said flatly. “About the clinic in France.”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
Julia picked up her briefcase to drop it on the dainty desk. “Open it,” she said. “Look through it. No hidden cameras, no concealed mikes. Off the record, Miss DuBarry. Only you and me, and you have my word that anything you want kept in this room stays in this room.”
Though shaken, she clung to the defense of ignorance. “You’ll forgive my confusion, Miss Summers, but I thought you were here to discuss Eve for her book.”
Anger, barely banked, flared again. Julia got to her feet and snatched the briefcase. “You know exactly why I’m here. If you’re going to sit there and play the baffled hostess, we’re wasting time.” She started for the door.
“Wait.” Indecision was its own agony. If Julia left now, this way, God knew how far the story would spread. And yet … and yet how could she be sure it hadn’t already gone too far. “Why should I trust you?”
Julia searched for calm but couldn’t find it. “I was seventeen when I found myself pregnant, unmarried, and alone. I’d be the last person to condemn any woman for facing that and making a choice.”
Gloria’s lips began to tremble. The freckles that had made her America’s darling stood out in relief against her chalky skin. “She had no right.”
“Maybe not.” Julia came back to the chair, set her briefcase aside. “Her reasons for telling me were personal.”
“Naturally, you’d defend her.”
Julia stiffened. “Why?”
“You want to write the book.”
“Yes,” Julia said slowly. “I want to write the book.” Need to write it. “But I’m not defending her. I’m only telling you what I know. She was greatly affected by what you went through. There was nothing vindictive or condemning in the way she related the story to me.”
“It wasn’t her story to tell,” Gloria lifted her quavering chin. “Nor is it yours.”
“Perhaps not. Eve felt …” Julia fumbled. Why did it matter what Eve felt? “Going through that with you altered her life, subsequent decisions she made.”
The decision was me, she remembered. She was there, feeling all that pain, because of the misery Gloria had experienced thirty years before.
“What happened to you went beyond that clinic in France,” Julia continued. “Because she stood by you through it, it changed her. Because … because it changed her, the lives of other people were changed as well.”
Me, my parents. Brandon. When emotions threatened to choke her, she took two deep breaths. “It connects us, Miss DuBarry, in ways I can’t begin to explain yet. That’s why she told me. That’s why she needed to tell me.”
But Gloria couldn’t see beyond the insular world she’d built so carefully. The world she saw tumbling around her shoulders. “What are you going to print?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“I won’t talk to you. I won’t let you ruin my life.”
Julia shook her head as she rose. She needed air. She needed to get out of that crowded room into the air, where she could think. “Believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
“I’ll stop you.” Gloria sprang to her feet, shooting her chair back into the tangle of cats so that they shrieked in annoyance. “I’ll find a way to stop you.”
Had she already tried? Julia wondered. “I’m not your problem,” she said softly and escaped.
But Eve was, Gloria thought as she crumpled back into her chair. Eve was.
Drake figured he’d given Eve enough time to cool off. After all, they were blood.
Right, he thought as he carried the dozen roses up to the door. He fixed on a charming smile, apologetic at the edges, and knocked.
Travers opened the door, took one look, and scowled. “She’s busy today.”
Interfering bitch, he thought, but chuckled and slipped inside. “Never too busy for me. Is she upstairs?”
“That’s right.” Travers couldn’t prevent the smug smile. “With her lawyer. You want to wait, you wait in the parlor. And don’t try slipping anything into your pockets. I’m on to you.”
He didn’t have the energy to be insulted. The wind had gone out of him at the word “lawyer.” Travers left him standing stunned in the hallway, roses dripping out of his arms.
Lawyer. His fingers tightened involuntarily, but he didn’t even feel the pierce of thorns. She was changing her fucking will. The cold-blooded bitch was cutting him out.
She wouldn’t get away with it. Fury and fear sliced through him. He was halfway up the stairs at a dead run before he got himself under control.
This wasn’t the way. Leaning against the banister, he took long, deep breaths. If he broke in there shouting, he’d only seal his fate. He wasn’t going to let those millions slip through his fingers in blind anger. He’d earned them, by Christ, and he intended to enjoy them.
There was blood on his thumb. Absently he stuck in into his mouth to suck it clean. What was needed was charm, apologies, a few sincere promises. He ran a hand over his hair to tidy it as he debated whether to go up or wait downstairs.
Before he’d made up his mind which would be the most effective, Greenburg started down toward him. The lawyer’s face was impassive, though the shadows under his eyes told of a lost night’s sleep.
“Mr. Greenburg,” Drake said.
The lawyer flicked his gaze over the flowers, up to Drake’s face. His brow lifted briefly in speculation before he nodded and continued down.
Stuffy old fart, Drake thought, and tried to pretend his insides weren’t shaking. He checked his hair again, the knot of his tie, then started up with his best penitent expression on his face.
Outside Eve’s office he straightened his shoulders. It wouldn’t do to look too beaten. She’d have no respect for him if he crawled. He knocked quietly. When his knock went unanswered, he tried again.
“Eve.” His voice held a gentle thread of remorse. “Eve, I’d like to—” He turned the knob. Locked. Forcing himself to be patient, he tried again. “Eve, it’s Drake. I’d like to apologize. You know how much you mean to me, and I can’t stand having this rift between us.”
He wanted to kick the fucking door down and strangle her.
“I just want to find a way to make it all up to you. Not only the money—and I’m going to pay back every penny—but everything I said and did. If you’d only …”
He heard a door open, close quietly, down the hall. He turned hopefully, blinking a few tears into his eyes. Then he nearly ground his teeth when he saw Nina.
“Drake.” Embarrassment shimmered off her in waves. “I’m sorry. Eve wanted me to tell you … She’s awfully busy this morning.”
“I’ll only take up a few minutes.”
“I’m afraid—Drake, I’m sorry, really, she just won’t see you. At least not now.”
He struggled to coat charm over anger. “Nina, can’t you talk to her for me? She’ll listen to you.”
“Not this time.” She put a comforting hand on his. “Actually, this isn’t the time to try to mend fences. She had a disturbing night.”
“She had her lawyer here.”
“Yes, well …” Nina looked away, and missed the flash of venom in his eyes. “You know I can’t discuss her private business. But if you’d take my advice, wait a couple of days longer. She isn’t in a reasonable mood. I’ll do what I can, when I can.”
He thrust the roses into her arms. “Tell her I’ll be back. That I’m not giving up.”
He strode away. He’d be back all right, he promised himself. And he wouldn’t give her a choice.
Nina waited until she heard the door slam before she knocked. “He’s gone, Eve.” Moments later she heard the lock click open, and entered.
“I’m sorry to dump the dirty work on you, Nina.” Eve was already hurrying back to her desk. “I don’t have the time or tolerance for him today.”
“He left you these.”
Eve glance
d briefly at the roses. “Do whatever you like with them. Is Julia back yet?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“All right, all right.” She waved that away. There was plenty to do before she spoke with her daughter again. “I want you to hold my calls, unless it’s Julia. Or Paul. I don’t want to be disturbed for at least an hour. Make it two.”
“I need to talk to you myself.”
“I’m sorry, darling, this isn’t the time.”
Nina looked at the flowers she held, then laid them on the desk. Near the edge was a stack of audio tapes. “You’re making a mistake.”
“If I am, it’s mine to make.” Impatient, she glanced up. “I’ve made my decision. If you want to hash it through, we will. But not now.”
“The longer this goes on, the harder it will be to put things right again.”
“I’m doing my damnedest to put things right.” She crossed over to check the video camera she’d set on a tripod. “Two hours, Nina.”
“All right.” She left the flowers scattered over the desk like blood.
Paul was so immersed in the scene he was writing, he didn’t hear the phone ring; his machine picked up the call. But he heard Julia’s voice. “Paul, it’s Julia. I just wanted—” “Hi.”
“Oh.” Her thoughts scrambled. “You are there.”
He glanced back at the screen of his word processor, at the cursor impatiently blinking. “More or less.” Deliberately, he pushed back from the desk, taking the cordless phone with him as he walked out of the office and onto the circular deck. “Did you get some more sleep?”
“I …” She couldn’t lie to him, even though she knew the only reason he’d left her was that she’d agreed to stay in bed through the morning without answering the phone. “Actually, I went ahead with the interview.”
“You—” She winced as his anger erupted through the telephone line. “Goddamn, Julia, you promised to stay home. You had no business going out alone.”
“I didn’t promise, exactly, and I—”
“Close enough.” He shifted the phone to his other ear and dragged a hand through his hair. “Where are you?”
“I’m in a phone booth in the Beverly Hills Hotel.” “I’m on my way.”
“No. Dammit, Paul, stop playing Sir Gallahad a minute and listen. Just listen to me.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, hoping to dull the headache that worked behind them. “I’m perfectly all right. I’m in a public place.”
“You’re being stupid.”
“All right, I’m being stupid.” Eyes closed, she leaned her head back against the wall of the booth. She hadn’t been able to shut the door, simply hadn’t been able to pull it to and shut herself in the glass box. It forced her to keep her voice low. “Paul, I had to get out. I felt trapped in there. And I thought, I hoped, if I talked to Gloria, I’d get a clearer picture for myself.”
Swallowing another oath, he rested a hip on the rail. Behind him he could hear the rush and tumble of waves against sand. “And did you?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But I do know I have to talk to Eve again. I need a little more time to myself, then I’m going to go back and try.”
“Do you want me to be there?”
“Would you …” She cleared her throat. “Would you wait until I call? CeeCee’s taking Brandon to her place after school … to give me time to talk with Eve. I don’t even know what I’m going to say, or how I’m going to say it. But if I knew I could call you when it’s done, it would be easier.”
“I’ll be waiting. Jules, I love you.”
“I know. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to work it out.”
“We’re going to work it out,” he corrected her.
After she hung up, she stayed where she was a moment. She wasn’t sure she could go back yet, face Eve. There was still too much anger, too much hurt. How much time it would take to ease either of those emotions was uncertain.
Slowly, she walked back through the lobby, back outside, where the air was beginning to thicken with afternoon heat.
Like a shadow, the man she would have recognized from the airport, trailed behind her.
• • •
Drake decided he was finished with fucking around. No more Mr. Nice Guy. He was riled up enough to stand on the roof of his car without worrying about scratching the spiffy red paint. He didn’t give more than a passing through to ripping his Savile Row suit as he scrambled, awkwardly, on the wall of Eve’s estate.
She thought he was stupid, he reflected grimly as he scraped his palms on stones. But he wasn’t stupid. He’d been smart enough to detour through the house on his way out to switch off the main power of the security system.
Thinking ahead—that’s right, he was thinking ahead. To his future. His belt buckle clinked against stone as he bellied his way over the wall. She couldn’t have her goddamn secretary give him the old heave-ho. She was going to listen to what he had to say, and she was going to understand he meant business.
He landed with a grunt, his left ankle giving way so that he tumbled back into a hedge of Russian olives. The thorns raked over the back of his hands as he fought his way clear to his knees.
He was sweating hard, breathing hard. She wasn’t going to cut him out. That one certainly was in his mind as he pushed himself up to limp toward the putting green. He was going to bring that single point home to her. With a vengeance.
The man shadowing Julia spotted the Porsche. He was circling the estate after watching Julia turn through the gates. He’d decided to spend the rest of the afternoon staked out down the block, in case she came out again.
It was a boring job, but the pay was good. A man tolerated a lot of inconveniences, like heat, tedium, and pissing in a plastic bottle, for six hundred a day.
When he recognized the Porsche, natural curiosity had him pulling up behind it. It was locked up tight, and was clean as a whistle except for a couple of scuff marks on the roof. Grinning, he hopped up and peered over the wall.
He was just in time to see Drake hobbling between the green and the tennis courts.
It took him only a moment to decide to hop the wall. When opportunity knocked, a smart man opened the door. He was bound to find out more inside than out. And the more he found out, the more he got paid.
Julia pulled through the gates just as Gloria’s Mercedes shot out. Without sparing her a glance, Gloria punched the gas and had her wheels screaming on asphalt.
“Nearly took off her bumper,” Joe called out. He shook his head smiling through the window at Julia. “That lady drives worse than my teenager.”
“She looked upset.”
“Looked the same when she got here.”
“Was she here long?”
“Nah.” He worked a cherry Life Saver out of the roll, offered it to Julia, and at her murmured refusal popped it into his mouth. “Fifteen minutes maybe. People been coming and going all morning. I’da made a fortune if I was charging toll.”
Because she knew he expected a smile, Julia accommodated him. “Is anyone with Eve now?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Thanks, Joe.”
“No problem. You have a good day now.”
Julia drove slowly, trying to decide whether to make the turn for the main house, or go on. She let instinct take her and followed the route to the guest house. She wasn’t ready, she admitted. She needed a little more time, a little more space.
The moment she got out of the car, she turned toward the gardens, lost herself in them. Behind her a curtain twitched open, then back into place.
It was an indulgence, but only a small one, to sit on a stone bench and let her mind empty. With her eyes closed, she could absorb the sounds and smells of the garden. The low hum of bees, the rustle of birds among lush leaves. Oleander, jasmine, lilac, all those sweet fragrances mixed with the richer, deeper scent of