The Cottage (26 page)

“I've got to go back to work,” Alex said, and he stood up.

“I think you ought to do your best to stay out of the papers with him, Alex. Being seen with him isn't going to do your reputation any good. You'll have every fortune hunter in the world running after you.” And so far, mainly due to her own efforts, and the way she lived, she had avoided that. The people she knew at work had no idea who she was, or more important, who her father was, and she liked it that way. “They're all going to smell blood in the water, after Winslow gets through with you.” Another lovely image. He saw her as chum for the sharks. She knew her father cared about her, but the way he expressed it was revolting. And the way he perceived the world seemed pathetic to her. He was suspicious of everyone, and all too willing to believe the worst. It was inconceivable to him that, whatever Coop's reputation or financial pressures, he was actually, genuinely in love with her. And she believed he was. “Are you coming to Newport this summer?” he asked in an effort at more pleasant conversation, and she shook her head.

“I can't get away from work,” she said, but even if
she could, she would have stayed in LA rather than go there. She had no desire to see her mother, her sister, or Carter, or her father, or any of their friends. She had renounced her passport to that world long since. She was staying in California with Coop.

“Stay in touch,” her father said stiffly, as she kissed him goodbye.

“I will. Say hello to Mom.” She never came out to see Alex, she never had. She expected Alex to visit her in Palm Beach, although she was perfectly able to travel, and went to visit friends all over the world. But she and Alex had nothing in common. Her mother never knew what to say to her, so she rarely called. She thought her oldest daughter an odd bird, and she'd never understood the need for her medical career. She should have stayed home and married some nice boy in Palm Beach. Even if it hadn't worked out with Carter, there were plenty of others like him, which was precisely why Alex had left. She didn't want a man like him. And for the moment, she was happy with Coop, in spite of everything her father had said.

He walked her to the elevator, and as the doors closed, he turned and walked away, as Alex closed her eyes and rode up to her floor, feeling numb. He always had that effect on her.

While Alex was meeting
with her father, Coop was relaxing under a tree, beside the pool. He was always careful to stay out of the sun, to protect his skin. It was part of the secret of why he never seemed to age. And he loved the peace and quiet of being at the pool in the daytime during the week. There was no one else around. His tenants were at work, and Mark's miserable kids were in school. He was lying there, looking pensive in the shade of the tree, and wondering what her father was saying to her. He was almost certain it was about him, in part at least. And he was sure her father wouldn't approve. He just hoped the old man wouldn't upset Alex too much. But even Coop had to admit her father had cause to be concerned. He wasn't exactly solvent at the moment. And if her father had done an investigation, he was undoubtedly well aware of it.

For the first time in his life, it actually bothered Coop what someone might think of him. For both their sakes, he had been meticulously scrupulous with her, in spite of his financial woes. She was just such a decent person, that it was hard to take advantage of her,
although he'd thought of it. But so far, he had been remarkably good, and had held himself in check. Besides which, he was seriously beginning to suspect he really was in love with her, whatever that meant to him. It had meant different things over the years. Lately, it meant being comfortable and at ease, not having headaches in the relationship. Sometimes just liking her was enough. There were so many difficult women out there, and girls like Charlene.

It was so much easier being with a woman like Alex. She was fair and kind and funny, and she didn't ask for much. He liked that about her too. She was wonderfully self-sufficient, and if he did get desperate and the bottom fell out of his life financially, he knew he could turn to her. The money she had was like an insurance policy for him. He didn't need it yet, but he might one day. He wasn't with her because of her money, but he liked knowing it was there. Just in case. It made him feel safe.

The only thing he didn't like, and which kept him from making any overt promises, was that she was young enough to have kids, and probably should have them one day. That really was too bad, in Coop's eyes. And a real flaw in their relationship. But you couldn't have everything. Maybe being Arthur Madison's daughter was enough to compensate for it. He hadn't figured that out yet. But he would one of these days. She hadn't pressed him yet, and he liked that about her too. There was no pressure involved in being with her. There was a lot about her he liked. Almost too much.

He was thinking about her, as he walked back into the house, and ran smack into Paloma. She was dusting
furniture and eating a sandwich at the same time. And while she did, she was dropping mayonnaise on the rug. And he pointed it out to her.

“Sorry,” she said, as she stepped on the spot she'd made with the leopard sneakers.

He had given up trying to train or educate her. They were just trying to survive on parallel paths without killing each other. And he had figured out several weeks before, that she was doing work for the Fried-mans too, but as long as she did what she had to do for him, he didn't really care. It wasn't worth the fight. Out of sheer necessity, he was mellowing. Maybe it was Alex's effect on him. The glaziers were working on his living room window that afternoon, although he still wasn't amused about the baseball incident. If he did have children with Alex one day, he hoped they wouldn't be boys. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. Like that damn woman Charlene. At least she wasn't in the tabloids that week.

He was pouring himself a glass of the iced tea he had taught Paloma to make. She left it in a jug in the fridge. And as he did, the phone rang. He thought it might be Alex, but it was an unfamiliar voice, a woman called Taryn Dougherty who said she'd like a meeting with him.

“Are you a producer?” he asked, still holding the glass of iced tea. He'd been a little lax about drumming up work since the incident with Charlene. He had other things on his mind.

“No, actually I'm a designer. But that's not why I called. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you.” He thought she might be a reporter, and was instantly
sorry he'd answered the phone, and he'd already admitted who he was. It was too late to say he was the butler and Mr. Winslow was out, which he did sometimes now that Livermore was gone.

“What sort of matter?” he asked coolly. He didn't trust anyone these days. Everyone seemed to want something from him, or Charlene did at least.

“It's a personal matter. I have a letter from an old friend of yours.” It sounded too mysterious to him. It was probably a ruse, or a scheme of some kind. Maybe from Charlene. But the woman sounded pleasant at least.

“Who would that be?”

“Jane Axman. I'm not sure you'll remember the name.”

“I don't. Are you her attorney?” It was also possible that he owed her money. He got a lot of calls like that too. He always referred them to Abe. Liz used to screen them for him, but now he had to do it himself.

“I'm her daughter.” The woman on the phone didn't seem to want to say more, but she insisted that it was important and wouldn't take much time. And he was ever so slightly intrigued. He wondered how attractive she was. He was tempted to tell her he'd meet her at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but he was too lazy to go out. And he was waiting to hear from Alex, after she met with her father. She hadn't called him yet. And he was afraid she might be upset. He didn't want to take her call on a cell phone in the middle of a restaurant.

“Where are you?” Coop asked as though it mattered.

“I'm at the Bel Air Hotel. I just arrived from New York.” At least she was staying at a good hotel. It didn't mean much, but it was something, and finally his curiosity got the best of him.

“I'm not far from there. Why don't you come over now?”

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” she said politely. “I won't take much of your time.” She just wanted to see him. Once. And show him her mother's letter. It was a piece of history for them to share.

She was at the gate ten minutes later, and he buzzed her in from the house. She drove up in a rented car, and when she got out, he saw that she was tall and blonde, in her late thirties, he guessed. She was actually thirty-nine. She was a good-looking woman, with a slim figure, and a short skirt. She was very well dressed, and seemed to have a sense of style. There was something familiar about her, but he didn't know what it was. He didn't think he'd ever seen her before. And as she approached, she smiled, and then shook his hand.

“Thank you for seeing me. I'm very sorry to disturb you. I wanted to get this out of the way. I've been wanting to write to you for a long time.”

“What are you doing in California?” he asked as he led her into the library, and offered her a glass of wine, which she declined. She asked for a glass of water instead. It was hot outside.

“I'm not sure yet. I had a design business in New York. I just sold it. I've always wanted to do costume design for a movie, but I think that's just one of those
crazy ideas. I thought I'd come out here and look around.” And meet him.

“That must mean you're not married,” he said, handing her the glass of water she'd asked for, in a Baccarat glass. Paloma was using one like it to water the plants.

“I'm divorced. I got divorced, sold my business, and my mother died, all within a few months. It's one of those rare times when you have no encumbrances and can do anything you want. I'm not sure if I like it, or if it scares me to death,” but she smiled as she said it. She didn't look as though she would be scared by much. She was extremely poised.

“So what's in this letter? Did someone leave me some money?” He laughed as he said it, and she smiled in response.

“I'm afraid not.” She handed him the letter from the woman he no longer remembered, and didn't say another word. The letter was long, and as he read it, he looked up at her several times. And when he finished it, he sat for a long moment, staring at her, not sure what to say next, or what she wanted from him. He handed her back the letter, and looked serious as he did. If it was another blackmail scheme, he wasn't up to it. One of those was enough.

“What do you want from me?” he asked bluntly, and the question made her sad. She had hoped for a warmer response from him.

“Absolutely nothing. I wanted to meet you. Once. And I hoped you'd want to meet me. I'll admit, it's a bit of a shock. It was to me too. My mother never told me. I found the letter, as she intended me to, after she
died. My father died years ago. I have no idea if he ever knew.”

“I hope not,” Coop said solemnly. He was still in shock. But relieved by what she'd said about wanting nothing from him. He believed her. She looked like an honest person, and a nice woman. He would have been attracted to her, but she was a little old for him.

“I don't think it would have mattered to him. He was very good to me. He left me most of his money. He had no other children. And if he did know, he didn't seem to hold it against my mother or me. He was a very kind man.”

“How fortunate for you,” Coop said, looking closely at her, and suddenly realized why she looked familiar. She looked like him. With good reason. The letter said that her mother had had an affair with Coop forty years before. They were both in a play in London, and the affair had been brief. When the play closed and she went back to Chicago, she had discovered she was pregnant, and she decided, for reasons of her own, not to tell Coop. She didn't feel she knew him well enough to impose on him, as she put it. It was an odd thing for a woman to think when she was having his baby, which she had decided to do, again for reasons of her own. She married someone else, had the baby, a daughter, and never told her that the man she believed was her father actually wasn't. It was Coop. Instead, she left her a letter, which explained it all. And now they were sitting, examining each other. The man who thought he had no children suddenly had two. This thirty-nine-year-old woman who had suddenly appeared, and the one Charlene was carrying, and
claimed was his. It was a very odd feeling for a man who hated kids. But Taryn was no kid. She was a grown woman, who appeared to be respectable and intelligent, had money, and looked a great deal like him. “What did your mother look like? Do you have a picture of her?” He was curious to see if he remembered her at all.

“Actually, I brought one just in case. I think it's from about that time.” She took it carefully from her purse and handed it to him, and as he looked at it, something jogged in his memory. It was definitely a familiar face. She hadn't left a lifelong impression, but he remembered something about her, and he thought he knew which part she'd played. She'd been an understudy, but the actress she stood in for got drunk a lot, and Coop remembered being on stage with her. But he didn't remember much else. He'd been pretty wild in those days, and drank a lot himself. And there had been a lot of women since. He'd been thirty years old when Taryn was conceived.

“This is very strange,” he said, handing the photograph back to her, and looking at his daughter again. She was very good-looking in a kind of classic way, although very tall. He guessed her to be just under six feet. He was six four. And he thought her mother had been tall too. “I don't know what to say.”

“That's all right,” Taryn Dougherty said pleasantly. “I just wanted to see you, and meet you once. I've had a good life. I had a wonderful father, I loved my mother. I was an only child. I have nothing to reproach you. You never knew. And it was my mother who kept
it all a secret, but I don't reproach her anything either. I have no regrets.”

“Do you have children?” he asked with trepidation. It was enough of a shock finding out he had a grown daughter, he wasn't ready for grandchildren too.