by Donna Hill
Their living quarters for the next few weeks were actually two adjoining suites which occupied the Penthouse level of the Hyatt Regency. How Carmen was able to pull off such a coupe in that short space of time, was nothing short of a miracle, Reese marveled, running her hand through her hair.
Thinking about Carmen brought a smile to Reese’s mouth along with remembering why they were in Japan weeks early.
Walking barefoot across the white-carpeted living room floor, she pushed open the polished oak sliding doors that led to the bedroom. Immediately upon entering the lavish rooms, decorated with eighteenth-century furnishings, her gaze fell upon the suitcase and travel bags.
Reese groaned, remembering her promise to Maxwell to put their things away. Pushing down her reluctance with a long breath, she padded across the vanilla-tinted room and began unpacking the suitcases and garment bags.
Rhythmically, she moved between the bed and the double closet. A half hour later, she’d finished putting away the last of Maxwell’s shirts. Hands on hips, she slowly turned in a circle, surveying the room. She pursed her lips and shook her head. Max had carelessly tossed the jacket, slacks and shirt he’d worn earlier across the back of the armchair. She crossed the room in a huff and snatched up the discarded clothing, sucking her teeth in annoyance. He kept his home spotless. She hoped this wasn’t an indication of how he intended to keep their hotel room.
She shook out the jacket as she approached the closet in search of one more hanger, when a half-folded letter fell out and floated to the floor at her feet.
Bending down from the knee, Reese picked up the paper intent on sticking it back in his pocket when the bold signature of Victoria Davenport caught and held her eye. Reese felt the pulse in her temple begin to throb. A swift surge jolted her stomach. Briefly she closed her eyes, the ethical part of her wanting to put the letter back, the female side needing to know its contents.
She swallowed hard as a hot flush of guilt pulsed through her veins. Taking the letter she sat down at the small desk. She stared at the pages, knowing that she had crossed the line of trust the instant she did not promptly return the letter when it had fallen.
The beat of her heart thudded wildly as if she were being pursued. Maybe she was—by her conscience, she thought as shaky fingers unfolded the sheets of soft pink paper.
Dear Max,
I know I’m the last person you want to hear from but there are some things you should know about me and about Reese.
When I was ten years old, my aunt Celeste came to me and told me about a half sister. Her name was
Reese. We didn’t share the same mother, but we did share the same father, Hamilton Delaware.
I was so elated to learn that I had a family and was eager to meet my sister. My aunt quickly informed me that it could never happen. Although my father loved me dearly, my existence would remain a secret. He had no desire to leave his family or ruin it by announcing that he had another daughter. I was devastated, and I think that’s when my resentment for Reese began. I believed that she had it all. She was the golden child and I was the black sheep—the unmentionable bastard child of Hamilton Delaware.
I never had the opportunity to confront my father before he died in the car accident. I went on with my life and a part of me was almost happy that Reese no longer had the family that I’d coveted.
It wasn’t until several days ago that yet another layer of my life was stripped away. Frank Murphy, the man who I believed was my uncle is actually my father, not Hamilton Delaware.
For the first time since she began reading, Reese allowed herself to breathe. “Thank God,” she whispered in a gush. She squeezed her eyes shut in relief. But when she opened them again, they fell on the words that were just as mind-blowing.
Celeste Winston and Frank Murphy had a long-standing affair. Dear Celeste was also having an affair with Hamilton Delaware, her sister’s husband and Frank’s best friend. I was the result of one of those liaisons. According to Frank, I am his daughter. But my dear mother was so obsessed with Hamilton that she convinced herself, Frank, Hamilton, and me, that I was Hamilton Delaware’s daughter. Hamilton paid her every month to keep the secret, and Frank, being the love-struck fool that he was, made sure we were taken care of even after Hamilton’s death.
When I confronted Celeste she denied it all. She said that Frank was just a bitter man who never forgave her for not loving him. That much may or may not be true. I could see lies in her eyes, hear them pouring from her lips, I just couldn’t tell which ones. She was afraid that to reveal the truth to me would make me hate her for what she’d done and she would lose the one family member she had left. I realize that now, and that is how she will pay for what she has done to me.
Why am I telling you all of this? I asked myself the same question as I wrote each word, completed each line. Because, Max, in order for me to make restitution in my life, my slate has to be clean. Celeste will never tell Reese the truth. Frank hopes, for some reason, that she never regains her memory. I had hoped that this revelation would put a thorn in your relationship with Reese and bring you back to me. That you would be unable to see yourself in bed with your ex-lover’s sister. But deep inside I know that being the man you are, you will find a way to reconcile it all if you care enough. And my gut instinct tells me that you do. Reese. Reese. So much centers around her. So much seems to depend on her. I envy her and feel sorry for her in the same breath.
Do what you will with this information. But I wanted you to know and hope that it would somehow help to explain who and why I am.
I’ve gone to a friend at the Washington Post and told them the truth about the computer program that you designed and the Air Force claimed as their own. Stan Tilden is very thorough. There’s bound to be an investigation. And perhaps Frank will finally pay for the things he’s done. It was him who paid me to get the information. I’ve kept careful notes, tapes and deposit slips. They’re all in a safe deposit box in Washington. Stan has the number.
I hope some good can come out of all this, Max. I know I hurt you, but perhaps now that wrong can be righted. It seems such a waste that I spent the better part of my life resenting a woman who never knew I existed and whose life was no better than mine. Hers has been stolen by fate, mine by betrayal. All the best to you Max.
Victoria Davenport
A single tear threaded its way down Reese’s arched cheek falling on the ink-blue words, making them shimmer and merge on the page. Her heart clenched, thudded, then settled down to a steady rhythm.
Slowly she refolded the sheets of pink paper and returned them to Max’s jacket pocket.
A sister, and the possibility that it was Victoria… The idea was so… Her thoughts were shattered by the ringing phone. Reese quickly crossed the room and picked up the phone.
“Yes. Hello? Oh, yes, send him up.” She wiped her eyes, dashed in the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
“Max told me a great deal about you,” Chris Lewis, Max’s friend said, taking a seat on the sofa. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”
Reese smiled. “Thank you. I’m happy to say the same.” She sat down opposite him on the love seat and crossed her long legs. “I’m hoping Max will be back shortly. He’s been gone about three hours.”
“Well, if every rumor I’ve ever heard about Mioshi Tasaka is true, he’ll be a while.” Chris grinned, flashing a pair of perfect dimples in his saffron-colored face, set off by startling gray eyes and dark brown close-cropped hair.
Reese chuckled and nodded. “Max told me you’re in a tournament.”
Chris nodded. “It’s an international tournament to raise money for the hungry children around the world. Our next stop is Korea.”
“Sounds wonderful and it’s definitely needed. But it must be hectic, too.”
“It can be, but I enjoy what I do, so it never seems like work.”
“That’s how it is for me when I’m on assignment,” Reese said, feeling totally at ease with Chris. “It
’s truly a joy when you can find pleasure in your work.”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I order something from room service for you?”
“No. Thanks. As a matter of fact,” he breathed, standing up, “I’m gonna shove off. I thought I’d catch Max. Just let him know I stopped by and I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
Reese followed him to the door, taking note of the way his broad, muscular shoulders moved beneath his fitted gray knit shirt. Chris wasn’t much taller than she. He must be just under six feet, she concluded. But he gave the illusion of height from his proud gait and long, fluid strides.
He turned toward her, framed by the doorway. He kissed her cheek. “Lock the door,” he instructed softly, his meaning clear.
Her heart knocked against her chest as the reality of her situation rose to the surface. Reese bit down on her lip and nodded, swallowing down her fears.
With that, Chris headed off down the corridor to the elevator. Reese slowly pushed the door closed and turned both locks. She turned away and headed back toward the bedroom where she was faced once again with the issue of Victoria Davenport.
How long had Maxwell known? she wondered, sitting down on the edge of the bed. How did he feel about it and why hadn’t he said anything to her? Or did he plan to?
The turning of the locks drew her attention away from the disturbing thoughts. Quickly she got up and was standing in the living area as Maxwell stepped through the doorway.
“Hi,” he greeted and instantly knew that something was wrong from the lack of sparkle in her eyes and the stiff set of her shoulders.
Reese swallowed, looked down at her clenched hands then across at Max. “Tell me it won’t make a difference between us,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “I don’t think I could stand it if it did.”
She’d found the letter. Maxwell briefly shut his eyes and felt his heart surge and shift in his chest. Slowly he walked toward her and took her in his arms, holding her as tightly as humanly possible. He felt her body shudder and heave with the sobs she tried to contain. And he realized at that moment that he could not let anyone or anything come between them.
“We’ll work it out, baby. I swear we will,” he uttered in a ragged voice.
Chapter 30
Mioshi slowly stuck his arm out of the car door allowing Keno, his driver, to assist him to his feet. Rising to his full height Mioshi brushed the folds out of his pearl gray suit and looked up at the House of Tasaka. The elegant four-story establishment was regarded throughout the Tokyo elite as the most lavish of its kind. It was located in the central business district in Akasanka, the playground for the rich and influential. Everyone in Japan was aware that many of the behind-the-scenes political maneuvers and big business transactions took place right in the dining rooms of Tasaka.
Mioshi smiled. Even at this late hour, customers were still milling in and out, walking along the deck toward the water. Some of the most beautiful and talented geishas in all of Japan worked here. But none were more beautiful or artistically brilliant than his sister.
Maxwell held her until her sobs subsided into soft sniffles. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his damp shirt. “I really didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
He stroked her back in a soothing up and down motion. “I felt like doing the same thing when I read the letter.”
Reese giggled softly and hiccuped. They both began to laugh, slowly at first until it built, spilling over to ease their souls.
“When will it all end, Max?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I wish I knew.” He heaved a deep sigh, blowing out air through pursed lips. He shook his head in frustration. “It seems that every time we get over one hurdle, another is thrown at us.” He sat down on the edge of the brocade couch, resting his forearms on his muscled thighs. He stared at the white carpeted floor as if by some miracle the answer rested in the layers of thick nylon and wool.
He looked up into her melancholy eyes and reached for her hands. “I didn’t mean for you to find the letter. You didn’t need to find out that way. Not like that.” He squeezed her hands.
Her smile was tentative as she spoke. “Max, in the time that I’ve known you, I’ve come to understand, realize and accept certain things about you. One thing is irrefutable: you are not a careless man. Everything you do, every move you make is carefully thought out and planned. Your life is like a master chess game.” Her gaze held no admonishment, it remained gentle yet contemplative. “You wanted me to find the letter, Max,” she said, her throaty voice heavy with conviction when she saw his jaw clench in denial. “Maybe not intentionally, but you did. Since day one, you’ve had trouble telling me the things I needed to know.” She removed her hands from his grasp and gently smoothed away the frown forming between his sleek black brows. “Your subconscious found a way to let you off the hook.” She brushed her thumb across his lips.
His voice was tender, almost a murmur. “How did you get to know so much?”
Reese lowered her gaze and grinned. “I’ve been analyzed enough times to open my own office, remember? Besides, I’ve helped Lynnette with more psychology reports than I care to count. That’s the only reason why I understand my own illness. What I suffer from is called repression. The doctors said it would take a strong stimulus, something related to the accident, to trigger my memory. They could never determine what that something was without traumatizing me further.” She looked into his eyes. “Strangely enough it was you, because you look so much like your father. That began what’s called the ‘cascade effect,’ which has resulted in the dreams and the return of the headaches.” She laughed halfheartedly. “I should have gotten a psychology degree in abstentia.”
Maxwell hugged her to him. “You’re not angry?”
“I should be. But my biggest concern is how much of what Victoria said is true? It would explain so much. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that it must be true. My father had an affair with my mother’s sister. Somehow, my mother found out. My God, Max, she found this out just before she died. Did she know about Victoria also? What must that have done to her if she died thinking that my father was Victoria’s father as well?”
“You can’t torture yourself with thoughts like that, Reese. The reality is, we may never know and even if we did, there’s nothing that we can do to change it.”
Slowly Reese nodded, silently agreeing to Max’s logic. She frowned, sinking deep in thought. “Maybe the guy from the Post is just the ammunition we need to get Frank Murphy off of our backs,” she said suddenly.
Maxwell’s eyes brightened. He sat up straighter. “If Murphy has his hands filled with an impending investigation about the computer chip theft, he may not be able to concentrate on us.”
“It would certainly give me the time I need to get the rest of the information. I’m going to have to talk with my aunt, Victoria, Larry…and your father,” she added gently.
“Do whatever you have to, Reese. You have my support and anything else that I can put at your disposal. You know that.”
“Max,” she said with steady awakening, “do you realize what all this will mean for your career when what the government did to you is uncovered? You’re going to be a very wealthy man.”
“I already have more money than I could ever spend. I wish that’s all there was to it.” He paused. “I’m just worried that Stan may never get to tell his story either.”
She leaned forward, her eyes burning with passion. “Then we have to make sure that he does.”
Mioshi entered the house and was immediately attended to by a young maiko—or geisha in training.
“Will you be having dinner tonight, Tasaka-san?” the maiko asked in a lilting voice, bowing as she spoke.
He patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Not tonight. I need to have a private room. Is there one available?” Mioshi had no need for a private room, he simply wanted to establish his importance by having one made available for him.
&nbs
p; “Oh, yes. For you, of course, Tasaka-san.” She smiled brightly and threaded her arm through his, leading him down the lavish sitting rooms that were occupied by the Tokyo elite. All whom Mioshi encountered bowed in deference to him as he passed.
The maiko made light conversation, asking about his day and inquiring about his health.
In the entertainment room, about twenty men sat on huge silk patterned pillows watching an operatic performance by the geishas. In the center of the room, four geishas were engaged in a ceremonial dance accompanied by haunting music and song. Mioshi nodded in approval.
“Is my sister in her office?” he asked the maiko.
“Yes. She is reviewing the night’s receipts, Tasaka-san.”
“Then I will see her now. Tell her I am here.”
“Right away.” The maiko bowed and hurried off to find her mistress, leaving the soft scent of jasmine floating in her wake.
Mioshi decided to stand while he watched the performance, leaning on his cane of jade with the signature gold head of the dragon. Within moments his sister slid open the rice-paper door and stepped into the room.
She was just as stunning at fifty-one as she was thirty years ago when she’d become a full geisha. She had a regal bearing that rivaled the empress. Her skin, the color of pure honey, remained unlined and flawless. Her jet black hair, without a trace of gray, was fashioned in a single braid and wrapped intricately atop her head. This was the most powerful woman in Tokyo. In her ears had been whispered the secrets of the nation for nearly three decades. Even he sought out her wisdom and counsel.