Inheritance

by Judith Michael

  "Not now. I mostly wanted to see Owen's rooms and mine. I'll make some lunch, and we can talk in the hving— Damn." Her face was burning. "I'm sorry; I'm behaving as if I live here."

  Ben put his arms around her. "You should live here. I wish there was some way—"

  "No. Of course not." She held him, then moved away. "I have a wonderful house in New York and that's where my work is; I couldn't live here even if you gave the house to me. I like the idea of you and Allison here, and Judd and Judd's sister. When will they get back?"

  "I have no idea. Whenever Leni comes up from New York —did you know she's living there now? She's left Felix."

  "I didn't know. How strange—I always thought of the family as staying the same. I knew I was changing, and years were going by, but whenever I thought of them, they were exactly the same."

  "Nobody's the same; wait until you see Allison. They'll be here around five, I guess. Whenever the two of them go shopping, it seems to take most of the afternoon. I assume Judd is at the park now that the storm is over, and his nanny always has him back between four and five. It's the cook's day off; we'll make lunch together, is that all right?"

  "I'd like that."

  In Rosa's kitchen, the new cook had rearranged the utensils and dishes, and Laura felt resentful: what was wrong with the

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  way she and Rosa had kept it? "Smoked chicken," Ben said, taking packages from the refrigerator. "Ch^vre. Shced tomatoes." He runmiaged in the pantry. "Baguettes. Coffee or tea?"

  'Tea, please."

  In silence, they arranged the food on trays; there was so much to say they didn't know where to begin. But for Laura it was the first quiet time she had had since talking to Paul in her office the day before—impossible that it was only yesterday, she thought—and she let the silence surround her and ease the turmoil that had raged beneath her cool surface. It felt, eerily, like it might be the calm between two halves of a hurricane, but it was all right: whatever she had to face when she returned to New York and Colby's investigation, for now she was safe on Beacon Hill, in this loved house, and with Ben.

  They carried the trays to the living room and sat on a velvet sofa Allison had moved to the bay window overlooking the cobblestones and tall trees of Mount Vernon Street. The storm had driven some of the red and bronze leaves from the trees, and they lay like fragments of stained glass on the brick sidewalks, glowing in the afternoon sun.

  "Why didn't you tell them who you were?" Ben asked as he poured their tea. "I expected you to."

  "I didn't want to hurt you with your family. If you'd wanted them to know about me, you would have told them, and obviously you hadn't. I know what it's like to be afraid of having a secret exposed, and I couldn't do it to you."

  "I still don't understand." He handed her a cup. "I thought you hated me, ever since the robbery at the Cape."

  "I did. I was wrong, Ben. I found out last night . . . Clay did it. He stole Leni's jewels."

  Ben's hand froze. Then, carefully, he broke apart a baguette and buttered it. "I thought so. I even told you to ask him, didn't I? Clay was never one to resist temptation. How did you find out?"

  "He still has the necklace. Had it. I found it and took it." She told him about her search in Clay's bedroom.

  Ben sighed. "Idiot. Why the hell he didn't get rid of it . . ."

  "I can't ask him; he's gone. But I'm glad he didn't; now I can give it back to Leni. I brought it with me. I thought I'd give it to you to return to her."

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  "Now you can do it yourself. What do you mean, he's gone?"

  "Myma—the girl he lives with—called this morning and said he was gone and it looked like he'd taken some ckHhes. I suppose the doorman told him I was there, and then he looked for the necklace and knew I had it. And he ran away. He always hated it when I scolded him; he—^" Her throat tightened and she stopped. "I worried about him," she said, her voice low. "He was like a little boy trying to be a big man, but he was so sweet to me, and I wanted him to succeed and be happy. And grow up. But there's more, Ben; at least it looks like there's something more ..."

  Quickly she told him about Paul's film and Sam Colby. "I don't know if Clay has anything to do with it—^I can't believe he'd endanger the hotels that way—"

  "He probably thought no one would make the connection. And he had all that temptation laid out in front of him, every day, every month. Can you think of anybody else in the hotels who might have done it?"

  "No. Well, me. That's what Sam Colby thinks."

  "He's an ass if he does. No one who's done what you have with those hotels would jeopardize them. Clay would, because he never could look ahead to the consequences of things. But you do; if you didn't, you wouldn't be where you are now."

  "How would Sam Colby know that?"

  "We'll tell him."

  "And accuse Clay?"

  "If that's the choice. My God, Laura, Clay hasn't worried about you; he's put you in the most damnable position—"

  "We don't know that."

  "We know it, because we know Clay."

  Laura clasped and unclasped her hands. "I didn't do a very good job with him, did I?"

  "You sound like a parent. You can't take the responsibility for Clay; I should do thai. I gave him a bad start."

  Laura turned to him. "What did you do after the robbery?"

  "You mean did I go on with my old ways?" He shook his head. "I never robbed anyone again. I thought about it—it was my only skill, you might say—but everything about it was wrong. It only took me twenty-six years to decide that.

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  How's that for moral fiber? We should have brought it up at the board meeting when Felix looked like he was about to have a stroke."

  "He wouldn't have understood it."

  "No; he didn't even understand that we'd voted to adjourn. He wasn't functioning well."

  "We gave him a bad time."

  "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." They smiled together, then fell silent. "I can't believe it," Ben said. "I don't know how to feel. You're here and we're talking as if it's the most normal thing in the world, but it's not: it's a spectacular miracle. God, I've missed you; you have no idea how much I've missed you and wanted to see you—and been furious at you because you didn't believe me. Did you get my last letter?"

  "Yes. I hated you for living in this house."

  "I knew you would. After I mailed it I knew it was the most asinine thing I'd ever done. I should have called you. I couldn't do it; isn't that crazy?"

  "Neither could I," Laura said. "I thought about it a lot, but I didn't know what to say; I was still so angry and hurt. What a waste anger is. . . . And then after a while I thought we'd gotten so far apart it didn't matter, we didn't care about each other anymore. But we never get that far apart, do we?"

  "I hope not. At least not when we really love someone. Are you thinking about Paul?"

  She smiled. "I think about Paul a great deal."

  "You're very different, you know. I'd never have guessed you could be so cool and sure of yourself."

  She laughed. "That's what the world is supposed to see. Inside, there's something like a cauldron, boiling away. You're different, too: gentler, calmer, much more confident. . . . You look very handsome and distinguished in those glasses. Like a diplomat about to bring nations together."

  He smiled. "Right now I just want to bring us together."

  "We are, aren't we? I mean, we're getting there. I feel strange with you, but then not strange, as if we've only been away for a little while. I want to hear all about you, all the things you didn't tell me in your letters. But ..." She picked

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  at her food. "Rosa would say the most important thing is to eat; then we can handle anything."

  "Wise lady."

  "A wonderful lady. Ben, I'm sorry for what I said." She put down her fork and leaned toward him. "All those terrible things I said to you at the Cape. I know I was young
, but I should have believed you, I should have trusted you, at least I should have thought a little bit instead of just striking out. I'm so sorry for all of it, for hurting you and sending you away, and for not seeing what I should have seen ..."

  "Laura, it's all right, I know all that. I knew it then."

  "No, you sounded so hurt—angry, but hurt, too—my God, more anger and more hurt—and I loved you, but I thought you didn't love me."

  "That's usually the problem," Ben said dryly. He put his arm around Laura, and she rested her head on his shoulder. *The evidence was against me. And you loved Owen and needed him more than you needed me."

  "But that was all I thought of. Myself and what I wanted, not you, not even Clay. I didn't even try to think about how he might have done the robbery if you hadn't; I was too worried about myself and losing what I wanted— '*

  "Hey," Ben said softly. "You're overdoing the hair shirt. I accept all your apologies now and in the future, and if you'll give me a chance I'll make a few of my own."

  Laura broke into laughter. "Dear Ben, it's so wonderful to have you back—" She turned up her face to kiss his cheek, and that was when Allison and Leni walked into the living room.

  "My God," AUison gasped. "Ben? What the hell is going on?"

  Laura and Ben turned sharply, but before either of them could speak, they looked at each other and burst out laughing, and could not stop.

  Allison, six months pregnant, flushed with fatigue, stood in the center of the room, looking toward the bay window. All she could see were silhouettes as the laughter rang out. "Is it funny?" she asked furiously. "Will somebody please let me in on the—"

  "Allison," said Leni, her voice strained, "it's Laura."

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  "What? Laura? Laura? Oh, for God's sake, how did you do that?" She burst into tears. "God damn it, can't you leave the men of this family alone?"

  The laughter died. Ben leaped from the couch and went to Allison, enfolding her in his arms. "It isn't what you think. Allison, darling AUison, listen. Please."

  "You laughed," she said accusingly.

  "Yes, but only because—oh, Chnst, it's so complicated— ^*

  "No, it's not; it's very simple. Vm very simple. I never suspected—never even thought —"

  "Alhson, I'm Ben's sister," said Laura. Her low clear voice rode over Allison's, cutting it off.

  There was silence for the length of a heartbeat, and then AUison tore away from Ben's embrace. "Sister! My God, the oldest line in the world! Sister! Couldn't you think of something original? You were always so clever—how stupid do you think I am?"

  "You're not," Laura said quickly, before Ben could speak. She went to stand beside him. "You helped make me what I am, you taught me a lot about the world, and you made me much too clever to use a tired old line that no one would believe. I'm telling you the truth; I am Ben's sister."

  "I don't want to hear that!"

  "Damn it, Allison, listen to me; I'm trying to tell you—^"

  "Don't you swear at me! You're here with my husband, lying to me—!"

  "She's not lying!" Ben exclaimed. "If you'd listen—"

  "Why should I?"

  "Because I'm asking you to! Laura's telling the truth, and if you'd just be quiet for a minute, maybe we could get past this crazy scene. . . ." He waited, as if to see if what he'd set in motion would collapse.

  But this time Allison was silent, and Laura said quietly. *The time I did lie to you was long ago, when I lived here. I wish I hadn't. I can't tell you how much I wish I hadn't. We all did each other harm, and I wish we could undo it, but couldn't we start, now, to tell the truth? Ben is my brother— half brother, really; Clay and I were bom after our mother remarried, but we never thought of ourselves as anything but brother and sister when we were growing up. We kept it from

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  you because"—she tcxDk a long breath—"Clay and I thought he'd done the robber.- at the Cape, the first summer we were there, and I wouldn't see him anymore after that. I chose you over him, and we hadn't seen each other since that da v. Eleven years ... We were both wTong to keep it a secret, and I'm som' we did— I'm sorrv we did so many things—but vou have to beheve me . . r Involuntarily she smiled. '^This isn't a love affair; it's a reunion."

  This time the silence was longer.

  "It's crazy," said .llison.

  "Indeed it is." agreed Leni, '*But after all ..." She looked from Laura to Ben and back again, and there was doubt in her voice. i

  **I did want to tell you." Ben said to Allison. "But the longer I put it off the harder it got."

  "You lied to me. The whole time we've known each other."

  Ben looked at Leni. "Please help us."

  And Laura echoed it. "Please. If vou'd let roe ... let us ^ . . . We want to end the lying. We want to tell you everything."

  Leni canoe to Laura and stood close to her, studying her face. Laura met her eyes, and for a long moment the two women stood that wav, as if searching for a time that was gone. Then Leni nodded, without smiling. 'I'd like to hear it," she said. She went to the sofa, took off her hat and jacket, and sat down. She lifted the cozy off the teapot and looked inside. "How nice. There's enough for all of us. Allison, come sit beside me. Ben. bring chairs for you and Laura. We'U have tea." She waited while Ben brought two armchairs to the tea table, and he and Laura sat down, facing the bay wmdow. Leni poured tea. ""Now," she said, "Allison and I | would like ver>' much to hear everything." >

  Laura could not remember her ever being so formidable. She wondered briefly if it was leaving P^lix that had helped her achieve that confident authority, but then Ben began to : talk and she Ustened to him, her tea growing cold. 1

  "It was my fault: I thought up the robbery of your house on the Cape. A child's revenge," he said to Leni, "for Judd. I -didn't tell you that when we talked before." J

  Leni stared at him. "You used Laura and Qay?"

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  **Yes," he said roughly. "I used them. And I've never forgiven myself for it."

  "Judd?" Allison said in bewildennent.

  "Not our Judd," Ben replied. "My father." And then he told it all, beginning with the day his mother told his father she wouldn't live with him anymore because of the spiral of despair and drinking that followed the theft of his company. His words were measured as he told Alhson—and Laura, too, because she had never heard it—the story of Felix and Judd, and the vow of revenge that had sparked everything the young Ben Gardner had done in the years after his father's death.

  When his story reached the time that Laura and Clay arrived at the house in Osterville, Laura picked it up, her low voice following his with barely a pause.

  Taking turns, they told everything, up to the board meeting that morning. They did not mention Colby's investigation. That was another story, for another day. The afternoon light faded, the nanny brought Judd home and took him to the kitchen for his dinner, Allison turned on the lamp beside her, and Ben and Laura told their story.

  When they finished, Allison was crying. "If you'd told me, if you'd just told me," she said to Laura. "I loved you so much, and I wanted to beheve you ... but then Daddy said you'd done all those things, and you didn't deny it—my God, your face was so cold!—and you looked at us as if you didn't know us."

  "She didn't," Leni said. "We'd become strangers.** She leaned forward and took Laura's hand. "I'm so sorry, my dear. So terribly sorry. We gave you love and a home and then took them from you; I can't think of anything worse that people can do to each other."

  "They can lie," Laura said. "And that's what we did." A wistful smile touched her lips. "I've wanted to tell you I was sorry for that for a long time. But when we lived with you I was too afraid, and afterward, I was too hurt. And angry.'*

  They sat in silence for a moment. Leni had struggled with herself briefly, wondering if she should tell Laura and Allison her part in the story. But she kept silent. It had nothing t
o do with what was happening in this room—a recapturing of loves that had been lost—and it would not add to anyone's under-

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  standing of the past eleven years. It was better to keep it between her and Ben. There will always be secrets, she thought; that's why we need trust, and understanding, and love.

  "But once you get past all the anger," Allison said wonder-ingly, "we feel the same way about each other. Don't we?"

  "Yes," Laura said. Her heart was pounding; it seemed impossible that she and Allison could be friends again.

  "If feelings are enough," AlUson said, suddenly doubtful. She looked at her mother. "Can we really just forget everything? All of us? Or will we always wonder if there are more secrets and more lies, so we can't ever be sure . . . ?"

  Leni knew she was talking about her husband, not Laura. "I don't imagine we'll ever forget," she said. "In fact, I hope we don't. If we forget the past we'll never know how far we've come. But feelings . . . No, I don't think feelings are enough. We have to understand what happened and truly believe we can overcome it to protect the feelings we have. Love and friendship and a good marriage are worth protecting."

  Allison nodded. "You said that this summer at the Cape.** The others watched her as she frowned to herself. Laura sat very still. If Allison could accept everything she had heard and love Ben and Laura . . . Then all of us will have moved past that time, she thought, forgiven each other, and become a family again. Except for Clay. I still have to think of what to do about Clay. But so much would be changed, so much would be wonderful . . .

  "I always wanted a sister," said Allison. "Remember, Laura, how we used to pretend we were sisters? Now we really are. Isn't that amazing?"

  Laura let out her breath. "Yes," she said softly. She held out her hand and Allison took it. "Amazing," she repeated, and they smiled together.

  Ben loudly cleared his throat. "Does that include a husband?"

  Allison laughed. "Probably." She looked up at him as he came to sit on the arm of the love seat, beside her. "I love you. I can't imagine a life without you."

  Leaning over, Ben kissed her. Laura turned away, trying to hide her envy. But her eyes met Leni's, and Leni knew.