Chapter 2

Sydney concluded her business in Paris in a single day. She met with the realtor, who was candid with her. She explained that in the current political climate in France, with high taxes including an aggressive wealth tax, French residents had been fleeing the country for several years, to Belgium and Switzerland. And high-end real estate buyers from Russia, China, and the Arab states wanted showy apartments of great luxury on the Avenue Montaigne, or in the sixteenth arrondissement, and lately they had been going to London more than Paris, out of fear of being taxed by the French, even as foreigners. The government was anxious to bring in revenues from anyone they could. But those buyers were not looking for quaint little apartments like the one she had and loved. The realtor suggested that she might do better renting it at a reasonable price, and waiting until the market improved. After listening to her, Sydney agreed. A modest rental would not solve her financial problems, but it would provide a small, steady income every month, which would help. She told the realtor not to rent it for longer than a year, and to keep it on the market for sale.

She spent that night and the next day walking around Paris, trying to avoid her favorite haunts with Andrew, which was nearly impossible, since they’d loved to walk everywhere. They went to museums, gardens, galleries, famous bars like the Hemingway at the Ritz, and the Café Flore and Ladurée for tea. She stayed away from the shops on the Faubourg Saint-Honoré and the Avenue Montaigne since she could no longer afford them anyway. And when she left the apartment, she took all her small, favorite sentimental objects with her: things Andrew had given her as gifts, things they had bought together, photographs of them all over Paris. She bought another suitcase and took her small paintings with her as well, packing them carefully. She wasn’t sure when she’d be back, or even if, and didn’t know who the tenant would be.

It had been a whirlwind trip, but she had accomplished what she came to do, and had reassured her daughters by text that she was fine. She looked around the apartment for a last time with tears streaming down her face. It already looked less personal without the familiar things she was taking with her. She took a cab to the airport and watched silently as the city slipped away. She sat in the terminal after she checked in, feeling bruised by the brief trip.

Her long, straight blond hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail when she boarded the plane. She was wearing a crisp white shirt and black jeans, with flats and a black leather Hermès Kelly bag Andrew had given her several years before. It occurred to her that if she had to, she could sell that too, at a high-end resale shop, if things got desperate enough. She was cash poor now and had to get used to the idea.

She was taking the last flight out of Paris so she could sleep, and planned to skip the meal again. She took her window seat on the plane next to a man wearing a tie and a gray business suit. He loosened his tie before they took off, put it in the pocket of his jacket, which the flight attendant took to hang up, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. She guessed him to be about her age, with thick well-groomed salt-and-pepper hair. He looked prosperous and was wearing a gold Rolex watch and a wedding band, so she knew he was married. They nodded to each other, but neither of them was inclined to speak, which was a relief to Sydney. She wasn’t in the mood. He got busy on his computer as soon as they took off. She closed her eyes and reclined her seat. She had already told the steward she wouldn’t have the meal. She’d had a sandwich at a bistro she and Andrew loved near the apartment, and the waiters there had been sad to hear her news about Andrew and offered their condolences.

She was tired from the emotions of being in Paris without him and seeing the apartment, knowing she was going to rent or sell it. She fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, and awoke when the pilot made an announcement, first in French, and then in English, several hours into the flight. His voice was calm as he spoke over the PA system, and told them that they were having a mechanical problem, and were going to make an unscheduled landing within the hour. And in the meantime, they were dumping fuel into the Atlantic. He warned the passengers in case they saw it from the windows. He said they were an hour away from Nova Scotia, and would be landing there. She glanced at the man sitting next to her and he raised an eyebrow at her, not sure if she was American or French or if she spoke English. Her heart was pounding after what the pilot had said. An “unscheduled landing” did not sound good.

“Ever been to Nova Scotia?” the man next to her asked with a rueful grin, and she shook her head.

“No, and I don’t want to. What do you think is wrong with the plane?”

“They probably ran out of foie gras in first class, and are stopping to pick some up.” He saw how frightened she was and tried to keep the mood light. “I was in a crash-landing situation in China last year, with a motor on fire, and we made it in fine. They’re pretty good at bringing these big birds down, even in emergencies. I think it will be okay.” He tried to reassure her and saw that her hands were shaking as she took a tissue out of her bag and blew her nose.

“I just lost my husband,” she said in a soft voice. “I wasn’t planning to join him quite so soon, and I have two daughters in New York.” It was more than she would normally have told him, but she was scared and unnerved by the announcement.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said respectfully. “I have two ex-wives, and a wife I’m married to now, who are all going to be seriously pissed if I go down on this plane, and a son in St. Louis who might be upset about it too.” She smiled at what he said. “Was it cancer?” he asked her gently, to take her mind off the plane, and she shook her head.

“A motorcycle accident.” she said. “He was only fifty-six.” He looked sympathetic. He wondered what she’d been doing in Paris, but didn’t want to ask.

“I’m sure we’re going to be all right,” he said again.

A few minutes later, they were told to put their life vests on, and the plane began to pitch and roll, and instinctively he reached out and took her hand and held it fast in his. He had big, smooth hands that were comforting, and even though he was a stranger, she was glad to be sitting with him and not alone. “I’m not getting fresh,” he informed her once he was holding her hand. “I just figure we’re in this together. We can discuss the implications of it later. Just don’t tell my wife.” She laughed in spite of herself at what he said, as land came into view and the pitching and rolling continued and increased. They began losing altitude rapidly and looked as though they were about to crash into the water. Sydney gave a gasp and he tightened his grip on her hand, and they leveled out just above the water and headed steadily toward an air strip. The plane was making a terrifying growling sound, and Sydney thought she could hear a small explosion at the rear, like a truck backfiring, and they seemed to be picking up speed as they proceeded toward what they could see now was an airport, with a fleet of emergency vehicles with flashing lights waiting for them.

“We’re almost there,” he said in a soothing tone. “And they’re all waiting for us. They’ll get us out,” he said in a strong voice, as she nodded and kept her eyes riveted to the fire trucks and ambulances on the ground, praying he was right. She had nothing to look forward to now, she knew, but she couldn’t abandon her kids and die too.

They landed with a hard thump and bounced off the ground several times. The plane was listing severely, and they realized that part of the landing gear on one side had not come down. But other than the angle at which they were leaning, nothing worse happened, and they came to a full stop. She could hear sirens screaming as the flight crew opened the doors rapidly and activated the slides. They were told to leave their shoes and hand luggage on the plane, and head for the exit nearest them, as members of the crew with red insignia on their lapels directed them toward the inflatable slides. One by one they left the plane, and rescue crews on the ground herded them into buses. The evacuation of the plane was conducted in orderly fashion. A few women were crying, mostly with relief, but no one panicked, and everyone looked shocked but infinitely less distressed as the buses drove them to a small terminal, and from there to a school with a large enough auditorium to house them all. Food service and an infirmary had been set up, but no one was hurt. Paramedics walked through the crowd asking if anyone needed help. The hubbub of conversation was loud as people talked about what had happened, and passengers turned their cellphones on and called loved ones at home to reassure them.

Her seatmate called his wife, and Sydney called both her girls. Neither picked up, they never did, but she left them messages that they had made an emergency landing in Nova Scotia but she was safe and would be home soon.

Her companion looked relaxed after they both finished their calls. “I’m Paul Zeller, by the way,” he introduced himself.

“Thank you for holding my hand. I was scared to death,” she admitted, but didn’t have to, he could see it. “I’m Sydney Wells.”

“My wife won’t even fly unless she absolutely has to, and then she needs three Xanax, a bottle of champagne, and a psychiatric nurse.” Sydney laughed as volunteers set up cots in the gym where they’d been assigned. And paper slippers were handed out to all the passengers. They’d been told that a plane would come for them the next day. So they had a long night ahead of them, and maybe even a long day after that. “What took you to Paris?” He was curious, especially so soon after her husband’s death.

“I have an apartment there. I was going to sell it, but I decided to rent it instead. I don’t think I’ll use it again. I couldn’t.” He nodded.

“I was there on business. I’m in fashion,” he volunteered, and said it with pride.

“I used to be in fashion too. I was a designer before I got married. It was a long time ago.”

“Who did you work for?” She told him the name of the firm, and he was impressed. “They were a great house. It’s a shame they closed. The owner died, and there was no one to keep it going.”

“I missed it terribly at first, and then I got used to not working. I stayed home with my daughters and my husband.”

“Do you ever think about going back into the business?” he asked with interest.

“I haven’t until now. But I don’t see how I could. It’s been a long time, and I’m not current with all the new high-tech digital design techniques.”

“They’re no substitute for real talent and experience. You probably know a lot more than you think. You can learn digital techniques. You can’t learn talent and design sense,” he said confidently. She didn’t want to pry and ask him the name of his firm, and he hadn’t volunteered it. “Things have changed a lot since you were in the business. People want accessible price points, and high style at lower prices. Women who don’t have a lot to spend still want to be in fashion. We try to deliver it. And everyone has factories in China now, even the high-priced brands. You can’t make a profit unless you do, or sub work out to manufacturers in China. We all do.”

“We bought our fabrics in France, and used factories in Italy,” she said wistfully. “They did some beautiful work.”

“And you charged about a hundred or two hundred times what I do.” He smiled at her. “You were in a different market, catering to a different customer. That still exists, but the profit margins are better at my end of the scale,” he said practically. She could gather from what he said that he sold moderately priced goods, or even lower, which had merit too. And that was big business if they dealt in volume.

“It’s a different world out there now,” she agreed. “Twenty years ago you couldn’t buy fashionable clothes at reasonable prices, now you can. I think that’s important. I think fashion should be accessible to everyone, not just women who have ten thousand dollars to spend on an evening gown.”

“That’s music to my ears.” He looked pleased. “You ought to think about designing again,” he encouraged her, but she wasn’t convinced. She felt too rusty and over the hill to go back into the business, although she had loved it for the ten years she had worked as a designer after graduating from Parsons School of Design in New York. “It sounds like you’ve still got it in your blood.” He had noticed that everything she wore or had with her was of the finest quality, and he could see that she had style, even in jeans and a white shirt, with little gold hoop earrings in her ears.

“I’m just a consumer now,” she said modestly. “But it’s genetic. Both of my daughters are designers,” she said proudly.

“For whom?” It was funny that they had found each other, on a plane full of people, and they were both interested in the clothing business. She told him who Sabrina worked for and his eyebrows shot up. “Now, that is impressive. She must be good.”

“Very. And a purist. She thinks fashion exists only in the rarified atmosphere she works in. My other daughter does moderately priced clothes for teens,” she told him and he nodded. But both firms she mentioned were out of his league, with a more affluent target customer, particularly in Sabrina’s case. All three of them were high-end designers compared to what he did, which Sydney had guessed and respected too. She bought the low-priced goods of lesser companies from time to time, and liked them. She respected good design. The low-priced brands had a refreshing honesty to them, and didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. And often she found that what Sabrina did took itself too seriously. It was fun getting a bargain, and she said as much to Paul Zeller, and he agreed.

They talked about it for a while and then decided to head for the cafeteria. They were surprised to find they were hungry after their harrowing experience. Somehow life seemed sweeter suddenly, as though they had been given a second chance at living because the plane didn’t crash and they didn’t die. Everyone around them was chatting animatedly and seemed to have the same feeling. Wine was being poured liberally for all those who wanted it. There was a spirit of camaraderie and communal survival, which created a party mood.

They lay down on cots set up next to each other, and continued their conversation after dinner. He told her about his son in St. Louis, who was a pediatrician, and he was obviously proud of him, as much as Sydney was of her girls. An announcement was made that a plane was coming to pick them up at noon the next day, and while Paul was telling her about his adventures in China, Sydney fell asleep. And for the first time since Andrew’s death, she wasn’t afraid of anything and had a peaceful night’s rest.

The sun was streaming into the gym the next morning when they woke up. They both agreed that they’d slept well, and went to get coffee together. A local bakery had brought truckloads of pastries for all of them. Afterward, they were allowed to claim their luggage, and waited on line for an hour to take showers. Paul and Sydney met outside when they’d changed and walked around, grateful to be wearing proper shoes again. They’d been able to retrieve their shoes from the plane as well, and their hand luggage. The surrounding area was pretty, and the world had never looked as bright and cheery as it did after their near-death experience the night before.

They chatted easily about what they liked to do in their spare time. Paul said he had been a hiker and serious athlete in his youth, and Sydney told him about a trip to Wyoming with Andrew and the children when they were younger and how beautiful the Grand Tetons had been. He admitted to being a workaholic and loving what he did, and she confessed that she was terrified of having to find a job now and didn’t know where to start. He looked surprised. She didn’t seem like someone who had to work. He noticed her Kelly bag again. He didn’t want to pry into her financial situation and be rude, but she saw the question in his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” she said simply and he nodded.

“It usually is when someone dies. It’s bad enough when you get divorced, and a whole lot worse when there’s an estate involved. Did your husband have children too?”

“Yes, he did,” she said quietly, and Paul understood.

“It’ll all get sorted out in the end. It always does. It just takes a while.” She nodded, and sat soaking up the sunshine after that with her eyes closed. He was an easy person to be with, and she could tell he was a nice man. She had been fortunate to sit beside him on the plane. It would have been a lot worse for her if she hadn’t, and she was grateful to him.

The replacement plane finally came for them at two in the afternoon, and brought a crew to work on the damaged plane. They took the same seats they’d had originally, and flew to New York chatting occasionally and passing time in companionable silence. They felt like old friends by the time they landed at JFK, and like they’d been through the wars together.

“Can I give you a lift into the city?” he offered as they headed toward baggage claim. They were cleared through customs and immigration rapidly after all they’d been through, and representatives from the airline were standing by to greet them, apologize, and offer any assistance. The emergency had been efficiently handled, and all the passengers cheered the captain and applauded when he left the area with the original crew. He had handled it masterfully, as had the crew.

“I’m actually going to Connecticut,” Sydney said once they had their bags and were standing on the sidewalk. “I’ll take a shuttle. I live there.” At least for the next few weeks, she thought to herself. “I just took an apartment in New York. I’ll be moving here soon.” He took his wallet out of his pocket then and handed her his business card.

“If I can ever do anything for you, or you want to come back to work as a designer again, give me a call. If not, let me know when you’re in the city, and I’d love to take you to lunch anyway.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly, as she dropped his card into her bag. “I don’t know how to thank you. You made a terrifying experience a lot less so for me.” He walked her to the shuttle, and she gave him a hug as he smiled down at her.

“Just take it easy. Everything’s going to be okay. Give it a little time,” he said, in the same reassuring tone he had used when they were about to crash. “Take care of yourself, Sydney,” he said warmly.

“You too,” she said, and waved once she was on the shuttle, and then got progressively sadder as they approached Connecticut. She hated going back to the dark, empty house. And that night when she pulled her lists out again, trying to figure out how much money she had left and how long it would last her, she thought of Paul and smiled, and hoped he was right. Maybe everything would be okay in the end. But she had a lot of decisions to make until then.

Sydney had texted both girls that she was home, and they called her early the next morning. Sabrina was calmer, as usual, and Sophie was panicked. Their mother had to describe the whole experience to each of them, and told them about Paul Zeller. Sabrina asked the name of his company, and Sydney said he’d never told her. It was on his card, but she couldn’t find it in her bag when she looked for it. She knew it was in there somewhere, but her bag looked like a garbage can by then. It always did when she traveled. She told her she’d find it later.

They promised to come out and spend the weekend with her. She was going to tell them then that she had to leave the house. She knew it would be shocking news, but she couldn’t delay it any longer. They had to know what was going on, and that she was moving to a furnished apartment in New York in two weeks. At least she’d be closer to them. And she was planning to start looking for a job as soon as possible, which would startle them too. They could hardly remember when she worked, since they had been nine and eleven when she stopped. It seemed like centuries ago.

When the girls came out on Saturday, she broke the news to them at lunch about Andrew not having a recent will in force, and everything he owned belonging to Kellie and Kyra now. The girls stared at her open-mouthed at first, and Sabrina was the first to speak.

“That’s not possible, Mom,” she said in a firm voice. “He wouldn’t do that to you. He wasn’t irresponsible, and he loved you.”

“He loved all three of us, and if he’d made a new will, I’m sure he would have left you something too. But he never did. He talked about doing a new will when we did our prenup before we got married, but wills are more complicated, and he either forgot or never got around to it. And we never bothered to alter our prenup, which he wanted to do too. He was too young to worry about dying.” He’d been in perfect health. “At fifty-six, you don’t expect to die.”

“So those bitches inherit everything?” Sabrina said, furious at what it meant for her mother, particularly knowing how vicious her stepsisters had always been to her.

“Pretty much,” Sydney said quietly, “except the apartment in Paris, which he gave me as a gift.”

“What about this house?” Sabrina asked her, looking worried for her. They had been heartbroken over Andrew’s death and heartsick for their mother, but now a new element had been added, which put financial panic into the mix for her. That much was easy to figure out, unless he had provided for her in some other way.

“It belongs to them now, and everything in it,” Sydney said softly, hating to say the words. “I have to move out in two weeks, or actually a little less. I got a temporary apartment in New York. It’s not pretty, but it’s furnished and it’s a place to sleep.” The thought of their mother virtually homeless brought tears to Sophie’s eyes. Sabrina was too angry to cry. She wanted to kill someone, preferably her two evil stepsisters, who would be enjoying a windfall due to their father’s carelessness. Sophie hadn’t gotten that far yet. And Sydney refused to go there. She had loved him deeply in life, and intended to continue doing so in death. Sabrina wasn’t as loyal or as noble as she. She had always had a fiery personality, detested injustice of any kind, and was willing to fight for what she believed.

“You have to move out?” Sabrina stared at her in shock and dismay.

“The girls gave me thirty days,” Sydney almost whispered.

“And what about everything that’s here? The furniture, the art, everything you bought together? He can’t have wanted them to have that too.”

“Their father paid for it. It’s theirs. He didn’t know me when he wrote his will.” Sydney could almost see steam coming from her daughter’s ears, and a look of rage in her eyes.

“And they didn’t agree to give you some kind of grace period? Until you can get organized and find a decent place to live?” Sabrina asked and Sydney shook her head. She didn’t want to tell them that she could no longer afford a decent place, and even the tiny furnished apartment in the shabby building would be a stretch. “Have you talked to an attorney?”

“Obviously. There’s nothing I can do. The will is what it is. And our prenup makes it worse, because we waived any right to community property. And since he paid for everything, it was all his, and now it’s theirs, except for any gifts he made me and put in writing, like my jewelry and the Paris apartment. All I brought to the marriage was what I had saved while I was working, and I spent that a long time ago.” It was hard to admit it to them, but she wanted to be honest with her daughters.

“Did he make any kind of financial provision for you, Mom?” Sabrina asked practically. “Did he put money aside for you? I’m sorry to be nosy about it, but I assumed you’d be okay if anything ever happened to him. I never expected you to lose the house, or have to leave.” Both girls looked shaken to the core. What their mother had told them was hard to believe. The estate where she and Andrew had lived was one of the largest and most beautiful on the East Coast.

“We had a joint checking account I ran the house with, and that he let me spend for anything I wanted for myself. I have the apartment in Paris, which I’m going to sell eventually. I’m waiting for the market there to improve, and I’m going to rent it in the meantime, which will give me a small income. I have some jewelry, which I can sell too. And I’ll need to work.”

“Oh my God, Mom.” Sabrina sat back in her chair at the kitchen table and stared at her. They were like two versions of the same face, light and dark. The yin and yang. Sabrina had her mother’s delicate features, but where Sydney’s hair was blond, Sabrina’s was shining ebony. Sophie’s looks were softer, rounder, she wasn’t as tall as her mother or sister, and for genetic reasons no one could explain, her hair was red. “When did you find out?” her older daughter asked her.

“The day after the funeral. Jesse came to see me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sophie asked gently, her heart aching for her mother.

“It’s only been a little over two weeks, and I needed time to absorb it myself. That’s why I went to Paris, to put the apartment on the market. I’m going to start calling employment agencies this week. I don’t know what they’re going to say, though. I haven’t had a job in sixteen years. I’m hoping to find some kind of work involving fashion or design, but I might have to do something else.” She looked worried as she said it, and Sophie leaned over and took her mother’s hand in her own.

“You don’t forget how to design clothes,” she said gently.

“My skills are totally archaic in today’s world. People don’t even wear what I used to design anymore. I’m thinking that I may be obsolete.” She was frightened and hated to seem so vulnerable to her daughters, but there was no hiding from the truth.

“Will you be okay in the meantime, until you find a job?” Sabrina asked her seriously.

“I will when I sell the apartment in Paris, and am employed. Until then I can manage for a while, but it’s going to be pretty tight. There’s still enough in the checking account to pay for some essentials, for a short time, but not forever.” It was humbling to have to admit to her daughters that she was nearly flat broke. And there was no way she was going to be a burden on either of them or borrow money from them. Sabrina made an enormous salary, deservedly so for the work she did, designing four collections a year, and Sophie did reasonably well, although she made less than her sister, designing clothes for teens, and Andrew and her mother had helped her fill in the gaps occasionally when she needed it. Sydney couldn’t do that anymore either, and glanced at her apologetically. This was the ultimate reversal of fortune. One minute she had been living a luxurious and secure life, and the next she would be living in a tiny apartment, desperate to find a job, if she even could. “If nothing else, I can sell clothes in a boutique,” she said humbly, willing to do whatever she had to.

“That’s ridiculous,” Sabrina said through clenched teeth. “Look at this house and everything in it, for God’s sake, and now you’re going to be a salesgirl somewhere? Come on, Mom. The girls can’t do that to you. They don’t need the money. Andrew must have left them a huge fortune, if they got everything he had. And he’s been giving them money for years. His father left them a trust fund, and their mother has a ton of money.” Marjorie was one of the most successful interior designers in L.A., and a favorite among the Bel Air set, and had done homes for some of the big stars, not to mention the settlement she’d gotten from Andrew years before.

“That’s all true, but we’re stuck with the will. He never changed it. Sometimes life works out that way. I’m not happy about it either, but I have to make the best of it. What other choice do I have?”

Sabrina felt tears of anger sting her eyes as her mother thought of something, left the table, and came back a minute later with Paul Zeller’s card. She had found it in her bag the night before and wanted to show it to them. “I told you about the man I sat next to on the plane. He’s a really nice person, and he seems to have some huge clothing company. I got the impression that he sells low-priced goods. He said to give him a call if I ever want to get back into design. He has factories in China, and he was terrific to me when I was terrified. I was thinking this morning that maybe I should call him. I couldn’t remember the name of his company when you asked the other day.” She handed the business card to Sabrina. “It’s called Lady Louise.” Sabrina closed her eyes when she heard the words, and let out a groan.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me that’s who you met on your flight. He’s the scourge of the industry. You should have pushed him into the Atlantic while you had the chance. Do you know who he is?”

Sydney shook her head. Sophie looked disappointed too. She recognized the name of the firm as well. Everyone in the fashion industry knew it.

“He’s the biggest knockoff mogul in the clothing business,” Sabrina said. “He copies every decent designer there is. He doesn’t even try to disguise it. He hires young designers fresh out of school who don’t know better, pays them ten times what they’re worth, and has a fleet of people running around to photograph every good-looking piece of clothing that’s made. He’s shameless. He changes just enough so he gets away with it, and you can’t copyright most clothing designs anyway. He produces it all in China for pennies with crap fabrics, and gets it into the stores before any of us can get our products shipped. You can buy his copies before you can buy my designs that he knocks off. There’s nothing respectable about him. He’s never sold an original garment. He makes schlock of the worst kind.”

“He says there’s a market for what he sells, and he’s bringing real fashion to people who could never afford it before,” Sydney said. “The concept is a good one, if that’s true. Not everyone can afford the clothes you produce, Sabrina. In fact, damn few people can. What’s wrong with bringing real fashion to the masses? Don’t be such a purist.”

Sabrina looked outraged by what her mother said. “Nothing’s wrong with it if his design staff came up with their own creations occasionally, or did ‘inspirations.’ All they do is copy the rest of us as cheaply as they can, and let us do all the work figuring out which way the winds are blowing every season. He’s just a giant copy machine, Mom. I’ve never seen a single thing they produced that was original. He even copies what Sophie makes for teens. You can’t work for an outfit like that. You have a name. People still remember what you did. I find your dresses sometimes in vintage shops when I’m doing research. You made beautiful clothes. You didn’t copy anyone. You had your own style. People still respect the name of Sydney Smith twenty years later. You’ll be a laughingstock, and so will we, if you go to work for him.”

“You can’t be such a snob, Sabrina. And sooner or later, I’ll need a job to pay my bills. I can’t pick and choose.”

“Do anything, whatever you want, but don’t go to work for someone like him. He’s the bottom of the barrel.” Sabrina was begging her, and Sophie echoed her sister, although more gently, as usual.

“Mom, no one respects what they do in the industry. Sabrina’s right. They even knock us off, and our line is young and inexpensive, not up in the stratosphere like Sabrina’s. He copies everyone and everything, without shame. Trust us, he’s a bottom-feeder. It’s all cheesy knockoffs, they don’t respect anyone, and not a single thing they sell is their own design. It’s all someone else’s, but cheaper and worse.”

Sydney was silently wondering if she should look for herself. The concept of Lady Louise was good. The products they manufactured couldn’t be all bad. She knew how rabid Sabrina was about her designs. But Sabrina worked for a firm that could afford to charge whatever they wanted, based on the name, and the quality of their clothes was top-of-the-line. Sophie was less of an elitist, and even she disapproved of him. But there was room in the market for low-priced products. It had made sense to Sydney when she was talking to Paul Zeller in Nova Scotia. But she decided not to press the point with them. They both looked seriously upset that she would even consider asking him for a job.

“Anyway, he was incredibly kind when the plane nearly crashed. I was scared to death, and for a while it looked like we were going down in the water. I would have panicked without him.”

“Thank God you didn’t crash,” Sophie said with fervor. “We’d be lost without you, Mom. Brina and I will help you find a job, won’t we?” She glanced pointedly at her older sister, and Sabrina nodded, unnerved by everything she had heard during lunch. Their mother was being forced out of her home by her stepdaughters. Her late husband hadn’t provided for her and had left her no money, and she had been thinking about going to work for the worst third-rate knockoff outfit in the business. It was fully clear to them that their mother’s situation was critical, even if she appeared to be calm about it. But now they realized that the ravaged look in her eyes was not just grief from losing the husband she loved, but also financial desperation and the shock of losing everything to the twins.

“We’ll come and help you move, Mom,” Sabrina said quietly. “And tell those two witches to stay out of the house until you do.”

“I can’t do that,” Sydney said realistically. “They own it now. And I gather Kellie is moving in. She wants to make some changes, but they needed a bigger house and now she has one.” Sydney didn’t sound bitter about it, just matter-of-fact and sad.

“Yeah, and that jerk she’s married to would like nothing better than showing off with a house like this,” Sabrina said vehemently. They hated Kellie’s husband, Geoff, too, and Sydney wasn’t fond of him either. He was pretentious and arrogant, based on no accomplishment of his own but only his wife’s money, which he flaunted and spent at every opportunity. Andrew hadn’t been crazy about him, but Kellie loved him, and now they had two kids. He had been a stock analyst on Wall Street when she met him, but had quit his job the minute he married her and hadn’t worked since. They had been married for nine years, and now they had hit the jackpot, and he was going to have a field day strutting around. The thought of it made Sabrina sick, even more so than it did her mother. Sydney was still dazed by the wrecking ball that had hit her, and too terrified and shaken up to be angry at anyone. She was overwhelmed with fear of the future.

All three of them were subdued for the rest of the weekend, and the two girls discussed their mother’s situation all the way back to New York on Sunday night. They worried that she’d be unable to get a job and would run out of money.

“She can live with me if she wants to,” Sophie said generously, but Sabrina was more sensible.

“Neither of you is going to want that forever. She’s too young to just live with you like some old dowager. She needs a life, and a job apparently. This is going to be so hard on her,” Sabrina said unhappily. “At least we talked her out of going to work for Paul Zeller. That would have killed me.”

Sophie smiled at the thought. The idea of it was ridiculous, even to her. “I’m glad he was nice to her on the plane. He must be semi-human after all,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that he was the archenemy of all talented, creative designers, and copied every item of clothing they made.

“I can’t understand how Andrew did that to her,” Sabrina said. “You’d think that sometime during all these years, he’d have written a new will to include her. I can’t believe the twins are getting everything and kicking her out of the house. I hate them more than ever.” But she was angry at Andrew now too. He had disappointed her, and his failure to do what he should have done had hurt their mother badly.

“He just didn’t expect to die at his age,” Sophie said, but it didn’t seem like an adequate explanation to either of them. It was a failure of gargantuan proportions from a man who knew better, and had loved their mother.

“Neither did our father, when he went down on the plane in Zimbabwe. He didn’t have a will either,” Sabrina reminded her.

“He didn’t need one. He didn’t have anything. Andrew did,” Sophie said, thinking about it again, and wondering what would happen to their mother. Sophie wanted to comfort and protect her. And Sabrina wanted to ride into battle for her. But there was no one to fight. Andrew was dead and had left nothing to their mother. The twins owned everything.

Sophie and Sabrina knew their mother was going to have to figure out a way to survive somehow. But how? There were no easy answers, and tough times ahead.