Paris was no different. People thought Tansy followed him like a shadow. It was a few weeks before Lucas realized that their worst mischief was often Tansy’s idea, which Paris seemed to absorb without words. The communication between them was remarkable…linked by a cord invisible to the naked eye, the two were separated only by skin. In heart and mind, they would always be one.
And they were magic, pure and golden. To be with them was to swallow sunshine, to walk inside a spell that kept all harm away. Life had never been so rich, so full for Lucas Walker. Dazzled by their beauty, he felt himself the luckiest kid alive simply to be allowed near. For that, he had Tansy to thank. He was more than half in love with her but willing to wait until she was ready, until the woman replaced the girl.
And in the meantime, there was Juliette, who took him in and replaced the mother who’d discarded him and run away. Over and over since childhood, Lucas had asked himself what made him so easy to leave behind, but deep inside, he knew. He came from bad blood, bore the taint of it. He’d never be any different. His mother had seen it and cut her losses.
Juliette would have realized it someday, too. Martin Gerard had figured out who he was, a truant and a rebel, and his disdain had been clear. But Gerard was seldom there in body or spirit, always playing a part, ever onstage. His work was his life, his family an afterthought, except his Juliette.
Juliette of the Sorrows, Lucas called her in his most private thoughts. The most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, she was also the saddest, the most in need. She gave everything to her children, to the husband who put her on a pedestal and expected her to stay. She would have had a dozen kids if Gerard had agreed; instead, she adopted a stray like Lucas. She drew him out of the cesspool of his life and brought him into the enchanted circle despite her husband’s protests about taking in a cur. Slowly, she wooed him from wildness. Inside the circle of her compassion, she made Lucas want to believe he could be more than he was.
He would have died for her, would have killed for her.
In many ways, he had.
So on this day more than twenty years later, Lucas darted across Riverside and stopped at the rock wall near 82nd where he’d sighted Tansy before, but there was no sign of her anywhere. He glanced at the cheap watch he’d bought on a street corner and noted that he had only a few minutes left before he must head back to Al’s. He vaulted the wall and scrambled down the hillside toward the Hudson, swiveling his head this way and that, hoping to spot her.
But what he really craved was to find the Tansy of so long ago. Not the Tansy who’d returned from exile in Texas only a few short weeks before it all ended, not the Tansy he’d seen two days ago—
The Tansy he’d first known. Juliette had entrusted the old Tansy to him, had believed he could protect her. But he was certain now that Juliette couldn’t have guessed what her daughter would become, a wisp of the enchanting creature who had first brought Lucas in from the cold.
No hint remained of that Tansy, and Lucas owned no sorcery to restore her.
Freedom beckoned. Tansy wasn’t here. He could walk away now, leave today. Remember that he was only a man, an ex-con who had lost twenty years of his life to a doomed impulse. Shoving his hands in his pockets against the chill wind blowing off the Hudson, Lucas recognized himself for the fraud he was.
He was no Galahad, no St. George to fight the dragon of Martin Gerard, of Carlton Sanford. To get near enough to Tansy to help her would be an impossible task—
But he would have to try, anyway.
Hunched against the wind whistling through his one clean shirt, Lucas quickened his steps and climbed back to Broadway to catch the downtown train.
“Mona, the lead article still hasn’t shown.”
“Mona, Artie’s layout for Health and Beauty sucks.”
“Mona, the warehouse guys called and the roof leaked last night. We’ve lost a whole pallet of the next issue.”
“Mona—”
Mona blinked against the screaming Chinese red of the walls and their pulsating yellow chrysanthemum accents, her stomach rolling. She made her way down the hall to her office, her staff hanging from her like leeches. Her head was primed to blow and her eyes were so scratchy she was wearing her glasses. Her father had been on the phone at seven this morning, complaining that she hadn’t called him back last night.
And Lucas Walker was a free man.
“Mona, I need—”
She whirled. Held up one hand. Sucked in a breath. Counted to ten.
When around her the leeches fell quiet, she singled out her assistant, Gaby. Cool, calm Gaby, who had come to New York from Texas to eat nails for breakfast.
As Mona once had.
“I will deal with each of you beginning in ten minutes. Gaby, make a list. Everybody out.”
Then Mona walked into her office, closed the door and leaned back against it, knowing that aspirins were six feet away and the strong cup of coffee Gaby would bring would be here by the time she opened the bottle and shook them out.
A baby. Christ, Fitz, my whole life is dealing with babies. Some of them twenty-three and one of them seventy-five.
Mona glanced at the emails stacked up on her screen, heard the chime of incoming texts and pondered having it all.
I don’t have time or room for it all, Fitz. Dear God, please come to your senses soon.
They’d passed as strangers in the night ever since his shocking request. He’d been gone when she woke up this morning.
She wanted nothing more than to curl up and take a nap. With a shake of her head, she crossed to her desk and had barely removed the cap from the aspirin when she heard the door open quietly and smelled the coffee.
“You are henceforth forbidden to marry or have children, Gaby. You can’t ever leave—my first decree of the day.”
“Bad night?” The voice was both sympathetic and teasing.
Mona turned, hand outstretched for the life-giving elixir. Popped the aspirin, saw the glass of water, drank. Then clutched her coffee as though it were salvation. After a sip, she looked up.
“My only mistake was waking up.”
Their smiles met, nodded, mingled with care. Gaby would leave when she was ready. Mona understood that. She’d been that bright young girl herself.
You can’t have it all, Mona wanted to warn her, though it wouldn’t do any good. You think you have it wired, and then fate steps in. Shakes the balance.
“Your ten minutes are almost over. Drink up,” Gaby urged.
The magazine. Yes. Her magazine. Her baby.
Fitz would snap out of it. He would.
Mona drank deeply, sighed. Ignored the rebellion in her stomach. Rolled her neck like a boxer, then grinned. “Bring ’em on.”
That afternoon Mona sat beside her father in Carlton’s limo, accompanying him to the theater for the first time. The cast had been rehearsing in a private studio for the principal parts. She was too busy for this, but when he’d asked her, she didn’t have the heart to refuse the chance to be present for his triumphal return to the stage.
She was shocked to feel him trembling like a child approaching kindergarten as he arose, slowly and with less grace than he would wish, from the back seat of the limousine Carlton had put at his disposal. For a moment he stood at the stage door, seeming almost afraid to enter for the first time in ten years. Was he worried that it would not be the same—or that it would?
“Mr. Gerard, a real honor, sir.”
The wizened face at the doorway belonged to a slender, slightly stooped man who gazed at her father as though he were the Second Coming. When her father didn’t respond, he prompted. “It’s Charlie, sir. Charlie—”
“Howard. Charlie Howard, you old dog. Of course I remember. How could I forget you?”
“You don’t mind me saying so, sir, it’s been too long. We’ve missed you. The theater has missed you. No one like you anymore, Mr. Gerard.”
She could see the pleasure straighten her father’s spine, even a
s he brushed at the air. “Now, Charlie, there’s some fine actors treading the boards these days.”
“None to compare with you, sir. Not even close. Welcome home, Mr. Gerard.” With a flourish, Charlie opened the stage door.
Martin paused on the threshold, his expression reverent. Mona stopped, as well, unsure what to do. “Three thousand days and nights,” he murmured, his eyes suspiciously damp.
She tried to imagine how it must feel to be him. A heart attack had forced his retirement; ten years had passed since he’d last breathed the air of this world that had been his marrow, his very life’s blood. The jealous mistress who had claimed the love his children had craved. She had no idea what to say, so she merely waited.
When the door shut behind him, Martin hesitated and closed his eyes, his chest expanding as though breathing oxygen for the first time in years.
“Not a smell like it, Desdemona, anywhere else. Every theater is different, yet every one the same…the perfume of greasepaint, the undertone of ruined dreams, the top note of triumph beyond imagination. The tristesse of the love affair with every opening night crowd when hopes and dreams and fears all crash together in a mélange that will distill, in the course of one performance, into salvation’s exquisite kiss…or failure’s sweaty embrace.”
On his face she saw rapture, a lover returning home after decades in exile. “I’ve been half-alive,” he whispered. “Now I’m young again.”
Just then a woman walked down the shadowy corridor and sucked in a breath. “Mr. Gerard…oh, Mr. Gerard…” She sighed—
And dropped into a curtsy.
Another time Mona would have laughed, but somehow today it was appropriate. Grand as a monarch, he reached to lift her to favor. Suddenly, he was no old man, no quavering father. He was Martin Gerard, who’d owned this world for half his life.
“Come now, my child. You make too much of one old man.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Gerard. You’ll never be old. You’re the best there is. Theater has not been the same—welcome home.”
Mona saw for the first time in many years the world’s leading Shakespearean actor. Far from old, he was ten feet tall again, striding young and strong to conquer the great stages of the world. He reached down, drew the young woman out of the shadows—and froze.
He stumbled backward, his cry hoarse and choking.
“Juliette. My God…Juliette.”
Chapter Six
“Mr. Gerard? Mr. Gerard?” The young woman hurried to him, face screwed up in concern. “Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Face drained of color, Martin pressed one hand against the wall to steady himself. “Who…are you?” His voice was weak and thready as an old woman’s.
Just then a larger shape moved out of the gloom. “I see you’ve met Ms. Hart, Martin. She’ll be understudy to your Cordelia,” said Carlton. He turned. “Mona, how are you?”
She glared at him. “What is this, Carlton?”
Martin’s glance jumped to the young woman again, then back to his trusted old friend.
“It’s all right, Daddy,” Mona soothed. She snapped out an order to the young woman. “A glass of water, please.”
Carlton merely lifted an eyebrow and smiled. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Ms. Hart—” Martin called out.
The young woman paused. “Oh, call me Julie, please. Is—is something wrong?”
Julie. It was too much, on top of all the other memories Lucas Walker’s return had dredged up from the abandoned riverbed of their past. “The water, Ms. Hart,” Mona reminded her.
“No, wait—” Martin straightened, his eyes aglow with a fanatical light. He grasped for her hand. “Nothing is wrong, my sweet. Nothing at all, not now.”
“Daddy, this isn’t—”
But her father wasn’t listening. He’d turned his back on her, tucking the young woman’s hand into his elbow. “Perhaps you’d be my consort as I make my reentry to the proscenium arch.”
She blushed with pleasure. “I’d be delighted, my king.” She nodded with a grave dignity beyond her years. Together they walked away.
“What’s going on, Carlton?” Mona hissed under her breath.
He shook his head, staring at Martin and the young woman. “I’d wondered if I were the only one who saw it.”
“You can’t let this pass.” Stepping around Carlton, she headed for her father.
Carlton grabbed her arm, held her back. “Look at him. Not as your father but as an actor. He’s energized. I haven’t seen him that way since—”
“This is ridiculous. What’s wrong with him? He can’t believe that’s Mama—”
“This is who he is, Mona, an actor. He lives for make-believe. He’s not suited for real life.”
“But he can’t possibly think she’s—”
“Notice that spring in his step. Would you deny him the fuel necessary to make his triumphant homecoming?”
“Why would she do this? It’s dishonest.”
“She’s ambitious, of course, as only an understudy can be. But what’s the harm in make-believe if it helps him out?”
Mona turned to the suave older man who’d been in their lives before she could remember. “Did you plan this, Carlton?”
His grin was quick. “No. Sheer coincidence, my dear. I can stop it now, if it bothers you that much.” He waited a beat. “He’ll admit it soon enough himself, in any case. He doesn’t really believe she’s Juliette. It’s only a comforting memory. Come, Mona. You’re not a child anymore. What’s so bad about boosting an old man’s ego?”
Mona struggled to put away her resentment. Martin had had little to say to her since they’d left the apartment, but he was already regaling this girl with story after story.
Clad in capri pants and ballet flats but carrying herself as though a queen draped in satin, this pale substitute for Mona’s mother accompanied her father on his grand entry.
Leaving Mona behind, once again utterly forgotten.
“Oh, God, she’s wearing another one of Nana’s scarves,” Kat muttered as she and Armand stood in the doorway of her father’s apartment, waiting to take Tansy shopping.
“Sh-h,” Armand soothed. “She’ll be fine. I know a saleswoman at Bendel’s who’ll treat her with kid gloves.”
“Bendel’s? Armand, she’ll come out of there clothed like some doddering East Side matron.”
“Hush. Your ignorance is showing.” He moved toward Tansy, holding out his hands, broad smile on his handsome face.
“I was thinking SoHo,” Kat muttered. “Or Chelsea.” But Armand had clearly taken over as captain of this adventure.
Tansy’s lovely face lit as she caught sight of Armand. With a musical laugh, she launched herself into his embrace.
Kat wondered where the cynical sophisticate had fled as Armand’s entire demeanor softened, on his face a tenderness she’d never seen before.
“Hello, princess.” He placed a gentle kiss on the head that snuggled into his chest, and a pang seized Kat as she watched them.
Then Tansy stepped back shyly, and Armand held her hands out wide. “You look lovely. Are you ready for our adventure?”
Tansy cast her sister a frightened stare. Then she squeezed Armand’s hands and drew herself up straight, though Kat could sense the effort. “I want to make Daddy proud. It’s his big night, after all, isn’t it?”
Her heart went out to her too-fragile sister. Tansy’s world had shrunk to a few blocks, and this couldn’t be easy. But when Tansy loved, she loved fiercely, even now. Her nerves showed, but this outing would be good for her. Perhaps she would discover that her world could be bigger. Perhaps she would at last attempt to free herself from the prison of the past.
God knows the old bastard would never do it.
Kat moved closer, ran her hand over her sister’s arm and squeezed the hand that clenched at her side. “We’ll have fun, Tansy. I promise.”
Tansy licked her lips with a nervous swipe and sq
ueezed Kat’s hand back. “Will we take the bus?”
Kat couldn’t tell whether the light in her eyes was terror or anticipation, but the former seemed more likely.
“Oh no—Armand’s car and driver are here. No commonplace cabs or trains or buses for Princess Tansy, the belle of the ball. Your fairy godfather is transporting you in style.”
“A car?” Tansy’s eyes rounded. “I haven’t been in a car much since—” Her gaze darted to Kat.
Kat nodded and grinned. “Since Nana’s monster of a Buick, right?”
Tansy fingered the edges of the scarf, lavender today to match the flowers in her long skirt, and nodded.
“Remember Nana turning corners and running up and down over the opposite curb?”
Tansy’s eyes filmed, a tiny crease appearing between her eyes. Suddenly, she grinned, and it was almost as if the old Tansy stood before them, mischief dancing in her sky-blue eyes.
Then an amazing thing happened.
Tansy laughed.
The old laugh, like a hot July day at the top of a Ferris wheel when you’re full of cotton candy and the summer seems endless and ripe. The laugh of a Tansy Armand had never met and Kat had almost forgotten.
Kat rejoiced with the big sister she’d lost so long ago, chuckled from deep in her belly as she hadn’t in years. She reached out, marveling, to grasp the sister she should have had all this time. Drew her close as tears stung her eyes.
Tansy clasped her around the waist and hugged her hard. Kat peered over her sister’s head at Armand, surprising an expression naked with longing and helpless pride.
Longing? For Tansy? He’d never said, not a word.
Tansy pulled away, her eyes dancing. “I have to remind Paris about the time he decided to drive Nana’s car while she was taking a nap.” She squeezed Kat’s hands as she whirled away. “I wonder if he recalls the spanking she gave him with that willow switch.” She whirled back. “I’ll go tell him quickly, all right?”
Kat’s heart plunged to earth in a sickening dive. From the top of the Ferris wheel to the bare dirt below, her hope crashed. Shattered. She couldn’t look at either of them. “The car is waiting, Tansy.” She couldn’t acknowledge Tansy’s sickness. Within her, rage rose. Paris is dead, she wanted to shriek. If I could, I’d kill him myself so he’d let you go.
Mercy Page 7