Читать книгу The Daughters of Nightsong - V. J. Banis - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

“No, April,” David said as they walked along the low lying coastline. It was mid-afternoon and despite the fact that the sun had stayed stubbornly behind the bank of clouds, the day was warm. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought all week and I seriously think the right thing to do is for us to go to your mother. I’ve tried approaching the matter with Father but we never could communicate. He’s too busy to listen to me and Mother is visiting in Los Angeles.”

“My mother doesn’t care what we do,” April complained. “She has a new employee, a man she is spending all her time with, Raymond Andrieux. He’s French,” she said, making a face.

David shook his head. “I still think we would be making a mistake by eloping to China.”

“You don’t love me,” she pouted.

“You know that isn’t true. As much as I want to marry you and travel to your father’s home in Kalgan, I think I should at least meet your mother.”

“She’d never permit us to run away together. She hates your father. You’re the last person she’d want me to marry.”

“I am not my father,” he said stubbornly. “Once she gets to know me I know I can get her to like me.”

April’s disappointment made her petulant. “I suppose all women swoon at your feet.”

“Stop, April. You’re behaving like a child.”

“Me?” she cried. “You’re the child, afraid to do anything without mama’s consent.”

He stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. As usual, he felt a sort of shattering turmoil that affected every inch of him each time he looked deep into her lovely eyes. “We’re arguing,” he said giving her a gentle smile. “It’s our first.”

April threw herself into his arms. “Oh, David, why do we have to have other people in our lives? Why weren’t we born alone on a deserted island where we’d have only each other?”

He chuckled softly at her naiveté. “That sounds wonderful, but hardly realistic.”

“Why do we have to be realistic? Why can’t everyone leave us alone?”

“Because people weren’t meant to be left alone.” He held her quietly for a moment. “Come on, let’s go to your house and you can introduce me to your mother.” He saw her fear and added, “It’s only fair that she meet the man you are to marry, April. That way she won’t have to face a stranger when we bring her grandchildren to her.”

April smiled at first, then laughed. She took his hand and started to run toward the hill.

They found her mother sitting at the writing desk in the morning room. Lydia was engrossed in a letter and did not look up when they came to the doorway.

“Mother,” April said, her voice tight. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

Lydia stopped writing and raised her head. When she saw the handsome young man standing so tall and straight beside her daughter her breath caught in her throat. For a moment she thought she recognized Peter MacNair as she had seen him so many years before.

“Mother,” April said nervously, leading him into the glass-paneled room. “This is David.”

“How do you do, David,” Lydia said as she stood up and put out her hand to him. Even when their hands touched and she had a clear view of his face, she could not rid herself of the uneasy feeling that stirred inside her.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Nightsong. April talks about you all the time.”

“Oh? You have known April for some time then?”

“Since the beginning of the summer. We met in Chinatown.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence followed.

David cleared his throat and said, “I’m fond of April, Mrs. Nightsong. Extremely fond.”

“As am I,” Lydia said with a charming smile.

David swallowed hard and said, “We would like to consider ourselves engaged to be married.”

Lydia’s smile slowly disappeared. “I see.” She motioned toward the adjoining sitting room and moved toward it. “You realize, of course, Mr....”

“MacNair. David MacNair.”

“Mr. MacNair, that April....” Her voice stopped. “MacNair?” she said, whirling around to face him. “Peter MacNair’s son?”

“Yes,” David admitted.

“How dare you!” She glowered at April. “How could you encourage him knowing....”

“But I didn’t know,” April argued. “Not at first. And then when I learned, it didn’t seem to make any difference.”

Quickly David put in, “And it doesn’t matter, Mrs. Nightsong. April told me that you were not particularly fond of my father, but that’s something between you and him. I’m concerned about my life and that life includes April.”

“It most assuredly does not include April, young man, nor will it ever! Now kindly leave this house and you are never to see each other again. Is that understood?”

April clenched her fists and stood up to her. “No, that is not understood. I love David, and he loves me. All my life I’ve had to do what you want me to do. Well, I’m not going to anymore.” She grasped David’s hand. “David and I are going to be married whether you approve or not.”

Lydia stood with her spine stretched straight and taut, every nerve in her body tingling. She folded her hands in front of her and turning to David, said as calmly as she could, “My daughter is sixteen; you are not much older. I am certain your father would not condone this marriage any more than I do. If you are wise, young man, you will leave this house and put all of this nonsense out of your head.” She knew she was being cruel, but it was for April’s own good. A marriage into the MacNair household was unthinkable on both sides.

“As you can see for yourself,” Lydia said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “April is a Eurasian and as such is very susceptible to the attentions of those who are not.”

“Mother,” April gasped.

“Now kindly leave, Mr. MacNair. I suggest you go home and forget you ever met us. I intend to do everything possible for April to do the same.”

David and April looked helplessly at one another.

“Go!” Lydia ordered, pointing to the door.

He started away. April clung to his hand. “David,” she cried.

As he hugged her to him he whispered, “I’ll be waiting at the tea shop tomorrow.” He gave Lydia a cold nod and walked out of the house.

April collapsed into tears and fled up the stairs.

* * * *

Peter MacNair was blazing with anger when he burst into Lydia’s offices at Empress Cosmetics. Evelyn Clary jumped up from her desk and tried to block the door to Lydia’s private office, but Peter put his hands on her waist and lifted her easily out of the way.

“I know she’s in and I intend seeing her,” he said. He shoved open the heavy oak door and stormed into the office.

Lydia looked up sharply. When she saw who it was she threw aside the pen in her hand and said, “How dare you barge in here? Get out!”

“Not until I’ve given you a good piece of my mind,” Peter stormed.

Lydia picked up a book and threw it at him. “Get out of here.” The book almost hit Evelyn Clary who had come up behind Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said. “I tried to keep him out.”

Peter grabbed Evelyn’s arm, turned her around and hurried her through the door, slamming it behind her.

Lydia had almost forgotten how handsome he was, now that she was seeing him up close again. Even his good-looking son paled in comparison. There were tiny age lines at the corners of Peter’s eyes and his face had a more worn look, but it only accentuated the flecks of rust in his eyes and the sandy brown hair that spilled over his forehead.

“Will you please leave?” Lydia ordered. “We have nothing to say to one another.”

“Like hell we haven’t.” He leaned on her desk, putting his face close to hers. She found his nearness unnerving but she held herself firm. She was sure she knew why he’d come. Knowing him, he’d use any excuse to see her, even the unhappiness of his son.

“How in the devil did you get to Andrieux?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had been sure Peter had come about David and April.

“Get to him?” she said innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well that I brought Raymond Andrieux here to work for P.M. Cosmetics.”

“My dear Mr. MacNair,” Lydia said imperiously. “I cannot be held accountable for any ex-employee of yours who finds himself dissatisfied with his employer and asks for employment elsewhere.”

“Did he duplicate the Empress’s perfume?”

“Nightsong.” Lydia gloated and said no more, leaving Peter to draw whatever conclusion he wished.

She felt wonderful. For years she’d wanted this moment when things were turned around and she held him at a disadvantage. Too often she’d been subjected to his villainy, his cruelties; now, she could understand the pleasure it must have given him to see her suffer.

A quickening of her pulse began as she thought of what would happen if he were again to take his revenge upon her. She recalled the brute strength of him when he made love to her, the animal prowess of his body, the ferocity of his passions, the marks his hands left on her skin as he held her hard on the bed.

“Then he’s already duplicated it?” Peter demanded.

But unlike Peter’s, Lydia’s joy in seeing him suffer began to fade. “No.” Was it possible, she wondered, for a woman to despise a man and want him at the same time?

Peter’s expression softened as he straightened. “You know, Lydia, instead of fighting each other we should join sides.”

“And with my perfume, become the biggest cosmeticians in the world,” she finished.

He laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, something like that.” He looked at her standing so tall and so lovely in the shaft of sunlight. “You are still the most ravishing woman I have ever seen, Lydia.”

“And I still have Nightsong and intend to keep it exclusively for myself, so kindly save your Scottish flattery for your wife.”

“You know perfectly well that I’d divorce Lorna tomorrow if you’d agree to marry me.”

She gave a little toss of her head and settled a steady gaze on him. “I told myself a long, long time ago, Peter, that I would never again put myself in a position where I would have to accept the terms dictated to me by a man—any man.”

“Any man?” Peter asked, pointedly. “Does that include Andrieux? From what I surmise, it wasn’t exactly an increase in salary that lured him away from my company.” The minute the words were out he was sorry. It always ended like this between them, bitter words, accusations, insults, threats.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Dinner almost every night at Claridge’s, the opera, that opening at the California Theatre on Bush Street, even taking in the vaudeville show at the Emporium.”

Lydia gasped. “You’ve been spying on me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, but it was true. He had hired that odious detective, Ramsey, when Andrieux packed up and left with little or no explanation. “People talk. You haven’t been exactly discreet.”

“You should talk of discretion,” she charged. “I have no apologies for taking on Raymond, especially when I found out you hired him just to keep him away from my company. My chemist found him in Paris originally and then Monsieur Andrieux disappeared mysteriously, I understand, only to reappear just as mysteriously at P.M. Cosmetics. You knew he was the only Nez capable of duplicating Nightsong and you tried to secret him away from me. You’re contemptible.”

He surprised her by laughing. “And what in hell did you expect me to do, take him by the hand and lead him to you?” He planted his feet firmly and said. “Look, Lydia, I know perfectly well that when Nightsong goes on the market you’re going to make bushels of money, which means stiffer competition for me. I don’t mind the competition so much as I mind what all that money is going to do to you.”

“And what will it do to me?”

“You’re a woman. You don’t know how to handle a company as big as the one you’ll wind up with. It takes a man to handle that kind of an operation.”

“Too bad you aren’t peddling egotism, you’d make a fortune.”

“But it’s true. Even if you do find yourself capable of running a huge corporation, what kind of reliable, self-respecting executives would work for a woman?”

“Raymond Andrieux doesn’t seem to find working for a woman so demeaning.”

“Not all of your key men are going to be interested in sleeping with you.”

If he had been within reach she would have slapped his face. Her temper flared out of control. “Get out of here before I really tell you what I think of you.” She was glad to see she had provoked a glaze of pain in his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. Peter MacNair was not the kind of man who showed he could be hurt.

“I know perfectly well what you think of me, Lydia, and all of it is wrong!”

Their eyes met and held. Peter looked at her, her skin like alabaster with a glow that seemed lighted from within, her eyes bold and flashing. Her figure was still superb, the waist tiny, the breasts and hips lusciously fuller and rounder, a feast for any man’s eyes and something more as well.

He had a sudden urge to seize her in his arms, to tear the clothes from her lovely body and make wild, passionate love to her right here on the floor. It was an effort of will that restrained him from doing exactly that. He knew if he closed his eyes he would again see her naked, her long legs and arms spread wide, her ripe, full breasts trembling with the force of her breath.

But it wasn’t only her beauty that he wanted. She had the Empress’s perfume. He longed to possess them both, but thus far he had failed miserably. He clenched his fists as he told himself that he wasn’t finished with her yet.

Still, it was not only her loveliness that made his blood race, there was something more, something deeper, more difficult to put his finger on. Despite her independence, despite the intelligence and courage she must have had in order to find her way out from under the all-seeing evil eye of the treacherous Dowager Empress, he found Lydia had a touching vulnerability that made him feel oddly as if he wanted to protect her, especially against unscrupulous men like himself.

Peter said, “What I told you about my behavior in China was the truth, Lydia, whether you want to believe it or not.”

Their eyes held. He looked at her, wanting never to look away, afraid that this might well be the last time he’d ever look at her again.

With a great effort he unfixed his gaze, turned slowly and walked out of her office.