Читать книгу Winds of Nightsong - V. J. Banis - Страница 8

CHAPTER FOUR

There was a heavy fog blowing in from the Bay, shrouding San Francisco in a gray, swirling blanket. Not far from the Nightsong mansion on Nob Hill, Lorna MacNair sat alone in the drawing room of her elegant new townhouse staring at the black-framed photograph of her dead husband. Over the past year she had not ventured out of the house, with the exception of her weekly trips to the cemetery. At fifty-five, she felt her life was over.

If it hadn’t been for that detestable Lydia Nightsong, Peter would have been the ideal husband. No, that wasn’t true, Lorna told herself. Peter had never really loved her; he had loved only her money. But in the beginning he had found her a good outlet for his enormous sex drive. She thought of those early years when the children were born and how she’d clung to Peter’s magnificent body, clawing him, lustfully groaning like a common whore, begging him to never stop thrusting into her, degrading her, punishing her. She’d groveled at his feet and would have had him beat her senseless if that would have kept him from loving Lydia.

At least Peter had given her something he’d never given Lydia. Their children were all married now, happy and content with families of their own. That was little comfort, though

Lorna would have preferred the comfort of Peter instead. Her children kept their distance from her. Susan had married Sean Dillon, a rough Irishman from New York, and was living there with him, becoming equally rough. They seldom permitted Lorna to see her grandchildren. Lorrie was almost fifteen now, David eleven, and Peter nine. Lorna adored her granddaughter, Lorrie, because she was so much like herself, aloof and poised and headstrong. The two boys took after their father and would never amount to anything. She didn’t care much for the boys.

Her own son David was dead. Just as well, Lorna thought, leaning her head against the high-backed chair. What kind of a life would that have been, married to Lydia’s awful Chinese daughter? And she hadn’t much cared for that boy Lydia claimed was David’s son. He was no more her grandson than Sherlock Holmes. She hadn’t liked his English accent, his typically British effeminate mannerisms. Grandson or no, she wanted nothing to do with him.

And then there was Efrem, her youngest son. He’d married well enough. Ellen Stanton was a charming girl from a decent San Francisco family. She was a little mannish for Lorna’s taste, but she was making Efrem into the man he’d never been. And their young daughter, Judith, was a delightful little thing, already showing signs, at one year of age, of being a beauty like all the MacNairs. Efrem had always been Lorna’s favorite child but lately his visits, too, had dwindled. At least he had straightened himself out since marrying Ellen and settling down to raise a family. He no longer drank, and he was doing a very good job managing the business, even though—thanks to Peter’s foolish will—it was the Nightsongs and not his own family who had control of MacNair Products.

But that wouldn’t be true for very long, Lorna vowed as she picked up the legal document resting beside Peter’s photograph. The Nightsongs had no claim to Peter’s company, and if it was the last thing she did in her life, Lorna would see Lydia Nightsong and the rest of her Chink brood out in the streets or back in that heathen land they came from.

She’d handled her life with Peter very badly. When she’d first discovered that he was being indiscreet with Lydia Nightsong, Lorna thought to arouse his jealousy by committing some indiscretions of her own. She needed a man as much as Peter needed a woman. Why Peter had never been content in her arms she could not understand. What Peter had seen in Lydia, Lorna never knew. Lydia was beautiful, of course, but she did not have Lorna’s social graces, her aristocratic bearing, and certainly not her background.

As Lorna looked at Peter’s picture, a sudden stirring began deep inside her. She wanted him so badly. She wanted him to take her in his arms, tear the clothes from her body, and ravage her. His lovemaking had thrilled her beyond imagination. She closed her eyes and drew an image of him at the back of her eyes. The sight of him with his long-legged stride and his splendid body, broad of shoulder and boyishly slim at the hips, stirred her. Despite everything, Peter had never failed to satisfy her sexual desires, desires she was often at pains to keep concealed. Too often, they had burned beyond control and she would hate herself afterward for having been weakened by the powerful thrusts of a man. She blushed to think how she’d writhed and clawed and cried aloud, like some animal enslaved by her own sexuality.

Ramsey. The memory of him opened her eyes wide. Ramsey was the only other man who’d made her feel the way Peter had made her feel—lustful and wanton. He too was out of her life now, and in a way she was glad of that. But when she remembered the attentions Ramsey had lavished on her body, she wished with all her might that he would walk through the door and drag her up the stairs and into the bed that she and Peter had once occupied.

Ramsey had been almost a carbon copy of herself, but of a lower class. He had helped her to connive and cheat and plot against Peter and Lydia Nightsong, but all to no avail. In the end, they had been found out and Ramsey was forced to leave San Francisco to avoid facing imprisonment for aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of April’s and David’s son—something she, Lorna, had paid him to do.

She didn’t need Ramsey now; that is, she didn’t need his professional services as detective, spy, or conspirator. But there were reasons indeed that she wished Ramsey were here now. She touched the inside of her thigh as thoughts of his powerful naked body flooded her mind. She had used Ramsey when Peter refused to sleep with her. She wondered if she would ever use a man in that way again. And then, as she got up from her chair, turning away from Peter’s accusing eyes, she asked herself, Who would want an aging old woman like you? A tear trickled down her cheek.

“Are you all right, Mother MacNair?” Ellen asked as she and Efrem walked into the room. Efrem was carrying their daughter, Judith, a tiny bundle of pink and cream.

Lorna turned sharply and groped for the handkerchief in her sleeve. She touched the comers of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ellen, dear,” she said as she presented a cheek to her daughter-in-law. “I was just feeling sorry for myself, I’m afraid.” She smiled at her son and offered him the other cheek. “Efrem, darling.”

“Hello, Mother. We were just showing Michael the sights and thought we’d stop and pay our respects.”

For the first time Lorna noticed the young man standing in the doorway. She looked at him, frowning, then picked up her steel-rimmed glasses and smiled, putting out her hand.

“Welcome to my home.”

“Mother, this is Michael Crane. He’s a cousin of Ellen’s, visiting from New York.”

“How do you do, Mr. Crane. Please come in.”

Crane shook her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. MacNair.”

Something about the way the young man was looking at her made Lorna feel uncomfortable. She turned and took the child from Efrem’s arms. “Here, give me the little darling.” She began cooing to the baby. “Oh my, we’re getting so big and more beautiful every day.” She tickled the child’s chin. “And your mama and daddy have been very mean not bringing you to see your old grandmother more often.”

“Stop with the ‘old grandmother’ bit, Mother,” Efrem said with a chuckle. “You are still one of the best-looking ladies in San Francisco.”

“I’ll second that,” Michael Crane said boldly.

“Yes, Mother MacNair,” Ellen said, “you really shouldn’t keep yourself cooped up in this house. You’re as bad as Lydia. The two of you have become hermits.”

Lorna frowned. She let a weak smile creep across her mouth. “You know, Ellen, I do not appreciate having that woman’s name mentioned in this house.”

“Sorry, Mother,” Ellen said. “But with Efrem working for the Nightsongs, running the MacNair Products end of the company, I’d think you and Lydia would have patched up your differences long before this.”

“We will never patch up our differences, Ellen. And as you know, the Nightsongs will not be controlling MacNair Products for much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Efrem asked, surprised.

Lorna merely smiled and glanced at Michael Crane. “Forgive us, Mr. Crane. It’s family business, and something that should be discussed only with family. So this is not the time, Efrem,” she snapped. “Now,” she said, more gently, handing the baby back to her father. “Have you had tea? I’ll have some brought in.” She pulled the bellcord. “You’ll stay for tea, of course, Mr. Crane.”

“Thank you,” he said sweetly. “I’d like that very much.”

Ellen objected. “I’m terribly sorry. Mother, but Judith should be napping. We’ve had her out too long as it is.”

“Nonsense. Have the butler wheel the carriage into the dining room. Little Judith can nap while we have our tea. Besides, I like having a baby in the house again.”

Ellen was overruled, the carriage wheeled in, and the tea served. It was an ostentatious display, with too much heavy silver and china and damask as well as an overabundance of food. Efrem looked at it all with undisguised distaste.

“So you’re from New York, Mr. Crane?” Lorna asked as she began pouring tea from the Georgian tea service. “Do you know my daughter and her husband?” Before he could answer, she said, “The Dillons. My daughter married a man named Sean Dillon.”

“I’ve heard of him, of course, but I’ve never met the man.”

“You must look them up when you return. Susan married beneath herself, of course, but I understand they live well enough.” Her nose crinkled snobbishly.

“Actually I won’t be going back East, Mrs. MacNair. I’m planning to settle somewhere here in California.”

“Oh? And just what is it you do, Mr. Crane?”

“Not much of anything,” he answered with a chuckle.

“You’re Ellen’s cousin?”

“A very distant cousin. I didn’t know I had any relations here in San Francisco until my mother received word of Ellen’s father’s death a few years ago. Mother was Mr. Stanton’s second cousin, so Ellen and I are rather far down the ladder.”

“You didn’t bring your mother with you?”

“She died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I inherited some money—not much, but enough to give me a bit of freedom. I never had cared much for life in New York, and then quite by accident I fell into conversation with Efrem when he and Ellen were visiting the city. During our conversation he mentioned that he’d married a Stanton. The name registered and I realized I was talking to the husband of one of my relatives. Your son and daughter-in-law were kind enough to invite me to visit them.”

Ellen patted his hand. “I’m glad you took us up on the invitation, Michael. And you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Which might not be very long unless I find a job. My meager inheritance won’t last long.” He looked at Efrem. “Your son suggested he might be able to help me get a job with MacNair Products. I know nothing about manufacturing cosmetics, but I’m sure I could learn. I have a good brain, people tell me.”

Efrem said, “I’ll speak to Leon about it Monday morning, Michael. I’m sure something can be worked out.” He laughed. “We won’t let you starve.”

“You’re so kind,” Michael said, looking like a little boy who’d just been given a very expensive present, one he knew he didn’t deserve.

Lorna watched Efrem and Michael. Suddenly she was reminded of the sordid business of Efrem’s relationship with Leon Nightsong, which had almost become the scandal of San Francisco years and years ago. She had thought Efrem’s homosexual proclivities a thing of the past, but there was something in the way her son was smiling at this extraordinarily handsome young man that frightened her.

And Michael Crane was indeed handsome. He had dark blond hair, deep brown eyes, and a quick smile, the features and physique of a Greek statue. Although she guessed him to be no more than twenty-four or five, perhaps younger, his eyes told her that he was much older than that in experience. He smiled too easily, but only with his lips and not his eyes. There was an artificiality about him that bothered her. He reminded her of Ramsey. Far different in looks, of course, but both had the same coldness in their eyes. Suddenly she felt quite uneasy.

“There’s time enough,” Lorna said, “to be thinking about going to work, Mr. Crane. Enjoy San Francisco. It’s a delightful city and very exciting.” She smiled. “And it may well be that you will have to come to me for employment at MacNair Products if all goes as planned.”

“Family business,” Michael said with another smile.

Lorna shrugged. “Being Ellen’s cousin, you are more or less family, so I have no objections to discussing my plans in your presence.” She was talking to Efrem now.

“You’re not going to start in on Lydia again, Mother?”

“Start in again! I have never stopped. And I won’t rest until that woman is completely out of our lives.”

Efrem said, “If you would just relax and let yourself get to know her, Mother, you’d find that Lydia is a delightful, warm, considerate woman.”

“She’s a witch, and we all know it.”

“Mother MacNair, I think you are being unfair.”

“I am not being unfair, Ellen. I know Lydia far better than any of you. She once tried to break up my family. I’ll never forgive her for that. And I certainly will not tolerate her taking over the business your father worked so long and hard for.”

“But Father willed it to Lydia,” Efrem argued.

“That will can be contested, which is exactly what I intend doing.”

“Isn’t it a little late? Father’s been dead for over a year.”

“Not quite a year,” his mother was quick to remind him. “Besides, when I was going through your father’s safe, I found a certain paper that was not mentioned in the bequests he made in his will.”

“What paper?”

“It seems your father bought a fifty percent controlling interest in Lydia Nightsong’s companies.” She felt Michael Crane watching her and turned to him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crane, this may be boring you.”

“Not at all. I’m fascinated.”

“Well,” Lorna continued, turning back to Efrem and Ellen, “under the terms of your father’s will, MacNair Products was bequeathed to Lydia. There was no mention made of Peter’s half ownership of Empress Cosmetics. According to my attorney, that fifty percent of Empress falls into the category of ‘all other rights, assets, properties and estates,’ which your father left to me. I intend laying claim to that half interest in Empress Cosmetics, which has since been consolidated with MacNair Products. That means I now own fifty percent of everything Lydia Nightsong owns.” Her eyes were alive. “And before I’m done, I’ll have it all.”

“Mother,” Efrem gasped. “You can’t do this. Father would never forgive you.”

“Your father is dead. If he is unhappy with me in his grave, so be it. It won’t be the first time I’ve displeased him. I’m only thinking of you and Susan and your families—my grandchildren. I’m doing this for you.” She glanced hopefully at Ellen and Efrem.

“Mother,” Efrem said, “I think you’re making a serious mistake. You mustn’t do this.”

To everyone’s surprise, Michael spoke up. “Why not? I think your mother is right. She should have what rightfully belongs to her. If this woman connived to get MacNair Products away from your family, you certainly should fight her to regain control.”

Lorna glowed. “Well, thank heaven there is one young person in this room with some common sense. Thank you for your vote of support, Mr. Crane.”

“Michael,” he corrected with an endearing smile.

“Michael.”

Efrem was annoyed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother. MacNair Products has been doing incredibly well since the Nightsongs took over the management. We’re making more money now than we ever have. Father was a disaster when he was in the front office.”

“Don’t speak disrespectfully of the dead.” She glanced at Michael as she sipped her tea. “My attorney has already started the necessary proceedings. So whether you like it or not, Efrem, you’d better make up your mind to side with your own family. You have always been much too thick with the Nightsongs, ever since you were a boy.”

Knowing she referred to that shameful episode with Leon, Efrem lowered his eyes. “They are very nice people,” he insisted. “You just don’t know them.”

“I know as much as I want to know.”

“You don’t have to make this into another scandal, Mother,” Efrem said. “If you’d talk to Lydia I’m sure she would be more than willing to give you back MacNair Products.”

“I don’t want only MacNair Products; I want all of it,” Lorna said greedily.

“But—”

Lorna slammed her hand flat on the table. “The matter is closed, Efrem. If there is to be another scandal over this, that cannot be helped.”

Michael chuckled. “I’ve read about these Nightsongs. They seem rather attracted to scandals.”

Efrem glowered at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Michael. Lydia Nightsong and her family are the nicest people I know.” He looked at his mother, who caught his meaning only too clearly and tightened her lips, looking hurt.

Michael shrugged. “I only know what I’ve read about them.”

Efrem pushed back his chair and motioned to Ellen. “We should be getting home. Thank you for the tea, Mother.” He glanced at the baby sound asleep in the carriage which Ellen had been rocking from time to time.

“Yes, it is getting late,” Ellen agreed as she got up. “Michael?”

The young man remained seated. He purposefully picked up his cup and sipped.

“Michael hasn’t finished his tea,” Lorna said. “Don’t rush the young man.”

“It’s getting late,” Efrem insisted.

“Rush, rush, rush,” Lorna said. “That’s all you young people do these days.” She smiled at Michael. “Take another scone, Michael. I’ll have Charles drive you over later.” She patted his hand. “I know it may be boring, but if you could tolerate the company of an old woman I’d appreciate it. I’d like to hear all about New York. My daughter rarely writes, and when she does she says nothing about the social life, only what the children are doing.”

Michael looked at Ellen and Efrem, who were waiting impatiently. “If it’s all right with you two, I’d like to visit with your mother for a while longer.”

“As you wish,” Efrem said, decidedly displeased.

“Splendid,” Lorna gushed as she let Efrem and Ellen kiss her on the cheek and say their good-byes. “I’ll see that your house guest gets home shortly.”

“We’ll see you later then, Michael,” Ellen said as she wheeled the carriage out into the foyer.

Alone, Lorna leaned back in her chair. “So how are you enjoying San Francisco, Michael?”

“It’s a lovely city. I like it very much, Mrs. MacNair.”

“I do hope Ellen and Efrem have introduced you to some young ladies. We’re quite proud of our girls here.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much interested in young ladies, Mrs. MacNair. They all seem so terribly juvenile, always giggling and with nothing very intelligent to say.”

Lorna laughed. “The right one will come along someday. You’re still very young. You have plenty of time for settling down with the right girl.”

“I’ve always been attracted to older women,” he said, giving her a knowing glance and a smile. “My mother always said I was too old for my age.”

“And what age is that, if I’m not being too impertinent?”

“Twenty-five.”

“My, you make it sound antique. What will you think, I wonder, when you reach my age?”

“You aren’t that much older than I, Mrs. MacNair.”

She beamed. “Indeed I am.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look it.”

“How galant of you.”

“You don’t. You’re an extremely beautiful woman, if I may say so.”

Lorna shifted uncomfortably, pleased by his flattery. It had been a long time since a handsome young man had told her she was beautiful. “You must visit more often, Michael. I have so little company nowadays.”

“How about this evening?” he asked boldly.

She stared at him in surprise, then smiled. “Aren’t you dining with Efrem and Ellen?”

“I had planned on taking them out for dinner, but Ellen doesn’t want to leave Judith with the maid and Efrem never goes anywhere without his wife. So, I was thinking of dining out alone and then perhaps taking in the opera or a concert.”

“Do you like opera?”

“Not really. It’s just something to do and a place to be among people. I enjoy going to places where people look smart and elegant.”

Lorna sighed. “I can’t recall when I last went to the theater. I used to like it very much.”

“Then how about this evening? I’d be only too happy to take you to dinner and the theater.”

“Me?” She laughed nervously. “Oh no, Michael. It’s very kind of you, but I seldom go anywhere since my husband died.”

“Then it’s time you did, Mrs. MacNair. Please say you’ll come with me. I’m not at all familiar with your city, and I’d be more than honored to be seen with you.”

“You are extremely sweet and most thoughtful, Michael, but I don’t think I—”

“Don’t think. Just say you’ll permit me to call for you at seven this evening.”

“You’re being impetuous.”

“Not at all, Mrs. MacNair. I feel very comfortable with you. I believe we could have a delightful evening together.” Sensing her hesitation, he added, “Please.”

“Oh, Michael, you can’t possibly believe you’d enjoy yourself in the company of an old widow-woman like me.”

“You are not an old woman,” he said sternly. “You must stop thinking that way. Please say you’ll come with me tonight.”

Lorna sighed. “Well, if you’re sure you want me to.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Then on one condition. If you call me Lorna, I’ll go to dinner with you.”

“Marvelous. It’s agreed.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll have a fine time.”

“Until seven o’clock then,” Lorna said as she got up, feeling suddenly like a young girl. “Now come along. I’ll have my chauffeur take you back.” She rang for the servant. “You might just as well have Charles stay at Efrem’s and drive you back here later. I won’t be needing him for the rest of the afternoon. If you have any errands to run, please feel free to use him. I’ll tell him he is to be at your disposal.”

“That’s very kind. Thank you, Lorna.”

She beamed. “Until seven o’clock.”

He took her hand and kissed it, making her whole body grow warm.

After Michael left, Lorna found herself humming as she went up to her bedroom. She knew she was acting like a foolish old woman, but she didn’t care. It had been so long since anyone had made her feel wanted. Michael Crane was, of course, much too young, but he had admitted that he enjoyed older women. She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror. “Besides,” she said to her reflection, “you really aren’t all that old-looking, Lorna MacNair.”

Meanwhile, in the back seat of the limousine, Michael was feeling smug and complacent. He’d need money if he was to impress Lorna MacNair that evening. He’d have to borrow from Efrem again. Efrem liked him, he knew, and so far had not refused him anything. And soon, if all went according to plan, he would never have to worry about money again. Lorna MacNair had more than she could ever spend. And according to what she’d said about the Nightsongs, she would have still more. He’d help her get it. She was old, but he’d known women older than Lorna who’d been only too happy to pay for his services.