When Venus Fell (22 page)

Kelly and Jasper stood behind her, their heads bowed. Isabel moved to stand near Gib. She put an arm around
Kelly’s shoulders. Gib stared fixedly into space, turned oh-so-discreetly to hide his damaged hand by his side.

Min raised the small bell. “All of you—and every guest who visited this house—can tell stories about the small touches of humor and hospitality my husband incorporated. This wasn’t a business to him. He believed he had a calling to welcome people to this house, that he and his brother and his sisters and Aunt Olivia and our sweet Beatrice should open this lovely old home of the Cameron clan to friends, relatives, and strangers alike. He believed that the world would be a safe and joyful place if we all treated one another like family. And each night, when he walked through these downstairs rooms and rang this bell to call our guests to dinner, he was offering fellowship to everyone who could hear the sound. Thirty years ago, tonight, he rang this bell the first time.” Her voice faltered.

Mom and Pop were here that night. They heard the bell.
Ella cried softly beside me. Min went on, “When I ring this bell tonight, my husband will be listening”—now half the people in the room were wiping tears from their eyes—“and all of our guests, past, present, and future, will be with us in spirit.”

She lifted the bell.

Gib took a champagne glass from a table behind him, raised it with his ruined hand clasped around the stem, and added in a strong voice, “To my brother’s love for the Hall and this family. To my brother. And welcome to Venus and Ella Arinelli. Thirty years ago your parents stood in this room.” He paused for a moment, his eyes directly on mine. With neutral diplomacy he said, “We hope their good wishes watch over us all. And we’re glad we found you.”

“Good show, dear Gib,” Bea said under her breath. Olivia reached across me to the piano keyboard and began pounding a high D with her forefinger.

Everyone, startled, turned to look at us. I held up both
hands to show it wasn’t my doing. Olivia blew Gib a kiss, then sat back in her chair, her expression firm and proud.

Min and Isabel gazed at Gib with adoration.

And so, God help me, did I.

It had been years since we’d been invited to anyone’s fine table, years since I’d maneuvered a piece of real silverware in my hand. The soft, lace-edged tablecloth and napkins embroidered with a Cameron crest caressed my hands; the chandeliers seemed too bright; I was reliving the luxuries of childhood, when Pop spared no expense, and every night Ella and I ate dinner with him at a private room at his nightclub, with white tablecloths and white-aproned, bowing waiters, and Pop helping us slice little-girl portions of prime rib into bite-sized pieces, or pull delicate roasted quail meat from the tiny quail bones, while he led us in solemn critiques of the jazz or classical selections he played on a stereo in the room.

Every night, a music lesson, and a very private, formal family dinner. I loved that memory so much. A butler door swung open. Ebb and Flo paraded into the room carrying a magnificent china soup tureen between them.

Min motioned for them to begin serving. She sat at a far end of the large table, with Gib at the opposite end, and Ella far away from me, placed beside a stately woman who owned
Southern Scene
, a sumptuous, upscale magazine that had been considered the bible of regional travel and entertaining for decades. They were already chatting like old friends.

Carter had finally arrived. He’d turned himself out in gray linen with a gray western-style jacket fitted with black piping around the shoulders, and a collarless shirt with a pearl stickpin at the throat, to match the pearl stud in his earlobe.

“You’re a looker, all right,” Hoover Bird Macintosh boomed cheerfully as he gazed at Ella.

“Pretty as a goddamned daffodil,” his wife, Goldfish, echoed. They were Carter’s adoptive parents from Oklahoma. His uncle, Hoover Bird, had shoulder-length hair pulled back with a silver clasp. Goldfish, red-headed and big-busted, wore a dress suit in an eye-aching shade of neon blue.

Ella blushed then offered gamely, “Carter mentioned to me that he had to pick you folks up at the airport in Knoxville. Was your flight late?”

Uncle Hoover Bird grinned. “We got a late start out of Oklahoma City. Had to switch planes. Had some computer trouble.”

“Oh? I’m so glad you could get a later flight.”

“They didn’t take a later flight,” Gib interjected. “They switched planes.”

Ella looked bewildered. I’m sure I did, too. Carter cleared his throat. He took Ella’s hand. “Darlin’,” he said soothingly, as if bad news were coming, “they’ve got a couple of Cessnas and a little jet.”

I stared at him, then at Gib. Gib arched a brow. Uncle Hoover Bird announced, “Oil money. We struck oil on our ranch during the early sixties.” Rich. Carter wasn’t a ne’er-do-well relative. He was a rich ne’er-do-well relative.

This didn’t make me feel any better. Carter and Ella leaned close together and gazed at each other like cats watching butterflies flicker against a windowpane.

Darling
, he had said.

We went upstairs to our bedroom. Ella slept in the main bed, a lovely canopied number done in soft yellow. I opted for a plush wicker sleeping couch in a sitting room. Ella opened a curtain. “Oh, Vee, look.” Moonlight glittered like silver on flower gardens and the swimming pool. A small apple orchard stretched in moon-shadowed charm alongside a large vegetable garden surrounded by a split-rail fence. It was a scene of astonishing, heart-melting beauty.

Gib stuck his head in the open door of our bedroom. “If you hear the dogs barking it’ll only be that they’re chasing off deer and rabbits,” he said. “Or maybe a bear after the seeds in the bird feeders. I chased off a mama and her cubs a few weeks ago.”

“We won’t be going out to watch the bears,” I promised. He said good-night to Ella, who was already sinking luxuriously into a chintz armchair. “Ebb will bring up some hot tea in a minute,” he added.

“Oh, bliss,” she sighed. “Thank you. This is all so wonderful. I feel like a princess.”

“Good for you,” Gib said gently. “We pride ourselves on our hospitality.” He glanced at me. “Are you feeling like a princess, too?” he asked dryly.

“No, I’m the evil queen.” His eyes slitted, he smiled and nodded an ungallant agreement. He crooked his finger at me. When he walked off I trailed him down the hallway. We stopped at the top of long, simple stairs with a newel post of golden wood. “Chestnut?” I asked.

“Yes.” He frowned. “There’s something I don’t understand. Why haven’t you asked to see your money?”

I stalled. “Why haven’t you offered to show it to me?”

“I don’t even like to talk about it.”

“Fine. Neither do I. On the day Ella and I leave, just bring it to our car. We don’t have to discuss it. Or look at it.”

A sardonic smile crooked one corner of his mouth. “Don’t you want to count it and see if it’s all there?”

“Oh, I will. I’ll sit in some hotel room somewhere, juiced on Dom Perignon, naked, with hundred-dollar bills scattered around me, and I’ll laugh wickedly as I count the whole stash. Just think of me that way.”

“Subtract the money from that mental image, and you’ve got a deal.”

The evening had certainly mellowed him. Suddenly awkward, I changed the subject. “Everything you’ve done for Ella and me since we got here has been gracious. Thank you.”

“No problem. You and Ella are Company. This is how we treat all Company.”

“My sister enjoys being part of a family group. She loves children and she loves the friendship of women who don’t make her discuss duet arrangements and badger her to practice her violin. I appreciate the kindness everybody around here has offered her. She deserves to enjoy being here.”

“Nothing for yourself? All for Ella? Never admit you seriously need anything or anyone to look after
you
, hmmm?”

“You summed me up. Congratulations. You can relax—I’m not looking for a man to lean on.”

“I wish you could see me and my motives clearly.”

“I do. Pure and simple. Duty to your family, honoring your brother’s wishes, putting up with me to humor Olivia—I understand your motives.”

“Thank you for cooperating with me. Being kind to Olivia, and Isabel and Min. Even if you’re only doing what you have to do to pick up your money.”

Wounded, I tossed back, “Speaking of the missing link in your family, I know Ruth didn’t come tonight because she still doesn’t like your inviting Ella and me here.”

“Sorry, but that’s true. I think I can safely say, however, that even Ruth will keep her opinions to herself and treat you both well in person.”

I decided not to tell him how wrong he was about his sister’s politeness. I didn’t want him to know how I’d threatened her, either. I shrugged. “She was a little cool when we met.”

Gib, unaware, nodded. “My sister’s blunt but fair. We agree on matters of principle about family togetherness.”

“Except for the little problem of her wanting to sell the Hall to your cousin Emory.”

He scowled. “She’ll come around. I’m working on her attitude.”

“How about Min and Isabel? Can you change everyone’s attitude? Can you and Olivia bring about some major shift in the Cameron universe?”

“We’re trying. You’re part of it. You and the memories of how we started. That’s what you and Ella represent.”

“Oh? That’s not very logical.”

“You go on trying to be logical. I used to appreciate logic. Lately I’ve just been operating by instinct.” He spoke quietly, leaning closer to me. “And instinct is a powerful motivation, Nellie.” I found myself leaning toward him, too. Then his gaze went to my mouth, and suddenly we were on the verge of kissing. We swayed together as if pulled by some invisible force. I quickly took a step away from him and gripped the balustrade at the top of the stairs.

He recovered fast. Nodding good-night to me, he started down the stairs, leaving his obvious rejection in the air like skunk musk. “Where do you go at night?” I called after him. “To your cave?”

“The Waterfall Lodge,” he called back. “It’s where I live, for now. I like the peace and quiet.”

“Oh, yes, Sophia told me about it. Your great-great-grandfather built the lodge when he and your great-great-grandmother weren’t getting along. After a year she had the servants hide decomposing trout in the lodge to flush him out and force him to move back to the Hall. I admire a woman who knows when to call on dead trout for help.”

Gib managed a short, explosive chortle of laughter. I listened to the rich baritone sound fade until he closed a door behind himself downstairs.

“Good morning,” I said brightly to the half-dozen visitors who had stayed overnight. I sat down reluctantly in a chair Gib held for me at the dining table and looked over cantaloupe and strawberries piled in an etched crystal compote. I surveyed Ella’s and Carter’s empty chairs. I hoped Carter wouldn’t show up for breakfast. “Ella will be down in a minute,” I announced to the assembled—Gib, Min, Isabel, Goldfish, Hoover Bird, and Bo Burton. “She was just about finished dressing when I left our room.”

I began spearing strawberries with a heavy sterling fork. Then I realized that Goldfish was peering at me and nervously biting her pruny, pink-rimmed lower lip. In tight white jeans and a button-popping white blouse, with her eyes made up elaborately in rainbow hues, she looked like an aging L.A. hooker. “Hell, honey, your sis just headed for the hills with Carter,” she said. “I saw ’em going out the back kitchen door. He brought up a couple of riding horses.” Goldfish went
pluuuff
in dismissal, pawed the air with red-tipped nails, and hooted. “Don’t worry, honey. Your sis’ll have a fine time.”

“I see,” I said, as a knot of anxiety and fury formed in my stomach. I started to get up.

Gib put a hand on my shoulder and bent close to my side. “Don’t make a scene and ruin Min’s mood this morning. Do that for me and I promise I’ll help you find Ella after breakfast.”

I looked desperately at Min, whose eyes were a little brighter with the crowd around at the table. She was even smiling at a joke Bo Burton had just told.

I had no choice. I’d never find my sister in the mountains around there without Gib’s help. But I knew the truth, deep down. For the first time in my life I was willing to make a compromise.

Because Gib Cameron asked me to.

Gib stopped his jeep at the top of a mountain hiking trail so narrow I’d spent the entire steep ten-minute drive battling small tree branches.

“Hunting the elusive Ella,” he said in a mock-documentary whisper. “This variety of the little-known yellow-crested violinist appears friendly but is, in fact, only seen when lured out of hiding by her sister, who warbles the ritual song of female kinship.” He cupped his left hand around his mouth. “Give-men-no-nooky,” he yodeled softly.
“Givemennonooky.”

I plucked leaves, twigs, and several caterpillars from my braids. “I don’t dislike men. I just dislike men who are smartasses.”

He jumped out of the jeep and walked to a rocky overlook. Above us to the right a tiny stream trickled from a crevice in the mountain’s craggy, lichen-covered side. The sound was as soothing as a fountain, and the air was scented with water and green, ripe life. I stood beside Gib and looked down a hundred yards through a jungle of laurel and trees, into a glen where the tiny stream bottomed into a small, lovely pool surrounded by tall ferns.

I caught my breath. In front of us and below us was a world
for dreaming. A world like some fabulous fantasy medieval landscape drawn in one of those dragon-and-elf computer games or calendars. Sheer towers of mountains, breathtaking views, cliffs, flowers, clouds, shadow and light—a dreamscape from a modern Eden. The earth had birthed rocks; it was seeded with fist-sized and football-sized rocks in harmony with every stone hoe, shovel blade, rake tine, or pick point wielded in the attempt to clear this unconquerable forest.

When Gib dropped to his heels I squatted beside him. The rocky grotto of the creek glen below us made a very seductive setting. “They haven’t been there,” Gib said.