The Lyon Legacy

by Peg Sutherland

  Alain Lyon, Charles’s oldest son, stepped off the elevator before she could go on. “Good. I found you, Dad. I turn my head for one minute and you’re gone.”

  “I’m hungry,” the old man said cantankerously. “I told you that.”

  “You’re not hungry. You just want to find something else about this place to criticize.” Alain dipped his head in greeting. “Leslie. I understand you’re working here now.”

  “Just temporarily, Uncle Alain,” she said quickly, giving him the courtesy title due to an older relative. She’d never felt that his branch of the Lyon family welcomed her into their midst, and as a result, he always made her nervous. “I’m w-working on a history of the family and Lyon Broadcasting. If you have any information or materials that might be useful—”

  “Ha!” Charles interjected scornfully.

  Leslie frowned. “What is it, Uncle Charles?”

  “It’s typical family folly to involve an outsider like you in family business,” he said in a huffy tone. “You’re not a Lyon, no matter what you call yourself—a phony just like that stepfather of yours is what I say.”

  Alain cast her a guarded glance but spoke to Charles. “Leslie’s been a part of this family for a long time.”

  “No, she hasn’t,” Charles argued. “She’s a Johnny-comelately, her and that mother of hers both.”

  “Not now,” Alain said sharply. “Don’t waste your breath on Leslie when our quarrel is with André. If you want to eat, come along.”

  Charles took a shuffling step forward, but his eyes were on Leslie, his expression sly. “It’s a mistake to put an outsider in charge of any part of the big anniversary celebration,” he insisted. “You’ll screw it up for sure. I don’t know what Margaret and Paul are thinking, but then, I never did.”

  Leslie just stood there, crushed by his vengeful words. He was apparently waiting for some kind of response from her, though, and so was Alain. She licked her lips and tried to maintain her equilibrium. “You m-may be right, Uncle Charles,” she said. “I don’t know that I have much to contribute, but I’ll do my best not to let anyone d-down.”

  “And you won’t—I guarantee it.” The voice in her ear and the strong hand grasping her elbow belonged to Michael McKay.

  She could have kissed him for that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALAIN SCOWLED at Michael, standing protectively at Leslie’s side. “This is family business, McKay.”

  Charles’s expression clouded over. “Family business—ha! Family folly is more like it. Alain, I’m hungry.” The old man’s voice changed to a whine.

  “You go ahead,” Alain said. “I need a word with Leslie first.”

  “Sorry,” Michael said cheerfully, his grip on her elbow tightening. “We’ve got an appointment, and if we don’t leave now we’ll be late.”

  “You and Leslie?” Alain didn’t even try to hide his disbelief.

  “Me and Leslie.” Michael turned her toward the elevator.

  Leslie’s heart bounded with joy. Michael was obviously suffering from a knight-in-shining-armor complex, but that was all right with her. “I’m sorry, Uncle Alain. Perhaps another time—”

  Still scowling, Alain shrugged and followed his father into the cafeteria.

  When she was safely inside the wood-paneled elevator, Leslie shivered. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “I don’t know why those two dislike me, but it’s always an ordeal to be cornered by them.”

  Michael shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his khaki trousers, he leaned against the elevator paneling. When the elevator stopped on the main floor, he started forward, but she didn’t. Holding the doors open, he cast her a quizzical look.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Where?”

  “I told your uncles we have an appointment.”

  “But you were only being nice. I was actually going back to my office.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to come with me...”

  She had to laugh at his woebegone expression. As if there was anywhere in the world she wouldn’t follow him! “Of course I do. I thought you were joking.”

  “No, Leslie.” His expression grew serious. “Mrs. Simms—”

  “Your housekeeper.”

  “That’s right. Mrs. Simms has some kind of emergency and I’ve got to pick Cory up at school. That’s not a very exciting date but—”

  “Date?” She couldn’t believe she’d heard him right.

  “We could call it that,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “As much as the idea of us as a couple seemed to disturb Alain, it might be worth a tiny little lie.”

  She didn’t want it to be any kind of a lie, big or little. A date with this man—in fact, any date at all—was too good to be true.

  “Hey, Michael!” Kate Coleman strode up to the elevator, anchorwoman perfect. “Are you going somewhere, or do you just intend to stand there holding the door open all day?”

  Leslie stepped forward quickly. “We’re definitely going somewhere,” she said almost gleefully. She gestured at the empty elevator. “It’s all yours, Kate.”

  But Michael isn’t, she thought with satisfaction as they walked through the lobby. Still, she mustn’t read too much into his kindness. He was kind to everyone.

  There was nothing wrong with enjoying herself, though.

  “YOU MADE THESE COOKIES yourself? I can’t believe it!” Leslie stared with exaggerated astonishment at the big round sugar cookie in her hand.

  “I did!” Cory almost jumped off the kitchen stool she was so excited. Her face glowed with enthusiasm. “Mrs. Simms helped me, but I cut them out and sprinkled on the sugar.”

  Michael watched the two chatter on, puzzled at the way his daughter had taken to Leslie. Usually a cautious child, Cory had warmed to her new friend with the speed of light. Now, over cookies and milk, they’d bonded completely.

  “Daddy, you’re not eating your cookie.” Cory fixed him with a perplexed gaze.

  “Oops.” He took a bite. “Great work, kid.”

  “Daddy likes brownies more than sugar cookies,” Cory confided to Leslie, “but I don’t know how to make them yet.”

  Leslie shook crumbs from her fingers onto the empty cookie plate. “I could teach you.”

  Michael was amazed. “You?”

  She gave an embarrassed little laugh. “One of our cooks was quite tolerant of children. She taught me.”

  “Let’s do it now!” This time Cory did jump off her stool.

  “Oh, not now.” Leslie glanced at Michael as if she thought she’d overstepped her bounds. “Mrs. Simms might not like us messing up her neat kitchen.”

  “We’ll ask her when she gets home,” Cory declared, then frowned. “You will come back and teach me to make brownies, right?”

  Again that anxious glance. “If it all works out, honey.”

  Michael heard the back door open and knew the housekeeper had returned. “Cory, why don’t you take Leslie to your room and show her your Christmas presents?” he suggested. “I’ll be in as soon as I make sure everything’s okay with Mrs. Simms. Do you mind, Les?”

  Her glance might be anxious but her voice was understanding. “Of course not. Let’s go, Cory.”

  Mrs. Simms entered the kitchen carrying a plastic shopping bag. Michael took it from her and placed it on the counter.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  The woman sighed. She looked tired and stressed out. “I had to go wire my daughter some money, which threw me behind makin’ groceries,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick Cory up.”

  “No problem. I hope your daughter’s all right.”

  “So do I.” Mrs. Simms set about emptying the bag, pulling out a half-gallon of milk and a long loaf of French bread in a paper wrapper.

  Still Michael lingered. He’d grown genuinely fond of the woman in the time she’d lived with them. “If you need an advance on your salary...
”

  “Not yet,” she said quickly. “I’ll let you know, Mr. McKay.” She glanced toward the door. “Will we have guests for dinner tonight?”

  “I’m not sure—maybe. Either way, you don’t have to do anything special.”

  “That’s good, ‘cause I’m thinkin’ spaghetti sauce from a jar. I just haven’t found time to do any real cooking today.”

  “No problem. I’ll let you know.”

  She nodded absently, already concentrating on something else.

  Michael walked down the hallway, concerned for his housekeeper and almost equally concerned for his daughter. He paused at the half-open door to her pale blue-and-cream room. She sat on the floor with Leslie, a dozen small dolls spread around them in a semicircle. Cory was talking and Leslie was listening, giving an occasional nod of understanding.

  And a thought flashed through Michael’s mind: his life would be a great deal less complicated if he married Leslie. It wasn’t as if he was interested in anyone else or ever expected to be. His marriage had made him leery of falling in love again, but he was fond of Leslie. He knew her to be a woman of high principles. She’d be a wonderful role model for an impressionable child.

  It wouldn’t be a real marriage, anyway; neither of them wanted that. It would simply be two people helping each other out, providing what the other needed. There was certainly satisfaction to be gained by rescuing a damsel in distress—Leslie certainly had been when Alain and Charles had confronted her—so it wouldn’t be entirely one-sided.

  He was rationalizing. Impatient with himself, he shook free of such self-serving thoughts. Marriage wasn’t something to be entered into lightly. But if marriage—even a temporary one—could work with anyone, it would be with Leslie.

  “Hey, you two!” Striding into the room, he smiled at the trusting faces turned toward him. “Mrs. Simms is getting ready to cook dinner, and 1 thought you might like to join us, Leslie. What do you say?”

  Cory clapped her hands. “She says yes, right, Leslie? Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Yes,” Leslie agreed. “I’ll just have to call home so they won’t wait dinner for me.”

  “There’s a telephone in the family room.”

  Michael showed her the way, thinking that even when a make-believe marriage ended, this was not the kind of woman who’d turn her back on a child.

  As he’d suspected, Leslie Lyon was made of good stuff.

  “YOU HAD DINNER at his house?”

  “Please, Mama, don’t get all worked up about it. I told you, he was just being nice because Uncle Alain and Granduncle Charles were on a tear.” Leslie felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She hadn’t had a date in months and everybody in the family knew it.

  Paul beamed at her. “Now, now, everybody, leave the girl alone. Michael’s a fine young man—doing a terrific job with personnel. I’d be delighted to welcome him into this family.”

  “Grandpère!”

  Margaret cocked her silvery head. “Who are his people?” she inquired. “I believe I heard they’re from around here.”

  “His grandmother was a Broussard.” Leslie knew the right things to say to appease her grandmother.

  “Of course. Didn’t they have one of those big old plantation houses on the River Road? Magnolia...Magnolia something or other.”

  “Magnolia Hill, but the family sold it years ago. I believe Michael’s the last of his line.” She knew he was but didn’t want to appear too interested or knowledgeable.

  “In that case,” Gaby said wisely, “he’ll be thinking about an heir.”

  “He has an heir—a daughter. I...I thought I might bring her here sometime to play with Andy-Paul. They’re the same age.”

  Her grandmother and mother exchanged approving glances. “That would be nice, dear,” Margaret said.

  “Anytime,” Gaby agreed. “Andy-Paul will be delighted.”

  No less delighted than his mama was. Leslie almost wished she’d made up some plausible lie about missing dinner with the family. But on second thought, why should she? It wasn’t her fault if they insisted on getting their hopes up.

  However high those hopes went, they wouldn’t be half as high as her own.

  THROUGHOUT THE REST of January and all of February, Leslie struggled to strike a balance in her relationship with Michael. They’d fallen into a comfortable friendship, which was slowly being accepted at WDIX. But when they were alone, he created her more like a sister than a potential wife.

  So why was he still seeing her? She stewed endlessly over this question without coming up with any real answers. Not once, either by word or gesture, had he referred to what passed between them following the WDIX Christmas party.

  What was he thinking? What did he want from her?

  There was nothing for Leslie to do but press onward with her duties in conjunction with the Golden Anniversary. But mysterious forces were afoot, forces she didn’t recognize herself until one day at breakfast Gaby gave her a critical look and said, “Leslie, that skirt fits like a sack. Where on earth did you get it?”

  “I...why, I...” Leslie, standing at the sideboard to pour a glass of orange juice, looked down in confusion at her good blue skirt. She was astonished to see it sagging from a too-big waistband. “I’ve had it for years.”

  Gaby’s hazel eyes narrowed. “You’re losing weight, then. Does the fact you didn’t notice mean you’re in love?”

  “Oh, Mama!” Leslie turned away to hide her embarrassment, but her heart skipped along lightly. Losing weight had always been such an ordeal for her. If Michael’s presence in her life had this happy result...

  After that she started working out in the gym that had been installed in a vacant room near the kitchen after Paul’s second heart attack. Sweating and hoping and praying, she trudged miles on the treadmill and lifted weights until her arms ached.

  For the first time in her life, she thought she might actually be able to make a difference.

  All because she had Michael in her life.

  “ANDY-PAUL’S OKAY,” Cory said, “for a boy.”

  Michael grinned at his daughter. “I’ll bet he says you’re okay for a girl.”

  Cory sniffed haughtily. It was Saturday and they sat across the small breakfast table in the sunroom off the kitchen sharing brownies and milk—brownies courtesy of Leslie. She’d come by after work the day before—Mrs. Simms’s day off—to take Cory over to Lyoncrest for a visit with Andy-Paul, then back home for the much-anticipated brownie-baking lesson.

  “Daddy.” The little girl looked suddenly serious. “I like Leslie a lot.”

  “She likes you, too.”

  “No, Daddy! I mean I like her a whole lot.”

  He frowned, taken aback by her emphasis. Perhaps he’d been wrong to fall into this friendship with Leslie. Had he given Cory hopes that would not be realized?

  Before he could think of a reply, the telephone rang. It was Cornelia Edwards wanting to speak to her granddaughter. He passed the phone to Cory, but sat and listened to the one-sided conversation. Finally Cory announced, “She wants to talk to you, Daddy. Bye, Grandma—I love you!” A multitude of kissing noises followed.

  “What can I do for you, Cornelia?”

  “You can move back to New York City where that child can have a civilized upbringing.” She paused. “Michael, I’ve contacted a lawyer.”

  His stomach knotted. Good old Cornelia, blunt as always. “I can only hope you’re changing your will or establishing a limited partnership,” he said dryly.

  “Levity will get you nowhere,” she snapped. “I’ve lost patience with you, Michael. Either you bring that child back East or I’m going to challenge you for custody.”

  His temper flared. “You have no right to do that.”

  “I have every right! She’s being raised by housekeepers and baby-sitters when she could be raised by a grandmother who adores her. I’m sorry, I really am, but a girl-child needs a woman’s care.”

  “Dammit, Cornelia, I—”
<
br />   Cory’s alarmed face moved into Michael’s field of vision. “Don’t yell at Grandma,” she said in a stage whisper. “I love her!”

  Michael sucked in a deep breath, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “Of course you do, and she loves you, too.” Into the phone he said, his voice tightly controlled, “Don’t do anything rash, Cornelia. We need to talk about this. My situation may be...changing.”

  “I’ve heard that before. It generally means a new housekeeper.”

  “This time it means...” What the hell was he talking about? It didn’t mean jack. “Uh, it means something more permanent.”

  “Why do I have a hard time believing you, Michael? You’ll never marry again, so stop hinting that you will. Look, I’ll give you a week. If in that time you can’t convince me Cory’s situation there is better than it would be here with me, I’ll instruct my lawyer to go ahead with the suit. I’m sorry, I truly am. You were a fine son-in-law, but now it feels as if you’re the enemy.”

  He could say the same of her. Hanging up the phone, he forced a smile for Cory.

  “What say we go walk around Jackson Square and have lunch in the Quarter? Just you and me?”

  “Oh, Daddy, yes! Can we invite Leslie?”

  Obviously there was some part of “just you and me” she didn’t quite grasp. “Maybe another time, honey. Today I want to be alone with my best girl.”

  “Leslie’s your second-best girl,” she argued. “Call her, Daddy.”

  But he didn’t. Not this time. He had too much thinking to do.

  THEY RETURNED from several hours of daddy-daughter togetherness to find Mrs. Simms hauling a suitcase into the living room. She wore her brown coat with the velvet collar, a scarf tied around her head.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so glad you got back,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve gotta go, Mr. McKay. My daughter needs me.”

  “Just like that?” He felt the vise tightening. “What’s happened?”

  “She’s goin’ into the hospital tomorrow morning for surgery, and she’s got nobody to watch her kids. I’ve gotta go, Mr. McKay.”