Duty-bound and knowing no way to get out of it, Tom described the house and décor as well as a man could. Sara raised her eyebrows and tried to suppress her giggle with a yawn. Vivian seemed not to notice and told Tom she was ready and willing to take over his redecorating. “Don’t hesitate to call me before you make any changes, Tom. I totally know all the ropes. Promise?” He nodded, then glanced at Sara, who was lost in conversation with Jimmy and Billy. Disappointed, he looked back at Vivian.
Leaning forward, Vivian reached her hand toward Tom, gripped his forearm. Very subtlety, her demeanor changed. Staring at Tom with a look of grave despair, her eyes filled with tears that overflowed and ran down her cheeks in glistening rivulets. Her painted fingernails dug into his skin. Then she smiled, abruptly stood and walked over to the piano. She began to play—a melody whose chords sent chills down Tom’s spine. Slowly, hauntingly, her pale fingers gliding, stroking the ivory and ebony keys as she played Beethoven’s Für Elise. Tom had often played the song for Elise—when their relationship was new and they were immersed in their love for each other. The gentle refrains expressed his innermost passions for her. Over time, Elise grew to hate it because he loved it, loved her.
As Vivian continued to play, Tom walked over and sat beside her on the piano bench. She turned to him, her eyes filled with a look so cold and vengeful, it made Tom’s blood run cold.
“Vivian! Stop!” Tom’s voice was barely above a whisper. She continued playing. Beads of perspiration trickled down Tom’s back. He whispered again, “Stop!” He heard no other sounds in the room, only the ethereal sounds from the piano as Vivian continued to play Für Elise, the haunting chords reverberating deep in his soul.
Vivian turned to him. In a voice so quiet he had to strain to hear the words, she said, “You bastard!”
Tom stared at her in disbelief.
Vivian’s head jerked up. She stared at him, her face registering complete surprise. “Tom, what is it? Is my playing so terrible?” She seemed completely unaware of what had just transpired. “What was I playing? How odd, I can’t remember. . . .” Vivian rubbed her temples, gently shook her head. “Come here, Sara. Come play for us.”
“What did you say to me, Vivian?” Tom asked, his hand on her wrist, his eyes searching her face.
“Tom, I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t say anything. I was only asking Sara to come and play for us. Why are you looking at me like that?” She seemed to have no idea what Tom was talking about.
“Never mind,” Tom said, scrutinizing her face. “I thought you said something. I thought, well . . . that song you were playing . . . ”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, pulling her hand free from his grip. “I don’t remember. Sara, come over here and see if you can brighten Tom’s mood. You play, and Tom and I will accompany you. Billy and Jimmy, yes, both of you, come over here.” She opened a well-worn songbook to the music for Blackbird. As Sara began to play, Vivian started to sing. Soon the boys joined in.
Tom was too shocked to do anything more than watch and listen. As Vivian, Sara and the boys harmonized, he tried to make sense of what had just happened with Vivian, decided it was best to forget it. What was clear to him was that Vivian was not who she seemed on the surface. It’s possible she had some serious mental issues. He’d have to be on guard.
Vivian, Sara and the boys sang and played half a dozen songs. Prompted by Jimmy’s poking him in the ribs, Tom finally joined in, his deep bass voice blending well with theirs. He continued to study Vivian. Her face was flushed with excitement as she sang and played a few verses to accompany Sara. Vivian seemed perfectly fine, genuinely oblivious to what she’d said to Tom earlier. Maybe I imaged the whole thing. That’s the only explanation—too many cognacs. But . . . why did she play Für Elise—of all songs? Or did I imagine that, too? Tom took a long breath and tried to focus on Sara and Jimmy, their smiling faces a salve for his raw nerves. He began to relax. After several more rounds of the chorus, Vivian sent the boys to bed.
It had started raining again. Huge drops danced off the windows, sparkling in the moonlight. “It’s almost eleven. I had no idea it was so late. I should go,” Tom said. “Vivian, thank you for being such a gracious hostess. It was a memorable evening.” To say the least. Vivian smiled warmly at him, leaving him convinced that maybe he had imagined the whole incident.
Sara walked out onto the porch with him, shivering in the cold night air. “Wait a minute,” she said. She ran inside, returned wearing a heavy sweater. “That’s better. It’s cold tonight. Hope the rain doesn’t turn to snow.”
Tom nodded in agreement. “I’m glad we met tonight,” he said softly.
“Me, too. And,” she smiled, “I'm very glad you bought the house next door. It’s reassuring to know there’s someone close by. The winters can be very lonely. It’s pretty isolated here.” Sara pulled her collar up around her ears. “I’m grateful for Vivian, don’t get me wrong. She’s been a Godsend, inviting me here to tutor the boys. But she tends to focus pretty much on herself and her own agendas. It’ll be nice to have someone else to talk to.” She blushed, then kicked at the bottom porch railing, obviously embarrassed. “Listen to me! I talk too much. You must think I’m awful.”
“Not at all. I understand. Vivian is everything you said. I’m sure she has a good heart, as long as no one shadows her place in the limelight. I’ve known many women, and men, like her. Unfortunately, money tends to give them an inflated sense of self-importance.” Tom took her hand in his. “Whenever you need to escape—or to talk—come on over. In fact, Jimmy’s coming over tomorrow afternoon, come with him. I’ll show you around my place. I could use the company, too.”
“I’d like that—if I can get away.”
“Good. You should go inside now, you’re shivering.”
“You’re right. I’m freezing! Goodnight. Oh, Tom, there’s a path on the other side of the rose garden that leads up the hill to your house. It’s a lot shorter than going down to the beach.”
“Okay, good. I'll go that way, then. Well . . . goodnight, Sara.” Tom impulsively brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Nite.” Sara smiled, then watched him as he hurried down the walkway toward the garden.
It was raining much harder now. Tom hoped the pathway leading through the trees would afford him a little shelter. By the time he reached his property, the wind was blowing at near gale force. Rain pelted his hands and face like sharp needles. Pulling the collar of his coat up under his chin, he sprinted the last fifty yards on the narrow path to his house.
A darkened Remington House was silhouetted eerily against the stormy sky, the moon oppressively dimmed by the storm. Tom thought he’d left a light on, but maybe he’d forgotten. Or maybe the power was out again. He reached for the light switch inside the front door. The dark entryway immediately glowed with amber light. Good. The power was on.
Dense shadows followed him as he walked through the house. As he turned on one light after another, Tom began to feel at ease. Wiggins, lying on the kitchen rug, looked briefly at Tom, then curled into a more comfortable position and went back to sleep. Tom made a pot of coffee and took it to the living room where he built fire, then turned off the lights. The room glowed in mellow oranges and yellows, the firelight creating a warm, cozy nuance. Sitting at the table in front of the window, Tom watched the ocean’s choppy waves erratically reflecting slivers of pale moonlight.
His thoughts drifted—as he hoped they wouldn’t—back to Vivian and her disturbing behavior and spiteful verbal attack directed at him. Had he imagined it? Her look of hatred was so real—he’d seen that look often enough from Elise. Elise? No, it wasn’t possible! And yet . . .
Tom slept little that night, his dreams filled with visions of Elise, then Vivian, morphing back and forth until he