Chapter 2: The East Wing

Ivy

I made it to the bathroom with a second to spare.

I knelt on the cold marble tile and tried to throw up, but nothing came up, because there was nothing in my stomach. Two spoons of bisque, that was all I'd had. When it stopped, I stayed on the floor with my forehead on the toilet seat, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

My eyes were swollen and almost shut. Everything ached. I'd slept maybe two hours.

I went back to the bedroom. His side of the bed was flat. The pillow still had the crease from when the maid fluffed it yesterday morning.

He hadn't come in. Not even to change his wet clothes. 

I touched his pillow. Cold.

Downstairs, a familiar voice carried up through the house.

"Nobody stares at the scar. Nobody says the word cancer. Nobody asks her where she's been. Nobody even talks to her longer than is needed. Is that understood?"

Adrian

I pulled an oversized cardigan over my silk nightdress, wrapping it tight around myself, and tiptoed to the top of the staircase. 

The main hall was full. Mrs. Pell and the maids, both chefs, the gardeners, the drivers, security, the girl who did the flowers. Twenty-two people in two straight rows on the ground floor, and Adrian in front of them in a fresh suit with his hair still wet.

So he'd showered somewhere else. The guest suite. Or the pool house. Anywhere away from me.

Theo stood next to him with his tablet, looking like he hadn't slept either. "Boss, her car leaves for the airport at nine forty. Dr. Albrecht and two nurses arrive at noon. East wing ready by one." He scrolled. "Oh, and... Hayes Holdings accepted the harbor gala invitation, sir. Their chairman's office confirmed a table this morning."

A quiet rustle went through the line of staff. Even the head gardener glanced up. 

Hayes Holdings never went to public events. Every major family in Halden had been courting them for a decade; the Wolcotts most of all. 

Adrian almost smiled. "Good. Really good. Tell my father's office."

Just then, Theo's tablet started ringing. He looked at the screen and his face went blank. "It's your father, sir. From Tokyo."

"Not now."

"That's the fourth time he’s calling this morning"

Adrian snatched the tablet out of Theo's hand. In his haste, his thumb hit the speaker icon.

"I hear you're bringing a dead woman home." Charles Wolcott. Calm as always.

"Dad, you're on speaker."

"Then let them hear it.” The old man cut in coldly. “A dying woman can't give you a child, Adrian. You turn thirty-five in eleven months. On that day I retire, and if there's no Wolcott heir in that house, the charter gives my chair to Graham. My brother. In my chair." He paused, "I'd rather burn the company to the ground than let it happen."

Nobody in the hall moved.

"We'll talk when you land." Adrian ended the call and shoved the tablet back at Theo. "Back to work. All of you."

The rows broke up. Two maids walked past the foot of the stairs, heads together.

"Is she really that sick? I mean, the Celeste lady"

"Shh.. She'll hear."

They meant me. They both looked up, saw me on the landing and hurried off.

Mrs. Pell didn't hurry. She looked right at me. At my hand.

My hand was on my stomach. I hadn't even noticed. I dropped it quickly.

Eleven months. I counted on the banister. My baby would come in the spring. Months before his birthday.

Everything his father wanted, and it was sitting in a box in Adrian's coat.

SHit!! The box! His coat!!

I scurried down the back stairs to the closet by the side door. Not there. Not in the cloakroom. Not in the mudroom. I ran up to his study, my heart going way too fast. The door was open. The room was empty. And Celeste's photo was gone from his desk.

From the window I watched his car drive out at nine forty. Adrian in the back seat. In the navy coat. He had worn it. Fuck! Had he checked the box? Was it still in his coat?

"Ma'am?"

Mrs. Pell, in the kitchen doorway. I was sitting on the staff stool by the window. I didn't remember walking there.

She put a cup down in front of me. The sharp, spicy scent of ginger and raw honey drifted up.

I looked up at her.

"My sister was the same with both of hers," she said quietly. "The first three months are the worst."

I paused, stunned. “Wh.. what are you talking about?”

She did not answer. She simply looked down at my stomach and then back at me and it was clear to me. She knows. She fucking knows that I am pregnant.

My eyes stung. "Please don't tell..."

"I haven't seen a thing, ma'am." She bowed slightly and went back to the stove.

I spent the next two hours on the east wing. I made the beds myself. Irish linen, a cashmere throw, every window open to the sea, lemon water by the pillow. Maybe because she was dying, whatever else she was. Maybe because if I stopped moving, I'd fall apart in front of the staff. I was holding myself together strongly even though deep inside, my soul was crushing violently.

At five past one, the car came back up the drive. They had returned. 

The staff lined up on the front steps again. I stood at the end of the line. Nobody told me to move.

The driver opened the back door. Adrian got out first and held out both hands, and a woman in white took them.

Celeste!

She was thinner than her photo, and prettier. Dark hair in perfect waves. A clear oxygen tube under her nose. She stood up leaning on him, one hand flat on his chest, and he bent down and said something to her I couldn't hear.

I'd never seen him look at anyone like that. So delicate, so tender. Not at our wedding. Not on my birthday. Not once. Not ever!

Celeste slowly lifted her head, her dark eyes scanning the steps. She bypassed the maids, the cooks, and the drivers, her gaze landing directly on me. 

She smiled.

"You must be Ivy," Celeste said softly, her voice delicate as glass. "Thank you so much for keeping my home warm for me."