For His Little Girl

by Lucy Gordon

  "Wise up, Dominique. He cares about her. I saw that in the first five minutes. I don't know if he's in love with her, but he cares about her in a way that he doesn't care about anyone else, except Josie. One day you'll thank me."

  "Well, don't hold your breath." Dominique swept out.

  "Was it accident that she showed up tonight?" Luke demanded when Claudia returned to them.

  "No,'' she said calmly. "I sent for her. It seemed only kind to make her face facts."

  "Thanks," Luke muttered. "Guess you came to my rescue again."

  "Someone always does, Luke," Claudia said tartly. "That's how you fix things. Someday you'll find yourself in a situation you can't fix."

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned to Pippa and gave her a broad wink. Pippa had only half followed the conversation, but now she saw that Claudia's eyes were honest, humorous and shrewd. This woman was nobody's fool, she thought, beginning to like her.

  Luke's show was recorded at the studios of GFI-Cable, on Marine Street. One show in the morning and two in the afternoon made a long day, and they set out very early next morning.

  "Don't expect too much," he warned on the journey. "This isn't NBC or any of those big-time stations. We just work out of a cellar."

  Ten minutes later he swung down into an underground parking lot, and they made their way to the studio, which Pippa thought was a good deal smarter than he'd made it sound, although far from grand. Josie seemed entranced by the cameras, the lights overhead and the people wandering around with clipboards. Best of all was the set, done up to look like a traditional kitchen with copper pans and glowing wooden doors. The walls were red. The work surfaces were red. The knobs and handles were brass. Remembering the clinical precision of Luke's real kitchens Pippa studied this rustic kitsch with amusement.

  She'd always known that easygoing Luke could be a dictator, even a tyrant, where his work was concerned. But the years had developed him. On the journey to the studio he'd used his car phone to check that the food was on its way. The discovery that it wasn't brought forth a few crisp words that left no doubt of Luke's feelings. They reached the studio to find the van just ahead of them, already being unloaded by two of his employees. He bounded out of the car and gave them a stream of instructions, ending with, "And don't start the microwave until I tell you.''

  They wouldn't have dared. Pippa half expected them to salute.

  He ushered them into the studio and introduced them around. And that was how they met Ritchie who, for pure entertainment value, was one of the great experiences of Pippa's life.

  It seemed that nobody had told Ritchie that this was a small cable station. His hair was elegantly blow-dried, his puce shirt was open to the waist, showing an expanse of tanned chest against which a gold chain gleamed. When he spoke, his voice resonated. He gave instructions as though beaming messages to the four corners of the world.

  One person hung on his every word, and that was Derek, a young man of downtrodden appearance who rejoiced in the title of assistant and ferried Ritchie's inhaler from place to place, to help him cope with the kind of crises that engulfed all great men.

  Ritchie greeted Luke with the respect due to a star who had single-handedly doubled the channel's subscribers. But his version of respect was like nobody else's.

  "Luke, baby, glad you could make it!" he exclaimed, as though Luke had risen from a sick bed.

  "I always make it, Ritch," Luke observed mildly.

  Ritchie made a sound like a ruptured hyena. "You have to have your little joke, Luke baby! Now, are things all right? Is everything here just as you like it?"

  "Everything's just as it always is."

  "That's what I like to hear. A satisfied customer. I just know today's shows are going to be the most wonderful ever-"

  "I've a couple of people I'd like you to meet," Luke said, breaking into the cloud of hyperbole. "This is Pippa, and this is Josie, her daughter-and mine.''

  Ritchie was wide-eyed. '' You… have… a… daughter?" he gasped, in a tone that implied Luke had invented nuclear physics. He surveyed Pippa and Josie as though they were an alien species. "Well now-well now-I just never dreamed-''

  "No reason why you should," Luke said affably. "But they're spending some time with me, and I'd like them to enjoy themselves here."

  "I'll make that my personal responsibility," Ritchie declared with fervor.

  "Seats in the front row."

  "Well, that might be a little difficult-"

  "Seats in the front row, Ritch."

  "Whatever you say. Derek, where are you? My inhaler."

  At last the studio settled down and the rehearsal began. It fascinated Pippa that Luke got through this as fast as possible, passing from dish to dish with the barest outline of what he intended to say.

  "Don't you have some sort of script?" she asked when he'd finished.

  He shuddered. "Perish the thought. I just say what comes into my head. It's usually okay."

  "And if it isn't, they can always do a retake," Josie said, beaming.

  Luke regarded her with fatherly disfavor. "Yes." he said through gritted teeth. "They can always do a retake."

  "I should have warned you," Pippa said, chuckling, "one of the joys of kids is that they're always puncturing your little balloon."

  He grinned. "I'll be lucky if I still have a balloon when my daughter's finished. Okay, here are your seats, middle of the front row. I have to go now. Bye! Have fun."

  He stooped and kissed Josie's cheek, laid a hand on Pippa's shoulder and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Then he was gone, leaving her to realize that Luke had kissed her for the first time in eleven years.

  It had been over before she'd had time to think, the kind of casual salute he probably gave to women every day, thinking nothing of it. But it lingered on her mouth like honey.

  Be sensible, she thought. It meant nothing to him, and you're not an adolescent anymore. But she felt as though a drop of water had fallen onto her parched lips after years in the desert. Her defenses tottered alarmingly. She didn't want to be sensible. She wanted Luke to kiss her again. She wanted to kiss him back and tell him how lonely she'd been without him.

  She brought herself back to reality with an effort. The audience was beginning to stream in, and soon the seats were full of laughing, chattering people. Ritchie came out and gave a brief warm-up talk, then the lights went down on the studio, up on the set, and there was Luke, wearing his most infectious grin, greeting the crowd as if they were old friends.

  He wore a red apron and red chef's hat and he had a feast of cherry dishes. For the next hour he held them spellbound. Pippa watched in admiration as Luke produced a great, barnstorming performance. He had the gift of being able to project his real self. There was the cheeky charm, the crazy clowning, the hint that he'd found the secret of making life fun. And behind it, the perfect organization, each detail under control, everything planned just as he wanted it. In fact, there was Luke, writ large.

  Pippa and Josie joined in the laughter with everyone else. Josie's eyes were shining and she applauded loud and long. "Isn't Daddy wonderful?" she whispered to Pippa.

  "Yes, darling. He's wonderful."

  After the first show there was a break for lunch, and Josie and Pippa picnicked with Luke in his dressing room. Josie chattered a mile a minute, while Luke grinned. But the grin was wiped off his face when his phone rang.

  "Okay, okay," he said, sounding exasperated. "We'll just have to find something else." As he hung up he was audibly grinding his teeth. "My suppliers have let me down. Now a couple of tomorrow's dishes have to be changed."

  "Can you do it at such short notice?" Josie asked anxiously. "I mean, can you do the rest of today's show and think up new recipes?"

  He grinned and tweaked her nose. "For genius, nothing is impossible."

  "Yes, Daddy, but can you do it?" Josie asked, straight-faced.

  Luke flung up his hands. "Great!" he told Pippa. "You've been teaching my kid to be a
smart aleck.

  Come on, brat. Back to work, and your old man will try not to disappoint you.''

  Josie giggled, and they went out with their arms about each other's waists.

  It all started again. Ritchie came out again, reminding the audience to greet Luke with the same enthusiasm as before, but he needn't have bothered. They adored him, and the cheer, when he appeared again, raised the roof. He'd changed into fresh jeans and sweater, and the red hat and apron had been replaced by green and white, suggesting the salads he was about to create.

  Josie was caught up in the general excitement, but Pippa found herself standing back and seeing Luke as he appeared to the rest of the world. It was a curious experience, like looking at him down a long tunnel, and she had the strange feeling that she knew him better. He was a man who could give a little of himself to a million people, but not all of himself to anyone. She should have known that long ago.

  He seemed to have inexhaustible energy, because after a brief pause he was off again on the third show, and it was as fresh and spontaneous as the first. Then it was over, and the crowd was streaming out, leaving Josie and Pippa alone in their seats. Now that everyone could relax, Josie took the chance to explore the studio. Ritchie flopped down beside Pippa like a rag doll.

  "Every time I swear I can't go through it again," he moaned. "But somehow I find the nervous energy. The question is, how much longer?"

  "As long as the ratings are good, I suppose," Pippa said, amused.

  "You're right. Only the public really counts, doesn't it? That great hydra-headed crowd out there, baying for its pound of flesh."

  "We'll just have to hope that Luke can keep producing the goods," she said demurely.

  "Of course," he replied with an edge on his voice. "Nobody knows what he owes to Luke more than I do."

  "I'll bet you do."

  He gave her a sour look and went in search of a more appreciative audience.

  In the car, on the way home, she related this conversation, and Luke shouted with laughter. "That's my Pippa," he said appreciatively. "Never stood any nonsense from anyone. And he certainly offers himself as a target."

  "What about your problem?" Pippa asked. "Did it sort itself out?"

  "No, it got a lot worse, and I'm afraid I'm not going to be good company this evening. I've got to spend tonight working out new recipes and cooking them myself, as well."

  "So we'll help you,'' Pippa said. "I can cook you know."

  "No, really? I had no idea."

  "If you weren't driving this car I'd kick your shins. I'll do the supper. You get on with being the genius of the screen. And don't you dare hover over me, sticking your nose in. You won't be driving a car then.'

  "Yes, ma'am!"

  He tried to be virtuous. He and Josie seated themselves at his computer, and before her fascinated eyes he called up recipe after recipe, considering, rejecting, analyzing, amending. But his mind was only half on the job. He couldn't resist looking over his shoulder at Pippa, moving about the kitchen-his kitchen-opening his doors and drawers.

  "Dad," Josie muttered, reading his tension. "I wouldn't if I was you."

  "I was only going to-"

  "Well, don't! Not unless you want to be bopped on the head."

  "Look," he said, also muttering, "I just want to show her where things are. She won't understand my plan."

  "Yes, she will. She's got the same one."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mom's organized the kitchen at home just like this. It's smaller, but the plan's the same. Knives here, chopping board there, blender in the cupboard on the right, scales in the cupboard on the left. Same as you. She says it's how you reorganized Ma's kitchen years ago."

  "Really?" He was fascinated.

  "And she goes mad if anything's out of place. Honestly, you'd think the world was going to end if anything's just a little untidy."

  "Pippa? Tidy? You're kidding me."

  "Why?"

  "I knew her before you, remember?''

  "Was she untidy then?"

  "Was she unti-Let me tell you…"

  He stopped, realizing that his memories of discarded clothes littering their room were hardly suitable for a child's ears. "Never mind," he said hastily. "Look, she's driving me nuts."

  "Dad, leave it."

  "Yes, dear." He subsided.

  But it was more than flesh and blood could stand. Within minutes he jumped up. "Pippa, not that saucepan-"

  She whirled, eyes flashing, ladle in hand. ''Josie, get him out of here-now!''

  "Let's go," Josie said briskly. "We've got work to do. You need a whole pile of new ingredients, and we'd better go out and buy them from an all-night supermarket."

  "Don't think there is one around here," Luke said stubbornly.

  "Dad," Josie said patiently, "I watch American movies. I know there's always an all-night supermarket. Now come on. I'm not ready to be an orphan yet."

  "What's this orphan talk?"

  "You seen the way Mom's wielding that ladle?"

  Businesslike, she scooped up the list he'd been jotting, scooped up his jacket, scooped up his wallet. Finally, almost as an afterthought, she scooped up her father and shepherded him out of the door. Pippa heard their voices fading.

  "You should never take Mom on when she has that light in her eye…"

  "I believe you, I believe you…"

  They were back in less than an hour, laden with bags. Pippa had prepared a meal that could be eaten "on the run" because she knew that once Luke's creative flame started burning he had attention for nothing else. His charm would vanish, replaced by, "Yes."

  "No."

  "Hurry up," and "You're in my way!" because a man bent on the culinary equivalent of the Sistine Chapel had no time for social niceties.

  She was all set to explain this to Josie, lest she be upset, but there was no need. The youngster transformed herself into Luke's lieutenant, rushing to do his bidding quickly and quietly. She never forgot where anything was, and sometimes seemed to understand what he wanted before he spoke. When not needed she effaced herself without making a production of it. She was like another professional, so intent on making the finished product perfect that nothing else mattered. In fact, she was her father's daughter.

  "Josie, where-?"

  "Here," she said, putting it into his hand.

  "I need another dip-no, two. One spicy-tomato, radish, cayenne. One bland-yogurt, cucumber, crushed garlic, lemon juice." He was talking to himself now.

  "Tomatoes," Josie muttered, diving for them. "Cayenne, yogurt, cucumber, garlic, lemon juice…"

  In seconds she had everything lined up ready to go. Luke inspected, gave her brief instructions and returned to the oven. Pippa made notes, but she hardly felt needed. The other two were in a world of their own, which gave her a fleeting moment's sadness, but she suppressed it. This was just what she'd hoped for.

  At last they were finished. Luke gave Josie an appreciative grin. "I wish I had a few like you working for me, especially on the show.'' Suddenly he whirled on Pippa. "Hey!"

  "Luke, no."

  He seized her shoulders. "But it's a fantastic idea. I need someone who knows what I'm doing here, and there isn't time to rehearse anyone else. Josie knows it all. She helped create this masterpiece."

  "But how will you introduce her?"

  "As my daughter, what else? You'd like to do it, wouldn't you, honey?"

  "Oh, yes!" Josie was jumping up and down.

  "But only if Mommy says so," Luke added quickly.

  "Mommy, please, please! Daddy, make her say yes."

  "Honey, I can't go against your mother. If she won't let you-"

  "Luke Danton, you are the most devious, conniving, unscrupulous, unprincipled-"

  His smile took her breath away. "I guess that means yes."

  "Yes, Mommy, yes!"

  "Oh, all right, yes."

  Father and daughter promptly went into a mad, leaping dance about the kitchen. Pippa watched t
hem, smiling, and was caught off guard when he suddenly shot an arm around her waist and swept her into the dance, whirling her around and around until she was giddy.

  "Whoa!" he said at last. "Hey, are you all right?"

  "Yes, fine," she gasped.

  "You don't look so good," he said, looking into her face, concerned.

  "My head's spinning. You went too fast for me. I need to sit down."

  "Okay, but not on one of those high stools. Let's go next door and you can sit down properly."

  "Mommy?" Josie said, frowning a little.

  "I'm fine, darling. Your father's a madman, but that's okay."

  Luke still had his arm around her waist, and her hands were clasped behind his neck, steadying herself. It was natural for him to lift her up, announce, "Taxi service, ma'am!" and proceed into the big room, still carrying her.

  "Clown," she said fondly.

  He set her down on the sofa. "Are you really all right, Pippa? You looked a bit strange back there."

  "Well, I'm just not used to being spun around like a top by a man who seems to think we're still a couple of kids."

  He grinned. "Well, you always did say I'd never grow up. So did my mom, and she ought to know. Come to think of it, every woman I've ever known has said it. Can't think why."

  "Neither can I," she said tenderly, brushing back a tousled lock from his forehead. "But it's only a matter of time before Josie starts saying it."

  "True. You always did understand me better than anyone, Pippa."

  "Now you stop that!"

  "Stop what?"

  "You know what I mean. The little-boy charm. And the wide-eyed innocence that you're doing now. I know all your tricks. You honed them on me, remember?''

  "Only some of them," he said wickedly. "I've learned a few more since then."

  "Well, keep them to yourself. I'm a respectable middle-aged woman."

  "Middle-aged, my foot! You're not thirty yet."

  "Yes, I am," she said with dignity. "I was thirty last birthday."

  "Liar. You'll be thirty next birthday."

  He had remembered her age that precisely. She had to struggle not to smile with the pleasure.

  "You are not middle-aged," he said firmly. "And you were never respectable."