Vivian Vale: The House on Briar Hill

Vivian Vale noticed Alexandra before she noticed the lie. That was becoming something of a habit. The dining room at Briar Hill was built for people who wanted their guests to understand, before the soup arrived, that money had been in the family long enough to stop being discussed, with carved walnut paneling, portraits of unsmiling ancestors, silver that probably had its own insurance policy, and a chandelier large enough to illuminate a small cathedral, but none of it interested Vivian nearly as much as the woman sitting three places to her left. Alexandra was twenty-six, with chestnut hair swept loosely over one shoulder, pale green eyes, and an ivory evening dress whose simplicity made every other woman at the table look slightly overdressed. She was beautiful. More importantly, she looked miserable. Beside her sat her husband, Grant, handsome in the polished, expensive way Vivian had learned not to trust automatically, while across from them sat Alexandra's parents, Richard and Celeste Harcourt, the owners of Briar Hill and apparently of everything else within several miles. Celeste Harcourt, glamorous and striking in her late forties, looked more like Alexandra’s impossibly polished older sister at first glance than the mother of a grown daughter. Vivian had spent most of the late afternoon at Briar Hill with Celeste, discussing a new project for the Harcourt charitable foundation, one of several organizations that had occasionally hired Vivian as an independent consultant, and when their meeting ran considerably longer than expected, Celeste had insisted she stay for dinner. “It’s only family tonight,” Celeste had said, as though that made the invitation less intrusive. “Richard will be here, Alexandra and Grant are staying with us, and we have far too much food for four people.” Vivian had intended to decline. Then Celeste had mentioned the wine. So Vivian became the evening’s only guest. Celeste led her into the dining room with one hand lightly at her back. “Everyone, you remember Vivian Vale.” Richard rose halfway from his chair and smiled. “Of course. Celeste has mentioned you often enough that I feel I should send you a Christmas card.” Vivian smiled. “Only if there’s wine with it.” Richard laughed. “Then you’ll fit in perfectly.” Alexandra looked up from her place at the table and offered Vivian a warmer smile than anything else in the room had managed so far. “We met briefly at Mother’s spring fundraiser.” Vivian remembered. “You wore blue.” Alexandra blinked. “You remember that?” “I remember interesting things.” Something faint changed in Alexandra’s expression. Grant stood just enough to be polite and extended his hand. “Grant.” “Vivian.” She shook it. Nothing happened. Her gift did not awaken merely because she touched someone; that required intention, a tiny inward push she had learned to control years ago. His handshake was firm, practiced, and entirely ordinary. For now. Celeste gestured toward the empty place at the table. “Sit beside Alexandra. Richard monopolizes every guest if I let him.” “Only the interesting ones,” Richard said. Vivian took her seat. Alexandra glanced toward her and smiled again. That was when Vivian decided dinner might not be dull after all. Richard raised his glass. “To family.” Everyone drank. Alexandra barely touched hers. Celeste smiled at her daughter. “You'll feel differently once spring comes.” Alexandra looked tired. “I've been hearing that for two springs.” Grant touched her hand. “Alex, we've discussed this.” “Yes. Repeatedly.” Vivian looked between them. Alexandra continued. “We were supposed to live here for six months.” Grant smiled toward Richard. “And financially it makes absolutely no sense to leave.” Metal touched the back of Vivian's tongue. Lie. She lowered her glass. There it was. Alexandra turned toward her husband. “We can afford our own house.” “Of course we can.” “Then stop using money as the excuse.” Grant sighed. “It's not an excuse.” Lie. Vivian took another sip. Alexandra leaned closer. “You don't even like living here.” “I love it here.” Lie. “You complain about my father constantly.” Richard looked up. “I heard that.” Grant laughed. “Privately, Richard.” Richard smiled. “Still counts.” Celeste gave her husband a warning glance. Grant squeezed Alexandra's hand. “I adore your family.” Lie. That one was strong enough that Vivian almost winced. Alexandra pulled her hand away. “Then why do you spend every Sunday morning telling me we need boundaries?” “Because families need boundaries.” Truth. Interesting. “And yet every time I find a house I like, you suddenly discover something wrong with it.” “Because I'm trying to protect us from making an impulsive decision.” Lie. Alexandra stared at him. “You hated the house on Waverly before we even walked inside.” “The neighborhood was wrong.” Lie. “The neighborhood was five minutes from your office.” Grant lifted his wine. “Exactly.” Alexandra shook her head. Celeste interrupted. “Darling, there is plenty of room here.” Alexandra looked toward her mother. “For you.” “For all of us.” “I am twenty-six years old, Mother.” “I know how old you are.” “Then perhaps I would like to live somewhere that does not contain the bedroom I had when I was fourteen.” Richard laughed. Celeste did not. Grant said softly: “We're lucky to be here.” Lie. Vivian put down her fork. Enough. There were lies she could ignore. There were lies that amused her. And then there were lies that seemed to multiply every time the liar opened his mouth. Grant had crossed into the third category. A waiter approached with fresh wine. Vivian stood slightly to let him pass. Grant shifted his chair. Vivian moved behind him. “Oh, I'm sorry.” Her fingers briefly rested against his shoulder. This time, Vivian meant it. She felt the familiar little shift beneath the contact. Barely a second. Grant glanced back. “Not at all.” Vivian smiled. Then returned to her chair. Three minutes. Perhaps five. And suddenly dinner became considerably more interesting. Alexandra was still looking at her husband. “Then tell me something.” Grant swallowed. Vivian saw the moment his body understood something his mind did not. Alexandra continued. “Why do you really refuse to move?” Grant looked at her. “Alex—” “Why?” His mouth opened. He tried to stop it. He failed. “Because your mother is here.” Silence. Alexandra frowned. “What?” Celeste's hand stopped halfway toward her wineglass. Grant stared straight ahead. Alexandra laughed once. “My mother?” “Yes.” “What does my mother have to do with where we live?” Grant's face drained of color. Celeste whispered: “Grant.” Vivian looked toward her. That was interesting. Alexandra turned to her mother. “Why are you looking at him like that?” Celeste said nothing. Alexandra looked back at Grant. “Answer me.” Grant closed his eyes. “Because your mother and I have been sleeping together.” The wineglass slipped from Celeste's hand. It struck the edge of her plate and shattered. Nobody moved. Not the waiter. Not Richard. Not Alexandra. Not even Vivian. Then Richard very slowly turned toward his wife. “What?” Celeste stared at Grant. “You bastard.” Grant whispered: “I didn't want to say it.” Alexandra's face had gone completely blank. She looked at her mother. Then at her husband. Then back again. “You've been what?” Grant shook his head. Alexandra's voice sharpened. “How long?” “Three years.” Richard stood so abruptly his chair struck the wall behind him. “Three years?” Grant covered his mouth. Vivian picked up her wine. This was going to be a very long three minutes. Celeste said quickly: “He's lying.” Vivian tasted metal. Not from Celeste. From Grant. Not yet. Alexandra looked at him. “Is she telling the truth?” “No.” Celeste closed her eyes. Richard stared at his wife. “You've been sleeping with our daughter's husband?” Celeste stood. “Richard, please.” “Answer me.” “This is not what it sounds like.” Vivian nearly smiled. There were few sentences in human language less encouraging than that one. Alexandra turned toward Grant. “Where?” He stared at her. “Don't.” “Where did you sleep with my mother?” “Alexandra.” “WHERE?” “The pool house.” Richard's face changed. “The pool house?” “And the guest apartment.” Celeste whispered: “Stop.” Grant continued helplessly. “Her dressing room twice.” Richard looked genuinely ill. Alexandra said: “Here?” Grant nodded. “In this house?” “Yes.” “While I was here?” “Yes.” Celeste reached toward her daughter. “Alexandra—” Alexandra stepped away. “Do not touch me.” Her mother froze. Alexandra looked at Grant again. “When did it start?” “The summer after we moved in.” Alexandra stared. “You mean the summer you kept telling me we were staying because Dad had just had surgery?” “Yes.” Richard looked toward Grant. “My surgery?” Grant swallowed. “It made the arrangement convenient.” Richard made a sound Vivian could not quite identify. Celeste said: “This has gone far enough.” Alexandra laughed. It was sharp and broken. “No. I don't think it has.” She looked directly at her husband. “Did you love her?” Grant hesitated. “Yes.” Celeste's face crumpled. Richard looked toward his wife. Alexandra whispered: “Do you love me?” Grant looked at her. “Yes.” Nothing touched Vivian's tongue. Truth. Alexandra closed her eyes. Of course. The cruelest truths were rarely simple. “You love me.” “Yes.” “And you've been sleeping with my mother for three years.” “Yes.” “Did she know you still loved me?” “Yes.” Celeste said: “Alexandra, please listen to me.” Alexandra ignored her. “Did you ever intend to leave me for her?” Grant answered: “No.” Celeste stared at him. That one apparently hurt her too. Alexandra saw it. “Oh my God.” She looked at her mother. “You thought he was going to leave me.” Celeste said nothing. Alexandra turned back toward Grant. “Did she?” Grant whispered: “Yes.” Celeste slapped him. Hard. Grant stumbled sideways. Richard said: “Don't you dare act betrayed.” Celeste turned. “You don't understand.” “Then explain it.” “We were unhappy.” Richard laughed bitterly. “We?” Celeste's eyes filled. “For years.” “And your solution was our daughter's husband?” Alexandra pressed both hands against the table. Vivian could see her breathing change. There were too many blows coming too quickly. But she was not finished. “Grant.” He looked at her. “Was that why you didn't want to move?” “Yes.” “You wanted to stay close to her.” “Yes.” “Every house I showed you?” “I found reasons to reject them.” “You deliberately sabotaged every one?” “Yes.” Alexandra nodded slowly. Then came the question Vivian wished she hadn't asked. “Did you sleep with her on our anniversary?” Grant shut his eyes. Celeste whispered: “Oh, God.” Alexandra stared at him. “Did you?” “Yes.” The room disappeared around her. At least that was what it looked like. Richard turned away. Celeste started crying. Grant reached toward Alexandra. She stepped back. “No.” “Alex—” “No.” “I love you.” “I believe you.” That stopped him. Alexandra's voice was strangely calm now. “And somehow that makes you even more disgusting.” Grant flinched. She looked toward her mother. Celeste whispered: “I am so sorry.” Alexandra stared at her. “No, you're not.” “I am.” “You're sorry because I know.” Celeste began shaking her head. “You are sorry because Dad knows.” “No.” “And you're sorry because he just admitted he was never leaving me.” Celeste said nothing. Alexandra gave a small, broken laugh. “That's what hurts, isn't it?” Richard looked at his wife. Celeste lowered her eyes. Alexandra picked up her handbag. Grant stood. “Where are you going?” “Away from you.” “Can we please talk privately?” “No.” “Alexandra—” “And you.” She looked at her mother. “Stay away from me.” Then she walked out. Richard followed several seconds later. Not after Alexandra. Away from Celeste. Vivian remained seated. Two marriages. One touch. That might have been a personal record. Grant stood motionless beside the ruined dinner table. Celeste whispered: “You said you loved me.” Grant looked at her. “I did.” “Did?” Vivian felt the truth window beginning to close. Celeste asked: “Do you still?” Grant hesitated. “Yes.” Then, almost imperceptibly, something changed. The strange pressure around him vanished. Celeste whispered: “Were you ever going to leave her?” Grant looked toward the doorway Alexandra had disappeared through. “No.” Truth. Apparently he did not need the compulsion for that one. Vivian finished her wine. II She found Alexandra in the conservatory. Briar Hill had a conservatory because apparently having seventy rooms was insufficient unless one of them contained citrus trees. Alexandra stood near the glass doors overlooking the dark gardens, arms folded tightly across herself. Vivian approached quietly. “You followed me.” Alexandra didn't turn. “Yes.” “Why?” Vivian considered several answers. “Because you looked like you shouldn't be alone.” Alexandra laughed bitterly. “I've apparently been alone for three years.” Vivian stopped beside her. “That isn't the same thing.” Alexandra finally looked at her. Her eyes were wet. “You were at dinner.” “Yes.” “You heard everything.” “Yes.” “Wonderful.” “I've heard worse.” Alexandra frowned. “Worse than my husband sleeping with my mother?” Vivian thought about it. “Not often.” That got a laugh. Tiny. But real. Alexandra looked back toward the garden. “I wanted to leave this house for three years.” Vivian said nothing. “Every time I found somewhere, Grant found something wrong with it.” “I heard.” “I thought he was afraid of disappointing my parents.” “No.” “No.” Alexandra's voice cracked. “He just wanted easier access to my mother.” Vivian stepped closer. Alexandra wiped beneath one eye angrily. “Don't.” “What?” “Don't look at me like I'm fragile.” “I wasn't.” “You were.” “I was looking at you like someone whose evening went spectacularly badly.” Alexandra gave another involuntary laugh. “That's better.” Alexandra looked at Vivian. “Did you know?” Vivian's expression remained still. “Know what?” “Before he said it.” “No.” That was true. “I knew something wasn't right.” “How?” “Experience.” Alexandra studied her. “You watched him all through dinner.” “Actually, I was mostly watching you.” That silenced her. Vivian held her gaze. Alexandra said softly: “That's a dangerous thing to say to a woman whose marriage ended fifteen minutes ago.” “I didn't say I was sensible.” “You were attracted to me?” “Yes.” “Before?” “Yes.” “Before my husband confessed to sleeping with my mother?” “Considerably before.” Alexandra covered her eyes. “This evening cannot possibly become stranger.” Vivian smiled. “Never challenge an evening like this.” Alexandra laughed again. Then, abruptly, the laughter disappeared. Her shoulders shook. Vivian moved closer. “Alexandra.” “I can't go upstairs.” “Then don't.” “My bedroom is upstairs.” “So?” “My clothes.” “Replaceable.” “My mother is upstairs.” “Much less replaceable, unfortunately.” Alexandra laughed through tears. Vivian opened her arms slightly. Alexandra stared at her. “You do this often?” “What?” “Rescue women from family disasters?” “Not specifically.” “What do you do often?” Vivian smiled faintly. “That answer might be better after you've stopped crying.” Alexandra looked at her for another moment. Then she stepped forward. Vivian held her. No magic. No compulsion. Just warmth. Alexandra rested her forehead against Vivian's shoulder. “I don't want to sleep here tonight.” “Then don't.” “Where am I supposed to go?” “My hotel has excellent sheets.” Alexandra lifted her head. “Was that flirting?” “Possibly.” She stared at Vivian. Then laughed. “You really are unbelievable.” “I've been called worse.” III An hour later, Alexandra stood in Vivian's hotel room overlooking the city, still wearing the ivory dress but carrying her heels in one hand. Vivian poured two glasses of wine. Alexandra accepted one. “This is insane.” “Yes.” “My father is probably calling divorce attorneys.” “Probably.” “My mother is probably blaming Grant.” “Almost certainly.” “My husband is probably blaming alcohol.” Vivian smiled. “Predictable.” Alexandra took a drink. “And I'm in a hotel room with a woman I met at dinner.” “Yes.” “A woman who admitted she was staring at me.” “Yes.” “You don't deny anything.” Vivian's smile changed. “I find life easier that way.” Alexandra looked at her. “I don't.” “No?” “I spent three years denying that my marriage felt wrong.” She placed her wineglass down. “I denied that I hated that house.” Another step closer. “I denied that I resented my mother.” Another. “And I've spent considerably longer denying something else.” Vivian's eyes held hers. “What?” Alexandra smiled faintly. “That women like you make me nervous.” Vivian's voice softened. “Why?” “Because I know exactly why I'm nervous.” She kissed Vivian. It was not hesitant. Vivian caught Alexandra gently at the waist. When they separated, Alexandra whispered: “That was a terrible decision.” “Was it?” “Yes.” “Want to make it again?” Alexandra kissed her again. IV Morning light found Alexandra barefoot beside the window wearing Vivian's white shirt, coffee in both hands, her ivory dress folded over a nearby chair. Vivian stood beside the room-service cart in a dark robe. Alexandra looked surprisingly peaceful. Not happy. Not yet. But quiet. “My father texted.” Vivian poured coffee. “And?” “He left the house.” “That seems sensible.” “He says he's staying at the club.” “Less sensible.” Alexandra smiled. “My mother sent me fourteen messages.” “You counted?” “The number became impressive.” “Grant?” “Thirty-two.” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Overachiever.” Alexandra laughed. “I blocked him.” “Efficient.” She looked out at the city. “I don't know whether my parents will divorce.” “That isn't yours to decide.” “I know.” “I don't know whether I'll ever forgive my mother.” “You don't have to decide that today either.” “I know.” She turned toward Vivian. “And Grant?” Vivian waited. Alexandra smiled. “That decision I already made.” “Good.” “I'll file for divorce.” Vivian nodded. “And I'm selling my share of Briar Hill if they'll let me.” “Very good.” “And I'm buying the house on Waverly.” Vivian smiled. “The one Grant hated?” “The neighborhood is apparently terrible.” “Tragic.” Alexandra looked at her. “You're not coming with me.” It wasn't really a question. “No.” “I knew that.” “Does it bother you?” “A little.” Vivian appreciated the honesty. Alexandra continued. “But I don't think last night was about finding my next relationship.” “No.” “It was about realizing this one was over.” Vivian sat beside her. “And perhaps one other realization.” Alexandra smiled. “Yes.” “What?” Alexandra leaned closer. “That women like you don't make me nervous.” Vivian raised an eyebrow. “No?” “They make me interested.” Vivian laughed. Alexandra kissed her once. Softly. Then stood. Alexandra dressed before nine. At the door she turned. “My mother is going to ask how I spent the night.” Vivian smiled. “What will you tell her?” “The truth.” “Dangerous habit.” “I've recently developed an appreciation for it.” Vivian laughed. Alexandra stepped into the corridor. Then stopped. “Vivian?” “Yes?” “I don't know whether you saved my life last night or ruined it.” Vivian leaned against the doorframe. “Neither.” “No?” “I think someone else ruined the old one.” Alexandra considered this. “And you?” Vivian smiled. “I merely happened to be nearby when the truth arrived.” Alexandra laughed. “Goodbye, Vivian.” “Goodbye, Alexandra.” The elevator doors closed behind her. Vivian returned to the room and picked up her coffee. Two marriages destroyed. One woman finally leaving a house she had hated for years. And somewhere across town, a real-estate agent was probably about to receive a very enthusiastic call regarding the house on Waverly. Vivian decided the balance was not entirely terrible. Then she looked down at her hand. Sometimes she wondered whether she should be more careful with it. The thought lasted approximately three seconds.