The Good Twin(48)

I heard an intake of breath on the other end. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. You have too much on your plate to have to worry about this, too. But my advice stands. Wait until things settle with your father, and then try to work things out with Ben. Maybe marriage counseling.”

“I’m not doing anything now. Dad’s not going to survive; his doctors were clear on that. When he passes away, I want Ben out. I just need to make sure what our prenup says.”

“Ben gets one million dollars for each year of your marriage, up to a maximum of ten million. But if you have proof of his affair, he gets nothing.”

“What if I have an affair?”

“Are you?”

“Just hypothetical.”

“Then you don’t get any of Ben’s assets.”

Ha! Ben had no assets. Just the piddling amount he’d been able to save from his earnings. I smiled. I wanted Ben to walk away without anything: no money, no job, no future. I wanted Ben to hurt.





CHAPTER 34

The weeks leading up to Christmas were always busy for me. Once the holiday was over, I always took the rest of the week off. Usually, Ben and I took that week to soak up the sun on some Caribbean island, but this year, I wouldn’t leave Dad. By now, we were barely talking, anyway. Today was my first day back at the gallery after New Year’s, and I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on—most pressingly, getting the tax records in order for the gallery’s estimated tax payment, due in less than two weeks. Just before noon, Sandy told me a prospective client was on the line. “Can you take it? I need to get through these figures.”

“She’s insisting on speaking to you.”

Reluctantly, I picked up the phone. “This is Charlotte Gordon. How can I help you?”

“Charly, it’s Mallory. Mallory Holcolm.”

“How can I help you?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . your . . . Wait—didn’t Ben tell you about me?”

My back immediately tensed. Ben’s lover was named Lisa, but maybe he had more than one. Maybe he was seeing several women.

“No,” I answered coolly. “My husband has never mentioned your name.”

There was a hesitation on the line, and then she said, “It’s urgent that I meet with you.”

I opened up my scheduling book. “I could see you tomorrow afternoon. How does three o’clock work?”

“No. I know this is going to sound strange, but I have to see you today. Now. But not at the gallery.”

“Ms. Holcolm, I’m sorry, I can’t get away today at all, but I’m very interested in working with you on your art needs. If it must be today, then my assistant is very talented, and she’d be happy to come to your place.”

“Charly, please.”

Suddenly, her voice sounded different, familiar, as though before she’d been playing with an accent. “Have we met before?”

“I’m at the West Bank Cafe, on West Forty-Second. I have a table in the back, on the left side. You can walk here in fifteen minutes. I have on a black suede hat with a wide brim and sunglasses. Whatever you do, don’t tell Ben.”

I could feel myself start to get angry. “Look, I don’t care for all this cloak-and-dagger. If you have something to say to me, then just say it.”

“I’m not trying to alarm you,” the woman said. “But your life truly depends on meeting me. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.” And then the line went dead.

What was that nonsense about my life? It was nonsense, of that I was certain. Out of curiosity, though, I did a computer search of the name Mallory Holcolm and came up with nothing. Just some crackpot. I picked up my pencil and got back to work, but after five minutes, I realized I couldn’t concentrate. What the hell, I thought as I grabbed my coat. If nothing else, it would be a funny story to tell Dad tonight.



It was freezing outside. When I’d left for work this morning, I hadn’t expected to be traipsing outside in my high-heeled shoes and barely warm wool coat. I’d taken a taxi to the gallery, as I usually did in the winter, and planned to take one to Dad’s when I closed up. Instead, I was pushing past the throngs of pedestrians, holding the collar of my coat up to my neck in an effort to block the wind. I would have taken a cab to the restaurant, but finding one along Tenth Avenue wasn’t easy this time of day, and by the time I spotted one with a vacancy, I was only two blocks away from my destination.

When I stepped inside the café, the young woman behind the register said, “Just one?”

“No. I’m meeting someone already here.”

She nodded for me to go on in, and I headed toward the rear. I spotted a woman in a black hat sitting in the corner and walked over. “I’m here,” I said as I sat down.

She looked at me silently, reached up, and took off her hat, then the sunglasses that covered half her face. I took one look at her and burst out crying. She leaned over and touched my hand.

“It’s okay. I know how you feel.”

“You’re my sister,” I said through my sobs, not as a question. It was obvious.

“I’m your twin. Your identical twin. You didn’t know anything about me, did you?”

“No.” I cried even harder. She stood up and came over to me, then hugged me tightly. When I finally calmed down, I asked, “How? How did you find me?”