He obeyed. They stood in the long white corridor that divided the traditional section of the mansion from the contemporary. “Listen to me, Annabel,” he said, softly and passionately. “History never vanishes. You think it does. You think you have closed the book. But history returns.”
History returns.
She put away her love for Daniel. She was going to have to stand by her father. She was going to have to survive this, and somehow love him anyway, and somehow—
“Theodora’s history,” said her father. “Eighteen years ago, when Theodora’s career was just taking off, something happened.”
Panic dissolved into disgust. If there was one person whose history she did not care about right now, it was Theodora’s. “Daddy,” she said in anger, “first I have something to tell you. We don’t have time tonight for Theodora’s history.”
Her father frowned at her. He did not tolerate interruptions.
“Daddy, this is more important. Listen to me,” said Annabel, raising her voice to force him into silence. “Tonight I met a boy who—”
Hollings Jayquith was astonished “A boy? Forget boys. We have a lot of ground to cover and a lot of decisions to make. Now. What happened was, Theodora got pregnant.”
Annabel was well and truly silenced. Theodora as mother was even more astonishing than Hollings as murderer.
Her father went on. “Theodora was so upset she couldn’t even confide in Mother, and Mrs. Donavan and I were the only ones who knew.”
Annabel’s grandmother had been a thin harsh woman whose motto was “Be best or die trying.” Annabel couldn’t imagine anybody on earth confiding in Grandmother Jayquith.
“Theodora,” said her father, “felt a career in television would be slowed down by a baby, and so Mrs. Donavan arranged an adoption.”
Theodora had given birth to a child. Annabel practically fell over.
“Some couple from Ohio who had been trying for years to adopt, took the little girl,” said her father. “Their name was O’Keeffe.”
Annabel forgot Daniel. “Daddy!” she cried. “Why didn’t you take her? Why didn’t you and Mama bring her up? Why couldn’t Aunt Theodora manage? Theodora can do anything! She could have had nannies and tutors! Who was the father? Why didn’t she marry him?”
“That doesn’t matter now,” said Hollings.
Annabel had never heard anything so ridiculous. Of course it mattered.
“Because the girl is here. She appeared on the doorstep. She’s quite a young woman. Very resourceful. Very pretty. Startling resemblance. Walks, stands, holds her head, just like Theodora.” Her father’s smile was confused, apprehensive. He said, “I couldn’t send her to a hotel. I couldn’t send her to Theodora, because Theodora of course is staying for the weekend with J Thiell. So—she’ll be spending the night here. In the morning—well, I don’t know what we’ll do in the morning. I’ve left messages both at the reception and at J Thiell’s for Theodora to call me right away, but she hasn’t. I couldn’t leave an explicit message, obviously, but she’ll be here for lunch tomorrow anyway, that was arranged previously, and she can meet Jade then.”
Annabel sank onto the rim of a pedestal that held a long, thin statuette. There was not quite room for both of them, but she needed to sit more than she needed to worry about sculpture. So many things had just been thrown at her. She could not sort them out fast enough. A sudden cousin! In the house!
“She’s an impressive young lady,” said her father. “I admit to feeling a certain amount of admiration. She has guts. She hasn’t had an easy life and it wasn’t easy reaching us, either. She seems like an acceptable girl, Annabel. Theodora will be excited to find that Jade has surfaced.”
Annabel stared at her father. Was he crazy? Theodora would be horrified! Did Daddy think that Theodora had easily come to a decision to give up a baby? Did he not know his sister at all? The daughter Theodora had neatly excised from her life was back? And he thought Theodora would be glad?
To think that the girl had penetrated their country place, their refuge from the city and from all things painful. The house Theodora had decorated, really, not Mama. A house of utter and complete purity and cleanliness, where nothing homeless, or diseased, or damaged, or ugly could ever intrude.
Theodora would be frantic.
How quickly this had taken place! How could Daddy be sure this was the girl to whom Theodora had given birth? Daddy was the type to insist on fingerprints and blood tests and genetic analysis. What personality did Jade possess that she could so quickly and so totally melt the ice of Hollings Jayquith?
Annabel tried to clear her thoughts. She felt like a helpless seabird landing in an oil slick. She doubted, somehow, that she was going to find an admirable gutsy long-lost relative. The story sounded like straightforward gold digger to her.
Daddy can’t know Jade’s personality in one evening! she thought. Then she remembered falling in love with Daniel. Had she not been utterly, absolutely, sure of Daniel’s personality in one evening?
“Daddy!” she said, remembering the rest of Daniel. “Daddy, wait.” She dragged him to a stop. “Before we get into this, we have something else we really have to talk about. It’s very urgent, Daddy. Tonight, I met the son of Sen—”
Her father took her arm to lead her to Jade. Annabel, dizzy with problems, felt as if they, too, were going down an aisle, to some new declaration, to make a new family.
“Annabel, don’t bother me with your little crushes.”
She stopped walking, but he did not. When had Hollings Jayquith ever changed his pace? Hollings was accustomed to overriding anybody’s need, any time. Don’t bother me with your little crushes? He continued to hold her arm, continued to stride forward, and Annabel was forced to skip up to him. I’m bothering you with your survival, Daddy!
“Family comes first,” said her father briskly. “We seem to have a new member. At the very least, we have an unexpected overnight guest.” He gave Annabel a strange smile that did not connect them. “I’m counting on you,” he said, less sure of himself. “She’s your age. You’ll know what to do.”
Me? thought Annabel. I know nothing. I didn’t know that Theodora had had a child. What else in our history do I not know? That my father arranged the death of a man who threatened him?
Nine
VENICE WORE HER BRIDAL gown as if it were jeans. She strode around the rocky rim of the immense swimming pool, flinging her skirts out of her way.
“Your sister’s a piece of work,” murmured Alex. He flicked water on Emmie. Pool flirting. Emmie might have been plugged into a wall socket. Volts of electricity flung her heart toward Alex.
Alex in bathing trunks was male perfection. She yearned to know the details of his history. Alex was hard to pin down. His personality didn’t settle. When Alex put his wet hands on her wet shoulders, she slid hers down the front of his chest. Oh, wow, thought Emmie.
“Emmie!” yelled her sister. “Get out of that water and come say good-bye to the Bruce-Newcombes.”
Alex grinned and asked Emmie for a goodbye kiss, on the grounds that Venice might keep her a long time. No way, thought Emmie.
She was pleased when the Bruce-Newcombes recoiled from her soaking-wet hug. But she also had to say good-bye to Gavin’s parents, and her great-aunt, and miscellaneous unknown guests. There were so many people here Emmie did not know. It was most odd to be hostess to a party full of strangers.
When she turned around, Alex and another boy were racing the length of the pool. Emmie watched his powerful form. What might his form be on their first date? She looked down at his neatly folded clothes, left on a bench because the cabana was full. Nobody, she had assured Alex, was going to rip off his bow tie. His wallet bulged in the pants pocket.
Alex kicked the end wall of the pool for his turn.
His driver’s license would give his birthday. She could find out his horoscope. His address. Whether he lived nearby. To be in love you needed a few facts.
Alex
, as he turned rhythmically to breathe and then dip back underwater, faced the other side of the pool.
Emmie slid his wallet out and flipped it open.
Jade was dying to prowl. To open drawers and examine sculpture. Peek into closed places and fondle expensive things. But a mansion like this—it could have hidden cameras or motion alarms anywhere. So she touched nothing.
Actually there was little to touch. This place was stripped, as if the Jayquiths had been thoroughly robbed. If she had this kind of money—correction, when she had this kind of money—she would own a million things. Collections here, arrangements there, stuff on shelves.
Without doubt, Hollings Jayquith had known that eighteen years ago, his sister Theodora had had a baby girl. But the birth certificate had not convinced him that Jade was the girl. Nor had the adoption papers. The Polaroid: That had done it. The unknown fat woman in the picture meant more to Mr. Jayquith than Theodora and the bundled baby. After absorbing that piece of proof, he had sat beside her, and listened to her. By the end of the evening, he was saying that he would help her with Theodora! She could not believe it had been so easy.
The daughter would be another story. She was not looking forward to this late-night introduction to the daughter. Jade rarely made girlfriends. She knew she had to make an effort with Annabel, but the thought turned her stomach. This was the beauty Daniel Madison Ransom kept going up to. Ooooh! What a combination! the guests had cried. Ooooh! what a beautiful couple!
Ooooh! You’re making me sick, Jade had thought.
Her envy of Annabel had grown like a helium balloon, gaseous and soaring. She had expected Annabel’s beauty to be exaggerated, due entirely to terrific clothes and an excellent makeup artist. She’d been wrong. Annabel was so lovely that even Jade could not take her eyes off the girl. But in Jade there was no admiration, only the building jealousy.
She got this. I didn’t.
Jade was not quite in control of herself when, arm and arm, father and daughter entered the room.
Annabel had changed from her bridesmaid gown into simple jeans and a white blouse with interesting sleeves: rows and rows of holes. Probably an expensive handmade lace. Her arms were completely covered, and the effect was oddly sexy. I want a blouse like that, thought Jade. She wondered what it had cost. She wondered if these people would give her credit cards and charge accounts.
Jade stood slowly and carefully, as if a quick move would set off an attack. “Hello,” she said. She was so afraid of the girl she had to clear her throat to go on. “I’m Jade.”
The same unconvinced pause of the father was repeated in the daughter. “How do you do?” said the girl. Her eyes were soft and black like her hair. She didn’t so much study Jade as waft over her. “My father tells me … that you think … you are … Theodora’s daughter.”
Jade wanted to slap her. Wipe that skeptical courtesy off the girl’s face. “I know I am,” she said, unable to hide her hostility. She produced, again, her three proofs of identity. Again, it was the photograph that froze Annabel.
“Mrs. Donavan?” Annabel whispered to her father.
“She arranged it. She took the baby to the O’Keeffes. I don’t know who took the picture, but that has to be just after the two of them left the hospital. See? There’s the tip of Theodora’s car in the background. She was fond of Corvettes back then.”
Jade had not even noticed. How extraordinary, that they were finding more proof than she had. Who, she wondered, was Mrs. Donavan? Well, she didn’t care. That was eighteen years ago. Then, in spite of the fact that Annabel had not welcomed her, Jade, letting her voice break, said, “Annabel, thank you for welcoming me.”
Annabel took a long time forming her next sentence. She was tired, bored, or else a space cadet. Or perhaps had the personality as well as the hair of a cloud. Nothing there once you touched it. “Let me show you to a guest room, Jade,” said Annabel. Still not welcoming her. “It’s late. We’ll have time to talk in the morning.
“Thank you,” said Jade, lowering her head. She was outraged. Annabel had spent only a few syllables on Jade and then brushed her off. Stick this interloper in a guest room and don’t waste time talking to her, that was Annabel’s approach. She’ll pay, thought Jade, forgetting her plan to win Annabel over.
“The Peach Room?” Annabel asked her father.
Mr. Jayquith nodded. “Good choice.”
Jade nearly rolled her eyes. They named their rooms. Too much. “The Peach Room,” she repeated. “How nice. But I’d love to see your room, too, Annabel, if you’d let me.”
Annabel said nothing.
Mr. Jayquith, almost but not quite frowning at his daughter, said to Jade, “Of course.”
Annabel appeared to be in a coma. Jade went out of her way to display more personality. Mr. Jayquith swallowed everything. Even though she knew it was the Theodora in her that fascinated him, she reveled in it. Hollings Jayquith, unable to take his eyes off Jade O’Keeffe! When Annabel led the way, Jade took Mr. Jayquith’s arm.
Annabel’s room turned out to be a whole house!
There was a sitting room, with its own views and fireplace, media center and music area. Jade was stunned by the size of the screen, by the control panel for opening beautiful silent cabinets behind which sat the components of computers, games, and speakers.
Its own stairway led to a romantic aerie with a bed so high it required a two-step stool. Like a fairy tale. A picture book illustration.
And the closets! This girl had made a lifetime occupation of fashion. Clothes forever! Clothes for any season and any occasion. Shoes to match everything. Fabulous, absolutely fabulous, clothes.
And what did she wear? Plain jeans and a white blouse. Got away with it, too. Instead of a teenager, Annabel looked like a sea princess, foam on a wave.
I want this room, thought Jade. I will have this room.
I want her father. I want his affection and his money.
I will have them.
The wallet was, indeed, full of facts.
The boy was not Alex Scott.
He was not twenty-two.
He had not gone to Harvard.
So who was he?
And why … why was he here?
Don’t bother me with your little crushes.
Annabel felt homicidal. This Jade girl was standing in Annabel’s own sanctuary, green eyes like an auctioneer appraising the value of every object. Long fingers with long crimson nails like a seamstress, hemming Daddy in, sewing him up, taking him for her own.
Daniel is no little crush, Daddy! she thought, shaking with anger. And what happens after Daniel goes on television won’t be a little crush, either. It’ll be an avalanche! Every one of us standing beneath it will be smothered.
“And what are those?” said Jade.
“Tall closets,” said Annabel, “for evening gowns, long coats, and capes.” I have Daniel to think about, and Daddy expects me to entertain?
To be invaded in her own room made her feel vulnerable. Surrounded. How could she dream or weep or whatever it was she needed to do on this terrible night when Jade’s touch had contaminated the entire suite? Stop it, stop it, Annabel ordered herself. What’s the matter with you? You can’t take a hard day out on some defenseless stranger. Be nice. This may be your cousin.
Annabel was in the habit of talking to herself the way she thought her mother would have. She often pointed out good manners and better behavior and tried to listen to herself.
This may be your cousin, she thought again. Do I believe her or not? Anybody could order a birth certificate by mail from the city records where it was recorded. But first you’d have to know it exists. If I don’t know, and if the tabloids don’t know (and how they will love printing this, in every gory abandoned detail!), how could some high school girl in Ohio know? Unless she is the girl?
But it was the photograph that was convincing. Mrs. Donavan looked just the same. Mrs. Donavan ran the Jayquiths’ houses. She was a huge woman, her bosom
like a pair of watermelons, her waist vanished in time and pounds. She neither cooked nor cleaned, did no secretarial work and no driving. Mrs. Donavan made arrangements. She moved a chef here, sent extra gardeners there, saw that somebody was fetched from one airport and somebody else did not miss his flight at another.
She was also, it seemed, a woman who could be entrusted with the arranging of private adoptions.
Jade opened the high doors and gasped. Annabel had gone through a floor-length cape stage, and had them in hunter-green velvet, scarlet wool, concert black, and sock-it-to-’em hot mauve and purple stripe. Annabel knew the girl wanted to wear each one of them.
Stay calm, Annabel told herself. Put this maybe cousin first. Daddy is right, family is first, don’t get bent out of shape.
“Theodora will be here for lunch tomorrow,” murmured her father, eyes fixed on his new niece. Jade, still holding the corner of the scarlet wool cape, pivoted. Her features swelled as if she had been stung. A smile as harsh and cold as any Theodora had ever turned toward a television camera puffed up Jade’s face. Annabel thought she looked like a viper about to flicker its tongue.
I’ve got to call Aunt Theodora myself, thought Annabel. I have to give her time to prepare. She’s going to be in shock. God knows I would have liked time to prepare for Daniel’s announcement.
Jade was now reading the labels on Annabel’s Italian shirts. How horrifying it was, really. For the whole eighteen years of Annabel’s life, while Theodora lavished attention and energy upon her niece, Theodora had had a child of her own … and chose to lavish nothing.
Annabel had never thought much about giving up babies for adoption. It was hard to imagine herself in that position. She thought of Theodora going through a pregnancy. Nine months. It was a long, long time. A school year. She thought of her own senior year at Wythefield—also nine months—and how it had absorbed her. At the end of nine long, intense months, Theodora had graduated from pregnancy just as Annabel had from Wythefield. Closed the door, walked away, never gone back.
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