Thurston House

by Danielle Steel

  “Where’s Camille?” His wife looked faintly nervous and Hubert laughed before answering his father.

  “Probably out back with one of her beaux!” Neither the laughter nor the comment were tainted by brotherly kindness, and his mother was quick to scold him.

  “Hubert!” She turned to her husband then. “She was upstairs dressing when we came down.” Orville frowned and spoke quietly to his wife, and he was obviously displeased by Hubert’s comment. Camille was the apple of his eye, a fact that was no secret to those who knew him. “Tell her, ’Lizabeth, that we’re ready to go into dinner.”

  “I’m not sure she’s dressed.…” Elizabeth detested confronting her daughter, and giving her orders, even if they were not her own. Camille did as she pleased at all times, and tonight would be no exception.

  “Just tell her we’ll wait for her.” The guests didn’t seem to object to the opportunity for another mint julep, and Elizabeth Beauchamp disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later looking relieved as she whispered something to her husband. He nodded and seemed satisfied with the answer, none of which impressed Jeremiah very much as he strolled about among the guests, catching bits and snatches of conversations as he wandered around. And at last, he walked through the handsome double French doors into the garden and stood enjoying the balmy spring air, before going back inside.

  But as he crossed over the threshold this time, he stopped, fascinated by what he saw: a tiny delicate young woman with raven black hair and skin so white she looked like a snow queen as she stood there. Her eyes were as blue as a summer sky and she wore a pale blue taffeta gown and a string of blue topazes about her neck, which only enhanced the sparkle and the color of her eyes still more. She was the most dazzling-looking creature Jeremiah had ever seen, and the amazing thing was that she was the perfect combination of both her parents, her father’s dark hair, her mother’s milk white skin and blue eyes, and yet from two perfectly ordinary people had sprung this tiny goddess, this vision who floated between them now, almost dancing as she went, kissing and flirting and laughing. And Jeremiah was suddenly aware of the beating of his heart as he watched her. She took one’s breath away, and it struck him that she looked a little bit like Amelia … the same dark hair, creamy skin.… She could have been the girl that Amelia had once been, but he concentrated on Camille now as she pranced among the guests and made them laugh, flirting with the men, teasing the women, and linking her arm adoringly into her father’s.

  “You’re still an impossible child!” Jeremiah heard one woman say, not totally without venom, but it was easy to see that she must have been. And it was equally easy to see that she made her mother very nervous, and was clearly the object of her brother’s hatred. But somehow Jeremiah found that amusing as he watched her cavort, and could easily imagine that she had been playing the same games since she’d been old enough to walk, and it was equally obvious that her father adored her.

  “Mr. Thurston.” Orville Beauchamp pronounced his name as though he were about to give him an award. “May I present you to my daughter, Mr. Thurston?” He beamed. “Camille, this is Mr. Thurston from California.”

  “How do you do, Miss Beauchamp?” Jeremiah graciously kissed her hand and watched the sparkle in her eyes. She was indeed a naughty little girl, but she had an enchanting quality about her, like a mischievous elf, or a slightly wicked fairy princess. He had never seen a creature as devastatingly lovely as she, and wondered how old she was, and he decided that she couldn’t be more than seventeen. In fact, she had turned seventeen in December, and since then her life had been an endless round of parties and balls. Her tutor had been dismissed on the first of the year and Camille was enchanted.

  “Good evening, Mr. Thurston.” She curtsied prettily to him, giving him a fine view of her firm young breasts as she did so, and knowing full well that she had. There was very little Camille did without planning it beforehand. She was witty and wise, and canny about her effect on those around her.

  Dinner was announced immediately after her appearance, and Jeremiah went in on Elizabeth Beauchamp’s arm, feeling as though his whole world had just turned upside down. And he was surprised and delighted to find himself seated between Camille and another lady. And the other lady being engaged in conversation to her right, Jeremiah found himself with only Camille Beauchamp to talk to. He found her to be bright and amusing and just as flirtatious as he had suspected, but he was surprised to discover that there was something more to her too. She seemed to have an extraordinary understanding of practical matters and she had an excellent head for business. She asked a number of very intelligent questions about his most recent deal, and he was surprised at how much she knew about her father’s business. And how much Orville himself had told her. It certainly wasn’t what Jeremiah would have discussed with his daughter, had he had one.

  “Has he taught you all that?” Jeremiah was startled. It would have seemed that he’d be more interested in teaching Hubert, although he was undoubtedly not as avid to learn as his sister.

  “Some of it.” She seemed pleased by his appreciation of her extensive knowledge. “Some of it I’ve just listened to.” She smiled with an air of false innocence, which amused Jeremiah.

  “You’ve done more than listen, young lady. You’ve sorted it out and come to some very interesting conclusions.” She had said one or two things that he thought amazingly perceptive, and he didn’t usually like talking business to women, especially not very young ones. Most girls would have tittered and stared had he even attempted to discuss one tenth of what had just passed between them.

  “I like hearing about men’s work.” She said it matter-of-factly, as though she had just said she liked hot chocolate for breakfast.

  “Why?” He was intrigued. “Most women find it very dull.”

  “I don’t. I like it.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’m interested in how people make money.” It was a shocking thing to say, and for a moment Jeremiah was too startled to answer.

  “What makes you feel that way, Camille?” What went on behind those bright blue eyes and pretty black curls? Surely not the usual thoughts of a seventeen-year-old girl. She was surprisingly blunt about her views, but it was actually refreshing. There was no pretense, no hiding behind a lace fan. She said what she thought, even if it was shocking.

  “I think money is important, Mr. Thurston.” She said it with an enchanting drawl. “And it makes people important. And when they don’t have it anymore, they stop being important.”

  “That’s not always true.”

  “Yes, it is.” She was brutal in her verdict. “Look at my mother’s father. He lost his money and his plantation and he was no one and he knew it, so he shot himself, Mr. Thurston. And look at my Daddy, he’s got money and he’s important and if he had more money, he’d be more important.” And then she stared him straight in the eye. “You’re a very important man. My Daddy says so. And you must have an awful lot of money.” She made it sound as though he had barrels of it, on his front porch and in his basement, and the image of what she said made him laugh in embarrassment as much as amusement.

  “I have land more than money.”

  “That’s the same thing. In some places it’s land, in other places it’s cattle … it’s different things in different places, but it means the same thing.” He knew what she was speaking of, and wondered if she really did too. It was almost frightening if she did. How could she know so much about business and money and power?

  “I think what you’re talking about is power. You’re talking about the kind of power people get when they’re successful or important.” It was a very perceptive thing for a seventeen-year-old to have grasped, particularly a girl, and she looked pensive for a moment and then nodded.

  “I think you’re right, and that is what I mean. I like power. I like what it makes people do, how they behave, how they think.” She looked at her mother and then back at Jeremiah. “I hate weak people. I think my grandfather must ha
ve been weak, to shoot himself like that.”

  “That was a terrible time in the South, Camille.” Jeremiah spoke softly, lest his hostess hear them. “It was a tremendous change for most people, and some of them just couldn’t survive it.”

  “My Daddy did.” She looked at him with pride. “That’s when he made all his money.” It was something that most people wouldn’t have cared to mention, let alone brag about. And then as quickly as she had brought up the forbidden subject, she dropped it, turning to Jeremiah with those summer sky eyes and smiling a smile that would have melted the heart of a man of iron. “What’s it like in California?”

  With a smile at the contrasts in her style, he began to tell her about the Napa Valley. She listened politely for a time, and then was obviously bored. This was not a girl who had a passion for the country. She was far more interested in his stories about San Francisco. And then she told him about a recent trip to New York, which she had found absolutely fascinating, and if she wasn’t married by the time she was eighteen, her daddy would take her to Europe, she told him. He still had a distant cousin in France, and what Camille really wanted to see was Paris. She sounded like a little girl as she rattled on, and as he watched her Jeremiah found himself no longer listening to her words, but totally in awe of her delicate beauty. And it was as though he could hear Amelia’s words to him on the train … find a young girl … get married … have babies. This was the kind of girl that turned old men’s heads, and turned their knees to jelly. But he had come to Atlanta not to find a bride but to do business. He had a normal, sane life to return to in the Napa Valley, five hundred employees in three mines, a housekeeper, a house, Mary Ellen, and suddenly as though in a vision, he could almost see Camille dancing among them. It was like a kind of delirium thinking of it and he forced his mind back to the dinner, albeit with considerable effort.

  They chatted on throughout the meal, and when a small group of musicians began to play in the main drawing room after dinner, Jeremiah politely asked Elizabeth Beauchamp to dance, but she informed him that she never danced, and perhaps he would like to dance with her daughter. Camille was standing nearby as she spoke, and there was nothing he could do but offer his arm, although he felt slightly foolish dancing with a girl of her age. Foolish and at the same time pleased, and embarrassed to realize that he was almost breathlessly drawn to her. He had to fight the power of her charm as they whirled around the floor and he looked into the pale sapphire eyes.

  “Do you like to dance as much as you like hearing about business?”

  “Oh, yes,” she smiled up at him, all Southern belle and huge blue eyes, “I love dancing.” It was as though the earlier conversation had never taken place, and all she ever thought about was dancing. He almost wanted to laugh out loud and call her a little minx, which it was obvious she was. “You’re a wonderful dancer, Mr. Thurston.” It was a skill that came to him naturally and that he enjoyed, but he was amused at her extravagant praise, and he laughed as they circled the room in each other’s arms. He hadn’t been this happy in years, and he wasn’t sure he knew why. It was frightening to realize how attracted he was to her.

  “Thank you, Miss Beauchamp.”

  She saw the twinkle in his eyes and laughed too, managing to look both sensual and impish all at once, and again he had to fight his own instincts. Suddenly all else was forgotten, Amelia, Mary Ellen … all he could think of was the dazzling creature in his arms, and it was almost a relief when the dance ended. As the last waltz came to a close, he was suddenly aware of the heat of the room, the brilliance of the candles, the heady scent of the flowers, and then the brilliance of her eyes as she looked up at him again. And she looked so delicate that she reminded him of one of the lovely Southern flowers in the huge bouquets decorating the room. He wanted to tell her how pretty she was, but he didn’t quite dare, she was only a girl of seventeen after all, and he was more than twice her age. It was an awesome thought as he returned her to her mother’s side, and a short while later bid them all good night. He held her hand for only an instant as her eyes dove into his and she spoke to him in a soft voice that tore at his soul, and at the same time touched something more primitive within him.

  “Will I see you again before you leave?” There was a plaintive note in her voice and he smiled. That was all that remained on this trip, to be the object of a young girl’s crush and to become ensnared in her spell. If that was the case, he chided himself, it was time for him to go back to California.

  “I don’t really know. I’ll be leaving Atlanta in a few days.”

  “What are you doing until then?” she asked him with the open eyes of a young child. “Daddy said you were all through with your work.”

  “I am. But there was no train to San Francisco until the first of the week.”

  “Oh”—she clapped her hands happily and looked up at him with a broad grin—“then you’ll have time to play.” He laughed out loud and allowed himself to kiss her cheek.

  “Good night, little one. I’m too old to play.” And much too old to play with her. He said nothing more, but swung up into the carriage after shaking his host’s hand. On the drive back to the hotel, he let his thoughts drift over the evening, and the beguiling Camille. She was an outrageous child, but with those huge blue eyes, and sharp mind, she could have had anything she wanted, and undoubtedly did. It was easy to see why her father adored her, but she was obviously a handful too. And as he thought of her he felt an odd twinge of something more, he felt almost dizzy as he remembered circling the drawing room in her arms as they danced the waltz. There was something immoral about lusting after such a young girl, and he forced her from his mind and attempted to replace her with a vision of Amelia, and then Mary Ellen, but no one could push Camille from his mind, and at last he sank back into the carriage with a breathless feeling, and had she been sitting beside him, child or no, he would have crushed her to him. There was something about her which was so exotic, so beguiling, so sensual, that it almost drove him from his senses, and for no reason he could even understand, Jeremiah felt almost frightened. And suddenly, he was anxious to leave Atlanta and return to California. Because, if he stayed … it was impossible to say what would happen.…

  6

  The next morning dawned warm and sunny with the smell of spring in the air, as Jeremiah rose slowly from his bed, donned his dressing gown, and wandered out onto the terrace of his room. He was determined to attack a stack of papers he purposefully spread out on the desk, but again and again his thoughts leapt back to the exquisite nymphet he had met the night before and he was furious with himself for it. And the worst of all was that he had another two and a half days to wait in Atlanta before catching the train to California.

  He pressed the call button in his room, and a porter arrived to take his breakfast order. And half an hour later a tray arrived, covered with sausages and eggs, biscuits and honey, orange juice, coffee, and a basket of fresh fruit, but as he stared at it, he had no desire to eat, only to see Camille, and he slammed a fist on the table just as there was another knock on the door. Surprised, he opened it, to see the Beauchamps’ footman standing there.

  “Yes?” He was startled and embarrassed at his own pounding on the table, though the footman couldn’t have heard it.

  “A note for you, suh.” The footman smiled pleasantly and handed Jeremiah an envelope addressed in a delicate, flowery hand. For a fraction of an instant, Jeremiah hesitated, and then took it from him as he waited for Jeremiah’s response, as he had been told to do.

  “It’s a lovely day for a stroll in the park,” the note read in an almost childlike hand, “would you care to join us for the afternoon? We’re having lunch at home, and then all of us will go to the park. You’ll be quite safe,” she teased, “and perhaps you could stay for dinner too.” She was a brazen little thing, just as he had known the night before, and he wasn’t at all sure what to do. The thought of her tormented him and yet he wasn’t in any way certain that Orville Beauchamp would
be amused to see his business associate strolling through the park with his seventeen-year-old daughter. And to appear on their doorstep for every meal seemed more than a little forward too. Yet he wanted to see her. He felt torn as he read the note again, and then he turned and threw it on the table, as he grabbed a pen and sheet of paper. He wasn’t even sure what to say to a child of her age. He wasn’t in the habit of courting children of her tender years, and yet there was nothing childlike about Camille Beauchamp. In almost every way, she was a young and beautiful and very tempting woman.

  “If it is agreeable with your mama, dear Miss Beauchamp,” he answered, “I will be exceedingly happy for lunch and a stroll in the park with your family and friends”—he wanted nothing to suggest a clandestine or even solitary meeting—“and in the meantime, I remain, your obedient servant, Jeremiah Thurston.” She didn’t know how true the words were, and neither did he, until he saw her again, and felt his heart almost turn loose from its moorings. She was wearing a simple white lace dress, and her shining black hair danced down her back in long graceful curls, bound only by a pale blue satin ribbon. And as they strolled in the garden before lunch, she looked more than ever like an exquisite child, and at the same time, a devastatingly beautiful young woman.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come today, Mr. Thurston. It must be terribly boring for you at the hotel.”

  “It is.” He was careful with his words. There was nothing boring about Camille. But it also struck him that there was something faintly dangerous about her. Her very appeal was dangerous in itself. For the first time in his life, he felt capable of unbridled madness. He wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms, throw her parasol to the ground, and run his hands through her hair. He turned away from her, as though to flee his own thoughts, and break the spell. And he wondered if his recent restraint with Amelia was making him long for Camille more now.