He’d made it plain that she shouldn’t expect any continuance of their lovemaking when he returned to Davencourt. It had been a one-night stand, pure and simple. There was no ongoing relationship between them, except that of distant cousins.
But then he’d kissed her, and told her she didn’t understand anything. He’d been unmistakably aroused; after the night she’d just spent, she was very familiar with his erections. If he didn’t want her, why had he been hard?
One thing was for certain though: he’d still been angry.
She sat curled in her chair, watching the lightning and thinking of Webb, and sometime close to dawn she finally dropped into a doze.
Gloria marshaled her entire family to the breakfast table at the same time, a rare happening, but evidently she thought she needed reinforcements. After a restless night in which sleep had been as elusive as ever, Roanna had gone to Lucinda’s room and given her the good news. Buoyed by that, there was more energy in Lucinda’s movements that morning, more color in her face, than there had been in a long time. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise at the crowd seated at the table, then grinned and gave Roanna an I-know-what-they’re-up-to wink.
Breakfast was a buffet, an efficient setup since more than two of them eating at the same time was pure chance. Roanna filled plates for Lucinda and herself and took her place at the table.
Gloria waited until they had food in their mouths before launching the beginning salvo. “Lucinda, we’ve all talked about it, and we wish you would reconsider this harebrained idea to put Webb in charge of the business concerns again. Roanna has been doing a fine job, and we really don’t need him.”
“We?” Lucinda queried, staring down the table at her sister. “Gloria, I’ve been grateful for and enjoyed your company for the past ten years, but I think I need to remind you that this is Davenport business, and Roanna and I are the only Davenports here. We talked it over and agreed that we want Webb to resume his rightful place in the family.”
“Webb isn’t a Davenport,” Gloria pointed out, pouncing on this detail. “He’s a Tallant, one of our family. Davencourt and the Davenport money should be Roanna’s. Why, it’s only right that it go to her.”
Anything to keep Webb out of the picture, Roanna thought. Gloria would much prefer that her immediate family have the inheritance, but Roanna was evidently the second-best choice. Gloria figured she could manipulate and dominate Roanna, but Webb was a different story. That was the crux of the matter, she realized, not any exaggerated fear that Webb was a killer. It all came down to money, and comfort.
“As I said,” Lucinda repeated, “Roanna and I are in agreement on this.”
“Roanna’s never been logical where Webb’s concerned.” Harlan weighed in on his wife’s side. “We all know you can’t trust her judgment in this.”
Corliss leaned forward, her eyes bright as she scented trouble. “Why, that’s right. Don’t I remember something about Jessie catching them canoodling in the kitchen?”
Brock looked up from his breakfast and frowned at his sister. Roanna liked him best of all Gloria’s brood. Brock was generally good-natured and was a steady worker. He didn’t intend to stay at Davencourt forever but was using the opportunity to save as much money as he could so he could build his own house. He and his long-time girlfriend were planning to marry within the year. He was more forceful than his father, Greg, who let Lanette set the agenda for the family.
“I think that was blown all out of proportion,” Brock said.
“What makes you think so?” Lanette asked, leaning forward to look at her son. Corliss smiled with satisfaction at having stirred up the waters.
“Because Webb wasn’t a cheater, and I’m glad he’s coming back.”
Gloria and Lanette both glared at this traitor in their midst. Brock ignored them and returned to his meal.
Roanna concentrated on her own breakfast and did her best to tune out the conversation. Nothing would please Corliss more than provoking her into a response or to see her visibly upset. Corliss lacked Jessie’s genius for cutting remarks, or perhaps it was Roanna’s reaction that had changed, but she found Corliss merely annoying.
The verbal battering went on the entire meal, with Gloria and Harlan and Lanette taking turns coming up with what they obviously thought were good arguments against Webb’s return. Greg frankly wasn’t interested and left the protests to Lanette. Brock finished eating and excused himself to go to work.
Roanna concentrated on the chore of eating, saying little, and Lucinda was as immovable as a mountain. Having Webb home was more important to her than anything her sister could say, so Roanna didn’t have any worries that Lucinda would change her mind.
Lucinda had lit up like a Christmas tree that morning when Roanna had given her the good news. She had asked question after question about him, how he looked, if he’d changed, what he’d said.
She had seemed undisturbed when Roanna told her that he still bore a grudge.
“Well, of course he does,” Lucinda had said readily.
“Webb’s never been anyone’s lapdog. I imagine he’ll have plenty to say to me when he gets here, and it’ll stick in my craw, but I guess I’ll have to listen. I’m really surprised he gave in so easily, though. I knew you were the one who could make him listen.”
He hadn’t listened as much as he’d made a deal with her, and when she had followed through, he’d felt bound to do the same. For the first time, she wondered if he had expected her to flatly refuse, if he’d offered the deal without any expectation of having to keep it.
“Tell me how he looked,” Lucinda said again, and Roanna described him as best she could. Was it accurate, when she saw him through eyes of love? Would others find him less dominant, less powerful? She didn’t think so.
Certainly Gloria wasn’t sanguine about his return. It was hypocritical of her, Roanna thought, because before Jessie’s death Gloria had always made a point of fussing over Webb, declaring him her favorite nephew. But then she’d made the mistake of turning on him instead of defending him, and she knew he hadn’t forgotten it.
“Where will he sleep?” Corliss drawled, interrupting her grandmother to throw another firebomb into the already volatile conversation. “I’m not giving up the suite, even if it did used to be his.”
It had the opposite effect of what she’d expected. Silence fell around the table. After Jessie’s death, Lucinda had eventually roused herself to have the suite completely redone, from the carpets to the ceilings. When Lanette and her family moved in, Corliss had immediately claimed the suite as her own, carelessly remarking that it didn’t bother her at all to sleep there. It was typical of her callousness that she could even think of Webb reclaiming his old quarters.
Nevertheless, Lucinda’s suite was the only one that equaled it in size. Gloria and Harlan occupied a smaller set of rooms, as did Lanette and Greg. Roanna’s room was just one room, a spacious one, but not a suite. Brock’s room was the same. There were four remaining single bedrooms. It was a picayune problem, but status was a subtle thing. Roanna knew Webb wasn’t fixated on it, but he did realize the implications and how to use the symbols of status in order to dominate.
“Even if he doesn’t want it, he may not like anyone else sleeping there,” Lanette said, eyeing her daughter with a troubled expression.
Corliss scowled. “I’m not giving up my suite!”
“You will if Webb says you will,” Lucinda said firmly. “I doubt he’ll care, but I want it understood that what he says goes, without any argument. Is that clear?”
“No!” Corliss said petulantly, flinging her napkin to the table. “He killed his wife! It isn’t fair that he can just waltz back in here and take over—”
Lucinda’s voice cracked like a whip. “Another thing I want understood is that Webb did not kill Jessie. If I hear such a thing mentioned again, I will ask the person who said it to leave this house immediately. We didn’t support him when he needed it most, and I’m deeply ashamed of m
yself. He will be welcomed back into his home, or I’ll know why.”
Silence followed this flat statement. To Roanna’s sure knowledge, this was the first time Lucinda had ever said anything about evicting any of the current residents of Davencourt. Family was so important to her that her threat demonstrated how strongly she felt about Webb’s return. For guilt or for love, or for both, Webb had her unqualified support.
Satisfied that her point had been taken, Lucinda daintily patted her napkin to her mouth. “The bedroom situation is difficult. What do you think, Roanna?” “Let Webb decide when he gets here,” Roanna replied. “We can’t anticipate what he’ll want.”
“That’s true. It’s just that I want everything to be perfect for him.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. He would probably prefer that we carry on as normal and not make a fuss.”
“We’re hardly likely to throw a party,” Gloria sniped. “I can’t think what everyone in town is going to say.”
“Nothing, if they know what side their bread is buttered on,” Lucinda said. “I’ll begin immediately making it clear to our friends and associates that if they value our continued friendship, they’ll make certain Webb is treated politely.”
“Webb, Webb, Webb,” Corliss said violently. “What makes him so special? What about us? Why don’t you leave everything to Brock, if you’re so certain that Roanna can’t handle things? We’re just as much kin to you as Webb is!”
She jumped up and ran from the room, leaving silence behind. Even Gloria, who generally had the hide of a rhinoceros, looked uncomfortable at such a blatantly materialistic outburst.
Roanna forced herself to eat one more bite before giving up the effort. It looked as if Webb’s “welcome” was going to be even more strained than his departure had been.
CHAPTER 12
Ten days later, Webb walked in the front door as if he owned the place, which to all intents and purposes he did.
It was eight o’clock in the morning, and the sunlight poured brilliantly through the windows, giving the creamcolored tiles in the foyer a mellow golden glow. Roanna was just coming down the stairs. She had a nine o’clock meeting with their broker, who was driving in from Huntsville, and was going to go over the particulars with Lucinda prior to the broker’s arrival. She had already dressed for the meeting, in a summer-weight peach silk sheath with a matching tunic jacket, and afterward she was scheduled for a county commissioner’s meeting. Beige snakeskin pumps were on her feet, and creamy pearl earrings dangled from her ears. She seldom wore jewelry other than her wristwatch, but her sorority sisters had taught her the value of wearing good, understated pieces for business occasions.
The front door opened, and she paused on the stairs, momentarily blinded by the dazzling sunlight reflected on the polished tiles. She blinked at the dark figure whose wide shoulders and wide-brimmed hat filled most of the doorway. Then he stepped inside and closed the door, letting a leather satchel drop to the floor, and her heart nearly stopped as realization dawned.
It had been ten days since he’d sent her home, and he hadn’t sent advance word of his arrival. She had begun to fear that he wouldn’t come after all, though Webb had always kept his word before. Maybe he’d decided the Davenports weren’t worth the trouble; she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.
But he was here, taking off his hat and looking around with narrowed eyes as if assessing the changes made during the gap of ten years. They were few, but she had the feeling he noted every one. His gaze even lingered momentarily on the carpet that covered the stairs. When he’d left, it had been beige; now it was oatmeal, with a thicker and tighter weave.
The physical impact of his presence nearly staggered her. To see him standing there with the same natural assumption of authority, as if he’d never left, gave her an eerie sense of time having stood still.
But the differences in him were sharp. It wasn’t just that he was older or that he was dressed in jeans and boots instead of linen slacks and loafers. Before, he had tempered the force of his personality with southern good-old-boy geniality, the way business was done down here. Now, however, he tempered it with nothing. It was there, sharp and hard, and he didnt give a damn if anyone didn’t like it.
Her chest felt oddly restricted, and she struggled to breathe. She had seen him naked, had lain naked in his arms. He’d sucked her nipples, penetrated her. The sense of unreality made her dizzy again. In the week and a half since she had seen him, their lovemaking had begun to seem like a dream, but at the sight of him, her body began throbbing anew as if he had just withdrawn from her and her flesh still tingled from the contact.
She found her voice. “Why didn’t you call? Someone would have met you at the airport. You did fly in, didn’t you?”
“Yesterday. I rented a car at the airport. Mother and I spent the night in Huntsville with Aunt Sandra, then drove back this morning.”
The intense green gaze was on her now, taking inventory of the suit and pearls perhaps comparing the sleek stylishness of her clothes with the fashion failure she’d been as a teenager. Or perhaps he was comparing her now to the naked woman who had writhed beneath him, screaming as he brought her to climax. He’d rejected her fast enough, so the vision couldn’t have been an enticing one.
She flushed hotly, then felt the color fade as fast as it had come.
She couldn’t continue to stand there like an idiot. Carefully regulating her breathing, Roanna came down the last few steps to pause at his side. “Lucinda’s in the study. We were going to go over some papers, but I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you instead.”
“I came back to take care of business,” he said briefly, already striding down the hall to the study. “Bring me up to speed. The homecoming party can wait.” Somehow she kept her unruffled facade in place as she followed him. She didn’t throw her arms around him, brokenly crying, “You’re home, you’re home,” though that had been her first impulse. She didn’t shriek with joy or cry. She merely said to his back, “I’m glad you came. Welcome home.”
Lucinda seldom sat at the huge desk that had been her husband’s, finding the overstuffed sofa more comfortable to her old bones. She was there now, leafing through several printouts of recent stock performances. She looked up when Webb entered, and Roanna, right behind him, saw the bewilderment in the faded blue eyes as she stared at this big, rough stranger who had invaded her domain. Then she blinked, and recognition dawned as brilliantly as the sunrise, bringing with it a flush of excitement that chased away the grayness of ill health. She struggled to her feet, printouts scattering across the thick Aubusson rug.
“Webb! Webb!”
This was the enthusiastic, tearfully gleeful welcome Roanna had been longing to give him and couldn’t. Lucinda rushed toward him with her hands outheld, either not seeing or ignoring his shuttered expression. He didn’t open his arms to her, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her own arms around him and hugging him tightly, her eyes swimming with tears.
Roanna turned toward the door, intending to give them some privacy; if she and Webb had had a special relationship when she was younger, at least in her own mind, he had definitely had a strong, special relationship with Lucinda that rivaled his feelings for his mother. Even though Webb had come back for Lucinda’s sake, there were hard feelings between them that needed to be settled.
“No, stay,” Webb said when he noticed Roanna’s movement. He put gentle hands on Lucinda’s fragile old arms and eased her away but continued to hold her as he looked down at her. “We’ll talk later,” he promised. “For now, I have a lot of catching up to do. We can start with those.” He nodded to the papers on the carpet.
If there was anything Lucinda understood, it was the concept of taking care of business. She wiped her eyes and nodded briskly. “Of course. Our broker will be here at nine for a meeting. Roanna and I have made it a practice of going over our stock performances beforehand, so we are in agreement on any actions before he arrives.”
He nodded and bent down to pick up the papers. “Are we still using Lipscomb?”
“No, dear, he died, about … oh, three years ago, wasn’t it, Roanna? Heart trouble ran in his family, you know. Our broker now is Sage Whitten, of the Birmingham Whittens. We’ve been pleased with him, for the most part, but he does tend to be conservative.”
Roanna saw the wry expression cross Webb’s face as he readjusted to the nuances of southern business, where everything was tinged with personal information and family relationships. Probably he had become accustomed to a much more straightforward method of doing things.
He was already studying the papers in his hand as he strolled over to the desk and started to drop into the massive leather chair. He halted and gave Roanna an inquiring glance, as if checking her reaction to this abrupt takeover of both territory and authority.
She didn’t know whether to cry or shout. She had never really enjoyed business but had nevertheless staked out her own territory. Because this was the only thing in her life for which she had ever been needed, by Lucinda or anyone else, she had worked doggedly to understand and master the concepts and applications. With Webb’s return she was losing that territory, and her usefulness. On the other hand, it would be a relief not to have to sit through any more interminable meetings or deal with businessmen and politicians who questioned her decisions with barely veiled condescension. She was glad to be rid of the duty but had no idea how she was going to replace it.
She allowed none of her ambivalence to show in her expression, however, maintaining the blank wall of indifference she presented to the world. Lucinda resumed her seat on the sofa and Roanna walked over to one of the file cabinets to extract a thick folder.
The fax machine beeped and began to whir as a document printed. Webb glanced at it, then at the rest of the electronic equipment that had been installed since he’d left. “Looks like we’re on the information highway.”
“It was either that or spend most of my time traveling,” Roanna replied. She indicated the computer on the desk. “We have two discrete systems. This computer and printer are for our private records. The other one”—she pointed to the electronic setup in the corner, arranged on a custom-built oak computer desk—“is for communication.” The second computer was hooked up to a modem. “We have the dedicated fax line, e-mail, and two laser printers. I’ll show you the programs any time you want. There’s also a laptop for traveling.”