* * *
The sun was high in the sky before the figure in the bed stirred. Ivy squinted at the clock, then scrunched her eyes tightly shut. The bright light hurt. She hadn’t believed it possible. She’d slept for six hours.
She showered and dressed quickly, then headed for the dining room. Spotting a maid carrying a tray to Aunt Tru’s room, Ivy turned and followed.
The old woman looked up at the tap on her door. “Good morning, Martha. Just set it there, please,” she said, indicating a round table by the window. “Oh, Ivy. Why don’t you join me? I’m having a light breakfast here in my room.”
“Thank you. I’d love to.”
“Bring another juice, Martha, and some muffins.”
“And a pot of coffee, please.” Ivy’s nerves were crying out for caffeine.
“How did you sleep?”
Ivy held the older woman’s chair, then seated herself across the table. “Fine. Much better than I’d expected. How about you?”
Gertrude shook her head. “Badly, I’m afraid. The mind can be a terrible place to dwell, especially in the dark of the night.”
Ivy poured coffee and noticed that Gertrude’s hand shook slightly as she lifted the cup to her lips.
“My poor father,” the old woman mused, as if he had been on her mind for quite a while. “I must have been a terrible burden on him,” she muttered.
“Why do you say that?”
“I was only seven when my mother died,” Gertrude explained. “He never seemed to know quite what to do with me after that. Here on the estate I grew to be a very undisciplined little girl. So he sent me off to a succession of boarding schools, guaranteed to turn little monsters into the very models of society. Each one admitted failure with me.”
“But I’ve seen the pictures of you, Aunt Tru. You were a beautiful young woman, elegantly dressed, perfectly poised.”
“Ah, yes. I always managed to look the part. But the truth was, there was a wild streak in me that my father refused to accept. He felt that the perfect daughter should be docile.”
Ivy smiled. That was one word that would never describe Gertrude St. Martin.
“My father demanded that I live by not only the laws of society, but his even stricter rules as well. He would tolerate no disobedience. As you can imagine, I thought my father was perfect.” Her voice lowered slightly. “When I returned from my schooling in Europe, my father introduced me to my new stepmother. She was one of the teachers from my high school. A young woman, barely older than I.”
Gertrude set down the cup with a clatter. Her voice was strained. “Can you imagine my shock that they had kept this attraction a secret from me? My puritanical father, so perfect, so unapproachable, and a teacher from my former school? Was this the man who had demanded perfection and blind submission from his daughter?” She touched a napkin to her lips. “I’m afraid I behaved rather badly. I had imagined that I would return from Europe to be the mistress of the house. Instead, I had to take a back seat to a young woman, barely out of her teens. And then they had a child.”
Ivy met her look. “Your sister, Jenny.”
“Half sister. Yes. My stepmother died in childbirth. And I found myself in the strange position of having everything I’d ever wanted. I was now mistress of this fine house, and free to raise the baby as I pleased. My father tried, in his own strange way, to be a father to Jenny. But he was too tired, too defeated. I was actually both mother and father to her.”
“It must give you great satisfaction to know that you could give your father the help he needed.”
The old woman stared out the window, lost in thought. “Jenny was delightful, though my father never really noticed. He died an embittered old man, angry at being robbed of his second chance for happiness. I’m afraid there had been too much anger between us to ever leave room for such things as love and forgiveness.”
“At least you haven’t been childless after all.” Gertrude met her look. Ivy was shocked at the pain she could read in those depths.
“No. I wasn’t childless. There was Jenny. And when she announced, at eighteen, that she was going to marry a widower with two sons, I gave her my blessing, even though I thought she was very young to take on such responsibilities.” The old woman’s voice trembled. “It seems to be a St. Martin curse. She had only two years of happiness.”
“And you found yourself with two more children to raise.”
Gertrude’s eyes softened. “Caine and Darren. My sister’s stepchildren.”
Both women looked up at the knock on the door. The maid entered with another tray.
“Thank You, Martha.”
“Will there be anything else, Miss St. Martin?”
“No. Thank you, Is my nephew Caine up yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. He left an hour ago.”
“Left? Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
“When he returns, tell him I’d like to see him.”
“Yes, Miss St. Martin.”
When the door closed, Ivy poured fresh coffee. “What would have happened to Caine and Darren if you hadn’t adopted them?”
“I checked. There was no other family.” The old woman shrugged. “An adoption agency, I suppose. But there was never any question of whether or not I wanted them.” She folded veined hands in her lap. “Right from the start, they were so different. One so careless, so sure everything would always be taken care of; the other so precise, so careful of every little detail. Darren reminded me of myself as a child. Caine was more like the person I’d had to become in order to survive. The weak and the strong. There seems to be a little of both in all of us.”
Now was the time, Ivy thought, to tell Aunt Tru what she suspected about Darren. If she was wrong, though, she would feel terrible about destroying his aunt’s faith in him. But if what she suspected was true, his aunt had a right to know in order to defend herself against his threats. While she debated with herself, the moment passed.
“Caine was the most fiercely independent child I’d ever known,” Gertrude said. “He always insisted on doing everything for himself. The first summer he was in high school, he came home to announce he had a job working for a building contractor. Every summer of high school and college, he hauled bricks and blocks, roofing supplies, anything his employer wanted. He would come in on hot summer nights and collapse into bed, too tired to even eat. I watched him rub oil into hands all rough and callused, and my heart went out to him.”
At her words, Ivy could feel the scrape of those work-roughened hands on her skin, and gave an involuntary shiver.
“When he apprenticed with an architectural firm, he refused to take a cent from me, living instead in a tiny little apartment in New York with two other roommates. And when he finally started his own firm, I know he barely scraped by. But he refused to take any help from me. He’s such a proud, determined man.” Her eyes shone. “And I’m so proud of him.”
“Who are you proud of?” Caine stood framed in the doorway. Seeing their surprise, he explained, “I knocked. But you two were so busy with girl talk, you didn’t bother to answer. So I let myself in.”
“You seem to be an expert at that,” Ivy said.
“At what?” Gertrude looked confused.
“At letting myself into rooms without knocking.” He gave Ivy a dark, knowing gaze before he crossed the room and planted a warm kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “How did you sleep?”
“At least I attempted to sleep, which is more than I can say for you.”
Ivy felt her heart leap as she studied his craggy features, noting the dark stubble of beard he hadn’t yet bothered to shave, the red-rimmed eyes.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” his aunt asked.
“No. I noticed a breakfast buffet being set up in the dining room.”
“I suspected everyone would sleep late this morning. Including the staff. So I thought a buffet would take care of everyone nicely.”
Caine nibbled a piece of his aunt�
�s toast. “I’ll shave first and make myself presentable. Then I’ll join the others.”
“Where were you off to so early in the morning?”
His face lost all expression. “I had some errands to run.”
“On a Sunday morning?”
“Umm.” He finished the toast and gulped a glass of juice. “I’ll leave you two to your talk and go get cleaned up.”
As he sauntered from the room, Ivy muttered, “Evasive.”
“Independent,” Gertrude amended.
“Whatever; he managed to tell us nothing.”
“And you can bet that if that’s the way Caine wants it, that’s the way it will be.”
Not if I can help it, Ivy thought as she bent to brush her lips across the old woman’s cheek. “Thanks for the breakfast and the conversation,” she murmured. “There was something else I wanted to tell you, but I think it can wait. I’ll see you downstairs in a little while.”
“Ivy.” The old woman caught her hand. “Before your mother leaves today, try to talk to her.”
“What about?”
The blue eyes were grave. “About your life, your career, your successes, your dreams.”
“She isn’t interested, Aunt Tru. I can’t conform to what she wants for me.”
“She loves you, Ivy. She just doesn’t know how to tell you.”
“Odd. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, Ivy. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”
“Aunt Tru,” Ivy said patiently. “Maybe, like you, there’s a touch of the rebel in me. I can’t live up to her image of the perfect daughter.”
“At least try to make peace.”
Ivy stared at the hand which held hers. “At what price?”
“Just try. It will be worth a great deal to you one day.”
Ivy nodded. “I suppose one more attempt won’t hurt.”
The old woman squeezed her hand. “Good.”
As she made her way to her room, Ivy wondered about Gertrude’s determination to make peace between a mother and daughter. Maybe regrets were the hardest things of all to live with.
Family Secrets Page 19
