Lenore’s face flamed and her gaze dropped. “I’m sorry. . . .”
Blake jumped to his wife’s defense. “Jeff, don’t take out your anger on your sister. She hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”
“Yes, I did.” Lenore looked up and spoke meekly. “I was babbling. Again. I’m sorry, Jeff. I know how upsetting this is for you.”
“It is, but you upset me even more, acting like Penny didn’t do anything wrong because she didn’t take a Chanel . . . whatever.” Jeffrey’s big right hand whipped through the air, sweeping away Penny’s designer clothes as his rough voice boomed relentlessly. “She left without a word! She deserted me after I gave her everything! When, because of me, she went from being a stripper to being a princess!”
“A stripper!” Diana and Simon exclaimed in unison.
Jeffrey glowered at them. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“How would we know?” Simon nearly shouted. “We didn’t even know she had a husband!” He paused, looking as if he was trying to absorb a byzantine concept. “Penny was a stripper? Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” For the first time, Jeffrey looked almost amused. “Good God, man, she was my wife. I met her in a club after she’d finished her act, which I watched from demure beginning to scorching close.”
Diana glanced at Simon, whose mouth remained partly open in surprise. She’d never seen him looked so astonished, and she couldn’t concentrate on her own shock.
Lenore gazed at Simon, too her eyes widening in apprehension as if she thought he might have a heart attack. “Dr. Van Etton, Penny wasn’t actually a stripper,” she said quickly. “She was an exotic dancer. There’s a big difference. She explained it to me. Exotic dancers really are dancers and they don’t take off all of their clothes. Really, they don’t. Penny didn’t dance naked on a bar or give those disgraceful, grinding lap dances or—” This time Blake nudged her so forcefully he nearly knocked her off her seat. “She was an exotic dancer,” Lenore ended, face flaming.
“What did her parents think of her profession?” Diana asked. Simon still seemed unable to say a word.
Jeffrey took a deep breath. “Penny said her father died when she was seven. Her mother was murdered by a boyfriend, to put it politely.”
Diana wondered if Penny’s mother had become a prostitute. No wonder she never mentioned her parents.
“She had no other relatives, so when she was ten, she was put in a foster home. At eighteen she was on her own,” Jeffrey went on. “She waitressed for a while, and when she turned twenty-one, she started dancing. She made a reputation for herself and went by the name Copper Penny. It was a perfect name with her copper hair. One evening an important client insisted on taking me to the club where she danced, and the rest is history.”
“Except that our mother and a lot of our friends were horrified,” the irrepressible Lenore began. “Jeff was strong enough to ignore everyone, though. He married Penny and the both of them seemed very happy, especially when Corny was born, except that Jeff insisted on naming her Cornelia Ruth, our mother’s name. Penny wanted to name the baby Willow Rose. That’s why Blake designed the rose pendant—to sort of cheer up Penny about the name.”
“Naming the baby Cornelia didn’t make his mother accept the little girl, though,” Blake said, for the first time sounding angry instead of placating. “The woman refused to see the baby more than three times and always when Cornelia was alone with Jeff. Mrs. Cavanaugh only met Penny once.”
“And your father?” Diana asked Lenore.
“He’s been dead for almost seventeen years,” Lenore said. “He—”
Jeffrey held up his hand to silence her. “We don’t have to bare the family history with these people.” He looked piercingly at Simon. “I demand to see my daughter.”
Diana grew taut. Of course she feared that Jeffrey Cavanaugh would simply take Willow away tonight, and she would never again see the child. That wasn’t Diana’s only fear, though. Another apprehension tingled throughout her, one she couldn’t exactly identify but whose reality she trusted.
“Mr. Cavanaugh, it’s getting late,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be better to see Willow—Cornelia—tomorrow, when she’s not tired?”
He glanced at his watch, although she was certain he knew the exact time. “It’s just past eight o’clock. She can’t be too exhausted to see her own father. I want her brought to me now!”
Everyone stared at him, startled. Simon finally spoke, resignation in his voice. “Would you mind getting her, Diana? If Mr. Cavanaugh wants to see her, it should be before her bedtime.”
Upstairs in Willow’s room, Clarice sat in an armchair. Willow lay curled on the bed, both cats cuddled beside her as everyone watched a Disney movie. Or rather, everyone except Romeo, who usually never made it past eight at night and now lay, a seemingly boneless gray mass, snorting slightly every time Christabel’s plumy tail brushed across his nose.
Clarice looked at Diana. “Is our company gone?” she asked with false brightness.
“No, not yet. They would like to see Willow before they leave.” She tried to match the cheerfulness in Clarice’s voice but failed. “Hey, kid, can we stop the movie long enough for you to go downstairs and meet some people?”
Willow gave her a reluctant look. “Do I have to? The movie’s really good and I don’t want to wake up Romeo and Christabel.”
“You can start the movie right where you left off.” Diana strode to the DVD player and stopped the movie, although she wasn’t at all certain they would be turning it back on tonight. “And nothing will wake up Romeo.”
Willow emitted an exaggerated sigh and gently pulled away from the cats. She still wore the dress the nurse from the hospital had given her, although now its skirt fell in wrinkles. Her smooth face showed shadows of fatigue around the big blue eyes, and her mouth was set in a slightly petulant expression. “Okay, but Mommy would say I’m tired and fussy. I’m just tellin’ you.”
“Well, thank you for being so considerate. I’m forewarned.” Willow walked toward her and put her hand in Diana’s. Before heading for the door, though, Diana kneeled and looked into Willow’s eyes. “Honey, do you remember your daddy?”
Diana felt, rather than saw, Clarice stiffen in her chair as Willow frowned. “I kind of remember a man I was s’posed to call Daddy,” she said slowly. “I remember Mommy takin’ me to see a big man in a real tall building in a great big city. He sat behind a desk. Willow paused. “But it was a long time ago and I didn’t see him very much. Then Mommy said that big man wasn’t my daddy at all. She said my real daddy died a long time ago. And then we came here and I liked it here a lot better.”
Diana didn’t have time to sort out this tangle of information and determine what Penny had actually said and how Willow had misinterpreted it. She took a deep breath. “Well, this will come as a surprise, Willow, but it seems your mommy made a mistake. She didn’t mean to, of course. Your mommy loved you more than anything in the world. You must always remember that, Willow.”
“I know Mommy loved me best of anything. What do you mean about Mommy makin’ a mistake?”
“Your daddy isn’t dead. He didn’t know where you were for a long time, but he’s finally found you. He’s right here in this house, and he just can’t wait to see his little girl—who’s not such a little girl anymore!”
Willow merely stared at her before saying suspiciously, “A man who says he’s my daddy is here?”
“Yes, honey. I know you want to see him.”
“If it’s my real daddy, then he’s a ghost.”
“Willow, he is not a ghost!”
“Then he’s not my daddy.”
“He is your daddy and he isn’t a ghost. I know a ghost when I see one,” she ended lamely.
Willow gazed at Diana steadily. “You’re gonna make me see him, aren’t you?”
“Well, he wants to see you, sweetheart. If you don’t go down to see him, then he’ll just come up to your bedroom.”
/>
“No! He can’t come in here!”
Diana drew back. “Why can’t he come in here?”
“Because . . .” Willow’s eyes filled with tears. “Because even if he really is Daddy, he’s still a ghost. I can’t let ghosts in my bedroom!”
“Okay, sweetheart, settle down,” Diana crooned. “I say he’s not a ghost, but just in case I’m wrong, let’s see him downstairs. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Diana hated forcing the child to meet a man she had no desire to see. Willow had been through too much already, but if she didn’t go down to see Jeffrey, he would certainly come up to the bedroom, and the possibility of that seemed to terrify Willow.
“Willow, I know you’re a little nervous to see your father, but I’ll be there and so will Uncle Simon.”
Willow gave her a defeated look. “I guess I have to go,” she said lifelessly just as Diana reached for the door.
Christabel leaped off the bed, ran to the door, trilled in her musical little voice, and circled Willow’s legs twice. “Chris wants to go, too,” Diana said cheerfully. “Are you ready, Willow?”
“Yeah,” Willow said with a quaver in her voice. “I’m ready.”
Willow clung to Diana’s hand as they descended the stairs, Christabel running ahead of them, and Clarice watching them from the top of the staircase. Willow stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. Simon, Lenore, Blake, and Jeffrey all stood in the foyer, the light from the chandelier shining down on them. Lenore broke into an ecstatic smile and chortled, “Corny! Oh darling, you’re just beautiful!”
But Willow looked past her. Her blue eyes fastened on Jeffrey, who stood still but sent the child a tense, slitted smile. He held out his hands and asked, “Cornelia? Do you remember me?”
By now Willow’s eyes had grown huge, horror in her gaze. Blood drained from her face, turning it parchment white, and her whole body went rigid, as if with an old, remembered terror. She lifted her hand and pointed a finger at Jeffrey.
“Him!” she screamed. “He found me! He must’ve found Mommy, too!”
Lenore drew back in shock, and Diana kneeled, pulling Willow close to her. “Of course he found you, honey. I told you there’s no reason to be afraid. He’s your daddy. Your daddy found you.”
Willow shook violently then threw back her head and began a weird, almost unhuman keening that ripped through the house, rising and falling, going on ceaselessly. Christabel shot up the stairs, her fur on end in pure cat panic. Finally Willow caught her breath and shrieked, “He’s not my daddy! He’s the Bad Man and he killed Mommy, just like she told me he would!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
1
Diana held the child as tightly as she could. Willow buried her face against Diana’s chest, and for a moment everyone in the foyer stood frozen, aghast. Willow’s cries even drew a white-faced Nan from the kitchen to stand gazing at the child with a weirdly lifeless surprise. Finally Lenore lifted her voice above the child’s crying and said, “Corny, it’s Aunt Lenore and your daddy!”
Willow let out another blood-curdling shriek. Diana looked at Jeffrey, whose shock seemed to have vanished remarkably fast as his silvery eyes malevolently fastened on Simon, then on Diana. “I want to know which one of you turned my daughter against me. Who told her this despicable lie about me—”
“Jeff, you’re shouting.” Blake’s voice was low pitched yet commanding. “You’re frightening her even more. Besides, no one here told her anything about . . . what she said. Look at their faces. Can’t you see they’re as stunned as you are?”
Jeffrey stared at his sobbing, terrified daughter. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the unnerving, flashing silvery look had vanished. “Cornelia, did your mother tell you awful things about me?”
Willow let out a wail, and Lenore shook her head at her brother. “Don’t question her, Jeff. Let’s just take Corny back to the hotel.” She looked at Diana. “We’re staying at Pullman Plaza. I remembered to bring the family album I’ve kept since Cornelia was born. We’ll show her pictures and make her remember the three of us and how we loved her.”
Willow screamed again.
“You cannot possibly be thinking of taking this child with you tonight!” Simon declared. “Look at her. She’s nearly hysterical!”
“Right now,” Lenore said with a shaky smile, “but maybe we’ll get her some ice cream and then we can go back to our rooms and play games and look at the photograph album and—”
“Cornelia!” Jeffrey stuck out his hand for her to grasp. “Stop acting like a baby and come along with us!”
“Not tonight,” Blake said firmly. Lenore glanced at him in irritation, and Jeffrey shot him a look of fury. “I’m sorry for taking over here, Jeff, but I can’t help it. You’ve had an awful day and an even worse night. I’m not the Rock of Gibraltar, but I believe I’m thinking a bit clearer than you are right now. Cornelia feels happy and safe with these people. They obviously love her. Let the situation cool down for a while—at least for tonight. Please, Jeff, for all of our sakes. Let’s think this through and decide over the next few days what’s best for the child. She’s the person who is most important right now—not any of us.”
“I am her father,” Jeffrey stated. “She belongs with me.”
“Yes, but not right now.” Blake’s face tightened. “You’ve seen that she’s healthy—”
“Healthy!” Jeffrey exclaimed. “She’s—”
“Crying uncontrollably because she doesn’t want to come with us. We’re strangers to her,” Blake said earnestly. “She’s understandably frightened, so let’s leave her where she feels safe. That’s what a loving father would do, Jeff.”
Diana expected a furious reply from Jeffrey. When, after a few tense seconds he merely mumbled an unhappy “All right,” Diana whisked Willow into her arms and ran upstairs. She shut the door to the child’s room and placed her on the bed, where a still-frightened Christabel lay close to her nearly unconscious lover, Romeo.
Grabbing a handful of tissues, Diana began wiping Willow’s tear-drenched face. “You’re staying right here tonight, honey,” she said, her heart pounding.
“But they said—”
“You were crying too much to hear Mr. Cavanaugh say you can stay here tonight.”
“But he might change his mind,” Willow wailed.
Diana looked her straight in the eyes. “Willow Conley, no one is taking you away tonight. You’ll sleep in this bed, the cats will stay in here with you, we’ll open the bathroom doors so we can see each other and wave and talk back and forth from our beds, and we’ll be cozy and safe with Uncle Simon and Clarice.”
“But they said I had to go to a hotel,” Willow insisted tearfully. “That woman and the Bad Man.” Just saying “the Bad Man” set Willow off again. “I don’t wanna go to a hotel and . . . and look at . . . or be . . .”
“Willow, you are not going anywhere.” Diana decided to take another tack, one less serious. “Christabel and Romeo absolutely will not allow anyone to take you away!”
Willow, sniffling, turned to look at the cats. Christabel immediately crawled onto Willow’s lap and began purring, and Romeo, God bless him, managed to open and close one golden eye as if he was giving Willow a wink of reassurance. She smiled through her tears. “No, maybe they won’t let me go.”
“Of course they won’t. People underestimate these cats, but I can tell you, they make quite a team when they’re protective of someone, and they’re certainly protective of their favorite—their only—little girl. I certainly wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley if I were a big, bad person after Willow Conley.” Diana shivered. “They’d tear that person to shreds and eat him for dinner!”
Willow burst into giggles at the image of little Christabel and three-legged Romeo making mince meat of a grown man, not to mention then dining upon him. They both ate only the most expensive cat food and drank French bottled water.
Children could be so resilient, Diana tho
ught as Willow continued to giggle and lovingly stroke the cats. But even a strong child like Willow could only take so much. One more trauma might put her over the edge. Diana quickly turned on the Disney movie again and pretended to have forgotten all the trouble downstairs, as she laughed uproariously at mildly funny parts and imitated the voices of the animated characters. After fifteen minutes, Simon came into the room and announced that they had left.
“They won’t come back and get me, will they?” Willow asked nervously.
“You will be spending the night in the distinguished company of Diana, Clarice, and me,” Simon said, being careful not to reassure Willow that she would never have to leave. “And, of course, Romeo and Christabel. Nan fled out the back door without even saying good night.”
“No charm.” Willow smiled, looking desperately relieved. “I’m glad it’s just us here now.”
“Me, too.” Simon smiled broadly. “You know, Clarice had an excellent idea. She told me that sometimes when she babysits for you at night, you two have hot chocolate. Does a hot chocolate party with the four of us sound good to you, Willow?”
“It sounds wonnerful!”
Fifteen minutes later the four of them sat in the kitchen with their steaming drinks. Willow, with a chocolate mustache above her mouth, announced that this was the best hot chocolate party she’d ever attended. Simon pretended to think before proclaiming it the best party of its kind that he’d ever attended, too. “It’s not just the hot chocolate,” he said. “It’s the charming company. I’m in the presence of three breathtakingly beautiful women. That’s my idea of heaven.”
“Wanna know my idea of heaven?” Willow piped up. They all nodded. “Mommy, Diana, Clarice, Uncle Simon, Romeo, and Christabel way up high with me havin’ a picnic on a cloud.”
She immediately turned her attention to catching a miniature marshmallow on her tongue. Tears had risen in Clarice’s eyes, and Simon’s throat worked furiously. Diana closed her eyes, feeling bleak and empty and hopeless.
You Can Run... Page 13