“Mother tells me you’re a lawyer,” Edward said.
“Yes. I work in the public defender’s office in New York.”
Pamela raised an eyebrow at that. “A public defender? Imagine that, Edward.”
“Where did you go to school?” Edward asked, ignoring his wife’s sarcasm.
“Columbia.”
He nodded in appreciation. “Excellent school.”
“Of course, Edward graduated from Harvard,” Pamela said, running a fingernail around the rim of her glass. “So did my son, Jeremy.”
“Excellent school,” David said, meeting her gaze. She had the grace to blush slightly and glance away.
Just then, the maid, Illiana, appeared in the library doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kingsley, but Mrs. Kingsley would like to see her grandson, that is, Mr. Powers, upstairs in her sitting room.”
“Out of the question,” Pamela said, rising. “She’s in no condition to be receiving visitors.”
Illiana managed to look both meek and triumphant at once. “Mrs. Kingsley said to tell you she’s feeling much better. And she would like to see Mr. Powers at once.”
“Very well,” Edward murmured, also getting to his feet. He set his untouched Perrier aside and turned to David. “We’d better humor her. Mother can be…difficult when she doesn’t get her way. Besides, she’s been waiting a long time for this moment. We all have.”
It was the closest thing to emotion he’d shown since David arrived, and in spite of himself, David felt his own emotions stir. But he quickly reminded himself why he’d come here. All he wanted was the truth, and he damn well would have it. Thirty-two years of his life had been stolen from him, and though he could never get it back, he could at least have the satisfaction of knowing why.
He followed Illiana out of the library and back down the corridor to the curving staircase. At the top, she led him to a suite on the south side of the house and knocked discreetly on the heavy wooden door. A voice called, “Come in,” and Illiana opened the door and ushered David inside.
She didn’t wait to make introductions, but instead beat a hasty retreat, closing the door firmly behind her. David stood for a moment, glancing around. This must be a sitting room, he surmised, since he didn’t see a bed. Done in shades of green and gold, the room was surprisingly warm and a welcome respite from the somber atmosphere of the library.
An elderly woman with gleaming white hair reclined on a green silk chaise near the windows, her legs hidden by a blanket and her arms and shoulders covered by an ivory quilted robe.
A younger woman sat in a striped chair near the chaise. She got up when David entered the room and headed toward the door. “You two will want to be alone,” she murmured, deliberately keeping her head lowered as she neared David. He had only a brief impression of brown hair, darker brown eyes, and a slender, jeans-clad body before the woman breezed past him and slipped out the door.
Then it hit him who she was. He spun toward the door, but she was already gone, and David turned back to face Iris Kingsley. Her piercing blue eyes—so like his own—raked him with unabashed curiosity, and he could hardly do anything other than cross the room and greet her.
“So you’re Adam,” she said in a soft, Southern drawl. “It’s funny, but you don’t look as much like Andrew as he did. I’m not sure I would have known you.” When David remained silently puzzled, she added, “You do know you had a twin brother?”
“Yes, I read that somewhere,” he said, determined not to succumb to the woman’s charisma. Even at her age, Iris Kingsley was still a powerful woman. It was hard not to react to her presence.
“He was murdered a few months ago by a man claiming to be you.”
“I read that, too. I’m sorry. It must have been a difficult time for you.”
“There’s only been one other time in my life that equaled the sorrow.” She didn’t elaborate further, and David could only speculate what that other time had been. His kidnapping? Had Iris Kingsley grieved for him as she had Andrew? Somehow it was hard to imagine this regal, arrogant stranger weeping for anyone.
She waved her hand toward the chair the younger woman had vacated, and after David had sat down, she said, “Tell me about yourself, Adam.”
“David,” he corrected. “I really don’t feel as if I’m Adam Kingsley. Not yet, at least.”
“But you are. The DNA tests were conclusive.” The tests had been Iris’s idea, but David had readily complied. He wouldn’t even agree to meet with the Kingsleys’ attorneys until he knew for sure that everything his mother—Helen Powers—had told him was true.
She’d told him the truth about his birthright: He was Adam Kingsley. The tests had proved that. But what about the other matter? Had someone connected to this family arranged the kidnapping?
His homecoming had hardly been met with open arms. Edward had been awkward and uneasy with him, Pamela cold and distrusting, and now Iris, cordial but wary. It occurred to David that all three of them had been in the house the night of his kidnapping, but what had any of them had to gain from his disappearance?
“I heard about Helen Powers,” Iris was saying. “It was a brain tumor, I understand.”
David nodded, surprised to find the grief still as sharp and painful as it had been four weeks ago. “It was sudden. She went far more quickly than her doctors had predicted.”
“Perhaps her death was a blessing,” Iris murmured. She glanced up at him. “I’d be lying if I said I was sorry. That woman caused this family immeasurable grief. I can feel no remorse that she’s gone.”
“I can understand that,” David said. “But believe it or not, she was a good mother to me. She gave me a good home.”
“I’m glad of that. I’m very thankful you were taken care of. You don’t know how many nights I’ve lain awake wondering—” She broke off, as if overcome by emotion. But then, with an effort, she lifted her chin and blinked away the glitter in her blue eyes. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. It’s difficult for all of us, really, even though it’s also a time of great joy. This family has been through a lot in the past few months. If we seem…subdued, you’ll have to forgive us. Our emotions are a bit ragged at the moment.”
“I understand.”
“You must have so many questions,” Iris said.
“Yes, I do.” David leaned forward. “For starters, who was that woman who was in here earlier?”
Iris looked only mildly surprised by the question. David had the distinct impression that not much would ruffle her. “You mean Bradlee? She’s staying with us for a while. The Fitzgeralds have been friends of ours for years.”
A friend of the family. That certainly explained the Porsche, David thought dryly.
“Have you two met?” Iris inquired.
“As a matter of fact, we have. She was outside the gate earlier when I drove in. She led me to believe she was a tabloid photographer, staking out the grounds to get a picture of me.”
Iris smiled. “That sounds like Bradlee. I’m sure the deception wasn’t deliberate, but she has a way of getting herself into situations she can’t seem to get out of.” She paused for a moment and the smile faded. “Actually, the two of you have met before.”
David glanced at her curiously.
Iris nodded. “Bradlee was in the nursery with you and Andrew the night you were abducted.”
David looked at her in shock. From studying the case in law school and more recently, he’d known there was another child in the room that night, a little girl the same age as he and Andrew. But he couldn’t recall ever having read her name.
Bradlee Fitzgerald. The name fit the mental image he had of a rich and pampered debutante. A friend of the Kingsleys.
“The two of you were very close back then,” Iris was saying. “You were devastated by your mother’s death, and Bradlee tried to take care of you. We used to call her your little guardian angel. We were all so very worried about her after your…after the kidnapping.”
“Why?” David asked.
Iris adjusted the blanket over her legs, as if she’d grown suddenly cold. “The kidnapping deeply affected her. She had nightmares for months afterward. Her parents took her to a psychiatrist who finally suggested a change of scenery might help. That was all Mary—her mother—had to hear. She uprooted the child, tore her away from her father, her friends and family, and moved her to Los Angeles. That’s where Bradlee grew up.”
David wanted to ask what Bradlee was doing back in Memphis, back in the Kingsley mansion, but he felt his interest might be a little too obvious.
Iris said, “Listen to me go on like this. You must be anxious to get settled in. I’ve put you in the west wing. It’s very quiet, and there’s a lovely view of the gardens. You won’t be disturbed.”
David stood, realizing he’d been dismissed. He stared down at her for a moment, uncertain what to say. Finally, he shrugged. “It was nice meeting you.”
Iris inclined her head slightly. When he turned and started toward the door, she said “Adam?”
He glanced back. She made no effort to correct herself, but instead said, “Welcome home, my dear.”
Her words were warmly spoken, but there was something in her eyes that chilled David just the same.
CHAPTER THREE
Bradlee was surprised to find her father and his young new wife in the library that evening having predinner cocktails with Edward and Pamela. Bradlee moved across the room to accept her father’s embrace and a cool peck on the cheek from her new stepmother, a woman who was probably ten years younger than Bradlee.
Crystal Fitzgerald was tall, blond, extraordinarily thin and extraordinarily buxom, and she’d dressed accordingly—in a black jersey dress that clung to all the right places. Bradford Fitzgerald couldn’t keep his hands off her, Edward couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and Pamela couldn’t quite pull off the air of indifference she’d tried to assume for the evening. Even at her age, she wasn’t used to being upstaged in her home by another woman—unless, of course, it was Iris Kingsley herself.
But Iris wasn’t going to make an appearance tonight. She was still under the weather and had decided against coming down for dinner. The only person missing from the scene was Adam—David, Bradlee mentally corrected herself.
“Darlin’, don’t leave,” her father said when Bradlee started to drift away from the group. He kept a protective arm around his new wife, drawing her close. “I haven’t seen you in ages, and besides, you and Crystal need to get acquainted.”
“I’m not going far, just to freshen my drink,” Bradlee told him, holding up her half-empty wineglass. But in truth, she wanted nothing more than to escape. The atmosphere in the library was stifling, and if she stayed one minute longer, Bradlee knew she was apt to tell her father exactly what she thought of him. Grow up, already! she wanted to scold him. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look with that…child!
Maybe you’re just jealous, a little voice inside her taunted. Her father found love—if you could call it that—at the drop of a hat while Bradlee couldn’t seem to find it at all. She hadn’t had a serious relationship in years.
The French doors had been left open to the mild September night, and Bradlee walked over to stand in front of them. She closed her eyes, enjoying the breeze blowing in from the garden. By day, the weather was still hot and muggy, but the evenings brought a hint of autumn to the air. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of falling leaves and fading roses.
When she turned around, she saw that David had come into the room. Something stilled inside Bradlee. She caught her breath at the sight of him. He was very handsome—not in a smooth and polished way as Andrew had been—but tough and capable and unmistakably masculine. It was hard to remember that this man had once been a sensitive, vulnerable three-year-old whom Bradlee, in her own childish way, had tried to protect.
She watched him walk across the room to greet Edward and Pamela, who in turn introduced him to Bradlee’s father and to Crystal. She saw his gaze flash to the low neckline of Crystal’s dress, and a wave of resentment swept over Bradlee. Honestly, did every man in the room have to ogle the woman?
At that moment, David looked up and caught her eye, and Bradlee suddenly became very aware of the way she looked—her loose, windblown hair, the simplicity of her white dress, the fact that she wasn’t quite as thin as Pamela or as curvy as Crystal. She was, in fact, quite ordinary and she’d never been more aware of it than at that moment.
Someone must have told David that the Kingsleys always dressed for dinner because he was wearing an elegant gray suit with a white band-collared shirt underneath. He looked sophisticated and cosmopolitan, very much at home in the Kingsley mansion.
After a few moments, he excused himself from the group and crossed the room to join Bradlee. She tried to calm her racing heart by sipping her wine and looking nonchalant.
“The Porsche should have been a dead giveaway,” he said.
Startled, Bradlee glanced up at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re not a photographer. You’re a friend of the Kingsleys,” he said, almost accusingly.
“Yes, but I’m also a photographer, just like I said. And in a way, I was waiting for you.”
“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming today. How did you know?”
She shrugged. “A lucky guess?”
One dark brow rose at that. “Why were you waiting for me out there?”
Bradlee hesitated. Now was the time to tell him about the shadow in her nightmares and about her suspicions. About the real reason she’d come back to Memphis. But what if the dream was only that? What if the shadow was her own personal version of the bogeyman? He would think she was an idiot, and at the moment, Bradlee wasn’t so sure he would be wrong.
When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “I think I understand. Iris told me you were the little girl in the nursery the night I was kidnapped. I guess it’s only natural you’d be curious about me.”
A wistful smile touched Bradlee’s lips. “You don’t know how often I’ve thought about you over the years, wondered where you were, if you were all right. I never could believe you were dead.”
The sincerity of her words seemed to touch him. Something that looked almost like gratitude flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked the emotion by lifting his drink to his lips. “Iris mentioned we were close back then. She said they called you my `little guardian angel.’” He gave her a sidelong glance.
“So I’ve been told.” Bradlee couldn’t help smiling. He was at least six inches taller than she, with broad shoulders and a trim, muscular physique. To think that she had once considered herself his protector was almost comical.
“Were you also friends with my brother? Did you know Andrew?”
Bradlee’s amusement faded. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be the one to tell him about Andrew. His brother had been charming and charismatic, but he’d also had a dark side. A weak side. Did that darkness run in the family?
“My mother and I moved to California when I was still small. I used to come back to visit my father every so often, and sometimes, if it wasn’t convenient for me to stay with him, he’d arrange for me to stay here. I knew Andrew, but we weren’t especially close. We were two very different people. He liked to live life on the edge, and I was always more of a homebody. A wallflower.”
“You didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t say that. He was very charming. I liked him a lot, but I don’t think I ever really knew him.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if the kidnapping made him the way he was. If he was attracted to danger because of his guilt.”
“What did he have to feel guilty about?”
Bradlee lifted her gaze to his. “Because you were the one who was kidnapped and he wasn’t.”
David’s own gaze darkened. “Sounds like you knew him pretty well.”
“Not really. I just know myself.”
“Y
ou feel guilty about what happened? Why?”
She glanced away. “You said it yourself. I was your guardian angel and I let you down.”
“You were just a kid, a baby. It wasn’t your fault I was kidnapped.”
Bradlee tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Intellectually, I know that, of course. But emotionally…” She trailed off. “It never went away, you know. Every year on the anniversary of the kidnapping, some newspaper or magazine would do a feature on you. The publicity tapered off after a while until only the big anniversaries were noted—ten years, fifteen years, twenty-five years. But it didn’t matter how much time went by, because every time I saw pictures of you it would all come back. All the emotions. All the terror and the grief and the guilt.” She spread her hands helplessly. “Everything.”
“But you were only three years old.” He looked as if he didn’t quite know what to say to her. As if he wasn’t terribly comfortable with what she was telling him.
Bradlee groaned inwardly. She had a way of blurting out her true feelings without thinking through the consequences. What must he think of her—a woman who’d practically admitted she’d carried a torch for him since she was three years old?
He probably thinks you’re pretty pathetic, that’s what.
She refrained from slapping her forehead. Instead, she took a long swallow of wine.
David stared down at her, not sure what to say. He’d never met a woman as open about her feelings as Bradlee. It made him a little uncomfortable. He was used to a lot of game-playing, especially in Rachel’s social circles, and he’d gotten pretty good at it. He wasn’t sure how to handle this honesty thing.
Could she really have remembered him after all these years? Remained so distraught about his kidnapping? It was hard to believe. Thirty-two years had gone by, and they’d been so young at the time. He couldn’t remember. Why would she?
Maybe this was some kind of game, too, he decided. Maybe Bradlee Fitzgerald had her own agenda, but as David stared down at her, he was hard-pressed to believe it, maybe because he didn’t want to believe it. It felt good to know that someone had cared about him all these years, wondered about him. Remembered him. The Kingsleys were all so aloof, but Bradlee seemed truly glad he’d been found. He saw the sincerity in her eyes every time he looked at her.
Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's SonThe Brother's WifeThe Long-Lost Heir Page 44