Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
E stelle was too jittery to let anyone else drive to Manhattan.
“Why don’t you let me take the wheel for a while?” Sam suggested on the ferry between Nantucket and Hyannis, adjusting her winter hat on her head as Darcy, Aria, and Hilary grabbed tea from the little coffee shop aboard the vessel. Snow whirred down on the other side of the window, dramatic and thick, and the ocean looked frothy and not at all welcoming. It was hard to believe that this was the same ocean in which Estelle had swum every day all summer long, grabbing sweet release as a big, beautiful sun beat down upon her island.
“Don’t worry about it,” Estelle said, giving her daughter a look that meant don’t ask again. “I want to focus on the big interview. Driving helps.”
Sam raised her shoulders. Darcy waddled over with a big smile and two teas, one of which she handed to her mother. Her eyes were electric. “Thanks again for the invitation, Grandma,” she said. “The city is so magical at Christmastime.”
Hilary bounded up with a big smile. Estelle guessed she was dieting heavily for her upcoming wedding, which meant very few Christmas cookies and very few glasses of wine. But Hilary was effervescent with joy.
“It’s rare that Mom lets us into her writing world,” she said of Estelle, her eyes on her.
Estelle waved her gloved hand.
But it was true that she was surprised she’d invited her daughters and granddaughters along for the ride at all. (Of course, she’d passed the invite on to Charlie’s wife and daughters, but they hadn’t been available.) She wondered why she’d done it. Did it speak to a general fear she had around meeting Penelope Albright? Did it speak to her inability to travel such a long distance by herself?
No, she realized now.
The reason she’d invited her daughters and theirs, she decided, was because of the story of Natasha and Vivian. She wanted to keep her loved ones close. She wanted them to know just how dear they were to her.
And she’d imagined them strolling the sunny snow-capped streets of Manhattan, gossiping and laughing, lost in the beauty of their surroundings and the love they had for each other.
The horn blew shortly thereafter. There was an announcement. “Please return to your vehicles. We’ll soon be in Hyannis Port.”
Estelle led her little squad downstairs and back to Sam’s SUV, which was big enough for the five of them to sit comfortably. Estelle clambered in front and turned on the heat as Darcy got comfortable in the middle seat by herself. Because of her pregnancy, it was decided that the other three would cram in the back. Darcy glowed and rubbed her hands together.
“Remember, I’m happy sitting in a coffee shop downtown and watching pedestrians go by,” Darcy said of their upcoming trip. “I don’t want to hold anyone back from shopping the entire day away!”
“You won’t hold us back, Darcy,” Aria said with a smile. “You’ll be our homebase.”
“Exactly,” Hilary declared. “After I drive myself crazy at the makeup counter, I’ll come cry to you over a little dessert and a cappuccino.”
“It’s a deal.” Darcy beamed.
The ferry creaking against the concrete side activated Estelle’s anxiety. With her hands on ten and two, she drove them carefully down the ferry ramp and out of the harbor. The snow continued to whirl, but Sam’s windshield wipers worked sensationally well, and the other drivers on the road were driving safer than usual. Nobody wanted an accident this close to Christmas.
The entire five-hour drive went by without a hitch. Estelle was so nervous about approaching the meeting with Penelope Albright that she decided to go slower. She half prayed for a traffic jam just to give herself a little more time to think and breathe. But before she knew it, she drove through skyscrapers as Darcy, Aria, Sam, and Hilary took photographs of snowy Manhattan, oohing and aahing about how sensational it looked.
Estelle had booked their rooms in the iconic Lucerne Hotel near Central Park on the Upper West Side. After a quick exchange with a valet driver, she handed over Sam’s keys and led them into the lobby. Just like the last time she was here, the receptionist recognized her. “Estelle Coleman! Welcome back. I’m so pleased to be the one to welcome you.”
Estelle felt her granddaughters’ gazes and felt a jolt of pride. Once, Sam had told Estelle what an inspiration Estelle was. She’d said, “Women your age don’t often go after their dreams anymore. I love that my daughters can look at you and realize it’s never too late.” Estelle’s heart had swelled. She’d thought, I want my granddaughters to know that age is just a number.
She imagined they were thinking it now, too.
The receptionist handed them key cards and asked the bellhops to take their suitcases up to their tenth-floor suites. One was for Aria and Hilary, another was for Sam and Darcy, and the final was for Estelle, who needed space and quiet to write.
“Are you off for your meeting?” Sam asked Estelle right before she ducked inside and closed the door behind her.
“I’ll leave in about a half hour,” Estelle said, checking her phone for the time.
“Good luck,” Sam said. “Let me know if you need anything?”
Estelle smiled. She hadn’t yet explained the specifics of her meeting with Penelope Albright to Darcy or Sam, probably because of how nervous she was. The minute she mentioned “Albright” to Darcy, she knew Darcy would be out of her mind with excitement, peppering Estelle with questions about the Albright fortune and the fifth heir.
Vivian Morceau.
Estelle entered her suite and freshened up before her departure. Looking at herself in the mirror, she fixed her makeup, added blush, and fine-tuned her eyebrows. Right before she finished, she checked the jacket of her novel—the one that had sold international rights in Paris—to see if she resembled the author photo inside it. According to her agent, Penelope Albright had asked that Estelle bring a copy of this novel and autograph it for her. The photo had been taken five years ago. Now, Estelle looked the same but slightly older. Her hair was the same dyed color. Her eyes were lined and big.
Estelle packed her purse with the novel, donned her winter coat, hat, and gloves, and took the elevator downstairs. Although she’d initially envisioned herself in a cab, pumping herself up for her big discussion with Penelope, she’d been surprised to learn that Penelope’s gorgeous penthouse apartment was just two blocks from the hotel. She could walk.
Estelle paused at the street corner, waiting for the light to change. Something caught her eye. She turned to see Darcy, Aria, Hilary, and Sam just three blocks away, moving together happily, smiling at the Christmas decorations. It was bizarre to see them all together like this and not be among them. Estelle yearned to run after them and join their Christmassy party.
But she had a job to do.
En route to Penelope’s home, Estelle wondered how this “research” might play out in the novel she wanted to write about the lighthouse keeper and his love. Maybe she was too far from the narrative.
Perhaps she was doing all of this out of curiosity.
Maybe she was doing it out of a love for humanity.
She’d never known Natasha or Vivian. But based on what Chuck had told her about them, she knew that Natasha had nearly lost Vivian during the shipwreck.
Now, Vivian was all alone in that retirement facility, eyes vacant and staring at Christmas movie after Christmas movie.
It didn’t seem right.
Were the Albright children to blame?
Estelle found herself at the front door of an old-world apartment building. The doorman wore a traditional brown two-piece outfit and looked at her with kind eyes lined with wrinkles.
“Good afternoon, Madame,” he said.
“Hello. I’m here to see Penelope Albright,” Estelle said, grateful that her voice didn’t waver.
“You’re Estelle? The writer?”
Estelle was surprised that he knew she was coming. Clearly, Penelope or a member of her staff had reported it to him.
The doorman let her inside and gave her instructions on how to reach the elevator. Estelle found it easily and stepped inside to find an elevator operator wearing an old-fashioned outfit.
“Albright?” The elevator operator smiled to show false teeth.
“Thank you,” Estelle said, stepping inside. She could hardly breathe as the elevator went up and up and up to the top.
Estelle had never considered herself a con artist. But wasn’t she here on false pretenses?
Her stomach roiled with fear.
But suddenly, the elevator doors opened right into Penelope Albright’s multimillion-dollar apartment. Of the place, Estelle thought darkly, Some of this money should have been Vivian’s. You wouldn’t have missed it.
She stepped into the marble foyer as the elevator doors closed behind her. Penelope appeared a moment later. She wore a linen outfit and a silk robe that swept out behind her beautifully, and her face was clean and poreless. On her lips, she wore the most incredible color of lipstick Estelle had ever seen. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen anyone with that specific shade of dark red. Maybe it was a signature color that Penelope had made especially for her.
Penelope greeted her. “Estelle Coleman! What a pleasure it is.” Her voice was like a song.
Estelle reached out to shake Penelope’s hand, but Penelope breezed forward and kissed her on both cheeks instead as though she were French.
“The pleasure is mine,” Estelle said, smiling. Her cheeks already hurt. “This is a gorgeous apartment.”
“You really think? I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been here for decades, darling, and I still can’t decide if I want to move to the other side of the park. I’m frozen with indecision!” Penelope giggled and led Estelle deeper into the apartment, into a sunken living room with ornate couches and antique furniture. Estelle wondered if Penelope had taken this furniture from her father after his death.
A Siamese cat sat on a cushion in the corner and glared at Estelle.
It was almost as though the cat knew what Estelle was up to. It seemed to say, You’re a snake. I’m watching you .
“You can’t imagine how excited I was to hear you wanted to interview me,” Penelope said, reaching for a bottle of wine to pour them both glasses.
Estelle didn’t like to drink this early in the day, and she certainly didn’t want to get sloppy during this fake interview. But she accepted the drink, clinked glasses, and let her lips touch the liquid. Penelope didn’t seem to notice her lack of interest in the drink.
Maybe I should have been a spy! Estelle thought, smiling at how silly she felt.
Penelope sat down on the sofa next to the cat and stroked the beautiful creature. Estelle searched the living room for some sign of Penelope’s husband, who, it was rumored, usually lived in Barcelona. Estelle wondered why. Did they not get along?
“I mean, I’m such a fan of yours,” Penelope said.
“I’m a fan of yours, too,” Estelle lied. “I read your book in a single day!”
Penelope gasped. “Estelle Coleman read my book? I can’t believe it!” But her eyes were alight in a way that suggested she believed it. She assumed everyone loved her. She expected everyone loved what she did. Perhaps news of the low sales of her book had bounced off her. Maybe her employees hadn’t even bothered to tell her.
She had so much money anyway. It didn’t matter.
Estelle pulled her own novel out of her bag and passed it over to Penelope, who gushed, “I’m so glad they told you what I really wanted! A signed copy!” Estelle watched Penelope read what she’d written: “To Penelope, a true talent and a kindred spirit. Yours, Estelle.” Penelope looked up, her eyes filled with tears.
She’s a brilliant faker, Estelle thought. But so am I!
It was likely that Penelope had lied so much in her life that she struggled to know what the truth was at all.
Estelle knew she needed to be careful. She couldn’t jump immediately into the lion’s den. She removed her notebook and her cell phone and smiled. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”
Penelope swept her hand over her cat. “Who is my character, exactly?” Penelope asked, smiling. “My agent said you’re modeling her after me. But what’s her narrative?”
“She’s a complicated woman. She’s been through a great deal in her life,” Estelle said delicately, turning on the voice recorder on her phone. Sam had shown her how to operate it earlier that week.
Penelope nodded and furrowed her brow. It was clear that she thought she was complicated, too. “Yes,” she said with an ironic laugh. “That sounds about right.”
“Generally, the public has a different perception of her,” Estelle said, spoon-feeding Penelope what she wanted to hear. “They think, because of her father, she’s been handed everything on a silver platter.”
Penelope scoffed. “It’s not true.”
“Exactly,” Estelle said, clicking her pen and writing a bunch of gibberish on her pad. If Penelope asked about it, Estelle would lie and say her handwriting was impossible to read. “But that’s why I wanted to talk to you in person. I need to know more about you as a woman. What’s behind that gorgeous face and this sensational apartment? What’s behind your award-winning novel? Who is Penelope Albright?”
Penelope looked like she might melt with happiness. “I’ll tell you who Penelope Albright is,” she said. “She’s a woman who’s pushed herself through every conceivable limitation. She’s a heartbroken woman who’s lost so much. She’s…”
Estelle remained focused, making random notes to herself as Penelope talked on and on. Estelle decided to let her go for nearly forty minutes without interruption. Only once did she stop so she could refill a glass with wine. The cat stared at Estelle as though it dared her to make one false move.
But Estelle was ready when the time came.
Penelope had just hit on the subject of her mother. “When Mom passed away, that really forced me to reckon with who we’d been to one another.” Penelope’s eyes went to the window. “I don’t know if any of this should go in your book…”
Estelle waved her hand. “You’ll have a final say on the book. Don’t worry.”
Penelope nodded. “My mother and Iwent many years without talking. We grew so angry with one another. Once, she threw a vase at my head. It smashed into a million pieces. It cost twenty-five thousand dollars!” She laughed wryly. But then silence fell between them. Maybe Penelope was lost in thought, thinking about the cruelty of her mother, of that vase across the floor.
Estelle’s stomach churned. “How old were you when your mother and father got divorced?”
“I was an adult,” Penelope said. “But it still ripped me apart. My father wasn’t always a very kind man. I knew he’d really hurt my mother. He’d gone behind her back.”
“He’d had an affair?” Estelle asked. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Natasha Morceau. Would Penelope know her name if she brought it up?
“Rich and powerful men always have affairs,” Penelope said as though she thought Estelle was being naive. “I know that. You know that. But my father did something far worse. He betrayed not only my mother but the entire family. He betrayed everything we’d built our lives upon.”
Is that why you killed him? Estelle wanted to ask.
“Did he get remarried?” Estelle asked, playing the fool.
Penelope snorted and took a long drink of wine. If Estelle wasn’t mistaken, she was pretty sure Penelope was quite drunk.
“He never had the time,” Penelope said.
“Why is that?” Estelle searched Penelope’s face for signs of pain but found only ruthlessness.
Penelope stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek. She no longer looked like a rich and beautiful older woman. Rather, she looked drunk and half crazy.
Estelle realized Penelope wasn’t fully ready to talk about the shipwreck yet. She decided on another tactic.
“What about your siblings? Were they angry about your father’s affair?” Estelle asked.
Penelope gulped more wine. “They were even angrier than me,” she said with a cackle. “My older brother was the angriest. He was the one who figured out just how evil our father’s plan was.”
Estelle thought of Roland, learning about Chuck’s affair and second family. She itched to take a drink of her own wine to calm her nerves but held herself back.
“What is the name of your older brother?” Estelle asked. She wanted everything to be on tape.
“Nathanial Albright,” Penelope said automatically. “He discovered that my father was going to marry a woman from nothing. Can you believe that?”
“How awful,” Estelle lied. She was so close now. How could she get Penelope to go all the way? “Who was this woman? Did you ever meet her?”
“Thank goodness, no,” Penelope scoffed. “Our father tried to get us all to meet a few times, but we refused.”
You broke your father’s heart , Estelle thought then.
“She was much younger, I take it?”
“She wasn’t so much older than me,” Penelope remembered. She reached for the bottle of wine and refilled her glass. How many had she had so far? Estelle had lost count. Before she knew what was happening, Penelope tipped the bottle toward Estelle, demanding that she put more in Estelle’s glass, too. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed that Estelle had barely drunk anything. Good, Estelle thought as Penelope filled her glass nearly to the brim. She wants to pretend to be a good host. I’ll let her.
“Did he meet her in Manhattan?” Estelle asked.
Penelope glowered at Estelle for a split second. Estelle felt a rush of fear.
“I believe he met her in France,” Penelope said, taking a breath. “She was half Russian, half French. They could hardly communicate. Well, maybe my father spoke a little French, but not a lot.” She furrowed her brow. “He certainly wasn’t a linguistical genius. That’s for sure. But my father was all over the place. Constantly traveling. I’m sure he had countless other mistresses. What made this one so special? My mother was heartbroken. She didn’t leave bed for weeks when she heard about her.”
Suddenly, Penelope launched into a story about her mother and her sister, a story that had nothing to do with Estelle’s plot. A few minutes passed. Estelle’s thoughts scrambled. How could she guide Penelope back to the shipwreck? Back to Natasha and Vivian? Her phone continued to record; that was good. But she hadn’t thought to ask Sam if there was a time limit on these things. What if it ran out?
“Why didn’t your father marry this woman?” Estelle asked, trying to keep her voice easy and small.
Penelope snorted. “I thought you were here to interview me about my life, Estelle Coleman. Why do you want to know so much about Natasha Morceau?”
Estelle nearly had a heart attack. She looked down at her squiggly notes and at her phone and wondered if there was a way to get out of the apartment building if she needed to. Or would the doormen lock her in the lobby until Penelope had her arrested?
But I haven’t done anything wrong. Not really. I’ve just listened to a lonely woman talk and talk.
Penelope continued to glare at Estelle. Estelle didn’t know what to do. Her hands were clammy.
“I’m sorry,” Estelle stuttered, fixing a smile across her face. “I’m just trying to get the whole picture. You know? I want to understand the entire background. The entire story of your life.”
But suddenly, Penelope burst into laughter. Her stomach bounced, and she swung her head to and fro. Tears sprang from her eyes. “You should see your face,” Penelope cried. “You look so scared! Like I’m going to eat you or something!” Penelope continued to bark with laughter. “Come on, Estelle. I’m just teasing you.”
Estelle thought she was going to collapse. She’d really thought it was over, then. But Penelope was playing with her like a cat to a mouse. She joined Penelope in her laughter and smacked her knee a few times. I don’t know if I can keep doing this , she thought. I’m in over my head.
But then Penelope continued. “My father didn’t ever marry that horrible home-wrecker Natasha because he died.” She said it easily as though she were talking about the weather.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Estelle said.
“He drowned, actually,” Penelope offered without Estelle prying. “Maybe you read about the shipwreck? It was off the coast of one of those islands. One of the ones you always write about in your books.” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know. My family never vacationed there. We always went to Europe or the Caribbean. Maybe it was Nantucket?”
It was Martha’s Vineyard, but Estelle did not tell her. She feigned ignorance and shock. “A shipwreck?”
Penelope barked with laughter. “Doesn’t it sound horrible? It sounds like something from an old book. Like he went out whaling and never came home. But he was on his multimillion-dollar cruise liner, sailing off for Puerto Rico with his new love and her daughter. Before he left Manhattan, he told his lawyer he wanted to remove me and my brothers and sisters from the will, if you can believe that. Obviously, he wanted my mother removed, as well. But us? His only children? It was heinous.”
Estelle let her jaw hang open. Here we go.
“She had a daughter?” Estelle asked.
Penelope’s eyes shone. “That horrible woman tried to sue our family for rights to the inheritance,” she said. “She said that her daughter was our sister, that she and my father had been having an affair for years and years. Obviously, the lawsuit was thrown out like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Our father was at the bottom of the ocean! There was no way to prove it—unless we agreed to a DNA test, which we most certainly refused to. We wouldn’t give Natasha the time of day.”
Estelle felt all the blood drain from her head. “Was there any chance it was true?”
Penelope raised her shoulders. “Who cares? My father was a horrible man. He got what he deserved. And Natasha and her rug rat got what they deserved, too. I’m sure they’re still broke and alone somewhere, demonizing my family for what we ‘did to them.’” Penelope used air quotes.
Actually, Vivian is nonverbal, and Natasha is nowhere to be found , Estelle did not tell her.
How could she get her to admit to causing the shipwreck?
“Did many people die in the shipwreck?” Estelle asked delicately.
Penelope nodded. “It was a stormy night. I’m told it was like something from a bad movie. The ship went up and over the waves as much as it could before it fell to pieces, apparently. You couldn’t get me on another ship for years after that. Planes are fine; I can knock myself out with pills for a few hours. But a ship? A sailboat? All that time over the black ocean? No thanks.”
Estelle grimaced. She noticed that Penelope’s wine was nearly empty again. Was Penelope aware of what she said at this point? Or had she drunk so much that she would blabber about anything? Just in case, Estelle grabbed the bottle and topped Penelope off. Penelope’s smile was loose and big.
“What did your siblings think?” Estelle asked. Maybe one of them had confessed? Perhaps Estelle needed to interview each of them?
Maybe this investigation was going to take longer than she’d planned.
“My siblings?” Penelope cackled. “Well, let’s just say some of us were more shocked than others.”
Ding, ding, ding! Estelle thought.
“What do you mean?” Estelle asked, playing dumb.
“How do I put this?” Penelope tilted her head back and opened her lips. “You said you wanted the entire picture of my life. Nothing held back?”
“It’s for the good of the book,” Estelle reminded her.
“It’s fiction,” Penelope said in a harsh whisper. “Right?”
“I’m a fiction writer,” Estelle said. It wasn’t a lie.
“I feel safe around fiction writers,” Penelope said. “But my life is stranger than fiction.”
Estelle leaned toward her. She wanted to urge her along. She wanted a confession.
“We were friendly with the captain of the cruise ship,” Penelope said then, her eyes illuminated.
Thirty seconds passed. Penelope wagged her eyebrows as though hoping Estelle would get her hint. But Estelle needed a verbal confession.
Penelope added softly, “We’d known him for years. We knew he could be bought.”
“Did the captain survive the shipwreck?” Estelle asked.
“He did,” Penelope offered. “But let’s just say he knew what was coming.”
Estelle’s lips formed a big round O. Under her breath, she asked, “How could he have staged something like that?”
Penelope’s eyes were sharp crystals. Suddenly, they dropped down to Estelle’s cell phone. In a harsh voice, she demanded, “Are you recording?”
Estelle felt as though she’d been smacked. Fear pressed against her chest. Could she lie?
“I always record my interviews,” Estelle stuttered. “I never show them to anyone.”
But Penelope’s face had lost its drunken sloppiness. She was on her feet, towering over Estelle in her stilettos. Estelle was suddenly very aware of how far off the ground she was.
“I’ll turn it off,” Estelle said hurriedly, reaching for her phone to stop the recording.
Penelope extended her fingers. She wanted the phone. Estelle gaped at her. She had no plans to hand it over. Was Penelope really going to insist?
They remained like that for nearly a minute—Estelle on the sofa and Penelope towering over her. She still hadn’t offered a concrete confession; she’d only hinted at her and her siblings’ involvement in the shipwreck. She’d hinted that the captain knew the accident was coming.
But suddenly, Penelope burst into laughter again. It was ominous and clown-like, and it made Estelle’s blood run cold.
“Look at us!” Penelope said, smacking her palms on her thighs. “I can’t believe I still get so upset over my father’s stupid bastard child. She’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere. And look at me here? Look at everything I have. I basically run this city. I’m the legitimate daughter of Roger Albright. I’m his legacy. Everything I touch turns to gold.”
Estelle laughed nervously and shoved her phone into her purse. She hadn’t gotten that last part on the record, but, to her, it was Penelope’s confirmation that Vivian was their little sister. Vivian was a real Albright.
Maybe there was another way to confirm that the children had paid the captain to sink the boat. Perhaps the “confession” she’d recorded was already enough?
Estelle rerouted their interview back to the subject of Penelope Albright and her “glittering successes.” Penelope was pleased to chat more about her own brilliance. Estelle took more gibberish notes and even drank half a glass of wine to calm her nerves. She told herself to stay just another thirty minutes—enough time for Penelope to forget about their jagged exchange.
After that, Estelle thanked Penelope for her time, shook her hand, and promised she’d send her the book “first thing” when it was finished.
“I need a final say on everything,” Penelope said in singsong as she walked to the elevator. “My name and my legacy mean everything to me.” She pressed the button for the lift and touched Estelle’s shoulder. Her smile was sinister and beautiful, showing too many of her very white teeth. “Just remember, Estelle Coleman. My lawyers are the most powerful in Manhattan and, therefore, the most powerful in the world. If you try to mess with me, I’ll flatten you like a pancake.”
Estelle felt her heart drop into her stomach.
The elevator doors opened. The elevator operator bowed and said, “Good evening, Ms. Albright.”
Was it already evening? Estelle had lost track of time. She met Penelope’s gaze a final time and stepped into the elevator.
“Thanks again,” Estelle said in a shaky voice.
“Ta-ta!” Penelope said as the doors closed between them.
Estelle thought she was going to faint.
“She’s a fabulous woman, isn’t she?” the elevator operator clucked.
“She’s one of a kind,” Estelle breathed. “That’s for sure.”
But what was she going to do about it?
Was Estelle really brave enough to take her and the rest of the Albrights down—for the sake of Vivian and Natasha?
Was it even possible?