“I’m sure you’re right, Maggie. But I can’t help worrying about the boy. He’s leaving everything he knows.” Her hazel eyes were touched with grief. “When a boy is sixteen years old, he should know where he belongs.”
“He will,” said Maggie. “He’ll know he belongs here in his father’s house. I’ve had Riley’s old room made up. I even went up to the attic and got down all of his stuff—you know, his camera and books and all those little treasures from when we were kids. They belong to Riley’s son, don’t they, Mam?”
“Maggie, it’s wonderful of you to do that for your nephew.”
Maggie flushed. “Can you believe I found those old Flash Gordon sheets and the Lone Ranger blankets? I made up the bed myself.”
“I think of our Riley almost every day,” Billie said quietly.
“So do I. Especially since I’m back here at Sunbridge. Mam, why wasn’t a grave marker put up on the knoll for Riley? I know his body was never recovered from the plane crash, but why not a memorial stone?”
“That was your father’s doing. He couldn’t bear it.”
“When the time is right, I’m going to talk to young Riley about it. Something should be done, don’t you think?”
“I think that when the time’s right, you’ll know what to do. Whatever you decide, you can count on me.”
“Otami, too? A memorial stone, I mean.”
Billie’s brows shot upward. This certainly was a new Maggie, with this sense of family. “Perhaps. But Riley might not want to stay at Sunbridge. You must prepare yourself for that, Maggie.”
“As sure as I’m standing here, the boy will stay. I feel it in my bones.”
“Perhaps. Come along, dear. Let’s go find Cole and Thad. I could use something cool to drink myself. What time do you expect the others?”
“Within the hour. Isn’t it wonderful? All of us under the same roof; all of us back at Sunbridge after so long.”
The sound of a car pulling up the drive and a blaring horn saved Billie from further reply. Who else could it be but Amelia, returning to Sunbridge with fanfare. Billie stood back as Maggie raced for the door and out to the portico.
“Auntie Amelia! And this must be Cary! Welcome, welcome to Sunbridge.”
Billie, standing in the shadow of the doorway, registered shock that she immediately concealed. Cary Assante, Amelia’s new husband, was young, quite young in fact— at least twenty years younger than Amelia. . . . Billie disliked what she was thinking and stepped out the door, her arms open.
“Billie! How wonderful to see you again. I really snagged a winner, didn’t I? Admit it!” Amelia whispered in Billie’s ear as the women embraced.
“He has my vote.” Billie laughed to see her sister-in-law and best friend so animated with happiness. When Amelia had become widowed during the Second World War, she’d only been a few years older than Billie. Amelia had spent a good portion of her life alone, but now she had Cary. “I’m happy for you, Amelia,” Billie murmured sincerely. “And you look wonderful!”
“I should!” Amelia said with her usual candor. “I’ve had everything lifted that could be lifted. I’ve more tucks than the good friar himself!”
Billie thought of her own wrinkles. The laugh lines around her eyes, the tiny brackets at the sides of her mouth, the deeper grooves in her forehead. For a time she’d toyed with the idea of a nip and a tuck herself, but as long as Thad loved her the way she was and pink light bulbs in the bedroom could work their magic, all was right with the world.
Amelia squared her shoulders imperceptibly, something she found herself doing whenever a younger woman was in Cary’s presence. Maggie looked gorgeous, alive and vital. Just like Cary.
Cary Assante was movie star material. Slightly taller than medium height, lean and chiseled; something animal and hungry in those sparkling dark eyes. He was magnetic, handsome in a rough, virile way. His shoulders broad, like those of a boxer, back straight, light gray trousers hugging muscular thighs. His Italian heritage was visible in his sable-black hair and in his skin, which accepted a healthy tan. He had the look of a hawk, hungry and alert, but when he smiled, his expression was genuine and friendly, and it was obvious that he was quite comfortable with his good looks.
When they all moved to the shady back patio, Billie found herself observing Cary while introductions were being made to Thad and Cole. He was carefully put together, she decided. His thick dark hair was meticulously barbered and windblown to exactly the right degree. His tan—earned no doubt, on the tennis courts beneath the California sun—was also exactly right, neither too leathery nor too blushingly pink. Everything about him seemed carefully designed for natural elegance—his Lauren shirt, Cerruti jacket, Italian shoes, and the solid gold Rolex winking on his furred arm from beneath his sleeve. Everything he wore had obviously been selected for him by Amelia; at least it was obvious to Billie, who was so familiar with Amelia’s tastes.
The introductions completed, Cary approached Billie. His voice was a light baritone with shades of a New York accent, easy to listen to. He smelled awfully good, too. “I’ve been eager to meet you and your family. Amelia speaks of you all so often, especially you, Billie. I have to admit, I’m jealous, since I’ve no family of my own.”
“None at all?”
“Not that I know of. I was raised on the charity of New York City in a Catholic orphanage. But,” he added lightly, holding up a finger, “don’t feel sorry for me. I survived, and some of my friends from those days did, too. In fact, they’re still with me in business.”
“What do you think of Texas? Have you ever been here before?” Billie asked. She really had to buy some of his cologne for Thad.
“I like it. And no, I’ve never been before, except for a week or so a few months back. I’ve been considering a parcel of land this side of Austin for a housing development. No, actually, it’s much more than that. It’s kind of an inner city outside the city.” He laughed. “Townhouses, condominiums, and single-family homes, complete with shopping center and some light industry.”
“Here in Texas?” asked Maggie, who had overheard.
“Yes, outside of Austin,” Cary repeated. Maggie relaxed instantly: no city lights would be seen from Sunbridge. “Amelia agrees it could be a good idea. I’m going to look into it. This party will give me an opportunity to talk to some of the locals and see what they think of the idea.”
Billie tried not to show her dismay. Something as large as what Cary was talking about would require a great deal of money and expertise, not to mention luck.
“You wouldn’t believe this man,” said Amelia. “He reminds me of Moss; he has a finger in lots of pies, all of them exciting!” There was an uneasy silence as Amelia looked from one face to the other. “Cary, perhaps you’d better tell them, right now, that you didn’t marry me for my money.”
Amelia had caught everyone off guard, but it was so typical of her that Billie almost laughed. “Amelia, no one—” Her eyes were drawn to Cary, who had moved closer to his wife.
“That’s what I call letting it all hang out.” He put his arm around Amelia’s slim shoulders. “No, I didn’t marry Amelia for her money; in fact, I’m not certain this lady isn’t a gold digger herself. But I took my chances because I love her.” He sighed dramatically. “So if there’s anyone to be concerned about here, I guess it’s me.”
“What he means,” Amelia said, smiling mischievously, “is that he’s worth about ten times more than any of us here. At least at last count.”
Billie sighed with relief and Amelia felt better immediately. It was important to her that Billie like Cary. “There’s a difference in our ages, but Cary says it isn’t important. What’s important is the here and now, and the devil take the rest.”
“Amelia makes me feel young,” Cary said, grinning, as if that explained everything. “And now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what do you say about something cold for a parched throat? It’s a throwback to the old days when I didn’t have two nic
kels to rub together. I talk about money and my mouth goes dry.”
They were all on the back patio sipping drinks, and none of them heard the car come up the drive. “Well, hello, everyone!”
“Susan!” Maggie cried exuberantly, jumping up to embrace her sister. “Suse, I’m so glad to see you. Almost everyone is here now.”
Cary, who had never met Suse or her husband, Jerome, was standing now and walking toward them, his hand outstretched. Amelia followed quickly behind her husband. Susan, who had lived with her in London as a girl was like a daughter to her, was only a year or two younger than Cary. Amelia felt it in every step she took. Yet she embraced her niece with genuine affection, her laughter real, her blue eyes sparkling. The introductions were made, and Amelia felt herself stiffen when Cary kissed Susan. But he immediately turned back to her and slipped an arm around her shoulder. He kissed her teasingly, lightly, below her ear. “I think I can detect a faint resemblance.”
Amelia let out her breath in a sigh. With Cary’s arms around her, everything was all right. He was behaving the loving, dutiful husband. Now, why had she thought such a thing? she wondered. Cary was always affectionate, always demonstratively loving. She mustn’t allow herself to bristle like that. He was so in tune with her, he noticed any change almost immediately. But she could have been mother to all of them . . . including Cary, the man she adored.
CHAPTER THREE
Billie had recently visited with Susan in New York, so there was no urgency to push through the rush of kisses and hugs and fond hellos, promises to meet more often, and latest travel gossip.
When they’d all settled down again, Maggie said, “You look weary, Suse.” Her tone was fond and caring. It was true; Susan’s normally fair, blond prettiness now seemed wan and pale, and her light eyes were rimmed with circles not even Estée Lauder could hide.
“She always looks that way after a tour.” Jerome’s voice sounded slightly harsh, as if he were annoyed at Susan’s fragility.
Billie frowned and Maggie could feel something building inside herself. Susan looked more than tired; she appeared ill. “Well, I have just the remedy, Suse,” said Maggie. “You sit between Mam and Amelia, and they’ll pamper and pet you, and I’ll get you whatever your heart desires. Name it—cold drink, something to eat?”
“Anything, as long as it’s cold. Do you mind if I kick off my shoes?” Susan felt like crying.
“This is home, Suse,” Maggie called over her shoulder. Then all the women gasped when they saw how swollen Susan’s feet were.
“It’s flying,” Jerome interjected quickly. “Lots of people’s feet swell from sitting too long.”
“You should never take your shoes off on the plane,” Amelia advised. “You’ll never get them on again.”
“You fly first-class,” Billie said with concern. “Can’t you reserve a bulkhead seat? Ask the stewardess for several pillows and prop your feet up.”
As Jerome spoke with Thad and Cary, it seemed to Maggie that he was forcing his smile, pretending a joviality he didn’t feel. In the past few years Jerome de Moray had lost his robust, youthful appearance to a kind of overfed middle age. He wasn’t fat, only threatening to become so. His clothing seemed one size too small, and his once boyishly pink cheeks now seemed florid. His sherry colored eyes had kept their intelligence, but his easy smile now seemed pinched and forced, as though his shoes were too tight.
Amelia reached out and patted Susan’s knee. “Darling, don’t you think it’s time to cut back on these grueling tours?”
Jerome, standing across the patio, answered for his wife. “Not at all, Amelia. Susan always gets tired, but she recovers soon enough. She’s such a perfectionist, you know. Every detail, every reservation, is arranged by her. Do you know she personally irons my shirts when we’re on the road?”
Amelia snorted. She’d never cared for Jerome, and now that his early promise had faded—if one was to believe the critics—he was hanging on to Susan for dear life. Susan was the talent; Susan was the box office draw. Cary quickly moved to Amelia’s side and pulled her up from the chaise. “They’re playing our song.” He laughed lightly. “Let’s show everyone that fancy dance step we learned in New York.” Cary led her to the open floor and whispered, “You were about to put your foot in it, my darling.”
As Amelia fell into step beside her husband, Coleman raised the volume on the stereo. The music blared as they took center stage on the patio amid hoots of approval and applause.
After five minutes, Amelia collapsed onto the chair beside Billie, her face flushed. Cole wanted Cary to teach him the step and began to ape his movements. Amelia laughed as she watched them. “I hope you’re the only one to see how frazzled that left me, Billie. I’m not as young as I used to be. My heart’s going like a triphammer.”
“Cary relieved a bad moment. I saw it coming but didn’t know what to do.”
“The man can read my mind. Jerome and I have had several arguments in the past about Susan. Cary was avoiding a scene. He never fails me.” Amelia lowered her eyes, then looked back up at Billie. “You see, I’m doing it again, trying to justify my marriage to Cary, always pointing out how wonderful he is. I don’t know why I do it! Or is it myself I’m defending?”
“Why don’t you just be you and let Cary be himself? I like him, Amelia. The man’s in love with you; any fool can see it. Enjoy it; don’t let old ghosts ruin this for you.”
“We do make our own hell, don’t we. We make so many mistakes along the way. But I’m not wrong about Susan. She looks ill, doesn’t she, Billie? It’s not my imagination.”
Billie glanced at her younger daughter, seeing again the tired dark circles under her eyes, the yellow pallor, the puffiness around her ankles and fingers. “No, I’m afraid you’re not. We should have a talk with her later on.”
“Easier said than done. Jerome isn’t about to let his bird out of her cage. Over the years he’s become an absolute dictator. I thought I liked him once, but that was when he was a young, blossoming virtuoso. I put down his temper and eccentricities to his being a genius. Now I think he’s just spoiled and selfish. Oh, how I wish I’d been able to convince Susan that Peter Gillette was the man she needed, and not Jerome. But Susan and her ‘tidy’ life couldn’t bear up under the scandal of Peter leaving his wife and children for her. I tried to tell her it’d blow over in a matter of time, but she was so afraid, she jumped for Jerome as though he were a lifeline.” Amelia sighed, a frown creasing her brow. “I worry about her, Billie.”
“I know you do, but let’s not worry now and spoil Maggie’s wonderful party. It’s getting late, isn’t it?” She glanced at her watch. “Sawyer and Riley should have been here by now. Rand, too.”
“The plane was probably delayed. Rand was going to wait for them at the airport so they could all drive out together.”
The tall, wheat-blond-haired man lounged in his chair at the airport bar, drawing appreciative glances from passing females. Unabashed, he stared back at them, making his own assessments: too short, too tall, too skinny or fat, too much makeup. He disliked the kind of frizzled hair that seemed to be all the rage these days, or hair that was cut boyishly short. By the time he’d finished his second Bombay gin, he’d warded off one flagrant flirtation and had taken two more subtle ones under consideration before smiling his gleaming white smile that echoed in his coffee-brown eyes.
Rand Nelson hated airports and train stations almost as much as he hated to be kept waiting. He’d been waiting nearly three hours now for the flight from Japan via San Francisco. Even from this distance, his keen gaze could read the green-screened monitor declaring the two-hour delay from San Francisco. In two hours he could consume four more drinks and probably smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. He considered calling Sunbridge to alert them of the delay.
In some ways he was already regretting this trip. At the age of forty-three, he was old enough to know what he wanted and didn’t want in his life. Mostly, he realized, he wanted life to go
smoothly. Perhaps he’d remained a bachelor too long; perhaps he was too set in his ways. Rand wished he could pinpoint the time and place when he’d realized he’d achieved all of his major goals. He enjoyed his successes, savored each of them, but some instinct told him it was time to start winding down, time to stop and smell the roses. Bulging bank accounts, fingers in pies that didn’t require his personal involvement, had allowed him to think about the pursuit of pleasure, doing something creative or having the choice of doing nothing at all.
The Bombay gin slid down his throat, crisp and icy. He’d learned to like his drinks American, that is, with ice and served in frosted glasses. There wasn’t much of the Englishman in him. He supposed having Amelia for a mother and almost constant world travel had erased his tastes for warm beer and warmer liquor and endless days of London weather. Lord Randolph Jamison Nelson, Earl of Wickham, was a name and title that had little to do with the man; it was a name listed in the peerage and would be as long as there was an England, but it said nothing about himself.
Sawyer. Her name brought a vision of sunshine and energy and the sound of a girlish voice softened with a Texan accent. Slim, lovely, bright, intelligent, and only twenty-six years old. She was on the brink of discovering her abilities, of putting her education and her unique position as head of Coleman Aviation into effect. Her instincts for business were as sharp as her grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s had been before her; with little more than legal advice, she’d been successful in licensing the most innovative, lightweight personal aircraft in aviation history—and keeping the copyrights intact for Coleman Aviation to boot. Sawyer was hooked on achievement, and nothing would keep her from testing her abilities. The trouble had nothing to do with Sawyer’s ambitions and success; in fact, he admired her for making the most of her talents. But he’d had enough of high-powered business deals. What would become of Sawyer and him if they married? He wanted to wind down, and she was just coming into her prime. Age was just a number, but they were two people at opposite ends of a rope.
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