Carly's Gift (17 page)

Somewhere in the telling, he'd lost track of whose pain he was trying to lessen, his own or Andrea's. An easy silence grew between them. As they entered central London, the only sound in the car was the steady click of the windshield wipers as they brushed away the lightly falling snow.

“My dad doesn't want me to come back,” Andrea said, breaking the silence.

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “What gave you that idea?” he asked evenly, not wanting her to hear how upset he was. It didn't matter whether there was any basis for feeling the way she did. In something so close to the heart, the imagined was as hurtful as the real.

“He told me so.”

She'd spoken so softly, the words were so devastating, he tried to convince himself she hadn't said what he thought he'd heard. “What did you say?”

“When he came to my room to get me up this morning, he said he was sorry how everything had worked out.” She stopped to take a deep breath, as if fortifying herself for what would come next. “Then he told me he'd spent a lot of time thinking about me going to England to live with you, and that he'd decided it was the best thing for all of us—I would be happier here and the four of them could become a real family.”

A rage surged through David, stealing his vision, his reasoning. He sat perfectly still, knowing if he moved or said anything before he regained control, he would frighten Andrea with his anger.

After several long seconds, he managed to say, “Does your mother know about this?”

“I don't think so.” She hesitated. “No, I'm sure. She would have said something.”

“I don't know what to say to you.”

“That's okay. I was just afraid I would get here and find out that you'd decided you didn't want me, either.”

Ethan had put him in an impossible position. How in the hell was he supposed to do as Carly had asked and encourage Andrea to return home as soon as possible without making her feel as if he was trying to get rid of her? He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “And here I was afraid you'd decide not to come at all.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

Everything between them was based on a lie. It was time for some honesty. “I don't kid myself that you're here because you have this burning desire to get to know me. You were looking for a way to hurt your mother and it got out of hand. With all the time it took to get the necessary papers for you to come here, I really believed the two of you would find a way to work things out.”

“You must think I'm a real bitch.”

“What I think is that you're your mother's daughter. I never knew anyone more stubborn.” He chuckled. “Until I met you, that is.”

“And still you let me come,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

“How else was I going to get to know you?”

She thought about that for a minute. “Then I can stay for a while?”

“You can stay as long as you want,” he told her, feeling a twinge of guilt for not following through on his promise to Carly, but trying in some small way to make up for Ethan's callousness.

Andrea grew quiet and thoughtful again. After several more blocks, she said, “Maybe after a while, my dad will miss me and want me to come home.”

David had never hated Ethan more than he did at that moment.

Fourteen

Andrea opened the
door to the bedroom David had given her the night before and stepped into the hallway. She'd drifted in and out of sleep when she'd first gone to bed, but had become wide awake at three o'clock and had stayed that way since. Had she not been afraid of running into Victoria, she would have gotten up and wandered around the house.

She'd never seen a house like this one, not even in magazines. The few rooms she and David had walked through when they arrived last night were filled to overflowing with old furniture. There were heavy curtains at the windows and gaudy oriental rugs on the floors. It was like walking through an antiques store—not quite as crowded, but close. When he'd taken her to her room, David had promised a full guided tour of the rest of the house in the morning. Andrea had her fingers crossed that the rooms she'd seen were for show and that the rest of the house would be a little more modern, like within the last century.

She'd noticed some Christmas things sitting around the rooms she'd seen, but nothing compared to the way her mother decorated for the holidays. Here, the focus was the tree in the living room. It stood in front of an enormous window, and was pretty enough, but in a department-store kind of way, with just enough ornaments and gold bows to let you know it wasn't really some overgrown house plant.

All of the presents were wrapped alike—gold foil paper and green velvet bows—except for a small group set out of the way behind a chair. Andrea guessed right away that they were from her mother. Short of actually pointing them out to her, David had done everything he could to make sure she'd seen them.

As soon as he'd helped her put her suitcases in the room where she'd be staying, David had insisted she call home to let everyone know she'd arrived safely. She had tried to talk him into letting her wait until morning, but he'd refused, saying her mom would spend the night worrying if she didn't get a call.

Shawn had answered on the second ring. “Hey, it's about time,” he'd scolded.

“It's a long way from the airport to David's house,” she told him, hoping he'd let it go at that.

“So, how is it there?”

“I haven't had a chance to see anything yet. It was dark when the plane landed.”

“What's
she
like?”

She lowered her voice. “I haven't seen her yet, either.”

“We went to the show today.”

“What'd you see?”

“
From the Foul Line
. I thought it was stupid. Dad and Eric loved it.”

His effort to sound normal, as if she were spending the night at a friend's house instead of having moved thousands of miles away, let her know he wasn't mad at her anymore. Or at least not as mad as he had been that morning. “What did Mom think?”

“She didn't go.” He paused. “Hold on. I'll get her for you. She just went out to get some more wood for the fire.”

“Don't bother,” she said quickly. And then, “Just tell her I'm okay and I'll call again in a couple of days.”

“She's going to kill me if I don't get her, Andrea. She's been driving everybody crazy waiting for you to call. Eric about got his head bit off for not telling her she missed a call from Grandma.”

“I've got to go. David is waiting for me.”

She'd said good-bye and hung up before he could say anything else. Now, she was sorry she hadn't at least said hello to her mother—not because it might have hurt her feelings, but because David was sure to ask what Carly had to say and Andrea didn't want to admit she hadn't talked to her.

She took a couple of steps down the hallway, stopped, and looked around. Nothing seemed familiar. The picture facing her was of a dog and a little girl in a long dress. She was sure it wasn't the one she'd seen last night. She turned around and peered at the painting at the opposite end of the hall. This one was of a squatty dog with a ball in its mouth. It didn't seem familiar, either. Her gaze swept the paintings lining both walls. They were all of dogs, every kind imaginable.

She was staring at one particularly ugly example when she heard footsteps coming toward her. As if caught in the act of doing something she shouldn't, Andrea stared at the ornate ceiling and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

A tall, thin woman with shoulder-length black hair came around the corner. She was dressed in a dark gray suit, white blouse, and black heels and looked a lot like the way Andrea had imagined someone rich and royal might look.

The woman pulled up short and gave Andrea a look of disapproval. The look was quickly modified with a tight smile. “Did I startle you?”

“I was just looking at the pictures.”

“The one in front of you is a Benson.”

Andrea frowned. “I thought it was a bulldog.”

“The painter's name is Benson,” Victoria said with an air of indulgence.

“Oh,” was all Andrea could think to say. She couldn't remember ever having felt quite so stupid. “My mother used to paint. Only she did watercolors.”

There was a pause and another smile, this one small and private. “That explains David's interest in the medium.” She came forward, her hand extended. “I'm sure you've already figured out who I am, but that's no excuse for bad manners. Victoria Montgomery—your father's wife.”

Andrea placed her hand in Victoria's. “Andrea Hargrove,” she said.

“I'm pleased to see that you're up. I wanted to go over your wardrobe with you. There are three parties here in London that you will be expected to attend with your father and myself before you leave with him next week for Christmas at Hawthorne. When I talked to him this morning, he said that he'd neglected to mention any of them to you, and that chances were you had not packed anything appropriate.”

She breezed past Andrea and into the bedroom. Andrea followed, saying a silent prayer of thanks that she'd had the foresight to bring a present—a picture of herself as a baby tucked inside an antique silver frame. Before Andrea could say anything, Victoria opened the cupboard where David had told her she could put her clothes. It was empty. “I haven't unpacked yet,” Andrea said. “I was going to do it after breakfast.”

A look of impatience was followed by, “Then why don't you just show me a few of the things you brought with you and I'll decide what you might need to fill in?”

Andrea opened her suitcase, took out two dresses, her best wool slacks, and the emerald green cashmere sweater her grandmother Barbara had given her for her birthday.

Victoria sighed. “They're all lovely,” she said dismissively. “But don't you have anything suitable for special occasions?”

“We don't dress up much in Baxter.” Andrea nearly groaned aloud. She sounded like some backwoods farm girl. She might as well stick her toe in the carpet and add an “aw shucks.”

“Well, I can see we have our work cut out for us,” Victoria said crisply, either not picking up on what Andrea considered a country bumpkin statement or showing no surprise because it was exactly what she'd expected. “I'll set up appointments for you to get what you need this afternoon—as soon as you and David are finished visiting the school he's chosen for you and you've gotten that business out of the way. We don't have much time, so try to select things that can be altered with a minimum of fuss.” She turned and headed for the door. “I'll make up a list of what you'll need, where to go and who to see and give it to Harold before I leave this morning.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “I suppose you might as well be fitted for your school uniforms while you're out and about. No sense putting it off.”

Andrea started after her. “Won't you be going with me?”

“Whatever for?”

“To make sure I buy the right things,” she said, torn between fear of being turned loose on her own and fear of having to be in Victoria's company all day.

“The clerks you'll be seeing will take care of that.”

Not knowing what else to say or do, Andrea followed Victoria downstairs. David was waiting in the dining room. He got up when he spotted them.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, coming around the table to give each of them a kiss on the cheek.

As if summoned by a secret signal, a woman in a black-and-white uniform appeared, carrying a tray. She gave Andrea and David a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and Victoria a half grapefruit.

“Tea?” he said.

Andrea shook her head. She hated her eggs scrambled. “Is there any coffee?”

David pushed back his chair and started to get up. “I forgot to ask you what you eat for breakfast, and when Mrs. Rankin asked, I told her just to fix double whatever she was making for me.” He started toward the kitchen. “You'll have to fill her in on your eating habits later today.”

Victoria returned her cup to its saucer with a loud clink. “David, would you please stay at the table. I'm sure Andrea can do without coffee this one morning.”

“It will only take a second,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Victoria turned to Andrea. “Your father seems intent on indulging you,” she said with a sigh.

Andrea swallowed. What was she supposed to say to something like that? “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt his breakfast.”

“Of course you didn't. That's not what I meant at all.” Finally there was a genuine smile. “I'm afraid we'll have to give David a bit of leeway the next few weeks, at least until he's convinced you aren't going to hop on the next plane home and abandon him.” She stared at her grapefruit for several seconds before going on. “I'm sure it won't come as any great surprise if I tell you that, in the beginning, I was against your coming to live with us. But then I saw how happy the prospect of your being here made David and I was forced to rethink my position.”