“I guess so.”
“We don’t have time for guessing, Daisy.”
“Everything will work out,” she said, and when he kissed her, she almost believed herself.
She clung to his arm as they walked toward the house where the dream had begun and where it was now to end. The front door was unlocked. When she opened it and went into the foyer, there was no sound from the adjoining living room, but the silence was curiously alive; the walls seemed to be still echoing with noises of anger.
Her mother’s sharp voice sliced the silence. “Daisy? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone with you?”
“Yes.”
“We are having a private family discussion in here. You must ask our guest to excuse you. Immediately.”
“I won’t do that.”
“Your... your father is here.”
“Yes,” Daisy said. “Yes, I know.”
She went into the living room, and Pinata followed her.
A small woman who looked like Daisy was huddled in a chair by the picture window, a handkerchief pressed tightly against her mouth as if to stem a bloody flow of words. Harker sat by himself on the chesterfield, an unlit pipe clenched between his teeth. His glance at Daisy was brief and reproachful.
Standing on the raised hearth, surveying the room like a man who’d just bought the place, was Fielding. Pinata realized immediately that Fielding was drunk on more than liquor, as if he’d been waiting for years for this moment of seeing his former wife cringing in fear before him. Perhaps this was his real motive for coming to San Félice, not any desire to help Daisy, but a thirst for revenge against Ada. Revenge was heady stuff; Fielding looked delirious, half mad.
Daisy was crossing the room toward him, slowly, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether this strange man was her father or not. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Daisy baby.” He seemed pleased, but he didn’t step off the raised hearth to go and meet her. “You’re as pretty as ever.”
“Are you all right, Daddy?”
“Certainly. Certainly I am. Never better.” He bent to touch her forehead lightly with his lips, then straightened up again quickly, as though he was afraid a usurper might steal his position of power. “So you’ve brought Mr. Pinata with you. That’s unfortunate, Daisy baby. This is entirely a private family affair, Pinata wouldn’t be interested.”
“I was hired,” Pinata said, “to make an investigation. Until it’s concluded, or until I’m dismissed, I’m under Mrs. Harker’s orders.” He glanced at Daisy. “Do you want me to leave?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You might regret it, Daisy baby,” Fielding said. “But then regrets are a part of life, aren’t they, Ada? Maybe the main part, eh? Some regrets, of course, are slower in coming than others, and harder to take. Isn’t that right, Ada?”
Mrs. Fielding spoke through the handkerchief she held to her mouth. “You’re drunk.”
“In wine is truth, old girl.”
“Coming from you, truth is a dirty word.”
“I know dirtier ones. Love, that’s the dirtiest of all, isn’t it, Ada? Tell us about it. Give us the lowdown.”
“You’re a... an evil man.”
“Don’t antagonize him, Ada,” Jim said quietly. “There’s nothing to be gained.”
“Jim’s right. Don’t antagonize me, Ada, and maybe I’ll go away like a good lad without telling any tales. Would you like that? Sure you would. Only it’s too late. Some of your little tricks are catching up with you. My going away can’t stop them.”
“If there were any tricks, they were necessary.” Her head had begun to shake, as if the neck muscles that held it up had suddenly gone flabby. “I was forced to lie to Daisy. I couldn’t permit her to have children who would inherit certain — certain characteristics of her father.”
“Tell Daisy about these characteristics. Name them.”
“I... please, Stan. Don’t.”
“She’s got a right to know about her old man, hasn’t she? You made a decision that affected her life. Now justify it.” Fielding’s mouth cracked open in a mirthless smile. “Tell her about all the little monsters she might have brought into the world if it hadn’t been for her wise, benevolent mother.”
Daisy was standing with her back against the door, her eyes fixed, not on her father or mother, but on Jim. “Jim? What are they talking about, Jim?”
“You’ll have to ask your mother.”
“She was lying to me that day in the doctor’s office? It’s not true I can’t have children?”
“No, it’s not true.”
“Why did she do it? Why did you let her?”
“I had to.”
“You had to. Is that the only explanation you can offer me?” She crossed the room toward him, the rain dripping soundlessly from her coat onto the soft rug. “What about the girl, Juanita?”
“I only met her once in my life,” he said. “I picked her up on the street and drove her three or four blocks to the Clinic. Deliberately. I knew who she was. I kept her talking in the car until you came out because I wanted you to see us together.”
“Why?”
“I intended to claim her child.”
“You must have had a reason.”
“No man would take a drastic step like that without having reasons.”
“I can think of one,” she said in a brittle voice. “You wanted to make sure I kept on believing that our lack of children was my fault and not yours. You’re admitting now that it has been your fault, right from the beginning.”
“Yes.”
“And the reason you and my mother lied to me and that you claimed Juanita’s child was to make sure I’d never suspect you were the sterile one in our marriage.”
He didn’t try to deny it, although he knew it was only a small portion of the truth. “That was a factor, yes. I didn’t originate the lie; your mother did. I went along with it when I found out — when it became necessary.”
“Why did it become necessary?”
“I had to protect your mother.”
Mrs. Fielding sprang out of her chair like a runner at the sound of the starter’s gun. But there was nowhere to run; the course had no beginning and no ending. “Stop it, Jim. Let me tell her, please.”
“You?” Daisy turned to face her mother. “I wouldn’t believe you if you told me it was Saturday night and raining outside.”
“It is Saturday night and it is raining outside. You’d be a fool not to believe the facts just because they came from me.”
“Tell me some facts, then.”
“There’s a stranger present.” Mrs. Fielding glanced at Pinata, then at Fielding. “Two strangers. Must I talk in front of them? Can’t we wait until...”
“I’ve done enough waiting. Mr. Pinata can be trusted to be discreet, and my father wouldn’t do anything to harm me.”
Fielding nodded and smiled at her — “You bet I wouldn’t, Daisy baby” — but there was a derisive, cynical quality about the smile that worried Pinata because he couldn’t understand it. He wished the alcohol, and whatever other intoxicant was at work in Fielding’s system, would wear off and leave him less sure of himself. One sign of its wearing off was already apparent, the fine tremor of Fielding’s hands, which he attempted to cover up by hiding them in his pockets.
Mrs. Fielding had begun to talk again, her eyes on Daisy. “No matter what you think now, Daisy, Jim has done everything possible for your happiness. Remember that. The first lie was mine. I’ve already told you why it was necessary — your children would be marked by a stigma that must not be passed on. I can’t talk about it in front of a stranger. Later, you and I will discuss it alone.” She took a long breath, wincing as if it hurt her lungs, or heart, to probe so deep. “Four years ago, without warning, I received a telephone call from a man I hadn’t seen for a very long time and never expected to see again. His name was Carlos Camilla, and Stan and I had known him as Curly when we were first married in New Mexico. He was a close friend to us both. You’ve always accused me of race prejudice, Daisy. But in those days Camilla was our friend; we went through bad times together and helped each other.