The Senator’s Daughter (47 page)

She believed he had betrayed her.

If he hadn't been certain there would be some kind of security at Chatsworth's home, he would already be storming the place. Demanding—he was too proud to call it begging—that Sylvia let him plead his case.

Much as he wanted to take the ferry to Sausalito, he knew he would not.

Tonight, as Lyle had told Cliff, was the time for her reunion with family. No question; her relationship with Lawrence and Laura had been dysfunctional; it had broken down completely when she fled in the middle of the night and wrecked her car.

Boy, had Lyle been the big talker. Telling her to give things a chance, to call home and tell them she was safe. Even offered to trade tit for tat by saying he would see his father … take her to meet him.

Lyle stared at the Bay Bridge, the route east to the San Joaquin. South of Sacramento, out in the flats, was the land and the home where he'd been born and brought up.

He'd thrown a challenge at Sylvia. Maybe it was time he took it up himself.

T
he old house didn't look as dingy as it had early in the summer. James Thomas was on a ladder propped against a side wall, wielding a roller that spread fresh white paint over the faded wall.

Lyle got out of his car and surveyed the work, then walked around to where his father was moving with agility down to meet him.

“Pop.” Lyle's hands were in his back pockets.

His father was wiping his hands on a rag. “Come and set a spell. I need a break, anyway.”

The two men went in the back screen door; it closed behind them with a familiar bang. No bottled water here, James filled two plain tumblers from the tap and handed one across. Draining his, he poured another.

Lyle sipped. He hadn't been up a ladder in the sun. “Paint job's looking good.”

“I suppose. Got to thinking maybe the place could hold its own against that new subdivision. Construction's sound as a rock, and I replaced all the dry-rotted wood.”

No spit and polish needed inside, Lyle noted, as they went down the shotgun hall with clean pine boards underfoot. A glance in the living room showed magazines, “Field and Stream,” “Science News,” and “People,” on a TV tray beside a big recliner. Lyle had never thought to note his father's taste in reading material.

The front porch rocker made a much better fit than Cliff's office chair. Lyle settled back and had more of the fresh cold well water. They said you couldn't go home again, and he used to endure these taciturn visits. Today, he wanted to see if a different attitude mattered.

He waited for his father to ask how he'd been.

He turned to him. “How've you been doing, Pop?”

“Pretty fair. Get nerve spasms in my back from time to time.”

“Guess that painting doesn't help.”

“Needs doing.”

At this point, Lyle would normally have suggested he hire a painter for Pop. Today, he didn't have the liquid cash.

Lyle set his water glass down on the boards. “I lost my job the other day.”

“The hell?” Pop stopped rocking and turned his blue gaze on Lyle.

“Turns out the DA was involved in some crooked dealings. When I started investigating, he fired me.”

“They figure him out yet?”

“Actually, yes. He's been taken in for questioning.”

“Then you get his replacement to give you your job back.”

Lyle started rocking, slowly. “I'm not sure that's what I want.” He'd been thinking on the drive down about options. Cliff's suggestion of the Justice Department … “Maybe I'll look into private practice.”

“You'd hate it. Unless you want to do wills and divorces, I can't see you defending criminals.”

“Not everyone who needs a lawyer is a criminal, Pop.” “You've been happy putting away the bad guys.” “I have. When there was enough evidence.” “That all that's eating you? The job thing?” “Isn't it enough?” Lyle looked at the fall landscaping in front of the entrance to the gated community. The mums reminded him of Lava Springs, where people would be going back to their homes. And Sylvia. He felt his forehead was set in creases, had been since yesterday. “I don't think so.” Pop put a hand on the arm of Lyle's rocker to still it. He gave him another piercing look. “You look like you did when you were ten years old. Like I did when I looked in the mirror then.”

“Mama used to tell me I would grow up to marry a princess.”

“You've been so busy guarding your heart against another blow, you wouldn't know your princess if she bit you on the ass. Unless …” His voice rose at the end the way Cliff's did when he said “aha.”

“All right. I found her … Senator Chatsworth's daughter. I fell in love with her, and it went south.”

“How?”

Lyle told him. He listened, nodding and interjecting a comment from time to time.

Finally, when Lyle rested his case, Pop looked at him with a keen expression. “What are you doing sitting on my porch? Go get her.”

“How? If I asked her to marry me, she would just think I was after her father's money.”

“So what? I've read about those Hollywood types in ‘People.' They have prenuptial agreements to take care of that claptrap.”

Lyle drew a painful breath. “Just thinking about her …” The ache in his chest had become a constant companion. “I don't know if I can go through this kind of hurt again … if I dare get my hopes up.” He gestured toward his father. “How can you sit there and give advice when you've never moved on in all these years?”

Pop held his gaze. “A few months ago, I probably would have still been too pigheaded. But I've been seeing someone. A widow lady from the church I started going to.”

Lyle straightened in his chair. Instant tears sprang to his eyes. “Mama's never coming back.”

“No, son. She isn't. The pastor … and Martha … have helped me understand that. Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.”

Wiping his eyes with his hands, Lyle felt a wave of relief along with the pain of letting go. “I … hope it works for you with Martha.”

“If it doesn't, at least it got the house painted.”

Both men chuckled, Lyle through tears. Then they were on their feet, sharing the first hug they'd had in many years.

“You go get Sylvia,” Pop ordered. “Bring her back here and you can both meet Martha.”

“I'll try,” Lyle said.

He didn't think it would be that easy.

Sylvia sat on the rear terrace in Sausalito overlooking Richardson Bay and Angel Island. The autumn splendor reminded her painfully of her Sunday outing with Lyle.

Her father occupied a patio chair alongside, while Laura saw to making something cold to drink. That Lawrence Chatsworth hadn't gone to take care of some political business on a weekday surprised Sylvia.

“Daddy,” she said. “I know you need to get back to Washington.”

“I've zipped over twice for an important vote in the past month, but you're right.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Yesterday, you told those reporters you weren't going to be dancing till dawn anymore. What are your plans?” Something in his tone suggested he was fishing about Lyle.

Laura came out with a tray and three sweating glasses of icy lemonade.

Sylvia looked up at her. “I've been thinking of getting involved with the battered women's shelter. Doing something useful for a change.”

“Ah'd welcome the help.” Laura set the tray on a glass-topped table and straightened the Southern-style mint-garnish in one.

“Mom, how have you stood it all these years in California?”

Laura made eye contact with her husband. “I've been with the right man.”

Getting up from her chair, Sylvia faced both her parents. “Hold the presses. I never thought you were that close.”

“We've had our bad moments,” Lawrence said. “And your mother never believed in public displays of affection.”

“Not even in front of your child?” Sylvia's voice rose.

Laura smiled ruefully. “I'm afraid I got that from my mother, and my father, the Southern gentleman. I guess it was wrong.” She went to Lawrence where he sat, put her hands on his shoulders from behind, and bent to kiss the top of his ear lightly.

Lawrence reached up and put his hand on top of hers and looked at Sylvia. “I hate to have to say it, because there was nothing good about your running away, but when we feared our only child might be gone to us, it drew us back together.”

Seeing them like this, the way they had accepted her return with open arms, reminded her she had failed to do her part. “Yesterday, when I got home and you both welcomed me, I overlooked the most important thing. I … owe you both an apology.”

“Accepted,” said Lawrence.

Laura, her face tight with emotion, nodded.

“I should have understood years ago, with a father and mother in public service, which you've been even when you were a developer running the Planning Commission, and Mom was always doing something for the community … I should have known you had enough love for one daughter, as well.”

Her father chuckled. “You know, thinking back, it's amazing how smart my parents suddenly became when I reached my mid-twenties.”

Laura came to Sylvia and put her arms around her.

A silent moment passed.

Then Lawrence cleared his throat. “There is still the matter of Lyle Thomas.”

Pain stabbed Sylvia's chest. “Please,” she said, “let it be.”

She glanced at her mother, expecting her expression to harden at the mere mention of “white trash” Lyle.

Laura simply watched her husband, making Sylvia wonder if she were about to hear a planned presentation.

Lawrence fixed Sylvia with his most intent look. “The man's in love with you. And you with him.”

She didn't bother to deny it. “That doesn't matter. He didn't tell me—”

“It's the
only
thing that matters.” Lawrence got to his feet and started to pace the way he did onstage sometimes. “Here's what happened. I tried to hire Lyle, got him a leave of absence to take time looking for you. When I presented the first check that was to replace his salary, he refused. That put him in the hole financially from the word go. He went up poking around Andre Valetti and happened to run into you.”

“Is that true?”

“I believe it to be. I suddenly stopped hearing from him. He didn't answer his cell phone. If he wanted money, all he had to do was call.”

“You said you offered him a half-million-dollar reward.”

“True. So if the man's motivation was solely money, he wouldn't have helped you hide.”

Laura spoke up. “Now tell her, Larry, why you offered him that.”

He smiled a little sheepishly. “I saw you kissing him on TV. I knew the man had a sterling character, fine prospects, good looks, everything a father-in-law could want. Except that Laura didn't approve of his balance sheet.”

Realization dawned on Sylvia. “You thought you'd bankroll him so Mom wouldn't object.”

“Foolish of me. I should have known her objection was to his upbringing and not his present situation.”

Sylvia looked a question at her mother.

Laura sighed. “Ah was allowing prejudice to overrule common sense. When Lyle came to the house he was a charming young man, clearly in deep over you. What matters is what he's like today.”

How dare they… “So what you're both doing is matchmaking again. The way you did with Rory Campbell.”

Lawrence smiled. “There's one major difference. This time, you chose the man. And he chose you.”

“I was seeing Rory.”

“Ah saw lots of sparks between you two,” Laura said. Sylvia recalled throwing the glass of red wine. “But nothing deep.”

“Anybody who saw you and Lyle kiss knew decisions were being made on a level beyond the physical,” her father finished. “When you disappeared, he looked like he'd been poleaxed.”