by Amii Lorin
The twins were nowhere around, but her mother and stepfather were having a midmorning coffee in the living room. Anne started into the room then stopped, a finger of fear stabbing her heart at their expressions. Her stepfather's face was set, stony. Her mother looked upset, near tears. Fearfully Anne asked, "What happened? Is something wrong?"
Judson opened his mouth, but before he could speak her mother cried, "Oh, Anne, it's Jud. Sometime during the night he packed his bags and left. He left no word of where he was going or when he'd be back, nothing."
Feeling her knees buckle, Anne dropped into a chair.
"But—"
The sight of her stepfather's eyes dried the words on her lips, for although his face was set, his eyes were filled with disappointment and despair. When he spoke, his voice was cold and flat.
"Margaret, I don't want his name mentioned in this house ever again, do you understand?"
"Judson!" her mother's voice mirrored her astonishment.
"I mean it," he went on in the same flat tone. "Talk to the twins, make them understand. Not ever again. Anne, do you understand?"
Anne had nodded her head bleakly, not understanding at all.
* * * *
Anne, coming back to the present, stirred restlessly on the bed, eyes closed against the tears and pain that engulfed her. She had thought she had left the pain behind a long time ago. At first she had waited hopefully for a phone call or a letter. But as the weeks became months the hope died, only the pain went on. As one year slipped into two, then three, the pain dulled, flaring at intervals as word of him began to reach them.
He had come into a sizable inheritance from his mother's estate the same day he left and had used it well. Jud had always had a flair for the use of fabrics in clothes and he used that flair by opening an exclusive menswear shop. Somewhere he had run across two budding but avant-garde designers and he hired them. They had obviously worked well together, for by the time Anne and his father heard of it, he had expanded to four stores in key cities. The first contact between Jud and his father had been made through Jud's assistant four years before.
Anne would never forget the look on Judson Cammeron's face the day he had called her into his office and silently handed her a letter. It had been a request for an interview to discuss the possibility of the production of a particular fabric and it had been signed by a John Franks, assistant to Judson Cammeron of Cammeron Clothiers. The only word that could describe her stepfather's expression was stunned.
Maintaining a rigid control she had asked quietly, "Will you see this John Franks?"
He had hesitated, then replied heavily, "We may as well, Anne. If we don't they'll only go to the competition. Besides which, I'm curious to know what he has in mind for this fabric." He, of course, being Jud.
The meeting was held, a deal was struck, and they had been supplying Jud with special fabric off and on ever since. But never at any time had personal contact been made between father and son. And at no time did Jud's name pass his father's lips although Anne knew by his attitude that he was pleased by even this small contact.
At last report Jud's stores numbered eight and he was reputed to be becoming a very rich man. The word that had filtered down to them was that there were some very wealthy men who bought almost exclusively from Jud and that their numbers were growing by the week.
And now, Anne thought, he would have it all. The company that produced the fabric, the designers who whipped up the original clothes, and the stores where they were sold. Not all,Anne corrected herself, not if I can help it. She had no right to any part of the company, but Troy and Todd did, and somehow she had to make sure they got it.
Suddenly Anne realized that her train of thought, the last few minutes, had alleviated, to a degree, her pain and shock. The tears were gone, replaced by determination. She had taken care of the twins since they were toddlers. Her protective, maternal instinct was to the fore replacing the hurt, humiliated feeling of the long-ago fifteen-year-old girl.
Her lips set in a determined line, Anne slid off the bed and walked to the window. The light was gone from the day that had never brightened above gray. Anne's room was on the side of the house and below, some distance beyond, the bright lights above the doors of the triple garage lit the surrounding area in an artificial glare. Eyes bleak as the weather, Anne studied the dark tracery of bare, black tree limbs. The stark branches in that eerie light had the effect of many arms raised in supplication to the heavens.
Restlessly she turned from the harsh etching, her eyes moving slowly over the muted pinks of the room bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She had felt a measure of security in this room the last few years, had thought her shattered emotions healed, her heart becoming free once more. Now she felt scared, vulnerable, not unlike that tree outside with limbs lifted as if in yearning. She knew a longing deep inside that had to be quickly squashed.
Moving with purpose, she slowly undressed. She could show no sign of weakness with Jud, for if she did, she was sure he'd trample her as completely as would a wild, fear-crazed mob. She had allowed, no, invited, his trampling before. She wasn't sure she could survive it a second time.
Anne's head came up in defiance and her spine went taut with determination. She may have allowed him to hurt her, but she would not let him hurt her family. The thought that they were his family, too, was dismissed out of hand. He had disclaimed all rights to any of them ten years ago. The clock could not be turned back. All long-ago hurts—and words— were best forgotten. With a firm step she went into the bathroom.
Chapter 3
I love you, Anne, I'll always love you.
Single-minded determination was hard to hang onto with those words coming back to torment her. As she showered and dressed for dinner Anne berated herself for allowing the memory to creep back. There was no comparison between the Judson Cammeron who walked into the library today and the Jud who whispered those words so fervently all those years ago.
Misty-eyed, Anne stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyeshadow applicator poised over her right lid. She had managed to erase most of the evidence of her earlier weeping, and now, with the help of carefully applied makeup, was camouflaging the last traces.
She was definitely not looking forward to dinner. Would there be a replay of that earlier shattering unpleasantness? Anne hoped not, but she had an uneasy feeling her hopes would be in vain. Jud seemed to be on a determined course of disruption with every one of them. Although, in all truth, he had been considerate of her mother's feelings and his plan for Todd and Troy's future could, as he had said, be the making of them. But to her, his attitude bordered on vindictive. Why? Was it possible that those words of love rankled now? That hardly seemed possible. And anyway she, if anyone, had been the injured party in that farce.
Cloudy gray eyes studied their own reflection. What exactly did he have in mind? Anne puzzled at the question as she stroked smoky taupe shadow over her eyelid. And why this insistence on his own secretary? Word of him in that department had filtered down to them too. If only half of the rumors they'd heard could be believed, Jud was a very busy boy indeed. She remembered the first time one such story had been circulated, and Jud's father's face when he'd relayed it to her. With something like pity she'd studied the warring emotions of pride and disgust he had revealed. It seemed, when it came to women, it was no-holds-barred with Jud. And, it appeared, the women were always exceptional... beautiful, talented, rich.
Anne was an extremely fortunate young woman and she knew it. She was small and delicately formed. Her bone structure was good and covered by very soft, fine-textured skin. Her hair, a rich chocolate brown, was full and thick with a silky feel and healthy shine. Her eyes, normally a clear gray, changed color with her emotions. When she was happy or excited they grew lighter, almost silvery. But when she was angry, hurt, or felt something very deeply, they turned dark and stormy. Anne sighed as she brushed blusher onto her pale cheeks. She had been called lovely and, in all hon
esty, she supposed that was true, but she was not, in her own opinion, beautiful. Nor was she rich or very talented.
Her own thoughts brought her up short, and with a muttered "damn" she stood and moved away from the mirror. Why ever would she want to be any of those things? She did not have to be beautiful, rich, or talented. Just smart. Smart and quick enough to protect her brothers' interests. She had no wish, she told herself, to attract Jud's interest, either physically or otherwise. Her Jud, the tender, loving Jud she'd secretly kept hidden inside her heart these last ten years, was just a figment of a young girl's romantic imagination. And the past was dead and buried. As dead and buried as the man who, unbeknownst to her, had saved her deep shame and humiliation when he'd walked into Jud's bedroom that night.
Squaring her shoulders resolutely, Anne left her room and walked quickly along the long hall and down the stairs. She was late. She could hear the others already in the dining room, and her mother's petulant voice ask, "Where is Anne?"
"Here." Anne spoke softly as she entered the room. "Sorry I'm late. You should have started."
The moment Anne was seated Mrs. Davis came through the door from the kitchen carrying a soup tureen and set it on the table, giving Anne a reproving look as she did so. Then, to Anne's astonishment, in a manner completely opposite of her earlier surliness, Mrs. Davis smiled ingratiatingly at Jud and murmured, "Would you like me to serve the soup now, Mr. Cammeron?"
"Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Davis." Jud's tone was quiet, pleasant, and authoritative all at the same time.
Anne felt a flash of irritation followed by a touch of fatalism. It certainly hadn't taken Mrs. Davis long to sniff out which way the wind was blowing.
During the early stage of the meal, conversation was minimal and stilted, and in the case of Troy and Todd, close to being rude. Anne herself had very little to offer and jumped with a startled "What?" when Jud rapped at her, "Who is the lucky man, and when is the big day?"
In confusion her eyes followed the direction of his and came to rest on the cluster of diamonds on her left hand. Andrew! Oh, Lord, she hadn't thought of him at all during this whole, horribly long day. Not since his call early in the morning. A deep flush mounting her cheeks, she lifted her eyes to Jud's face.
"Andrew Saunders, and we haven't set a date yet."
"Andrew Saunders." He repeated softly, then, his eyes mocking, his lower lip curled slightly. "Not the same Andy Saunders I chased home from school regularly?"
Anne felt her color deepen, but before she could form a suitably cutting retort, her mother chided, "That was a long time ago, Jud. Andrew is now a most respected, well-liked attorney. As a matter of fact he works for Mr. Slonne, and you know how particular he is."
Jud looked anything but chastised. One eyebrow rose mockingly and he turned to Anne with a bored drawl.
"And where is the most respected and well-liked Andrew now?"
Anne moistened her lips, resentment burning through her at the ease with which he could put her on the defensive. Glancing up, she felt a funny catch of pain in her throat. Jud's eyes, a strange glow in their depths, were fastened intently on her mouth. A shock of pure, blind longing hit her like a blow and to negate the feeling she rushed into speech.
"H-he had to go out of town on business two days ago." Appalled at the breathless sound of her voice, Anne forced herself to slow down before adding, "Otherwise he would be here now. He will be back late tomorrow afternoon."
"I see."
Two words. Two very small words. And yet they seemed to speak volumes. His tone, that one brow arched so mockingly, seemed to say he saw far more than the simple fact that Andrew would return the following afternoon.
He can't possible know, Anne told herself fiercely. No one can ever really know the depth of someone's feelings for another. Not really, can they? With a sigh of relief Anne heard her mother's soft voice change the conversation.
"Breakfast has always been ready at seven for your father and Anne, Jud. Will that be convenient for you also or would you prefer a different time?"
Finally Jud's disturbing gaze turned away from Anne's face to rest thoughtfully on his stepmother.
"I have already told you, Margaret, that I have no wish to disrupt the normal routine of this house," Jud answered quietly, then, on a snort from Todd, tagged on sardonically, "No more than absolutely necessary, that is."
He glanced up and smiled as Mrs. Davis entered the room to serve dessert and coffee. He waited until she was finished and was at the door to the kitchen again before he stated, "Breakfast at seven will be fine, Mrs. Davis. But don't plan on me for tomorrow morning, as I won't be here."
"Yes, sir."
The deference conveyed by Mrs. Davis's tone as she went through the door to the kitchen set Anne's teeth on edge. Yet her eyes swung, as did her mother's and the twins', to Jud, in question. Margaret voiced the question.
"But, Jud, where will you be?"
An expression of annoyance crossed Jud's face and, though it was fleeting, it left little doubt in any of their minds about his irritation at having his movements questioned. Then, sighing softly, he answered. "I'm flying to New York in exactly"—he glanced at his watch—"two hours. There are some things I want to collect from my office and my apartment." Glinting amber eyes flashed to Anne's face as he added, "Including my secretary. I'm booked on the early flight back tomorrow morning and I'll go right to the plant."
Anne barely heard his last sentence. Her mind was hung on his "including my secretary." His phrasing had made it sound as if his secretary was at his apartment. What was his secretary like, Anne wondered. Beautiful? Talented? Rich? A feeling of intense weariness swamped her, leaving her weak, slightly sick. It's none of my business, she told herself, angrily forcing her attention back to the others as her mother asked, "Will you be home for dinner tomorrow night?" Margaret paused, then added nervously, "Andrew is coming to dinner and it would give you two a chance to get reacquainted."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jud drawled, eyes again flashing mockingly at Anne. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'd better make tracks or I'll miss my plane." He stood and strode to the door, then paused, turned back to the room, and asked, "Did you do as I asked, Anne?"
Anne felt the sense of weariness deepen, but lifting her head proudly she replied coolly, "Yes. Everything is in the briefcase on your father's desk."
His eyes grew sharp at her tone. Then, shrugging lightly, he murmured "Thank you" and left the room.
Quiet. Anne bit her lip, steeling herself for the storm that would surely follow this calm. Then it broke as the other three began speaking all at once. One hurt and two angry voices hurled questions at her. What were they going to do? What about their plans for Lauderdale? Did she think there was a chance of contesting the will? Who the hell did he think he was anyway? These questions and more along the same line came from Todd and Troy. Wasn't it unfair to have to go to him for every penny? How could they possibly maintain a normal routine with his disruptive presence? Was there really anything any of them could do about it? Her mother had joined the questioners too.
Anne fielded the barrage as well as she could, knowing full well there was not a thing they could do. If there had been, she was sure that Mr. Slonne, being Mr. Slonne, would have indicated as much that afternoon.
Then it came. The question Anne had been dreading. What was she going to do?
"There really isn't too much I can do, is there?" Anne answered guardedly.
Three faces stared at her in astonishment long moments before Todd exclaimed, "What do you mean? Of course there is something you can do! All his big talk doesn't mean a thing if you stick with us. His hands will be tied, at least as far as the business is concerned."
"Todd is right, Anne." Her mother's voice held a mild tone of reproof. " Surely you don't intend to let him have his way? "
"I don't know exactly what I intend as yet." Anne signed. "But I can't openly oppose him. He warned me that if I did he'd ruin the business
. He assured me he could do this. I believe him; he wasn't bluffing."
"But that's stupid," Troy cried. "He'd stand to lose as much as we would. I think you're wrong. I believe he was bluffing."
Anne's head was moving from side to side in negation before Troy had finished speaking.
"Although you are right about Jud losing as much as you, you forget he has another very successful operation to fall back on. You don't. Also, have you forgotten, he has control of the capital. He could cut you all down to the bare essentials. I'm not saying he would do that, just that he could, if his hand were forced. I'll leave it up to you. Do you want to take that chance? I do not appreciate the position your father has put me in, so I'll leave it up to you. If you want to make a fight of it I'll help you all I can, but I must be honest, and, in my opinion, we can't possibly win. Jud is smart and fast and, I'm afraid, more than a little ruthless. He won't quit until he has done exactly what he said he would."
"You want us to meekly obey every one of his damned orders?" Todd's face was a study of hurt disbelief, and Anne felt a shaft of irritation at the immaturity of both the question and the expression.
"What I want doesn't mean a damn thing," she snapped in exasperation. "I have merely pointed out the options open to you. What, exactly, do you expect me to do? I hold a very small amount of stock and I remain in this house on Jud's sufferance. So, you tell me, what do I do?"
Anne's voice had risen and she was visibly trembling. Breathing deeply, she brought herself under control and was about to add that she had already been ejected from the office but bit back the words. If they decided to make a fight of it, it wouldn't matter, and if they didn't, they'd know soon enough.
