Legacy of Lies (30 page)

“As it turns out, the London group is big on tradition.” It was what he'd been counting on. “And though they'd decided to finally sell their stock and take a hefty profit, none of them wanted to be responsible for turning an upscale, fifty-year-old department store chain into the five-and-dime.”

“Damn you!” Furious, she slapped him, the sound of her palm hitting his cheek like a gunshot.

“If you want to blame someone,” Zach said calmly, ignoring her outburst, “I'd suggest you blame your father. If he hadn't sold his stock to pay his gambling debts, it would have remained under family control.”

He pulled an envelope from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Here's a check for your outstanding shares, made out for twenty percent above today's market closing price.”

“What makes you think I would sell my stock to you?”

“In the first place, I'm offering you an extremely generous profit. Then there's always the fact that your social cachet might plummet if all your society pals find out about your little playmate.” He tilted his head toward the bathroom door.

When he'd come here today, he'd hoped to use Miranda's deep-seated greed to convince her to sign; he hadn't expected her to give him a more powerful weapon.

“That's bloody, fucking blackmail.”

“You'd be the one to know,” he drawled sapiently. “Having used the tactic yourself so many times.”

“I'll kill myself if you leave me.” It was a last-ditch effort that had succeeded before. This time it failed.

“That threat may have worked once,” Zach allowed. “But don't forget, baby, we hadn't been married long. I hadn't seen through your slickly applied veneer yet.

“Besides, you'd never do it,” Zach said. “You're too narcissistic to ever hurt yourself.” He pulled another check from his pocket. “And to sweeten the pot, Eleanor's willing to give you your inheritance up front.”

“I can't believe you actually went to Eleanor with this.”

“Lord's is her company,” he reminded Miranda. “She was entitled to the opportunity to save it. Face it, sweet-
heart,” he said as she snatched both checks from his fingers, studying them with avid green eyes, “this deal is as good as it's going to get.

“In fact, the offer for your shares automatically drops ten percent per minute.” He glanced down at his gold watch. “Beginning now.”

He placed the deed of transfer on the nineteenth-century partner's desk he remembered her unearthing at an antique store on Bleeker Street during his first visit to the city and held out his pen.

“You bastard.” She took the gold pen from his outstretched hand and signed her name in a furious scrawl far removed from her usual stylish script.

“My lawyer will be contacting yours in the morning to work out the details for the divorce.”

At her mumbled obscenity, his eyes hardened to black stones. “I wouldn't advise your stalling on this one, Miranda. Unless you want to see exactly how uncivilized we barbaric backwoods Cajuns can be.”

“Bastard,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“Goodbye, Miranda.” Zach folded the transfer agreement and returned it to his pocket. “It's been interesting.”

Feeling remarkably lighthearted and blessedly free—free!—he walked away, not pausing when the porcelain Ming vase shattered against the doorjamb only inches from his head.

As he returned to the waiting taxi, Zach was whistling.

T
hough Alex knew Eleanor was about to be proved wrong, she could not rein in her anxiety as she drove up the coast to Casa Contenta. By the time she entered the mansion, her nerves were screaming.

“My dear,” Eleanor said, “thank you so very much for coming.” She took both Alex's unnaturally icy hands in hers. “I had tea and cakes prepared. Will you join me?”

“Of course.” They were both skirting around the real reason for her being there. Which was, of course, like ignoring a dead elephant in your living room.

Averill was waiting for the women in the solarium. After greeting the doctor politely, Alex glanced down at the white, wrought-iron table, relieved to find it set for only three.

Eleanor did not miss Alex's surreptitious study of the table settings. “Zachary is in London. He's returning to L.A. this morning.”

“If you don't mind, Eleanor,” Alex said, her voice as tight as the fist that gripped her heart, “I'd rather not dis
cuss Zach.” There. She'd done it. Said his name without choking. Alex figured that was progress of sorts.

“Whatever you wish, dear.” There would be time, Eleanor assured herself, for the young people to iron out their difficulties.

Alex was forced to wait while Eleanor poured the tea neither of them really wanted.

“I suspect you ladies have been on pins and needles, these past weeks,” Averill said as he accepted a raisin-studded scone from the plate Eleanor passed him. “So, shall we get to it?”

At that moment, Alex could have kissed him. He met her eyes and smiled his understanding of her impatience.

He reached into the alligator briefcase on the chair beside him and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers. On the top page was a colorful graph resembling the bar code scanned for supermarket prices.

“As I said, it's a complicated test,” he began. “You'll recall that human beings have forty-six pairs of chromosomes, each chromosome consisting of a long string of genes that are, in turn, composed of strands of deoxyribonucleic acid, which is a chemical that carries the, uh, computer programming codes, I suppose you could call them—”

“Averill.” Eleanor lifted her hand. “Alexandra and I have both taken high-school biology. We know what chromosomes are and we also understand, as well as any lay-person needs to, what genes do. So, do you think you could just skip the lecture and cut to the chase?”

“Of course,” he said. “I'm sorry if I bored you.”

“We're just a little anxious,” Alex said quickly.

“You don't have to apologize, Alexandra,” Eleanor countered. “Averill is quite accustomed to my bad manners. Aren't you?”

“I wouldn't touch that line with a ten-foot pole,” he responded mildly. “Okay. The bottom line is that there's no match.”

His words landed in the center of the table like a bomb. Alex would have not been surprised to see the flower-rimmed Royal Doulton tea plates and delicate cups shatter.

“Are you saying Alexandra is not my granddaughter?”

“Yes.” Averill exchanged a glance with Alex and she knew they were thinking the same thing. Neither of them would have willingly harmed Eleanor Lord. Yet that was what they'd done. “I'm sorry, Eleanor.”

“How conclusive is that test?” Eleanor demanded.

“Very conclusive. Alex is a charming, intelligent young woman. And it's more than a little apparent that you and she have a great deal in common. But she is not Anna.”

“Well.” Eleanor exhaled a deep breath and turned her gaze out over the estate. Outside the windows, the grounds-keepers were raking the red clay tennis courts. She was silent for so long that Alex thought the older woman had forgotten their presence until she turned from the window and faced her.

“Fate is a powerful force, Alexandra. It was fate that brought us together—in so many ways that are every bit as twisted and interconnected as those genes Averill says proves we're not related by blood.

“But it doesn't matter,” Eleanor insisted, reaching out to cover Alex's hand with her own blue-veined one. “You could not be any closer to me if you were my own flesh and blood, Alexandra. And that's all that matters.”

“Yes.” Alex nodded. “That's all that matters.” She'd never meant anything more in her life.

For a quarter of a century Eleanor had been obsessed with finding her missing granddaughter. Now, as she embraced Alexandra, she finally gave up the quest.

There were tears. And laughter. Then more tears. Then emotional healing.

“It wasn't Zachary's fault, you know,” Eleanor said after they had moved from tea to champagne.

Alex took a long sip of the sparkling wine and tried not to think about the day she and Zach had drunk Dom Pérignon from paper cups. “He lied to me.”

“Only to protect me. The man was horribly torn, Alexandra.”

“I understand that.” Alex leaned forward and refilled her glass. “But if he loved me, really loved me…” Her voice drifted off as she ran a fingernail along the rim of the flute.

“May I ask a question?” Eleanor said.

“Of course.”

“Do you love Zach?”

Alex didn't want to. She had tried with every fiber of her being to exorcise him from her mind. Her heart. But she might as well have tried to stop the sun from rising in the east or those waves outside the windows from ebbing and flowing.

“So much it hurts.”

“Well, then,” Eleanor said with her usual brusque, decisive manner, “that's all that matters, isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Alex murmured.

“I've always believed that when your head and your heart seem at odds, it's best to go with your heart,” Eleanor advised gently.

Eleanor wondered if they'd like to get married here, at Casa Contenta, then remembering that this was the scene of Zach's first disastrous wedding, reconsidered. The country club was always nice. Or perhaps the winter home she kept on Kauai.

Kauai, Eleanor decided. Outside, on the lanai overlook
ing the peaceful blue lagoon, with the scent of Plumeria and bougainvillea drifting on the trade winds. Alexandra would make such a lovely bride. She deserved a wedding fit for a fairy-tale princess, and Eleanor intended to see that the day lived up to her darling Alex's most romantic fantasy.

“Eleanor,” Averill murmured, interrupting into her pleasant thoughts. “As much as I hate to break up this party, it's past time for your nap.”

“Oh, pooh,” she complained. “I do wish you'd stop treating me like an old woman.”

“You are an old woman,” Averill countered, smiling. “The goal is to keep you healthy so you can get even older.”

“But I want to talk with Alexandra some more.”

“She'll be here when you wake up. Won't you, Alex?” Before she could answer he suggested, “In fact, why don't you spend the night?”

Alex had intended to return to Los Angeles as soon as she'd learned the results of the DNA test. Truthfully, she didn't want to spend another night upstairs, where she'd suffered those frightening nightmares. But one look at the hope etched blatantly into the deep lines of Eleanor's face and she felt her resolve crumbling.

“I'd love to spend the night.”

“Thank you, dear.” Eleanor rose from the table and kissed Alex's cheek. “You've made me a very happy woman.” That said, she allowed the doctor to escort her upstairs.

Alex took the opportunity to call Sophie and let her know about the negative results. She was still in the solarium, sipping champagne and looking out at the ocean when Averill returned.

“That was very nice of you,” he said.

“What?”

“Agreeing to spend the night. I'm sorry, Alex. I was so concerned about Eleanor, I forgot about the nightmares.”

“That's all right. They're only dreams.”

“Of course.”

“And dreams can only hurt if Freddy Krueger's starring in them.”

“Freddy Krueger?”

Alex laughed, feeling foolish. “He's a character in a movie. He has horrible long fingernails and slaughters high-school students who dream about him.
Nightmare on Elm Street
.”

“I must have missed that one.”

The idea of this debonair man sitting in a theater with a bunch of screaming teenagers watching the satanic sandman slashing away at defenseless dreamers made Alex laugh again.

“I have got an idea,” he said suddenly. “How would you like to go for a sail?”

“Today?” Alex glanced out at the line of clouds building on the horizon.

“That rain is hours away,” Averill assured her as if reading her mind. “We'll only stay out a short time. Just long enough to help you relax so you can sleep without worrying about nocturnal visitors. It's better than pills.”

Remembering how her day on the water had calmed her nerves the last time she'd been bothered by the nightmares, Alex made her decision. “I like your prescription, Doctor.”

 

Although Alex trusted Averill's sailing skills implicitly, as the sky grew darker and the water became choppier, she began to feel uneasy.

“Eleanor's probably awake by now,” she said. “Perhaps we should go back in. Before she begins to worry.”

He turned from trimming the sail. “Eleanor knows you're with me, Alex. She won't worry.”

The wind picked up, blowing her hair into a frothy tangle. “Still, with her heart condition and all…”

“Don't tell me you're afraid.”

“Of course not,” Alex said quickly. A little too quickly. Averill gave her a sharp, knowing look. “All right,” she admitted reluctantly. “I am a little nervous.”

“Don't you trust me?”

“Of course, but—”

“Alex, Alex.” He laughed off her concern. “I've sailed in worse squalls than this. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.”

She tried to relax. She watched him move around the wet and slanting teak deck, as graceful as a cat walking along the top of a fence. He knew what he was doing, she reminded herself, observing his deft skills. He'd never risk his own life.

She told herself that over and over again, but as the sky grew even darker and thunder boomed ominously beyond the thick fog bank blowing in from the horizon, she began to find it more and more difficult to relax.

A frisson of fear skimmed along her nerve endings when she noticed that, instead of turning the ketch back toward the shore, he was actually taking it farther out to sea.

“Please, Averill,” she said. “I want to go back now.”

“I'm sorry, Alexandra. But I'm afraid that's impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it's all your fault,” he explained. His voice was calm.

A wave hit the side of the ketch, splashing her. She dragged her hand down her face, wiping away the salt water. “What's my fault? Surely not the weather.”

“I hoped I wouldn't have to do this.” He shook his head with what appeared to be honest regret. “But then you began having those damn nightmares. Over and over again.”

“I don't understand. What do my nightmares have to do with anything? We'd agreed they were only dreams.” Alex wasn't afraid. Not yet. But she was confused.

“That's what we'd agreed. But you have to understand. I can't take the risk.”

“Risk?”

He shook his head. “Everything went wrong that night,” he said as if he hadn't heard her. “Melanie wasn't supposed to die, dammit! Only Robert.”

Somehow, some way, she'd deal with this, Alex told herself. “I don't understand.”

“Robert met Melanie in L.A., when she was under contract to Paramount. But her career was going nowhere and she was tired of struggling to make ends meet, so he seemed like the answer to her prayers.

“But after he brought her to Santa Barbara, it didn't take long for her to get bored. The town,” he said unnecessarily, “is not known for its nightlife. And Robbie was trying to lock her away like one of Eleanor's damn hothouse flowers. But Melanie Patterson was a vibrant, exciting woman. So she turned to me for the stimulation she needed so badly in her life.”

“You had an affair with Melanie Lord?”

“Not an affair,” he retorted. “I loved her. I'd have done anything for her.”

“Even kill your best friend?”

Averill didn't directly respond to her question. “I grew up in Robert Lord's shadow,” he said, his eyes focused on some unseen horizon. “My father was Eleanor and James's gardener. When we went away to college, Robbie got a
Chrysler convertible. I got a job washing dishes in a sorority kitchen.

“After graduation, Robbie got another new car, a Porsche this time, and went to Harvard law school. I managed to swing some financial aid for medical school, but it took me fifteen years to pay off my student loans. Fifteen damn years.”

“That must have been hard.”

He gave her a long, unfathomable look. “Yes.”

“But then you began to make a great deal of money,” Alex said. “You were able to buy your Ferrari and this gorgeous ketch—”

“That's not the goddamn point!” he roared as the ketch reeled on the increasing waves.

Alex swallowed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to belittle your struggles.”

“Everything always came so easily to Robbie. But then, I had something of his. I had his wife.”

“Whom you loved,” she said, trying to remain calm. The thing to do, she decided, was to keep him talking. Until she figured out a way out of this.

“Love doesn't begin to cover what I felt. Obsession comes close, but it's still not a strong enough word. Which is why, when she began insisting that the only way we could ever be together would be if Robert were dead, I believed her.”

Alex didn't know which she found more horrible: the story itself, or the fact that she was beginning to believe it. “Why didn't she just get a divorce?”