DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest

by V. C. Andrews

  muffled a cry of ecstasy. "No one can hear us but the

  seagulls, and they couldn't care less."

  I did scream and cry and hold him until we

  were both panting with wonderful exhaustion, lying

  side by side, not speaking but saying volumes with

  our breath, our trembling bodies, and our entwined

  fingers. Outside, the sea continued to play its lullaby.

  I actually closed my eyes and drifted off with its soft,

  rhythmic murmur echoing in my ears.

  When I opened my eyes again. Thatcher was up

  and getting dressed.

  "What's happening?" I asked. "Did I fall

  asleep?"

  "For a little while. I didn't want to disturb you,

  but we've got to get you back to your car. Are you all

  right?" he asked.

  I felt like someone emerging from a dream. "What? Oh, yes, right," I said, and began to

  fumble for my clothing.

  "I just want to check out a few things in the

  house. I'll be in the living roam." he said, and left me. I was tired, but it was a pleasant sort of fatigue.

  It actually made me feel a little silly, and I couldn't

  help giggling when I gazed at myself in the mirror. Whoever owned the house had a collection of elaborate Mardi Gras masks displayed on a wall. I took one off its hook and put it on before I left the

  bedroom to search for Thatcher.

  I could hear him speaking very low on the

  telephone. "I'll be there." I heard him say. "Stop

  worrying about it."

  I stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. He

  had his back to me.

  "Of course I care about you." he said. "What a

  stupid question. I've got to go. Later. We'll talk about

  it later." He cradled the receiver, standing there and

  looking at it as if he had an afterthought he wanted to

  see if he could still include.

  When he turned, he jumped. For a moment. I

  had forgotten I was wearing the mask.

  "Very funny," he said. I removed the mask. "Who were you calling so late?" I asked in a

  much more demanding tone of voice than he

  obviously expected. It even surprised me. but I felt I

  had a significant enough investment in him and us to

  do so.

  For a moment I thought he wasn't going to

  reply. Then he smirked.

  "Who do you think would be up this late? My

  mother, of course.

  "Oh. You sounded like you were arguing," I

  said.

  "She does that to me often, turn me into a tight

  ball of nerves until I want to smash the phone against

  the wall,"

  He took a deep breath. "Is it about us?" I asked. "No, no. My sister is having a rather elaborate

  birthday party for my niece tomorrow night. and

  Mother dear is afraid I won't show up. Every birthday

  party is bigger than the previous one, both in size and

  expense. I don't know what they'll do for her

  sixteenth. Probably rent the White House," he said.

  "People here often compete using their children and

  what they do for them, and my mother knows I'm not

  terribly fond of being a part of all that. Anyway, why

  are you making me talk about it?"

  "I'm not making you. Thatcher. I just asked

  because you sounded upset."

  "Willow, when I'm with you. I don't remain

  upset about anything very long," he said, moving

  toward me. "Even if you wear the mask."

  I laughed, and we kissed.

  "Come on." he said. "We'd better get going.

  Maybe we can manage to spend a whole weekend here together soon," he added, gazing around. "What

  do you think?"

  "Maybe," I said, without sounding too

  optimistic. He studied my face for a moment, and

  nodded.

  "Okay, tell me about Linden," he commanded

  as we headed out. "What did he do now?"

  I described Linden and what I had discovered

  he had done to his paintings. Thatcher listened

  intently, his face grim. We got into his car. He sat

  there for a moment in silence and didn't start the car. "Thatcher?"

  "I don't like the sound of it. Willow. Art has

  been his whole life. For him to turn his back on that

  has to be something very serious. I'm not the

  psychiatrist here, but to me it sounds like another

  attempted suicide. He's simply destroying himself in

  another way. Not only are you possibly endangering

  your mother and yourself, but you're certainly risking

  Linden's health and welfare by not committing him. "I don't like to lecture anyone," he said. "I hate

  when anyone lectures me, but it seems to me this is

  just the wrong time for Grace and you to be taking on

  all the added responsibility of running Jaya del Mar.

  Let my parents extend their lease for another year and

  get that off your head for now."

  I thought for a moment. Maybe he was right;

  maybe I was pushing everyone too hard and this was

  all my fault. Maybe my mother didn't even want to go

  back into the main house.

  "You don't even have to live on the grounds, if

  you don't want to," Thatcher continued as he started

  the engine and pulled away from the beach house. "I

  can help you find a place more suited to your needs

  and finances. It could do Grace a lot of good to have a

  fresh view of things, don't you think?"

  "I don't know, Thatcher."

  "That's just it." he pounced. "You don't know,

  but you're still taking all this action. It might not be

  too late for me to fix things for you. Should I? I was silent. All my life so far. I had always had

  someone else-- my adoptive mother. Amou, Daddy--

  decide the bigger things far me. Even my old college

  boyfriend. Allan Simpson. tried to run my life and

  was angry when I disagreed with him. Taking advice

  and being a good listener was one thing, but making

  up my mind for myself in the end was another. "No," I finally said, recalling the brightness in

  my mother's eyes today when we talked about going

  to the beauty salon together and getting back into the

  main house, think we'll be all right."

  "You're making a mistake. Willow. Maybe

  you're taking on too much responsibility here.- "I don't think so." I said with more confidence.

  "I'm no longer an outsider. Thatcher. This is my

  family now and I've got to be a big part of what

  happens and what doesn't. No." I continued.

  convinced. "we're going ahead with everything, and I

  will spend more time with Linden. I always felt

  somewhat responsible for what he did to himself." "That's ridiculous."

  "No. It's not I shouldn't have pretended to be

  someone I wasn't. He was very vulnerable and he

  trusted me. It was a form of betrayal that hurt him

  deeply. I have to make up for that, and sending him

  off to have someone else try to mend my fences is not

  my style."

  Thatcher smiled.

  "You might become a very successful

  psychologist or psychiatrist yet. -Willow. I wish I had

  gotten to meet your father. I have a feeling I was just

  introduced anyway." he said. "Through you." "I hope so." I said.

  He reached ove
r to pull me closer to him and

  kiss my cheek. "Whatever you decide. I'll be there

  beside you."

  "When?" I pursued with some aggression. He laughed.

  "Very soon. I promise. My problems will be

  over very soon."

  Both of us hung on the silence that served as a

  period to his statement until the restaurant came back

  into view. He waited for me to get into my car and

  drive off. promising to call me sometime during the

  afternoon the next day.

  .

  I found my mother hunched over a cup of tea in

  the kitchen when I returned. She was in her robe and

  her hair was down around her shoulders.

  "What's wrong?" I immediately asked. "Nothing, Willow. I just couldn't sleep. so I

  made myself a cup of herbal tea. How was your

  evening?"

  I plopped in the chair across from her. "Everything about it was wonderful, Mother. It

  was as romantic a dinner as could be. We had another

  special time together, but doing it all in a world of

  shadows, hiding, worrying about everyone who sees

  us, takes the glitter out of the stars, if you know what I

  mean."

  "I think I do." she said with a very wide and

  deep smile, "I think I have a little understanding about

  what you are experiencing."

  "Oh. Of course you do," I said. "How selfish of

  me to think of myself as the only one here who's been

  involved in a secret romance. You, of all people,

  know exactly what I mean. How did you and Daddy

  keep it so special, worrying about every look, every

  sound in that clinic?"

  "I wouldn't say we had a routine, but we did

  have the benefit of cloaking everything with our

  clinical relationship. A patient fixating on her doctor

  is not unusual, don't forget; so that was easy to

  excuse, and your father..."

  "What?"

  She smiled at the memory.

  "Your father could be the doctor' at the blink of

  an eye. The tone of his voice deepened. His eyes

  became those penetrating, perceptive orbs resembling

  two small X-ray lights. His posture fumed and

  straightened into his formal demeanor. Why, the very

  air around him changed,"

  I smiled, remembering, "Yes, that was Daddy." As you know, there was only that nurse who

  had once come here. that Nadine Gordon who tried to blackmail us. She was the only one who knew or suspected anything. If anyone else did, he or she kept

  it under lock and key."

  "I'm not as good as my father when it comes to

  hiding my inner feelings." I said. And the difference

  is. I don't respect the reasons to hide them. I can tell

  you this-- I won't be doing it very long. Either

  Thatcher gets up the courage to face his parents, or..." He will," she assured me with a pat on my

  hand. "That's one very capable young man. I would

  trust his judgment."

  "Maybe," I said. I skipped a beat and then

  added. "He wants us to have Linden committed

  immediately. I told him what happened, and he thinks

  we're playing with fire.'

  "I know." she said. "It's been on my mind ever

  since I saw what he has done."

  "Haw was he after I left tonight?"

  "The same. He ate a little better, but he was just

  as distant. What I found him doing on and off was

  going into my room and looking at the painting he had

  done of you."

  "Oh, no, he wasn't going to tear it up, too, was

  he?"

  "I don't think so. He seemed more intrigued by this particular work than anything else he has done. It was as if he thought there was some answer sleeping in it, something he could nudge awake that would

  solve his problems.'

  "Maybe there is." I said. "Did you ask him

  about it?"

  "I kept asking him if he was all right. Most of

  the time he didn't answer, but sometimes he nodded,

  and once he said. 'Soon.' That frightened me a bit.

  You know, what did he mean by 'soon'?"

  "I've decided to spend as much time with him

  as I can," I told her. "But let's agree about one thing.

  Mother. If he doesn't show any sign of improvement

  in the next few days or weeks, we'll get him into

  treatment."

  She nodded and sighed deeply.

  "But let's be optimistic," I insisted with a smile.

  "When he sees us, sees you changing, looking bright

  and hopeful, it will have a significant effect on him.

  You'll see."

  "I hope so," she said in a small voice, so thin

  and fragile it brought tears to my eyes. "I don't know

  if we should leave him alone here while we're at the

  beauty salon."

  "We'll see in the morning. He had been talking about my going with him to the gallery to retrieve his

  works. Maybe he'll forget about that."

  "I suppose we can have Jennings keep an eve

  on him. He's the nicest of the Eatons' servants and he

  has done favors for me before."

  "Good. Let's get some sleep." I suggested, and

  she nodded, rose, and put her cup in the sink. Afterward, when I laid my head on my pillow. I

  listened to the sounds in the grand beach house, the

  creaks and groans in the building, the sea wind on the

  windows with a sound like fingers running back and

  forth over the panes. What a kaleidoscope of emotions

  ran through the myriad of dreams being dreamed in

  this building tonight. I thought. Everyone had his or

  her secrets unraveling and raveling like multicolored

  balls of yarn being tossed through the darkness above

  and around me.

  Was there a place in the night where dreams

  criss-crossed, where people glanced into each other's

  minds and saw the fear or the sadness or the happiness

  for an instant, like passengers on trains passing in the

  dark?

  And did that make us sympathetic or envious?

  Did we long for someone else's dreams, or were we

  grateful we didn't have those nightmares?

  Somewhere surely there was a common place, a

  well from which we all, rich or poor, drew some

  strenath, for when we all slept we were truly alone.

  And who was more alone than the three of us now,

  circling like small planets searching for a star we

  could call home?

  When I closed my eyes. I thought I heard

  Linden's mysterious voices whispering outside my

  window. Were they asking me to stay or to leave? The morning light waited behind darkness like

  a panther anxious to leap upon the shadows lingering

  in the corners of our minds. I was grateful for that,

  grateful for the new day. My hope now was that I

  could get Linden to feel the same about it all. .

  The next morning, my first attempts to find a

  beauty salon for my mother and me were dismal

  failures. One receptionist actually broke into laughter

  when I asked if there were any openings that day. "We're booked for the next two and a half

  months." she said. "This is Palm Beach. not Miami

  Beach."'

  I thought about calling Thatcher, but decided

  that his receptionist or his secretary might maker />
  something out of it, despite their ethical responsibility

  to maintain confidentiality.

  Perhaps nowhere more than in Palm Beach was

  the old adage so true: Two can keep a secret if one is

  dead. I decided instead to call Mr. Ross. He had

  offered to be of any assistance to me. and I didn't

  think our need to act appointments with a decent

  beauty salon would be too insignificant to a man like

  him.

  "I'll take care of it immediately." he said as

  soon as I told him what I needed. "One of my clients

  is Renardo de Palma. His salon is very prestigious and

  his client list is a veritable who's who of Palm Beach." "We're not trying to impress anyone but

  ourselves," I told him, and he laughed.

  "I don't know a woman here who would admit

  otherwise," he joked. "Let me see what I can

  manage."

  Less than twenty minutes later, he called back

  to tell me we had appointments at two.

  "It's like the best restaurants." he revealed.

  "They always hold an opening for a favor, and believe

  me. Renardo owes me a few."

  "Now so do L" I said.

  "It's my pleasure. Let me know what else I can

  do for you. Willow." he offered.

  I couldn't wait to tell my mother, who, now that

  she realized it wasn't just our dreaming aloud to each

  other, really became quite nervous. I had to reassure

  her that we would be fine and I wouldn't leave her

  side for an instant. While I was doing so. Linden

  suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was dressed

  and had his hair brushed neatly.

  "Linden, dear." Mother cried, "how are you?" "Hungry." he declared.

  I wondered if he had heard our talk about going

  to the beauty parlor and would then recall asking me

  to retrieve his paintings from the gallery.

  "Good morning," I said, and he turned to me

  and nodded. His eyes looked clearer. His face had

  more color and he seemed more rested,

  "I'm sorry I slept so late," he said. "I have been

  very confused and distracted and haven't been very

  hospitable. I didn't even realize when you returned.

  Grace caught me up on everything that's happened. I

  feel so foolish."

  For a moment I couldn't speak. It was as if a

  completely different Linden Montgomery had stepped

  out of that bedroom. He even stood straighter. Anyone

  who saw him now and heard me tell what he had been

  like before would surely accuse me of gross

  exaggeration.

  "No," I said "I understand how hard it has been