Chapter 9
 
At nine a.m. Friday morning, Jayne was sitting at the desk in the restaurant office taking small bites off a sandwich. The workmen were out in the dining area, making the usual horrendous noise while they installed new moldings all around the room. Jayne had decided not to call Celeste in advance, but to simply show up at her apartment, with no advance warning and no time to prepare.

She forced the sandwich bites down with shop-bought coffee in a paper cup she was clutching too hard in her hand. Her emotions were all over the place, and all the ruckus wasn’t helping things.

What would Jayne find in Paris? How would her twin sister react to her? They hadn’t seen each other since the height of the scandal last summer, or since Eleanor had died. Would the past come crashing back with full force now that it had hooked its foot in between the door and the frame?

And how would Beatrice react to her suddenly leaving for a day? Would she buy Jayne’s vague reason for having to be gone?

Fear clogged her throat and made the forced-down breakfast want to crawl back out. On top of all this worry, she had no idea how to actually tackle the meeting with Celeste, the exact words she would use to breach the subject of blackmail. That was a very serious matter to accuse someone of, even indirectly.

Jayne heard the front door of the restaurant open and set the butt of the sandwich back in its wrapper, waiting.

Beatrice breezed into the office, her arms filled with cardboard boxes stacked several feet high. She pulled the door shut, drowning out only a smidgen of the perpetual noise.

Jayne watched her go through her calm, measured ritual of removing her jacket, straightening her unruffled hair, folding the leather gloves she loved to wear, and setting her Louis Vuitton handbag neatly on a surface she dusted first. As usual, Beatrice was a picture of sophistication, somehow managing to elegantly sit down on a cardboard box as if it were an antique armchair of polished mahogany.

When they said good morning to each other, Jayne tried to return Beatrice’s smile, knowing she had failed when the woman arched her neatly trimmed eyebrows.

She sat down at her little desk and opened her tablet computer, but then looked back at Jayne’s face. “You look as if you’ve had another sleepless night.”

Jayne sat up straighter. “Actually, I need to ask a favor of you, Beatrice, and to tell you the truth, I’m a little uneasy about it.”

Beatrice set the tablet aside, focusing full attention on her, looking a little uneasy herself.

Jayne wet her dry lips and pushed on. “It’s something personal… I…a kind of family emergency has come up in Paris, and I’m needed there as soon as possible. I was wondering whether you could hold the fort on your own? Just for one day?”

For a brief moment, she saw something flicker across Beatrice’s face that could have been anger or disappointment or even exasperation. Then her features smoothed out again and only a slightly cool undertone in her voice betrayed her surprise. “You still have family in Paris?”

“Yes.”

“I had no idea.” Like everyone else, Beatrice only knew that Celeste Sotheby had disappeared after Robert had practically left her standing at the altar, but nothing more, not even that Celeste had been pregnant. Since Eleanor was dead, Jayne had no more family in Paris, so it was no wonder that Beatrice was surprised.

“It’s a close friend of my family,” Jayne said.

Beatrice clearly wanted to know more, but Jayne planned to leave it at that, and she barreled on. “I know this is the worst possible time to be gone even for a day, and I hate to leave you hanging, but there’s absolutely no other way. I really need to be in Paris this afternoon to sort this problem out.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened. “This afternoon?”

“Yes. That is, if it’s okay with you. I already made the reservations—I’ll be back late tonight.” The truth was, she had already bought the tickets. She was going to Paris, come hell or high water. She had to confront Celeste about this horrific blackmail letter.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Is this what you’ve been so keyed up and distracted about?”

“Yes.”

With a sigh, Beatrice said, “Well, I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

“It’s just…it’s quite urgent. I’m sorry I can’t say more—it’s very personal.”
It felt awful being so vague, but at least it was the truth. And she hated herself for acting like she was Beatrice’s employee. She wasn’t an employee at all—she was the woman’s business partner, and an equal partner, at that! But she couldn’t help it, because she knew she wasn’t behaving the way a responsible business partner should.

There was a frown on Beatrice’s face, and it made Jayne’s gut clench. The woman glanced at her tablet before meeting Jayne’s gaze. “I’m sure you know we’re having the new gas stove installed in the kitchen this afternoon.”

“Yes, of course I know, but—”

“You should be here for that, Jayne. The kitchen is your domain.”

Jayne felt even worse. “I know, I know. But you’re an engineer, I was thinking that you’re better qualified to deal with the installation of a stove, anyway.”

Beatrice glanced at the fingers of one manicured hand, with its neat nails in the softest pink brushing over the hem of her tweed skirt. “I don’t like that, Jayne, you trying to justify your absence by stroking my ego.” For the first time, she saw the anger flaring beneath Beatrice’s composed veneer. “You know how important this is! We need to be ready for the private customer focus group dinner next week. Without that, we can’t finalize the menu before the grand opening!” She pointed a manicured finger at Jayne. “You’re the one who kept telling me how crucial this last phase is.”

Jayne just sat there. Beatrice was right. There was nothing to say. She had no defense.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Beatrice let out a little groan and said, “I suppose a family problem can’t be helped.” She waved her hand towards the door. “Off you go, off you go.”

Jayne rose from her chair, relieved. “Thank you for understanding, Beatrice, I really appreciate it.”

Before she left the room, she turned and said, “I won’t let you down, Beatrice. I promise.”

“I certainly hope not,” Beatrice muttered.


Chapter 10
 
At three-thirty p.m., Jayne stepped out of Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris with a heavy heart and a mind working overtime. It had been a year since she’d last set foot in France, and she had planned to never return because it dredged up too many bad memories.

But this was the right thing to do. She had spent every minute of the train and taxi rides and flight here reconsidering her decision and reflecting on the untenable situation she was in, and she’d come to a frightening conclusion: If this blackmailer demanded more payments, she might lose Rob. If Celeste was the blackmailer, she had to put a stop to this.

Even though it had only been a few days since they received the first letter, there were already signs that it was weighing down their relationship. Whenever Robert called, he sounded busy, exhausted, serious, or all three at once. They hardly ever talked about anything but the blackmail problem now, and the usual cheerful, positive undertone in his voice was mostly gone. Rob was doing his best to find a solution to the problem, she knew, but it was evident he was also under tremendous stress, and she wasn’t sure how long he could find it in himself to not let the dreadful situation get to his heart. He had to be blaming her for it, at least a little bit—that was only human.

Lifting her head and jutting her chin out defiantly, Jayne exited the airport lobby and walked towards the taxi stand. As she would only be here in Paris for a day, she didn’t even bring a carry-on—she simply slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.

Remembering the French she had polished during her impersonation of Celeste, Jayne asked the taxi driver to take her into the city. She had memorized Celeste’s address and done a bit of research online. If Celeste was behind the blackmail letter, she would let her twin know that she wouldn’t get away with any further attempts, just as Rob had said he would do. She would make it clear that Rob would not give her more money, not another euro, and she’d make sure Celeste knew that she was lucky they hadn’t called the police.

Celeste lived in the sixième arrondisement of Paris, or sixth arrondisement as it would be called in English, and was sometimes known as Luxembourg, Faubourgh Saint German or Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The area was the home of a magnificent abbey constructed during the 6th century—the entire area was decidedly upscale, but that didn’t really surprise Jayne as the taxi cruised through it. She remembered that Celeste had mentioned a trust fund she could fall back on. This posh area south-west of the city center was popular for its peace and quiet, independent food stores and designer boutiques, and the beautiful Jardin du Luxembourg park.

With an odd mix of feelings, Jayne wondered whether Celeste took her baby to the park in a stroller, mingling with the high-society crowd. Would she disguise herself with a cap and sunglasses? Or was she bold and unafraid for people to know who she was, withdrawn enough from the social circles to have sunk completely into oblivion?

Jayne hadn’t eaten a bite since she’d forced down the cardboard-tasting sandwich in the morning, her nerves keeping her from doing more than gulping two cups of coffee and then guzzling water during the flight because her stomach was revolting. Now, it protested with gurgles as she tried to get her thoughts in order, gazing unseeingly out at the heavy traffic and glimpses of the Paris suburbs. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what to say to her sister. When she showed up on her doorstep without warning, would Celeste simply close the door into her face and refuse to talk? What then? Or what if it was all a trap and Celeste had been waiting for Jayne or Robert to turn up at her place so she could do more damage?

By the time Jayne pulled herself out of her desperate thoughts she realized they were nearing Celeste’s part of the city, cruising along the River Seine.

As they traveled to the left bank and approached the sixième arrondisement, it became obvious that it was indeed one of the city’s most expensive neighborhoods. The French intelligentsia favored this area because of all its higher education institutions and publishing houses—and the world famous cafés like Les Deux Magots and Café de Flore certainly helped contribute to its popularity.

Many of the buildings looked old but newly renovated with immaculate little strips of lawn and wrought-iron gates. They passed the grand old building of the École des Beaux-Arts de Paris on the Rue Bonaparte, almost directly across the Seine from the famous Louvre Museum. As they drove past one elegant building after the other, Jayne marveled at how high the income of those living here must be. Still, there was no gaudy opulence. Instead, the area had an almost bohemian air to it. Odd as it was, Jayne would have felt at home here too if she’d had the means—and the thought gave her pause, because wasn’t that something she had in common with Celeste then?

Before she could analyze that, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of an endless row of similar-looking four-storied apartment buildings on the Rue Dauphin. The driver let loose a litany of rapid-fire French, and Jayne guessed more than understood that he said he wouldn’t be able to park here.

What now? Should she send him off in search of parking so he could wait for her? What if she got mired down and it took her hours get what she wanted out of Celeste? She couldn’t even be sure Celeste was home, but she knew that Celeste’s child was too young to be in a nursery school yet. She thought Celeste might employ a nanny.

“C’est combien?” she asked, frowning at the ungodly sum of money the driver demanded. She had no energy left for haggling, so she pushed the euros into his hand and got out.

Surreptitiously straightening her clothes—she’d dressed in beige pants and a pearl-colored Cashmere sweater, but opted against any jewelry—Jayne scanned the building front with its many identical windows with white shutters. The basement housed shops, but there was a narrow passageway leading to a central courtyard at the rear.

She walked to the main entrance of Celeste’s building and studied the bells with their neat name tags. There was no Celeste or Sotheby to be seen, but some of the name tags had been kept blank for privacy reasons.

Jayne fished her phone out of her pocket and double-checked the address and apartment number. She walked on shaky legs into the foyer and pressed 2 to take the elevator to the second floor. Hauling in a steadying breath, she rang the bell, hearing it peal faintly inside.

After a moment, she thought she could hear a baby crying. Then, a muffled thunk and shuffling footsteps that stopped close to the door. Was Celeste looking at her through the peephole? 

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Chapter 8
 
Changshu, China
 
Robert Astor loosened his tie, the elevator ride up to his hotel room seeming endless. It was as if the weight that had settled low in his stomach this morning was dragging him down, making the elevator go slower than usual.

Today was the day.

Time to pay the bloody blackmailer.

If it was Celeste Sotheby...well, he didn’t know what he would do.

He tugged at the tie’s knot, looking at his strained face in the elevator mirror, the movement of his hands so tense and angry that he nearly damaged the silk. With a sigh, he turned the material this way and that in his hands, willing himself to calm down. There wasn’t much he could do at this point, and he hated his helplessness. The private investigator still hadn’t been able to track Celeste down, so he had no choice but to wait for the instructions and make the transfer. Something told him that this problem wouldn’t go away so easily. What would come next? Another demand, perhaps for a higher amount? Threats to their lives?

His heart skipped a beat when he thought of Jayne, alone in the otherwise empty house. He sensed that she was a lot more frightened than she had let on.

He’d talked to her this morning, then again only an hour ago after he’d got permission from his boss to leave the factory early and be alone in his hotel room when he would receive the dreaded text message.

The elevator bell dinged, and a moment later it came to a stop on his floor. Robert walked out, striding quickly to his room and glancing at his watch. It was 1:50 when he slid his key card into the door and entered the room.
He set his briefcase down, shrugged his coat off because he suddenly felt sweaty and claustrophobic, and sat down at the desk by the window. For a moment, he stared unseeingly at the endless blue sky interrupted by a few jutting, glittery glass-fronted skyscrapers.

Hadn’t Jayne—and he—suffered enough? Why this new cruel injustice?

Taking a deep breath, Rob sprang into action again. Opening his laptop, he logged into his bank account. Not his checking account, but his savings account, where he kept his “nest egg.” After being cut off from his family, it was all the money he had in the world, and he intended to use it to send his, and presumably Jayne’s, children to college.

He clicked the International Wire page. The thought of having to dip into it now made him feel ill.

He set his company phone on the desk beside his computer, making sure its volume was turned on.

Leaning across the desk, he pulled the hotel phone closer and punched in the number of the private detective he’d hired, a German man named Schröder who charged exorbitant fees but was one of the best. As a seasoned pro and ex-Interpol, Schröder not only had lots of useful connections and experience but was also known for his absolute confidentiality. He worked alone from his office in London, a study in politeness and punctuality but with a ruthless determination beneath his typically Germanic correctness and slightly boorish countenance. An old Oxford friend of Rob’s had recommended him highly—and it only made Rob more antsy and annoyed, for if such a pro couldn’t track Celeste Sotheby down, it was seriously bad news.

He put Schröder on the speakerphone, greeting him curtly and watching the hands on his watch inch towards the designated time.

This morning when he had talked to Jayne, she’d asked him if he was going to pay the blackmailer, and he’d said he honestly didn’t know, it would depend on the amount. But he felt he didn’t have any choice. If the criminal followed through with the threat and sent the story and photographs to all the tabloids, there would be a media holocaust like none his family had ever seen. His mother would be devastated. And either of his parents ever accepting Jayne into the family as their daughter-in-law...well, he didn’t kid himself…it would simply vanish into thin air, and it was slim enough already.

In such an event, he really would have to choose between his family and Jayne, and he did not want to have to make that choice.

Robert sat there tensely drumming his fingers on the desk and watching the time, waiting for the text message. He could feel his stress level rising with each passing second, aware of Schröder’s annoyingly heavy breathing on the speakerphone.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Any progress on finding Celeste Sotheby?”
“Vee are close.”

“Close? What does that mean?” Robert’s tone was more demanding than he meant it to be.

“Mister Astor, when I find her you vill be ze first to know.” Schröder always sounded a little belligerent despite his impeccable manners, and Rob wasn’t sure whether he liked the man. Well, he didn’t have to, he just needed him to do his job, dammit. He trusted the detective, but he already had the feeling the man was a bit too comfortable with all his high-paying clients and perhaps a little lazy.

“I certainly hope I’m the only one to know,” he said irritably.

“Vell, yes, of course, zis is what I meant,” came the quick answer.

As Rob waited for the text message, wishful thinking kicked in. Maybe this ‘blackmailer’ won’t have the nerve to follow through with the call, he thought hopefully. Maybe it was all just a prank. Maybe--

The phone beeped, and Robert flinched. He took the device in his hand and looked at the display.

The caller field indicated UNKNOWN, of course.

“You have received ze text message?” Schröder asked over the speakerphone, his tone a little more eager than usual.

“Yes, yes.” Rob noted that the time on his laptop was two p.m.

He hurriedly opened the message.

YOU HAVE EXACTLY FIVE MINUTES TO WIRE 100,000 EUROS TO THE FOLLOWING ACCOUNT AT THE HELLENIC BANK IN CYPRUS: CY690030003820000003608086834

Robert swallowed, staring at the number. A hundred thousand euros! He hadn’t expected such a large amount…he had thought it would be twenty, or forty, or maybe fifty. That put a serious dent in his nest egg.

 He felt even sicker now, staring at the amount the blackmailer wanted, but the anger always lurking under the surface was back, too. He gritted his teeth, wanting to curse the person who had put him in this position with a vicious stream of expletives.

This is really happening, he thought. It’s no joke. This person seriously thinks they can take over my life. If it turns out to be Celeste Sotheby I swear I’ll...

But at least the amount demanded was not beyond his financial capacity. Thank god for that. Look at it as buying time, he told himself. Just make the payment and Schröder can track this miscreant down before he or she asks for more. It might even be possible to recover this money, or most of it.

Robert wanted to send a message back and say I WILL PAY YOU ONCE AND ONLY ONCE, but of course with the blocked number that was impossible. Anyway, the blackmailer might not even be thinking of asking for more than one payment, so it was probably better to simply send the money and hope that was the end of it, no matter how naïve that might be.

“Well, what does ze message say?” Schröder asked impatiently, breaking the tense silence.

“It asks for money, what do you think?” Robert hacked away at the keyboard, entering the wire information into his laptop. “The bank is in Cyprus, the Hellenic Bank!”

“You vill pay?”

“Yes,” Robert hissed, typing furiously. He knew Schröder was against it, but the risk seemed too high to him.

“Which branch of the Hellenic Bank in Cyprus?” the detective wanted to know, and he could hear some rustling on the other end but had no time to focus on anything but inputting the details for the wire transfer.

“How the hell do I know which branch?” Robert snapped, double-checking the information. “All they sent was an IBAN.”

“Ze branch number is coded in the IBAN—forward ze message to me, please.”

“In a minute!” Robert barked. “I have to get this done, dammit!”

He had broken out in a sweat, his fingers slipping on the keys. By the time he finished entering the bank account info, his hands were so sweaty he had to wipe his palms on his trouser legs.

At 2:02 pm, he hit the MAKE PAYMENT key. A message appeared that said THIS TRANSFER REQUIRES VERIFICATION—YOU WILL RECEIVE A TEXT SHORTLY. PLEASE ENTER SECURITY CODE HERE _________:

With a muffled curse, Robert continued watching the clock, his phone in his hand again. “Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath. Finally, the phone beeped, and a message appeared. VERIFICATION CODE 3X7F9V

He quickly typed it into the blank field, double checked it, and slapped the ENTER key. The screen refreshed and he read the notification YOUR WIRE TRANSFER HAS BEEN COMPLETED

The clock changed from 2:03 to 2:04.

“Okay,” Robert told Schröder, “I’m forwarding the text message to you now.”

“If vee contact ze police in Cyprus, they might have time to get to ze bank and…”

“No police!” Robert snapped. “I’m sure this bank is just an intermediary anyway. The money will be forwarded to another bank account somewhere else.”

“Maybe,” Schröder said. “There are many possibilities.”

“I want you to go to Cyprus yourself, immediately, and investigate this. There has to be a trail you can follow.”

“I have trustworthy connections in Cyprus who…”


“I want you to go yourself, do you understand me?” Robert insisted. “I don’t trust anybody except you. That’s why I hired you in the first place.”
 
* * *

Jayne stared intensely at the phone in her hands, willing it to ring. She was at a point where it didn’t even matter whether it was good news or bad news. Anything was better than the loaded silence around her, pressing in from all sides until she could hardly breathe.

It was nearly seven-thirty in the morning and she’d been up since five when Rob had called the last time before facing the blackmailer’s message—if it had even been sent to his phone.

There was a half-empty cup of coffee next to her, without milk. She usually hated drinking the brew black, but this morning she needed the caffeine jolt in its purest form.

Please let everything have gone smoothly, she prayed silently, closing her eyes. Please. A media feeding frenzy about the scandal that had taken place last summer would end the possibility of her and Rob ever getting married, and there would be no restaurant venture, either. That could not happen. It would be a disaster!

Her phone’s ringtone made her jump a foot off the armchair. She fumbled for it, answering with a breathless “Yes?”

“Jayne.” Robert sounded serious, but not panicky, and she forced some air into her lungs. “I got the message from the blackmailer at two p.m. sharp, my time, and paid the bastard—or bitch—the money.”

Her throat worked, trying to swallow. “How much?”

“One hundred thousand euros.”

Jayne flinched. “So much?”

There was a bit of rustling on the other end of the line, and she wondered what Rob was doing. She wished she could be by his side, not here in Oxford while he was on the other side of the world and had to deal with all this on top of his rigid work commitments.

“Don’t worry, it could have been higher. We’ll manage, somehow. I’ll just have to work even harder.”

Guilt made her sink back into the armchair, chewing her bottom lip with her teeth. “Oh, Robert, I’m so sorry about all this. It’s all my fault. I wish… Sometimes I wish you hadn’t met me. If our paths hadn’t crossed, you would be living a quiet life of luxury right now and not…”

“Nonsense!” His voice was so vehement it shut her up immediately. She heard a sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, darling. But don’t say that, don’t even think it. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She sniffled. Robert Astor really was too good to be true. She didn’t deserve him…but neither did she deserve all this trouble.

“We love each other, don’t we?” his voice cut through her inner monologue.

“Yes. Yes, of course, Rob.” How could he even ask such a thing?

“Then we’re in this together, Jayne. Don’t blame yourself, and don’t worry so much. Maybe it’s all over now anyway. Maybe this despicable excuse for a human being will be content with the money and leave us in peace.” Before she could protest that they both knew it simply couldn’t be that easy, he added, “Schröder is one of the best. I forwarded the message and bank details from somewhere in bloody Cyprus to him, and he’ll help us solve all this.”

Jayne absently took a sip of now cold coffee, nearly choking on the bitterness. “You have great faith in that man,” she said cautiously. No matter how high Robert’s opinion of the private investigator was, she wasn’t so sure. Her episode with Eleanor had made her suspicious of people in general. And Robert was paying that German man a small fortune. What if he was dragging his feet so he could milk them for all they were worth?

Again, Robert interrupted her morose train of thought. “Yes, yes I do have a lot of faith in him. Speaking of which, I have good news for you too, if you can call it that.”

Jayne sat forward, pressing the phone harder against her ear. At the moment, she’d take anything, even the tiniest bit of silver lining.

“What is it?”

More rustling. Was he pacing? Checking something? Getting ready to forget about this problem and all the associated stress and go back to the factory?

“Schröder called me just a few minutes ago—he found Celeste.”

Irrational though that was, Jayne caught herself frantically searching out the window, as if her twin sister would suddenly materialize from thin air to hurl insults at her. “Oh my god. Where is she?”

“She’s still in Paris after all, so that’s probably one reason less to panic. I’ve got her address now.”

Paris. So much good and so much bad had happened to her in and around that city, forever engraved on her mind.

“I think I’ll talk to her myself,” Rob said, surprising her again. “I can stop by on my way back from China this weekend and speak to her face to face. If I get the feeling that she’s behind all this, I can subtly or not so subtly let her know that she can’t get away with it again.”

The idea of Rob visiting Celeste alone didn’t sit right with Jayne. “Are—are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be?”

She fidgeted in her seat, fighting a weird jab of jealousy just like the one she felt a few days ago when Robert had expressed his doubt that Celeste would really do something so mean as send the awful letter. He’d dated Jayne’s twin sister for years, known her as a child, envisioned the rest of his life as her dutiful husband, for god’s sake. No, she didn’t want him anywhere near Celeste, especially not if her sister was indeed up to some evil scheme.

“Jayne?” Robert said. “Are you there?”

“I was just thinking that you’re so busy you can barely breathe. Why don’t I go see her instead?”

“Hmm, I don’t know...”

“You’re the one who just said we need to face this together. Let me take some pressure off you. I know how to handle Celeste, I—”

“Darling, I’m really not keen on that. We need to treat this whole issue with kid gloves or it’ll blow up in our faces. I’ve known Celeste for decades, and you spent only a few months in her company, and under, well, odd circumstances, shall we say.”

Jayne winced. It was true, but still… “Yes, I understand. But Rob, you’re forgetting that she and I are twins. And twins have a mysterious bond, right from the time when we shared space in our mother’s womb. It’s something other people can’t fathom, but I’ve felt it firsthand.” She put all her hard-found conviction into her words, because it was the truth. “I may not have lived alongside her growing up, but that connection is there. Deep down, I know when she’s lying, I know how she ticks.”

There was a long silence on his end of the line, and she could picture him frowning, thinking things over in that rational way of his.

“That may well be true, Jayne, but what about the risk involved?” Concern colored his voice. “What if she really is behind this? If so, I would say she’s become seriously unhinged--dangerously unhinged. I can’t have you walking into a lion’s den, unarmed and all alone.”

Jayne swallowed. That was a valid point… But she was determined to keep Celeste and Robert separated. She felt that there might be some unfinished romantic business between them, and she wanted it to remain that way, hoping that it would simply fade away.

“Rob, do you really have time for this? I mean, honestly?”

“Do you?” he countered. “I’m not the one trying to launch a startup.”

“Well, I’m sure Beatrice could handle things for a short time—I can easily fly to Paris, see Celeste, and come back in one day. Beatrice is out of town for her other job right now but she’ll be back tomorrow night. I could go the next day, on Friday.”

More silence, then a sigh. She pictured Robert scrubbing a hand over his face, a little defeated.

“All right, darling,” he finally said. “Maybe it is better if you talk to her. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you her address.”

Jayne breathed a great but suppressed sigh of relief as she jotted the information down.

“And for god’s sake, Jayne—when you meet with her, be careful.”

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Chapter 5
 
Jayne watched the taxi drive away from the kitchen window, scrubbing furiously to wash the ink off her fingers. When the car had rounded the bend, she looked down at the blue swirls in the water and at her own, still slightly trembling hands.

She hadn’t been completely honest with Robert—she was not comfortable on her own at home now, not after receiving that letter. After all these months, she had finally left the nightmares and memories behind, and now this!

She shivered, then scolded herself. Why would a blackmailer send that damned letter if she or he wants to attack me physically? That doesn’t make sense. But her thoughts kept circling back to a question she hadn’t asked Rob: Why had the letter been sent to her and not directly to him since he was the one who would pay? There had to be a good reason for it. Clearly, the blackmailer wanted her to suffer, at least emotionally.

What would their anonymous enemy do next? Would Celeste—if it was really Celeste—simply do nothing and patiently wait until the time had come for the payment demand? Or would Jayne have to be constantly on guard, fearing another intrusion on her privacy?

With a scowl, she dried her hands and then checked the locks of the window before wandering upstairs and through the rest of the house to make sure everything was locked properly. Then she shook her head at her own behavior. As if a locked window would keep the person who had sent the blackmail letter out. Jayne had to leave the house constantly.

hat if the criminal knew this and was waiting for the right moment to pounce?

The image of her biological mother leaping on top of her, snarling and lashing out like some mad beast, haunted her even more now. She remembered the finality of that moment, the gut-wrenching certainty that there would be no happy ending with Robert for her, that she was about to die before she’d really had a chance to live.

“Stop being such a wuss,” she hissed, angry with herself for feeling such weakness. There was no reason for it. Built in typical British fashion, the houses on this block all shared common walls, so there were very few ground floor doors and windows, only one pair in front and one pair in back. And because all the houses’ backyards were cordoned off with high brick walls, with some of the owners having dogs, access to the back would be difficult. It wasn’t even necessary to be so overly cautious.

But Jayne wasn’t about to take any chances.

She double checked all the windows before heading back to work.

The next step was to get through the rest of the afternoon without Beatrice sensing that anything was wrong.
 
 

Chapter 6
 
The following morning, Jayne cycled into work earlier than usual, merging into the throngs of Oxford students and staff headed into the center of the city to the hallowed, prestigious university. Although she had managed to keep her dirty secret from Beatrice yesterday afternoon, she doubted she could fool her astute business partner much longer.

There had already been one close call yesterday—she had been so upset and distracted by the blackmail letter that she had completely forgotten to bring the legal documents that Robert had brought for them to sign—the very reason that she’d biked home to meet him in the first place! When she stepped into the restaurant empty handed, Beatrice frowned and said, “So where are the papers to sign?” Jayne made up a white lie on the spot and said that Robert had found a couple of serious typos and had sent them to an all-night printer in the center, and that she would pick them up and bring them in the morning.

Today, she made damn sure she had the large envelope full of papers in her messenger bag. When she arrived at the restaurant, she found Beatrice in their makeshift office, which barely accommodated both of them. Perched on a low cupboard but managing to look professional and proper nevertheless, her classy business partner was on the phone and only acknowledged her with a nod and a small smile.

“Yes... Absolutely, Dear Harvey. I understand…mmm… Certainly… You have no idea how much we wish we could change this.”

Her voice had taken on an odd tone that was cajoling and commanding at once, and Jayne grimaced. “Dear Harvey” was their neighbor, a real pain in the neck. They had the rotten luck that a lawyer—or a solicitor, as you called them here in England—had rented the office next door. He was constantly complaining about the noise and dust, and threatening to sue them, which was what Jayne supposed he did best. Fortunately for them, Beatrice had a way with words and knew how to handle difficult people. She’d sorted and smoothed things out several times already, and Jayne wondered for how long they’d have to walk the tightrope with him.

By the time Beatrice set the phone down and permitted herself a long-suffering sigh, Jayne had engrossed herself in comparing small swatches of fabric in an immense catalogue with samples, trying to find the right material, color and pattern for the table cloths. She wanted to avoid as much eye contact with Beatrice as possible.

“So what’s ‘Dear Harvey’ saying today?” she asked.

Beatrice gave in to a somewhat unladylike eye roll. “Oh, he’s whining, as usual. He claims he’s been suffering from a wheeze because of the dust.”

Jayne scoffed. “If I can handle this with my asthma, then he shouldn’t complain.”

Beatrice straightened her impeccably tailored jacket. “Well, complaining is what he does all day, so I suspect we’ll have to put up with some more nuisance calls.” She paused. “So have you got the papers?”

With a nod, Jayne bent to her messenger bag and took out the business documents. She had already signed them all at home. Beatrice had a long browse through them, slowly turning the pages, slogging through the legalese. In between reading and twisting her pen thoughtfully, she said, “You know, I think we should offer dear Harvey a free meal as compensation. Pull out all the stops and treat him to a five-course dinner shortly after opening day. What do you think?”

“That’s a good idea…though he’ll probably only end up complaining about the size, texture and temperature of the food we pile on him and leave a scathing review.”

They shared a brief laugh, and Jayne felt some of her tension ebb. She was sure that anxiety was written all over her face, and in much clearer language than the legalese Beatrice was perusing.

Beatrice leaned forward and studied her more closely. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” Jayne said, looking back down at the swatches. “Why?”

“You seem a little nervous.”

“I didn’t sleep well with Rob away, that’s all. I never do.”

“Ah.” Beatrice started signing all documents, seeming to accept that explanation.
 

Chapter 7
 
Jayne threw herself into her work that morning, dealing with the construction folks milling around the restaurant, hoping that it would make her forget her and Robert’s gut-wrenching problem that had appeared out of nowhere. But it overshadowed everything, looming over her head like a sword poised to decapitate her at any moment.

To her surprise, as lunchtime approached, she started receiving frequent texts from Robert with updates about what the detective had found out—she was amazed at how fast he’d hired someone to work on the case. Robert was back in China now, trying to work, but considering all the interaction with the detective he was apparently having, Jayne wondered how he could be getting anything done. Before Rob had even left the UK yesterday, he had couriered the envelope, letter, and their own fingerprints to the private eye, who apparently was highly recommended and based in London.

Despite all this, however, it seemed that the investigator was not making much progress. Mid-afternoon, Robert sent her a text telling her that no useful prints were found on the blackmail letter or the envelope. This put Jayne even more on edge. Somehow, it reconfirmed her irrational fear that her mother was behind all this. Eleanor Sotheby was a pro. She would never handle things without gloves, knowing full well how easily fingerprints could give her away. She even began to feel again that it was all her fault, the blackmail letter, the added stress at a time when Rob already had his hands full.

The search for Celeste Sotheby’s whereabouts seemed to be coming up blank, too. The detective had quickly determined that the cut-out letters glued to the paper were from UK tabloids, and because the missive was mailed from the Heathrow Airport, Rob was now wondering whether Celeste had perhaps moved back to London or some other city in the UK.
Rob seemed more and more convinced that Celeste Sotheby was behind the blackmail letter, and Jayne had stopped voicing her doubts to him. It had to be her.
 
* * *

Despite this, during the late afternoon, Jayne stole a few minutes away from Beatrice to search online for cases where people had fallen to the ground from great heights and survived. There were lots of such cases, including some in which people actually dropped from airplanes without parachutes and had their deadly descent slowed by tree branches or the cushion of a snow bank. They ended up badly injured, in some cases paralyzed, but they lived.

And yet Jayne kept assuring herself that of course Rob was right—the chances of Eleanor still being alive and sending blackmail letters was slim to none, and considering the possibility was driving her crazy.

When she was in the middle of reading one of the articles, which was rather grisly, Beatrice stepped into the office.

Jayne’s finger was poised on the mouse button and she quickly closed the window on her laptop.

Beatrice glanced at the back of the computer, then at Jayne’s face.

Jayne was sure she looked like the cat who had just swallowed the canary.
“What on earth is going on, Jayne?”

Jayne hesitated. Beatrice had to go out of town again tonight on a two-day business trip to Ireland for the construction firm that still employed her, and Jayne had prayed that she would leave the restaurant before she figured out that something was wrong. But that bit of good luck apparently wasn’t in the cards.

“It’s nothing,” she said hastily, snapping the laptop shut. “I was reading about remedies for insomnia.”

“A cup of warm milk does the trick for me.”

Jayne nodded. “I’ll try that.”

Beatrice eyed her and said, “You know…” She sounded oddly hesitant, which was a first and made Jayne glance up at her face. “You can talk to me if there’s something wrong. We’re friends and not just business partners, right?”

Jayne nodded, forcing a smile onto her lips but knowing it didn’t reach her eyes. She felt bad enough hiding the unexpected scandal from Beatrice, who had absolutely no idea about what had really happened last summer and that Jayne had impersonated Celeste. Now Beatrice’s concern only made Jayne feel worse.

Beatrice said carefully, “Are you and Rob having some kind of problem? It’s only natural for that to happen in a relationship, you know, especially in the early days. Even after three years I still sometimes want to kill Damien or tear my own hair out…” She gave a rueful smile.

While Jayne felt that her concern was genuine, she sensed it was mostly because the woman was thinking that all she needed now was a business partner who had some serious personal problem.

Jayne took a deep breath and opted for a second white lie. “We’re both under a lot of pressure right now, that’s all. Rob has so much work to handle, juggling his China project with everything going on back here. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. It’ll all be fine in a few days—I’m sure I’ll sleep better tonight.”

Jayne had put as much conviction into her voice as she could muster, not only to make Beatrice believe her but also to convince herself.

Beatrice glanced at her watch. “Well, I’m off then, I have to get to the airport.” She smiled. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“Will do,” Jayne said. “Things will be fine.”

 
* * *

But would things really be fine? Jayne wondered later that evening, as she stood staring out the bedroom window at the road. Now, night had fallen once again and the pedestrian flow of Oxford students and staff returning home had thinned to barely a trickle. Her fatigued mind conjured all sorts of spooky scenarios, her eyes focusing on the dark spaces between the streetlights, on the tall hedges and gated driveways that could hide who knows what.

Tomorrow, Rob would receive the text message to go through with the blackmail payment, and they hadn’t achieved a damn thing during their laughable attempt at investigation.

What would happen then?

Read Part 5 here.

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Jayne's words didn’t seem to sink in as Robert continued to read, his face growing paler by the minute. By the time he had finished comparing the two photos, he looked decidedly sick himself.
​
For what felt like an eternity, they stared at each blankly, shock written all over their faces.

A deep frown marred Robert’s features until finally he blinked slowly a few times, as if coming out of a trance. “No…no…it’s impossible. Eleanor could never have survived the fall. I mean…you were there, Jayne, you saw her plunge thousands of feet into a snow-filled ravine…”

She was shaking her head and nodding alternately, her thoughts still a crazed and panicked jumble. “Yes, but… Who else could it be? It has to be her. Nobody else knows!”

Rob looked at the walls, the floor, and the ceiling as if the truth could be grasped out of thin air. “I… I don’t know, but… I mean, if Eleanor were alive, she would just try to kill us again, not blackmail us.”

Jayne shook her head, the bitter taste of bile in her throat. “You don’t know her like I do, Rob. She doesn’t think and act like a normal human. She’s, she’s… oh god.” Her breath wheezed and rattled in her chest—she was on the verge of having an asthma attack. It made her feel a thousand times worse because she had Eleanor to thank for that, too. And then she realized she hadn’t experienced a single asthma attack since the fateful day that Eleanor had tried to kill them.

Now it seemed the horrible wretch had risen from the grave!

As if Robert knew she would soon reach snapping point, he pulled himself together. He squatted next to her, running his hands soothingly over her head and trembling shoulders, and over her arms until he gripped her hands tightly.

“Jayne. Calm down. Look at me, darling. Calm. Down. Now.”

She focused on his face, his eyes, the reassuring pressure of his fingers on hers.

“Nothing has happened yet. It’s just a letter. Please try to think rationally, darling.”

Once she was breathing a little easier, he gently pulled her up, and they half-fell onto the couch. Robert set the envelope and letter carefully down on the coffee table. His hands were steady now, but the tension in his body was palpable.

“Better not touch the paper again,” he said quietly, his tone now more serious than panicked. “There could be fingerprints or some other kind of evidence on it, maybe the envelope, too.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s think logically. Who sent this letter? And why now?”

Jayne swallowed heavily, the bitter taste still in her mouth. “I’m sure it’s Eleanor, as crazy as that sounds. It’s got to be her. But how the hell did she find us?”

“What makes you so sure it’s her?”

“Everything. It’s so…so her. The tone, the language. And especially the hatred between the lines.”

When she shivered, Rob put his arm around her.

“Jayne…” A conflicted expression crossed his face, and he spoke the next words with a gentle precision, like someone trying to reason with a recalcitrant child. “I know Eleanor ruined your life, or rather, she tried to. And believe me, I understand your panic. But please look at this more rationally. Nobody could have survived that fall. It’s just not realistic.”

With a sigh, she fought for more control, but couldn’t quite find it. “They never found her body,” Jayne muttered, gnawing on her bottom lip. She so wanted to believe he was right, but her gut feeling told her otherwise. “What if she was seriously injured but was somehow saved by sheer luck? Maybe that’s why the letter arrived now—she couldn’t do anything until she recovered.”

Robert frowned, opened his mouth and closed it again. After a moment, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t think this discussion is leading us anywhere.” His tone was weary. “We have to consider all options. There’s got to be a logical explanation behind this. Everything in life has a logical explanation, dammit.”

Jayne hardly ever heard Rob curse, and it revealed how worked up he was despite his superficial calm. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, to do.

After a moment, he added slowly, “What if it was written this way exactly because someone wants us to think it’s Eleanor? Or us to think it’s someone else, for that matter?”

The thought gave Jayne pause. “But who would go to all this trouble? Who would know all these details about us?”

Their gazes met, and the next moment, they both blurted the answer out at the same time.

“Celeste!”

Of course. Why hadn’t they thought of her immediately? Who else but her own twin sister, Celeste Sotheby, would hate Jayne so much and would blackmail her for revenge?

Now that she considered this, it made perfect sense.

“I’m sure it’s her,” Jayne said. Now she felt less frightened because no matter how nasty the threat sounded, Celeste was not a monster like their biological mother. “I mean, everything points in her direction. She vanished. Nobody knows anything about her and the child that may or may not even be alive.” Jayne shuddered. “You have to admit, whoever wrote this letter knows both our families intimately.”

Robert looked more thoughtful than ever now, his jaw set and his expression grim. “It does make sense…” He turned towards her and took her hand, squeezing it. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t want to jump to conclusions.”
 
* * *

For the next half hour, they racked their brains to remember everyone who had been around the summer villa in Nice and the mansion in Paris. Could anybody have gotten wind of their scheme?

“Did anyone see you and Celeste together?” Robert asked. “Actually see you side by side?”

“No! Never.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“The only time Celeste and I were physically at the same location was at the Nice villa, and we had no staff there.”

“Nobody?”


“Not a soul. You remember, Rob, Eleanor didn’t even have a gardener there. She kept the pool up herself, and I did all the cooking and cleaning. We had no private chauffeur either. As far as I can remember, nobody set foot in that house the entire summer except for Eleanor, Celeste, and me. And you, that one time you visited.”

“Yes, I remember, the yard was completely overgrown. But are you absolutely sure that you and Celeste were never out anywhere together?”
“Yes. Well, no...there was that night at the guest house, but just for a few minutes...”

“What guest house?” Rob sat up straighter, raising his eyebrows raised in alarm.

“A bed and breakfast near Nice. When you showed up unexpectedly that day, Eleanor took Celeste there.”

For a moment, Jayne allowed the memories to resurface; their frantic struggle to remove every single trace of Celeste’s presence and pregnancy, then her few hours of stolen bliss with Rob that led her to make a final decision.

She went on, “Right after you left, I took a taxi over and told them I wasn’t going through with their plan. But it was two o’clock in the morning then, and I don’t think anyone at the B&B was even awake. We were only there for a few minutes, and then we went back to the villa in a different taxi.”

Robert sighed, leaning forward and reading the letter again without touching the paper.

“What about the chauffeur who drove us around Paris?” Jayne asked.
“Philippe?” Robert shook his head. “That man has worked for my family for twenty years, a close mate of my father’s, as trustworthy as they come. He wouldn’t even dare to snoop around a little, let alone do something as brazen as this.”

Robert pursed his lips, thinking. “What about the staff at Les Fleurs? You stayed there during my visit and afterwards. What if you were overheard? Could any of the servants have figured out what was going on?” Before Jayne could answer, Rob added, “What about that red-headed butler who worked there—what was his name?”

“Giles.”

“Yes, Giles. I remember having an odd feeling about that bloke when I came to meet you there the first time. I thought he was a bit sketchy.”

“Hmm...” Jayne paused, traveling back in time in her mind. “Now that you mention it...I did have the feeling he was hovering around Celeste’s bedroom just before you arrived, while I was getting dressed.”

Rob jotted something down in his notebook. “Was there any other staff at the mansion who might have figured out what was going on? Someone close to Giles, maybe?”

Jayne thought it over. “Well, there was Margaret, the cook. She seemed to be tight with Giles and well aware of most of what went on under that roof.” Jayne looked back at the shocking blackmail letter, her hands twitching as if she wanted nothing more than to rip it into shreds and forget all about it. She frowned. “But I can’t imagine her writing anything like this.”

“The place has been sold by now, I’m sure—do you know if any of the staff are still working there?”

“I have no idea,” Jayne said. The grand mansion was supposed to be auctioned off by the bank when Eleanor died, to pay off her massive debts. By that time, most of the domestic staff had long been fired, and some valuable items had secretly been sold off to provide quick cash to her desperate mother. Jayne did not know who had bought the property or who might live there now.

They both sat there for a long moment, and she noticed that Rob looked sick again, although he gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.

Glancing at the blackmail letter, Jayne wondered, “I don’t see why this person went to so much trouble, gluing all those cut-out letters all over the page. Isn’t that kind of old school? Why not send an anonymous email?”

“Good point,” Rob said, thinking. “I’m guessing it was done for theatrical effect, to show us that they know where we live.” Rob hesitated, glancing at her. “To scare us.”

Jayne grimaced. “Rob, if Eleanor is dead—and I have to agree with you now, she must be—this threat must have been sent by Celeste. When you consider everything here, she’s the most likely suspect. There’s no need to look any further.”

“I know,” Rob muttered with a pained expression. “I guess I just don’t want to believe that she would do such a thing. It’s so unlike her...”

He grew distant and a little wistful, and though Jayne hated to admit it, this made her feel an unpleasant jab of jealously. She hoped fervently that Rob didn’t still have feelings for his childhood sweetheart. Then again, this was her own sister they were talking about, and it did feel awful to think such traitorous thoughts.

Rubbing her temples, she tried to get a grip on herself. She’d dealt with so much already and come out on top. She could and would handle this too. And this time, she wasn’t alone.

Jayne leaned against Robert, and he put his arm around her. He simply held her for a few minutes. She listened to his steady heartbeat, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“What are we going to do?” she mumbled into his body. Her words come out muffled and much quieter than a minute ago.

His chest rose and fell, the soft, flawlessly woven fabric of his suit brushing against her face. “You know, I wish we could just ignore this, but something tells me it won’t go away. The best option we have would be to get some professional assistance.”

Jayne flinched. “You mean the police?”

“No, no, they can’t be trusted to keep secrets, and if this gets out, the whole thing will blow up in our faces.” She felt him shake his head. “No, we can’t go to the police. I think hiring a top-notch private investigator is the prudent thing to do. If a good detective can move fast enough without arousing any suspicion, he might be able to track down Celeste…or whoever is behind all this…before the message with the payment instructions arrives.”
 
* * *

A moment later, Rob went upstairs, rummaged around in some boxes in the closet, and brought a black ink pad back down. This was so they could take a set of their fingerprints for the private detective to use for elimination, since both of them had already touched the letter and envelope.

She stared at him as he carefully rolled each of her fingertips across the pad and then pressed them against a blank piece of paper. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

“Not really. My dad’s office was robbed a couple of times, that’s all.”

He folded the blackmail letter up and slid it back into the envelope, touching only a tiny corner of both.

“Are you sure you feel safe staying here alone?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

He nodded, already seeming far away. That awful letter had distracted him to the point where he seemed almost cold towards her, though she knew it was just the shock.

As he picked up his bags and moved towards the door, he unconsciously smoothed the wrinkles in his suit and finger-combed his brown hair.

“We’ll get this solved, don’t worry,” he said, and they kissed each other goodbye.

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Chapter 3

“Whenever I’m out of the country,” Robert said solemnly, “I don’t just miss you miserably, I have this odd longing to tell people about you. To be one of those annoying married men who gush about their beautiful wife, look for sentimental presents and show everyone a dozen unsolicited photos of their chubby-cheeked children.”

His words made Jayne’s heart swell. Damn it, she wanted to be his wife so much.

“Is your mother still coming next month?” he said, stroking her hair. “I was thinking we could all go to a cracking play on the West End. A musical, maybe.”

“Yes, she’s coming. I’ll call her tonight and see if she’s bought her airline tickets yet.”

When Jayne had moved over to the UK, Rob had generously promised to cover Barbara’s expenses until she had found a job in England. Her mother, who had survived a debilitating battle with cancer, was feeling much better and had encouraged her daughter to make a new start, so Jayne didn’t feel too bad about leaving her mom behind in the U.S. Jayne promised they could visit each other often, and Barbara was excited about coming to England—she’d never been outside of the USA before.

“I so wish your mother could meet my parents when she visits,” he said. “But I don’t think that’s possible.”

If only Rob had got a chance to tell them the truth, Jayne thought, to make them meet Jayne in person before all hell had broken loose—but no, the wicked Eleanor had gotten to them first.

Jayne suppressed a sigh, trying to convince herself that things would change over time. But deep down, she knew they wouldn’t, at least not in the near future. Despite how many times Robert had tried to tell his mom the real story, Lady Astor simply did not believe it. She claimed he wasn’t thinking with his incisive mind but with his emotions and ego, as happened with so many men who were either infatuated with a woman or played by one. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his mother went on to poison his father’s mind, too. No matter how hard Robert threw himself into the task, he could not dislodge the notion that Jayne was a shameless, opportunistic parasite who would suck the entire Astor family dry if she managed to manipulate Robert into marrying her.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “We will get married, Jayne. With the grandiose public wedding, all the posh accouterments, the whole shebang.”
“Oh, Rob.” She placed her hand against his cheek, his slight stubble scratching her pleasantly. “I want all of that too, but it’s not that important to me.”

 “If it turns out we can’t win over my parents, we can always just—”

“No. Not that way.” He had made this offer many times before. “I’m not going to stand between you and your family, ever.”

He shifted in the bed and craned his neck to get a better look at her face, and he smiled. “So you’re happy just living with me in sin? Don’t you want me to make an honest woman out of you?”

Jayne smiled. “I just don’t want it to happen like that. Of course I want what every young woman dreams of secretly. A church wedding and then a grand reception. With a veil and a tiara to feel like a princess for a day. With chubby-cheeked altar boys in mini suits and bridesmaids almost more beautiful than me. I want to free a hundred white doves, want to pose for a thousand photos until our mouths will hurt from smiling so much.”

She half-turned to face him, wondering how he took this.

She was pleased to see that he was smiling.

She smiled, too. “Can’t you picture it? All those splendidly dressed people beaming from ear to ear. Personalized vows, later on sentimental speeches. Lovely little gifts for the guests, a multi-tiered cake, matching floral arrangements, champagne for everyone. And then you sweeping me off my feet for a waltz.” He chuckled at this. “I know it sounds girlish and old fashioned to you, but I long for all that, Rob. To dance with your father, too. To have my mother and yours dab at a few happy tears when we finally climb into a limousine or carriage among tons of confetti and cheers.”

Rob reached out and twirled a strand of hair around his finger, but he looked saddened by the vision, probably because he knew it would never come to pass. “Who’d have thought you’re such a romantic, Miss Clark? You would make a lovely fairytale bride, putting all the British royalty to shame.”

“I doubt that.”

“Still, back to the other idea, why not have a small wedding by ourselves and let the chips fall as they may? They’re not your parents, they’re mine. If they’re too bloody bull-headed to see— “

“Maybe it’s because I’m adopted.”

Robert sat up a little in the bed, eying her curiously. “How so?”

Jayne felt awkward. She took a deep breath and plunged forward—she had never told a soul this before. “Rob, I have this intense yearning inside me for a whole, complete, fully-intact biological family. For all the little things that people take for granted with ‘real’ families but that I’ve never had. When we have children, I want them to have all of that, too. When I was adopted, all my adoptive grandparents were dead, and of course I didn’t know my biological ones. Don’t our kids deserve a wonderful set of grandparents like your mother and father who care for them? Who drop in for regular visits to spoil them rotten?”

 Rob’s face revealed pleasurable surprise. “I had no idea that’s how you felt, Jayne! Of course we’ll have the grand wedding, hang it all! I’ll get my parents over this nonsense one way or another. And they’ll both come around and love you as much as I do, I promise!”

“You really think it’s possible?”

“I know so!”

He kissed her passionately, one of his hands wandering lower and lower.

“Again?” she asked, smiling and bucking into his touch.

“Well, I’ll be gone for a few days.” He grinned. “We better make it last.”
 
* * *

After their second round, they lay side by side, sweaty and sated, Jayne with a leg thrown over Rob and her head resting on his chest.

Their earlier conversation had greatly improved Jayne’s mood, and her confidence. Something had shifted inside of Rob. He was now much more committed to solving the problem with his parents, and she could sense it. She was glad she’d told him her innermost feelings on the matter.

His finger was drawing languid circles on her back, and slowly their breathing returned to normal.

“Rob?”

“Hmm?”

Before she could speak, a metallic ka-thunk sound echoed through the house.

“What the devil was that?” he said, sitting up in the bed. He looked uneasily at the bedroom door.

 “Relax, it was just the mail. Oh, pardon me, the post, as you call it.”

With that, Jayne caught him looking at the clock on the nightstand—she knew he had to catch his plane to China. “Maybe if you were here more often, you’d recognize the sound.”

He smiled in that characteristic, slightly crooked fashion that was utterly endearing, and he slowly rose from the bed. “I wish I had more control over my schedule, darling, but you know how things work. Either you fight, or you get swallowed up whole and eaten alive by the sharks. No more nepotism to fall back on—I’m working in the real world now.”

“You and your beloved SHEDdule,” Jayne teased. “I’ll never understand why a nation of such logic-fixated, properness-possessed people would pronounce the word that way.”

“It’s you Americans who’ve got it backwards,” Rob said, stepping into the bathroom. As he turned on the water to the shower, he turned and raised his brows at her, amusement curling his lips because she’d been ribbing him about his British ways all these months.

“That’s ridiculous,” she fired back good-naturedly. “It’s so inconsistent. You don’t say ‘She studies at SHool’ or ‘He’s a SHizophrenic’, for god’s sake. So why would you say SHedule? Explain that to me, will you?”

Standing there naked as the water heated up, he crossed his arms and gave her a mock-stern look. “Ever heard about not throwing stones if you live in a glass house? It’s not like you Americans are oh-so-logical and consistent. You turn the spelling of cheque with Q-U-E to check with C-K and all that just so it looks more English than French, but you insist on leaving the H out in the pronunciation of herbs because you claim you want to retain its French feel. And don’t even get me started on how obnoxious you Yanks sound sometimes. Only an American could say ‘yeah right’ and ‘good luck with that’ and have it mean exactly the opposite.”

Jayne mimicked his belligerent stance, crossing her arms too. “Did you just call me obnoxious, Mister ‘I’ll just apologize for everything under the sun so people think I’m politeness personified while I’m secretly ridiculing them’?”

Robert threw his head back and laughed, and she couldn’t help joining in, and he pulled the shower curtain open and disappeared behind it.

Oh, how she loved these careless moments, so few and far between. They were like precious pearls she wanted to collect to craft a necklace of lovely memories.

She wished with all her heart that he didn’t have to leave.
 

Chapter 4
 
When they’d both gotten dressed and were back down in the living room, Robert gestured to several sheets of papers on the coffee table, filled with small print and little yellow SIGN HERE stickers.

“I’ll leave these here for you and Bea to sign. They need to be sent to our lawyer by registered post, but please scan them and mail them to me before that.” His voice had automatically dropped into the calm, clipped tone he used for business matters, one more sign that he was half out the door before he’d even left.

With a resigned nod, she spared the documents only a glance and followed him to the front door.

He bent down to pick up the envelopes that they’d heard the postman push through the mail slot and sifted through them. Jayne reached around him to unlock the door when she saw him stop and freeze with a frown on his face. He stared at a letter in his hand, flipped it over, then looked at the front side again.

“What’s the matter?” Jayne said.

He held the envelope out towards her. “This is for you.”

Jayne took the letter and saw that her name was written in odd block letters on the front, with the word PERSONAL underneath in the same style that reminded her of a child laboriously writing out its barely learned letters. There was no return address. Odd. The postmark, she realized after some squinting, was the Heathrow Airport Post Office. Even odder.

Puzzled and feeling a little uneasy, Jayne ripped open the envelope and took out the papers inside.

Her head began to spin as she took in the text composed from cut-out letters of different sizes and colors:
 
DEaR jaYNe,

IF yOu ThINk yOU ArE GOinG tO GeT awaY wITH YoUR CRiMinaL WaYS, ThINk AgAIn. I CAn pROvE YoU ArE NoTHinG BuT A CoMMoN GolD DIgGer aND tHat You ImPErSoNAted YoUR TWin SiSTer wHEn ShE WaS PREgnaNT In AN AttEMpt To MArrY RObeRt aSTor YoURsELF AnD SuCK LoRD aND LaDY AsTOR Dry oF ThEir HaRd-EArNed FOrTUne (sEE PhOTos).

I DoN’T KnOW WhAT KiND oF WiCked SpeLL yoU CaST oN YOuR “BeLoVED” RoBERt, BuT yOu CaN TeLL HiM ThAT I WiLL TeXT Him On HIs BUsINESS phone thIS weDnESday aT ExACtLY 07.00 GMt AnD sTaTE My deMANds. I StRONGly SuGGeST thAT HE Be ONlinE wiTH His BAnk accOUNT ReADY tO IMMediaTELY FollOW My InSTRUctionS. If He DOes NoT COmPLy, I WiLL SenD YouR WhoLE SoRDId storY tO LoRD AnD LAdy AStOr, aNd tO ALL ThE TAbloiDS, ToO! SaME iF yOU cALL tHE PoLICe oR Do AnYTHinG ElsE sTupID.
 
With trembling hands, she turned to the next page and gasped. There was a photo of her and Robert sitting together at the Café de la Paix in Paris last summer. Jayne recognized it. She remembered the exact moment it was taken because she’d been so in over her head at the time. No doubt about it, this picture was from a tabloid and had been taken by one of those paparazzi.

In one corner of the page was a cutout of her sandaled foot, apparently magnified by whoever had sent the letter, with a big red circle around the birthmark on her right ankle. On the next page was another tabloid photo, this one of Celeste frolicking on the beach with her lover in Saint-Tropez—also with the foot magnified, bare in the sand. Even if you didn’t really know what to look for, the difference between the photos was unmistakable: In the second photo, the birthmark had moved to the left ankle.

“Jayne? Jayne, whatever is the matter? Say something! You’re scaring me.”

It dimly registered that Robert had taken the letter from her shaking hand.

For the love of god, she couldn’t bring herself to give him a coherent answer. His worried gaze darted from her face to the letter and back. When she only continued to stare wide-eyed, Robert began to read the letter himself.

“She’s still alive,” Jayne finally gasped, on the verge of vomiting.

His head snapped up for a second but then he went on reading, his eyes now racing across the page. “Who’s alive?”

“Eleanor,” she forced out just before doubling over, certain that she was going to be sick.

Read Part 3 here

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Chapter 2

​Outside, Jayne slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and hopped onto her bicycle with its cheerful red frame. She pedaled energetically, the dull pain in her knee no match for her joy at being reunited with Robert in a few minutes. It was misting outside, making her hair damp, but today she didn’t care.

They lived in a lovely—and rather scandalously expensive to Jayne—rented house only a few blocks away, in the trendy Jericho section of town. Oxford had been an obvious choice once Jayne had decided move to England. It was close enough to London for Robert to travel there on business and to see his parents whenever he—or they—wanted to see each other, but far away enough from high-society and the media humdrum for them to be discovered and asked unwelcome questions.

Jayne slowed her bike down at a “humped zebra crossing,” which is what the Brits call speed bumps. She smiled briefly, because she thought their term for these humps in the pavement was funny. But then she felt anxious again and mentally counted her blessings.

Oxford certainly wasn’t Wichita with its careless, typically small-town American charm, or Nice with its luxuries and ocean breeze. It had taken some getting used to, being surrounded by all those morosely grand, gray gothic buildings and posh stores. The dreary weather with its permanent drizzle could be depressing—especially if one relied on a bicycle or public transport like almost everyone living here. On the other hand, she found it exciting to be living smack in the middle of a one thousand year old university community packed with some of the smartest people in the world.

And Robert had spent many years of his youth here, earning his degree and being shaped into a man of the world. His funny anecdotes and wonderfully educated off-hand comments had helped her with settling down—as had her business relationship with Beatrice.

As she pedaled past Woodstock Road, Jayne’s gaze momentarily fell on a gated driveway, and a memory of the horrific time last summer came rushing back at her, when she “escaped” from Eleanor’s villa in Nice. Her traumatic episode in France with Eleanor and Celeste was something she chose not to dwell on anymore—but her mind had its own agenda. She was still frequently jolted awake by nightmares about it all. In the dreams, she kept replaying the terrifying scene where Eleanor had tried to kill her and Robert at the hotel in Switzerland and had then leaped over the balcony, into the abyss and to her certain death.

Jayne had spent countless hours thinking about the entire ordeal from every possible angle, how she’d become tangled up in it in the first place, asking herself how much of it was her own fault and if she could have done anything differently. Then again, if none of it had taken place, she never would have met Robert Astor. When “Lady” Eleanor Sotheby had simply shown up out of the blue in Wichita and told her that she was Jayne’s biological mother, and that Jayne had a sister in France, how could she have behaved any differently? It had all proved to be true. And then, when Eleanor offered to pay for her ticket to come to France and meet Celeste in person, and to attend Celeste’s wedding later in the year to some young British aristocrat, how could she have known her twin sister had stupidly gotten pregnant from a sleazy one night stand, and that Eleanor already knew about it and had only tracked Jayne down in Kansas to use her?

The late Eleanor Sotheby’s deviousness and malfeasance truly knew no bounds. Jayne still marveled that she herself was the biological daughter of such a wicked, Machiavellian creature. She was equally astounded by the fact that Eleanor somehow managed to make it seem like it was her idea to step in and pose as Celeste until the precious wedding could take place, which was virtually an arranged marriage of convenience, concocted by the ever-scheming Eleanor. The woman was so sneaky and such a master of psychological manipulation that it would have been impossible for Jayne to realize that she was covertly pulling her and Celeste’s strings. The aging bitch was flat broke and saw Celeste’s marriage into the Astor family as her only way out of total financial ruin.

But who could have known that Jayne would fall in love with Robert Astor herself, and that the feeling would be mutual?

When she realized the full extent of the situation and the damage that could be done to Robert and his wealthy, well-respected family, Jayne had put her foot down and refused to go through with the wedding. Celeste had already secretly given birth to the child but was still in hiding, too overweight and exhausted to actually attend the long ceremony and celebrations, so they tried to make Jayne do it, which was the last straw. She had gone straight to Robert and told him the ugly truth, fully expecting never to set eyes on him again. It was a miracle, she thought, as well as a testament to Robert’s inherent good nature, that he’d forgiven her. At that point, Eleanor had gone completely mad and tried to kill them both, but had only succeeded in killing herself.

Fortunately, no one had found out about her impersonation of Celeste except Robert and his parents. In fact, no one else in the world knew that Celeste Sotheby had a sister, let alone a twin, living in America. Robert’s parents were powerful enough to influence the Swiss police before word got out. Only the fact that Lady Eleanor Sotheby had committed suicide had been released to the news media, and everyone believed she had ended her life because she had gone bankrupt.

 The only big problem was that before Eleanor had died, when she was furious with Jayne and Robert, she poisoned Lady Astor’s mind with the same story she’d threatened Jayne with when Jayne had backed out of the scheme. Namely, that Miss Jayne Clark from Wichita, Kansas, was nothing but a low-class American gold digger who had rushed over to France on her own when she found out she had a twin sister who was about to marry a rich aristocrat, and sunk her claws into Lady Astor’s unsuspecting son, determined to steal him from Celeste and have him for herself.

After it was all over, Jayne simply went back to her old life in Kansas and tried to pretend it never happened. Robert visited her often, and the love between them only grew stronger. He also endeared himself to Jayne’s adoptive mother, Barbara, who had thought he would be a “stuffy British type” and was greatly surprised at his warmth and down-to-earth nature.
During one of his many visits to Wichita, Robert asked Jayne whether she would be willing to join him in England.

Jayne was completely caught off guard by the question—she didn’t think such a thing was remotely possible. She accepted their long-distance and somewhat secret relationship for the time being and wasn’t sure it would last.

“But what about your parents?” she asked.

“What about them?”

“They despise the ground I walk on, Rob, and you know it.”

“That’s not true, darling.” He shrugged, hugging her close to him. “With time, they’ll come to love you just as much as I do. And I’m sure that we can eventually…”

“Eventually what?”

“Get married, and with their full blessing. In a huge, public wedding, with all the pomp and circumstance that they planned for the one with Celeste.”

“Really?” she said, looking into his eyes, wanting to believe him.

“Absolutely.”

Jayne had her doubts, but she couldn’t resist the offer to live with him and wake up next to him every morning.

Rather than settle in London, Robert and Jayne chose Oxford. It was a quiet university town and relatively far away from the prying eyes of the big city tabloid journalists and paparazzi who might have sniffed something juicy to write about, but close enough so that Rob could visit his parents often. Robert slowly introduced Jayne to all his friends as Celeste Sotheby’s sister who had grown up in Kansas with no knowledge that she had any siblings, let alone a twin sister. The cover story he told everyone was simple: after he called off the wedding with Celeste, and Eleanor committed suicide, he found out through Eleanor’s lawyer that Celeste had an estranged twin sister in Wichita by the name of Jayne Clark who didn’t know that Celeste or Eleanor even existed. The lawyer told Robert that Eleanor had accumulated such massive debt that some of the debtors might try to go after Jayne as a last resort, so Robert flew to Kansas to warn her.

When the two met, it was “love at first sight,” according to Robert.
Jayne always blushed when he told this white lie.
 
* * *

Jayne pedaled up to the house she and Robert occupied, a two-bedroom “terraced Edwardian” home just across from the Oxford Canal. Over one hundred years old, the brick dwelling was outfitted with lovely antique furniture, had a beautiful sunroom and a pocket-sized, neater-than-neat garden in the back. Jayne was sure it was the most modest house Rob had ever lived in, but as he was no longer part of his father’s company, he had to watch his spending.

Unfortunately, Robert had grossly misjudged both his parents’ feelings about Jayne. When his father found out that she had moved from America to live with him, Robert was summarily kicked out of the family business. Although he’d already left his mark in the industry at not even thirty, this was a throwback. He was forced to go out into the UK market and land a job on his own, without the benefit of nepotism or even a recommendation from his father. His mother refused to speak to him for the first couple of months and then coldly told him that she hoped he would start coming to dinner at their house on Sundays, but that the “American hussy” he lived with in Oxford was not welcome.

The only decent job that Robert could get was one that required him to travel to China often—his prior experience with opening the factory there for his father helped land the position. The drop in pay had been massive and he was under intense pressure to prove himself. Poor Robert didn’t even own a car now and, as he often joked, had to actually stoop to using public transportation and riding a bicycle, like he’d done as an Oxford student. He only took taxis now when he could get his new employer to pay for it.

As Jayne hopped off her bike, she frowned, wondering in a brief moment of self-doubt whether the financial strain would rub off on their relationship and drive him away from her in the long run. Did he miss the carefree times when he didn’t have to worry twice about any decision and used his black Amex card to buy whatever he wanted? Did he sometimes long for a wealthy girlfriend to take to parties and sip champagne with, even if he kept insisting earnestly that those parties were hell to live through?

Just as she unlocked the front door, a taxi pulled up in front of the house.
Rob got out and paid the driver, waving at her while he waited for a receipt so he could be reimbursed. He then jogged over, grinning broadly and lighting the gloomy, cloudy day with his presence. With his impressive height of 6’2”, Rob could have been gangly, but there was just the right amount of muscle definition to his long, lean body to make it clear that this was a businessman who also loved outdoor activities. He caught many women’s eyes with his jet-black, neatly styled hair and his soulful brown eyes—but the slightly crooked, utterly disarming smile that made him look a few years younger was reserved for Jayne only. God, how lucky she was that a man like him had fallen for her. He looked positively delicious in his business suit.

Catching her own thoughts, Jayne blushed and lifted her face happily for a quick yet thorough kiss.

“Hello, darling.” Rob nuzzled her cheek for a moment before guiding her into the building with a hand on the small of her back. Living together had not only influenced her but also had an effect on him. He never hesitated with public displays of affection now, as if she had chipped away at his prim and proper gentleman upbringing with her spontaneous shows of love.

Inside the house, her giggle was cut off when he slammed the door shut and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. He turned with her in his embrace to back her up against the living room wall, and a moment later their hands were everywhere, groping, stroking, clutching, desperate for more. Rob grabbed her thigh and hoisted her leg up around his hips so he could grind himself against her, making them both moan.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear.

Read Part 2 here

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​
​Chapter 1
 
Oxford, United Kingdom
 
Two Days Later
 
Jayne Clark rounded the corner briskly, her arms full of files stacked precariously on top of each other—and smacked right into someone coming the other way.

The collision brought her stumbling to her knees with a winded oomph.
For a moment, she sat amid the scattered papers, blinking and wondering idly whether the whining sound in her ears was yet another carpenter with a drill straight from hell or whether the past few days had triggered a tinnitus.

If she had known opening her own restaurant would be that much work and stress, she would never have embarked on the endeavor. But then she reminded herself how lucky she was to finally be living with Robert Astor, the man she loved. With his encouragement and support, she felt as if she could accomplish anything.

“Verrry sorrrry, ma’am. So incrrredibly sorrrry.”

The Indian electrician who had collided with her managed somehow to blush beneath his chocolate-colored skin. He was hovering close by, gesticulating frantically and clearly torn between apologizing profusely and wondering whether it was the right thing to do to help her to her feet.
With a defeated sigh, Jayne scrabbled for the papers and stuffed them into the files. By the time she had gathered everything and managed to climb to her feet despite her throbbing knee, the man in his blue overalls was wringing his hands and still apologizing.

“It’s all right, for god’s sake, it’s not like I need an ambulance.” He looked relieved.

She half-jogged and half-limped down the stairs and along a corridor filled with dust and noise from all the workers trying to meet the deadline. As if to taunt her, the banner hanging out front caught her eye in passing.

THE CALIFORNIAN RESTAURANT – GRAND OPENING JULY 18th

Despite the nagging sound in her ears and the dull pain in her knee, Jayne couldn’t help smile a little. Even with the humungous workload and countless responsibilities, it was still a dream come true.

She was only 24 years old, but with Robert’s and Beatrice’s investment and their generous help, she was going to open her own restaurant, for heaven’s sake! And in Oxford, England! All the stress and hard work made it worthwhile.

A still door-less doorway opened into the main kitchen. The room served as an interim office for now, because the bare counters made an excellent replacement for desks and because the actual office was jam-packed with furniture in its protective wrappings.

She squinted against the visual overload and finally found her business partner back towards a corner. An elegant woman in a sharp pantsuit in unforgiving black stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the chaos.

Jayne shook her head softly. She’d never understand why Beatrice Egerton-Jones would choose to wear these expensive and sorely out of place clothes inside the restaurant under construction, but she’d come to associate it with the young woman and admired how clean and unwrinkled she somehow managed to keep it at the end of each busy day. It was as typical and tell-tale as her penchant for emeralds and her weakness for Jayne’s raspberry tartlets.

“Beatrice!” she yelled, having to repeat herself twice before the woman’s head snapped up from studying a rolled-out site plan.

She waved at Jayne for a second before wheeling around and shouting an order at a man armed with a hammer and nails.

Jayne walked over, maneuvering around cardboard boxes, toolboxes and a tile-less hole in the floor, left open for god knew what last-minute adjustment.

“Jayne.” Beatrice pecked her on both cheeks once she’d set her mountain of files down and narrowly missed dumping them on the floor again. “You look a mite frazzled, if I may say so. Not that we don’t all have a million reasons for being frazzled.” Even shouting so she could be heard over the din, Beatrice sounded posh and proper.

Jayne was used to the British way of talking now, with its way of sugar-coated criticism and being indirectly direct. Three months in Oxford had acclimatized her quickly.

With a grimace, Jayne lifted herself up to perch on the edge of the cluttered counter top, not caring a bit whether her worn-out grey jeans and paint-splattered sweatshirt would get dirty. Frazzled was the understatement of the year. She’d come in here only an hour ago and already felt as if she’d wrangled a dozen disasters. So much was at stake with this startup, so much depended on it being a success. And while that was the main reason for all the pressure, there was always an underlying excitement that propelled her on and that even infected Beatrice with her always-in-control attitude.

Jayne rubbed her sore knee and leaned over to look at the site plan. “Is anything the matter?” she asked.

Beatrice smoothed a hand over her chestnut-brown hair, which was almost always a superfluous gesture—there was never a hair out of place in whatever neat, understated yet beautiful hairstyle she chose for the week. Sometimes Jayne felt like a donkey next to a purebred mare. Sure, she also cleaned up nicely if she made an effort—but with her average height, her blondish brown, almost shoulder-length hair and her naturally slender but not exactly curvy figure, she wasn’t as captivating as Beatrice. Not that Rob minded, judging from how many compliments he always paid Jayne.

“Well, some fool thought it would be a good idea to deliver the potted plants two days early, so now they’re in everyone’s way and likely to be damaged before they’ll ever have a chance to bloom.”

With a grimace, Jayne made a mental note to herself to speak with Jacques, the notorious interior designer from France they’d hired. “I’m sorry, I have no idea how this could happen. I’ll get right on it. Speaking of plants, what do you think of going for seasonal decoration instead of choosing one signature flower arrangement? I’m planning to adjust my menus according to the seasons anyway, so why not also the table decoration and plants out on the patio?”

“Splendid idea. I knew you and I were the perfect match. I’d never know what to do about all the creative aspects, but you seem to have an intuitive grasp on matters.”

Beatrice smiled at her before turning to bark out another order at the construction workers without missing a beat.

Jayne smiled back, feeling ten feet taller at the praise. “Well, I wouldn’t know a loan application from a delivery bill, so I sure as hell wouldn’t have any idea what to do without you.”

The restaurant venture had actually been Beatrice’s idea. She was a friend of Robert’s and had proved to be an invaluable companion in many ways. Like Rob, Beatrice was from a very affluent family, with all the privileges and quirks that came with being wealthy in England. But unlike some women of her status, Beatrice was a hands-on type, willing to actually put in an effort and make a mark for herself instead of letting her family name and money do all the work. With her civil engineering degree from Oxford and a recent MBA from Cambridge, she was the perfect supervisor for all the work that had cropped up during the renovation.

Like Jayne, Beatrice was a great fan of “fusion cuisine”—integrating various cooking styles and ingredients. She was particularly aware of American trends in cuisine that were—according to her—so lamentably late in crossing the ocean and winning over the British. When Jayne had mentioned her love for California cuisine, with its emphasis on fresh vegetables and fruits, lean meats and seafood, Beatrice had taken her hands in hers and declared her a heaven-sent blessing—”Oh my god, Jayne—we must open a restaurant together!”

To Jayne, Beatrice was the brains of the business, the one who not only held all strings but also made sure that none of said strings tied themselves into knots. Beatrice handled all the commercial aspects—finance, marketing, server management, B2B and B2C relationships—while Jayne stuck to what she knew best and loved doing. She was the creative one, in charge of everything design-related, the menu, and managing all the kitchen staff, the kitchen and the cooking equipment. And she would be the chef, at least for a while.

Any hesitation about having Beatrice as her business partner had quickly evaporated in the face of the woman’s relentless enthusiasm. Robert was excited about the idea, too. He and Beatrice decided to put up the startup capital together, also taking out a small business loan, and the three of them became one-third equal partners in the venture. Beatrice still lived in London and had already reduced her job at an international construction firm, which required a lot of traveling around Western Europe, to half time. As soon as the restaurant officially opened, Beatrice planned to quit the job altogether so she could concentrate wholly on the fledgling operation.

It took Jayne a full minute to realize that the increased whining in her ears was in fact the ringtone of her cell phone, half drowned-out.

Robert’s name flashed, making her heart skip a beat. Though they’d technically been together for more than a year now, she still got that giddy feeling whenever he called or they spent time together. She knew that feeling would eventually fade, but she wanted to hold onto it as long as possible.

Their corner of the kitchen was comparatively quiet despite the commotion all around them, so Jayne answered the call in front of Beatrice, sending an apologetic smile her way.

“Rob, hi.”

“Hello, darling.” His deep voice traveled straight to her heart. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Never,” she said, and she meant it.

“I’ve got some of the investment documents ready for you and Bea to sign. Stock certificates, liability insurance forms, you know the drill…” No, she didn’t know the drill—which is why Beatrice and Robert’s help was invaluable. “I’m on the train from London, about to arrive in Oxford, in fact. Why don’t you pop over to the house and we go over the documents, shall we?”

Pop over, Jayne thought. She’d quickly learned that nobody in Oxford ever drove, walked, bicycled or simply came over—they “popped” over. Beatrice detected Jayne’s smile and raised an eyebrow.

To Robert, Jayne said, “Why don’t you just ‘pop over’ here, and then both of us can get this whole signing issue out of the way. We could show you the latest progress, and…”

“Darling?” Something about his tone made her stop mid-sentence, her belly fluttering. “Did you miss me?”

Her response was immediate—he’d been away in China all week. “Yes, of course.”

“I missed you too. Terribly. So terribly, in fact, that I’d rather have you all to myself for a few precious hours. Why don’t we meet in the quiet of our home so I can show you just how much I’ve been pining for you?”

His voice had dropped into a lower register, deep and sexy, making her toes curl in her shoes.

“Oh…” Her breath left her in an anticipatory sigh, but then she remembered Beatrice was watching her, and she felt a twinge of awkwardness. “Um…yeah, sure.”

When Jayne cut the call, Beatrice asked, “Is Rob on his way?” There was a knowing smile on her face.

“Well, we’re meeting at the house.” Now Jayne felt even more awkward. Rob and Beatrice had been close friends from way back in prep school, had even dated a little, but both had realized that romance between them was a bad idea, and had decided to keep their relationship platonic. Beatrice was now engaged to Damien, one of her classmates from Cambridge, and they seemed to be suited for each other just as well as Jayne and Robert were.

Jayne said, “I’m meeting him at the house to pick up the documents for us to sign. I’m sorry for deserting you like this…”

Her business partner shooed her away with another smile. “Off you go, off you go.” She paused and gave a little wink. “Love bird.”

Hoping she wasn’t blushing, Jayne muttered a goodbye and left.

Read Part 1 here

Don't want to wait? Pre-order the book now (release date is June 30th)!

As some of you may know, I shared my free romance novella When I See Your Face as a daily serial on my blog in 2017. You can have a look at it here. Now it's time for another book to be published as a free daily read.

I'm excited to share the romantic suspense novel Forbidden - Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) with you all, once again coauthored with Amazon-bestselling author Mike Wells. Stay tuned for a post on each weekday!
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​It's been almost a year since Lady Eleanor Sotheby leaped from a hotel balcony into the abyss. Jayne Clark is now living an entirely new life in Oxford, England, with Robert Astor, the man she loves. The horrific memories are finally starting to fade.

That's when the malicious envelope arrives in the mail.

It's a blackmail letter.  
​
And the criminal behind it threatens to destroy everything.
​

Prologue
 
Geneva, Switzerland
 
Spite.

Resentment.

Rage.

These were the emotions cloying the air as the shocking blackmail letter slowly took form. The text had already been composed, on the plane to Geneva, Switzerland, written in pencil on a legal pad with many corrections until the tone and language were perfect. The damning letter was sophisticated yet nasty at the same time. Oh yes, it would achieve the desired results.

Now, hunched over a desk in a Swiss hotel room, the blackmailer was using a pair of tweezers to painstakingly glue individual letters, cut from British tabloid newspapers, onto a blank sheet of paper. Of course, in these modern times there were other ways to send such a missive—safer ways, perhaps—but the impact would not have been as powerful. Even half finished, the letter was shocking simply in its appearance, with the different type fonts and colors, some letters in capitals and others in lower case, arranged in not-quite-straight lines across the paper. There was something vicious about the way it looked, as if the person sending it were slightly deranged, and perhaps dangerous.

This was good. This was very good.

Also on the hotel room desk were two high quality color photos that had been torn from tabloid newspapers. According to the captions, one picture showed “international socialite Celeste Sotheby” frolicking on the beach with one of her young lovers. The other photo, from an article that had been published a year later in the same tabloid, also appeared to show Celeste Sotheby in the companionship of a man—in this picture, she was sitting next to her “fiancé,” the young, dashing British aristocrat Robert Astor. They were dining together at a Paris restaurant, a few months before their wedding. Such a lovely couple, exchanging adoring glances, oozing money and status from every pore.

But there was a big, delicious secret, a secret that no one in the world except Robert and his family knew about. The smiling, well-dressed girl sitting there next to Robert Astor was not Celeste Sotheby but a girl who simply looked exactly like Celeste. Said girl was, in fact, Jayne Clark, a nobody from Wichita, Kansas. Separated at birth, Jayne was Celeste’s twin sister.

This mysterious twin had come over from America, to her sister’s rescue, because her stupid sibling had gotten herself pregnant by another man while engaged to Robert Astor. Jayne had posed as Celeste while the real Celeste was hidden away in Southern France and secretly gave birth to the child.

Such a devious plan, one had to admit that.

But alas, the wedding had never taken place. Jayne and Robert had fallen in love, and apparently, even though the bitch had scammed him by impersonating her sister, he had forgiven her and they were now quietly living together in Oxford, England.

She and Robert were going to pay, or the whole world would know about their sordid past.

If you studied the two tabloid photos very closely, side-by-side, with the aid of a magnifying glass, there was one slight but crucial anatomical difference between the two females in the photos. This subtle difference had been highlighted with bright red circles of magic marker, courtesy of the criminal mind so diligently at work at the moment.
 
* * *
 
The following afternoon, the blackmailer entered Terminal 3 of Heathrow International Airport pulling a carry-on, wearing dark sunglasses, a stylish hat, and a light knee-length coat. To the casual observer, the outfit did not look like a disguise but rather like the attire of an air traveler with bad taste who was trying to appear chic.

The damning letter, addressed with a computer-printed label and affixed with two self-adhesive postage stamps, was inside the coat pocket. A piece of blank paper was folded in half around it so that it would not have to be touched with bare fingers, which might leave prints on the envelope. Wearing gloves in the airport, in June, would attract too much attention—even bad taste would not account for that.

The mastermind behind this wicked plan casually headed towards the post office, but not without some hesitation. The CCTV cameras scattered everywhere around the airport would not be a problem, because only the police could access their recordings. Although Jayne would immediately tell Robert about the letter when she received it, neither Robert nor his socially-prominent parents—the esteemed Lord and Lady Astor—could afford to get the police involved. If they did that, all bets were off. Robert Astor would most likely hire a private detective to investigate. The risks were minimal.

On the other hand, if caught, extortion was a serious crime—in the UK, you could go to jail for up to fourteen years if convicted for it.

A few minutes later, the criminal entered the post office.

...with a pounding heart, approached the letter box...

There were a few annoyed-looking people standing in line at the counters.

…no one paying any attention...

This is it, the blackmailer thought. Once I push this envelope through the slot, there’s no turning back.
​
​
Don't want to wait? Pre-order the book now (release date is June 30th)!

The FORBIDDEN series continues!
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Some of you may know that I have coauthored a romantic suspense series with Amazon-bestselling author Mike Wells from America. The FORBIDDEN Trilogy was exciting new territory for me (I'll share my coauthoring experiences soon), and I'm happy to announce that Mike and I have been working on its sequels ever since its release. Book 4, titled Lady Sotheby's Curse, is now available for pre-order. Release day is June 30th.

A click on one of the following links will take you to the book: Amazon, GooglePlay, Apple iBooks, B&N Nook, Kobo, Smashwords
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​If you haven't read the FORBIDDEN series yet, here's your chance to catch up: You can either download Book 1 for free and then get the other two books or buy all 3 books in one.
Book 1 as a free download
Forbidden - Books 1, 2 and 3

And while we're talking about free books - how about some more freebies by my awesome coauthor Mike Wells? They're a great way to get hooked on his series. You can find the download links here.

☆.•°*°•.☆ Welcome to the ROMANCE SPRING INTO SUMMER Facebook Hop hosted by Book Boyfriend Bed Hop & Shannyn Leah ☆.•°*°•.☆

There are 40 authors/bloggers giving away amazing PRIZES, and this hop will run each weekend for the month of MAY!

- 4 Hops (one each weekend)
- 10 Authors in each Hop.
- Altogether over 50 PRIZES including a prize from each author on their Facebook page, 2 grand prize “Gift Baskets” at the end of EACH hop where the winner will get a book from each author (10 books) sent directly to their kindle!

Make sure you visit ALL participating authors to increase your chances at winning some great prizes! Plus, when you make it to the end, you will get the link to the Amazon Gift Card Rafflecopter!

You’re currently on my website for your chance to win a free copy of my 1st royal romance novel The Prince's Special Bride.

Here’s what you have to do to be eligible:

1. LIKE my page
2. Comment below on this post!!!

After you have entered my awesome giveaway, “hop” on over to the next author’s page! You will be visiting Soraya Naomi. Click this link for more chances to win great prizes!!

If you get lost, you can find the entire list of participating author/bloggers here: http://www.shannynleah.com/free-books-and-giveaways.php

Thanks and good luck everyone!

*Facebook is in no way responsible for any of the contests included in this hop*
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