Deception (30 page)

Jill recoiled as if she had been slapped. “I didn’t run into the arms of my brother-in-law.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jill said sarcastically. “Something must have happened.”

“Neither one of us saw it coming, and we certainly didn’t plan it. Cyrus was happily married, and I was hopelessly in love with Simon. But after that first year, I started to realize that, though Simon loved me, his true passion was architecture. Cyrus was different. He wasn’t so obsessed with his career. And he was attentive, funny, kind. And more and more he was there when I needed someone to talk to.”

“But you did more than talk, didn’t you?” The shock was gone, replaced by a resentment so deep, Jill could feel it burning deep within her, poisoning her. She wanted to run, anywhere, as far away as her legs would take her. She would have done just that, had it not been for a perverse desire to know the rest of this sordid story.

“Yes, Cyrus and I became lovers, but what ultimately drew us together was more a need for tenderness than true love. It didn’t even last long enough to qualify as an affair. After a month, we were both so miserable about deceiving Simon and Stephanie that we ended it.”

“When did you find out you were pregnant?”

“A few weeks later. I suspected Cyrus was the father because Simon was usually so tired when he came home, we rarely made love. My suspicions weren’t confirmed until after you were born and a blood test was done on you and Cyrus.”

That explained so much, Jill thought—Cyrus’s unconditional love, his presence at all her important events, his pride in her accomplishments, no matter how small, the way she caught him looking at her sometimes when he thought no one was watching. “And you never said anything.”

“How could I? It would have destroyed so many lives–yours, Simon’s, Stephanie’s, Olivia’s.”

Had her father known about the affair? Jill wondered. And retaliated by having one of his own? “What did.. Cyrus say when you told him you were pregnant?” All of a sudden she didn’t know what to call him.

“He was thrilled. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He was positively glowing. For a frightening moment, I even thought he was going to ask me to tell Simon the truth so we could get married, but he didn’t. He loved Stephanie every bit as much as I loved Simon, but I could tell he was happy at the thought of having a child of his own, even if he couldn’t claim the baby. He had Olivia, of course, and he loved her very much, but I don’t think he ever felt about her the way he felt about you.”

“And Olivia knew that,” Jill said quietly. “I always blamed her for her nastiness, for reading more into my relationship with her father than there was, and all the time she was right.”

She walked over to the window, surprised that her legs could support her. New Yorkers were just coming out of the theater, and on nearby Fifth Avenue the angry blare of horns could be heard, yet to Jill, everything was strangely muted and distant. “When you told Daddy I wasn’t his daughter that Sunday, did he ask who the father was?”

“Yes. And I had to tell him. He was so angry that for a moment I thought he was going to strike me. After he left, I waited all day for him to come back from Livingston Manor so we could talk. When he didn’t return and wouldn’t answer my calls, I got scared and called Cyrus. I was hoping he’d be able to quiet him down, convince him to come home. But when Cyrus got there, Simon wouldn’t listen. He was drinking heavily and spoiling for a fight.”

Her anxious gaze searched her daughter’s face. “I’ve blamed myself ever since that terrible night, Jill. I always will.”

Jill tried desperately to sort out her feelings, to convince herself that nothing had changed. She’d had a wonderful life and, though Simon hadn’t been the most devoted of fathers in the early years, he had more than made up for lost time later. They couldn’t have been more alike if they had been father and daughter. Both were overachievers, both had the same quick temper, the same passion for their profession and the same love and respect for one another.

So why did she feel as though someone had punched a big hole in her heart? Why did she feel as though she was mourning her father all over again?

And what about Cyrus? Her beloved Uncle Cy. How was she supposed to act now that she knew the truth? She would never be able to look at him again and feel the way she had before. Or trust him again, knowing he had lied to her all these years.

Pressing her burning forehead against the cool glass, another ugly thought wove its way into her mind, filling her with dread.

What if Cyrus had killed her father?

She had escaped to the only place where she felt safe, the only place she could truly call home—her loft.

Huddled on the sofa in an old chenille robe that had faded to an almost unidentifiable shade of blue, she sipped chamomile tea. On the end table her phone kept ringing and she kept ignoring it, barely aware that the messages were accumulating.

Another moment passed and it rang again. It was her mother, leaving her third message. “Come on, Jill, pick up. I know you’re there. We need to talk.” There was a pause, a sigh, then a click as Amanda hung up.

She thought about turning the damn machine off, but didn’t. Somehow, hearing the hurt and worry in her mother’s voice brought her a strange kind of satisfaction.

She let out a dry chuckle that threatened to turn into a sob. Tit for tat. Is that what she was doing? How mature.

The phone rang again. This time it was Ashley. She had been awakened from a deep sleep by Jill’s mother and she was pissed off.

“Jill? Are you there?” There was a short pause. “Dammit, Jill, what’s going on? Your mother is worried sick about you. So if you’re there, call her. Or call me and I’ll come up. I don’t know what happened, but whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone, okay?” There was a brief pause. “I guess you’re not there, so call me as soon as you come in.”

Click. The outside world was turned off again. Leaning against the cushions, Jill closed her eyes and tried to make her mind a blank.

The persistent ring of her doorbell woke Jill with a start. She had fallen asleep on the sofa with the empty mug wedged between her thighs.

Groaning, she stood up just as another burst of short angry rings pierced the silence.

“Jill, it’s me. Open up.”

Dan. Her mother must have called him, too. “All right, all right, I’m coming.”

He stood on the landing, one hand braced against the jamb. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.”

As Dan took a second, closer look at her, his anger seemed to vanish instantly. “Wait here,” he said, giving her shoulders a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I have to make a call.”

He walked over to the phone and dialed a number. The person at the other end must have answered at the first ring because Dan spoke immediately.

“She’s fine, Amanda. Yes, she’s home.” He glanced back at Jill. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. Maybe she could call you in the morning.”

He hung up, went to take Jill’s hand and pulled her into the living room, forcing her to sit down. “I

thought you and I had agreed you wouldn’t go wandering into the streets late at night.”

Nothing happened, okay?” she said irritably. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He took her chin between two fingers and tilted her head up. “What happened between you and your mother?”

“Nothing.” She chose a point above his head and stared at it. She had nothing left but her strength and dignity, and dammit she wasn’t going to lose either by admitting she was a bastard child.

“Come on’ Red, you can’t fool me. Something’s got you all torn up inside and it’s not your uncle’s arrest. So spit it out.” When she remained stubbornly silent, he took her hands in his and brought them to his mouth. “That bad?”

His voice was soft enough, gentle enough to make her forget her vow of silence. “Worse.” So much for strength and dignity.

“Tell me. Let me help you.”

In a voice that shook at first, then grew steadier, she told him the whole tawdry affair, interrupting the flow of words with short comments and bursts of anger he didn’t try to stop. She didn’t realize until the words began pouring forth how much she’d needed to get all those feelings and emotions out. The task left her drained and exhausted, but strangely at peace with herself.

When she was finished, Dan was still holding her hands. “You have every right to be upset, even angry, but not wanting to talk to your mother ever again isn’t right. She doesn’t deserve that.”

She jerked her hands away. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“On the contrary, I understand perfectly. It just doesn’t seem fair, to her or to you.”

“She hurt me.” She sounded like a whiney little kid, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn.

“People make mistakes, Jill.”

“She had thirty-four years to rectify that mistake.”

“How? By telling you Cyrus was your father? When was she supposed to do that, Jill? When do you think was a good time? On your fifth birthday? Your tenth? Your high-school graduation perhaps?”

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m only trying to show you what an impossible situation she was in. No matter when she chose to do it, those young shoulders of yours would have never been able to carry such a burden.

“And what about the rest of your family?” Dan continued when she remained silent. “Your aunt, your cousin, Simon? They would have had to be told, too. Two families would have been shattered, perhaps even destroyed. That’s what Cyrus and your mother. were trying to avoid-the destruction of their respective families.”

“So they lied to me.”

“To protect you.” He stroked her hair. “That’s what parenting is all about, Red. Someday, when you’re a parent, you’ll understand that.”

They didn’t go to bed that night. Dan didn’t think she was in the mood for sex or sleep, anyway. So, after making them both a pot of coffee, he turned the lights down low, wrapped a thick blue and white afghan around them and together they watched an old, soapy Joan Crawford movie on A&E.

It took Jill a while to fall asleep. Because her anger provided a shield against other emotions, she fiercely clung to it, but in the end exhaustion won out. Halfway through the movie, her head, which rested on his lap, became heavier, her breathing deeper.

He considered carrying her upstairs and putting her to bed, then thought better of it. If she woke up, she might not be able to go back to sleep.

Tucking the afghan around her, he watched her sleep and was filled with an emotion that left his mouth dry. When he’d first returned to New York, he had been certain that seeing her again would finally make him realize he no longer loved her. Unfortunately, the moment he had seen her standing there, every feeling he’d ever had for her had come rushing back like a torrent, stronger than before.

And tonight, watching her sleep in that thready old robe, the need to love and protect had been almost overwhelming.

But at thirty-four, Jill Bennett had learned to fight her own battles, and if he wanted to keep her, he would have to understand that.

If he wanted to keep her. He laughed. He wanted that so much, it hurt.

He continued to watch her sleep. In repose, she looked as young and innocent as the day he’d met her. But even then, there had been much more to Jill Bennett than met the eye. More perceptive than most, he had noticed the delicate nuances in her personality, the deeply seated ambition, the almost childlike vulnerability, the pride that could be so easily bruised.

If he had put that insight to good use thirteen years ago, they might still be married.

Taking every precaution not to wake her, he stood up and went to shower.

Thirty-One

Jill woke to the tantalizing aroma of fresh brewed coffee. Remaining perfectly still, she opened her eyes and glanced around her. She lay on the sofa and was still wrapped in the warm afghan. Dan’s comfortable lap was gone and someone had slipped a pillow under her head.

As she sat up, yesterday’s events hit her with the force of a speeding train. Her uncle was in jail, accused of murdering her father.

Or rather the man she had always thought of as her father.

There was still pain and doubts, but the more she thought about what Dan had told her last night, the more his reasoning made sense. How could she walk away from the two people she loved most in the world because of one single mistake? If she could forgive her father all he had done, couldn’t she forgive her mother and her uncle, as well?

Fully awake now and yearning for a cup of that wonderful coffee she was smelling, she gathered her robe around her, gave a tight pull of her belt and padded out of the room, barefoot and disheveled.

The kitchen was empty and silent. On the table, which was set for one, were two bagel halves spread thinly with cream cheese, just the way she liked them, a small pot of her favorite blackberry jam, and orange juice, which, by the smell of it, was freshly squeezed.

On the counter, the coffeemaker had already done its thing and a mug stood next to it, waiting to be filled. Propped against the mug was a note.

Her mood vastly improved, Jill picked up the single sheet of stationery and read:

Sorry I had to rush out so early. I wanted to check Mulligan’s whereabouts on Tuesday morning and needed to start early. Will touch base with you later.

Love,

Dan.

P.S. Rocco sends his love. Should I worry?

Jill laughed. Rocco’s deli was the only store within a ten-block radius that catered to early-morning commuters, a practice that had made him a very rich man. Jill seldom had time for more than a cup of double espresso, though he always chided her that she ought to take time for a decent breakfast.

She had no idea how Dan had found him or why he had gone out at such an ungodly hour and done all this for her.

The first sip of the strong brew brought a smile to her lips. No one made better coffee than Dan Santini.

The mug in one hand and a bagel half in the other, she walked over to the window. Thoughts of last night came back to her in bits and pieces, but this time the memories were of Dan, of the way he had held her through the night, of his soothing words as they’d lulled her to sleep. Now, thanks to him, she felt rested and clearheaded, and maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to face the difficult day ahead.