On the day David entered first grade, his mother told him that he was now the man in her life—and from that day on, she’d treated him as such. She told him all about her life, cried on his shoulder about anything that upset her, and expected him to handle problems. By the time he was eight, David was dealing with tradesmen and the servants who ran the big house that had been in his father’s family for generations.
When his mother told David he was to marry Miss Pommy’s daughter, on principle, he’d wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t bear his mother’s crying fits that could go on for days—or however long it took before she got what she wanted. But then, David had known Ariel and her mother all his life, and to him, their house was a haven of sanity. Yes, Miss Pommy wanted everything around her under her control, but she gave warning before she attacked. She told people under her charge what she wanted and if they didn’t do it, there were consequences. David had never once seen her cry, and a lack of tears was a relief to him.
To David, Ariel was just like her mother. In all their years together, he’d never seen Ariel cry. She made up her mind about what she wanted, then went after it.
But the problem was that Ariel had decided she wanted an old man, R. J. Brompton. David had disliked him from the moment he’d seen him. Brompton was a man experienced in the world and in the ways of women—all the things that David wasn’t, and all the things he despised. David had only seen his father six times in his life, but Brompton reminded him of the man. Ruthless, experienced, without conscience. Not wanting to be like his father had been a driving force in David’s life.
The other force in his life had been the love he bore for Ariel. In school, David had been president of every class since he was in the fifth grade. He was always on the honor role. He was the captain of the football team. At graduation, he was voted both “best looking” and “most likely to succeed.” Since he was a child, he’d been confident and self-assured. “My little man,” his mother called him.
But when he got around Ariel, he was a blithering idiot. She was like a princess living in her richly decorated house with her elegant mother, never going to school with the other children, never wearing clothes that had been made for anyone but her. Ariel had never owned a pair of jeans.
His friend Wesley said David loved Ariel because she was unobtainable. “All the other girls are writing their phone numbers on your arm, but Ariel says, ‘Are you here again?’ You love it.”
Maybe so, David thought. But whatever it was, he’d been her slave since they were kids—and Ariel had treated him as such. When they were children she’d give him a list of what she needed, things such as one-inch-diameter wheels, transparent fabric, and glitter. He’d swallow his embarrassment and get what she wanted, then he’d sit in silence as she used the set of miniature tools he’d bought her and create little houses for fairies to live in. She never played with him, but she would grant him the honor of allowing him to watch her play.
When he got older, he heard Miss Pommy referred to as “the Queen of Arundel” and Ariel as the princess. “Waiting for the queen to die,” someone would say, then everyone would laugh. Ariel’s family wasn’t the richest in a rich town, but it held the most prestige and the longest lineage.
Sometimes he’d take her to a movie. The other girls would be wearing cheap tank tops that showed their belly buttons, while Ariel would have on a suit that buttoned up to her neck. Her idea of casual was a thousand-dollar pair of slacks and a pristine white shirt. “I just want the best,” David learned to say to Wes and to anyone else who made a comment about Ariel.
It had seemed natural to David to go from being in love with Ariel to wanting a political career. With his ability to persuade people and his belief in the fundamental goodness o
f mankind, he thought he could do some good in the world. And with Ariel’s beauty and style, and her knowledge of manners and etiquette, he could imagine the two of them in the White House together.
Until recently, David thought that it had come to the point that Ariel was going to give in to her mother and marry him. He knew that if he could get her past that hurdle of the actual ceremony, she’d be his. Ariel was a sensual person, a virgin at twenty-four, and he longed to make love to her. He was sure that underneath her protests, she loved him. She didn’t know it, but he did.
But then she told him she’d seen R. J. Brompton and was in love with him. In love with a man she’d just met? After David first heard of her intentions toward Brompton (and he’d worked hard not to go berserk), he’d researched the man and seen what it was that Ariel wanted. She wanted someone she believed could stand up to her mother. That David had charmed Miss Pommy for all his life seemed to make no difference to Ariel.
Unless he wanted to make his love for her known—and risk permanent rejection—David had to go along with whatever Ariel wanted. He’d helped her with her asinine scheme to trade places with her cousin, and had agreed to go to King’s Isle with them. It had been his help that had enabled her to get to Brompton. Did that mean it was David’s fault that they were in the situation they were in now?
But David was a man who believed in looking at the situation as it was, then trying to fix it. He had to work to keep from smiling at what Ariel was saying about hating Brompton, but he knew from experience not to take her side. Ariel liked something to fight against.
“I’m sure he meant well,” David said. “After all, he’s had experience in situations like this.”
“How can anyone have had experience in a situation like this?” she asked. “Unless he’s in the Mafia. Are you trying to tell me that the business world in New York is so cutthroat that bodies in the bathtub are routine?”
“I’m not telling you anything, but I think he’s right about our staying here in this house. We should guard the body. If Phyllis wants to get something out of the freezer for dinner, we need to be here to stop her.”
Ariel whirled on him. “Are you saying that we should stay here in this house all day and just wait?”
“Isn’t that what R.J. said to do? He is—”
“A businessman from New York,” Ariel said. “What does he know?” She held up the two one-hundred-dollar bills R.J. had left with the note. “Do you think this was all the money he had? Did he give us all of it and keep none for himself?”
David made himself more comfortable on the couch, as though he meant to spend the day there. “I guess he thinks he can earn money anywhere, so he doesn’t need what he had secreted away. Remember that he and Sara are workers. You and I are …” He shrugged as though there was no description for them.
“Worthless. Are you saying that you and I are worthless?”
“Not at all. I’m sure that if anyone wanted to host a party, you’d be very valuable. But the fact that everyone on this island seems to hate us—”
“Do they? Or have they been told to stay away from us?”
“Same difference.”
Ariel sat down on the end of the couch. The tips of David’s feet were under her thigh, but he didn’t move. He’d never seen her so upset. “Money!” she said in disgust. “Do you realize that money is the cause of all my problems?”
David frowned. “Do you and Miss Pommy have money problems?”
“Yes!” Ariel said. “She has it all and I have none. If I just had my own money, I could live my own life.” She stood up and David wiggled his toes. “She’s raised me to be as helpless as a footbound woman. My education, such as it is, has carefully prepared me for nothing whatever. I can set a table with twelve pieces of silverware by each plate. Did you know that I have never eaten a banana out of its peel in my life? Knife and fork only. Usually all fruit is cut up for me.”