What She Forgot Page 12

  As if sensing her unease, Mayela tightened her grip on Andrea’s hand. Across the room, Dorian’s gaze narrowed on them both. Her elbow was propped on the arm of a chair, and a cigarette smoldered between two fingers. “So,” she said, “I see you two have found each other again. Welcome home, Andrea.”

  There wasn’t a drop of warmth in her tone.

  “Thank you,” Andrea murmured.

  Robert got to his feet. “Shall I fix you a drink? A little vodka always hits the spot after an especially trying ordeal.”

  Trying ordeal? Was that what she was going through? Andrea thought it an understatement. She declined his offer. “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

  Robert’s brows soared. “So you remember that, do you?”

  “Just how much do you remember?” Dorian asked. She, too, got to her feet, so that she was no longer having to look up at Andrea.

  Andrea shrugged. “Not much, really. I have flashes of memory, more like impressions, I guess you’d say.”

  “Well,” Robert said, turning with drink in hand. “This is all very fascinating. Do you have any idea how you came to be suffering from this…problem?”

  “The doctor said it appears to be psychosomatic,” she explained. “I must have seen something or…heard something that was extremely traumatic.”

  “Do you have any idea what it was?” Dorian’s dark gaze swept over Andrea, as if assessing what other damage might have been done to her. Then her eyes lit on Mayela, and her gaze sharpened. “Mayela,” she said, “go upstairs to your room.”

  “But I want to stay with Andrea.”

  Dorian stamped out her cigarette. “Do as you’re told. This is an adult conversation, and you have no business being here.”

  Though what she said might very well be true, her words were too harshly spoken. Andrea felt the little girl stiffen in defiance. “I won’t! You can’t make me! You’re not my mother! Andrea is my mother now. Daddy said so.”

  “Mayela!” Dorian turned on Andrea. “This is your doing. She never would have spoken to me like that before you came here. Christina would not have tolerated such behavior.”

  Christina hated you, Andrea thought with a flash of memory, but she held her tongue. She knelt beside Mayela. “She’s right. You shouldn’t speak to your grandmother that way. I think you’d better apologize.”

  Mayela folded her arms and clamped her lips together stubbornly, but only for a moment. Then a spice of mischief twinkled in her blue eyes. She turned to Dorian. “I’m sorry, Grandmother,“ she said sweetly, drawing out the last word.

  Though Andrea couldn’t fault the child’s tone, she instinctively knew something was wrong. She glanced up to find Dorian’s face contorted with rage. “Go to your room at once,” she ordered through clenched teeth.

  This time Mayela must have known she’d pushed too many of Dorian’s buttons, for she whirled without argument and dashed out of the room, pausing only briefly at the bottom of the stairs to call over her shoulder, “Things are going to be different around here now that Andrea’s home! You wait and see!”

  Andrea wished she could share the child’s confidence, but at the moment, she felt vastly overwhelmed.

  Robert finished his drink and poured himself another. “Let’s get back to this traumatic thing that may have happened to you,” he said. “What could it have been?”

  “I wish I knew,” Andrea said, although she didn’t. That was the last thing she wanted.

  The doorbell sounded, but neither Dorian nor Robert made a move to answer it. Andrea rose instinctively, then remembered that the Malones had a maid to perform such trivial tasks.

  Was she used to being pampered? Andrea wondered. She doubted it. Troy had told her she and Richard had only been married a short time, and before that, she had been Mayela’s nanny. One of the servants. Was that why she felt so out of place in this house? Was that why Dorian and Robert seemed to resent her so much?

  Shivering, Andrea moved to the glass doors that led out to a walled courtyard with a fountain. The setting looked familiar to her, and she thought about the painting in Madison’s living room that had elicited such a strong memory. Was this the courtyard and fountain she had remembered? She closed her eyes, and an image came to her.

  Christina was standing by the fountain, her eyes dark with despair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Andrea. I can’t seem to snap out of this depression. Richard is gone so much. He’s never here, and when he is, all he thinks about is his company. He hardly knows our daughter, and I…well, I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a mother to her lately. I don’t know what we’d do without you. You’ve been so good for Mayela. She loves you so. Promise me you’ll always take care of her, Andrea. Promise me you’ll never leave her.”

  The memory shattered as a masculine voice spoke from behind her. Andrea turned to see a man stride into the living area. “What the devil is going on, Dorian? Some cop’s been calling the office looking for Richard—” His voice broke off as his gaze lit on Andrea. “Andrea. You’re back.”

  He’d been heading for Dorian, but now he changed course, quickly crossing the distance to Andrea. He had his back to Dorian and Robert as he put his hands on Andrea’s arms and bent to kiss her cheek. His fingers slid over her skin, almost stroking her, and the intimacy shocked her.

  She backed away, searching her mind for some scrap of recognition, but the man was a complete stranger to her. He was tall, with the lean, athletic build and the bronzed skin of a man who played tennis several times a week at the club. His hair was brown streaked with gold, and his eyes were a clear, probing gray. He was dressed as elegantly as Robert Malone, but where Robert’s appearance was almost a study in fastidiousness, this man wore his expensive clothing with the carelessness of someone who possessed supreme self-confidence. He was handsome and he knew it.

  He frowned down at her. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Andrea tried to answer him, but no words came out. She stared at his mouth and suddenly remembered how his lips had felt against hers.

  Sometime, somewhere, this man had kissed her.

  What’s more, he was looking at her as if he might do so again.

  Who in God’s name was he?

  Andrea took another step away from him. “Who are you? How do I know you?” she asked a little desperately.

  His frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Dorian asked, walking toward them. She came over and linked her arm through his. “Andrea has amnesia. The police didn’t tell you?”

  “I didn’t talk to the police. My secretary said some detective, a sergeant something-or-other, was trying to locate Richard.” He turned to Dorian. “What the hell is going on?”

  She shrugged. “No one seems to know. Andrea was picked up by the police a week ago Sunday night. Her clothes were covered in blood. But no one, including Andrea, seems to know whose blood it was. Or why she can’t remember.”

  “My God,” the man said, gazing at Andrea in fascination. “No wonder you seem so frightened.” He looked as if he might make a move toward her again, but Dorian’s grip tightened on his arm. “Amnesia,” he said. “You mean you don’t remember anything?”

  “Not much,” Andrea said.

  “You don’t…remember me?” His tone was incredulous, his eyes deep and probing. He made Andrea very nervous.

  She moistened her lips. “I’m afraid not.”

  “This is Paul Bellamy,” Dorian said. “Richard’s business partner. He was the best man at your wedding.”

  Something flashed in the man’s eyes, a look of anger.

  Andrea said, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t remember you.”

  He nodded, but his expression told her he didn’t believe her. She couldn’t have forgotten him.

  Dear God, Andrea thought. What kind of relationship did she have with this man? Why could she remember his kiss so vividly?

  He’d been the best man at
her wedding, Dorian said. Maybe he’d kissed her then. Kissing the bride was a tradition, wasn’t it?

  But the kiss Andrea remembered hadn’t been a chaste peck on the cheek. She could remember him holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe as his tongue invaded her mouth. She’d felt…what? Excited? Aroused?

  No, panicked, Andrea thought suddenly. He’d frightened her with that kiss.

  They all frightened her. The walls of the house began to close in on her. She could hear the voices of Richard and Christina echoing through the hallways.

  Marry me, Andrea. It’s the only solution.

  Promise me, Andrea. Promise you’ll never leave Mayela.

  Andrea massaged her temples with her fingertips, willing the voices away. “I’m tired,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me—”

  She hurried out of the room, feeling their gazes digging into her back as she retreated. But at the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated. She had no idea where she was going.

  Robert appeared behind her. “Take a right at the top of the stairs. Your room is the third door on the left.”

  Andrea turned to him gratefully. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Come on. I’ll walk up with you. I’m sure Dorian and Paul have a lot to talk about.”

  Andrea wondered what Richard’s former mother-in-law and his current business partner might have to talk about, but if the possessive way Dorian had clung to the man’s arm was any indication, their relationship was hardly business.

  Paul Bellamy, however, had had eyes only for Andrea.

  She shivered as she climbed the stairs beside Robert.

  “I imagine you’re wondering about Dorian,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He trained his gaze on her. “She doesn’t like you, you know.”

  “I gathered as much, but I have no idea why.”

  “For starters, you’re young and beautiful,” Robert said. “That alone is reason enough for Dorian to despise you, but then you had to go and commit the ultimate sin. You married Richard.”

  They paused at the top of the stairs, and Andrea glanced up at him. “You mean because I married him so soon after Christina’s death?”

  “No. I mean because Dorian planned to become the second Mrs. Malone herself.” Robert turned and headed down the hallway.

  Andrea, after absorbing this, rushed to catch up. “She wanted to marry her daughter’s husband?”

  He shrugged. “Dorian considered him fair game. Especially since she’d seen him first.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Richard was in a relationship with Dorian when he met Christina. He fell in love with her instantly. Think how that must have made Dorian feel—her young, beautiful daughter stealing away her fiancé.”

  “They were engaged?“

  “Oh, yes. Dorian was very bitter, as you can imagine. She’s always carried a torch for Richard. When Christina died, I’m sure she thought she might have a second chance with him. Then you came along, another young, beautiful woman—and her granddaughter’s nanny, to boot.”

  “I’m sorry,” Andrea said, not quite knowing how to respond to all that he’d told her.

  Robert grinned suddenly. “Don’t apologize to me. You and I have always gotten along famously. You didn’t kick me out when you and Richard got married.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Andrea asked.

  “Off and on for years. Richard’s been a good brother to me,” he said, but his eyes didn’t quite tell the same tale.

  Andrea wondered if, in spite of his words, he resented Richard. Richard was the older, wealthier, more successful brother. It would only be natural if Robert felt twinges of jealousy from time to time.

  “How long has Dorian lived here?” Andrea asked.

  “She came after Christina died, ostensibly to help take care of Mayela, but she never left. She tried several times to move in before, but it never worked. She and Christina couldn’t get along for more than a few weeks at a time.”

  “I see.”

  “Well,” Robert said. “Here we are. This is your room.” He waved toward the closed door in front of them. “Yours and Richard’s.”

  Andrea stared at that closed door. Beyond would be evidence of her marriage to Richard. Proof that she was, indeed, married. A visual reminder that she wasn’t free to love another man.

  She thought of Troy and wanted to cry.

  Instead, she put her hand out to open the door. “Thanks for showing me to my room.”

  “Will we see you at dinner?”

  “I don’t know. I may go to bed early,” she said.

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  She turned and opened the door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I made a few calls after Dr. Bennett left this morning,” Madison said.

  Troy glanced at his sister. He’d gone back to her town house after dropping Andrea at the Malone mansion instead of going home to his empty apartment. He didn’t want to spend the evening brooding about Andrea, and yet, no matter where he went or what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “What kind of calls?” He poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned to lean against the counter.

  “Let me back up.” Madison tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “After Dr. Bennett left this morning, I went searching through the attic for her book.”

  “The one you read in college?”

  She nodded. “I knew there was something about it that fascinated me back then, but I couldn’t remember exactly what.” She picked up a hardcover book lying on the counter and handed it to Troy. “Notice anything unusual?”

  Troy glanced at the cover—Dark Journey, by Dr. Claudia M. Bennett. He thumbed through the pages, skimming passages here and there. “Sounds like the usual psychobabble stuff to me.”

  “I’m not talking about the text,” Madison said. “There’s no picture of the author on the jacket.”

  “So?”

  “It’s intriguing to me because of what happened to Dr. Bennett. She used herself as one of her case studies in the book.”

  “Are you saying she was her own patient?” Troy asked skeptically. No wonder the woman had struck him as odd.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Madison said. “She’d only been out of med school a few years when she was attacked one night leaving her office. Two men dragged her into an alley where they beat and raped her. They left her for dead. After that, she became severely agoraphobic. At the time she wrote this book, she hadn’t left her home in over ten years.”

  Troy glanced up. “She didn’t seem to have that problem this morning.”

  “I know,” Madison agreed. “That’s why I put in a call to a few of my colleagues. I wanted to find out what I could about her before she began seeing Andrea again.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “According to the grapevine, she’s lived in Houston for less than a year. She moved here to teach a graduate course in behavioral modification at the university, though she still sees a few patients from an office in her home. Before that, she lived in New York, where she had a small practice, but spent most of her time writing and doing research.”

  “Any idea why she moved down here?”

  Madison shrugged. “All I could find out was that she told the department chair at the university she needed a change. I have no idea how she found Andrea. Or how Andrea found her.”

  “I think I might know,” Troy said. “Dr. Bennett also treated Christina Malone.”

  “The first wife?”

  Troy nodded. “I looked over the file earlier. According to interviews conducted at the time of her death, Christina suffered from severe depression and had been seeing Dr. Bennett. She overdosed on prescription amphetamines.”

  “Were they prescribed by Dr. Bennett?”

  “There was no evidence to that effect, and Dr. Bennett denied giving her any kind of medicatio
n.”

  “It’s not that hard to get amphetamines,” Madison said. “She could have gotten them anywhere.”

  “Yeah, but what I’d really like to know is why Andrea started seeing Dr. Bennett after that. Christina’s suicide was hardly a glowing recommendation.”

  “You can’t blame her suicide on her therapist,” Madison said, automatically coming to the defense of a colleague. “You don’t know all the facts, and besides, Dr. Bennett’s credentials are impeccable.”

  “If they’re so impeccable, why did you feel the need to check up on her?”

  Madison shrugged. “Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “That’s all?”

  She hesitated. Her dark eyes clouded, but she shook her head. “She checks out, Troy.”

  “Maybe on paper. But if what you say is true, she lived through a pretty severe trauma herself. She was agoraphobic for at least ten years, yet this morning she didn’t appear to have any difficulty being out and about. Could she recover from a phobia that easily?”

  “We don’t know that her recovery was all that easy,” Madison argued. “Or how long it may have taken.”

  “Still,” Troy said. “It’s enough out of the ordinary to make me think we should keep digging.”

  Madison smiled wryly. “That’s what I thought you’d say, and that’s why I’ve already got a call into a friend of mine in New York. We should know more about Dr. Bennett in a day or two.”

  Troy was impressed by his sister’s tenacity. “You’d have made one hell of a cop, you know that?”

  There was a trace of regret in Madison’s voice when she said, “I guess it’s in my blood.”

  * * *

  ANDREA WALKED AROUND the bedroom at least a dozen times, but there was nothing that seemed familiar to her—not the damask curtains at the windows, not the ivory-colored walls or the jewel green carpet. Not the lamps, not the chairs, not the heavy wood furniture. Not even the king-size bed with the bold paisley spread.

  Especially not the bed.

  When she’d first entered the room, her gaze had gone immediately to that bed, then she’d quickly glanced away, afraid to look. Afraid to awaken her sleeping memories. Afraid to think about her and Richard in that bed—