Willow

  "Was? He's gone, too?"

  I wanted to bite off my own tongue. Truth had a way of rushing from my mouth. Why hadn't I paid closer attention to my adoptive mother and her techniques for bending, twisting, and hiding the truth?

  "Yes," I said. "but I was afraid. and Dr. Anderson agreed, that if I presented myself as Willow De Beers, people might not be so forthcoming."

  He grimaced. "That's a bit of a stretch. Willow."

  "No, it isn't," I insisted. you wondered why I haven't had many serious relationships with men in my life. Well, most, if not all, of the boys I've dated or known knew who my father was and expected I would be analytical, even critical. They were all terrified of my father. I could count on the fingers of one hand how many actually came to my home and met him, and when they did, they were so nervous they looked guilty of something or guilty of some bad intention."

  He stared at me. pondering.

  It was the same at college, even with some of my teachers, especially the sociology professor and the psych professor. It was as if I were the daughter of Jonas Salk or Madame Curie attending medical school. In one of my classes, one of my father's books was required reading."

  Thatcher still looked skeptical. I felt I had to keep adding truth to the recipe.

  "My father began and ran a famous clinic, the Willows," I said.

  Thatcher's eyes widened, "Yes."

  "You've heard of it. right?"

  "I have, yes."

  "Some of the patients in that clinic came from Palm Beach," I added.

  His eyes brightened more. "Grace

  Montgomery."

  "Yes," I said. "Grace Montgomery. If Linden knew who I really was. .. "

  "He might have undergone a spontaneous combustion, right before our eyes," Thatcher said, nodding. "Did you come here expressly to interview Grace?"

  "I had it as an objective, yes," I said. That was certainly true. "I see. Well, that does change things,"

  "I didn't like lying to you. I was

  uncomfortable."

  He nodded slowly. "Well, Palm Beach isn't exactly the capital of truth." he said. "People lie to themselves here almost as much as they lie to others."

  "It's not so different from other places in that respect. Thatcher."

  He turned back to me, his eyes softer, now devoid of distrust and accusation. "Maybe not." He thought a moment. "Okay. I actually like this," he said, starting the car again and putting it into drive. "But when Linden Montgomery finds out who you really are, he's going to be very upset," he warned. "He's paranoid as it is."

  I wondered how much of that was prophecy.

  .

  The Eatons had two other couples at their brunch: Lord and Lady Thomas, both well into their seventies, and George McCluster and his wife, who was introduced to me as Dolly. Lord Thomas had been a British high court justice. George McCluster was presented as one of the most successful real estate agents in Palm Beach. He looked to be in his early fifties, but his wife's are was difficult to guess because of all the cosmetic surgery she had undergone. To my surprise, she was proud of it.

  "My wife's skin has been pulled back so tightly so many times," George remarked in front of her. "that she can't quite close her eyelids, even when she sleeps. Right. Dolly?"

  "It's not that bad, and besides, it's a small price to pay. I don't see why anyone should tolerate wrinkles," she preached.

  "Not everyone can afford cosmetic surgery," Thatcher said softly, and winked at me.

  "Nonsense. It's a matter of priorities. Spend less on other things. save for it. There should be a cosmetic surgery plan similar to the Social Security plan. Money should come out of people's salaries automatically, that's all."

  "Great political platform for our next

  presidential candidate." Asher Eaton cried, drawing the headline in the air before him. "Vote for me, and vote for no wrinkles."

  Everyone laughed.

  We were sitting on the rear loggia overlooking the pool. The Eatons' chef. Mario, was grilling lobster. A large bowl of Caesar salad had already been prepared, and there were breads and rolls. A separate table with a variety of desserts that Bunny pointed out included truffle demi-glace and something called Giandika chocolate cake with fresh raspberries. "just like they served at the last event held at the RitzCarlton," she concluded.

  We were drinking mimosas, which were glasses of orange juice mixed with champagne. After I had been introduced, they all seemed eager to offer their opinions concerning wealth and morality.

  "I, for one, think the more money you have, the more opportunity you have to be a good person." Dolly McCluster said. "Look at how much we all give to charity. Could we do that if we weren't well off?"

  "There are many who are but are very tight with their pocketbooks, I'm afraid," Lady Thomas said quietly. She spoke so softly it was hard to hear her at times, whereas Dolly McCluster practically bellowed when she talked,

  "Having money does eliminate a major motivation for crime," Thatcher's father suggested. He looked at Thatcher, but Thatcher didn't agree or disagree. "I mean, people don't have to steal if they have money. right?"

  "I don't know about that. Asher," Lord Thomas ventured to say. "The wealthy don't steal to eat or to have expensive cars, of course, but some rich people I've known and have had before me as defendants have attempted extortion, fraud, and other things to become more powerful. perhaps,"

  "What's an unfriendly stock takeover of a company if not a form of stealing?" Lady Thomas said, and most of the others looked at her as if she had blasphemed.

  "No. I think that's just good business." George McCluster said. "What do you think. Thatcher?"

  "I think... I think I'm rather hungry," he said, and everyone laughed.

  "Very diplomatic of you." I told him as we went for our food. Two maids, which I thought was overkill considering the small number of guests, stood behind the tables serving us.

  "I just didn't want to influence your

  conclusions," he said.

  At the table, the conversation went from the latest economic news to the latest Palm Beach gossip. The women were very concerned about a fashion outrage at the last charity ball. Someone had come in a pants suit with too much midriff

  "A belly button is not exactly appetizing." Dolly said.

  "It depends." Asher commented. The women all turned to him. I could see he had Thatcher's impish smile at times, or. rather. Thatcher had inherited his. "On whether it's an innie or an outie."

  The men laughed.

  Throughout the conversations. I kept catching Thatcher looking at me, studying my reactions. He continually wore a smile of amusement. Since I had told him something of the truth, it was as if we were both conspirators now.

  Before we had a chance to get to the desserts. Jennings appeared. "There is a phone call for you. Mr. Eaton," he told Thatcher.

  "Oh?"

  He excused himself, and, as if he had been the one keeping them from focusing on me, they all turned and began to fire questions about my work, my home and family, and my impressions of Palm Beach so far. I tried to be as diplomatic as Thatcher, who returned to announce he had to leave immediately to go to court.

  "What?" his mother cried, "Now? We're having brunch."

  "It's a weekday. Mother. You might have noticed people are at work. Something was moved up unexpectedly. It won't be long. but I have to appear."

  "Don't you have a lunch hour?" she countered.

  "Yes. Mother. but it usually doesn't run more than three." he said. smiling.

  "Ridiculous. What about this poor young woman you've brought? Is she to be a slave to your work habits?"

  She can stay. obviously," Thatcher offered as a compromise. I'll go and come back."

  'Good,' his mother said. "I would have had our driver take you back to your hotel anyway if he wasn't," she told me. She glared at Thatcher, "How anyone could pass up freshly baked Giandika chocolate cake is a mystery to me."

  Thatcher laughed and the
n pulled me aside to ask if I wanted to stay.

  "Yes." I said, my gaze moving off to the beach house. "I'll return as soon as I can. Sorry about this."

  "I'm fine," I said I'm enjoying it."

  "I knew you would." he said. He kissed me quickly and left,

  When I turned to rejoin the brunch party. I saw Thatcher's mother had been watching us. She smiled as she approached me.

  "Walk with me for a few minutes." she said. "I do like to walk after I've stuffed myself like that. Besides, the rest of them are in a big argument about how to renovate the yacht club. and that is so boring."

  We started down the walkway toward the beach.

  "Thatcher obviously is somewhat taken with you," she continued. "Do you know that you are the first young lady he has brought to this house for over two years now?"

  I shook my head.

  He didn't tell you about Mai Stone?"

  "No. Who is that?"

  "I suppose that's good," she said. "I suppose I shouldn't have even mentioned her name."

  "But you did." I said quickly.

  "He'd be very upset with me if he knew," she replied.

  There was a pathway that ran parallel to the beach. We followed it for a while, she obviously trying to keep her lips clamped shut.

  "Oh, you would find out from someone else, anyway," she finally decided. "He and Mai were practically engaged when she and her parents were invited to spend a week on this Greek billionaire's yacht. As it turned out, he had a son who had fancied Mai for some time. The talk was he bought her for his son. The Stones were suddenly buying property on the south end and soon building one of the biggest estates on the island."

  "Why would Mai have agreed?"

  'She lives like a princess on her own island."

  "She couldn't have been very much in love with Thatcher if she let someone sell her into a marriage," I said angrily.

  "That's exactly what I told Thatcher, ten thousand times if I told him once, but he refused to accept it. I hated to see him so heartbroken. That's why he became such a work-centered young man. Goodness knows, he doesn't need the money.

  "As I said, you're the first young lady he has brought to this house for years. Not that he hasn't been on dates. I know he has, but he hasn't been with the same woman twice, as far as I know."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "But, Mrs. Eaton..."

  "Bunny. please."

  "Bunny. I really didn't come here to find romance."

  "Why, my dear, that's the best sort of romance there is, the one you never expected." she said, "When I first met Thatcher's father, I thought he was the most spoiled young man in the world. I had no intention of ever becoming his wife, but he was persistent, and he charmed me in so many little ways. I woke up one day and discovered I was in love. What a surprise! That's the best there is.'

  "I suppose so." I said.

  "How long did you plan on staying in Palm Beach?"

  "Maybe a week."

  "Oh, its so expensive at The Breakers. If you decide to stay longer, it would cost so much. I have an idea," she added so quickly I knew it wasn't remotely spontaneous. "Why don't you just stay here? We have so much room in the house, and we aren't expecting any guests for another month at least."

  "I don't think..."

  It would be such fun. Well invite different people over every other day practically, and you can listen and question them all. It will save you all that footwork. You don't even have to tell them what you're up to Just let them talk."

  "But you don't really know me. Mrs. Eaton." "Bunny," she corrected.

  "Bunny. How can you...'"

  "Oh. I know you. I know you Look at you How could it be a mistake? Asher will be so pleased."

  I started to shake my head.

  "In fact, you should move in tomorrow. Why waste another dollar?"

  "I really didn't intend to be here that long. I didn't bring enough clothes and..."

  "So you'll buy some new clothing. What could you possibly need?"

  I started to shake my head again. She seemed so determined. Was she hoping to be like Mai Stone's parents and buy her son a wife?

  "It's settled, then." she decided before I could respond.

  I was going to refuse more firmly as we turned a corner and looked down the beach. There, set back in the tall grass, was an artist's easel, However. I didn't see anyone anywhere.

  "What's that?" I asked Bunny.

  "Oh, that must be Linden's."

  "But where is he?"

  "Who knows? Maybe he's crawling in the sand looking for shells. Don't pay attention to him. C'mon," she said. "We'd better get back."

  "I'll be right along." I said, staring at the easel.

  "Don't be long." she advised, and started toward the house.

  I continued down to the easel and stopped to look at what was on it.

  A picture had been sketched in, the painting of it just begun.

  It was a picture of someone standing in the entryway of a house. He was looking out at a young woman who resembled me. I thought.

  In the ocean seen behind her, a woman was drowning.

  It all put a chill in my heart. "Hey!" I heard.

  Linden was coming up over the hill in front of me. I turned, and, with my heart thumping like a flat tire. I ran up the beach to the walkway. I didn't stop running until I reached the Ionia where everyone was enjoying the desserts. They looked up surprised.

  "Are you all right. dear?" Bunny asked immediately.

  "I... just need to use the bathroom." I said, and hurried inside, their confused and surprised faces turning to follow me.

  In the bathroom. I looked at my face in the mirror.

  "Go home. Willow De Beers," I told that face. "You're trying to get back something that never existed and probably never will."

  "I can't." I replied. "I've got to try."

  Why? I thought,

  The first word most babies uttered was Mama.

  I was almost nineteen years old. and I had yet to say it once.

  That's why.

  9

  A Night for Romance

  .

  "I'm not sure I'm doing that." I said when

  Bunny jumped up as soon as Thatcher returned to tell him I was staying at the house. "Oh, of course you're sure," she declared as though she knew my mind better than I did.

  Lord and Lady Thomas and the McClusters had left. and Thatcher's father had gone into his office to phone someone about the golf game he was planning for the following morning. Bunny had been showing me around the house, especially where I would stay.

  "Look at the size of these rooms!' she cried. "And how far away the guest suites are from our bedrooms. Why, we won't even realize you're here, and you'll have as much privacy as you wish."

  That was not an exaggeration. The rambling structure did seem to go on forever, and the rooms were enormous by any standard. The bedroom she suggested for me was, according to her, designed by Addison Mizner himself.

  "He wouldn't do a house unless he could put his stamp inside as well as outside." she said.

  The room was easily twenty feet by forty, with its own sitting area, large-screen television, stereo, and secretary desk--hardly what anyone would think of as a guest bedroom. It was done in soft, warm colors: salmon and beige and a pale green she called celadon.

  Bunny pointed out a beautiful vase in a sort of turquoise glaze. "That's his signature color. Mizner Blue, "It's as if he left his fingerprints," she declared, and then whispered. "It makes the house more valuable. Someday, we might buy it. We're leasing with an option to buy."

  I nodded and continued to look about the room. The ceiling-high windows were draped in salmon silk, and a pair of French doors opened to a balcony that looked out at the sea.

  The centerpiece was the oversized bed with an enormous arched engraved headboard. She said the furniture was in the Spanish style Mizner favored, There was a very pretty area rug over the parquet floor and a center chandelier that seemed to fit
the motif so well it might have been created before electric lights were invented and used to hold candles first.

  The room did have a wonderful view of the beach and, more important to me, a view of the beach house. I stood out on the balcony and looked down at it Bunny Eaton saw the direction of my gaze.

  "This was once Grace Montgomery's bedroom, you know." she said.

  I turned. "Oh?"

  "The poor young woman was supposedly seduced in this very room," Bunny added

  dramatically, and walked to the bed, looking at it as if she could see the actual seduction being replayed on its sheets and pillows. "Here she lay, young and vulnerable and trusting. Kirby Scott was a very handsome man, and charming-- the sort who could have his hand down your dress before you even realized he was nearby. How could she resist? She must have felt terribly guilty, felt as though she had stolen her mother's lover from her. That was why she kept it a secret so long. I'm sure.

  "I haven't changed a thing, really, not a sheet, not a pillow, not a pillowcase," she said.

  From the excitement in her voice and in her eyes. I think she believed that would add an attractive romantic element, like being where your favorite soap opera was shot or something.

  On the contrary, it gave me the dreads. My mother's mental problems might have had their origin in this very room.

  "Are you sure all that happened here?" I asked, embracing myself and stepping back into the room.

  "Oh, yes. The real estate agent who was representing the Montgomerys at the time was absolutely positive. Things like that are part of what they call disclosure. At least, they are here in Palm Beach where everyone wants to know that sort of thing and isn't put off by it."

  She studied me a moment and must have seen the revulsion in my face. It was almost as if I could see myself being violated.

  That doesn't bother you, does it? I mean, we could put you in another room just as easily. It's just that I thought this was the nicest and had a wonderful view. It has the best bathroom. too. The most up-todate: a bidet, a multihead shower, magnifying mirrors, and just look at the work in here," she declared as if she were trying to sell the house to me.

  I gazed in at the beige and white tiled wall behind the toilet, the rich sink cabinet, and the large oval mirror above it The floor looked like chipped turquoise inlay. The shower stall had a marble seat in it.