Suddenly, violently, she pushed herself up out of the chair. She folded her arms across her waist again, breathing hard, staring at the wall behind his head as though trying to read an invisible message scrawled on it. The right side of her upper lip had begun twitching.
The Ice Princess was losing it.
Anxiety closed like a fist in his gut.
“Then we won’t,” he said mildly, and stood up. “Let’s go downstairs, brew some tea or something.”
Her eyes closed. One hand came up to cover the twitching lip. She opened her eyes again. The hand on her mouth muffled her words.
“Is... is she really attractive? Shannon. Do you find Shannon attractive?”
He made a random gesture.
“Well, yes, she’s attractive, but...”
“More than I am?”
The hand came away from her mouth and settled at her waist. He tried to summon the politic grin.
“Well, you’re as alike as two peas in a pod...”
Her lip was doing erratic things again.
“M-m-m-more than I am?”
The hands at her waist pulled apart. So did the two ends of the sash holding the terrycloth bathrobe closed. She pulled the robe open. She hadn’t anything on under it. Nothing except Katherine with last summer’s light tan, except where her bikini had kept the sun off.
Tom gulped air. Mustn’t touch her. Touch her and she might shatter. Or go hysterical. He said numbly, “Katherine, this isn’t too good an idea.”
She raised a hand to still her lip again. Her face was expressionless but the clear blue eyes were shading toward... bereavement? Her face crumpled.
She said in a bewildered little-girl voice, “Nobody wants me.”
He almost said, “Huh?” He tried to say, “Nonsense,” but what came out was a shapeless mumble. He felt stupid and useless. His impulse was to reassure her as anyone might a little kid, with endearments and hugs, but the grownup under the little-girl bewilderment might read endearments as sarcasm, hugs as molestation, so for a while he just stared into the hopeless blue eyes until, without conscious volition, he found himself reaching out to tug the bathrobe closed, murmuring, “Aw, honey, you know that’s not true,” getting no resistance when he tied the sash at her waist.
He stepped back. No hug. A hug could lead to disaster. Hormones had their imperatives but self-preservation said ignore them. She had said no one wanted her and wasn’t far wrong. Her father had taken her from Mary Jane out of sheer spite and never forgiven her for not being a son, and had turned her into a bitchy, demanding kid who grew into a bitchy, demanding young woman. Her grandfather had given up on her and chosen a surrogate grandson to mold into a continuation of himself. From the very start, Tom had been an insult and a threat to Katherine. Something to feel bad about, yes, but it was for damn sure he didn’t want her. Too much blood under the bridge. Only blind fear could have driven her to turn to him for comfort.
He felt a rush of choking regret.
Katherine closed her eyes and fumbled in the pocket of her robe for a tissue and blew her nose. Then she stuffed the tissue back into her pocket and opened her eyes.
The little girl was gone.
The composed young woman gave him a faintly puzzled look that quickly modulated into razor-edged contempt.
“You’re so transparent.”
She was going to pretend that the last few minutes had never happened. Or perhaps had already blanked them from her mind.
He cleared his throat. “Meaning?”
“It’s obvious why you’re doing this. To make your new lady friend an heiress, so you can get your hands on some real McCauley money.”
“Yeah. Sure. Any other insights to share?”
Katherine smiled — smugly, secretly — to herself, then nodded, triumphantly agreeable. She said good night and left without closing the door.
Tom closed it himself. Perhaps he should find Charles and tell him to check up on Katherine, she’d been acting hysterically. It wouldn’t do any good. The Ice Princess was back. Charles would think he was crazy.
He got ready for bed. Maybe she hadn’t come to him for comfort. Maybe she’d just been setting him up — to embarrass him? To charge him with something serious?
He sacked out. His dreams were chaotic, erotic, angry.
13
His alarm clock woke him at seven. He showered and shaved and still felt less than human. He dressed and went downstairs, checked on breakfast, went into the library. He picked up the phone and dialed Alan’s home number.
“Scherer,” Alan said without interest.
“Tom Bell. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Oh, hi. No, I was just heading into breakfast. Did you learn anything yesterday?”
“Some. I met the lady who claims to be Shannon Fargo’s mother.” He summarized briefly. “The Parker Clinic is now closed. It might be interesting to know why. Two questions: Do you know where Charles’s ex-wife is? And does the name Estelle Marchand ring any bells?”
“No. I’ll check around. As to Charles’s ex-wife...” A pause. Alan sighed gustily. “Is there any way to leave Mary Jane out of this? Charles doesn’t want her contacted. He doesn’t even know where she is, even on which coast — she was originally from somewhere in Maine — or even if she’s still alive. Besides, he’s sure she wouldn’t know anything about Shannon, so why waste time?”
“What’s he hiding?”
“I think he just doesn’t want to open an emotional can of worms. Mary Jane was a very appealing lady, very open intellectually and emotionally. I think that’s what first attracted Charles, even if it did later drive him up the wall. He was a lot younger then, not quite the no-nonsense adding machine we all admire. Forget I said that — he’s a friend as well as a valued client. Keep digging, we don’t want to get blindsided. I’ll get back to you about this what’s-her-name, Estelle Marchand.”
Tom hung up and went in to breakfast.
Charles, in a business suit and tie and a gleaming white shirt, was taking his place at the table and Felipe was filling his cup with pungent dark coffee. Tom’s place setting featured a glass of orange juice.
Felipe asked brightly, “Coffee, Mista Tom?”
“Please. Morning, Charles.” He sat down. Felipe poured his coffee, then put the pot on the warmer on the sideboard.
“You look like hell,” Charles said.
Tom thanked him and drained half his orange juice. Felipe presented a large platter from which they served themselves bacon and eggs. The four-slice toaster on the sideboard popped up. Felipe put the toast in a silver rack and put it on the table as Katherine came in.
She had on a pink and blue dressing gown closed up to her throat. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her face was pale and cold, her lips bloodless.
Felipe said, “Coffee?” and filled her cup when she nodded. He offered her the eggs and bacon. She waved them away.
“Get me a couple of scrambled eggs on toast.”
“Yes, miss.” Felipe returned the platter to the sideboard, covered it, and left the room. Katherine picked up her coffee cup with both hands and inhaled the steam.
Charles said shortly, “Variant orders should be given in advance. And in this house we are polite to the servants.”
Katherine said, “Really.”
“And we don’t display hangovers or bad temper at the breakfast table.”
Katherine slammed down her cup. Coffee slopped into the saucer and onto the tablecloth. She scraped back her chair and stood up and stalked out.