“I told her I wanted to see John. She suggested I wait in here, that he’d be back soon. Of course, I’ve waited for him many times in his office. I would have thought she’d tell me that you were here, but she didn’t.”

“That’s because,” Albia said, as she took a step toward Nick, “she doesn’t know I’m here.”

Nick forced herself not to move an inch. “How did you get in?”

Albia smiled at her, waved a graceful hand in dismissal. “When John took the lease on this building some ten years ago, he had the architect design a private entrance that led only to this office. Most people in his position have alternate ways of leaving their offices, in circumstances just like this one. I wonder why John didn’t tell you about the private entrance? I wonder—perhaps when it came right down to it, he didn’t really trust you, Nicola. Perhaps he did come to believe that you really were sleeping with Elliott Benson. You know, of course, that Elliott has always wanted any woman that John has, and vice versa, I might add. It’s been a competition between them since before they went to college. And they pretend to be close friends. Did you know that Elliott was in love with Melissa, the girl John was engaged to? Turns out she wanted both of them, stupid girl. She slept with both of them until she died in that car accident. It was a terrible thing for my poor brother.”

“Did he know she was sleeping with Elliott?”

“I have no idea. As for Elliott, I don’t know what he felt about Melissa’s death. It was a very long time before John became seriously interested in another woman. But he did, finally, and he and Cleo married. It wasn’t long before Elliott got to Cleo, screwed her brains out, and everyone knew—but not John, not until after she left. I suppose she was sleeping with Tod Gambol, too, since he left when she did.”

“But everyone knows now that she didn’t run away with anybody, Albia. Someone murdered her. And buried her, hoping her body would never be found.”

“Isn’t that interesting? Nicola, did you sleep with Elliott Benson?”

Nick didn’t answer her immediately. She was remembering how she once wondered how John had arrived at his office without her seeing him. A hidden private exit, what a good idea. Nick said, “Sleep with Elliott Benson? That’s a novel thought. Another man old enough to be my father. Oh, he’s as polished as an Italian count, as sleek as both you and John, but I’ll tell you the truth, Albia. Whenever I see him I am reminded of a Mafia movie character with his pomaded hair and his expensive Italian suits. Whenever he looks at me, speaks to me, I want to go take a bath.”

“Cleo didn’t think he was bad at all. To be honest about this, I didn’t believe so either, at least not at first. Yes, he was my lover for a time as well. Too bad it wasn’t because he adored me, no, he just wanted something else that belonged to John. I suppose I’m included in that group. And, fact is, he’s not a very good lover. Sure, he maintains his body well, and says all the right things, but he’s selfish. He’s used to expensive call girls who lick the bottoms of his feet if that’s what he wants. He has difficulty remembering to give as well as receive when he’s with a woman he isn’t paying. And like I said, the both of them still pretend to be friends. What games men play.”

“Albia, do you think it makes any sense at all to sleep with another man when you’re engaged to be married? Why would you even be engaged if you wanted to sleep around?”

“Any number of women do it all the time. They want the power, the money that marriage would bring them and they want the excitement a lover brings. It’s not a big mystery. Don’t be coy, Nicola.”

Nick walked over to John’s desk, sat down in his big, comfortable leather chair. It steadied her, sitting behind his impressive desk. She picked up a pen and tapped it against the beautiful maple. She remembered Linus Wolfinger doing the same thing until everyone wanted to strangle him. She tapped the pen again, then once again. She said, seeing the look of annoyance on Albia’s face, “Did you spread rumors about me sleeping with Elliott Benson?”

“Of course not. It was common knowledge.”

“I see. How odd that I didn’t know. I do know you are the one who wrote me the letter supposedly from Cleo. It couldn’t be anyone else, and you also wrote with great detail about Melissa.”

Albia was framed by that beautiful window, the sun surrounding her. She looked powerful, otherworldly, her stance, the tilt of her head identical to John’s.

Nick felt the sudden taste of sour bile in her mouth. It tasted like fear, fear of this woman whom everyone saw as an elegant creature they admired and respected, a woman who was powerful in her own right. They didn’t see Albia Rothman as a person who could have started off her adult life murdering someone. For John, for her little brother, whom she adored.