SAVAGE BEAUTY

by Peggy Webb

  Colors and fragrances exploded around Stephen. The conservatory was covered with Allistair roses, each with its own pedestal and plaque. In the center stood the black rose. The plaque beneath it said Clive Allistair, Poe’s Raven. “Quoth the raven, Nevermore.” Tea rose inspired by Edgar Allan Poe.

  Also showcased in the center was Stephen’s latest cultivar. Brilliant blue with white edges. Stephen C. Allistair the plaque read. Mariposa. “Butterflies are white and blue in this field we wander.” Floribunda rose inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

  The roses unleashed a thousand memories. Formulas and secrets swirled through his mind. Closed doors and dark rooms whispered while midnight hours and grueling work filled him with both exhaustion and exhilaration. The mystery of the roses filled Stephen until he felt as infinite as the moon casting its silver light through the glass ceiling of the conservatory.

  His grandfather’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the moment. “Well done, son.”

  Together they walked to the small dais at the front of the conservatory and waited for reporters and photographers to gather. All attention and cameras were turned on them until Lily came in with the girls. She and Cee Cee looked stunning, but Annabelle looked flushed and out of sorts.

  Clive nodded in her direction. “Is she sick?”

  “No. She’s stubborn. She hates this house and me, too.”

  “I suggest boarding school.”

  “Lily would never stand for it.”

  Stephen didn’t have time to worry about Annabelle, though. Reporters were already firing questions.

  “Mr. Allistair, how many cultivars have you originated?”

  “Sixty-five,” Clive said, and applause thundered through the glass room. “My grandson Stephen has already produced forty-five, and if he lives to be as old as I am, he’ll surpass me.”

  “And what about your son, Wyler?”

  It was the question Stephen always dreaded. He was glad to let Clive answer.

  “He did only one, but it’s spectacular. It buds out deep red, and then the blooms turn to a pale blush. The Vanishing Red is named for the Robert Frost poem by the same name. You’ll find Wyler’s climber beside the yellow floribunda I created after his mother died.”

  The reporter from CBS turned to read aloud the plaque on The Vanishing Red. “It’s too long a story to go into now. Why did Wyler choose such a cryptic quote? Did it have anything to do with him ending up a recluse in Switzerland?”

  Clive nodded, handing off the difficult question. Stephen prided himself on being the Allistair family’s spin doctor.

  “As most of you know, Allistair Roses has many traditions. One of them is naming our roses for literary works or figures. There’s no pattern or agenda in the way we select our names. But we do seem to be partial to the poets.”

  Most of the reporters laughed, but others shouted questions.

  “Why has Wyler given no interviews in thirty-eight years?”

  “Stephen, how do you respond to rumors that your father is mentally ill?”

  “Why does Toni Allistair refuse to talk about her husband in interviews?”

  “Why did a beauty like Toni Allistair never divorce Wyler and remarry?”

  Making his face a careful mask, Stephen stuffed his hands into his pockets to hide his balled-up fists. He wasn’t about to let them keep digging into his family history.

  “We have nothing to add to our original statement about my father’s rare disease and his subsequent retirement to Switzerland. Thank you for coming. Before you leave, do take the time to say hello to my beautiful fiancée.” He gestured to the back of the room where Lily stood with the girls. “Enjoy the food, the music and the roses, especially my new blue and white floribunda, the Mariposa. It was nine years in the making, and we’re delighted to add it to the collection of award-winning Allistair roses.”

  He was turning to leave when a reporter shouted, “What’s next for you, Stephen?”

  “The Margaret. A blue tea rose so vivid it will be neon.” Adrenaline burst through him, and the flush crept over up his neck. “The inspiration is a Carl Sandburg poem by that name.” He glanced toward the back of the room. Her face was glowing, and his heart picked up speed as he quoted from the poet. “’In your blue eyes… I saw many wild wishes.’”

  The reporters turned their attention and their cameras on Lily, and Stephen rushed from the conservatory. He had to have some air.

  Chapter Two

  “Wake up!” The panicked voice filtered through Lily’s bizarre dreams. Someone was shaking her shoulder. “Wake up! She’s gone!”

  Lily sat up so fast her head spun. The clock on the bedside table said ten a.m. What on earth was happening? She never overslept. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she peered at her daughter. Annabelle’s face was deathly pale.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mom, I can’t find her.” She cast herself into Lily’s arms and mumbled into her shoulder. “She’s not in her room, she’s not outside. I looked everywhere.”

  “Who?’

  “Cee Cee.” Annabelle leaned away from Lily, sniffling and wiping her nose with the end of her sleep shirt. You have to kiss a few frogs before you find a prince it said. “We stayed up late talking. She couldn’t shut up about the party. She even enjoyed those stupid reporters shoving microphones into our faces.”

  “So, when did you go to bed?”

  “It was about two thirty.”

  Annabelle looked sheepish, and Lily smoothed her tangled hair. “It’s okay. We had lots to celebrate.” Her daughter made a face, but she let it go. “Maybe Cee Cee went running.”

  “No way! She’d never drag herself out of bed just to run. And she’d never go without me. She’d have come into my room to wake me up.”

  “Have you tried to call or text?”

  “A zillion times, Mom! She won’t answer.”

  “Maybe the staff knows something. Cee Cee often eats breakfast before you do.”

  “That grumpy old woman in the kitchen said she hadn’t seen her.”

  “Go put on some clothes, and we’ll see what we can find out. I’m sure she’s somewhere around here. Maybe holed up in the library reading.”

  As she headed to the shower Lily struggled less from alarm than with a head that felt stuffed with cotton. Cee Cee was enchanted with the sprawling Allistair estate. Maybe she was off exploring. Maybe she’d asked Stephen or Clive to take her on a tour of the greenhouses.

  An hour was an eternity to a teenager. And they were ultra dramatic. Annabelle more than most. Lily hoped having a father would ground her. If only her daughter would warm up to Stephen.

  That fell into the category of when pigs fly. The only man Annabelle had ever wanted in their lives was Jack Harper. Uncle Jack, she called him--Lily’s childhood and forever friend, the boy who had defended her all through school, the man who had spent weekends away from college driving back to Ocean Springs for Annabelle’s birthdays and Easter egg hunts and dance recitals. Even throughout the eight years of medical school, internship, and a fellowship, he’d tried to attend every one of Annabelle’s landmark events. When he couldn’t come, he’d sent cards and gifts.

  Jack had been at the engagement party last night. Lily had spotted him after the ceremony in the conservatory.

  As water sprayed around her, she relived the moment.

  He was leaning against the jamb of the French doors that led to a courtyard. The pull of him was irresistible, like the tides.

  “Jack. I didn’t expect to see you.” He caught her outstretched hands and didn’t let go. Jack had never let her go when she needed him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to be a part of her own landmark event until suddenly he was there. “I thought you’d be too busy at your new clinic to come.”

  “How could I miss it?” His eyes searched hers. “You look beautiful. Are you happy, Lily?”

  Stephen had asked the same thing. And she hadn’t hesitated. Why was it different with
Jack?

  “Stephen is a wonderful man. Annabelle and I will finally have the family we deserve.”

  “Family is important.” Jack let go, and she took a step back. Cameras were turned in their direction. Pictures would tell their own story, and she didn’t want anybody to get the wrong idea, particularly reporters. “I wish Mom and Dad could have been here.”

  “How are they?” She felt a twinge of guilt. “I’ve been so busy the last few months, I’m afraid I haven’t taken the time to visit.”

  “They’re gadding around Europe and loving every minute of it. I’ve never seen two people embrace retirement with such enthusiasm.”

  “Bob and Susan are enthusiastic about everything they love.”

  Especially each other. The thought came to her unbidden as she stood under the spray of water, remembering. She wanted that kind of love. With Stephen. The foundation was there. She knew it was.

  Time, that’s all they needed. Love like that took years to develop. It was built on shared experiences and memories, on the children they would have and the kind of home they would create together.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Mom?” Her daughter was back, calling to her from the bedroom.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Lily slipped into jeans and a lightweight pullover then joined her daughter. They hurried down the hallway past all the bedrooms in the west wing, including Cee Cee’s. Her door was open and her bed disheveled, as if she’d tossed her covers back and hurried out on some grand adventure.

  Annabelle choked back a sob, and Lily squeezed her hand. “We’ll find her, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

  “Find who?” It was Stephen’s mother coming from the east wing then stopping on the second floor landing, her hands on her hips.

  Though she was in simple slacks and sweater, she was every bit as forbidding and imposing as she’d been the previous evening in her jet beaded evening gown. The woman had ice water in her veins.

  Lily’s hopes of gaining a warm motherly figure who would fill the void left by her beloved mom had died a thousand deaths last night. This meeting with Toni offered no improvement. Still, Lily refused to be intimidated.

  “We’re looking for Cee Cee. Have you seen her?”

  “I don’t keep up with the riffraff Stephen brings into my house.”

  “You take that back!” Annabelle looked ready to drop the woman with a roundhouse kick.

  Lily kept a tight grip on her daughter. “Cee Cee is an amazing girl, Mrs. Allistair. She’s like a daughter to me.” She was proud of how she kept her voice from shaking. “Furthermore, Stephen has asked me to redecorate this house and turn it into our home. What color would you like in your guest bedroom?”

  Fury contorted Toni’s face. “Stephen will hear about this.”

  Stephen’s awful mother stormed off in the direction of her bedroom suite while Lily hurried her daughter down the stairs.

  “She’s mean,” Annabelle said, expressing exactly what Lily wanted to say but couldn’t. Sometimes being a grownup was too hard. “Is she scared her face will crack if she smiles?”

  “I can understand why you’d say that, but we don’t know what her life is like. She might just be a very unhappy woman taking out her feelings on everybody else.”

  “What was she doing in that part of the house, anyhow? It’s locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

  “Breeding roses is very competitive. Stephen said fifty-eight years worth of archives are housed in the east wing. If their award-winning rose formulas are leaked, it would be disastrous for the company. Let’s forget about all that and concentrate on finding Cee Cee.”

  The first floor ballroom, empty now of music and party-goers, had an air of desertion, although last night’s decorations were still there. Several of the staff, as well as a cleaning crew Lily didn’t know, scurried about tidying up the vast room.

  “Have you talked to any of them, Annabelle?”

  When her daughter shook her head, Lily went directly to the man Stephen had introduced on her first visit to Allistair Manor as Graden Young. A tall man in his mid-fifties with thinning black hair and muscles that strained against his shirt, he looked better suited for a job as bouncer at a night club than supervisor of the Allistair household staff.

  He was polite but remote when she asked about Cee Cee. Lily didn’t know if that was part of his training or just his nature. He and the cleaning crew had only been in the ballroom for twenty minutes, he told her, and he had not seen the girl.

  Annabelle started crying. Though Lily did her best to comfort her daughter, she felt the first cold wave of doubt.

  Stephen’s office complex, which included the greenhouses, was on the Allistair estate, isolated from the house by a grove of live oak trees covered with curtains of Spanish moss. Though there was a paved path through the grove from the house to the office, the driveway was separate and could only be accessed from the street.

  The arrangement ensured complete separation of his business life from his family life, and that’s the way Stephen liked it. In fact, he was zealous in protecting the privacy of both.

  He and his grandfather leaned over the conference table, studying the newspapers spread out in front of them. In spite of a few reporters trying to scoop the dirt on the Allistair family last night and a few making snide references to Lily’s past, most of them had written good, if not glowing, accounts of the party and upcoming wedding.

  “It was a triumph.” Clive clapped him on the back. “A complete triumph.” He moved slowly toward a wing chair at the head of the table. Late hours no longer agreed with him. “Let the Mediland and David Austin families get a gander at that. France and Great Britain don’t have a thing on the U.S.”

  “Publicity helps, but the proof is in the cultivars. What do you think about my latest?”

  “Three of them will probably be culls, but the Daphne is showing real promise, and I expect the Margaret will come along once you start babying it.”

  That was exactly what Stephen expected and wanted to hear. Because the process of creating a healthy cultivar and nurturing it into the perfect rose took years, the Allistair breeders always had several experiments going at one time. Stephen was so consumed by the progress he was making on the Daphne, a pink rose, and the blue Margaret that he didn’t even hear his executive assistant’s approach until she called his name.

  “Mr. Allistair.” Glenda Jane Bates stood in the doorway, her girth nearly filling it, her face lined with age and concern, one long curl from the black wig she wore over her sparse hair hanging from her bun where she’d gouged it loose with the pencil she’d stuck there. She stared at him myopically through contacts that didn’t work half as well as the glasses she was too proud to wear. “I know you said not to disturb you, but it’s Lily and her daughter. They’re very upset. I told them to wait, and I’d fetch you.”

  “It’s okay, Glenda Jane.” Nobody ever called her by one name. She wouldn’t have it. She’d started work at Allistair Roses so long ago—before he was born--she could practically read his mind. “You did the right thing.”

  Lily never came to his office without calling ahead. It was a professional courtesy he appreciated. She knew what it was like to run her own business, another plus in the future Mrs. Allistair.

  Clive got slowly out of his chair. “I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s a good idea. She must be very upset to show up out of the blue like this.”

  Lily and Annabelle stood in the reception area, just inside the door. Annabelle was a mess, and his fiancée looked pale.

  “Darling.” He hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”

  She wasted no time in telling him the problem, including the time they discovered Cee Cee missing. Annabelle’s frequent interruptions turned the process into an ordeal.

  The orderly life suited Stephen. He’d read on the FamilySecrets.life website that having stepchildren could sometimes be a challenge. The girl was rapidly proving the
psychologists to be right.

  “I wish you’d called me right away.” He led both of them to chairs then nodded to Glenda Jane, who handed Annabelle a box of tissues.

  “Do you know where she is?” The hope in Lily’s voice was almost palpable. He thanked his lucky stars one more time that she wasn’t cold-hearted like Toni.

  “I don’t know exactly where she is, but I do know she went running. I saw her this morning from my office window. And so did Clive.”

  “That’s right.” His grandfather backed him up. “She was in the grove about nine-fifteen or so.”

  Annabelle wiped her eyes and gave an unladylike snort into her tissue. “How do you know it was her?”

  “Who else would be in the Allistair grove, young lady?” The only time Clive showed his old age was when he got testy and fired off exactly what he thought.

  “She wouldn’t leave me behind.” Lily’s stubborn daughter was having none of it.

  Stephen jumped in to diffuse the situation. “I recognized her track suit. It was pink. So were her shoes. I’ve seen you girls before taking a shortcut through the grove. Don’t you usually do that when you run?”

  “They do. Oh, thank goodness!” Lily put her hand over her heart. “I was beginning to really get worried.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  “Mom! We never run this long. And she’s not answering her phone. Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  Annabelle looked on the verge of another bout of teenage hysteria. Stephen despised messy emotions. They had been the undoing of his father. Growing up without either parent, Stephen had learned the value of schooling his emotions. Clive had been strict about that.