Читать книгу The Heiress - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 12

“SO, SHE GOT YOUR SUV, your AMEX card and three hundred in cash from your wallet,” Harlan Decker stated as he sat back in his swivel chair and lit a cigar.

Jack nodded and looked over at the casually dressed private investigator, feeling damn embarrassed. As always, the burly ex-cop was dressed like a tourist, in a loud shirt, knee-length plaid shorts, wide-brimmed straw hat, knee-high crew socks and well-worn running shoes. He had a camera slung around his neck and a street map sticking out of his shirt pocket. His face and neck were sunburned, his gray hair damp with perspiration from the heat and humidity outside. Jack knew Harlan’s disguise worked like a charm—Harlan could wander in practically anywhere, look a little lost and distracted, and not be paid any mind. He was also an ace at both uncovering and keeping secrets.

Too tense to stay seated for any length of time, Jack got up to pace the P.I.’s office. Knowing he could trust Harlan to guard the Deveraux family and shipping company’s reputation the way he always had, Jack warned, “Tom doesn’t want any publicity. This is a private family matter. He wants it to stay that way.”

Harlan’s glance cut to the bruise on Jack’s face. Too discreet to inquire how that might have occurred, Harlan picked up his pen and asked, “How much money did Miss Templeton have on her own, do you know?”

“Probably not much,” Jack predicted, worrying a little about that. The lack of ready cash, combined with her need to stay hidden, could lead Daisy to some dives that were not necessarily safe. Jack didn’t want to think about anything happening to her, especially when he was the one who had prompted her to take off the way she had. If only he had been able to walk away from temptation and contain his lust for her…. The situation might be very different now. Jack let out a long, self-effacing breath, aware Harlan was waiting for him to continue. “As you probably already know, since you just got finished doing a job for Daisy yourself, the Templetons cut Daisy off weeks ago and she just returned from several weeks in Switzerland that, according to Amy, had Daisy down to her last couple of bucks.”

Harlan made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’ll start checking the airports and train stations, but my guess is she’s still driving your SUV.”

That was Jack’s theory, too.

“Less chance of her movements being traced.”

And more of a chance of being arrested and creating a situation embarrassing to both families. If there was one thing Daisy Templeton was interested in, it was payback. And Jack had the feeling she wouldn’t rest until she’d gotten it. Knowing how upset she still was and, Jack admitted reluctantly, probably had every right to be, he slid his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at the parking lot below. In retrospect, he knew he should have expected Daisy would pull something after they made love. He should have talked to her, tried to work things out verbally. Or at least try to discuss what had just happened between them. But like an infatuated fool, he had figured conversation could wait until morning and wrapped her in his arms and held her until she—they both—fell asleep.

Now, thanks to his lack of foresight, Daisy was out there somewhere, feeling the way he had for as long as he could remember—like no one had ever really loved her, or ever would. Like she was a source of shame, existing only to sully the family honor. And that was a miserable way to live, Jack knew.

“Eventually, though,” Harlan continued pragmatically, “she’ll start working somewhere and have to use her social security number, or she’ll have to start charging on your credit card.”

And that was how they would locate her. “I’ll check my American Express account daily for any transactions,” Jack promised, his customary confidence beginning to return.

“And I’ll start looking for her right away,” Harlan retorted with a narrow glance. “How fast I find her will depend on just how badly she doesn’t want to be found.”

PAULO LIFTED HIS LIPS from Grace’s breast, the frustration he felt evident on his face. “Why are you pretending?”

Grace’s skin warmed self-consciously. She shifted away from Paulo and tugged the sheet upward to cover her nakedness. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in the cool polite voice she used to keep people at bay.

“Last night. This morning.” Like a scientist in the midst of a perplexing experiment, Paulo stroked his hand across her belly. “You merely pretended to feel pleasure. Why?”

A shiver of revulsion ghosted over her insides. “What makes you think that’s the case?” Grace tried hard to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. And how was it this man knew what Tom had never once guessed in all their years of marriage?

“You moan, you sigh, you go through the motions, but you’re not wet here unless I wet you with my tongue.” Paulo gently caressed her between the thighs, and Grace felt…nothing. Except the wish he would stop touching her. “Your nipples bead when I touch them but you don’t tremble with arousal. Instead, you fake it. And I want to know why,” Paulo insisted. “I want to know if it’s me, if it’s something I’m not doing or should be doing to excite you, or if it’s just that you can’t relax the way you want to right now.”

Her body taut with equal parts frustration and embarrassment, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I think you should leave.” She didn’t talk about this. Never had. Never would. Her mother had been right. Sex was dirty. Meant for bringing children into the world and little else, except maybe a man’s gratification.

“Grace—”

“I mean it, Paulo.” Grace reached for her satin robe and shrugged the sensual fabric over her shoulders, loving the way it felt, the way she had never loved a man’s touch. Feeling more humiliated than she had when she’d been fired, she continued in a low, flat tone, “Being with you was a mistake. I was just too caught up with emotion to tell you, and that was wrong on my part.” Despite their failure to bring each other genuine pleasure, she was grateful to the sensual young man for trying, for being so patient with her, even when it didn’t work. She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she had even tried this, after years of abstinence, after being with no one but Tom. She looked her yoga instructor in the eye, knowing after what had just happened those lessons were going to have to end, too, because she would never be able to have his hands on her again without thinking about this. And she didn’t want to think about this, any more than she wanted to think about all the times she had put aside her dislike of sex and feigned enjoyment with Tom.

She swallowed hard around the tight knot of emotion in her throat, even as she yearned for a long hot cleansing shower, the kind that had relaxed her so much in the past. “If you think I led you on—”

Paulo shook his head. He stood and, taking her cue, began to dress, as well. “I knew when Tom showed up this morning what the problem was.” Paulo looked sad but not surprised. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

Grace didn’t respond. But then, she thought sadly as she put on her slippers and exited the bedroom, she didn’t have to. Everyone knew the answer to that, just as they knew their marriage never had, and never would, work. The problems she and Tom had had in the bedroom—with her not wanting him, and him eventually not wanting her, either—had only been the half of it. She had two things she could count on to make her happy—her kids and her work. And that was it.

GRACE SPENT the next week and a half immersing herself in her work. At the soundstage, she was overseeing the construction of the kitchen, bedroom and living-room sets for her new television show, when Amy came to see her. Grace knew immediately there was trouble—she could tell by the pinched look on her only daughter’s face.

“Mom, I’m worried about Dad.”

Grace did not want to talk about Tom, and especially not at the soundstage, with various grips, cameramen and set designers around. Grace put the fabric swatches for the sofas aside and regarded her daughter stoically. “Amy, I’m trying to work here,” Grace murmured with as much patience as she could muster, and it wasn’t a lot.

Amy took her mother by the elbow and led Grace over to a deserted corner of the warehouselike building, where At Home with Grace was going to be taped. Ignoring Grace’s wish they save this for later, Amy continued anxiously, “He hasn’t gone to the office for ten days.”

Grace smiled at Amy as if they were discussing something as mundane and happy as Amy’s imminent need of a shopping expedition for maternity clothes. “I suspect he’s probably long overdue for a vacation.”

Amy clamped her arms over her gently rounded belly and regarded Grace mutinously. “He isn’t taking a vacation.”

Grace put up a hand to ward off the approach of a staff member and continued talking to Amy. “Then what is he doing?”

Amy sighed, her blue eyes abruptly filling with unshed tears. “Not much of anything from what any of us can tell,” she said in a low, quavering voice.

Grace knew Amy was more emotional now—the hormones of pregnancy ensured that—but that didn’t mean Grace would change her feelings when it came to her ex. “Honey,” Grace said as gently as possible, “this isn’t my concern.” And she didn’t want it to be, ever again.

“Then who else is going to get Daddy off the yacht?”

Grace blinked. Amy had lost her. “What are you talking about?”

Amy drew a tremulous breath. “Apparently, after the party, Daddy didn’t leave the house for about three days. He didn’t shave or shower, he just sat in the library brooding and drinking. Theresa was concerned—she wanted to call a doctor. Daddy wouldn’t let her, so she called Mitch and he went over and found Dad. Not drunk but not exactly sober, either. Dad wouldn’t talk to him. So Mitch called Gabe and Gabe went over.”

“And?” Grace prodded anxiously. If anyone would be able to tell if there was something medically wrong, causing Tom—the epitome of tranquillity under stress—to behave that way, Grace knew it would have been Gabe.

Amy shrugged. “Gabe said that medically there was nothing wrong with Daddy—he wasn’t clinically depressed—he was just totally devastated.”

“Well, he’s allowed to take a break,” Grace said, telling herself Tom’s emotional state had nothing to do with finding Paulo at her place, and everything to do with being identified as a philanderer to his grown children.

Amy laid a hand over her heart. “That’s what we all thought initially. But now that it’s been going on for nearly two weeks, we’re beginning to get scared.”

Grace had to agree, that didn’t sound like Tom. Not at all. Even in the midst of the divorce and their darkest days together, he had never taken off work. But instead had sought solace and refuge in his work, just as Grace was doing now.

Grace paused, still trying to make sense of Tom’s actions. “Is he taking the yacht out?” Tom did love to go boating, always had. And it was an affection he had passed on to all their children.

“Occasionally.” Amy stuck her hands in the front of her overalls, which were emblazoned with the name of her redecorating business. “Mostly he just sits on the yacht and broods.”

That didn’t sound good, but it didn’t sound lethal, either. Grace sighed and for the benefit of staff around them kept the carefully composed smile on her face. “Have you talked to your father about this?”

Amy hesitated. She ducked her head, studying the toe of her sneaker. “I haven’t seen him.”

Grace wasn’t surprised. In the past, when she and Tom had been quarreling, their children had pretty much run for the hills and tried to stay as far away from any familial turmoil as they could. None of them had wanted to take sides in Grace and Tom’s marital problems, and Grace couldn’t blame them. Their mutual anger and resentment had been hard enough for her and Tom to deal with. Neither of them had wished it on their children. Besides, their four kids—five if you counted Daisy now for Tom—had their own problems, careers and lives to attend to, and each other to go to for comfort and counsel. But, Grace determined that didn’t mean Amy could identify a problem, dump it on Grace’s doorstep and then run away. “If you’re so concerned—and I can see that you are—why haven’t you seen your dad?” Grace asked quietly.

Amy’s chin took on a petulant tilt and her eyes glowed with blue fire. “Because I’m still mad at him, and I don’t want to make things worse, and anyway—Nick said I should wait until I cool off and can listen objectively to what Daddy has to say about what happened.”

That sounded like Amy’s husband, Grace thought, realizing all over again how glad she was that Nick was now a member of the Deveraux clan. Nick had not only helped Grace find a new career path to take in the wake of her firing from Rise and Shine, America! by signing her to do a television show for his production company, he had given Amy the tenderness, stability and practical guidance Grace’s ever-so-romantic daughter needed to remain grounded and optimistic.

“But honestly, I don’t know when that will be. Chase, Mitch, Gabe and I have had several discussions about this, and we are all still very mad at him—even Mitch—who is Dad’s lieutenant in just about everything. I mean, all these years we thought you were responsible for the divorce, that you going to New York City to take the job when you knew Dad’s work and all our lives were here in Charleston, was what caused the breakup. But now we know the truth.” Amy’s voice dropped to an anguished murmur as the production staff and construction workers continued to give Grace and Amy wide berth. “We know what Daddy did to you. And we still can’t believe that he slept with Iris Templeton! My God!” Amy’s eyes welled with tears once again.

Grace saw the disillusionment in her daughter’s eyes, remembered full well how that felt, and her heart went out to her. “Oh, Amy, honey—” Grace put her arm around Amy’s shoulders.

“And poor Daisy,” Amy interrupted before Grace could comfort her further. “She’s apparently disappeared, too.”

Grace paused as that news sank in. “What do you mean, disappeared?” Grace demanded uneasily.

Amy drew a deep, quavering breath. “She took off with Jack Granger’s SUV and his credit card, and she even stole some cash out of his wallet. They’ve got that P.I. Dad likes—Harlan Decker—looking for her, but there’s no telling how long it will be before they find her.”

As always, the mention of Tom’s illegitimate child, and the problems Daisy perpetually seemed to cause, ignited a core of resentment within Grace. Try as she might, she couldn’t see the young woman as anything but proof of Tom’s betrayal. But figuring Amy didn’t need to know that, Grace turned the conversation back to Tom once again. “I’m the last person your father would want to see right now.”

Amy shrugged. “That may be true, Mom.” Her voice dropped beseechingly. “But you’re probably also the only person who can help.”

TOM HAD FIGURED Grace would show up sooner or later—he figured the kids would send her. So it was no surprise when she walked across the gangplank onto his yacht at 5:00 p.m. Thursday evening. Unlike Tom, who was wearing only a pair of navy-blue swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses, she looked pretty and professional in a white silk pantsuit. She also looked irked, and she didn’t waste any time starting in on him, either. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, propping her hands on her hips.

Tom continued disassembling the reel he’d been working on. “Exactly what it looks like, I’m repairing my fishing rod.” It had taken a heck of a beating the last ten days or so, given the way he’d been using it.

Grace strode closer, her high heels clicking across the deck. She held a hand above her eyes to protect them from the glare of the sun. “People are going to start to talk.”

Tom shrugged. Like he gave a damn about that.

When he made no move to defend or explain himself, Grace released a short, aggravated breath, dragged a deck chair over and sat down beside him. She leaned forward. “Do you really want to disillusion our children any more than you already have with this extended vacation of yours?”

If Tom didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she cared about him, given the way she was acting. “Is that what I’m doing?” he asked dryly. He reached down into the toolbox beside him for a pair of pliers.

Grace huffed and spoke between tightly gritted teeth. “If you stay out here on the boat much longer, people will realize you’re not just taking a much-deserved few days off from work.”

Reassuring his ex would have been easy, but Tom decided not to tell Grace he had already determined he would return to work the following day, the Deveraux mansion that very night. After all, it wasn’t her business what he did, just as it wasn’t his business what she did.

Grimacing as the reel refused to cooperate with him, he decided to remind her she was hardly one to talk. “I’m surprised you were able to tear yourself away from your young lover.”

Pink color that had nothing to do with the summer heat and humidity flooded Grace’s cheeks. “I won’t discuss Paulo with you.”

Tom nodded gravely. “And no wonder,” he returned sarcastically, “since being with him makes you a hypocrite.”

Grace’s eyes flashed with anger. “Me?”

Tom dropped both the reel and the pliers into the toolbox and reached into the cooler beside him for a beer. Eyes on Grace, he shook the excess water off the bottle and twisted open the top. “Weren’t you the one who always said that sex was something sacred, only to be embarked upon within the love and sanctity of marriage?”

Since their divorce, Tom noted, that view obviously hadn’t lasted. Not that Tom had been a saint, either, in the fifteen years he and Grace had been apart. He had made love to a dozen women over the years, enduring everything from a single one-night stand to a relationship that had lasted almost four months. But none of the entanglements had been satisfying, because he hadn’t loved any of the women, not the way he had once loved Grace.

Grace stood, her slender shoulders stiffening. “This isn’t helping.”

You’re telling me. It had been days now and all he could think of was Grace naked beneath that robe, her young gigolo standing there in a towel. Had Paulo discovered how spectacular her body was? Had she kissed him back like she meant it, or had she simply endured her young lover’s caresses, the way she had often tolerated his?

Grace clamped her lips together. “You have no right to comment on my actions.” She glared at Tom resentfully. “We’re not married anymore.”

Tom stared right back at her. “But you felt compelled to flaunt your affair with that guy in my face anyway,” Tom noted bitterly as he ran his hand across his jaw, which was scraggly with a beard. His gut twisting with jealousy, Tom took another sip then set his bottle down beside him and turned his attention back to his reel.

“I didn’t ask you to show up at my place at the crack of dawn,” Grace continued, defending herself.

Not buying her excuse, Tom stopped rethreading the reel and regarded Grace steadily. “After what had happened the night before, you knew I would come to see you as soon as I could, to talk about Daisy and our four kids. Not that the other morning was the first time. You’ve been with that overrated, overpriced gigolo for weeks now!” And it killed Tom because he had thought—hoped—the relationship was just a flirtation, that at heart it was platonic. How foolish had that fantasy been?

Grace turned her face to the breeze.

Tom watched the soft blond layers of Grace’s hair get whipped around sexily by the salt-scented wind. “Being with him that way is wrong,” he snapped grimly. And you know it.

A mixture of shock and fury widened her eyes as she turned back to him. “Says who?” Grace advanced on him emotionally, looking as though she was tempted to haul off and hit him. “You?” She poked her index finger against his bare chest. “The arbiter of extramarital sex? Please.” Grace threw up both hands in aggravation. “You’ve squired your share of young and beautiful women around since we split. And for all I know, even before we separated.”

That was unfair but typical, Tom thought. He stood, and really pissed off now, squared off with her. “I was only unfaithful to you once,” he said.

“And since?” Grace queried, arching her delicate blond eyebrows at him.

It was Tom’s turn to move his glance away. A muscle working convulsively in his jaw, he shifted to the harbor beyond. “You left me, remember?”

“For good reason, if you recall,” she reminded him.

Tom shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, because you put a wall between us.”

“We had children, a home together…” She spoke as if she didn’t believe he was turning the tables on her.

But Tom knew it was the truth. And he knew, whether she liked it or not, it was past time his wife faced just how cold and unaffectionate she had been prior to his interlude with Iris. “Yes, Grace, you distanced yourself from me.”

“I was depressed! Finding out I was sterile was a devastating blow.”

Or an excuse. Tom tread nearer, trying not to recall how much he had wanted to make love to her then, how much—despite everything—he still did. “We already had four children, Grace.”

“Five,” Grace countered miserably, “if you count the baby we lost when I miscarried, the year after Amy was born.”

“But you wanted more, didn’t you?” Tom remembered bleakly. And when she couldn’t have them, she had completely turned away from him, in her heart and in their marriage.

“We both wanted more kids. Half a dozen, remember?” Grace’s voice became a strangled sob as she forged on. “Only I couldn’t because of the complications I had after the miscarriage. But that didn’t stop you, did it?” Her eyes gleamed with hurt as she reminded, “Because you went right on to have another child without me—you had Daisy.”

Tom saw it all—the jealousy, envy, resentment—that another woman had given him what Grace no longer could. “That was never meant to be more than one night,” he told her with gut-wrenching honesty.

Grace stared at him and slowly shook her head, appearing as if she could hardly believe his naiveté. “That night created a child, Tom. It destroyed our family.” Tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “But you can’t admit that to yourself even now, can you? You persist in saying and feeling I should just get over it.”

Tom swallowed hard. “Why can’t you?” he demanded, feeling more frustrated than ever.

Grace threw her hands up. “You know why I can’t! Because you betrayed me.”

Tom clamped down on his own hurt. Jaw set, he said, “I made a mistake.” It had been a bad one, yes. But it should not have ended their marriage.

“You ripped my heart in two,” Grace accused with insurmountable bitterness.

And, Tom thought sadly, she had never allowed him to put it back together again.

Grace turned away from him and walked over to the edge of the deck. Her back to the marina, she stared out at the harbor, and the coming together of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said in a low, defeated voice.

Tom crossed to her side. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her resisting body to face him. “How can you say that?” he asked hoarsely. Didn’t she understand—would she never understand—his heart had been ripped into pieces, too?

“Because—” Grace turned her sad eyes up to his and continued dejectedly “—it would’ve happened eventually anyway.” She paused, shook her head in silent remonstration. “My grief and depression were just an excuse to do what you already wanted to do in your heart, Tom, what you had probably always wanted to do, which was forget the wife you had at home and bed down with some young, rich and sexy society girl.”

“That’s not true. It was you, Grace, who didn’t want me.”

Anger flared at the corners of her mouth. “Will you stop blaming me for what you did that night?” She balled her hands into fists. “You walked out on me, Tom. You answered Iris’s distress call and went to her apartment. You unzipped your pants, took off your trousers, and you were with her. And you probably would’ve kept right on seeing her if I hadn’t found you two.”

Tom knew it had been an ugly time. All because he’d had too much pride to go to Grace and tell her how lonely—how bereft and shut out—he felt. He should have gotten down on his knees and begged her to love him again. Instead, he had allowed himself to become angry, vengeful. And looked to another woman, who was just as needy and unhappy in her own way, for comfort. And for that, Tom would always blame himself. Just as virulently as Grace blamed him.

Mustering what little patience he had left, Tom explained, “You know I regret what happened that night with all my heart and soul. As for the rest…I stayed with you because I wanted to work it out.”

“No,” Grace corrected. “You stayed with me because you didn’t want to lose custody of your kids or hurt your business or let your infidelity become public knowledge!”

What could Tom say to that? It was true. He hadn’t wanted any of those things to happen. He hadn’t wanted their life to fall apart, any more than it already had. And a divorce would have ensured even more misery than they had already suffered.

“So now you’re blaming me for wanting to stay married to you, is that it?”

“I am blaming you for destroying our family!” She advanced on him, voice breaking, looking if possible even more dejected and disillusioned with the situation they had found themselves in years ago. “You never should have cheated on me—on us—no matter how rejected you felt or what the situation was with us at the time. You should have done whatever we had to do to work it out and make our marriage strong and enduring instead of turning to someone else to warm your bed. And most of all—” she began to cry “—you should have honored the vows that we took, the promises we made to love each other and only each other for as long as we both live. Because if you had—if you had acted less selfishly—we would still be together now. And somewhere deep inside, Tom, you have to know that.”

Tom’s heart exploded with anger. He was tired of being painted the only wrong-doer here, tired of making apologies that fell on deaf ears. Tired of not being given the opportunity to make it up to her. “You know I’d do anything if I could take back what happened,” he said huskily, near breaking down himself. “But I can’t.”

Grace withdrew into herself, into the place where he had no hope of reaching her. “No,” she said before assuming her on-air television personality, “you can’t.”

“And that pleases you,” Tom accused.

Grace stared at him as if she couldn’t possibly have heard right. “What?”

“Let’s be honest here, Grace.” Tom decided to cut the courtesy and lay all their cards on the table. “This wasn’t all bad news to you. You wanted an excuse to lock me out of your heart and keep me out of your bed. Because all you ever wanted me for was the big house and the cushy lifestyle and the kids.”

Grace gasped in indignation. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Tom lifted his eyebrow. As much as he loathed to admit it, he knew the truth. “You were never happy being my wife, Grace, even before Iris.”

Grace looked at him then as if she had never known him at all. “Maybe because back then that’s all I was. I needed a career. I needed—”

“Self-esteem?”

Grace reeled backward, as if he had slapped her. “You knew a career was important to me when you married me!”

“And I also knew it shouldn’t have mattered that you grew up in a small town, the daughter of parents who owned and ran a dry-cleaning store,” Tom said bitterly. He looked at his ex-wife, his heart aching. “You were everything to me, Grace. Everything. But you never let yourself believe it.”

“WELL?” Chase said when Grace met her son and his new wife for dinner at a popular downtown-Charleston restaurant.

Chase had come straight from the offices of Modern Man magazine, and was dressed, as usual, in pleated khaki trousers and a short-sleeve linen shirt perfect for the balmy September weather. Bridgett, a financial advisor, and noted author in her own right, was wearing a trim black skirt and silky black-and-white cardigan set. Grace smiled. The two of them looked so strikingly handsome together. Chase, with his wavy dark-brown hair, lively slate-blue eyes and tanned athletic presence. Bridgett, with her auburn hair, deep chocolate eyes and slender feminine frame. And more important, Grace thought, they were happy. And so much in love with each other, it filled her heart with joy.

Grace sat down and spread her napkin across her lap. “I didn’t get anywhere with him, either.”

“So he’s still on the yacht.” Chase returned to his own seat after helping Grace with her chair.

Grace nodded at both Bridgett and Chase, marveling again at how happy—how very much in love—they looked. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But you’ll be relieved to know that your father’s not drinking so much as brooding.” Feeling sorry for himself, angry at the world, at her.

Chase scowled as he opened the menu. “I’d go try and talk to him myself but I want to slug him.”

Having already decided what she wanted—the crab soup and a salad—Grace closed her menu wearily. Chase was her strongest defender, as well as her first-born and oldest son, but in this case he was also dead wrong. She regarded her son steadily and said, “This isn’t your fight, Chase. It’s mine.”

Chase clenched his jaw, at that moment looking very much like his incredibly strong-willed and stubborn father. “Wrong, Mom.” Fierce resentment gleamed in Chase’s slate-blue eyes. “When Dad betrayed you, he betrayed the whole family.”

Grace sighed and shook her head. “You still have to forgive him,” she advised calmly.

“Why?” Chase challenged. “You obviously haven’t, and it’s been what—more than twenty years now?”

What could Grace say to that? It was true. All these years and she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind, hadn’t been able to believe Tom’s stepping out on her was merely a cry for help. But what if she’d been wrong? What if Tom’s lovemaking with Iris was as emotionally unsatisfying as her tryst with Paulo had been? Had she thrown it all away, refused to ever trust Tom again, for nothing?

CHARLOTTE WAS in the library, updating her social calendar on the computer Iris had given her and taught her how to use, when Richard walked in. He’d spent the afternoon playing tennis at the club, but was now dressed in his customary suit and tie. Knowing now was as good a time as any, Charlotte broached the subject that had been on her mind constantly for days, before he could leave for that evening’s dinner-meeting with their accountant.

“I want to hire a private detective to locate Daisy.”

The look in his eyes becoming pure resentment, Richard’s jaw clenched. “It’s out of the question.”

“Why?” Gearing up for battle, Charlotte saved the data she had just entered and watched as Richard opened the wall safe in the library. “We can afford it.” The growing success of the family antiques business, and their financial stake in it, had seen to that.

Richard released a long breath and turned to Charlotte in exasperation, “Daisy will come home when she’s ready.”

Would she? Charlotte wondered. “She’s been gone for days now,” Charlotte pointed out, unwilling and unable to suppress her worry. “We haven’t heard a word from her.”

“Which, given her likely mood, is probably just as well.” Richard moved the handgun and box of ammunition he insisted they keep for their personal safety to one side and withdrew a fat envelope of cash. He took out a number of bills and returned the envelope to the safe, setting it on top of Charlotte’s jewelry case and copies of their insurance papers, wills and real estate deeds. “Right now, Daisy is behaving like a temperamental child.” Richard shut the door to the safe, covered it with the painting and slid the money into his wallet before looking at Charlotte once again. “And I for one am glad Daisy is not here misbehaving for all our friends to see.”

“I still want to find her,” Charlotte retorted steadily.

“And I still say no.”

Richard gave Charlotte a look to let her know the conversation was closed, then exited the room. Seconds later, the front door shut behind him. The big house was cloaked in silence.

Charlotte stared at the photos of family that decorated the shelves to the right of the heavy antique desk. She didn’t know when or why or even how it happened, but the truth was indisputable now. Somewhere along the way, she had failed both her daughters. Perhaps even their son, Connor, too. During the crisis of Iris’s pregnancy, Charlotte had been so certain she and Richard were doing the right thing, keeping the affair and pregnancy from ten-year-old Connor, and sending Iris to that austere convent in Switzerland to have her baby in secret. Iris hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to give Daisy up, but Charlotte and Richard had worked together to convince Iris that her life—indeed, all their lives—would be ruined if she didn’t do as they said.

In return, Charlotte had promised Iris that she and Richard would love Daisy and bring her up as their own. Iris would never have to worry or wonder what had happened to her baby—she would be able to see Daisy every day because they would grow up as sisters. And Charlotte had kept her promise. She had loved Daisy every bit as much as she had loved her own two children, if not more. But she had also known in her heart of hearts that Daisy was her first—maybe her only—grandchild. And consequently, she had tended to be too lenient with Daisy, as grandparents were wont to do. Whereas Richard had gone the other way and been too strict. Poor Daisy had been caught in the middle from day one, as their adopted daughter. No wonder she’d floundered around and felt there was something amiss. Because, Charlotte thought fiercely, there had been.

Now, Daisy knew the truth.

She knew they had all lied to her.

And she couldn’t forget and she couldn’t forgive.

Was Daisy ever going to come home? Charlotte wondered.

And what would she do when she did?