“I came to your family as hired help. I’m not above doing that again. I can work for you.”
Anton stared. His mind filled with memories of his family. He remembered the dinners in the grand dining room with his grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, Marie, and him. How had it come down to just the two of them? “I’m not sure how this arrangement will work. I don’t exactly have need for household staff at this point.”
“You will.” In the midst of total chaos, Marie’s tone rang with confidence. “You are Nathaniel’s grandson. You will succeed. Of that, I have no doubt.”
Anton remembered Nathaniel’s evaluation: She is mighty remarkable. He replied, “I won’t abandon you. In a few more days, we should be able to move you. Once we get you back to New York, we’ll create a timeline, an iron clad alibi for your whereabouts during my parent’s death. The future will work itself out.”
“It will, Anton. I have confidence in you.” She reached for his shoulders; although they were only three years apart in age, there was no sexual attraction. They were family. Marie felt as if she were looking into Nathaniel’s eyes each time she stared into Anton’s deep dark irises. The touch was merely a point of contact. They were together in this mess and bound forever by Nathaniel. “You know, your grandfather had plans for after his release. I’ve had a lot of time to think about those during these past few days.”
“He told me.” Her determination impressed Anton.
“I can help. I want to help. Truly, I didn’t intend to kill your parents, but I’m not sorry they’re gone. I could lie and tell you I am, but I won’t.” Anton nodded. “There are others who assisted in putting Nathaniel in prison; your father was but one.”
“I have names; however, this will take time and money.”
Marie smiled. “I have time. You make us more money.”
Chapter Forty-Six
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
—Oscar Wilde
Sophia exhaled and spoke determinedly, “Mr. George, I’ll consider the most recent offer, but I’m afraid I cannot give you an answer today or tomorrow.” She didn’t wait for his response. “I will call you when I make my decision. Goodbye.”
Silvia looked questionably at her daughter. “You’re too busy to be babysitting your old parents.”
“I’m hardly babysitting. You and Pop are helping me get this studio ready to open.”
“I think getting away from home for a while has been good for your father, a change of scenery and all.”
Sophia smiled. The thought came to her as she was flying to Princeton. She wanted to spend time with her parents and get the studio open. At first, her parents balked at the idea. It wasn’t until she told them how much work she needed to do that they willingly consented. Sophia knew if they felt needed, then they’d be willing to go.
It was a good change of scenery for Sophia too. With Derek overseas, she didn’t want to be stuck in California. Besides, Mr. George was beginning to annoy her with his persistence. Although smaller than the studio in Palo Alto, her studio in Provincetown was home.
She and Derek had worked so quickly to secure some of her art for shipping that they’d left this studio in disarray. Sophia still had many paintings as well as chalk and charcoal drawings stored here. Now, she and her parents needed to work to choose the best ones to display. Once the choices were made, the pieces needed to be framed, or stretched and framed, depending upon the medium.
Sophia’s parents never claimed personal artistic skills. Nevertheless, when it came to displaying art, they were professionals. Silvia laughed, saying they’d been doing it since Sophia was barely two years old—displaying her creations on the refrigerator door. Carlo’s memory may have difficulties, but when it came to constructing an appropriate frame for his daughter’s masterpieces, he was still on the top of his game.
Derek wouldn’t be back to Santa Clara for another week, so it was the perfect time for Sophia to enjoy her family, her cottage by the shore, prepare her studio, and hire someone to manage it while she’s away. The income from her recent sales truly gave her more freedom than ever before.
Tony and Claire returned to the house before 5:30 PM. Claire hoped for a nap, before readying for the dessert celebration at Brent and Courtney’s house. Catherine promised dinner on the patio at 7:00 PM, saying they shouldn’t go to a dessert and wine celebration on empty stomachs. Considering her condition, Claire agreed.
Back in her suite, Claire checked her phone. Of course, she had multiple text messages from her sister. The main request was for a call, but Claire didn’t want to call. She would willingly text, but she didn’t want to hear Emily’s voice or lectures; however, Claire worried, if she only sent a text then Emily would suspect Tony’s manipulation.
Dreading the conversation, Claire hit call. Emily answered on the first ring. “Claire, are you all right?” Claire assured her sister she was fine. She still had her ticket to return to California on Sunday and those plans haven’t changed. Claire promised to be careful and politely hung up before Emily’s words became too annoying.
After sending text messages to Amber and Harry, Claire climbed into the beautiful four poster bed, settled into the soft sheets, and slipped away. The memories of their afternoon at her lake floated through her subconscious. Being alone, she didn’t try to subdue the smile that continually crept onto her face.
Her dream didn’t make sense… when she drifted to sleep, she was in the copper colored suite—
As she looked around, the walls were once again a rich beige and heavy golden draperies covered the windows. Claire reached for her cell phone, but it was missing. Easing herself from the warm covers, she searched for her iPad, but it was no longer on the table. She saw the television, but instinctively knew the channels were limited. Her breathing quickened as she paced the confines of the luxurious room. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t fill her lungs with adequate oxygen. The beautiful walls were closing in around her. She needed air, fresh air. Quickly, she moved to the heavy golden drapes and exposed the tall French doors of her balcony. When the lever refused to budge, her heart rate quickened. Why wouldn’t the doors open? The condensation on the small panes indicated coldness on the other side. She peered through the small windows and registered the scene outside. The green leaves and vibrant colors were gone. In their place, she saw skeletons of bare trees and visions of black and white. Inches of snow sat undisturbed on the rail of the balcony.
Claire’s knees became weak. If it were winter, where was her baby? Claire’s hand moved to her midsection, finding her flat stomach. She wasn’t visibly pregnant, so their child must be born. Claire scanned the suite for a crib—nothing. She ran to the hallway door. The lever wouldn’t move. No! She was locked in! Where was her baby? Tears of panic rushed from her eyes as she beat upon the door. Panic filled her voice as she screamed at the top of her lungs. This was no longer her nightmare; it was her child’s too.
“Ms. Claire—Ms. Claire, you’re having a dream.” Catherine’s words quieted the screams which summoned Catherine to Claire’s suite. She’d heard Claire’s panicked screams from down the hall.
Claire opened her eyes to Catherine’s concerned gaze. “Oh, Catherine. I was dreaming. It wasn’t real, was it?”
“Yes, you were dreaming. Thankfully, your door wasn’t locked. I’m here for you. Everything is all right. Whatever it was, it was just a dream.”
Claire allowed Catherine to embrace her before lying back upon the soft pillow. Trembling slightly, she scanned the suite. The copper walls were back. Her stomach twisted as tears escaped her eyes. “Catherine, did you ever want to be a mother?”
The older woman straightened her back. “Why are you asking?”
Claire struggled to sit up. Her heartbeat beginning to calm, “I got the feeling yesterday, when I told you that I’ve thought of you in that way, that it made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
Catherine’s expression mellowed. “Don�
�t be sorry. I believed it to be a compliment.”
Claire smiled. “Good, that’s how it was intended.”
“Yes. Is the answer to your question; however, I’ve come to realize some people aren’t meant to be parents. There are better people to raise children.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Some people have made too many poor choices to subject a child to their views.”
Claire asked earnestly, “So you think a person’s past would influence their ability to parent?”
“Of course, how could it not? Some people don’t deserve to influence a child. Take Mr. Rawlings for example. He’s the way he is in part due to the environment in which he was raised.”
“What were his parents like?”
“You need to ask him that question, but I believe he could have done much better.”
Claire pondered Catherine’s words and asked, “What about his grandparents?”
Catherine’s expression softened. “In that category, Mr. Rawlings did do much better.” Catherine pulled herself from her memories. “Ms.” She smiled. “Claire, dinner will be ready soon. Are you better? From your dream? You need to get ready for the Simmons’ celebration.”
Truthfully, Claire could scarcely concentrate on Catherine’s words. She had too many thoughts going through her mind. Tony’s parents weren’t good examples. Would that make him a bad father? If Catherine believed a person’s past could make them undeserving of children, what about Tony’s past sins? Claire thought about the transgressions she knew to be true: his stalking obsession of her, removing Simon from her life early on—although that turned out well for Simon’s career—and then Simon’s death. Somehow Claire still believed Tony was involved. Also her kidnapping, his treatment of her when she first arrived, his controlling domineering side, how he set her up for attempted murder, and the demise of John’s career; did it matter that he was now attempting redemption? What about the reason she was with him now? What about his recent blackmailing?
She tried to concentrate on the woman before her. “Thank you, Catherine, for giving me some answers.”
Catherine nodded.
Claire continued, her voice distant as her mind wrestled with these new thoughts. “I’ll get ready and be down for dinner.”
This evening was more formal than the last, but not as formal as the wedding. As she readied for the festivities, Claire’s nausea returned. Sitting on the edge of the large whirlpool tub, wrapped in the pink cashmere robe, she fought the onset as perspiration drenched her recently painted face. She heard the knock on the door of the suite. She couldn’t form the words to bid entrance. Claire knew she should be ready and downstairs, but her body wouldn’t let her move.
His voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. Slowly, she heard the turning of the knob. Whatever his expression and tone had been before, distress now prevailed. Tony fell to his knees before a shivering, ashened Claire. “What’s the matter with you? Are you sick? I’ll get you the best doctors…”
She heard his voice, but their long ago lunch was no longer content to remain within her stomach. The problem was they’d eaten hours before. Claire ran to the lavatory enclosed within a small attached room and submitted mostly to dry heaves as her petite body convulsed. This wasn’t how she had wanted to tell him, if she was to tell him at all.
When her body finally calmed, Claire stood, attempted poise, and re-entered the main part of the bathroom. She walked to the sink, rinsed her mouth, and turned toward Tony. She hadn’t noticed before how handsomely he was dressed, quite the contrast to her current condition. Her hair was still done, but her cosmetics needed repair, and although quite expensive, her robe was hardly celebration attire. Looking at his worried face, she finally found her voice, “Tony, I’m not sick.”
He gently reached for her shoulders. “What do you mean? You’re obviously ill. I’ll call Brent. They’ll understand.”
“No, I want to go. I’ll be better soon. It doesn’t usually hit this hard in the afternoon. I think I’m just stressed.”
“What doesn’t hit…?” For an extremely intelligent man, he was slow at fitting the pieces of this puzzle together. His eyes widened, and he released her shoulders. Suddenly, his concerned tone morphed, now more slow and harsh. “What doesn’t hit?”
“The nausea.” Claire wasn’t feeling the positive aura one would hope in such a conversation.
“Brought on by what?”
Hell, her make-up needed touch up anyway. She felt the tears pool and blinked, allowing them to descend her cheeks. “I’m seven weeks pregnant, almost eight.” Claire could see the wheels turning in his head. “Yes, Tony, we are going to have a baby.”
His expression momentarily appeared blank. There was no manipulation, no hidden agenda—only shock. Did she ever remember seeing Tony speechless? If she did, she couldn’t recall. Finally, she saw his emotions swirl through his ever darkening eyes as he asked, “How did this happen?”
She looked at him incredulously. “That’s a great question, since I have no recollection of letting you back into my condominium, but nonetheless, the timing works perfectly.”
He slowly turned circles, pacing as he could within the confines of the bathroom. “What are we going to do about…” He motioned toward her midsection. “…this?”
Indignantly, she stood straighter. “I don’t know what we are going to do. I’m going to have a baby, with or without you.”
“But you’re twenty-nine years old. I’m forty-eight!”
“Yes, and when we married, our age difference was the same.”
“We never discussed children.”
“It’s a little late for discussion.” Claire felt her strength returning with the fury now surging through her veins. Damn him for not responding the way she wanted him to! “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be downstairs in ten minutes for dinner, and we can continue your charade.”
Tony shook his head and stepped toward his ex-wife. “I’m sorry. You surprised me. Let me think about this for a while.”
“Fine, Tony, you think all you want. Your thoughts and decisions don’t matter. I’m having this baby.”
“Of course you are. I never suggested otherwise. I’ll be downstairs on the patio.” He kissed her cheek and left. She collapsed again on the edge of the tub. Well that went well! She thought sarcastically. Then she remembered the little life inside of her and audibly comforted. “It’ll be all right. No matter what—we will be fine. Don’t worry about your father. I’m not.” Was it good to lie to your child, even if you were doing it for their own good?
When Claire stepped onto the patio, Tony attentively stood and pulled out her chair. Her hair was perfect; make-up repaired, and dress lovely. Her growing breasts filled the bodice more than they would have before. Even her color was back to normal, with a glow of sun on her cheeks from their day on the lake shore.
Sincerely, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Genteel and reticent, she responded, “I’m feeling better, thank you for asking.” And then Claire did what Tony had done to her over and over. She conversed about anything and everything except the pregnancy. On his few attempts to discuss it, she changed the subject. Her change of subject wasn’t as direct as saying, “The subject is closed” but subtly, she’d mention something else: for instance her dress. It was one from the closet. She told Tony how much she liked it and thanked him for having it bought.
The dessert celebration proceeded with equal poise. Claire stayed dutifully by his side and said and did everything to continue their charade. After all, this gathering contained people they didn’t know. It was Claire’s experience that information can be leaked at any moment by any source. To everyone, they appeared the happy couple trying for reconciliation.
When the waiter offered glasses of champagne, Claire smirked as Tony asked for non-alcoholic. Even he drank the disgustingly sweet bubbly grape juice. It didn’t make up for his initial reaction, but it did incite a genuine s
mile to Claire’s lips.
On their way back to the estate, Tony detoured to a secluded back road. The June night was warmer than the one before, and the stars were bright. Although she didn’t know where they were going, Claire didn’t ask. She remained reserved, answering questions, and continuing courteous conversation. Finally, after a bumpy dirt road, Tony stopped the Mercedes. His headlights faded into the darkness illuminating a meadow as he asked, “Do you know where we are?”
Claire looked from side to side. Beyond the meadow were trees, but they were no more distinctive than any other trees. “No, I don’t.”
He got out of the car and walked to her door. After opening it, he extended his hand and asked, “Will you please walk with me a moment?”
Claire looked down at her shoes. They too were from his closet of clothes, Casadsi platform pumps with a very thin four inch heel. She wasn’t sure of their cost, but from experience, she was certain they weren’t intended for hiking. “I don’t think my shoes are meant for—”
“I don’t give a damn about the shoes.” His polite invitation gave way to the emotions he’d been suppressing all evening.
Claire shrugged and accepted his outstretched hand. Her facade once again in place, she replied, “Of course, Mr. Rawlings, I’d be delighted.”
They took a few steps when Claire stumbled, falling into Tony’s strong embrace. She straightened and secured herself. “Have you figured out where we are?” he asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“This is where I brought you the day I apologized for your accident.” Claire’s back straightened, and her chin rose indignantly. He added, “I meant every word that day.”
“Tony, I don’t want to talk about—”
“I’ve done some things in my life that I’m not proud of. I never in all of my life considered having a child.”
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 102