by Nora Roberts
kept this affair, the less chance there was of Scott being hurt by it. She would just have to follow her instincts and hope.
With her mind on a dozen other things, Ariel paid the cabbie and walked into the sleek steel building that housed her lawyer’s offices. On the way from the lobby to the thirtieth floor, she gathered all her confidence together. This would be perhaps the last time she’d have the opportunity to speak with Scott’s grandparents on an informal basis. She needed to give it her best shot.
The little tremor in her stomach wasn’t so different from stage fright. Comfortable with it, Ariel walked into Bigby, Liebowitz and Feirson.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Kirkwood.” The receptionist beamed a smile at Ariel and wondered if she could get away with a similar outfit. Not slim enough, she decided wistfully. Instead of looking dashing, she’d just look frumpy. “Mr. Bigby’s expecting you.”
“Hello, Marlene. How’s the puppy working out?”
“Oh, he’s so smart. My husband couldn’t believe that a mutt could learn so many tricks. I really want to thank you for arranging it for me.”
“I’m glad he’s got a good home.” She caught herself lacing her fingers together—a rare outward sign of tension. Deliberately Ariel dropped her hands to her sides as the receptionist rang through.
“Ms. Kirkwood’s here, Mr. Bigby. Yes, sir.” She rose as she replaced the receiver. “I’ll take you back. If you have time before you leave, Ms. Kirkwood, my sister would love your autograph. She never misses your show.”
“I’d be happy to.” Ariel’s fingers groped for each other and she restrained them. Save the nerves for later, she told herself, when you can afford them. For once, she’d apply some of Amanda’s steady calm to her personal life.
“Well, Ariel.” The spindly, bearded man behind the massive desk rose as she entered. The room carried a vague scent of peppermint and polish. “Right on time.”
“I never miss a cue.” Ariel crossed the plush carpet with both hands extended. “You look good, Charlie.”
“I feel good since you talked me into giving up smoking. Six months,” he said with a grin. “Three days and”—he checked his watch—“four and a half hours.”
She squeezed his hands. “Keep counting.”
“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the Andersons are due. Want some coffee?”
“Oh, yeah.” On the words, Ariel sunk into a creamy leather chair.
Bigby pushed his intercom. “Would you bring some coffee back, Marlene? So . . .” He set down the receiver and folded his neat, ringless hands. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m a wreck, Charlie.” She stretched out her legs and ordered herself to relax. First the toes, then the ankles, then all the way up. “You’re practically the only one I can talk to about this. I’m not used to holding things in.”
“If things go well you won’t have to much longer.”
She sent him a level look. “What chance do we have?”
“A fair one.”
With a small sigh, Ariel shook her head. “Not good enough.”
After a brief knock, Marlene entered with the coffee tray. “Cream and sugar, Ms. Kirkwood?”
“Yes, thank you.” Ariel accepted the cup then immediately rose and began to pace. Maybe if she could turn some of the nerves to energy she wouldn’t burst. Maybe. “Charlie, Scott needs me.”
And you need him, he thought as he watched her. “Ariel, you’re a responsible member of your community with a good reputation. You have a steady job with an excellent income, though it can and will be argued that it’s not necessarily stable. You put your brother through college and have some sort of an involvement with every charity known to man.” He saw her smile at that and was pleased. “You’re young, but not a child. The Andersons are both in their mid-sixties. That should have some bearing on the outcome, and you’ll have the emotion on your side.”
“God, I hate to think of there being sides,” she murmured. “There’re sides in arguments, in wars. This can’t be a war, Charlie. He’s just a child.”
“As difficult as it is, you’re going to have to think practically about this.”
With a nod, she sipped uninterestedly at her coffee. Practical. “But I’m single, and I’m an actress.”
“There’re pros and cons. This last-ditch meeting was your idea,” he continued. “I don’t like to see you get churned up this way.”
“I have to try just once more before we find ourselves in court. The idea that Scotty might have to testify . . .”
“Just an easy talk with the judge in chambers, Ariel. It’s not traumatic, I promise you.”
“Not to you, maybe not to him, but to me . . .” She whirled around, her eyes dark with passion. “I’d give it up, Charlie. I swear I’d give it up this minute if I could believe he’d be happy with them. But when he looks at me . . .” Breaking off, she shook her head. Both hands were clenched on the coffee cup and she concentrated on relaxing them. “I know I’m being emotional about this, but it’s the only way I’ve ever been able to judge what was right and what was wrong. If I look at it practically, I know they’ll feed him and shelter him and educate him. But nurturing . . .” She turned to stare out of the window. “I keep coming back to the nurturing. Am I doing the best for him, Charlie? I just want to be sure.”
For a moment, he sat fondling the gold pen on his desk. She asked hard questions. In the law, it wasn’t a matter of best, but of justice. The two weren’t always synonymous. “Ariel, you know the boy. At the risk of sounding very unlawyerlike, I say you have to do what your heart tells you.”
Smiling, she turned back. “You say the right things. Listening to my heart is all I’ve ever been able to do.” For a moment, she hesitated, then plunged. Since she was here for advice, she’d go all the way with it. “Charlie, if I told you I’d fallen in love with a man who thinks relationships are to be avoided at all costs and actresses are the least trustworthy individuals on the planet, what would you say?”
“I’d say it was typical of you. How long do you figure it’ll take you to change his mind?”
Laughing, she dragged a hand through her hair. “Always the right thing,” she said again.
“Sit down and drink your coffee, Ariel,” he advised. “You’re the one who says if something’s meant to happen, it happens.”
“When have I ever said anything so trite?” she demanded but did as he said. “All right, Charlie.” She heaved a long sigh. “Do you want to give me the lecture on what I should expect and what I shouldn’t say?”
“For what good it’ll do.” He toyed with the edge of Ariel’s file. “You’ll meet the Andersons’ lawyer, Basil Ford. He’s very painstaking and very conservative. I’ve dealt with him before.”
“Did you win?”
Bigby grinned at her as he leaned back in his chair. “I’d say we’re about even. Since this is a voluntary, informal meeting, there won’t be that much for either Ford or me to do. But if he asks you a question you shouldn’t answer, I’ll take care of it.” Bigby carefully settled the English bone-china cup back in its saucer. “Otherwise, say what you want, but don’t elaborate more than necessary. Above all, don’t lose your temper or your grip. If you want to yell or cry, wait until they’ve gone.”
“You’ve gotten to know me very well,” she murmured. “All right, I’ll be calm and lucid.” When the buzzer sounded on his desk, Ariel balled her hands into fists.
“Yes, Marlene, bring them in. And we’ll need more coffee.” He looked across at Ariel, measuring the strain in her eyes against the strength. “It’s a discussion,” he reminded her. “It’s doubtful anything will be decided here today.”
She nodded and concentrated on relaxing her hands.
When the door opened, Bigby rose, all joviality. “Basil, good to see you.” He stretched his hand out to meet that of the erect, gray-suited man with thinning hair. “Mr. and Ms. Anderson, please have a seat. We’ll have coffee in a moment. Basil Ford, Ar
iel Kirkwood.”
Ariel nearly let out a tense giggle at the cocktail introduction. “Hello, Mr. Ford.” She found his handshake firm and his gaze formidable.
“Ms. Kirkwood.” He sat smoothly with his briefcase by his side.
“Hello, Mr. Anderson, Ms. Anderson.”
Ariel received a nod from the woman and a brief formal handshake from her husband. Attractive people. Solid people. She’d always felt that from them—along with their rigidity. Both stood straight, a product of their military training. Anderson had retired from active service as a full colonel ten years before, and in her youth, his wife had been an Army nurse.
They’d met during the war, had served together and married. You could sense their closeness—the intimacy of thoughts and values. Perhaps, Ariel mused, that was why they had trouble seeing anyone else’s viewpoint.
Together, the Andersons sat on a cushy two-seater sofa. Both were conservatively dressed: her iron-gray hair was skimmed back and his snowy white hair was cropped close. Feeling the waves of their disapproval, Ariel bit back a sigh. Instinct and experience told her she’d never get through to them on an emotional level.
While coffee was served, Bigby steered the conversation into generalities. The Andersons answered politely and ignored Ariel as much as possible. Because they spoke around her, she took care not to ask them any direct questions. She’d antagonize them soon enough.
She recognized the signal when Bigby sat behind his desk and folded his hands on the surface.
“I believe we can all agree that we have one mutual concern,” he began. “Scott’s welfare.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Ford said easily.
Bigby skimmed his gaze over Ford and concentrated on the Andersons. “Since that’s the case, informal meetings like this where we can exchange points of view and options should be to everyone’s benefit.”
“Naturally, my clients’ main concern is their grandchild’s well-being.” Ford spoke in his elegant orator’s voice before he sipped his coffee. “Ms. Kirkwood’s interest is understood, of course. As to the matter of custody, there’s no question as to the rights and capability of Mr. and Ms. Anderson.”
“Nor of Ms. Kirkwood’s,” Bigby put in mildly. “But it isn’t rights and capabilities we’re discussing today. It’s the child himself. I’d like to make it clear that, at this point, we’re not questioning your intentions or your ability to raise the child.” He spoke to the Andersons again, skillfully bypassing his colleague. “The issue is what’s best for Scott as an individual.”
“My grandson,” Anderson began in his deep, raspy voice, “belongs where he is. He’s well fed, well dressed and well disciplined. His upbringing will have a sense of order. He’ll be sent to the best schools available.”
“What about well loved?” Ariel blurted out before she could stop herself. “What money can’t buy . . .” Leaning forward she focused her attention on Scott’s grandmother. “Will he be well loved?”
“An abstract question, Ms. Kirkwood,” Ford put in briskly. “If we could—”
“No, it isn’t,” Ariel interrupted, sparing him a glance before she turned back to the Andersons. “There’s nothing more solid than love. Nothing more easily given or withheld. Will you hold him at night if he’s frightened of shadows? Will you understand how important it is to pretend that he’s protecting you? Will you always listen when he needs to talk?”
“He won’t be coddled if that’s what you mean.” Anderson set down his coffee and rested a hand on one knee. “A child’s values are molded early. These fantasies—that you encourage—aren’t healthy. I have no intention of allowing my grandson to live in a dreamworld.”
“A dreamworld.” Ariel stared at him and saw a solid rock wall of resistance. “Mr. Anderson, Scott has a beautiful imagination. He’s full of life, and visions.”
“Visions.” Anderson’s lips thinned. “Visions will do nothing but make him look for what isn’t there, expect what he can’t have. The boy needs a firm basis in reality. In what is. You make your living from pretending, Ms. Kirkwood. My grandson won’t live his life in a storybook.”
“There’re twenty-four hours in every day, Mr. Anderson. Isn’t there enough reality in that so we can put a small portion of time aside for wishing? All children need to believe in wishes; especially Scott after so much has been taken away from him. Please . . .” Her gaze shifted to the stiff-backed woman on the sofa. “You’ve known grief. Scott lost the two people in the world who meant love and security and normality. All of those things have to be given back to him.”
“By you?” Ms. Anderson sat very still, her eyes remaining very level. Ariel saw remnants of pain in them. “My daughter’s child will be raised by me.”
“Ms. Kirkwood.” Ford interrupted smoothly, and crossed his legs. “To touch on more practical matters, I’m aware that you currently have a key role in a—daytime drama, I believe is the phrase. This equals a regular job with a steady income. But to be down-to-earth for a moment, it’s habitual for these things to change. How would you support a child if your income was interrupted?”
“My income won’t be interrupted.” Bigby caught her eye, and with an effort Ariel held on to her temper. “I’m under contract. I’m also signed to do a film with P. B. Marshell.” Noticing the flicker of speculation, Ariel blessed fate for throwing the part her way.
“That’s very impressive,” Ford told her. “However, I’m sure you’d be the first to admit that your profession is renowned for its ups and downs.”
“If we’re talking financial stablity, Mr. Ford, I assure you that I’m capable of giving Scott all the material requirements necessary. If my career should take a downswing, I’d simply supplement it. I’ve experience in both the retail and the restaurant business.” A half smile teased her mouth as she thought of her days selling perfume and powder, and waiting tables. Oh, yes, experience was the right word. “But I can’t believe any of us would put a bank statement first when we’re discussing a child.” It was said calmly, with only a hint of disdain.
“I’m sure we all agree that the child’s monetary well-being is of primary importance,” Bigby put in. The subtle tone of his voice was his warning to Ariel. “There’s no question that both the Andersons and my client are capable of providing Scott with food, shelter, education, etc.”
“There’s also the matter of marital status.” Ford stroked a long finger down the side of his nose. “As a single woman, a single professional woman, Ms. Kirkwood, just how much time would you be able to spare for Scott?”
“Whatever he needs,” Ariel said simply. “I recognize my priorities, Mr. Ford.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded, resting a hand on the arm of his chair. “And perhaps you haven’t thought this through completely. Having never raised a child, you might not be fully aware of the time involved. You have an active social life, Ms. Kirkwood.”
His words and tone were mild, his meaning clear. Any other time, in any other place, she would have been amused. “Not as active as it reads in print, Mr. Ford.”
Again, he nodded. “You’re also a young attractive woman. I’m sure it’s reasonable to assume that marriage is highly likely at some time in the future. Have you considered how a potential husband might feel about the responsibility of raising someone else’s child?”
“No.” Her fingers laced together. “If I loved a man enough to marry him, he’d accept Scott as part of me, of my life. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be the kind of man I’d love.”
“If you had to make a choice—”
“Basil.” Bigby held up a hand, and though he smiled, his eyes were hard. “We shouldn’t get bogged down in this sort of speculation. No one expects us to solve this custody issue here today. What we want is to get a clear picture of everyone’s feelings. What your clients and mine want for Scott.”
“His well-being,” Anderson said tersely.
“His happiness,” Ariel murmured. “I want to believe they’re the same thing.�
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“You’re no different from your brother.” Anderson’s voice was sharp and low, like the final snap of a whip. “Happiness. He preached happiness at all costs to my daughter until she tossed aside all her responsibilities, her education, her values. Pregnant at eighteen, married to a penniless student who put more effort into flying a kite than keeping a decent job.”
Ariel’s mouth trembled open as the pain struck. No, she wouldn’t waste her breath defending her brother. He needed no defense. “They loved each other,” she said instead.
“Loved each other.” Color rose in Anderson’s cheeks, the first and only sign of emotion Ariel had seen from him. “Can you honestly believe that’s enough?”
“Yes. They were happy together. They had a beautiful child together. They had dreams together.” Ariel swallowed as the urge to weep pounded at her. “Some people never have that much.”
“Barbara would still be alive if we’d kept her away from him.”
Ariel looked over at the older woman and saw more than pain now. The strong bony hands shook slightly, the voice broke. It was a combination of grief and fury that Ariel recognized and understood. “Jeremy’s gone too, Ms. Anderson,” she said quietly. “But Scott’s here.”
“He killed my daughter.” The woman’s eyes glowed against a skin gone abruptly pale.
“Oh, no.” Ariel reached out, shocked by the words, drawn by the pain. “Ms. Anderson, Jeremy adored Barbara. He’d never have done anything to hurt her.”
“He took her up in that plane. Barbara had no business being up in one of those small planes. She wouldn’t have been if he hadn’t taken her.”
“Ms. Anderson, I know how you feel—”
She jerked away from Ariel’s offer of comfort, her breath suddenly coming fast and shallow. “Don’t you tell me you know how I
