by Helen Conrad
“Well, time to get back to work,” Jennifer said brightly, squeezing Terry’s hand at the same time. “Shall we?”
They said goodbye to the others and started out into the street.
“Wow. If that didn’t bring on contractions, I must be bulletproof,” Jennifer muttered. She glanced at Terry. “Robert’s a pretty good guy, you know. He’ll take good care of them. They’re lucky he wants to. It’s for the best.”
“Is it?” Terry asked, looking at her new friend searchingly. “Do you think Tag loves her?”
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t you see it? It was written all over him.” She sighed. “But Tag has his own reasons for needing his freedom. He can’t be tied down. And anyway, Mickey is older than he is and she feels it acutely.” She shrugged. “People make their own heartbreak, but they have to do what they have to do. What can I say?”
They parted, promising to get together soon, and Terry drove away with a new understanding of Carrington family dynamics. They were all over the place. Like any family, theirs was an emotional mess.
“That was Rick on the telephone,” Julia said on Friday morning.
Terry's heart skipped a beat, as though it had been only yesterday that he'd held her in his arms. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her hands.
“He'll be home this afternoon,” Julia went on. “He's going to pick up the children at school himself on his way in.”
“Oh, good,” Terry said before she thought, eliciting a startled look from Julia. “I mean, how nice for the children,” she mumbled and turned away. “I'll air out their rooms.”
When she heard Rick's sports car come up the drive later that day, her breath got a little shorter, but she didn't allow herself to go to the window. She even ignored her duty with the door, staying upstairs and vacuuming the hall.
When the children came tramping up the stairs she turned with a smile to greet them. Jeremy grinned back and gave her a quick hug before running to his room, but Erica's face was stormy.
“He says we're to stay for the summer,” she blurted out with no preamble.
“Oh?” Terry replied, surprised and pleased.
“He says it was your idea,” Erica accused, her eyes cold and unfriendly. “I don't know why you're so nosy!”
She'd known Erica might not be overjoyed at such an arrangement, but she hadn't expected such open hostility. “I'm sorry if you ...”
Erica didn't stay to hear her out. She flounced into her room and shut the door firmly. At the same time Terry heard Rick coming up the stairs.
She turned, her heart in her throat, and there he was, all six feet and more of golden masculinity, and she suddenly thought she understood something that had always puzzled her before—why women swooned so often in the antebellum South. Her head felt light and her knees were buckling.
His eyes were warm as they met hers and he said something, but she couldn't hear exactly what the words were. There was a strange buzzing in her ears and she only knew she had to protect herself from what she was feeling. Smiling stiffly, she leaned against the stem of the vacuum cleaner for support, working hard to maintain distance and dignity.
“Welcome home, Mr. Carrington,” she said, her voice sounding unpleasantly raspy in her own ears.
A shield dropped over his gaze at her tone. “Thank you, Yardley,” he growled in return, making her wonder what she'd done to insult him. “It's nice to know nothing has changed much in my absence.”
No, nothing had changed. She was still weak when it came to him, and he was still the rich, arrogant playboy he'd always been.
“I knew this job would be a challenge,” she muttered to herself as she packed away the vacuum cleaner. “What I didn't realize was just how many fronts I would be challenged on.”
But she would take it one day at a time and get through, somehow. And Rick made it easier for her by keeping his distance. In the days that followed, he was rarely at home, and when he was, his time was taken up with the children.
Jeremy had completely won his heart, and the feeling was evidently mutual. The little boy followed his father everywhere, his brown eyes wide with hero worship. He carried the grubby koala at all times, “in case Daddy needs him,” and seemed to be ready for anything Rick might want to do. From what she could see, Rick responded to that affection in a way she never would have expected. He seemed to have a growing sense of wonder, becoming more and more comfortable in showing the boy just how he felt. Before long, they seemed inseparable.
But Erica was another story. Cool and disinterested with her father, she was downright cold with Terry, letting her know at every turn that she resented her part in condemning her to Mar Vista for the summer.
“Why don't you invite one of your friends from school to come and stay for a few days?” Terry suggested at one point.
“There's nothing to do here,” Erica replied. “They'd be bored to death.”
“Just as I already am bored to death,” was the unspoken implication. Erica went back to her teen magazine and turned her ipod earbuds on so that she could retreat into her own little world, blotting out Terry, and everything else at Mar Vista.
“She's not your problem,” Terry scolded herself. But the little girl was Rick's problem. And Terry was worried that he didn't know any better than she did how to solve it.
But then, she had problems of her own. In a word, Rick. He was her biggest problem, even bigger than the charity ball. He was treating her like the servant she was, and still she couldn't avoid feeling things she knew she shouldn't.
Rick himself felt like some brooding hero of a bad novel. He got through his days just fine, did all the work he set out to do, was even improving relations with his children, but there was a vague dissatisfaction dogging his steps at every turn. Getting ready for bed one night, he sat down and stared at Angelina, half tempted to call the number his cousin had supplied him with.
Why not? he asked himself. Maybe the real Angelina could make me forget Terry.
Terry. Closing his eyes, he conjured up a picture, of her lovely body, her bright blue eyes. She'd taken hold of his imagination as no other woman ever had, and he couldn't shake her.
He punched a pillow, giving vent to his frustrations.
He'd never met such an obstinate woman! He wanted her. She wanted him. What could be simpler? But she had to make a big production out of denial. It went against his grain to deny himself anything he wanted. But he had to admit to a grudging respect for her. She was strong.
Too damn strong. Stronger than he was. And she was right, really. It was an impossible situation. Why didn't he listen to her?
The incredible thing was, she was probably doing it as much for him as she was for herself. Lord, he could almost learn to hate a person who was that unselfish.
He glanced at Angelina again. “Sorry, baby,” he muttered. “I might just turn out to be a one-woman man after all.”
In another part of the house, Terry was lying awake, staring into the darkness, telling herself over and over, “I'm going to forget about Rick Carrington if it's the last thing I do!”
Things went on uneasily for another week. And then Caren arrived.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
A Force To Be Reckoned With
Terry had been warned that another of Aunt Julia's young ladies was arriving in the afternoon, and she had been fairly certain the woman would not be another Brandy McAllister. But she was hardly prepared for what sped up to the doorstep in a sleek limousine.
“I'm Caren Ashford Whitely,” the gorgeous blonde announced, as though that should settle any questions anyone might have. She was at least six feet tall and model-slender, swathed in silk that might have been glued to her body piece by piece by an avant-garde artist. Terry had never seen her like before, except perhaps on the pages of Vogue magazine. “The Carringtons are expecting me.”
“Of course. Please come in.” Terry leaned forward to reach for her cases, but the woman stopped her.
�
��Now just who are you?” she asked sharply.
Terry looked her in the eye. “Terry Yardley. I'm the butler.”
“The butler!” Her laughter filled the entryway. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”
Terry opened her mouth to explain, but Caren waved her to silence. “Don't worry, darling, I know you're just Rick's latest playmate. I've known him for years, so he has no secrets from me. He does have such a droll sense of humor, doesn't he? Dressing you up as the butler.” She laughed again.
Terry was flushing, and only her loyalty to her job kept her from shoving the woman back out the door. “I was hired on as the butler...” she began, but Caren cut in.
“Oh, darling, forget it. I quite understand. You don't worry me a bit. I'm a modern woman. I understand these things.”
She walked blithely into the house, turned back to smile at Terry. “I have a master plan, you see, and girls like you will play an important part in it.”
Despite Terry's anger, she was curious. “Oh? How?”
Caren laughed charmingly. “I'm going to marry Rick. And playmates like you will take care of the more... base side of what he needs. I assure you, I'll handle the rest.”
The woman's casual cynicism took Terry's breath away. “Does he know about this?” she couldn't help but ask.
Caren's smile was scornful. “Of course not. Men only get confused when you tell them these things. They like to think they're the ones running the show, don't they? But never fear. Aunt Julia is on my side, and Aunt Julia has a way of getting what she wants.”
Suddenly a sound in another part of the house caught her attention. “What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
Terry listened. Jeremy was teasing Erica and she was screaming at him to leave her alone. Scenes like that had become so commonplace lately, she hardly noticed them any longer.
“It's just the children...” she began.
Caren grew pale. “Children? What are the children doing here? I thought they would surely be at boarding school.”
“The children are staying here for the rest of the summer,” Terry said coolly.
Caren shook her head as she removed her leather gloves. “That won't do at all. I can't abide children.” She wrinkled her beautiful nose. “Too noisy, too messy, too demanding. They'll have to go.”
A sharp retort rose to the tip of Terry's tongue, but fortunately Aunt Julia interrupted before she could put her outrage into words. Terry turned away, amazed by the warmth Caren was greeted with and determined to keep as far away from the woman as possible.
That turned out to be difficult. Caren was everywhere over the next few days, taking charge as though she were already installed as the new Mrs. Carrington. Aunt Julia had consented to have a small gathering in her honor. Caren had invited a few friends from San Francisco, and she wanted to be sure everything was perfect.
“I'd like the party around the pool,” she decided when Julia suggested using the rose gardens. “Not so many thorns. And we can float lilies in the blue water. Won't that be spectacular?”
Julia smiled indulgently, as she did when Caren suggested moving out the redwood furniture around the pool and ordering something more modern in aluminum and blue canvas, and again when Caren nixed the
menu Anatole had planned.
“No red meat, please,” she'd sighed. “Most of my friends are vegetarians, or into the new cuisine. How about a simple timbale of eggplant and goat cheese, followed by cold pasta nicoise and marinated carrots?”
Anatole fumed, Julia smiled, and Caren had her way. The mystery was, what did Rick think of it all?
Terry couldn't tell. From bits and pieces of overheard conversations, she realized Rick and Caren had known each other since childhood. Caren had lived in New York for years, working as a high-priced fashion model. Now she was back, for good she said, and ready to jump into something new.
She and Rick shared jokes and memories in common. They sometimes spoke in the shorthand people who've known each other well and long seem to share. And when she was with Rick, Caren often lost the glossy sophistication she cultivated and seemed almost real. But whenever she got back on her high horse, Rick just grinned and left the room.
“I think it would be smashing if the staff all dressed in some sort of special costumes for the night,” Caren said on the evening before the party, gazing pointedly at Terry, who was serving sherry in the sitting room.
Terry stiffened, but she didn't say a word. A butler was supposed to be invisible and emotionless, gliding through the room without a sound. A butler did not rip a guest's heart out, no matter what the provocation. She managed to pour Aunt Julia's portion of the amber liquid without spilling a drop.
“Why not pink?” Rick countered lazily, his steady gaze following Terry's every movement. For a brief second she wondered if he could read her mind. If so, he was pushing the limits of her endurance. “Or better yet, pink and white and violet—like summer flowers.”
“Lovely!” Caren cooed. “What an adorable idea. The staff will look like a walking flower garden. We could tie flowers in each servant's hair to match her color—pink for petunias, yellow for hibiscus... oooh!” She giggled with delight as she thought of something new. “We'll dress the footmen like honey bees, with little antennae on their heads and get them to buzz about the 'flowers.' ...”
Terry's fingers tightened on the sherry bottle. She quietly turned to leave the room, carefully avoiding meeting Rick's gaze. At the same time, Caren turned to speak to Julia and Rick rose, following Terry out of the room and into the hallway. As soon as they were out of earshot of the others, Terry turned on him, trying hard to put a leash on her fury, but not succeeding.
“I will not dress up like a stupid flower to please that woman,” she hissed, eyes flashing. “I didn't hire on here to be used, or to be the butt of a joke, and I won't—”
His hand was on her arm, silencing her with the strength of his grip. He'd come out to reassure her, to turn the whole thing into a joke that they could laugh at together, but her words triggered something inside that exploded into an answering anger that he hadn't anticipated.
“You're very big on what you won't do,” he said coldly, glaring down at her. “If you want to keep this job, you'd better bear in mind just who gives the orders around here, and who takes them.”
The words were pompous, arrogant, and he could hardly believe they were coming from his own mouth. Here he was, Rick Carrington, famed far and wide for his cynically amused detachment, spouting off like a Victorian overseer.
“I'll quit before I wear a clown suit for her,” she insisted angrily. “I'll walk out of here and never come back.”
The thought of her leaving twisted like a knife in his gut, and he half hated her for being so important to him. He wanted to shake her, to make her ... what? Understand? Change? Love him? He wasn't sure himself what he wanted.
His anger faded as he gazed at her. She felt so fragile. Her arm seemed childlike in his grasp, but warmth radiated from her shapely body, a warmth that quickly flooded him as well. She stared up into his eyes and he could hardly remember what they were arguing about.
The grip of his hand turned to a caress, moving across her flesh with seductive curiosity. “Terry...” he whispered, and she closed her eyes, crying fiercely, “No! No!” and pulling away from his grasp to run down the hall, leaving the sherry bottle where it dropped as she ran.
Nothing more was mentioned about special uniforms, and the party went nicely without them the following afternoon. Limousines and other fancy cars arrived one after another, letting out beautiful people dressed in beautiful clothes. Treating it as a sort of rehearsal for the charity ball, Terry worked hard, coordinating the assignments of the extra waiters who'd been hired for the day with those of the regular staff, overseeing the entire operation. And she was generally pleased at the results.
It only galled her that all this success was for Caren's benefit. Every time she passed the woman she heard somet
hing else to put her back up. It seemed that Caren felt no hesitation in telling her plans to anyone who would listen.
“Of course old Mr. Carrington adores me,” Terry heard her say as she lifted her champagne glass high against the summer evening sun and laughed with a few of her jet-set friends. “Just as he adored my mother before me. I'll have no problems there.”
Terry winced. How could Julia possibly want this awful woman for Rick? He deserved better. And so did the children.
“But then, there is that dreadful ranch of Rick's,” Caren was saying airily a few moments later as Terry passed with the after-dinner coffee. “I'm going to have to do something about that place.”
“You mean you wouldn't want to live there?” an elegant young man beside her asked laughingly.
“Oh, darling, be serious! I'm not exactly the type to rough it, am I?” Caren smiled lazily. “I mean, can't you just see me in my little blue jeans, out milking the cows or collecting eggs?”
They all laughed, and to Terry's mind they were laughing at Rick, as though he were some sort of naive patsy to their clever games. That made her furious and she toyed with the idea of knocking Caren into the pool. One little push and the Parisian gown and the elaborate hairdo would be ruined. Caren was standing so close to the edge. All it would take would be one little shove. ...
She pulled herself up short, biting her lip. How could she even think such a thing! She was the butler, for Pete’s sake! “Decorum,” she muttered to herself as she passed the cream and sugar. “Professional detachment.” „
Then she remembered the children's wan faces as they'd gone up the stairs when the first of the guests had arrived—”We can't have children about,” Caren had insisted to Julia. “They destroy the atmosphere.”
As she was recalling the sad look on their young faces, Terry heard Caren say, “You know how I am once I get going on something. Nothing can push me from the path....”—and the next thing Terry knew, she'd shifted her weight, just a little, throwing out her hip, and Caren was screaming, flying backward through the air and landing in the blue-green water of the pool with a tremendous splash.