by kimberly
Melissa set up the tea service and poured tea into the china cups. "Here you go, Miss Julie. Something to warm your bones." Her voice carried traces of her English Cockney roots.
"This is my special blend," Anlese said through the rising steam. "It will give you strength and energy."
Melissa nudged the cream pitcher and sugar bowl closer to Julienne. "If it's the usual noxious brew, you're going to need a lot of these to make it palatable."
"How rude of you, Melissa," Anlese chided good-naturedly. Then, to Julienne, "I make my own teas from the old family recipes. I hope you'll want them someday."
"I'm sure I will." She leaned over and inhaled the fragrant steam rising from the tea. "It smells good," she said politely, and took a sip of the hot brew. It tasted of cinnamon-spicy oranges. A little too strong. A tad bitter. She added a spoonful of sugar and a touch of sweet cream to take away the bitterness. After stirring in the extras, she took a full swallow.
"It's good." She drank some more, downing half the cup in a single swallow. The tea soothed her nerves and settled the churning acids in her stomach. She decided then that building a friendship with her grandmother would be no hardship. She genuinely wanted not to let Cassandra's past hates taint a possible relationship.
Anlese grinned appreciatively and had Melissa refill the cup.
"Fine. You drink up while Melissa draws you a good hot bath. While you bathe, I'll have your suitcase unpacked for you. Melissa will iron your clothes and hang them in your closet." She indicated the food by taking a cookie and dunking it into her own tea. "Help yourself." Every bit the picture of genteel grace, she tucked the cookie neatly into her mouth and followed with a lady-like sip of tea.
"Thank you so very much. I would love a long soak and a nap. I can't believe you went to such trouble for me."
Julienne accepted the small plate Melissa handed her. She picked up the sandwich and delicately nibbled at its crusty edges. The bread had been lightly toasted and the watercress had a delightfully tangy sauce. It tasted delicious, and she ate not one, but two in quick succession. She was thinking of serving herself for a third but drew her hand away from the tray. No sense in making a pig of herself. In her mind she totaled up the calories and winced. This meager snack must suffice for the rest of the day.
"You'll have plenty of time to rest before supper. I hope you're plenty hungry." Anlese had noticed Julienne's struggle to master her appetite. "You're too thin and it isn't becoming on a woman as tall as you. Your health is very poor and you need to improve it. You need to gain more weight."
Julienne was stunned by her blunt words, even though in the back of her mind she knew them to be true.
"It's chic to look this way," she replied defensively. "There are no fat models." It was hard to break the compulsive habits the business had ingrained in her over the years.
Anlese offered a severe frown. By the expression on her face, she was going to have her say, every last word of it. "I've noticed. But you're not in the profession anymore, dear. The fashion industry excels in brainwashing women into believing it is vogue to look like a walking skeleton."
Julienne had no argument. A model's life was hard. Constant dieting. Exercising until her joints and muscles ached. Drugs. Traveling. Weird hours. It was a destructive way for a woman to survive, especially when she was dragging along a deadbeat druggie husband. Of the few who endured the business after the age of twenty-five, thousands more were eaten up to become has-beens. As much as she hated to admit the truth, her career had started to break down during her marriage to James Hunter. How was it she managed to hang on for five years, much less survive the abuse she levered on herself?
"Please don't think I am criticizing you," Anlese hurried to say. "You must understand how worried I've been about you. I've missed you so much."
Jolted out of her reverie, she floundered for an answer. Finally, she shook her head, offering a smile of forgiveness. "No, it's okay. I haven't made the best choices for myself." Feeling like a child before her grandmother's disapproving frown, she hastened to add, "And I put on weight in the hospital…I'm doing better."
Anlese's eyes sparked with anger. "I can't imagine what kind of raising Cassandra put you through. She was my daughter, and I loved her dearly; but she was selfish and thoughtless, dragging you after her like trash."
Unsettled by her direct gaze, Julienne didn't know how to respond to her grandmother's burst of anger. It was true that her mother hadn't been a stable woman and her childhood fraught with uncertainty and impermanence. Still, she had loved Cassandra, and she was sure Cassandra had loved her. The demons her mother had been running from might have been in her own mind, but to her they were real. To be fair, she had to give her grandmother and Morgan the benefit of doubt. He might be a bit high-strung and self-centered, but Anlese did not seem to be the cold, uncaring mother Cassandra had portrayed. Thinking of the envelope in her purse, she reminded herself, as Daniel DiMarco had, that there were two sides to every story.
"The letters that used to come," she began. "They stopped after Mother died."
Anlese sighed heavily. It was clear by the pain etched in her face that her daughter had given her a great burden to bear.
"I did try to find you," she explained. "For years it seemed you'd vanished. Cassandra never used the Blackthorne name after she left Belmonde and it took considerable time to find her. When we did, it seemed she, and you, would disappear again."
Julienne nodded. This was true. Cassandra had never used the same name during their endless migration across the United States. Later, during her early modeling years, Julienne had adapted her mother's identity-concealing habit, using many names while struggling to launch her career, first in New York and then in California. Upon marrying James Hunter at nineteen, she'd assumed his surname. She could see why it had been so difficult to find them. Her grandmother not having seen her since the age of three, it must have taken a massive amount of investigation and money to uncover the truth and locate her.
"Did you know when she died?"
Anlese nodded slowly. By the look on her face and the trembling of her hands, it was apparent she was fighting to hold her emotions in check. Today was supposed to be a joyous one. She clearly did not relish digging up such unpleasant memories.
"We did learn of Cassandra's death," she said. "We heard it on the news, and they showed a picture of Cassandra. It was a dreadful way to find out. Horrible, a tragedy, but it's in the past now. There's nothing we can do about it except to try and go on."
Julienne struggled to keep her deep disappointment from charging across her face. What could she possibly say now? That earlier in the day she'd resisted coming to Belmonde, wanted to refuse because she was selfish and self-centered herself? How could she have possibly denied her grandmother the pleasure and excitement of being reunited with her granddaughter? Morgan's indifferent welcome aside, she was truly and wholeheartedly embraced by Anlese, who would accept her no matter what mistakes she'd made, no matter what trouble she'd gotten herself into.
"I am an old woman. It was my wish to see my family reunited before I left this world myself. In a way, I was relieved when you went into the hospital and the reporters made big news of it. It allowed me to find you again. When your picture flashed on the TV screen, I recognized you immediately. You look so much like your mother…"
Julienne wrapped her cold hands around the delicate white china cup. She desperately wanted to draw its warmth into her body. She glanced down. The liquid in its depth was as murky as her own sad life. "You didn't find much, I'm afraid." She took another deep drink of the warm tea. Its bitterness attacked her tongue but she swallowed it anyway. She frowned. Why had the tea suddenly changed its taste? Just a moment ago it had been creamy and sweet. Wonderful to her palate. Now it seemed acrid. Bitter.
Poisoned?
Anlese sniffed, reaching across the small table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't think about it anymore, dear. All that matters is that yo
u've come home and our family is whole again."
Julienne carefully set down her cup and placed her own hand carefully on top of her grandmother's, keeping her grip gentle but firm. She drew in a deep breath, fortifying herself. "What about my father?"
Anlese's eyes grew misty. Her lower lip began to tremble. She tried to draw her hand away, but Julienne would not let her.
"Certainly, this isn't the way you should have been told. I had hoped you wouldn't ask so soon, but it was inevitable I suppose. You were bound to have questions. But, I don't know who your father is."
Julienne gave particular emphasis to her next question. "Could it be Morgan?"
Anlese thought a few moments and then slowly shook her head. No. "Morgan came to Blackthorne Manor when you were a toddler."
That answer was one she'd been halfway hoping to hear, but also dreading. One question answered. Another still hanging. In a way, she was relieved Morgan Saint-Evanston had not contributed to her conception. Her attraction to him was--fortunately--not incestuous.
Anlese's gaze assumed a faraway look. "I'm sorry I can't give you a better answer, but Cassandra simply never told me."
So, here was a missing piece of the puzzle of her life. Put so simply into place just by the asking. She was a bastard, an illegitimate child. Knowing her mother, and her loose ways, she wondered if Cassandra even knew who had gotten her pregnant. After all, when a rabbit ran through a briar patch, did it know which thorn scratched it? Dammit! She hated to think of her mother this way, but, in truth, her mother had not been a selective or moral woman. Cassandra's lovers had been varied and many. Just thinking about it made her head ache. There were so many questions to ask, a huge gap of twenty-one years she needed to fill in. Anlese and Morgan were the only two people alive who could give her the answers.
She decided it was time to back off. There was no reason to hammer an old woman relentlessly on her first day home. For Anlese, speaking of her daughter must be like opening an old wound.
"I've always wondered. Mother never told me."
"I'm sorry, too, Cassandra never told you."
"Well, now I know, although I don't. The question will always hang in my mind who he was." Finishing the last of the tea, she yawned. Her lids were heavy with fatigue, feeling as if weights were attached to them. Barely able keep her eyes open, she felt her body begin to grow numb.
"I'm so tired," she commented, yawning a second time. "I don't know what's come over me." She hesitantly looked toward the bed. Its canopy was like a shelter, the soft mattress and blankets an inviting oasis. It promised peace, warmth and relaxation if only she would let herself sink into its depth. Though she was exhausted, her mind resisted sleep. She wished to rest but knew it would be impossible. Without the sleeping pills she had been given in the hospital, the dreams would surely return--those terrible nightmares that had tormented her relentlessly since James' attack.
She gagged, unable to ignore the sickening lurch in her guts. The tea she'd swallowed sloshed in her stomach, mixing unpleasantly with the sandwiches she had greedily consumed. Her guts rolled alarmingly. Her bowels spasmed, and she was sure she was going to vomit, expel the poisons from her body.
"Are you all right, dear?" Anlese asked, her eyes filled with concern.
"I, ah, I'm okay. Excuse me, please."
"Of course, dear," Anlese said. Guessing her destination, Melissa pointed toward the washroom. "It's this way," she said helpfully.
"Thank you."
Julienne rose and made her way to the bathroom, closing the door behind her for privacy. She didn't want her grandmother to see her so disoriented. Her legs felt watery, weak; and her stomach was tied in knots, as if she had undergone a severe internal strike to the guts. A cold sweat consumed her, bringing with it a wave of lightheadedness. She gasped, fighting the shortness of breath that overtook her.
She gagged, unable to ignore the sickening lurch of her stomach. Bending over the sink, she threw up the tea and sandwiches. It tasted horrible, leaving a vile film in her mouth. Weakly, she snagged a towel off the rack and wiped her lips.
"Oh, God, this is bad." Foaming saliva drooled from her mouth as she gasped for air. The towel slipped from her deadened fingers. Her heart pounded in her chest as her blood pressure spiked. An uncomfortable pressure squeezed her lungs with frigid fingers, panic flooding her bloodstream with adrenaline. Numbness swept through her body, paralyzing her. She tried to grasp the sink to steady herself, but found her body would not follow the commands of her brain. Vertigo enveloped her, cocooning her mind in a suffocating void.
Julienne could not react, not even to scream. Glimmers of light stabbed at her eyes, but she could not keep them open. Her lids fell, leaving behind the living world. Grasping talons reached up from an icy depth, dragging her deep into a hellish pit from which there could be no escape, no salvation. Darkness stretched endlessly before her. Her struggle to cling to awareness was failing as her body began to shut down around her senses.
So, this is what it feels like to die.
Her thoughts became anesthetized. It was not true that an entire life flashed before one's eyes. In fact, she was aware of nothing except her inability to respond to what was happening to her.
She felt herself lose consciousness as her equilibrium short-circuited. She didn't feel as though she were falling until the last moment. Pitching forward, unable to break her fall, she tumbled, striking the ceramic-tiled floor with body bruising force. A stygian malaise claimed her mind and she knew only black peace.
Chapter Eight
Hands shoved into his trouser pockets, Morgan Saint-Evanston approached Julienne's canopied bed. Her suite was hushed, the atmosphere hazy with the scent of musky incense. Though the day had changed into its rich dark dress of velvet for night, the heavy drapes covering the windows had been drawn together to shut out the world. No electric lamps burned. Candles at her bedside provided the only light. It was past midnight, and he and Anlese were the only ones awake.
She is not coming out of this. He swept his penetrating gaze over her unconscious form. Her body was covered in perspiration. Her rest was an uneasy one; her hollow, raspy breathing was grating to the ears.
"I doubt she will survive much longer without help."
Anlese Blackthorne sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed. By the gentle illumination emanating from the candles, her features appeared older than her actual years.
"She won't." Her softly accented voice was hoarse with grief. "She's dying. Her heart's weak. Her doctors said much damage was done by the drugs. She had seizures in the hospital. Another could kill her."
Morgan pulled aside the quilt covering Julienne. He pressed his left palm on her chest, over her heart. He could feel the spasmodic rhythm that throbbed there. Standing above her in the silent room, he could sense the deep echo that it must be making within the cavity of her chest. "The beat is slow, labored." Her words had confirmed his suspicions. "She is weak, losing strength. I doubt a mortal physician could save her."
Anlese shot him a sharp glance of reproof, her brow knitting over the very fact he had voiced the words. "You don't even want to try and help her, do you?"
He shook his head, bringing a tumble of hair onto his forehead. Straightening to his full height, he flicked the strands to move them out of his eyes. "I see no wisdom in it. We should not have tried to bring her back home. She has been away too long."
His gaze returned to linger on Julienne. In her illness, she looked so fragile, her skin as transparent as if it were it made of fine-spun glass. Although it had been over twenty-one years since he had last seen her, in his eyes she was still very young. Cassandra's girl, however, had matured. As much as he did not want to admit it, he'd found himself instantly attracted to her. She had more than surpassed her mother's beauty. She was stunning.
"It would be such pain to see her die, a waste of a young life not yet lived to the full extent, just like…." Anlese's voice was dull and neutral, as if she had los
t all hope.
"Let her go," he stated, bluntly and without emotion. "She has a few hours, at most. She will probably not see the dawn." He moved his hand to Julienne's face, his open palm hovering over her nose and mouth. "I can take the breath from her…it'll be an easy death. At least she will not suffer." Damn Cassandra for hating me enough to destroy you, caile. Why could she not accept?
"No." Anlese's single word stayed his hovering hand.
"Why not?"
Closing her eyes, she settled back in her chair, saying, "Think about what you would do. She's the last of the sentinels you created. Would you throw that away?" The rocking chair creaked softly, its gentle sound soothing in the hush. "I shouldn't have let Cassandra take her away."
Morgan withdrew his hand. "It is too late for regrets." He threw Julienne a final ominous look, then turned a lessening frown toward Anlese. "Not that she is needed now."
"I know." She sighed heavily. It was clear by her sagging shoulders that she was tired. She lifted herself out of the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed, her face pale and disillusioned.
"Poor child. I weep for you." She had earlier bathed away the concealing layers of cosmetics, and her granddaughter looked young, so vulnerable, without her mask. She cast a pleading look at Morgan. "Can't we…?" Her question hung in the air between them.
"Why should we? She has done little to help herself."
"Forgive me for having the heart of a mother, a grandmother…"
Anlese caressed Julienne's feverish brow, pushing damp strands of hair away from her face. Julienne shifted restlessly, her breath thin and reedy, as if every rise and fall of her chest pained her. Feeling her grandmother's touch, she opened her eyes. Her pupils were wide and dilated, her unseeing stare glazed with the heat of the febrile disease raging within her body. She struggled to sit up but failed, falling back in a heap, her limbs too weak to support even her frail weight. She sank down onto the white cotton sheets, mumbling unintelligible nonsense words.
Anlese lifted her granddaughter's hand. Kissing it, she cradled it between her own, attempting to soothe the young woman's feverish mind.
