“He never wanted a son,” said Caroline.
Charlie ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. She just didn’t get it. “All I’m saying is, don’t go taking any silly risks now, all right? You and Hunter need that money. There’ll be plenty of time for us later.”
He put his hand against her cheek, slowly tracing a warm, firm finger down until it reached her mouth and rested on the plump softness of her lips. They gazed at each other for a moment, both longing to take comfort in the other, before finally releasing themselves to a lingering goodbye kiss.
He smelled so delicious, a heady mix of Givenchy aftershave, sex, and sweat that left Caroline reeling with desire for him. Even now, with poor old Duke lying dead and who knew what battles awaiting her when she got back home, she felt the familiar, insistent pounding between her legs. But she knew he was right. She had to go.
“You’ll be okay?” he asked, as she finally removed his sweater and pulled on her own to leave.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Caroline. “I’ll be absolutely fine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was about three weeks after Duke’s funeral, and Pete had summoned Siena to his study.
Pacing up and down the starkly functional little room, sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades under his Brooks Brothers shirt, he felt absurdly jittery. He had barely spoken to his daughter since Duke’s death and wasn’t sure where to begin.
Unlike his mother, Minnie, who for the first time he could remember had really opened up to him in her grief, revealing a depth of feeling for his hated father that Pete struggled to understand, Siena seemed to have retreated into her own silent world. At first he and Claire had tried to talk to her, sitting patiently with her for hours on end, even bringing in a child psychologist to try and break through the little girl’s misery. But Siena had angrily shrugged off their every attempt at comfort, and Pete had quickly given up, not because he didn’t want to help her but because he had no idea where to begin. Thanks to his father, Siena had become a virtual stranger to him.
Claire was more persistent. She longed to comfort her daughter and had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Duke’s death might open up a way for the three of them to become a proper family at last. Although Caroline was still living on the estate—when she had finally deigned to return home the evening after Duke’s death, she had been met by a wall of silence from the rest of the family, but there had been no outright battles, thank God—she and Hunter had moved into a separate wing, and Minnie and Laurie both kept themselves to themselves. Although Claire felt badly for poor Hunter, she was grateful for the time this allowed her with her own husband and child. For the first time ever, the house had started to feel almost like their own home. But these changes only seemed to deepen Siena’s depression.
The psychologist, a kindly, professorly-looking man in his mid-sixties who had a soft spot for Claire’s fragile beauty, had warned her that Siena was still experiencing profound shock, and they should not expect any miracles overnight.
“You must understand, Mrs. McMahon, your daughter has been deeply traumatized, particularly since she was the one who discovered her grandfather’s body,” he had told her, after a two-hour session with Siena up in the old nursery. “It is not unnatural, even for adults, to experience feelings of guilt and anxiety in these circumstances, and those feelings must be resolved before the true grieving process can begin. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” said Claire, who didn’t, but wanted terribly to help Siena.
“Your daughter is only ten,” he continued. “She feels responsible. She feels to blame. And she may well express those feelings through anger. It is perfectly normal for Siena to feel resentment at losing her grandfather in this way, and she may direct this toward you or your husband, either by withdrawing completely or, as I say, through rage.”
“I see,” said Claire bleakly, sinking down into the same nursery armchair where she used to rock Siena to sleep as a baby. She felt utterly at a loss. “So what should we do? How can we help?” she asked.
The psychologist gave her an encouraging smile. “Just be patient. Give her time.”
Patience, unfortunately, had never been one of Pete’s strong suits. Nor had he ever had much faith in “overpriced quacks and their psychobabble.” No, what Siena needed, he had decided, was a complete change. A little discipline might not be a bad thing either. For years, Duke had filled her head with ridiculous ideas about stardom, and turned her into a fearful prima donna. No doubt he’d been hoping to relive his own glory days through Siena. Well it wasn’t going to happen.
“Ah, Siena, honey, sit down,” said Pete as she appeared, scowling and silent at the door, her whole body coiled in pent-up belligerence.
Siena had perfected a look of vacant hostility, whenever in her father’s presence, that succinctly conveyed her distaste for him without her having to spell it out in words. It both infuriated Pete and disturbed him. It was almost as if she blamed him, in some bizarre way, for Duke’s death.
Slumping down sullenly into the only armchair in the study, she swung her legs insolently over one arm and gave him “that look.” Shit, thought Pete. Just look at that attitude! If she’s like this at ten, God help us when she hits sixteen. But he remembered the psychologist’s advice about support and encouragement and forced a smile.
“I think we need to talk,” he said, clearing his throat and wishing he didn’t sound so damned formal. “About the future.”
“No, we don’t,” mumbled Siena obstinately into the sleeve of her new A-Team jacket. The jacket had been her last present from Duke, and for the last few days she had refused point-blank to take it off, even in the sweltering midday heat of the L.A. summer. Now George Peppard’s grinning face, a fat cigar stuffed in his mouth, stared insolently at Pete from his daughter’s lapel as she twirled a long black ringlet around her finger and looked pointedly out of the window, very obviously bored.
Pete battled to keep his temper. “Please don’t answer back to me like that, Siena.” He sat down on the only other chair in the room, an angular, ugly swivel seat upholstered in vile red-and-gray check that his PA, Tara, had picked up from Office Depot. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d look at me when I’m talking to you.”
At that moment, Claire knocked softly on the door. Seeing Siena, she came in and perched awkwardly on the other arm of the chair. “Hey, sweetie.” She kissed her daughter on the top of the head. Siena smiled up at her weakly, her first smile in weeks. A breakthrough, thought Claire. At last!
“Hey, Mommy.”
Pete felt an involuntary stab of envy as he watched mother and daughter clasp hands. What the fuck was wrong with him? First Duke, now Claire. Was he going to resent everyone his daughter loved, just because she refused to love him?
“Claire.” He loosened his tie a notch and made an effort to relax. “I was just about to talk to Siena about, er, about our plan.”
“What plan?” asked Siena warily, holding tighter to her mother’s hand. The cloud of distrust descended over her face again as quickly as it had just lifted.
Dammit, thought Claire. Why did Pete have to bring this up right now? Siena was still so wounded and so fragile, couldn’t he have left it a few more weeks?
“Your mother and I have spoken to your psychologist,” Pete continued, not quite meeting Siena’s eye. “We know you’re still upset about Grandpa, but”—he coughed nervously—“we think it would be best, better for you, to have a complete change of scene. Take your mind off things.”
“What kind of a change of scene?” Siena glared at him. “Anyway, I don’t want to take my mind off things.”
“That may be,” said Pete, his voice rising in anger despite himself. “But I’m afraid you’ve become rather too used to having what you want, young lady, and that’s about to change.”
Siena let go of Claire and sat upright, like a bull about to charge.
“Your grandpa Duke spoiled you,” continued P
ete.
“He did not!” Siena shot back angrily, leaping to her feet and accidentally knocking Claire in the ribs with a flying elbow.
“Sit down!” Pete roared, banging both fists down on the desk, which shook as if hit by an earthquake. He had sworn he wouldn’t lose his temper, but sometimes Siena pushed him to the limit. If only she wouldn’t keep defending Duke. If only she knew him the way that Pete did. He was evil. He didn’t deserve her loyalty, or her grief.
Siena and Claire both sat, shaken by the violence of his reaction.
“That sort of behavior is exactly what I mean.” He straightened his tie and cleared his throat, pushing his sandy hair back from his sweating brow and trying to compose himself again. “Now, Siena, we are all upset about what’s happened.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath.
“But life goes on,” said Pete, ignoring her. “And in your case, that means school. I called you in here to tell you that your mother and I have decided to send you to boarding school in England.”
“No!” Siena spun around and looked imploringly at Claire. “Mommy, don’t let him! I want to stay here, with you and Hunter. Please, I’ll be good, I promise. Please, Mom? Don’t make me go away.”
Claire looked helplessly from her daughter to her husband. She knew Pete’s mind was already made up. For the past three days, she’d tried everything to sway him from this decision, using every argument she could think of to convince him that Siena would do better at home, but her pleas had all fallen on deaf ears. Pete was insistent that the discipline and stability of boarding school would, as he put it, “straighten out” their daughter. Her difficult behavior in the wake of Duke’s death had become a painful daily reminder of Pete’s own failings as a father and the distance that had grown between them. Things would be better all around, he told Claire, once Siena was sent away to school.
It hadn’t helped that Minnie had heartily endorsed the plan of an English education for her only grandchild, not because she didn’t love her or because she wanted to get rid of her, but because she had always been brought up to believe that English boarding schools were the best in the world, both socially and academically.
Claire tried to believe that Pete had Siena’s best interests at heart as well, although deep down, part of her knew that his resentment and anger toward his daughter, for loving Duke and Hunter as much as she did, had more than a little to do with it. On the other hand, it was true that Siena had become very difficult recently. But was the answer really to wash their hands of the problem? Out of sight, out of mind?
“It’s no good appealing to your mother,” said Pete harshly, a livid blue vein throbbing visibly through the sweat on his receding brow. “She and I are in agreement, as is your grandmother, and the decision has been made. You leave for St. Xavier’s on Tuesday night.”
“Mom?”
Claire could see Siena fighting back the tears, biting at her bottom lip and clutching at the cuffs of her beloved jacket in an effort to hold back the floods. She wanted more than anything to reach out and comfort her. But she was terrified of defying Pete, perhaps damaging their relationship beyond repair. He had not just asked for her support, he had demanded it. Fearful and ashamed, she had given in.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said, holding out her arms. “It’s for the best.”
“Best for who?” screamed Siena, turning helplessly from one parent to the other like a cornered animal. “I hate you. I hate both of you,” she yelled, and ran sobbing from the room.
“Siena!” Claire got up to follow her.
“Leave her,” said Pete. “She’ll get over it.”
“Will she?” Claire was angry, her own despair at the situation now perilously near the surface.
“Of course she will,” he said firmly, but he didn’t sound convincing, even to himself.
It was years since he had heard his wife raise her voice to anyone. The strength of her emotion now shocked him. Moving over to her, he drew her toward him and felt the resentful stiffening of her limbs as he held her, gently stroking her hair, until she reluctantly began to relax.
“Do you love me?” he whispered.
Claire caught the urgency in his voice, the desperate loneliness of a guilt-ridden man. Perhaps they had made the right decision after all? Maybe England would be good for Siena? She certainly wasn’t happy at home. And perhaps, in the end, Pete needed Claire even more than her daughter did.
“Of course I do,” she said, and meant it. “Of course I love you.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I need you.” He sighed heavily as he held her tight. “I need you to be behind me on this, Claire. Please?”
“I am behind you,” she said, returning his embrace. “I’m just worried about her, that’s all.”
Hunter didn’t think he had ever seen Siena so upset. Her whole tiny frame was so racked with sobs that she could barely get a sentence out, and it was some minutes before he even understood what she was telling him: that Pete and Claire were going to send her away to school. Away from him.
“I’ll never see you again!” she wailed melodramatically through hyperventilating breaths, sitting on her unmade bed with Kermit clasped tightly to her chest between George Peppard and a gold-chain-laden Mr. T.
“Of course you will, don’t be silly,” said Hunter, who was fighting his own shock at the news.
It was an unspoken rule that he wasn’t supposed to hang out in Siena’s room anymore. Pete didn’t want him anywhere near her, and his mother was equally anxious to avoid precipitating any sort of conflict before his dad’s will had been settled. But the two children regularly made illicit visits to each other’s separate prisons to comfort each other when things got rough.
Life at home had been pretty terrible for Hunter since his dad died. First of all, he felt guilty that he didn’t feel more about Duke’s death. It was like someone had switched off his emotions at the mains, while Siena’s grief poured out uncontrollably, like water through a shattered dam, highlighting his own apparent heartlessness.
On top of that, the whole household was acting like he and his mom didn’t exist. If possible, his mom was spending even more time away from home than usual, leaving him alone to cope with Minnie’s icy disregard and Pete’s aggressive rejection. Claire was too caught up in her own worries for Siena to come to his aid. Even Max had stopped coming over to hang out with him since the atmosphere on the estate had gotten so tense.
Now, with Siena leaving, Hunter wondered how the hell he was going to get through the days. She was the only person in the world he really loved, and now she was being taken away from him.
“There’ll be vacations, lots of them, and you can come back home then,” he said, trying to keep his voice bright. “Besides, now that, you know”—he looked at his shoes awkwardly—“now that Dad’s gone, my mom was talking about spending more time in England anyway. We might be going to visit my uncle William, she said, so maybe I could come see you at your school as well?”
He sat down on the bed and put his arms around her. Mel Gibson’s cheesy grin surrounded them, his famous crinkled blue eyes staring down from all four walls. “You just wait. We’ll see each other all the time, you’ll see. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
“We won’t.” Siena sniffled, unwilling to be mollified. “And I’ll never see Max again, either.”
“Oh, I see.” Hunter raised one eyebrow at her teasingly. “It’s Max you’re really worried about, not me. We’ve developed a little bit of a soft spot for old Maxie recently, haven’t we?”
“Baloney!” Siena pushed him away, unable fully to suppress a sneaking smile. She tried her best to sound dignified. “I’m just saying, when they send me to England I won’t see him again either. But I’m way more upset about you. I hate Daddy so much,” she sniffed. “You were so lucky. I wish I’d had Grandpa Duke for my dad.”
Hunter looked at her knowingly. Siena knew full well that Duke had been less than a per
fect father to him.
“Oh, Hunter, what are we going to do?” The tears were back with a vengeance. “I’m just going to miss you so much.”
“Hey there, come on now.” He passed her a tissue from the pink box on the bedside table, and she blew her nose with a ten-year-old’s unself-conscious, noisy abandon. “It’ll be okay. I’m gonna miss you too, you know? Things sure won’t be the same around here without you.”
Siena flung her arms around him so tightly he felt he might choke. The age gap between the two of them seemed bigger now than ever. Siena thought of him as almost an adult, and his burgeoning physical “manliness”—the more pronounced muscles in his arms and chest, the rough, emergent stubble on his cheeks, the smell of deodorant mingling with the sweat and warmth of his adolescent body—made him feel less like her brother and more like the uncle that he was. All the girls at her elementary school were wildly in love with him from afar, but these days he seemed so very much older than her and her friends as to be almost like a creature from another world. Unlike Max, who was going through an unfortunate pimply phase, Hunter only seemed to get more and more beautiful as a teenager. Siena was immensely proud of him, and fiercely jealous of his love and attention.
“You have to write to me.” She looked up at him, her face pressed against the faded gray of his T-shirt so closely that she could hear the comforting pounding of his heart. “Every day.”
“I promise,” said Hunter.
Looking around the familiar little bedroom, he felt suddenly, unaccountably anxious. He seemed to be promising Siena an awful lot these days. Not for the first time, he wondered if he would actually be able to deliver on this one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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