“Of course you can stay here. We really have to build a decent house soon.” The plan was to build a simple house for the men, and a nicer one on one of their hills, for him and Antoine, but that wouldn’t come for a while. They had other priorities first. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then. Drive carefully.”
“Thanks.” She hung up and ran down the stairs to pull open the door for a woman who stood looking at her. She wore a black wool suit, which clung to her form, and her hair was as black as coal, which Sabrina suspected was dyed, but she had a handsome face in spite of it, and eyes of brilliant blue that seemed to be examining Sabrina inch by inch, and she took one step into the house and looked up at the dome as though she had known it would be there.
“Good afternoon … I see Jon told you about the dome.”
“No.” She looked at Sabrina and smiled. And Sabrina had a sudden, strange sensation as she looked at her, but she wasn’t sure what it was. It was almost as though she had seen this woman before, but she didn’t know where. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Her eyes never left Sabrina’s now, and slowly she shook her head. “There’s really no way you could.” Sabrina heard the Southern accent again. “I just thought that maybe you saw a photograph … a sketch.…” A chill ran down her spine as she stood immobilized and the woman’s voice was a whisper now. “My name is Camille du Pré … Camille Beauchamp …” Sabrina felt a wave of fear sweep over her as the woman went on whispering. “Camille Thurston once, but not in a very long time.…” It couldn’t be. Sabrina stood rooted to the spot staring at her. It was a joke. It had to be. Her mother was dead. Sabrina fell back as though she had been slapped.
“You have to leave.…” She felt ill, as though someone were choking her, and her voice was strained, but she couldn’t move from where she stood and Camille stood watching her, barely able to imagine what she felt, or the enormity of the blow she had dealt. It was like seeing her back from the dead, and Sabrina had never seen any picture of her at all, thanks to her father’s care, but now she saw who Jon had looked like for all these years. He was the image of his grandmother … the hair … the face … the eyes … the mouth … the lips … Sabrina felt an overwhelming urge to scream but instead she took another step back from her. “This is a very cruel joke … my mother is dead.…” She was almost breathless now, but something kept her from throwing the woman out, some fascination with her, she had always wondered what her mother looked like, for so many years, and now … perhaps possibly … she had needed a mother so much back then … but suddenly here was this woman now … how could it be? Sabrina sat down heavily in a chair and stared at her, as Camille Beauchamp Thurston du Pré looked calmly down at her. She was pleased at the effect she had had.
“I am not dead, Sabrina.” She spoke in a firm voice and looked at her. “Jon told me that was what Jeremiah had told you. That wasn’t fair of him.”
“What should he have said?” Sabrina couldn’t take her eyes off her. It was almost impossible to understand what had just happened to her. Her mother had walked out of the grave right into her life, and now stood calmly there. “I don’t understand.”
Camille acted as though it were something that happened to her every day. She wandered slowly beneath the dome, explaining to Sabrina what had occurred as Sabrina continued to stare at her. “Your father and I disagreed a long time ago.” She smiled apologetically, almost charmingly, but Sabrina was too shocked to be charmed. “I was never really very happy here”—the memory of Napa returned to her and she almost winced—“particularly at the other house. Napa was never exactly my cup of tea”—it was the understatement of the last five decades—“and I went home to Atlanta, because my mother was ill.” Sabrina stared at her, she had never heard this story before and it puzzled her. Why would her father lie to her? “We had argued terribly about my going home, and he wrote to me while I was there, and told me never to come back. It was then that I discovered he had a mistress here in town.” Sabrina’s eyes grew even wider than they had before. Could that be true? “He refused to allow me to come home, or to see you again.…” She began to cry. “My only child … I was so heartbroken I went to France.” She sniffed, and turned away for an instant as Sabrina watched. If the woman was lying to her, she was good at it, she would have convinced anyone of how genuine her pain had been. “It took me years to recover from the shock. My mother died … I stayed in France for more than thirty years, and since then I have wandered aimlessly.…” Actually she had “wandered” into her brother Hubert’s house as soon as Thibaut du Pré had died, and she had lived there ever since, and far more handsomely than she ever had with du Pré, but Fate had brought Jonathan into their lives.
The name Beauchamp had meant nothing to him. He knew he had had a grandmother by that name, but she was long since dead, or so he thought. But when he went home from Harvard to Atlanta with Hubert’s grandson in his freshman year, he had discovered his grandmother living there, and for two years they had discussed her coming to California with him. At first he had thought his mother would be pleased, and then, instinctively, he knew that wasn’t true. But something urged him to arrange for the surprise, something he fought for a long time, and then finally he had given in. And he was angry at her now. She was being difficult and demanding with him, he thought, she hadn’t given him the car he’d wanted for so long. He didn’t owe anything to her, or so he told himself, and finally he told Camille the time was right. Sabrina deserved it for all the times she had left him alone to work at the damn mines. He knew what Camille had in mind, and she had promised him that he could live on in the house for as long as he wanted, once she moved back in. It was her house after all, not Sabrina Harte’s, but she didn’t point that out to her now. She was going to wait a few days for that. And Camille had also promised Jon a car. But she had other things to think about just then. Sabrina was looking at her suspiciously.
“Why would my father lie to me?”
“Would you have loved him if you knew the truth, that he had chased your mother away? He wanted you to himself, Sabrina, you and that old witch who brought you up.” Jon had filled her in on that, the hated Hannah had stayed on but was now dead. “And he didn’t want me interfering with his affairs. He had a mistress in Calistoga, you know.” And suddenly Sabrina wondered about that again. She had heard tales about him and Mary Ellen Browne a long time ago, but supposedly that was before he married Camille, even though someone said they had a child, but Sabrina had never put much stock in it. “And he had another woman in New York.” A faint chord of what she said rang true, as Amelia swiftly came to mind, but somehow she had never really thought that her father had had an affair with her … perhaps at the very end of his life, but not before. Their relationship had seemed so chaste … but warm … Sabrina looked into the woman’s eyes with total confusion now.
“I really don’t know what to think. Why did you come here now? Why now?”
“It’s taken me all this time to find you again.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m still living in the house he built for you.” There was an accusation there, but Camille seemed not to notice it. She was very smooth. “You could have found me long ago.”
“I didn’t even know if you were alive. And for all I knew, Jeremiah still was and would keep me from you.”
Sabrina smiled at her cynically. “I am forty-seven years old. You could have gotten to me, if you chose, whether my father was alive or not.” He would have been ninety-two years old that year and hardly a threat to anyone, surely not to this brazen woman standing there. And Sabrina couldn’t bring herself to feel anything for her, except suspicion of all she said. And why had Jon led Camille to her without warning? That puzzled her. Why hadn’t he warned her of this? Did he hate her that much? Or was this his idea of a joke? “Why did you come here now?” She wanted to get to the crux of this, and get it over with.
“Sabrina, you’re my only child, my dear.” She looked near tears.
“We’ve b
een through that. And I’m not a child anymore.”
Camille draped herself across a chair, like an ingenue, and smiled at her. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Where have you been living till now?”
“With my brother, and he just died, so I’ve moved in with his son, the father of our Jonathan’s friend.” Sabrina cringed at her possessiveness of her son. “But things are a little awkward there. I’ve had no home since my husband died … er … my friend … that is …” She blushed, but covered the faux pas as quickly as she could, but Sabrina had instantly picked it up.
“You married again, Madame du Pré?” She stressed the name, and raised an eyebrow as she waited for Camille to speak. And something told her that she wasn’t going to like what she was going to say from now on.
But this time Camille managed to stun her again. “Don’t you realize, my dear … your father and I never divorced. I’m still his wife, and I was when he died.” Jonathan had assured her that Jeremiah had never married again, not that he knew of anyway, although he had never known the man. His grandfather had died eight years before his birth. “Technically”—Camille was smiling evilly at Sabrina now—“I own this house.”
“What?” Sabrina looked as though she had received a massive electric shock as she sprang to her feet.
“But I do. We were married right till the end, and he built this house for me, you know.”
“For God’s sake, how can you say a thing like that?” Sabrina wanted to throttle her. After all she had been through, now this woman wanted to take it all away. “Where were you when I needed you? When I was five years old or ten or twelve?… Where were you when my father died? When I had to run the mines for him?… When …” There was a catch in her throat and for a moment she could not go on. “How dare you come back now? I used to lie awake at night and wonder what you had been like, I used to cry thinking of how you had died, and I still remember how grief-stricken he was … and now you come here and tell me that you went to nurse your mother and he wouldn’t let you come back. Well, I don’t believe a word of it, do you hear me? Not a single word! And this house does not belong to you, it belongs to me, and one day it will belong to Jonathan. My father left it to me, and I will leave it to him when I die. But none of that has anything to do with you.” She was crying openly as she stood shaking beneath the dome, and Camille watched her carefully. “Do you understand? This is my house, not yours, damn you! And don’t malign my father to me in this house. He died here almost thirty years ago, and this was a sacred place to him … and you’re right, he built it for you, but somehow, for some reason I apparently don’t know, you disappeared, and it’s too late for you to come back now.” Camille had been gone for almost fifty years and suddenly she had returned, but she seemed strangely calm now. She hadn’t come unprepared for this, although she was startled by Sabrina’s vehemence.
“You realize, don’t you, that you can’t force me to leave?” She looked sweetly at the woman she claimed as her child and Sabrina was seized with rage.
“The hell I can’t.” She took one step closer to her. “I’ll call the police if you don’t leave.”
“Fine, then I’ll just show them this marriage certificate, and a few papers of my own. I am Jeremiah Thurston’s widow, whether you like it or not, and Jonathan and I are going to reopen his will, and after that you’ll have to ask me if you can stay here, not the other way around. And in the meantime, you can’t force me to leave.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. And if you lay a hand on me, I’ll call the police.”
“And just exactly what do you intend to do? Live here for the next fifty years?” She was being sarcastic and Camille didn’t let it bother her. She was used to getting her way, and extraordinarily gifted at seeing that she did, and she had planned for this for a long time with Jonathan. For a long time, he had hesitated, but finally the time was right. She knew it would be eventually, and she had waited patiently till then. Sabrina wasn’t going to get rid of her easily now.
“I’m going to live here for as long as I like.” But she had another plan after that, one she hadn’t mentioned to Jonathan yet. First she had to make Sabrina uncomfortable, and she had no guilt about that. Sabrina was a stranger to her after all, and what harm was there in it? She would stay with her for a few months, long enough to take over the house and make her acutely ill at ease, and then perhaps there would be a pleasant little settlement that would allow Camille to return to the South victoriously, with dignity, and purchase a house of her own. She had no desire to live in the South again, but it suited her purposes just now perfectly. And she was indeed within her rights. She had checked extensively, Jeremiah had never filed for divorce, from what she could tell. They had still been married when he died, and if she contested his will even now, it would take quite a while to settle it. Long enough to get the point across.
“You can’t just move in here.” Sabrina was looking at her in horror now. “I won’t let you move in here.” But as Sabrina spoke, Camille moved toward the door, and signaled to someone waiting outside, and he swiftly trundled in, awkwardly carrying half a dozen bags, and there were two large trunks still waiting outside. But Sabrina advanced swiftly on him. “Get that garbage out of here.” She was referring to both Camille and her bags, and she pointed at the door and raised her voice again. “Right now!” It was the tone she had used at the mines so many years before, but it didn’t work on him. He was even more afraid of Camille than he was of her. “Did you hear me, boy?”
“I can’t … I’m sorry, ma’am.” He shivered in his shoes as Camille directed him nonchalantly upstairs. She still remembered everything, the master suite, Jeremiah’s library, her own boudoir, and she directed the boy to deposit the bags in her dressing room, as Sabrina dragged them out again, but Camille looked deprecatingly at her as though she were indeed a child.
“It’s no use. I’m staying here. I’m your mother, Sabrina, like it or not.” And this was the mother she had dreamed of for so long, and so tenderly. It was beyond anything, and suddenly tears of rage filled her eyes and she did feel like a child. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. No wonder her father hadn’t let her come back. She was a witch, an absolute monstrosity, but how was she going to get rid of her? She went into her father’s library and frantically called André and explained her plight to him.
“Is she mad?”
“I don’t know,” Sabrina was sobbing now, “I’ve never seen anything like it before. She just moved right into my house as though she’d been away on a short trip.” She blew her nose loudly into the phone and he was sorry that he wasn’t right there to comfort her. “And my father never told me anything …” She sobbed louder than before. “I just don’t understand … he said that she died when I was a year old.…”
“Perhaps she ran away. You’ll find out eventually. Someone must know.” And they both thought of the same solution at once, but André said her name first. “Amelia. Call Amelia in New York! She’ll tell you everything. And in the meantime, throw her out.”
“How? Bodily? André, she has moved right into my dressing room.”
“Then lock the door on her. I mean, she can’t just march in on you like that. Can she?” Suddenly he sounded nervous too, and Sabrina was anxious to hang up and call Amelia at once. At least she wanted to know what had happened between her father and this woman who said she had remained married to him. “Do you want me to come in?” André offered before he hung up. Now with the Bay Bridge making the trip so much easier, it was a shorter trip, but even if it hadn’t been, he would have come in for her. Antoine could take care of things while he was gone.
“Don’t do anything just yet. I’ll call you back. I want to call Amelia, and then my attorney.” But it was to no avail. Amelia had a terrible sore throat, the housekeeper said, and wouldn’t come to the phone, and Sabrina didn’t want to frighten her by saying how desperate she was, and her attorney was away on holiday. �
��He’ll be back in a month,” the secretary said noncommittally, and Sabrina felt almost hysterical as she went to confront Camille again. “Madame du Pré … Countess … whoever you are, you simply cannot stay here. If indeed you have some claim on my father’s estate, and that claim is still good, then we can discuss it with my attorney when he returns next month, and in the meantime you will have to stay at a hotel.”
She looked over her shoulder at her daughter as she hung up her clothes. She had already dumped an entire rack of Sabrina’s things onto a chair, and Sabrina had a strong urge to strangle her. She grabbed her own clothes, pushed Camille’s aside, and threw them on the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Get out of here! This is my house, not yours!” But Camille only looked at her as if she were an errant child.
“I know this is difficult for you. And we haven’t seen each other in a long, long time. But you must control yourself. When Jon comes back, he’ll want to find us here happily. He loves both of us, you see, and he needs a peaceful home.”
“I don’t believe you’re doing this.” Sabrina stared at her, she felt completely helpless for one of the rare times in her life. There were few things she hadn’t been able to deal with before, but this was one of them. “You must get out of here.”
“But why? What difference does it make? It’s an enormous house. There’s lots of room for all of us.” She looked carefully then at the murderous look in Sabrina’s eyes and made a wise decision gracefully. “All right, I’ll stay in the guest room then, and you won’t even know I’m here, my dear.” She smiled cheerfully, scooped up her things, and the boy whom Sabrina had forgotten by then, ran behind Camille carrying all the bags and trunks again. Her memory was excellent. She directed him to the correct door, and a moment later, he hurried out.
Thurston House Page 39
