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“OMG! Are you kidding? That would be amaze-balls.”
Olivia laughed. “But first we need to focus on the fashion show. There’s about a zillion things I need to get done. And I’m thinking that since you and Mr. Beaumont get along so well, I might hire another assistant for me. How do you feel about that?”
“Great! Then we can just be friends and you can tell me all about your trip to Paris and the sex you had with Mr. Beaumont.”
Olivia laughed. “Speaking of Mr. Beaumont, I’ve been trying to call him. Is he in his office?”
“Yes, but he’s in an important meeting and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“What meeting?”
Kelly’s voice became hushed. “I didn’t catch all of it, but it has to do with Mr. Beaumont having a mistress.”
Olivia felt her stomach clench. “Deacon has a mistress?”
“No, not that Mr. Beaumont. The dead Mr. Beaumont.”
“You must be mistaken, Kelly,” Olivia said. “Michael didn’t have time for a mistress. He was too busy with French Kiss.”
“He might’ve been busy, but he wasn’t too busy to knock a woman up and get an illegitimate kid. An illegitimate kid who is contesting the will.”
***
No more than ten minutes later, Olivia stood in front of Michael’s mansion trying to steady her suddenly topsy-turvy world. Michael had an illegitimate child? It didn’t make sense. Michael would’ve told her if he had a child. Of course he hadn’t told her about the will and giving the company to his nephews either. So what made her think that he would have shared this? A part of her wanted to head to French Kiss and bust into the meeting. But the other part knew that would do more damage than good. She felt too raw. So raw that she couldn’t get a word out when her mother opened the door.
Since Deirdre had a tennis match that afternoon, she wore a formfitting lime-green sports top and matching skirt, and her blond hair had been pulled back into a chic ponytail. While she had never been an attentive mother, she’d always been a perceptive one. She took one look at Olivia and took charge.
“Come inside. You look like you’re about ready to throw up or pass out.” She led Olivia into Michael’s study and sat her down in a chair in front of the fireplace before heading to the minibar.
Unlike his office at work, Michael’s study didn’t have one painting of quaint Parisian cafés. In fact there were no paintings at all. On one wall were large windows that looked out over the garden, and the other walls were lined with walnut bookcases filled with business awards and books. Not that Michael had been an avid reader. When he took the time to read, he had preferred Forbes magazine.
“Here, drink this.” Deirdre handed her a glass of brandy. While Olivia took a sip, her mother picked up a box from the cluster by the door. “I know it’s sad to have to pack up Michael’s things, but we’ll get through it. In case you haven’t figured it out, the Harringtons are survivors.”
Olivia didn’t feel like a survivor. She felt like a drowning victim. She cradled the glass in her hands and took deep sips as she watched her mother pack up some of the books. After the glass was empty, she felt less shaky, but not less deceived. She wanted to ask her mother about Michael. But of course she couldn’t do that. Not when it could involve a mistress that her mom knew nothing about. Although if Kelly had overheard correctly, the information would be out soon enough.
“So did Michael ever talk about his past, Mom?” she asked.
Deirdre closed the box of books. “Michael talked about three things. Paris. French Kiss. And you.” She looked up. “He loved you, Olivia. I don’t know why he left the company to his nephews, but I do know that he loved you.” She grabbed another box and moved to the fireplace, where she picked up one of the brass statues from the mantel.
Olivia set down her glass. “I thought he loved me, but maybe he just kept me at French Kiss because we were so alike.”
Deirdre turned to her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Olivia. You’re nothing like Michael. Michael got focused on one thing and you couldn’t get him off it. You, on the other hand, are just like your father. Distracted by anything and everything.” When Olivia stared at her with surprise, she laughed. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know you drive people nuts with your inability to stay focused. Your poor teachers begged me to medicate you. Of course your father wouldn’t hear of it. And Michael felt the same way. He said you just needed something to focus on—so he solved the problem by throwing money at your private schools and taking you to work with him. And you idolized him for including you when everyone else had tried to exclude you.”
It was true. She had idolized Michael for including her. And she wondered how he could’ve included her in his life and excluded his own child. It didn’t make any sense.
“I wonder if these are worth anything?” Deirdre examined the bottom of a bronze statue of two little boys fishing. “Michael had them specially commissioned by a famous sculptor.”
Olivia got up and walked over to the fireplace to look at the sculptures. Since they had been too high up for her to notice as a child, and too familiar when she was an adult, she had paid little attention to them. Each depicted a different scene. Two barefoot boys fishing on a riverbank. An old man hunting with a rifle poised for the shot. An old woman in a rocker on the porch of a ramshackle house. A laughing woman sitting at a café. A little girl splashing in puddles in a rain slicker and boots.
“Michael commissioned these?” she asked as she reached out to reverently touch the little girl in the rain slicker. “This is me.”
Deirdre leaned closer. “Hmm, I don’t remember you being so cute.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s me in the exact raincoat and boots he gave me for my eleventh birthday.” She pointed to the two boys fishing. “And I bet that’s Michael fishing with his brother Donny John. And these two old people must be his parents.” She leaned closer to the woman at the café. It looked exactly like the café in the painting—the one she and Deacon had gone to. “Is this you, Mom? I didn’t know you went to Paris with Michael.”
“I didn’t. You know I hate traveling out of the country. It’s hard to find a clean public bathroom.”
“So who—?” Olivia stopped, realizing too late what she was asking. But Deirdre didn’t seem to be upset.
