Trading Places

“A diamond?” the kitchen helper guessed.

“Candy and flowers,” the cook predicted.

“Wrong on both counts.” Alice loved this part of the story. “He handed her a pretty box, and when she ripped off the wrappings she found…a blender.”

Alice recoiled in perfect imitation of Sharlayne’s own frequent telling of the tale. “And Sharlayne said, ‘If it’s not something to put on this body, I don’t even want to touch it!”’

Her audience of three roared with laughter, which cut off abruptly. With a sinking feeling, Alice knew before she even turned around that this time she might very well have gone too far. The best job she’d ever had, and now she’d be out on the street because she just couldn’t pass up an easy laugh.

But turn she must. Sure enough, Sharlayne stood in the doorway, beckoning to her like the spider to the fly.

But why was she smiling?

Alice had had an uneasy feeling from the moment almost a week ago when Sharlayne had announced that she and her two assistants were flying East. She didn’t know why, since she frequently traveled with her employer. She just knew she’d been nervous about the whole thing for no good reason.

Now she knew why. She’d had a premonition of doom.

MR. WILBERT LED Sharlayne and Alice into an elegant room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He certainly appeared to belong in these rich surroundings, not too surprising. Sharlayne had said rather calculatingly that he came from old money.

Lots of old money.

Alice spared a glance around, admiring the leather-covered tomes with gilt edgings, the heavy dark furniture, the brocaded draperies. How many of these books had Wilbert’s own company published? How many of the items in this room were family heirlooms?

How long could Alice avoid the inevitable?

Taking a deep breath, she turned—and stopped short at the sight of Tabitha, who was just entering the room. Sharlayne’s personal assistant wore her usual disapproving expression. Alice didn’t take it personally, supposing that the woman simply didn’t want anyone invading her turf.

Was she about to get her fondest wish?

Alice sighed and said a tentative, “Sharlayne—”

“Before we begin,” Linden Wilbert put in, “may I offer everyone a glass of wine?”

“Nothing for me,” Alice said quickly. “I’d just like to get this over with, if you don’t mind.”

“We do mind,” Sharlayne said sweetly. “Thank you, Linden. That would be lovely.” She gestured for Alice to take a seat.

Thoroughly confused, Alice chose a brass-studded leather chair beside a fireplace cold in May. She’d seen Sharlayne lose her temper only once and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Why was she pussyfooting around now? Being the kind of person who’d rather get any unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible, Alice was nonetheless forced to wait until the wine was duly delivered.

Then she said, “I apologize, Sharlayne. I wasn’t making fun of you, honest.”

“No?” Sharlayne’s brows arched above guileless eyes. “Who were you making fun of?”

“No one.” Alice made it a point not to look at Tabitha, who was probably purring by now. “I just wanted to score brownie points with the cook. She wasn’t real happy to hear about your dietary requirements.”

Mr. Wilbert seemed distressed. “I should have spoken to the cook on your behalf, Sharlayne,” he apologized. “She does tend to be testy.”

“I was only trying to get on her good side,” Alice explained, trying not to sound defensive, “but I shouldn’t have used you to do it.” Sharlayne said nothing, so Alice added a resigned, “If you’re going to fire me, let’s get it over with.”

Sharlayne’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think? That I’d fire a good and loyal employee over a little thing like that?”

“Well, actually…yes. I know loyalty is really important to you. I also know I was out of line.”

“As you have been on many other occasions, and I didn’t fire you then, did I? You’ve been doing that takeoff on me almost from the day I hired you.”

“You knew?” And then Alice understood: Tabitha, blank faced and superior, was a stool pigeon.

Sharlayne smiled that dazzling smile. “You should know better than to believe everything you read and hear about me, Alice. I’m not really all that dumb.”

“Lord, if there’s one thing I never thought you were, it’s dumb,” Alice said fervently. “This is a real relief. I owe you big-time. How about I promise I’ll never let myself get carried away like that again, for starters.” She lifted her right hand, palm out, to verify her vow.

“Oh, dear,” Sharlayne said. “That’s not what I want to hear at all.”

“You don’t?”

Sharlayne shook her head.

“Then what?” Alice leaned forward, aware that Tabitha was doing the same. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t a party to it, either.

But Mr. Wilbert was. “Sharlayne, do you really think you should go forward with—”

“Shh.” Sharlayne kept her level gaze on Alice. “I won’t deny it hurt to learn that you, my trusted friend and employee, were making fun of me behind my back.”

“I wasn’t,” Alice protested. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all.”

Sharlayne sighed. “I was not flattered. But you see, something’s come up where your knack for mimicry may come in handy.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

“It’s very simple, really. I need some space to finish my book and I can only think of one way to get it.”

“You mean there’s some way I can help? Of course. Name it.”

An almost cunning expression appeared on Sharlayne’s lovely face. “Oh, good,” she said. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. You heard her, Linden. You’re a witness, too, Tabitha.”

Tabitha let out her breath in a short hiss. “What are you up to?” she asked sharply. “What can Alice possibly do for you that I can’t?”

Sharlayne’s smile was beatific. “Alice can be me,” she said. “And now I know she will.”

DINNER WAS ANNOUNCED before Alice could do more than say a thoroughly confused, “Huh?” Sharlayne and Mr. Wilbert ate in the formal dining room; Tabitha had a tray sent to her room; and Alice grabbed a sandwich and took it outdoors to eat on the terrace overlooking a lovely formal garden.

What in the world was Sharlayne up to now? “Alice can be me,” she’d said, yet that must surely be a joke. No one could be Sharlayne Kenyon, but most especially not Alice Wynn.

For openers, Alice was relatively unsophisticated. A registered nurse, she’d spent nearly a decade caring for an invalid grandmother in her small Nebraska hometown. Only after her grandmother’s death had she been free to look around for a job—and a life—of her own.

Hooking up with Sharlayne had been a stroke of good fortune. Alice had gone to visit a distant cousin in California, and when she’d happened upon an automobile accident, had gone to the aid of the injured. One of the victims was Sharlayne, who’d suffered a broken leg and a terrible scare: she’d thought at first that her face might be scarred.

In her matter-of-fact way, Alice had reassured Sharlayne. When Sharlayne was released from the hospital, she’d hired Alice to tend to her at home on a temporary basis. That had quickly evolved into full-time employment, with Alice in charge of meal planning and the general health of the household. She’d set up an exercise schedule and saw to it that Sharlayne, who had couch potato tendencies, stuck to it. From the beginning, Sharlayne had also used her new employee for general gofer duty, which hadn’t bothered Alice in the slightest. She hadn’t spent ten years fetching and carrying for a crotchety old lady for nothing.