(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 36: "A Mother Knows"

"Barbara, love, I seem to have misplaced one of my socks." Thomas looked up in time to see the lost item flying through the air. He reached out and caught it, balling it together with its twin. "Thank you." She nodded curtly, turning back to her open suitcase. He frowned, coming around the bed. "What's wrong?"

"We shouldn't be leaving," she replied, her voice soft but flat. She looked up, her loose blond curls bouncing slightly. "It's wrong."

He sighed, reaching out for his wife's shoulder. "We already discussed this. If we stay longer like you wanted us to, it will do no good for Olivia."

"Oh, Thomas! Don't be ridiculous!" She brushed his hand away, sidestepping him as she drew her arms tight against her chest. "We can make sure she's getting enough rest. We can help with Caitlin."

"They already have help. Elsa is-"

"We are her parents!"

He sighed. "We're in the way."

Barbara narrowed her blue eyes, the look in them icy as she snapped, "Are we?"

He nodded. "There's no way that she and Gregory can get on with their lives if we are hovering over them. They need time alone." Her head flew around, a rebuttal on her lips when he repeated with insistence, "We're in the way."

She sat down, her shoulders hunched over in defeat. "She's so angry with me." She looked over at her husband as he sat next to her, his eyes clouded with concern. "She's barely spoken to me the last few days."

Thomas smiled when he put his arm around his wife and she leaned into him. "Olivia's protecting her husband. I'm sure you gave him quite the dressing down." She shrugged guiltily and peeked up. "This is her family. This is her life."

"But, Thomas," she said softly, pushing herself up, "does he deserve her?" He frowned and she reached for his hand, squeezing it. "How do we know that Gregory didn't kill-"

"I believe in our daughter." Barbara took her hand back as he continued, "I believe Olivia and she believes her husband."

"It's not that simple."

"It has to be," he said, his stern expression finally getting her attention. "Anything less will hurt Olivia. If supporting Gregory means Olivia will be spared extra grief, then so be it." He cupped his wife's chin and gently turned her face to his. "Your furious with Gregory because he betrayed her. But, do you really think he'd kill another person?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "And, that terrifies me. I'm not sure about anything anymore."

He smiled sadly, cupping her cheek as he said softly, "Let me be sure for both of us then, hmm?" She nodded weakly, a sob rising in her throat as he continued, "I'm sure that, despite his recent actions, Gregory loves our daughter very deeply. I'm sure that he sincerely wants to make things right between them. I'm sure that Olivia loves him and truly believes in his innocence. But, most of all, I'm sure that if we give them some time, things will go back to the way they used to be."

She sighed heavily, pressing her palms against her flaming cheeks. "So, that's it then? We're really leaving?"

He nodded, chucking his wife's chin affectionately. "Yes. We've had our holiday. Now it's home to London in time for the start of a new term." He stood, holding his hand out to help Barbara up. "But we'll be back in March."

She smiled genuinely, looking up at her husband. "To meet our new grandchild."

"Brighter days are ahead, Barbara. I'm sure of it," he said as she moved into his embrace. "Brighter days."

Stanton stepped into the study, his eyebrows jumping up in surprise. Olivia lay on the leather sofa, a plump pillow cushioning her feet. He turned questioningly to Gregory, who covered the handset and offered a simple request, "Close the door, Morris."

He pushed the door shut and, for good measure, turned the lock. "Excellent," he heard Gregory say. "Call me when they've decided." The handset hit the receiver with a measure of victory and he asked, "Good news, Greg?"

"You might say." He stacked his paperwork into a neat pile and stood, crossing the room to the sofa. "Patricia Steele was supposed to meet me in court next week for trial. I got the D.A.'s office to reassign her. They've requested a continuance until the new D.A. is up to speed."

Stanton smirked. This was the kind of win that Gregory thrived on. "How did you manage that?"

"The police got her to sign the search warrant for the house." He glanced down at his wife, who barely moved or otherwise acknowledged the events taking place. "A judge I play golf with decided that was a severe conflict of interest."

"You can probably get the search warrant reversed too."

Gregory cocked his head as he clicked his tongue. "Morris, I thought you knew me better. That was the first thing I did this morning. I also got the small amount of alleged evidence the police collected from the warrant thrown out too."

"Good day for you."

"So far," he muttered as he sat in armchair closest to the sofa, hunched over his knees. "What do you have?"

"What do you know about your two secretaries?"

"They do their jobs," he said slowly. "They came with good references. Both have worked for lawyers before."

Stanton sat across from Gregory with two thin folders in his lap. "I eliminated your three clerks. They're all male. As for your female staff, based on the writing samples and their limited access to you as of late, I'm ruling out your one female clerk and junior secretary. That just leaves Maria Tong and Ruth Runyon. I've got their histories," he said, passing over the folders.

He glanced at Olivia, who hadn't moved and stared vacantly at the ceiling. Her hands rested on her stomach, folded tight. He frowned, not having seen her since Gregory told him that she knew about the letters. "Ruth is the one that's been at the house a lot recently, hasn't she?"

Gregory nodded, thumbing through the files on his two employees. "Maria has been running my office for the last few weeks. Ruth has been running back and forth between here and there." He looked up finally, tossing the folders onto the coffee table between him and Morris. "That's it?"

He cocked his head and leaned back. "What were you hoping for?"

With a heavy sigh, Gregory watched his wife for a long moment. "Something a little more final," he whispered. "Something that would finally end this." Olivia gazed insistently at the ceiling, silent in her anguish as she listened.

"I want to put them both under surveillance." He waited until Gregory looked back at him before continuing, "All of this is just a start. We still don't really have any proof that one of them is her."

"I don't need a lecture on circumstantial evidence," he sighed as he turned back to his wife. His eyes followed the curve of her neck to the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Heaven was the hollow of Olivia's throat, the shallow dip of satin that his lips often claimed. But, heaven was denied to him. She had barely spoken to him since finding out about the letters yesterday, other than to insist that she be present when he met with Stanton. "Do it, but discreetly."

He nodded. "Have you gotten a particular feeling of…" he trailed off, glancing at Olivia.

"What?"

"That one of them has feelings for you." Olivia's statement rang like church bells in the sudden quiet, her words simple but powerful. But, her eyes never strayed from the ceiling, even though by doing so it left the two men riveted.

"Never," Gregory insisted. "Maria has worked for me for over year and Ruth just a few months."

"Maybe Maria is unhappy that you gave Nancy's job to Ruth instead of her." As Stanton watched his friend mull over the suggestion, he continued, "Maybe we got it wrong. It's not love, but revenge. Maria is torturing you because she felt she deserved the promotion that Ruth got."

"Oh, please," Olivia scoffed, still not looking at them. "Revenge? You two haven't the first idea about what a woman does when she's in love." She sighed, closing her burning eyes for a long moment before staring back at the blank ceiling. "This woman has spent months writing you letters, pledging her devotion and making plans for the future. This is not revenge. Whether or not you realize who she is, she loves you," she said dryly.

Gregory sat quietly, listening to his wife. He looked up slowly, wishing she would turn and look at him as she came to her conclusion. "Who loves someone who doesn't know they exist?" he asked quietly.

Stanton sat back, watching as Olivia slowly turned to her husband. Her blue eyes moved over him as she tightened her mouth. "The woman who's fallen in love with you."

"I'll put my best men on it," Stanton said after a long moment. He stood slowly, watching as Gregory and Olivia locked eyes. "You can keep the files."

Gregory nodded, barely registering as Stanton slipped from the room and closed the door behind him. "Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?" he asked, desperate now that she had finally spoken.

She sighed. "Of course you're sorry. You always are."

He started to reach for her, but had second thoughts. "Would it have been better if I showed you the first letter when I got it all those months ago?" he asked.

With a shrug, she pushed herself up and clasped her hands in her lap. "Maybe. I don't know," she admitted softly. She met his eyes and frowned, pain and loathing swirling within his dark brown irises. She reached out and cupped his face, sweeping up to run her hand around to the back of his head. He leaned in, falling to his knees before her. She let him take her hands, feeling his lips on them a moment later. "You do deserve me," she whispered finally, causing him to look up.

He swallowed hard, a rock of emotion lodged in his throat. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his as his arms went around her waist. "Another man wouldn't have done this to you," he finally said, his voice tight as she pulled back.

"Maybe not," she agreed softly, looking deep into his eyes as she cupped his face within her hands. "Then again, I didn't love another man. Just you."

A smile barely came to his lips as he watched her, relishing in the sunlight of her gaze. "Have you regretted it? Loving me?" He watched as she shook her head, her forehead touching his as she leaned back against him. Pulling her against him, he sighed and gently placed his hands on her stomach. Their child moved eagerly and he closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation. "There's nothing else. You know everything now."

She wrapped her arms around him, sighing tiredly. "Oh, Darling…promise?"

"I swear, Liv."

"Dr. Davis? There someone to see you, but she hasn't made an appointment."

John Davis barely glanced up at his secretary hovering in the doorway. "Who is it?" he asked, focusing on his patient's chart as he made a note.

"John?"

He looked up this time, instantly recognizing the voice. "Olivia, please come in." He stood quickly, extending his hand to usher in his wife's friend. "Hold everything, Andrea."

"But, Mrs. Fry has an appointment and-"

"Mrs. Fry will need to be rescheduled." He smiled and firmly closed the door, turning back to his office. Olivia stood quietly in the middle of the room, her hand twitching anxiously. "How are you feeling, Olivia?"

"Fine," she said, even though the expression on his face revealed his disappointment with her answer. "But, I didn't come by to talk about how I feel."

"No?" He gestured her to one of the armchairs by the large window overlooking a green and leafy courtyard. "Most people come to a psychiatrist to talk about how they feel."

"That isn't why I came," she repeated, watching him claim the armchair next to hers.

"How can I help you?" He watched as she reached for her purse and opened her wallet. "What's this?" he asked as she held out a crisp dollar bill.

"Please take it." When he did, Olivia explained, "Now you're my doctor."

"And I'm now bound by the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality," he continued, understanding as he pocketed the money.

She sighed in relief as a small smile graced her face. "Thank you, John. I just need to be sure that nothing I ask you will be repeated."

"To either Bette or Gregory."

She nodded. "No matter what."

He sat back, leaning into the soft leather as he nodded. "What do you need to ask me?" Here, she paused, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. "Why don't you just start at the beginning?" he suggested after she began to restlessly twist her hands.

"The beginning," she repeated, her voice soft. She folded her hands tight in her lap and looked up, meeting John square in the eye. "Gregory's been receiving letters."

"Letters?"

"Love letters."

John's face was still, detached as he took her clarification in. "I see," he began.

"No, you don't." She rested her hand on the crest of her stomach as she sighed deeply. "He's been getting them for months and he doesn't know who's sending them."

A long moment passed, the tick-tock of the clock melting into the background. "Do you believe that?" he asked quietly. Her eyes flashed before they narrowed into defiant slits and he held up his hands, surrendering. "Don't tell me you never asked yourself that."

"I have. And I believe him." She squared her shoulders, watching him carefully. "Gregory doesn't know who this woman is." John nodded, urging her to continue. "But the letters…they're bizarre."

"How so?"

Olivia scratched her stomach, her skin heated and crawling with an unbearable itchiness. "This woman writes about Gregory like she knows him." She paused, swallowing hard before she continued in a hushed whisper, "She writes about Gregory like she is his wife."

"What else?" he asked quietly. But, she sat quietly, toying with the empty space on her left hand's ring finger. "Has she threatened you?" She nodded slowly, looking down into her lap. "It will help you to talk about it."

"Talk about how a crazy woman is threatening me after Gregory's mistress was murdered?" she scoffed, shivering in spite of herself. "How does that help?"

"Because you're afraid. If you keep your fear locked up, you'll drown."

She shook her head dismissively, wincing as the baby kicked her ribcage. "I told you I didn't come to talk about myself." She waited until he tilted his head before she continued, "Gregory is positive the woman writing the letters killed Cashlin. But, she writes letters to him like they're involved in a relationship."

"You've seen them? The letters?" She nodded and he sighed, steepling his fingers as he asked, "Does she remind Gregory of things? Places they've gone? Private memories that only two people in love would share?" She nodded again, a chill racing down her spine as John's eyes darkened. "Have the letters become increasingly hostile?"

"Why?"

"Because she's in love with Gregory and she's convinced herself that he loves her in return. And he isn't responding to her affections."

"But how can he if he doesn't even know who she is!" she exclaimed, echoing her husband's question from earlier.

John nodding as he stood and turned to the bookcase. "I'm quite sure he does know her." His back was turned and he missed the way a wave of panic washed across her face. "They have met once in passing. Or, she's someone he sees on a daily basis who misunderstood a moment of kindness."

"I don't understand," she confessed as he turned back, thumbing through a thick textbook.

"Not many people do," he admitted, returning to the armchair with the heavy book in his lap. "And, not having treated this woman, I can only speculate, but it sounds like…" he trailed off, running his finger down the page, "Ah, here it is - de Clérambault's Syndrome."

"I've never heard of that."

"Well, there's some dispute within the psychiatric community as to whether or not it actually exists. The psychosis is named after a French doctor who wrote a paper on it back in the 20's. It's informally known as Erotomania."

"Mania?" she whispered.

"When diagnosing the symptoms, many doctors confuse it with Bipolar Disorder or even Schizophrenia. That's why we see so few cases of it." He sighed, scanning the page with his finger as he asked softly, "Did you ever love someone from afar when you were a young girl?"

She shrugged, brushing her hair from her shoulder. "Frankie Doyle. I was fourteen. He was three years ahead of me in school."

"What was special about him?"

"Seriously?" He nodded and looked up. She grinned bashfully as she admitted, "He rolled his own cigarettes. That was a big thing for England in the 60's." He chuckled, turning back to the textbook. "But, it wasn't really love."

"That's what makes you different from an Erotomaniac." He turned the page, paraphrasing aloud, "From the few case studies done, it appears to exclusively affect young women. They develop an intense infatuation for someone wealthy or otherwise unattainable and they mistake the feelings for true love."

"So, if I was still pining for Frankie, I'd be an Erotomaniac?"

"Well, it's not just the intense feelings they have. It's that they act on them. Letters, small tokens of affection. These women truly believe their love is returned." He looked up, his brow furrowed. "The fascinating thing is that these women also believe they are simply responding to the man pursuing them."

Olivia sat up, gasping slightly as her chest tightened. "So, this woman thinks that Gregory started all of this?"

"She most likely thinks he's still doing it. Erotomaniacs convince themselves that something as simple as a nod in their direction is indicative of the man's love for them."

"Is there a cure?" she asked, unable to keep the nervous tremor from her hand.

He hesitated before finally shaking his head. "There's anti-psychotic medication, but it doesn't solve the root cause of Erotomania."

"What is the root cause?"

"We don't know yet."

She cleared her throat and asked, "What happens next?" He was still as she continued, "She's angry. She sees me as rival. She-" With an embarrassed shrug, she brought her hand to her mouth and coughed, rasping for breath.

"Breathe through your nose," he said, standing. "I'll get you some water."

She leaned forward, gratefully sipping the ice water when he returned a moment later. "Thank you," she sighed, the cool water soothing her inflamed throat.

"Does Gregory know you're here?"

She shook her head, gripping the glass. "No. What happens," she asked, changing subjects, "when she realizes Gregory isn't hers?"

John sighed, closing the book gently and laying it on the small table between them. "She won't," he said evasively, regretting the way her eyes turned.

"She blames me. She thinks I'm keeping him from her," she whispered, setting the glass aside. Her elbows found her knees as she hid her face in her hands. "That's why you asked if the letters were growing hostile." He nodded as she peeked through her fingers. "She killed Cashlin because she was in the way and now-"

"You must tell the police."

She sat up, sighing. "Gregory won't. They're still desperate to arrest him for Cashlin's murder. He won't bring this to the police until he figures out who's sending them. He's working with a private investigator."

"Do you want to wait that long?" Her eyebrow arched and he clarified, "For every day that goes by and Gregory isn't with her, her resentment towards you will grow."

"Gregory hired a man to protect me," she replied weakly, even as she relived the terror from her nightmare the other day. "I- I just came to you so I could know what we're dealing with."

He watched as she began to push herself up, effectively ending their meeting. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, taking her arm and helping her up.

She smiled, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "No, John. Thank you for speaking with me."

"If you ever want to come back, just call," he said, walking her to the door. "Remember, you've got me on retainer."

"Does one dollar get me a lot of sessions?" she asked softly as they stepped into the small reception area. Stanton stood, tossing the well-thumbed travel magazine aside as the doctor hugged her gently.

"Sliding scale," he said simply. He nodded at Stanton, who stood protectively behind her. "Please take care of yourself, Olivia."

She smiled and turned away, letting Stanton lead her out of the office. "Read anything interesting?" she asked as she took his arm.

He shrugged. "Montreal might be a nice place to take Val and Maya for vacation next winter. Next best thing to Europe and less expensive."

She nodded as they waited for the elevator. "Are you going to tell Gregory where I was?" she asked finally.

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd prefer not," she admitted. "He'll worry."

Stanton felt her fingers digging into his broad arm, her throat working hard as she watched him. "As far as I'm concerned, I've been bored out of my mind as you wandered through racks of clothes at one of the boutiques."

She smiled gratefully, brushing her hair behind her ear. "But I didn't buy anything."

He shrugged, contributing to the lie. "You're frustrated. You thought every outfit you tried on looked like a tent. You're fed up with maternity clothes."

With a laugh, she turned back to the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. "He'll believe that." The polished silver doors showed her reflection and she sighed, not recognizing the woman before her. Fear clouded her eyes, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. "John thinks we should tell the police. He thinks she's going to get angrier with every passing day."

He sighed, watching as Olivia lowered her head. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Not on my watch."

She looked up, her eyes shiny as she blinked. "Thank you, Morris."

Gregory came down the stairs, Caitlin on his hip. The front door was open, a warm breeze blowing through the foyer. Barbara and Thomas stood quietly, watching as the driver picked up the last of their luggage and disappeared out the front door with it. He lowered his daughter to the ground and whispered, "Say goodbye to Nana and Poppop."

As the child skipped across the foyer, Gregory moved to Olivia's side. Her eyes were downcast, her hands protectively on her stomach. She glanced up as he put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned in, taking in the faint scent of his cologne. "They'll be back," he whispered, kissing her forehead as she wrapped her arm around his waist. She nodded, watching Caitlin giggle uproariously as her grandparents sandwiched her between them with kisses.

"That tickles!" the child shrieked, squirming as her grandfather swept her up into his arms.

Barbara folded her sweater over her arm, feeling nothing but the distance between her and her daughter. She watched her stand quietly with Gregory, reluctantly admitting to herself that he would protect her. Protect her or die trying. She shivered, draping her sweater over her shoulders as she watched Thomas near them.

"Gregory," he said, shaking his son-in-law's hand firmly. He thought back to the day he found the young lawyer outside his schoolroom, a bundle of nerves beneath his cool exterior. His own surprise when he realized Gregory's clandestine visit to London was for the sole purpose of asking for Olivia's hand. He hadn't even stayed the night. After getting his consent, the young man got right back on a plane and flew back to California so he could propose. He sure Gregory was right for his daughter then and he was still sure now. They were still those people. Things would be better again in time.

The younger man nodded. "We're sorry you decided not to extend your visit after all."

"Well, with work, it just wasn't possible. Besides," he said brightly, turning to his daughter, "we'll be back in a few weeks." Olivia slipped from Gregory's embrace, throwing her arms around her father. He smiled as she gripped him tightly, her back shuddering beneath his arms as he hugged her close. "Back before you know it."

She nodded, looking up as she blinked back tears. "Promise?" she asked softly, her voice cracking.

"Of course, love." He frowned as she nodded, the heartbreak evident on her face. He chucked her chin and smiled, reaching for her hand to squeeze it. "I love you, Olivia."

"I love you too, Daddy," she sighed, falling back into his embrace. She felt her father's strong hand on her back and she pursed her lips, putting on a brave face as she backed away. "Call when you get home."

"We will," he said, turning to Barbara and reaching for her hand. Mother and daughter locked eyes and Thomas turned to Gregory, gesturing with his head. They slipped out the front door, Caitlin in their wake.

Barbara sighed, looking down at her shoes for a long moment. "I know I've disappointed you," she heard Olivia say and her head shot up in surprise.

"You've never disappointed me, Olivia." She took her hand, her blue eyes wide as they moved over her daughter's pain stricken face. "Never." She pulled her daughter close, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Your father and I would go to the ends of the earth if that would ease the even the slightest pain for you." A tear rolled down her face when Olivia squeezed her back and she sighed, continuing, "It's incredibly difficult for a mother to see her child suffering and know there is nothing she can do to stop it."

Olivia crumpled as her mother cupped her face in both hands, gazing intently into her eyes. "I wish you weren't leaving," she admitted, tears spilling from her eyes as she gripped her mother's wrists. "There's so much-"

"What?" She paled, watching as her daughter lowered her face, sobbing into oblivion. Her hot tears burned into her flesh as she pulled her daughter against her. "Please, Darling, tell me."

She shook her head, an unnatural flush coloring her cheeks as she wiped them dry. Her parents could never know about the letters. In their eyes, especially Barbara's, it would just be another indictment against Gregory. She forced a smile to her face as her mother's hands fell to her shoulders. "I don't want you to leave and still think poorly of Gregory," she covered, watching as her mother stiffened.

"Time, Olivia. I just need time." Her lips disappeared into a thin line as she watched Olivia nod. "It was a dreadful few weeks," she began, reaching out to smooth her daughter's hair. She sighed, channeling her husband's eternal optimism as she said, "I'm sure everything will be better when we come back in March."

"Seven weeks."

With a smile, Barbara fingered a lock of her daughter's hair. "Yes, seven weeks until the new baby makes his grand entrance."

"Or hers."

"Oh, no." She shook her head as she gently placed her hand on her daughter's stomach. "This is a grandson."

"You think so, Mummy?" Olivia asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

She smiled mysteriously, taking her daughter's hand. "A mother knows."