“My father doesn’t like the Japanese, for what they did to Pearl Harbor. During the war he was a prisoner and he’s never forgotten.”
“It is regretful, is it not? We must all live with one another in a world that seems at times too small. My father believes old wounds and old hurts must be put aside. Life goes on and we all endure, doing the best we can.”
“Your father is a wise man,” Riley said sincerely. “And he has a very beautiful daughter.”
Riley lay awake for a long time that night. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Was it in fact love? Or was it that this beautiful girl with the beautiful name was different from the other girls he knew? She was shy, but yet she wasn’t shy, at least not when it counted. She was sweet and natural. She listened, she smiled, and she interjected her thoughts and opinions in a soft, melodious voice. And she wanted to see him again! He was in love. But if his father found out, he could ruin everything—get him sent home, away from this beautiful creature.
Well, I’m not going to allow that to happen, Riley thought. Not this time.
He’d have to keep this part of his life secret. Riley lay staring at the ceiling, his hands under his head.
Secrecy. He was good at that.
In the months that followed, Billie sensed a change in her son. A new kind of maturity, an empathy, came through his letters. Perhaps what he had needed was to get away from Sunbridge, away from Moss and Seth, even from her. It was as though he’d found himself, was seeing himself through someone else’s eyes. She wondered about those eyes. Did they belong to a woman? Perhaps. Riley never said. She satisfied herself with being glad for him.
Her textile designs were in demand and she had licensed them through a very prestigious agency. Billie was happy in her work, happy with her quiet life. The only fly in the ointment was the divorce. The Coleman lawyers were doing everything, pulling every trick in their books, to delay a court action. Billie didn’t think that Moss even cared any longer, although he called her once a week. He’d even taken her to dinner once or twice—to discuss the problems Coleman Aviation was having with the government.
She remembered her horror when he’d explained how they had demanded he step up production or lose the contracts altogether.
“And you’re letting them do that to you?” she had cried. “Moss, our son flies planes manufactured in your company, and you’re telling me they’re not safe!”
“Take it easy, Billie. That’s not what I said at all. The planes are safe enough; it’s the instrumentation I’m worried about. There’re some bugs that still have to be worked out, but the government won’t allow the time for it. If I force their hand, they may give those contracts to someone who’s not as conscientious as we are.”
Billie had seen the pain in Moss’s face, and she’d had to respect his judgment. Still, every time she thought of Riley and other men like him, her blood ran cold.
She’d thought of writing all this to Thad but felt it would be disloyal somehow. Besides, contact between them had dwindled. They still wrote, but there were longer and longer periods between letters. The last time she’d written had been to tell him that Susan and Amelia had come to the States for a concert tour, which had been very successful. Susan was a lovely young woman—blond and shining with serious eyes. Billie had been hopeful that they would stay in Texas for a time, wanting a chance to become reunited with her daughter. But Susan had been eager to return to Europe, where, it seemed, there was a particular young violinist who had put the glow in her eyes. Also, Susan hadn’t wanted to stay at Sunbridge any longer than absolutely necessary; she’d been quick to perceive Seth’s disapproval of her beloved Aunt Amelia and would have no one, absolutely no one, mistreat her.
Billie had conveyed their parting scene at the airport to Thad, since he was the only person besides herself who knew of Amelia’s tragedy. At the last moment Amelia had thrown her arms around Billie, thanking her over and over again for allowing Susan to stay in England with her....
“You’ll never know how much she means to me,” Amelia wept, “or how much I love you for sharing your daughter with me. Now, it seems, we’re both about to lose her. This affair with her violinist seems serious. Our little Susan is a woman grown.”
“You were better for her than I could ever have been,” Billie found herself confessing. “Here in Texas it would have been second-rate music teachers and living down Maggie’s reputation. I heard someone say once that our children are only loaned to us, that they’re not ours to keep. I just relinquished her a little early, Amelia, and into the most loving arms she could ever know.”
“I do love her, you know,” Amelia said, brushing a tear from her eye. “In most ways I’ve been a lucky woman. I’ve had Susan and a loving stepson. I’ve told Moss he should write to Rand and invite him over for a tour of Coleman Aviation. They’d like each other and they have so much in common. Rand loves anything that flies and he’s quite a genius with computers and physics and all that rubbish. He asks for you often, Billie. He’s never forgotten your kindness to him when we came to Sunbridge for Mam’s funeral.” Amelia’s eyes told Billie she would never forget it, either. “Oh, look at me, gushing and crying like an old woman! I suppose I’m not looking forward to the prospect of being alone once Susan flies the nest. I should have listened to you years ago and married again, but it seemed so pointless, since I could never bear another child. My wanton ways have caught up with me. I envy you, having Sawyer. I’ve always suspected you refused to allow Maggie to have an abortion because of what happened to me. You were right. I can’t bear to think of this world being denied our bright-eyed little Sawyer. How is it you always make the right decisions?”
“I don’t, Amelia. Don’t ever think that. I’ve hardly ever been in control of my own life. But that’s all changing now, and I’m glad for it. You don’t suppose Susan will run off with her young man, do you? Moss and I would like to meet him.”
“No, I don’t think our daughter will deprive herself of a wonderful wedding with all the trimmings. Don’t worry about her, Billie. She’s making all the right choices. I suppose when next I see you it will be at the wedding.”
“At the wedding, then,” Billie agreed, and hugged Amelia tightly. “It will be nice for Sawyer to visit London. She’s never been abroad.”
The flight announcement came over the loudspeaker and Amelia reached for her carry-on luggage and turned toward the gate. “San Francisco, here we come!” she said gaily. “Send Riley my love; next time you see my brother give him a good swift kick with my compliments, won’t you?”
“I’ll do just that.” Billie laughed and waved to Susan, who turned and blew a kiss to her.
“After San Francisco we’re headed for New York,” Amelia called. “Why don’t you think about coming up and joining us?”
“I’ll do just that!” Another wave, another kiss on the wind, and they were gone.
Riley Seth Coleman was in love. When he looked into Otami’s beautiful eyes, he saw himself as he wanted to be: tender, gentle, manly. Otami’s love for him was quite different from any he’d ever known, unselfish and undemanding. Theirs was a sharing, two faces shining toward the future, certain of endless happiness and togetherness.
Wonderful days and nights raced into weeks and months. They had committed to each other and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Riley proposed marriage to Otami four months after meeting her.
Dark eyes sparkled with tears. “I thought you would never ask me.”
“Will you? Marry me?” Riley held his breath, waiting for her answer.
“We will have to face many problems, my love and I,” Otami whispered. “The military will frown upon our marrying and may not give us permission.”
Riley gathered her into his arms and buried his lips in the soft wealth of her hair. They sat entwined in each other’s arms and watched the moonlight on the rolling surf.
He knew what she said about the military was true, but he had already
determined that nothing, no one, would stand in their way if she would have him. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he reassured her. “I think I’ve got that base covered. I have this friend—I call him uncle—and he’ll go to bat for me. It’s your uncle that concerns me.”
“He will not give his permission. I will have to go against him and my family.”
Riley took another deep breath. He couldn’t make her marry him; either she wanted him more than anything or anyone else, or she didn’t. He waited, willing her to give him the answer he needed.
“I love you, Riley, with all my heart, for all my life. How could I say anything but yes? Yes, I will marry you.”
Riley touched Otami’s chin and tilted her face upward to his. He kissed her deeply, little shock waves tripping through his veins at the thought that such happiness could be his. Otami was like an Oriental work of art, finely turned and created with beauty. So many times he had thought he’d be unable to control himself, that he must take her and make her his own. But always he remembered her words. “Lovers with true hearts,” she had said, “bring honor to each other and their love. My body aches for you, Riley; my soul reaches for yours. But to claim a right that is not ours would dishonor us both. Please, try to understand.” Now she would be his wife and welcome him into the garden of her desires, where they would find each other as lovers with true hearts.
“Otami,” he whispered huskily against her cheek, “my heart has been yours from the moment I first saw you. You’re my life. Remember that always. It may not be easy for you in the days to come. What will your uncle do?”
“He will cease speaking to me and then banish me from his house. I will no longer be his niece. My parents will be told and they, too, will lose face. If I marry you, I will bring disgrace upon them. It does not matter, Riley. I must live my own life and know my own heart. I can live with anything as long as I have you. In time, perhaps, my family will come to understand and approve. It has been known to happen.” She smiled.
“I don’t plan on informing my family—not right away, at least. Unlike your family, I’m afraid, they would insist on being involved. I can’t see them disowning me, but I can guarantee a lot of grief. I’d rather do without their interference; there’s time for that later. We’ll have enough to contend with. I love you, Otami. There are no words . . .”
“No words are needed. Don’t you understand, Riley? I know how you feel because it is how I feel. I will be whatever you want. I will do whatever you want me to do. We will have children and they will be raised in their father’s way, in their father’s religion.”
Otami saw the frown on Riley’s face. “Have I said something wrong?” she asked, touching his mouth with her long, cool fingers.
“Wrong? Never wrong,” Riley reassured her. “I’ve never had anyone love me as you do, Otami. All my life people, my family, have given me things. Ponies, cars . . . airplanes, for God’s sake! The only person who gave of herself to me was my mother, and then it was only what they permitted her to give. When I think back, I realize that for all their talk about family and closeness we were never a family in the true sense of the word. Everyone had a separate life, solitary ambitions. I don’t know why and I suppose there were times when I wondered about it, but I don’t do that anymore. You’re my life now, Otami, and I want to keep it that way.”
Riley gathered Otami close to him, resting his cheek on the glossy curve of her head, and looked out over the water. This was enough for him, he told himself, being here with the woman he loved and knowing she loved him in return. It had to be enough.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Maggie Coleman heaved a sigh of relief when she affixed the last stamp of approval to the pile of paperwork littering her desk in Sandor Locke’s prestigious art gallery. The remainder of the work requiring her attention would just have to wait. She needed a few minutes’ break from sorting out the multitude of applications from artists, both well known and obscure, seeking a showing at the gallery. Each day it seemed she was busier and busier, with barely enough time to snatch a quick cup of coffee for lunch. She liked being busy; it gave her less time to think. Lately, however, she was beginning to wonder if she’d made the right choice in leaving her position at the museum to become the personal assistant to Sandor Locke. Working in this Fifth Avenue gallery was a plum of a job, and she knew she was envied by everyone on the staff. Sandor himself was the biggest, juiciest plum of all, and she had him right where she wanted him. The question she postponed facing was, What was it she wanted to do with him? It was the same old question that had plagued her entire life. Fight for what you want—kick, scratch, connive, manipulate, and do anything necessary to reach your goal—and then, when it was in your hand, you looked at it and realized it wasn’t the goal you wanted but the challenge of reaching it. Maggie supposed it had something to do with being a Coleman. She didn’t like living like this, but it was the only way she knew. “Go where the money is” was Seth’s philosophy. Another of his ditties was “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” How right he was. She’d dropped a few words here, a thought there, and Sandor Locke had come to her offering her the position at twice the salary she’d earned at the museum. She wished now that someone had told her ten-hour work days were part of the job.
Maggie leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head, appreciating her newly decorated office, one of her first demands of Sandor. It was the perfect backdrop for her own striking brunette looks. The soft, plush earth tones were selected with care to show off the vibrant jewel colors she wore. The eggshell chair set off her glossy dark hair and honey-colored skin. If she owed anything to Billie it was her flair for fashion and her sense of color and balance; from Moss, his summer-blue eyes and ambition. Damn, why was it every time she tried to relax and enjoy her success thoughts of Sunbridge and the family would crop up? She should be over that hurtful stage of life. She was a woman now, with her own sense of worth. Sunbridge was behind her. She didn’t live there anymore and hadn’t lived there for years and years. Whenever she did go back, which was rare, she was a visitor.
It was a damn good thing she’d escaped, Maggie assured herself. Or had she been driven out? She felt the familiar dampness on her eyelashes. A visitor. She had to use the doorbell. She possessed no keys to the house. If only she had a key, perhaps she would feel as though she belonged there. Riley belonged there. Was that why she’d encouraged him to join the service? Because she was jealous that he belonged to Sunbridge and she didn’t? Even though the letters she received from Riley expressed contentment it still niggles the back of Maggie’s brain that she’d advised him to join the Navy more out of her own purposes than for her brother’s welfare.
Regardless of how successful she became, no matter how high she climbed, it still wasn’t enough. Something was missing. The sense of belonging, the sense of sharing in the closeness of a family. When was she going to accept that it was never there for her and put it all behind her? “The day I die,” she muttered as she dabbed at misty eyes.
Deciding work was preferable to dwelling on memories, Maggie attacked the pile of applications with a vengeance. She sorted, appraised, and considered the stack of rejections growing compared to the number of acceptances. Opening a folder of photographs of an artist’s work, she was faced with an electric geometric design. Exactly what Sandor wanted to balance the primitives he intended to display in early spring. It would be the height of the art season, and from these examples of geometries and linears the showing would propel the artist’s career into importance. She flipped through the photographs, appreciating the artist’s sense of color and scale. But it was when several examples of textiles fell under her view that she turned back to the name on the application. Billie Coleman. Mam’s agent had sent the folio and application without any idea that she was now employed by Sandor Locke and that a showing would rest on her own decision. A sense of power coursed through Maggie. She realized all too well that she could lift her mother out of
the designer class and move her into the front-running category of accepted artists. “Well, Mam, paybacks are a bitch.” The brilliant-hued designs were tossed onto the rejection pile. Maggie stared at it for a moment, the colors rioting in her head, her conscience pricking. Then, before she could entertain reconsideration, she grabbed the folio and shoved it to the bottom of the stack. No, she couldn’t allow Mam’s work to hang for weeks in Sandor’s gallery. Having to be faced each day with Billie’s exhibition would create too strong a flow of memories. Maggie knew she was just not that strong emotionally.
She was raw enough now and she had to fall back and regroup and think things through again. Just last week she’d been lunching with Sandor when Moss walked into the restaurant with Alice Forbes on his arm. Her initial response had been shock, and then the hatred settled in and she had glowered across the room at Alice Forbes with such intensity it was a small wonder the woman hadn’t felt it as though it were a tangible thing and turned to face her.
It was then, when she’d looked back across the table at the slim, fastidious Sandor, that she realized he was actually her father in disguise. Charming, distinguished, and sophisticated, Seth would have called Sandor “slick.” Even Agnes would have seen through to the cruelty beneath his layer of cosmopolitan charm. Sandor Locke, patron of the arts, wealthy, knowledgeable, and married. She herself was the Alice Forbes in Sandor’s life and she didn’t like it.
“Seen a ghost, Maggie?” Sandor asked perceptively.
“My father, Moss Coleman.” She indicated the table where Moss and Alice were sitting.
“And the lady?” he persisted, clearly amused by Maggie’s discomfort.
“Alice Forbes, the playwright. My father and she were childhood friends back in Texas.”
“She is also an embarrassment I take it.” Sandor refused to allow the subject to drop. There seemed to be more here than met the eye.
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