Endless Fear (6 page)

“
Yeah,” the little girl chimed in. “Thane and Vanessa are here, too.”

* * * *

The moment Thane Garrick’s eyes met April’s, his face paled, but his recovery was so quick, so complete, she doubted anyone else saw it. The master of diplomacy. The exemplary politician. However, he looked nothing like a rising young political star in his white chinos and a white hand-knit cotton sweater which would have better suited Phoenix than the San Juan Islands in wintertime.

His appraising gaze swept her. “Good Lord!” There was a note of surprise in his voice. “This can’t be little April.”

Wincing inwardly, she reminded herself this was the last of these innocuous greetings she would have to suffer. “Hello Thane. It’s nice to see you again.”

April watched Spencer greet his twin with a handshake. Lord, the likeness was uncanny. Except that Thane was slightly shorter, she would be hard pressed to tell them apart. As Thane moved toward her, she noticed a tiny crescent-shaped scar near the corner of his left eye that she couldn’t recall having ever seen. For some inexplicable reason, it made her uneasy.

Thane planted a kiss on her cheek. “You’re looking well.”

His faux pas landed in the room like an unexploded bomb. Her father choked on his cocktail, Cynthia went ashen, Aunt March coughed into her lace hankie, and Spencer scowled at his twin. The only person unaffected by the gaffe was a pretty blond-haired young woman standing with the night-darkened picture windows at her back.

April gave Thane a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Thane. I
am
well.”

The tips of Thane’s ears glowed red. April was assailed by myriad memories, little things she suddenly recalled about the twins like Thane’s ears turning red when he was embarrassed and Spencer’s turning red when he lied. Did Spence still have an impassioned nature with the hair trigger temper, quickly fired, then spent? Was Thane still able to control his temper to the point where it seldom emerged? His greater success on the political battlefield would seem proof of it.

Thane’s arm on her shoulder made her too aware that everyone was looking at her. He led her toward the blond who appeared to be near her own age. “I want you to meet my fiancée, Vanessa O’Brien. Darling, this is April.”

Vanessa’s golden hair was cut to align with the curve of her jaw. Straight bangs covered every inch of forehead above the greenest eyes April had ever seen. Contacts? She was tall and her delicate-boned frame gave her an underfed look, bringing to mind the phrase, “You can never be too rich or too thin.”

She grinned at April. “I’ve been dying to meet you—especially after Thane told me you were Lily Cordell’s daughter.”

Uncertain what to expect from this obvious fan of her mother’s, April tensed.

“
I love old movies,” Vanessa enthused. “And your mother’s are my absolute favorites. Has anyone ever told you how much you look like her? God, it’s like having her ghost right in our very midst.”

A nervous laugh escaped Thane as he and Spencer locked gazes.

Damn! April shouldn’t have come home. The ache between Spencer’s temples exploded to a crescendo, pounding the inside of his skull like the relentless surf pounding against the cliffs outside.

Vanessa was right. Watching April move and talk, it was as if Lily had come to life, was here with them in this house, in this very room she had loved. A chill settled in his stomach. Why wouldn’t Lily stay dead? Wasn’t it enough that guilt stalked his every waking hour?

His gaze stole to April. White cold fear seared across his heart, and he knew with a certainty what he must do. April had to leave. Willingly or otherwise. And soon. Before the other guests arrived. Before the reporters. Before her mother’s old friends.

Before she discovered the truth.

Chapter Four

The truth was, April felt as out of place at dinner as the black lacquered dining table and chairs looked in the pine paneled room. With the sole exception of July, no one made an effort to engage her in conversation. The main topic revolved around politics, a subject she knew and cared little about.

In all honesty, April was relieved to no longer be the center of attention. It gave her the chance to study her family unobserved. Which one had sent the nasty little note?

Aunt March? She had always treated April with a touch of disdain, always daring her to stand up for herself, always managing to make April feel a failure. Yes, the old woman was certainly capable of threats and had expressed her opinion of her niece in no uncertain terms.
Insane!
Somehow, the hurtful label and her aunt’s cold indifference bothered her more than she would have thought possible.

April sipped at her wine as her gaze shifted down the table. Spencer? She watched a stray lock of dark hair fall across his handsome forehead, obscuring one of his compelling gray eyes as he expounded the virtues of a bill he was endorsing. Absently, he shoved the wayward strand back into place and April heard her heartbeat hammer in her ears.

With a sudden rush, she felt again the touch of his lips on hers, the surge of desire in her bloodstream, the sting of rejection, the ache of humiliation. Unwelcome heat grazed her cheeks. He
could
have sent the note. Hadn’t he told her she should have stayed away from Calendar House?

Roughly, she wiped her napkin across her mouth, subconsciously trying to wipe away the memory of his kiss, and forced her attention to Thane. She found him faintly disturbing, but couldn’t say why. They hadn’t had a minute alone. All she really knew about Thane consisted of her twelve-year-old memories and the momentary paling of his face when he had first seen her today. But did that prove he hadn’t expected her to show up, or that he was startled by her resemblance to her mother?

April took a bite of the pot roast, finding it as tough to chew as her thoughts. Her gaze veered to the head of the table.

Her father? The small piece of meat hit her stomach like a chunk of stone. She refused to cast him in the role of malefactor. That would be the cruelest cut of all. It took a mouthful of wine to wash down the rancid notion. August Farraday would never be able to keep his mind on something that devious long enough to carry it off. Even now she could see the vague gleam in his navy eyes that always signaled his mind was a thousand light years away on one of his inventions.

April freshened her palate with a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy and glanced at Vanessa. She couldn’t imagine one reason for the outgoing young woman to harbor any hatred for her. In fact, she seemed the only person in the group willing to admit Lily Cordell had even existed.

But what about Cynthia? April found the idea the easiest to digest. She watched the woman fuss over her future daughter-in-law, waving her bejeweled hands in the air for emphasis, then curling her fingers fondly, possessively, around the beloved girl’s. There could be little doubt as to where her stepmother’s loyalties lay, or that she had tried to obliterate Lily’s memory. But was that so unnatural for a second wife?

Still, letting prejudice color her logic this early in the game was ill advised. Give the woman the benefit of the doubt, she was urging herself when the huge emerald ring on the middle finger of Cynthia’s right hand caught her eye. Disbelief chased her good intentions aside. The filigree setting was as gaudy as the ornate chandelier above the table, but April knew the glorious stone was as real as the orange blossom centerpiece. It was her mother’s emerald, reset. She would swear to it.

Her sharply indrawn breath snared unwanted attention.

July tugged at the sleeve of April’s angora sweater. “Why are you looking so funny at Mommy?”

April blanched. With expressions ranging from confusion to curiosity, everyone at the table turned their collective attention to her, waiting for her answer. What did she have to lose by being candid? Nothing, she decided, swallowing the lump in her throat and squaring her mental shoulders.

She set an unwavering gaze on Cynthia. “I was just admiring your mother’s pretty green ring. It reminds me of another ring, one I remember from my childhood.”

Cynthia’s right hand went immediately to the gold cross resting between the ruffles of her v-necked, purple silk dress. Her fingers worked the smooth surface of the small crucifix as though the gesture would cleanse her of unconfessed sin, but her almond shaped, dove-gray eyes showed no distress. She looked at April with all the innocence of a puppy. “It sounds like a fascinatin’ story, sugah. Do go on.”

April’s confidence faltered, but she was saved the necessity of further explanations by Helga’s arrival with hot apple dumplings ala mode.

As the housekeeper replaced the dinner plates with dessert bowls, Vanessa broke the stilted silence. “Mr. Farraday, Calendar House is charming. When was it built?”

April smiled to herself at Vanessa’s tactful maneuvering of the conversation to safer waters. Thane’s fiancée had obviously cut her teeth on diplomacy.

With a forkful of dumpling and ice cream halfway to his mouth, August blinked, looking slightly taken aback at having been addressed by his stepson’s fiancée. His older daughter’s heart warmed with love for him. He seldom had to deal with everyday matters, like polite conversation, and was undoubtedly not aware of the group around him in any real context. But he thrived on family history and welcomed every opportunity to talk about it. Vanessa couldn’t have asked him a better question.

He chewed and swallowed, regarding the slender girl with sudden interest as though reassessing her, favorably. “The house was built and named in 1894 by April’s great, great grandfather, Octavius Farraday, and is basically unchanged, with the exception of a few necessary structural repairs over the years.”

“
How did Octavius come to select such a remote spot?” Vanessa’s green eyes shone with encouragement.

August was warming to his subject. He dipped the fork into the dessert bowl again as one of his rare smiles made an appearance. “Quite naturally I should think. Octavius was a sea captain, but a rogue and a pirate would better fit the legends of him.”

“
Why?” Vanessa’s pale brows lifted in amused arcs.

“
Well, you see the San Juan’s total one hundred-and-seventy-four islands in all. There are hundreds of coves and winding passageways. That, plus their location—their close proximity to the mainland of the United States as well as Canada—made them ideal bases for smuggling.”

Her voice rose in surprise. “What was worth smuggling in this part of the world in those days?”

August’s face grew grave. “In 1792, John Meares introduced Chinese to the Puget Sound area as a source of cheap labor. In later years, this ‘commodity’ was big business to the unscrupulous.”

The clank of a spoon against a bowl sent April’s attention to her Aunt March. The elderly woman was scowling at August. “How dare you let this impressionable young woman believe any Farraday, past or present, would deal in slavery! The very idea—duping naïve Chinese into using their life savings for safe passage to America only to sell them for cheap laborers….”

“
I believe the girl is intelligent enough to figure out this was before our great grandfather’s time, March, but the history is too colorful not to be told.”

Spencer cocked his head to one side in the gesture April was beginning to find annoyingly distracting. “Weren’t the islands also noted as the headquarters for hoodlums, adventurers, disappointed gold seekers and all sorts of other lawless characters in those early days?”

August nodded, obviously finding his subject as delicious as his dessert. “Absolutely! The locale offered excellent hiding places. Opium and diamonds were also prime smuggling items, then later wool and, of course during Prohibition, liquor. Great granddad had his fingers in at least one of those messy pies because this old house is full of secret passages and underground tunnels.”

“
Really? What fun! I’d love to see them. Thane, you must take me on a tour.” Vanessa twinkled at her fiancée.

“
Don’t get too excited, Darling.” Thane interjected. “Most of the passageways have been walled off—for the obvious reason of safety.”

“
Ohhhhh…that’s too bad.” Vanessa’s disappointment lasted mere seconds before she returned her attention to August. “Is there some history behind the family being named for different months?”

Before he could answer, Helga brought in fresh coffee and began refilling cups. August took the opportunity to finish the last of his dessert.

April shoved her bowl aside and reached for the sugar. She added a lump to her coffee and stirred slowly. Her gaze wandered to her father. While the others either doctored their coffee with sugar or cream or merely accepted it straight, he reached into the pocket of his beige corduroy jacket for his pipe and tobacco pouch. By the time he took his first puff, spoons had been set on saucers, expectant glances on August.