Tangled Web (12 page)

“Things could have been so easy for you, so sweet, if you had only gone along—”

She got up so suddenly she jarred the table. Blindly she headed for the exit. Russell caught up with her and closed his hand around her upper arm. He exerted pressure, unmindful of the fact they were in a very public place. “Sit down, Hope,” he said behind a fixed, deadly smile. “We haven't finished.”

People at the bar were beginning to stare. Russell smiled even more broadly and made a loud, flirtatious joke for the benefit of
their audience, making it look as if they were in the midst of a lover's quarrel.

“Sit down,” Russell prodded softly, beneath his breath, “or I'll have no choice but to bring up how we knew one another before.”

Knowing she had no other choice if she didn't want a very ugly scene, very public scene, Hope reined in her quaking fury, returned to the table and sat down.

“You owe me, Hope,” Russell said cordially, as soon as they were seated again. “I thought I made that very clear.”

Two could play this game, she thought as she met his gaze courageously. “And I thought I had made it clear I can't help you.” She spat out the words like shards of glass.

His look hardened. “Maybe not in business. But fortunately for you, I am
not
a picky man. I will accept cold hard cash.”

She stared at him in shock. “You're crazy,” she whispered disbelievingly.

He leaned forward, rested both elbows on the table, and spoke in the arrogant, amoral tone she detested. “No, just blunt. I want two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Hope. Within the next few weeks.”

“I won't—”

“Oh, I think you will, that is if you don't want our secret past leaked to every gossip columnist in town. It'd be interesting, wouldn't it, to see how your son would react to the news of what his mother was really like.” He sat back smugly.

The thought of Russell anywhere near her son made her skin crawl. Unable to bear looking at his face a second longer, Hope fastened on the open collar of his silk shirt. Seeing a glimpse of his darkly tanned skin, she shifted her gaze again. “You bastard.”

“I thought you'd see it my way.” Satisfied he'd done all the damage he could, he tossed a bill on the table and stood up. “I'll be in touch.” And then, with a smile, he walked away.

Hope sat there for several minutes, feeling sick and shaken. The waiter came back and asked her solicitously if she were feeling all right. She nodded and said yes, but as soon as he left she reached for her purse and removed a small brown vial. In it, was her migraine medicine. She'd had the foresight to get it from her family doctor before her meeting with Russell. Now, with her vision beginning to blur and her head beginning to pound, she was glad she had it.

She swallowed the pill, and then put the bottle away. She knew from bitter experience that taking a pill during the onset of an attack often was enough to prevent a full-blown migraine. All she had to do was sit here, and wait for the medicine to take effect. The only problem was she couldn't drive after taking the medication, as it made her drowsy.

 

C
HASE WAS OUT BACK
, playing catch with Joey. He and Joey were both surprised to see Hope emerge from a cab.

“I wonder where her car is,” Joey said, pushing his Astro's cap back on his head.

“I don't know,” Chase said, absently thumping his mitt. Hope didn't exactly punch a clock with him. But all day today she seemed a little distant, troubled. He had tried to talk to her once, to fill her in on the invitation list for the cocktail party, but had given up and just left a typed list for her because she was so distracted.

“Maybe she had car trouble,” Joey said.

“Maybe,” Chase agreed slowly. And maybe, Chase thought suspiciously, something else was up, something she didn't want him to know about. After catching the grounder Joey had sent his way, he closed the distance between them. “I think that's about enough for tonight,” he informed his half brother genially.

“Okay. I gotta go in and watch
The Cosby Show
at six-thirty anyway,” Joey said. “Thanks for playing ball with me, Chase.”

“Anytime,” Chase murmured. He handed over his mitt and the ball. He watched Joey run off, their gear cradled in his arms, and then headed for the front of the house. Hope was in the living room when he entered. She had put down her briefcase and was sitting in the fading light; her hands were knitted together in her lap and she was just staring ahead of her. He knew at once that she was in some sort of distress. It was impossible to tell whether it was physical or emotional.

“Hope?” he said softly, watching her turn slowly to face him. She didn't look as if she wanted to see him or anyone else. “Everything all right?”

She blinked, still looking a bit stunned. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Everything's fine.”

She didn't look fine, Chase thought. If she was so fine, why
had she come home in a cab when she had driven to work? He knew she'd left early for an outside appointment—with whom or where, he didn't know. Was that outside appointment responsible for her upset state? Or was something else bothering her? He was tired of Hope's lying.

He stepped closer, able to see how pale her face was. He'd never been able to resist helping a person in need, and right now she had never looked more vulnerable. “I saw the cab outside. So did Joey.” Unable to help himself, he took a closer look at her shuttered expression. “Are you all right?” And then it hit him, he knew by the faint waxy look of her skin. “Are you having another headache?”

For a moment he thought she was going to deny it. She swallowed as if in great pain. “Yes, but it's all right,” she answered, her voice low and irritable. “I've already taken some medicine. I'll be fine. I just need to lie down for a while.”

Her bad temper didn't alienate or offend him; he was grumpy, too, when ill. He regarded her carefully. He was still ready, willing and able to help. “You're sure?”

She turned and took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said flatly, her patience for conversation exhausted. “I'm sure.” She touched a trembling hand to her temple, doing her best to keep up the barriers. “Have you seen Joey?” She wouldn't look at him directly.

Hurt that she wouldn't let him help her, Chase said, a bit miffed, “He was going up to watch
The Cosby Show—
”

“Oh, of course. Thanks.” She moved past him now, still looking as white and scared as if she'd seen a ghost. She still looked unwilling to talk to him or be with him.

He didn't want her to feel like that. More importantly, he knew it was partially his fault. He hadn't exactly been friendly to her the past few days. He'd been keeping his distance, too.

“Hope,” he said, when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked so damn helpless, so stricken, so scared and distressed that he couldn't bear it. “If there's anything I can do—” he offered. Not so much for his father's sake, this time, or even for Joey's, but his own. Because strangely enough, he still found himself wanting to help her, wanting to get past the barriers, to find out what was really going on with her.

She shook her head firmly, not about to share whatever trouble she was in. “No. Thanks anyway.” And to Chase's disappointment, on that note she climbed the stairs and didn't look back.

Hope waited until Joey was fast asleep that night before going to the safe in her bedroom and removing her jewelry case. She carried it over to her bed. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, she began laying the pieces out, inspecting them one by one. Every piece she owned had been a gift from Edmond. Every piece was very valuable. And aside from the stock she owned in Barrister's, it was the only liquid asset she had. She would have to sell it. All of it.

Leaning back against the pillows, she closed her eyes. She could hardly believe she was actually considering giving in to blackmail. Russell wanted two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The man was insane. But if she didn't give in to him he was just evil enough to do what he had threatened, to tell Joey, and she couldn't bear that. Joey would never learn about her sordid past or Russell's part in the scandal that had ruined her former life, torn her apart from her whole family, and almost destroyed her emotionally.

No, she had to get rid of Russell, the sooner the better. The jewelry was a small price to pay. So first thing tomorrow morning, she would see about cashing it in.

Her decision made, Hope met the owner of the River Oaks jewelry store at eight the next morning. She laid out all the pieces. She had no idea what the pieces were worth collectively. It was time she found out.

“This is a beautiful set,” Mr. Fitzgerald murmured. “I remember selling it to your husband. It was right after you were first married, wasn't it?”

Hope nodded, her gaze falling on the garnet necklace and ear
rings. That set in particular had deep emotional significance for her. She could still remember Edmond fastening the necklace around her neck on the eve of their wedding. “I can't promise you forever,” he had said. “Only that I'll take care of you as long as we're together.” And he had. He had loved her until the day he'd died. And she had loved him.

Surely, she thought, Edmond would understand why I'm doing this. He would want me to protect Joey.

“Twenty-five thousand,” Mr. Fitzgerald said.

Hope felt herself begin to panic. This was by far the most valuable set she owned, in her opinion. She had a long way to go before reaching the two hundred and fifty thousand Russell was demanding. “That's all?” she asked, trying hard not to conceal her mounting panic.

Mr. Fitzgerald smiled comfortingly. “I can see you have attached great sentimental value to the set, but, I promise you, Hope, that's all it is worth.”

She knew he wouldn't try to cheat her. If anything, because of the business the Barristers had done with the River Oaks store over the years and because she was Edmond's widow, he would give her a slightly inflated price.

Hope looked at the beautiful sapphire and diamond ring and matching bracelet Edmond had given her for their first anniversary. She tried to swallow the tears that clogged the back of her throat. “What about these?”

“Twenty thousand.”

Hope swallowed. “The aquamarine necklace?” Given to her to celebrate Joey's birth.

“Ten thousand.”

And so it went. By the time she had added up the value of all the pieces she owned, she was still far short of her goal. Worse, she had nothing else of value to offer, Hope thought dispiritedly, except one thing. She looked down at her hands. Her diamond wedding and anniversary rings.

Slowly, she took them off her hand. She gave them to Mr. Fitzgerald. “What about these?”

He looked as stricken as she felt. “Hope, you don't—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, feeling dangerously near tears, “I do.” She had to sell them. She had to sell everything. And she would do it with no regrets, too. She would do anything to protect Joey.

Mr. Fitzgerald bent down to examine the rings. Hope was still numb as he quoted the final price. “When can you have a check for me?” she asked. She was in a hurry to leave now that the deed was done.

He frowned, not liking her haste, but too much of a gentleman to inquire deeply into the reasons behind it. “The end of the week.” He paused and then added gently, “But only if you're sure this is what you want to do.”

It was, Hope thought grimly. She had no choice.

 

U
NFORTUNATELY
for Hope, her day did not get any easier. “What do you mean you're planning to close the store for a few days at the end of the month?” Rosemary complained, storming in on Hope and Chase about ten o'clock. She waved the memo Hope had instructed her secretary to distribute.

Hope's secretary appeared behind Rosemary, gesturing helplessly and rolling her eyes. “I'm sorry, Hope. She saw them while I was still preparing them.”

“Are you crazy?” Rosemary continued, advancing farther into the room. She thrust the stolen memo at Chase, who, after accepting it, silently began perusing the print.

I don't need this, Hope thought. Not after the morning I had. To Rosemary, she countered with a calm only Chase seemed able to appreciate, “I'm just being practical.”

“Practical!” Rosemary echoed with a huff.

“Our first shipments of the new merchandise will be in by then. We can't mix couture and ready-to-wear in the same departments,” Hope retorted evenly.

“So what are you planning to do?” Rosemary countered sarcastically, her beringed hands on her fashionably slim hips. “Rearrange the whole store?”

Hope lifted her chin a notch higher, daring Rosemary to challenge her. “As a matter of fact, I am,” she enunciated plainly, feeling her temper flare in response to the other woman's continued harassment.

“What?” Rosemary gasped in shock. “Chase, do something,” she pleaded, turning to her son.

Chase sent Hope a questioning glance, looking just as disturbed as his mother. In an effort to reassure him, Hope patiently ex
plained her plans. “I'm going to put all couture on the third floor. It will be available for viewing by appointment only. The first floor will be cosmetics, jewelry, and adult ready-to-wear. The second floor will remain as it is, with furniture, bedding, linens, china and the children's departments.”

“That will require quite a bit of upheaval.” Chase frowned.

“I know. Which is why we are going to have to close the store for a few days.” Hope got up and brought back the plans she'd commissioned an architect to draw up. “As you can see it will involve several new sections of sheet rock being put up, some replastering and painting—”

“Absurd.” Rosemary paced back and forth. “This whole revamping is crazy.”

“No,” Hope countered, “it is not. These changes are necessary if Barrister's is to survive in the nineties.”

“You'd know a lot about surviving,” Rosemary said bitterly.

“Mother,” Chase intervened, “let's not get personal here.”

“Oh? Am I supposed to overlook what this—this idiot—is doing to our family store? She's going to drive away all our loyal customers and if you don't see that, Chase, then you're a blind fool!”

“Our loyal customers will remain loyal,” Hope said calmly.

Rosemary snorted and Chase gave her a chastising look. “I'm sorry,” Rosemary said to her son, “but loyalty is something Hope obviously knows nothing about. All you have to do is examine her past to know that. Look at how quickly she turned her back on her own people, for heaven's sake. No sooner had she married rich than she all but disowned them!”

Rosemary was right in so far as the facts went, Hope thought with a debilitating mixture of shame, guilt and remembered hurt. She
had
walked away from her own family. But her doing so had nothing to do with who she had married. Or why, even now, she had no desire to be in contact with them again.

Chase stood, putting the plans for the renovation carefully on Hope's desk. “Mother, that's enough,” he ordered sternly.

“Siding with her again?” Rosemary turned to Hope and gave her an ugly look. “You'll pay for this,” she swore, and stormed from the room.

The door slammed behind her. For a moment, Chase was silent.
Head bent, he gave Hope a long-suffering look that silently begged her forgiveness. Then he ran a hand through his dark gold hair.

Although she was still very angry with Rosemary, Hope's heart went out to Chase. She knew firsthand how frustrated he felt. She had suffered similar problems when trying to deal with her mother, too. She could still remember how much it had hurt, how betrayed she had felt, in the days before she had left her family for good. She could remember the way her mother had looked at her, accusing her silently, telling her it was all her fault, that she'd brought the traumatic scandal on herself.

That still hurt her unbearably. She had expected her own family to back her up. But they hadn't. And consequently, Russell and his family had won. They'd triumphed in the whole ugly mess. But that was in the past, she reminded herself firmly. And thanks to the sacrifices she was making now it would stay there. “It's okay, Chase. I understand. I know firsthand how unreasonable mothers can be sometimes.”

He glanced up. His gratitude faded gradually and was replaced by curiosity. “Is that why you left home the way you did?” he asked, his voice soft.

Hope said, evasively, “We were never a close-knit family. Large, yes, but it was every person for his or herself.”

He strolled nearer, seating himself on the edge of her desk. “And yet you're so devoted to Joey.”

Hope shrugged off his praise. “I didn't want him growing up the way I did, with no parental support or attention.” Wanting him to understand that much about her, she lifted her eyes to his. “My parents thought that if they put food on the table and clothes on our backs it was enough. As soon as a child could walk, a door was opened and he or she was sent out to play.”

Chase moved closer. “Is that why you had only one child, to be sure you had enough time to devote to Joey?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy of his question, Hope drew in a quick breath. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I know for a fact my dad always wanted to have more children.”

Hope would've liked to have had more children, too, but she couldn't tell Chase why they had never done so, not without possibly revealing everything she and Edmond had agreed must be kept secret from the rest of the world.

“You being so young, so obviously maternal—” Chase continued casually “—I just wondered, that's all. But I can see it's none of my business, so forget I asked.”

Hope knew no harm was meant by his impulsive questioning. He was just trying to understand her, on every level. She knew because part of her wanted that, too. Chase would be hurt if he knew the truth, that Edmond had kept secrets from him, too.

“We better get back to work,” she said, averting her glance.

“Yes.” Chase nodded slowly, looking momentarily as lonely and disappointed as she felt, “I guess we'd better.”

 

“I
KNOW SOME
of these pieces have been in your family for generations,” Mr. Fitzgerald said the following morning. “I wasn't sure how you'd feel about Hope selling them. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

“I didn't know. Thanks.” Chase paused, bewildered and upset by this latest revelation about his stepmother. “Did Hope tell you why she'd decided to sell them?”

“No,” Mr. Fitzgerald answered, sounding as inwardly troubled as Chase felt. “Only that she wanted it done right away and to get the best price possible for her.”

Chase struggled with himself. Although he was overwhelmed with curiosity, he also knew this was none of his business. If Hope wanted to sell her jewelry, certainly she was allowed to do so. She didn't have to consult him. But why was she selling it? And not just a piece or two but everything, even her wedding rings? Was Hope simply after the money and hence as greedy and uncaring as Rosemary kept asserting Hope was? Or was she in some sort of trouble, as his gut feeling kept telling him she was? And if so, wasn't it his duty as Edmond's son to help her?

He found her in the cold-storage room, checking the furs that were going to be offered at reduced price. They were alone and weren't likely to be disturbed; still, he didn't know how to broach the subject without offending her. Finally he just said it. “Mr. Fitzgerald called me a little while ago. He heard I was in town. He thought I ought to know what was going on.”

“I see.” Hope's reaction was subdued. Careful, she ran a hand over a balmacaan mink, checking tactically for any flaws. Finding none, she wrote the tag number down on the clipboard. The cold
air of the vault had brought a rosy color to her cheeks. When she looked at Chase the color deepened even more. “You're angry with me for selling the pieces?” She kept her voice neutral with effort.

“No,” Chase said, refusing to turn his glance away from her lowered gaze, “I know they're yours to do with what you wish.”

Her relief about that was visible, but she let it pass without comment. Still not looking at him, she moved down, to the next fur on the rack. “You see,” Hope said touching the sleeve of a beautiful mink and changing the subject, “this is what I was talking about.” She turned to him, her expression all business. “Ten years ago at this time of year, we would have had maybe ten coats left to put on sale. This year we're stuck with thirty-five of the original forty we ordered. And we have almost no chance of selling these unless we mark them down to fifty percent off. Even then it won't be easy. Which, as you know, reduces our profit margin on the coats to nothing. All we have to show for it is the prestige of carrying the coats, and the electric bill for the cold-storage room.”

And prestige, nice as it was, Chase thought, didn't begin to pay the rent. Chase smiled, beginning to feel a bit chilly himself. Clamping his arms over his chest, he drew nearer to her and said, “Weather-wise, there's not much reason to wear mink in Houston.”