt. They’d only had sex once in the last few weeks.

Just then, brilliant fireworks exploded in the Monte Carlo sky.

Through the shower of silver and gold, a bright yellow streak caught Shawn’s attention.

It was Olivia’s Aston Martin convertible winding its way up the hillside.

Looking closely, he could see Charley’s hair flowing freely in the wind.

I
T WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT WHEN
M
ARLENA LOOKED AT THE
clock. She’d been tossing and turning in her bed for over an hour, but her head was spinning, and she couldn’t sleep.

The Pratesi linens and down comforter covering her DUX bed were luxurious and comforting. John had insisted on the best for her, of course. For Marlena, however, his arms around her was all she wanted.

Restless, Marlena crawled out of bed and went to sit at the Biedermeier desk that looked out to the lake. It was a beautiful moonlit night.

“Why does this make me feel even more alone?” she pondered, then shook off the thought as she noticed there was a new text on her BlackBerry. It was from Belle, texting that she and Shawn were safely in the south of France.

Marlena kissed the phone, then flipped through the photos Belle had recently sent her from her round-the-world journey. It had been much too long since she’d seen her youngest daughter in person, and she hadn’t held Claire since the precious thing was a toddler.

Of all her children, Belle had a special place in Marlena’s heart. She could never voice that to anyone and would deny it if asked, but because she was Marlena’s only biological child with John, it was true.

Her twins, Sami and Eric, had seemed to always have strong, independent lives since they popped out of her womb. Sami, so mercurial and uncontrollable, with her constant neediness and desire for control, rarely leaned on her mother. Ultimately she was as headstrong as Roman, the man who had once swept Marlena off her feet and who she’d always love in some part of her heart. Eric, more sophisticated and intelligent, flourished away from the lifestyle of Salem and his divorced parents. Marlena had also raised two stepchildren, Carrie and Brady, as though they were her own.

Belle was named Isabella as a tribute to the luminescent young woman who had borne Brady and who John had married when Marlena had been presumed dead. Isabella, who had succumbed to the torture of pancreatic cancer, had a beautiful soul, and so did her namesake.

As Marlena studied the photos sent by Belle, she thought she heard voices coming from downstairs. Wide-awake now and curious, Marlena took her black silk robe that was draped over her chair. She slipped it over her trim body and, as she did, caught sight of herself in the full-length framed mirror. The luxurious fabric fell softly over her still-toned breasts.

“Not bad for an old broad,” she said wistfully. To think she’d borne three children who now had children too.

Smoothing the fabric with her hand, she welcomed the touch
of flesh against her body, even if it was her own. Her hand lingered for a moment, until she was distracted once again by the muffled sound of arguing.

Wrapping the robe securely around herself, she headed downstairs.

The house was dark except for the security lights that lit the path as Marlena made her way to the kitchen. She could hear only one voice and recognized it as that of John’s night nurse, Desiree.

In the dimly lit kitchen, Marlena could see the statuesque brunette on their landline. She was wearing a short robe, and her hair was tousled as though she’d just gotten out of bed.

Desiree lived in the guesthouse, and Marlena was deeply curious as to what she was doing there in her kitchen. She realized Desiree was blasting someone in her native French.

“What do you mean you have no idea? It’s my money, and I need it now,” she sputtered in French. “Papa, three of my friends are desperate too, and none of us can get our cash. I don’t care about your rich friends! It was you who suggested that investment!”

Desiree was near tears and slammed down the phone. “
Merde!
” she shouted. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Marlena in the open doorway.

“
Docteur
Evans.” She gasped.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, Desiree,” Marlena said calmly. “Are you all right?”

Desiree stammered, “My cell phone went dead, and I had to call my papa. It was an emergency. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s fine,” Marlena answered. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, and my French isn’t quite that good, so don’t worry.”

Marlena was being kind. She recognized enough to know it was a major blowup with Desiree’s father, one of Paris’s top surgeons, and that it involved money.

“I have three friends who are going to hate me,” she sputtered.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Marlena asked.

Desiree hesitated. Yes, she would like to talk about the news she’d just heard. But each of John’s employees signed a strict confidentiality agreement Marlena didn’t know about, and she was afraid where the conversation would go. With her entire savings down the tubes, not to mention her father’s, she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

“No,” Desiree answered flatly, then quickly changed the subject before she started to cry. “Would you like me to check on Monsieur Black?”

Marlena thought for a moment, then shook her head. “He’s sleeping. Would you like some tea? Or a drink?”

“Thank you, but I need to be alone,” Desiree answered quietly. “
Bonne nuit, Docteur
Evans.”

“Night.”

Desiree exited through the servants’ entrance.

Now Marlena was alone, and she didn’t like it. As beautiful as her environment was, she needed someone to talk to.

She checked the clock on the Viking range and computed the time difference.

“Six fifteen in Salem.”

Even though it was after midnight in Lausanne, it was late
afternoon in the city where Carrie and Austin were still visiting.

Flipping through her phone contacts, she stopped before reaching Carrie’s number.

“Alice Horton,” it read.

Few would realize that Marlena had Alice’s number in her phone and that the two continued to talk fairly frequently even after she and John had left the country. Alice always had sound advice for the psychiatrist everyone else turned to.

Alice Horton. The matriarch of Salem was gone now too, and Marlena felt a twinge of guilt for not having attended the funeral. She also knew that Alice, so deeply devoted to her family, would never have wanted Marlena to leave John’s side. Carrie and Austin had gone in Marlena’s stead.

After a moment in thought, Marlena opted not to call her daughter. What would she say? That she was lonely? So very, very lonely.

John’s room was silent except for the hum of the monitors that kept track of his condition.

Marlena moved into the room as if on cat’s feet.

John, the man she loved more than life, was still. He looked as he did so many times throughout their marriage. Even in sleep he had the aura of a hero.

The bed, specially built for him, wider than a double and longer than a queen to fit his six-foot-two-inch frame, was inviting.

John was lying on his side. Marlena assumed he’d used his remote system to reposition himself.

Gently, so as to not wake him, Marlena slid into the bed behind him.

She wanted to reach out and touch the phoenix tattoo she’d brought Dr. Masters to see. Instead, she merely stared at the strong, muscular shoulder she’d leaned on for so many years.

For a few moments it felt right.

For her.

For John, it was torture.

He could feel the heat from Marlena’s lithe body, and his breathing began to quicken.

Fearing she was agitating him and he’d awaken, she quickly slipped out of the bed and glided to the door.

“Why?” she whispered and then disappeared before starting to cry.

John rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t dare let her know his condition.

Not yet.