He walked her to the elevator, and as the doors closed, he turned and walked away, as Alex closed her eyes and rode up to her floor, feeling numb. He always had that effect on her.
Chapter 17
While Alex was meeting with her father, Coop was relaxing under a tree, beside the pool. He was always careful to stay out of the sun, to protect his skin. It was part of the secret of why he never seemed to age. And he loved the peace and quiet of being at the pool in the daytime during the week. There was no one else around. His tenants were at work, and Mark's miserable kids were in school. He was lying there, looking pensive in the shade of the tree, and wondering what her father was saying to her. He was almost certain it was about him, in part at least. And he was sure her father wouldn't approve. He just hoped the old man wouldn't upset Alex too much. But even Coop had to admit her father had cause to be concerned. He wasn't exactly solvent at the moment. And if her father had done an investigation, he was undoubtedly well aware of it.
For the first time in his life, it actually bothered Coop what someone might think of him. For both their sakes, he had been meticulously scrupulous with her, in spite of his financial woes. She was just such a decent person, that it was hard to take advantage of her, although he'd thought of it. But so far, he had been remarkably good, and had held himself in check. Besides which, he was seriously beginning to suspect he really was in love with her, whatever that meant to him. It had meant different things over the years. Lately, it meant being comfortable and at ease, not having headaches in the relationship. Sometimes just liking her was enough. There were so many difficult women out there, and girls like Charlene.
It was so much easier being with a woman like Alex. She was fair and kind and funny, and she didn't ask for much. He liked that about her too. She was wonderfully self-sufficient, and if he did get desperate and the bottom fell out of his life financially, he knew he could turn to her. The money she had was like an insurance policy for him. He didn't need it yet, but he might one day. He wasn't with her because of her money, but he liked knowing it was there. Just in case. It made him feel safe.
The only thing he didn't like, and which kept him from making any overt promises, was that she was young enough to have kids, and probably should have them one day. That really was too bad, in Coop's eyes. And a real flaw in their relationship. But you couldn't have everything. Maybe being Arthur Madison's daughter was enough to compensate for it. He hadn't figured that out yet. But he would one of these days. She hadn't pressed him yet, and he liked that about her too. There was no pressure involved in being with her. There was a lot about her he liked. Almost too much.
He was thinking about her, as he walked back into the house, and ran smack into Paloma. She was dusting furniture and eating a sandwich at the same time. And while she did, she was dropping mayonnaise on the rug. And he pointed it out to her.
“Sorry,” she said, as she stepped on the spot she'd made with the leopard sneakers.
He had given up trying to train or educate her. They were just trying to survive on parallel paths without killing each other. And he had figured out several weeks before, that she was doing work for the Fried-mans too, but as long as she did what she had to do for him, he didn't really care. It wasn't worth the fight. Out of sheer necessity, he was mellowing. Maybe it was Alex's effect on him. The glaziers were working on his living room window that afternoon, although he still wasn't amused about the baseball incident. If he did have children with Alex one day, he hoped they wouldn't be boys. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. Like that damn woman Charlene. At least she wasn't in the tabloids that week.
He was pouring himself a glass of the iced tea he had taught Paloma to make. She left it in a jug in the fridge. And as he did, the phone rang. He thought it might be Alex, but it was an unfamiliar voice, a woman called Taryn Dougherty who said she'd like a meeting with him.
“Are you a producer?” he asked, still holding the glass of iced tea. He'd been a little lax about drumming up work since the incident with Charlene. He had other things on his mind.
“No, actually I'm a designer. But that's not why I called. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you.” He thought she might be a reporter, and was instantly sorry he'd answered the phone, and he'd already admitted who he was. It was too late to say he was the butler and Mr. Winslow was out, which he did sometimes now that Livermore was gone.
“What sort of matter?” he asked coolly. He didn't trust anyone these days. Everyone seemed to want something from him, or Charlene did at least.
“It's a personal matter. I have a letter from an old friend of yours.” It sounded too mysterious to him. It was probably a ruse, or a scheme of some kind. Maybe from Charlene. But the woman sounded pleasant at least.
“Who would that be?”
“Jane Axman. I'm not sure you'll remember the name.”
“I don't. Are you her attorney?” It was also possible that he owed her money. He got a lot of calls like that too. He always referred them to Abe. Liz used to screen them for him, but now he had to do it himself.
“I'm her daughter.” The woman on the phone didn't seem to want to say more, but she insisted that it was important and wouldn't take much time. And he was ever so slightly intrigued. He wondered how attractive she was. He was tempted to tell her he'd meet her at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but he was too lazy to go out. And he was waiting to hear from Alex, after she met with her father. She hadn't called him yet. And he was afraid she might be upset. He didn't want to take her call on a cell phone in the middle of a restaurant.
“Where are you?” Coop asked as though it mattered.
“I'm at the Bel Air Hotel. I just arrived from New York.” At least she was staying at a good hotel. It didn't mean much, but it was something, and finally his curiosity got the best of him.
“I'm not far from there. Why don't you come over now?”
“Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” she said politely. “I won't take much of your time.” She just wanted to see him. Once. And show him her mother's letter. It was a piece of history for them to share.
She was at the gate ten minutes later, and he buzzed her in from the house. She drove up in a rented car, and when she got out, he saw that she was tall and blonde, in her late thirties, he guessed. She was actually thirty-nine. She was a good-looking woman, with a slim figure, and a short skirt. She was very well dressed, and seemed to have a sense of style. There was something familiar about her, but he didn't know what it was. He didn't think he'd ever seen her before. And as she approached, she smiled, and then shook his hand.
“Thank you for seeing me. I'm very sorry to disturb you. I wanted to get this out of the way. I've been wanting to write to you for a long time.”
“What are you doing in California?” he asked as he led her into the library, and offered her a glass of wine, which she declined. She asked for a glass of water instead. It was hot outside.
“I'm not sure yet. I had a design business in New York. I just sold it. I've always wanted to do costume design for a movie, but I think that's just one of those crazy ideas. I thought I'd come out here and look around.” And meet him.
“That must mean you're not married,” he said, handing her the glass of water she'd asked for, in a Baccarat glass. Paloma was using one like it to water the plants.
“I'm divorced. I got divorced, sold my business, and my mother died, all within a few months. It's one of those rare times when you have no encumbrances and can do anything you want. I'm not sure if I like it, or if it scares me to death,” but she smiled as she said it. She didn't look as though she would be scared by much. She was extremely poised.
“So what's in this letter? Did someone leave me some money?” He laughed as he said it, and she smiled in response.
“I'm afraid not.” She handed him the letter from the woman he no longer remembered, and didn't say another word. The letter was long, and as he read it, he looked up at her several times. And when he finished it, he sat for a
long moment, staring at her, not sure what to say next, or what she wanted from him. He handed her back the letter, and looked serious as he did. If it was another blackmail scheme, he wasn't up to it. One of those was enough.
“What do you want from me?” he asked bluntly, and the question made her sad. She had hoped for a warmer response from him.
“Absolutely nothing. I wanted to meet you. Once. And I hoped you'd want to meet me. I'll admit, it's a bit of a shock. It was to me too. My mother never told me. I found the letter, as she intended me to, after she died. My father died years ago. I have no idea if he ever knew.”
“I hope not,” Coop said solemnly. He was still in shock. But relieved by what she'd said about wanting nothing from him. He believed her. She looked like an honest person, and a nice woman. He would have been attracted to her, but she was a little old for him.
“I don't think it would have mattered to him. He was very good to me. He left me most of his money. He had no other children. And if he did know, he didn't seem to hold it against my mother or me. He was a very kind man.”
“How fortunate for you,” Coop said, looking closely at her, and suddenly realized why she looked familiar. She looked like him. With good reason. The letter said that her mother had had an affair with Coop forty years before. They were both in a play in London, and the affair had been brief. When the play closed and she went back to Chicago, she had discovered she was pregnant, and she decided, for reasons of her own, not to tell Coop. She didn't feel she knew him well enough to impose on him, as she put it. It was an odd thing for a woman to think when she was having his baby, which she had decided to do, again for reasons of her own. She married someone else, had the baby, a daughter, and never told her that the man she believed was her father actually wasn't. It was Coop. Instead, she left her a letter, which explained it all. And now they were sitting, examining each other. The man who thought he had no children suddenly had two. This thirty-nine-year-old woman who had suddenly appeared, and the one Charlene was carrying, and claimed was his. It was a very odd feeling for a man who hated kids. But Taryn was no kid. She was a grown woman, who appeared to be respectable and intelligent, had money, and looked a great deal like him. “What did your mother look like? Do you have a picture of her?” He was curious to see if he remembered her at all.
“Actually, I brought one just in case. I think it's from about that time.” She took it carefully from her purse and handed it to him, and as he looked at it, something jogged in his memory. It was definitely a familiar face. She hadn't left a lifelong impression, but he remembered something about her, and he thought he knew which part she'd played. She'd been an understudy, but the actress she stood in for got drunk a lot, and Coop remembered being on stage with her. But he didn't remember much else. He'd been pretty wild in those days, and drank a lot himself. And there had been a lot of women since. He'd been thirty years old when Taryn was conceived.
“This is very strange,” he said, handing the photograph back to her, and looking at his daughter again. She was very good-looking in a kind of classic way, although very tall. He guessed her to be just under six feet. He was six four. And he thought her mother had been tall too. “I don't know what to say.”
“That's all right,” Taryn Dougherty said pleasantly. “I just wanted to see you, and meet you once. I've had a good life. I had a wonderful father, I loved my mother. I was an only child. I have nothing to reproach you. You never knew. And it was my mother who kept it all a secret, but I don't reproach her anything either. I have no regrets.”
“Do you have children?” he asked with trepidation. It was enough of a shock finding out he had a grown daughter, he wasn't ready for grandchildren too.
“No, I don't. I've always worked. And I've never really wanted children, embarrassing as that is to admit.”
“Don't be embarrassed. It's genetic,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I've never wanted children either. They make a lot of noise, they're dirty, and they smell. Or something like that.” She laughed at what he said. She was enjoying him, and she could see why her mother had fallen in love with him, and decided to have his child. He was very charming, and amusing, a gentleman of the old school. Although nothing about him seemed very old, it was hard to believe that he and her mother had been the same age. Her mother had been ill for years. This man seemed years younger than he was. “Will you be here for a while?” he asked with interest. He liked her, and in spite of himself, he felt some kind of bond with her, he just wasn't sure what. It was too new. He needed time to sort it out.
“I think so.” She was still unsure of what she wanted to do. But she felt liberated now that she had done this. It had weighed on her ever since she found out. But now that she had met him, she felt free to go on with her life, whether or not she stayed in touch with him.
“Can I reach you at the Bel Air? It might be nice to get together again. Maybe you'd like to come to dinner one night.”
“That would be lovely,” she said, standing up, and bringing the meeting to a close. She had been true to her word. She had been there for half an hour. She wasn't trying to linger. She had done what she came to do. She had met him. And now she was going back to her own life. And she turned to him then with a serious look. “I want to assure you, in case you're concerned, that I have no intention of talking to the press. This is just between us.”
“Thank you,” he said, and was touched. She truly was a nice woman. She wanted nothing from him. She just wanted to see who he was. And she liked what she saw. So did he. “It's probably a crazy thing to say, but you were probably a very nice little girl. Your mother must have been a decent woman,” particularly for not making trouble for him and shouldering all the responsibilities herself. He wondered if he had cared about her at all. It was hard to say. But he liked her daughter, their daughter, very much. “I'm sorry she died,” he said and meant it. It was an odd feeling knowing that while he pursued his own life, unbeknownst to him, he had a daughter somewhere in the world.
“Thank you. I'm sorry she died too. I loved her very much.” As she left, he kissed her on the cheek, and she turned to him and smiled. It was the same smile he saw in the mirror every day, and that his friends knew so well. It was uncanny looking at her. He could see the resemblance himself, and her mother must have seen it too. It must have been odd for her. He wondered if her husband ever knew. He hoped not, for his sake.
Coop was quiet for the rest of the day. He had a lot to think about. And when Alex came in at seven, he was still pensive and she asked if he was okay. He asked about her meeting with her father, she said it had been fine, but she didn't say much more than that.
“Was he rough on you?” Coop asked with obvious concern, and she shrugged.
“He is who he is. He isn't the father I'd have chosen if they'd asked me, but he's what I've got,” she said philosophically and poured herself a glass of wine.
It had been a long day, for both of them. Coop didn't say anything to her about Taryn until they were eating dinner. Paloma had left some chicken for them, and Alex added some pasta to it, and made a salad. It was enough. And then Coop looked up with a strange expression.
“I have a daughter,” he said cryptically. And Alex looked up at him.
“It's too soon for her to know that, Coop. She's lying to you. She's just trying to soften you up.” Alex was instantly annoyed at what she thought was yet another of Charlene's tricks.
“It's not her.” He seemed almost in a daze. He'd been thinking about Taryn all afternoon. Meeting her had had a powerful effect on him.
“Someone else is having your baby too?” She looked shocked.
“Apparently someone did. Thirty-nine years ago.” He told her about Taryn then, and Alex could see how moved he was.
“What an amazing story,” she said, somewhat in awe. “How could her mother keep that secret for all those years? What's she like?” She was intrigued.
“Nice. I like her. She looks a lot like me, I think. Better looki
ng of course,” he said gallantly. “I really liked her. She's very…” he searched for the word, “dignified… honorable… something like that. She reminds me of you that way. She's very straightforward and decent. She didn't want anything from me, and she said she wasn't going to talk to the press. She just wanted to meet me. Once, she said.”
“Why don't you invite her back?” Alex suggested. She could see that he wanted to.
“I think I will.”
But instead, he went to lunch with her at the Bel Air the next day. They told each other all about themselves and were amazed at how similar they were in some ways, how many tastes they shared, right down to their favorite ice cream and dessert, and the kind of books they did and didn't like. It was uncanny how powerful the genetics were. And at the end of lunch, he had an odd idea.
“Would you like to stay at The Cottage while you're here?” he suggested, and meant it. He wanted to spend more time with her. She suddenly seemed like a gift in his life, and he didn't want to turn her away. He wanted her close to him, at least for a few days, or maybe even weeks. And Taryn liked the idea too.
“I don't want to intrude,” she said cautiously, but he could see it appealed to her.
“You wouldn't be.” He was sorry now that he had tenants in the guest wing and the gatehouse. It would have been nice to have her there. But he had an enormous guest suite in the main house too, and he was sure Alex wouldn't object. He had told Taryn about her, and she thought Alex sounded wonderful, which Coop said she was.
Taryn promised to move in the next day, and he told Alex that night. She was thrilled for him, and excited to meet her. She still hadn't told him what her father had said, and she never would. In retrospect, she realized he had meant well, but she knew it would have broken Coop's heart to hear the horrors her father had to say. He didn't need to know. Her father just didn't understand who Coop was.
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