The Accountant's Wife

In the late summer of 2008, I was contacted to investigate a multi-million-dollar fraud at a major American airline. I'd spent the first couple of weeks doing research from the comfort of my office. I'd called the company MJ Financial services, not the most original name, but it was mine. I now employed six staff members. Lesley, who was like a second mother to me, was still the office manager. She ran the place even more effectively than I did. In both roles, she kept me from making stupid mistakes. We had a secretary, one of her daughters, and four other investigators.

There's only so much that I could do in regard to the case from England, so I found myself Atlanta bound. It wasn't a difficult decision, as I'd also get the chance to see Mary and David since they lived nearby. I hadn't seen Mary in some time, and I missed my mentor.

To cut a long boring story short, I found the money and the three people responsible for its disappearance. What is important to my story is that it was a result of this trip that I met Rebecca for the first time.

My aunt always seemed to know what I was doing before I did; I suspect that Lesley sends her copies of all my emails. I haven't been able to prove it but I will one of these days.

I thought that I would surprise Mary and David, no such luck. As I exited the customs hall at Atlanta Hartsfield airport, there was Mary, waiting for me.

The first thing she did was to give me a hug. The first thing she said was. "Karen called to let us know you were coming to visit us. I've cancelled your hotel; you'll be staying with us."

I tried to put up a token resistance, but I was steamrollered by the primal force of nature also known as my aunt's lover. I gave in gracefully, then gave her a kiss on the lips.

I said after our lips parted, "I was to tell you that's from her." Her smile lit up her face.

I always wondered how much her husband knew about the relationship between my aunt and his wife. They met on a regular basis. Karen would stay with them whenever she was their side of the pond, and Mary visited Karen several times a year. How do I know this? Simple, my aunt lives less than a mile down the road from me, just the other side of the village.

Mary and David lived on an estate about 10 miles to the west of the city. We arrived in style, in the back of Mary's limousine. I'd tried futilely to get her to stop at the hire car lot so that I could pick up my rental. Atlanta is not a city I could rely on public transportation to get me places. Most American cities are the same; there are a few exceptions: New York and Washington come to mind.

As I tried to get the driver to pull into the Hertz lot, Mary told him to ignore me.

"David said I was to tell you that you can use any of his," she said.

Okay, that was different, I'd seen his collection, hell, I'd drooled over it, and now David was saying I could pick any one to use. Oh, hell yes. I sank back in the soft seat and grinned at Mary.

"Any one?" I asked carefully.

She gave me a look that was equal parts pleased and anxious. "No, you wouldn't, not that one!"

The grin on my face grew as I considered the prize of his collection. David had a long term love affair with classic British sports cars. Two years before, he'd spent an absolute fortune restoring a 3.5 litre SS Jaguar. Only 116 of them had ever been built; his was a beautiful British racing green version, and I'd lusted after it ever since he'd shown it to me.

"He did say, any one," I repeated.

"Christ, just be careful with it; I think he loves that damn car more than me."

I agreed happily. We pulled through the gates as the red globe of the sun was dipping towards the horizon. Their house, although the term house didn't do it justice, was a 20-room mansion. I always marveled at it as I approached it along the drive that swept through immaculately kept lawns. David's family was old money; the house had been damaged during the civil war and rebuilt in its current style a few years later.

The only alterations since then had been a swimming pool, added in the Twenties, and David's conversion and extension of the old carriage house into a garage to hold his ever expanding collection of cars.

Speaking of the carriage house, it looked different from the last time I saw it, and I mentioned it to Mary.

She gave me a tight smile, "He had it extended again. It was finished a few months ago; he's been adding a few more cars to the collection."

David appeared in the doorway as we pulled up outside the entrance to the house. Our relationship was more of the kindly old uncle and shy nephew type than anything else. His children had to prove themselves in the family business. I'd earned it in one fell swoop when I'd unmasked the embezzler amongst his relatives. He greeted me warmly and then turned to his wife.

"So which one did he choose?" he asked.

Mary held out a $10 bill and gave it to him. "You were right; he picked it."

David laughed, "I told you he wouldn't be able to resist it. Did you tell him?"

"No, I thought you should be the one."

Christ, I had no idea what they were going on about.

Mary stood closer to David, and he held out his hand; a set of keys lay on his outstretched palm.

"It's yours," he said, and they both had broad grins plastered across their faces.

"Christ, David, I'll take good care of her. I promise I'll bring her back without a scratch."

"No, we mean the Jaguar is yours. I restored it for you; I was just waiting for the right time to give her to you. Karen told us it's your birthday in a few weeks, so she's your birthday present from both of us."

I stood there with my mouth open.

He dropped the keys into my shaking hand. He nodded in the direction of the carriage house. I turned to look, and a set of doors were open, and a pair of men were pushing the SS Jag out onto the graveled forecourt. The racing green paint and the glistening chrome shone with a reddish hint in the last of the sunlight.

David said, "When I asked you a few years ago what your favorite British car of all time was, you pointed at the poster of the Jag on the wall of my study. That's when I knew I needed to find and restore one for you."

"But... but it's the prize of your collection," I stammered.

"She was, wasn't she. But I'll let you into a little secret; I've found another one, an immaculate 1937, 2.5 liter in silver that's completely original. It's being delivered next week."

I laughed, "So basically, I'm getting your hand-me-down!"

"Well if you don't want it..." David said with a smile.

My fingers tightened around the keys as I shook my head. "Of course I want it."

He and I walked over to the car, and for a few minutes, I indulged my inner child; sitting on the leather seat, stroking the polished wooden steering wheel and admiring the instruments set into the burl walnut dashboard. Mary needed to call us indoors as though we were naughty children, playing in the garden.

I stayed with them for the next six weeks: the four weeks it took me to solve the case, to trace the airline's missing money and identify the culprits, then another two weeks to document and satisfy the airline's legal team. Most of the money was going to be recovered, and my company's coffers were equally poised to swell healthily.

Each morning I would be up at six, 30 laps of the pool followed by a 5K run. I had no bike with me, so I used the bicycle trainer in their home gym. At home, I would have gone out for a 50k bike ride every other day. Then, I would surrender to my inner child and drive the Jag to the airline's Atlanta headquarters. The first time I arrived, the security manager took one look at the car and promptly gave me a coveted slot in the executive parking garage.

My 27th birthday fell four weeks into my stay. Mary and David decided that they needed to throw me a birthday party to celebrate the passing of another year of my life. They held it on the fourth Saturday of my trip. I had little input other than to agree to be there, not that I was given any choice in the matter. My instructions were clear; turn up at a specific time and place. No more, no less.

I obeyed. I'm so glad I obeyed.

Mary decided that the party was to be formal. All the men would be in tuxedos. Intuitively, I knew that this was really so the women could dress up in their fine formal gowns. Of course, she had confessed to me that she thought David had one of the cutest asses she'd ever seen in a tux.

At eight in the evening, I made my way downstairs to join Mary, David and the rest of the guests. Two faces stood out from the crowd. Standing together by the main entrance stood Karen and Francesca. They looked like they had only just arrived. I hurried over to greet them as they acquired the first drink from one of the waitresses.

"You're here," I said to Karen, stating the obvious, as I hugged her.

She gave me a pitying look, the sort only an aunt who loved her nephew could get away with. Then she said, "See, Francesca, I told you he's gotten a bit brighter since you last saw him."

Francesca laughed and said in her sweet Italian-accented English that always managed to make my knees go weak. "Hush, love, can't you see you're embarrassing the Bambino?"

Then she turned and hugged me. "Michael, I wouldn't miss your birthday; how is my favorite English lover?"

I smiled back at the beautiful woman, "I thought I was your only English lover!"

"So, I was right then," she replied, then followed up her hug with a kiss that made my toes curl.

"Stop raping the poor birthday boy, Francesca." Mary's voice came. "I want him on his best behavior tonight."

Francesca laughed and gave Mary a cute little pout. Then she gave me a second kiss that oozed promise, and let me go. She turned to Mary and gave her a similar kiss before retreating from her ire into the safety of my aunt's arms.

I always enjoyed watching the interplay between the three influential women in my life. All three were the other's lover, all three had haunted my dreams, but only Francesca had ever made that dream a reality.

I knew that Mary was the oldest of them. She was six years older than Karen, but you would never have guessed. Francesca was the baby of the three, two years younger than my aunt. They stood in a loose triangle, all three holding hands with the other two.

David joined us and gave Karen a lover's kiss, which finally answered the question I'd had about his relationship with his wife's lover. Francesca gave him the traditional Italian two-cheek kiss that told me that they weren't lovers.

It may seem odd, but this was the first time I'd ever seen all four of them together. I knew that Karen had stayed with Mary and David on numerous occasions. That Mary had visited my aunt on a regular basis, and that Francesca had joined them whenever she could, or that they would visit her in Italy.

This, as I'd said, was the first time I'd ever seen all of them in the same place at the same time. David had his arm around his wife's waist. She, in turn, was holding Karen's hand. Francesca was mirroring David; she had her arm around Karen's waist, and they were for a brief moment, completely oblivious to all the rest of the guests.

Fortunately, when I had first approached my aunt, we had stepped back into a secluded corner of the room, so the sexually charged tableau wasn't in plain view. I coughed, they all started, and the moment was over.

Francesca wrapped her arm around my waist and briefly rested her head on my shoulder. She whispered, "Buon compleanno, mio dolce amante," and stepped back to Karen's side.

Mary took my hand and drew me through the throng. From the look of it, she'd invited about 100 guests; most I didn't know. Of the people I did know, most were their relatives, and a few, I knew from my time working for David's company.

Mary seemed to have a goal in mind, as we wound through the guests, stopping here and there to say hello and so she could introduce me. She quartered the room like the best hunting dog. Finally, she spotted her quarry, a late arrival standing by David Jr. and Sarah, her eldest son and his wife.

We stepped close, the woman turned to face us, and I was lost in the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen.

"Michael... Michael," I surfaced to realize Mary was trying to get my attention.

"Sorry," I stammered, "What were you saying?"

She gave me an exasperated look. "I was trying to introduce Rebecca to my handsome and intelligent godson, who's currently doing a wonderful impression of a British village idiot."

Ah yes, another thing about Mary, she recently decided that she's adopting me as her godson and that's how she's been introducing me all evening. I suppose it's a lot more diplomatic than introducing me, as her lesbian lover's British nephew. Christ, what a mouthful that would have been.

Mary sighed, "As I was saying, Rebecca, this is Michael, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, he's very bright and one of the best in his field."

Mary turned to me, "Michael, this is Rebecca. She's Sarah's sister; she's been back east at college, studying to become a lawyer. Now she's back in Atlanta and is working for her grandfather's firm."

I stammered a hi, and Mary gave another sigh. She took her son and daughter-in-law by their arms and muttering that she needed them, pulled them away.

Rebecca gave me a long, intense look. "So, you're the reason I was invited," she said in the most beautiful southern belle accent that just dripped Tara with every syllable.

I reverted to the village idiot, a role I seemed eminently suitable for, as I studied her. Black hair pulled back from her oval face. Green eyes set either side of a cute little nose, a mouth that was currently twisted in a wry smile, as she watched me studying her.

The top of her head came up to the level of my eyes, a lie because she was wearing three-inch heels, making her taller than her five-foot-four. Her blue silk dress failed miserably to hide the outline of her slender, lithe body.

I finally managed to get my wits together and speak coherently. "Well, I suppose I'm the reason you were invited. The party is for my birthday."

"No, it was more than that. This past two weeks, all I've heard from my mother and my sister is that I've got to meet this nice English man staying at my brother-in-law's parents' house."

"And now that you've met the village idiot?"

She threaded her arm through mine, "He has potential, so he better tell me all about himself so that I can answer all my mother's questions later."

We filled a couple of plates from the buffet in the dining room and found a quiet corner to sit.

Between mouthfuls, I told her about myself, about growing up with two absentee academic parents, how Karen had come to my rescue. I carefully sidestepped the pitfall of Mary's real relationship with my aunt. I explained how I'd met Mary, and how she had pointed me down the path I had taken, what I did for the companies I worked for and why I was currently in Atlanta.

Rebecca interspersed my tale with her story. Her parents, like Mary and David, were doyens of the Atlanta Society. Her grandfather was the senior partner in one of the oldest law firms in Georgia. She had studied law and was soon going to take her board exams to practice law in Atlanta. She was 25, and an associate at her grandfather's firm.

That all sounds rather dry, but it wasn't. Both of us had little stories about growing up, and we slid then in amongst the facts. Several times we were interrupted her mother, my aunt, Sarah, Mary and once by Francesca.

Rebecca greeted Francesca with a degree of hero worship. I'd always known that my aunt's lover was a great artist; I just hadn't realized she was such a world renowned one who could demand ridiculous sums of money for one of her paintings. Good news for me, as I've got over half a dozen paintings of hers that she's given me over the years.

Francesca mentioned to Rebecca that I had been known to sketch and that she had one of my drawings hanging in her bedroom. Francesca smiled at the shock on Rebecca's face and offered to paint her sometime in the future.

"Maybe as a wedding present, I've always wanted to paint Michael with a woman," she said with a smile as she stood up and disappeared back into the groups of people.

Rebecca found it hard to believe that I knew Francesca di Traglia, even more than that she'd just spoken to her.

"How do you know her?" was her first words to me after Francesca was out of earshot.

"I met her when I was 16; my aunt and I stayed with her for three weeks."

"Your aunt and her, are they..."

"Lovers, yes. They've been lovers for as long as I can remember."

"She's beautiful, and she paints such wonderful paintings," Rebecca said wistfully.

"She is," I agreed, and something in my tone made her look at me.

"You're more than friends; she's your lover, too, isn't she?"

My first instinct was to deny it, what occurred between Francesca and me was private. Then I decided I liked her and I wasn't going to damage the possibility of a relationship with a lie.

"It's personal, but the answer is both yes and no. Yes, in that she and I have shared a few magical nights together, and no we are not lovers in the classical sense of the word. She and my aunt are lovers; I just get to experience a bit of that love occasionally."

She thought about what I had said and seemed to understand. Next, she asked, "So do you have a girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment, why, are you interested in applying?"

"I'll think about it," she replied. "My last boyfriend was a bit of an ass, and I've been enjoying the single life."

"I can always get Francesca to ask you out," I suggested with a big smile.

"And the village idiot is back," she replied. Then she asked me, "Do you paint, too?"

"No."

"But she just said you do."

I shook my head. "I don't paint; I suck at painting, but I do sketch nudes in charcoal and pastels."

She gave me a considered look, "That's just splitting hairs. Would you like to draw something for me?"

I coughed and gave her a startled look; I may have misunderstood her intention, but then again I hoped I hadn't. "Err, I'm willing, but you do understand I can't draw clothes? I've only ever drawn nudes; it's the way Francesca taught me."

Rebecca blushed and then laughed. "I wasn't asking you to draw me, just something for me, but..." Then she mused, "I suppose asking a girl if you can sketch her in the nude is a lot better than asking her if she'd like to come and see your etchings."

By now, my ears were crimson, and I was looking for a hole to hide in. Rebecca took pity on me and leaning close, she gave me a soft kiss on the lips.

"Your penance is to take me out to dinner tomorrow night," she told me as she stood up. I struggled to my feet beside her.

As I glanced around the room, I noticed that a fair part of the guests were taking their leave. It had gone midnight, and we had been talking for three hours. It wasn't how I'd expected to spend my birthday party, but it had been very pleasant. It was a lot better than pleasant; Rebecca was someone I wanted to see again.

Rebecca and her family left a little while later. She gave me a hug and a kiss, and I promised to pick her up at seven. I even remembered to ask what type of food she liked. Not that it helped, as her reply was, "Surprise me."

I sat down on a sofa in the library and nursed a beer I'd liberated from the kitchen. In the other rooms, the caterers were clearing up. I didn't get long to get my thoughts straight about the woman I'd just met. A beautiful woman eased herself onto my lap, and two others sat down either side of me.