Tapestry Of Tamar

by Reece, Colleen L.

  “Mr. Rhys, there is a gentleman here to see you,” his secretary announced, interrupting his concentration.

  “Does he have an appointment, Hood?”

  The pallid young man, whose weak face disguised a sharp mind, grimaced. “Carlos O’Donnell considers himself above needing appointments.”

  “Tell him I only see people with appointments. No, wait.” O’Donnell. Redheaded vixen. Could this be. . . ? “On second thought, is he the O’Donnell whose sister didn’t marry Phillip Carlin last night?”

  “The same.” Pale he might be, but the secretary kept his finger on the pulse of San Francisco society and had proved himself invaluable.

  “I think I’ll see him after all.” Gordon turned his gaze to the doorway. Since he would never defend a client unless he was convinced of the person’s innocence, he had trained himself to make accurate first assessments. Now his keen eyes noticed the arrogance of the faultlessly garbed man who stepped into his office. For a moment Gordon regretted breaking the no-appointment rule. A second later, however, he was convinced that his first instincts had been right after all. Proud, haughty, Carlos O’Donnell stood before him as one who is used to having his own way. Yet the suffering in his dark eyes attested to a sleepless night.

  “Mr. Rhys, I need your help,” he said simply. “My sister has disappeared.” Carlos struggled for control. His voice lowered until Gordon had to lean forward to hear him. “I’m horribly afraid something will happen to her and it will be my fault.”

  four

  Honest and true himself, Gordon Rhys admired a man who could admit and accept the blame for his own actions. Gordon’s hand shot across his desk, gripped Carlos O’Donnell’s, and shook it heartily. “Have a seat, sir, and let’s hear the story. My sister Veronica mentioned there had been a—hitch in the wedding.”

  Carlos laughed bitterly. “The hitch is that Tamar turned eighteen yesterday, escaped from her locked room by way of a bed sheet rope, and marched into our family solicitor’s office with the bit between her teeth. According to the senior attorney, his junior partner found himself squelched by Tamar’s manner. So much so that he gave her a draft for her share of our parents’ inheritance.”

  Gordon’s eyes glowed. “At least she has spunk.”

  “Spunk!” Carlos exploded. “She’s a twentieth-century replica of our grandmother, red-gold hair, daring, temper, and all.” Anger gave way to worry, and two sharp vertical lines creased his smooth forehead. “I knew she was against marrying Carlin, but—”

  “Any decent woman would be,” Gordon interjected.

  Carlos shrugged. “Phillip has lived the life of a bachelor.”

  “But not all bachelors live the life Phillip has,” the young attorney crisply reminded.

  Carlos ignored that truth. “The important thing is to find and bring Tamar back, before Nob Hill rocks with news of her flight.”

  Sympathy warred with distaste, and Gordon shoved his chair back until it squeaked in protest. “Mr. O’Donnell, you must understand something. I won’t be able to help you if you plan to coerce your sister into marrying Carlin, should we find her.”

  Carlos leaped as if stung. His eyes looked like glowing coals in his face. “What business is it of yours what happens after she is found?”

  “You made it my business when you walked through my door unannounced,” Gordon told him.

  Unwilling admiration crept into Carlos’s eyes. “What are you, the champion of fair womanhood, a modern Sir Lancelot?”

  Gordon threw back his head and laughed. “Far from it. I just can’t in good conscience take your case if it means that after your sister’s glorious defiance of Carlin, she’s still to be sacrificed. Man, can’t you imagine how he will treat her? No one of my acquaintance resents a slur more than Phillip. He will never forgive her, even if she marries him.”

  Carlos spread his hands eloquently. “What other choice have I? My wife is enraged and predicts we will be ostracized when this scandal leaks out.”

  “Better that than a worse scandal when your young sister discovers the depths of Carlin’s hidden life. She’d be certain to leave him.”

  “I never considered that. I’m sure Lorraine hasn’t, either.” Carlos remained silent for a few moments, then frowned and said, “I must find Tamar. She’s my sister and I love her, though I may not have shown it in the proper way.”

  Gordon was glad to be saved from the necessity of a reply when O’Donnell added, “Mr. Rhys, I can promise you that if you find Tamar and bring her home, I will not force her into a loveless marriage.” Sincerity rang in his voice, and Gordon found himself again liking the man. His Spanish heritage of pride had been knifed by his sister’s disappearance, but his practical Irish side recognized his own part in the messy business.

  “In that case, I can promise you we will do everything possible to locate your sister’s whereabouts.” Out of curiosity, Gordon asked, “Why is it you came to me rather than your own solicitors?”

  Carlos laughed and the genuine mirth cleared the air as nothing else could have done. Gordon found himself wondering if the sister possessed the same charm. “Frankly, Mr. Rhys,” Carlos said, “I said some rather rash things to my solicitor. I doubt that just now he will be feeling kindly toward me.” The laughter left his face. “I can’t take the chance that any investigation he started would be without real interest. I need a man who will care about the outcome of this case. I’ve heard you only take cases you believe in.” His shrewd gaze bored into Gordon. “You proved that when you extracted the condition from me before accepting my case.”

  What a strange combination of hauteur, genuine warmth, and astuteness! O’Donnell had obviously had a bad shock, one that had shaken him more than the San Francisco tremors that plagued the city. Gordon reached for pen and paper. “Now, tell me every detail, give me the name and address of your sister’s friends, and a full description of what she is wearing.”

  Carlos talked for a long time, yet when he finished, both men were appalled at the small amount of real information they had listed. Gordon summed it up. “Wearing pale green voile dress. No real close friends in the city, merely acquaintances, and you have already inquired among them. Probably carrying less than two hundred dollars. Hmmm. Not a lot to go on—but enough to get started.” He buzzed for his secretary. When the younger man entered, Gordon ordered, “Hood, cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day. We will be taking on Mr. O’Donnell’s case.” He knew he need add no more. Faithful Hood probably already knew more about the situation than his bland face showed.

  “Very good, sir.” Hood vanished and Gordon reached for his hat. “I’d like to see your sister’s room,” he told Carlos. “Is everything just as you found it?”

  A dull red suffused Carlos face. “All but that infernal bed sheet rope. My wife snatched it in so passers-by wouldn’t see it.” A glint of humor lit his dark eyes and again his newly hired attorney felt kinship with the proud man.

  The comment also prepared him for Lorraine’s icy welcome and her torrent of accusations against the missing bride-to-be. Good heavens, no wonder Miss O’Donnell fled! Listening to her sister-in-law’s yammering would be enough to drive anyone mad.

  The only clue they picked up in the deserted room was that a small amount of clothing had gone with the runaway.

  “Oh, and the tapestry,” Lorraine snapped.

  “Tapestry?”

  “A family heirloom,” Carlos explained. The glance he gave his wife told Gordon this was a touchy issue. “It’s very old and almost priceless.”

  “Then if Miss O’Donnell’s finances get low, she will have something she can sell,” Gordon observed.

  “Tamar will never sell her tapestry,” Carlos disagreed. “It’s all she has left of our mother’s.”

  “What is the tapestry like?”

  “Red, g
reen, and white, Mexico’s national colors. Beautifully woven and about so big.” He measured a rectangle in the air about three by four feet.

  Gordon noted it. “Do you have a picture of her?”

  Lorraine made a sound, and Carlos fiercely turned toward her. She subsided, and he led Gordon downstairs and into the library. A lifelike replica of a young girl smiled into Gordon’s eyes from among the other frowning portraits. “Why, she’s lovely!”

  He didn’t realize he had spoken aloud until Lorraine’s rasping voice taunted, “Oh yes, unless you have to live with her.”

  “Enough, woman.” Carlos’s patience was stretched thin by the continuing nightmare.

  A secret grin came to Gordon’s lips as he searched the picture for the “redheaded vixen” Lorraine described. Instead, he saw a sweet-faced girl with glowing dark eyes a shade lighter than her brother’s, an innocent face framed by hair more gold than red. Mischief lurked in her eyes but not viciousness, spirit but not sulkiness. The artist had managed to capture far more than a physical likeness, for a sort of spiritual aura surrounded the painted face. Gordon could almost see the curving lips set in determination, the white fingers doggedly knotting a rope from bed sheets. When she turned her back on the only home she had, had tears blinded the compelling eyes?

  “And you planned to marry her to Carlin?” Gordon hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled from his deep indignation.

  Lorraine froze but Carlos stared at the portrait as if seeing it for the first time. When he silently faced Gordon, his eyes were dark with shame. “I see, now,” he said.

  “See what?” Lorraine shrilled. “Thanks to your precious sister, we’re likely to be ruined. Phillip was here this morning and dug the truth out of me. He’s threatening to sue for breach of contract.”

  “Sue whom?” Gordon’s voice was rough. “The missing fiancée? You didn’t sign any kind of papers, did you?”

  “Of course not. Everything was verbal.”

  “Just what is this everything?”

  Lorraine’s eyes glittered like two shiny stones under green water. “When Tamar married him, Phillip was to receive a generous dowry. In addition, whatever she received under the conditions of her parents’ will would naturally be his.”

  “You have no cause for concern,” Gordon told the O’Donnells. “Any judge would throw the case out of court.”

  “I know that!” Lorraine glared as if she hated Gordon. “It’s the ignominy of being taken to court with everyone laughing at us.” Tears of fury drowned the gray-green eyes. She dabbed at them with a lace-edged handkerchief. “He said that if we would just go ahead and give him the dowry money he wouldn’t sue.”

  “You didn’t agree, I hope. If you did, he has a verbal contract.” Gordon shuddered at the tangle that could ensue.

  Angry color filled Lorraine’s narrow face. “I am not a compete fool. I told him I could do nothing until I spoke with my husband.”

  “Thank God for that,” Carlos put in.

  “Mrs. O’Donnell, I don’t think you need to worry about either a court case or blackmail. I’ll have to talk with Carlin. A few facts are in my possession concerning him that will make him eager to forget any harassment of you. Just one thing: to your knowledge, did Tamar—Miss O’Donnell—ever actually say she would marry Phillip?” He held his breath waiting for the reply.

  “On the contrary, she said a hundred times she wouldn’t.” Lorraine sniffed. “He always seemed so pleasant, until today. Who could know he could change so rapidly?”

  Carlos thoughtfully said, “Evidently Tamar knew or suspected. Rhys, I’ll appreciate your doing what you can to silence him. Add your fee to whatever it requires to find Tamar.”

  Something in Gordon revolted. His gray eyes turned the color of ice. “We’ll discuss the fee after we locate the runaway.” He hesitated, then told Carlos, “I’d like you to accompany me on our visit to Carlin. A witness may come in handy.”

  “I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

  Less than a half hour later, a man-servant ushered them into the luxurious suite Phillip had taken at a fine hotel. Carlin had seen no reason to leave, wedding or no wedding.

  “Carlos. What a surprise.” His eyes widened when he saw Gordon. By the time his visitors left, Phillip had abandoned his righteous indignation. He understood that he would be wise to no longer pursue hopes of money from the O’Donnells. The facts Gordon had used convinced the jilted groom that further intimidation of the O’Donnells would result in his expulsion from San Francisco society. “This is all Tamar’s fault,” was all he said, though his face was black with hatred.

  “I had no idea what a rotter he is.” A small white line encircled Carlos’s set lips.

  Gordon said nothing. “I should have investigated before forcing Tamar into an engagement. I drove her away. I just hope someday I will be able to plead forgiveness.” His voice actually shook. “Will it happen?”

  Compassion replaced the lawyer’s disgust. “Mr. O’Donnell, that is in God’s hands.”

  “I—I haven’t had a lot to do with God in the past years. I’ve been too busy making money.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. He waited until they entered the closed carriage. “I’ve also blamed God for not sending me a son.”Gordon grasped what it cost Carlos to confess this. He kept his voice even. “We often give God credit for a lot of things and blame Him for even more. Until we realize the only way to live successfully is to accept His Son into our hearts, we can never have peace.” He flushed. “Sorry for preaching.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Does your sister know God?”

  “We both became Christians as children. I haven’t talked to her about such things in years. I know she felt the shock of our parents’ death, perhaps even more than I did. I buried myself in work, while she was uprooted when the family home was sold.” Carlos looked at his hands. “I failed her.”

  “You know you can be forgiven.”

  “Yes. But can I forgive myself? Perhaps, when we find Tamar.”

  The desolation in his final words touched Gordon’s warm heart. “How long do you think anyone as unusual as your sister can hide herself, especially with limited funds? Sooner or later, she will either have to come back or find work. When she does, it shouldn’t be impossible to find her.” Yet his words sounded hollow even to himself. What guarantee had they that Tamar would stay in San Francisco? Her inheritance might be small compared with Nob Hill standards, but it offered options Gordon preferred not to mention to Carlos. She could go a long way on $200—and who knew what direction she might choose?

  No, Gordon decided. If I’m any judge of human nature, that girl won’t run too far. He remembered something Carlos had said and inquired, “Will she try to contact your brother? You said they are close in years and devoted to one another.”

  Carlos shook his head. “Tamar will know that’s the first person we’ll consider.”

  “She might be smart enough to do a double double cross,” Gordon reflected aloud. “By knowing you’ll rule it out, that may be the very thing she’ll do. Better get in touch with him.”

  “I will. I’ll do anything,” Carlos promised. His lips curved into a smile. “Even pray.”

  “Good.” The carriage halted and Gordon sprang out. “We’ll be in touch.” He shook hands and sprinted into the office building and up the stairs. Hood met him at the door, his expression eager.

  “Come in, Hood.” Gordon stepped inside his own office and flung his hat in the general direction of a coat rack. “All right. This is what we have. Now tell me anything you know about Carlos O’Donnell, his wife, sister, and Phillip Carlin. It looks like we have one tough case in front of us.”

  All during the conference with Hood, Gordon scribbled notes, amazed as usual by the pale man’s brilliance. He interrupted once with the
irrelevant remark, “Why aren’t you an attorney rather than a secretary?”

  If Hood felt surprise at the question he masked it well. “I will be one day, sir. Just now I am learning as much as possible working for you.” He smoothly went on with his recitation of Phillip Carlin’s shortcomings, the O’Donnell holdings and pride, the reputed beauty of Tamar. “I’ve seen her a time or two with Carlin,” Hood said, and for a moment a human being peeped through the business machine. “She has a kind of—radiance. Any man would be proud to win her. It’s hard to understand why her brother—or his wife—” He paused. “Why they would be willing to provide a dowry to Carlin, even though he does stand high with the society matrons on Nob Hill.” A rare smile lit his face. “She has a certain charm that would be wasted on Carlin.”

  Gordon had been bending a letter opener back and forth. Now he threw it down in sudden decision. “Hood, how would you like to take charge of our search for this missing person? Right now I’m swamped with several cases coming up in court. I can’t thrust them aside no matter how much I’d like to. I also know I can count on you to be totally discreet, no matter what you discover.”

  Hood sprang from his chair. All trace of pallor fled beneath the wave of excitement that showed in his eyes. “Sir, I’ll do my best. But what about my other duties?”

  “They can be reassigned.” Gordon marveled at the change in the quiet young man. He leaned his chair back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Just for curiosity’s sake, where will you begin?”

  Again the mask of efficiency slipped and the eager boy showed through. “Miss O’Donnell sings, I believe? Perhaps she will secure a position as a music teacher.”

  Gordon laughed. “I can see your brain is already turning. Wish I had time to pursue this with you, but if I don’t finish preparing, an innocent man may be imprisoned.” He bent to his work, barely conscious of Hood’s leaving.

  Less than a fortnight after Tamar’s daring escape, Hood dragged into Gordon’s office, face doleful. “Sir?”