by Nora Roberts
Josh’s gaze remained on Margo’s for another humming moment. “I’m taking it up to Laura.”
“I just want a sip before— Jeez!” Pouting now, Kate stared as Josh strode out of the room. “What’s with him?”
“The same as always. He’s an arrogant know-it-all. I just hate him,” Margo said between gritted teeth.
“Oh, well, if that’s all, let’s talk about me. Help.” She spread her arms.
“Kate.” Margo pressed her fingers to her temples, then sighed. “Kate, you look fabulous. Except for the incredibly bad haircut.”
“What are you talking about?” Kate ran her hair through the ruthlessly short black cap. “The hair’s the best thing. I barely have to comb it.”
“Obviously. Well, we’ll cover it up with the hat anyway.”
“I wanted to talk about the hat—”
“You’re wearing it.” Instinctively, Margo held out her champagne to share. “It makes you look very chic, Audrey Hepburnish.”
“I’ll do it for Laura,” Kate muttered, then dropped with little grace onto a chair and swung her silk-draped legs over the arm. “I gotta tell you, Margo, Peter Ridgeway gives me a pain.”
“Join the club.”
Her thoughts revolved back to Josh. Had he actually been about to kiss her? No, that was ridiculous. More likely he’d been about to shake her like a frustrated boy whose toy wasn’t working to his liking. “Kate, don’t sit like that, you’ll wrinkle the dress.”
“Hell.” She rose reluctantly, a pretty, coltish girl with oversized eyes. “I know Uncle Tommy and Aunt Susie aren’t happy about all this. They’re trying to be because Laura’s so happy she’s practically sending off radiation. I want to be happy for her, Margo.”
“Then we will be.” She shook off worries of Josh, of later, of L.A. Now was for Laura. “We have to stand by the people we love, right?”
“Even when they’re screwing up.” Kate sighed and handed Margo the champagne flute. “I guess we should go up and stand by her then.”
They started up the stairs. At the door to Laura’s room, they paused, joined hands. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Kate murmured. “My stomach’s jumping.”
“Because we’re in this together.” Margo gave her hand a squeeze. “Just like always.”
She opened the door. Laura sat at the vanity, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. In the long white robe she already looked the perfect bride. Her golden hair was swept up, curls falling flirtily around her face. Susan stood behind her, already dressed for the ceremony in a deep-rose gown touched with lace.
“The pearls are old,” she said, her voice raw. In the shining mirror framed in carved rosewood, her eyes met her daughter’s. “Your Grandmother Templeton’s.” She handed Laura the lovely eardrops. “She gave them to me on my wedding day. Now they’re yours.”
“Oh, Mom, I’ll start crying again.”
“None of that now.” Ann Sullivan stepped forward. She looked lovely and restrained in her best navy dress, her deep-blond hair in short, quiet waves. “No swollen eyes on our bride today. You need something borrowed, so I thought . . . you could wear my locket under your gown.”
“Oh, Annie.” Laura sprang up to hug her. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so happy.”
“May you stay half so happy for the rest of your life.” Feeling her eyes well, Ann cleared her throat, smoothed the already smooth floral coverlet on Laura’s four-poster bed. “I’d best go down and see if Mrs. Williamson is dealing with the caterers.”
“Mrs. Williamson is fine.” Susan took Ann’s hand, knowing their longtime cook could handle the most fussy of caterers. “Ah, here are the ladies-in-waiting now, just in time to dress the bride. And how lovely they look.”
“That they do.” Ann turned to run a critical eye over her daughter and Kate. “Miss Kate, you could use more lipstick, and Margo, you less.”
“We’ll have a drink first.” Susan picked up the champagne. “Since Josh was thoughtful enough to bring up a bottle.”
“We brought along a glass,” Kate said, shrewdly omitting they’d already had some. “Just in case.”
“Well, I suppose it’s an occasion. Just half a glass,” Ann warned. “They’ll be tippling at the reception if I know these girls.”
“I already feel drunk.” Laura watched the bubbles rise in her glass. “I want to make the toast, please. To the women in my life. My mother, who’s shown me that love makes a marriage bloom. My friend,” she said, turning to Ann, “who always, always listened. And my sisters, who gave me the best of families. I love you all so much.”
“That’s done it.” Susan sniffed into her wine. “My mascara’s shot again.”
“Mrs. Templeton, ma’am.” A maid came to the door, all eyes as she peeked in at Laura. Later, she would tell the downstairs staff that it had been like a vision, all those lovely women standing in a room with the sun streaming patterns through fluttering lace curtains. “Old Joe the gardener is arguing with the man who’s come to set up the tables and chairs in the garden.”
“I’ll see to it,” Ann began.
“We’ll both see to it.” Susan touched Laura’s cheek. “It’ll keep me too busy to blubber. Margo and Kate will help you dress, baby. That’s how it should be.”
“Don’t wrinkle those gowns,” Ann ordered, then slipped an arm around Susan’s shoulders and murmured something quietly as they left the room.
“I don’t believe it.” Margo’s smile spread. “Mum was so distracted she left the bottle. Drink up, ladies.”
“Maybe one more,” Kate decided. “My stomach’s so jittery I’m afraid I’ll throw up.”
“You do, and I’ll kill you.” Margo recklessly tossed back the champagne. She liked the exotic sensation of it tickling her throat, bubbling through her brain. She wanted to feel just like this for the rest of her life. “Okay, Laura, let’s get you into that incredible dress.”
“It’s really happening,” Laura murmured.
“Right. But if you want to change your mind—”
“Change my mind?” She laughed at Kate as Margo reverently slipped the full-skirted ivory silk gown out of its protective bag. “Are you crazy? This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. My wedding day, the beginning of my life with the man I love.” Eyes misty, she circled as she slipped off the robe. “He’s so sweet, so handsome, so kind and patient.”
“She means he didn’t pressure her to do the big deed,” Margo commented.
“He respected the fact that I wanted to wait until our wedding night.” Laura’s prim expression collapsed into wild glee. “I can’t wait.”
“I told you it’s not that big a deal.”
“It will be when you’re in love.” She stepped carefully into the dress as Margo held it for her. “You weren’t in love with Biff.”
“No, but I was wildly in lust, which counts for something. I’m not saying it wasn’t nice, it was. But I think it takes practice.”
“I’ll get lots of practice.” Laura’s bride’s heart fluttered at the thought. “As a married woman. Oh, look at me.” Stunned, Laura stared at herself in the chevel glass. Yards of ivory silk were sparkling with tiny seed pearls. Romantic sleeves puffed at the shoulders, then tapered to snugness. When Kate and Margo finished attaching the train, Kate arranged it in an artful spill of embroidered silk.
“The veil.” Margo blinked back tears. With her advantage of height, she slid the pearl circlet smoothly around the neat bun, then fluffed the yards of tulle. Her oldest friend, she thought as a tear snuck through. The sister of her heart. At a turning point. “Oh, Laura, you look like a princess in a fairy tale. You really do.”
“I feel beautiful. I feel absolutely beautiful.”
“I know I kept saying it was too fussy.” Kate managed a watery smile. “I was wrong. It’s perfect. I’m going to get my camera.”
“As if there aren’t going to be half a million pictures by the time it’s over,” Margo said when Kate das
hed from the room. “I’ll go get Mr. T. Then I guess I’ll see you in church.”
“Yes. Margo, one day I know you and Kate are going to be as happy as I am now. I can’t wait to be a part of that.”
“Let’s get done with you first.” She stopped at the door, turned again, just to look. She was afraid that nothing and no one would ever make her feel whatever it was that put that soft light in Laura’s eyes. So, she thought as she quietly closed the door, she would settle for fame and fortune.
She found Mr. T. in his bedroom, muttering curses and fumbling with his formal tie. He looked so dashing in the dove gray morning coat that matched the Templeton eyes. He had broad shoulders a woman could lean on, she thought, and that wonderfully masculine height, which Josh had inherited. He was frowning now as he mumbled to himself, but his face was so perfect, the straight nose and tough chin, the crinkles around his mouth.
A perfect face, she thought as she stepped in. A father’s face.
“Mr. T., when are you going to learn how to deal with those ties?”
His frown turned to a grin. “Never, as long as there’s a pretty woman around to fuss with it for me.”
Obligingly, she moved over to tidy the mess he’d made of it. “You look so handsome.”
“Nobody’s going to give me or any other man a second glance with my girls around. You look more beautiful than a wish, Margo.”
“Wait until you see Laura.” She saw the worry flicker into his eyes and kissed his smoothly shaven cheek. “Don’t fret, Mr. T.”
“My baby’s grown up on me. It’s hard to let him take her away from me.”
“He could never do that. No one could. But I know. It’s hard for me, too. I’ve been feeling sorry for myself all day, when I should be happy for her.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, rushing. Kate with her camera, Margo thought, or a servant hurrying to take care of some last-minute detail. There were always people in Templeton House, she mused, filling it with sound and light and movement. You never felt alone there.
Her heart hitched again at the thought of leaving, of being alone. Yet mixed with the fears was such dizzy anticipation. Like a first sip of champagne, when the rich fizz of it exploded on the tongue. A first kiss, that soft, sultry meeting of lips.
There were so many firsts she yearned to experience.
“Everything’s changing, isn’t it, Mr. T.?”
“Nothing stays the same forever, however much you’d like it to. In a few weeks you and Kate will be off to college, Josh will be back at law school. Laura will be a wife. Susie and I will be rattling around this house like a bunch of old bones.” Which was one of the reasons he and his wife were thinking of relocating to Europe. “The house won’t be the same without you.”
“The house will always be the same. That’s what’s so wonderful about it.” How could she tell him she was leaving that very night? Running toward something she could see as clearly as her own face in the mirror. “Old Joe will keep on guarding his rosebushes, and Mrs. Williamson will be lording it over everyone in the kitchen. Mum will go on polishing the silver because she doesn’t think anyone else can do it properly. Mrs. T. will drag you out to the tennis court every morning and trounce you. You’ll be on the phone scheduling meetings or barking orders.”
“I never bark,” he said with a gleam in his eye.
“You always bark, that’s part of your charm.” She wanted to weep, for the childhood that had gone so fast though she had thought it would never end. For the part of her life that was behind her now, though she had strained so hard to pull away. For the coward that lived inside her that shrank from telling him she was leaving. “I love you, Mr. T.”
“Margo.” Misreading her, he pressed his lips to her brow. “Before too much longer I’ll be walking you down the aisle, giving you to some handsome young man who couldn’t possibly be good enough for you.”
She made herself laugh, because crying would spoil everything. “I’m not getting married to anyone unless he’s exactly like you. Laura’s waiting for you.” She drew back, reminding herself that this was Laura’s father. Not hers. This was Laura’s day. Not hers. “I’ll go see if the cars are ready.”
She hurried downstairs. And there was Josh, staggering in his formal wear, frowning at her as she paused breathlessly. “Don’t start on me,” she ordered. “Laura’s coming down in a minute.”
“I’m not going to start on you. But we’re going to talk later.”
“Fine.” She had no intention of talking with him. The minute the last grain of rice was thrown, she would make a quick and quiet exit. She carried the hat she’d brought down from her room to the mirror, instinctively arranging the wide blue brim to the most flattering advantage.
There’s my fame, she thought, studying her face. And my fortune. By God, she would make it work. Lifting her chin, she met her own eyes and willed it to begin.
Chapter Two
Ten years later
On the wild, wild cliffs above the restless Pacific, Margo watched the storm build. Black clouds boiled in a black sky, crushing every hint of starlight with their weight and temper. The wind howled like a feral wolf hunting for blood. Needle-bright spears of lightning slashed and snapped and shot the jagged rocks and spewing surf into sharp relief. The witchy scent of ozone stung the air before thunder exploded.
It seemed that her welcome home, even from nature, was not to be a gentle one.
An omen? she wondered, jamming her hands into her jacket pockets to protect them from the biting wind. She could hardly expect anyone at Templeton House to greet her with open arms and joyous smiles. The fatted calf, she thought with a wry smile, will not be served for this prodigal.
She had no right to expect it.
Wearily, she reached up and pulled the pins out of the smooth twist to let her pale blond hair fly free. It felt good, that small liberation, and she tossed the pins over the edge. She remembered quite suddenly that when she’d been a young girl she and her two best friends had thrown flowers over that same ledge.
Flowers for Seraphina, she thought, and nearly smiled. How romantic it had seemed then, the legend of that young girl hurling herself over the edge in grief and despair.
She remembered that Laura had always cried a little and that Kate would solemnly watch the flowers dance toward the sea. But she herself had always felt the thrill of that final flight, the defiance of the gesture, the bold recklessness of it.
Margo was just low enough, just tired enough to admit that looking for thrills, being defiant and embracing recklessness were what had brought her to this miserable point in her life.
Her eyes, a brilliant cornflower blue that the camera loved, were shadowed. She’d retouched her makeup carefully after her plane had landed in Monterey and had checked it again in the back of the cab she’d taken out to Big Sur. Christ knew she was skilled in painting on any image required. Only she would be aware that beneath the expensive cosmetics her cheeks were pale. They were, perhaps, a bit more hollow than they should be, but it was those slashing cheekbones that had boosted her onto the cover of so many magazines.
A good face started with bones, she thought and shivered as the next flash of lightning bolted across the sky. She was fortunate in her bone structure, in the smooth, poreless skin of her Irish ancestors. The Kerry blue eyes, the pale blond hair had undoubtedly been passed on by some ancient Viking conqueror.
Oh, she had a face all right, she mused. It wasn’t a matter of vanity to admit it. After all, it and a body built for sinning had been her meal tickets, her pathways to fame and fortune. Full, romantic lips, a small, straight nose, a firm, rounded chin and expressive brows that needed only the slightest bit of darkening and shaping.
She would still have a good face when she was eighty, if she lived that long. It didn’t matter that she was washed up, used up, embroiled in a scandal, and bitterly ashamed. She would still turn heads.
A pity she no longer gave a damn.
Turning away
from the cliff edge, she peered through the gloom. Across the road and on the crest of the hill she could see the lights of Templeton House, the house that had held so much of her laughter, and so many of her tears. There was only one place to go when you were lost, only one place to run when you had no bridges left to burn.
Margo picked up her flight bag and headed home.
Ann Sullivan had served at Templeton for twenty-four years. One year less than she’d been a widow. She had come, her four-year-old daughter in tow, from Cork to take a position as maid. In those days, Thomas and Susan Templeton had run the house as they ran their hotels. In grand style. Hardly a week would go by without the rooms overflowing with guests and music. There had been a staff of eighteen, to ensure that every detail of the house and grounds was seen to perfectly.
Perfection was a trademark of Templeton, as was luxury, as was warmth. Ann had been taught, and taught well, that fine accommodations were nothing without gracious welcome.
The children, Master Joshua and Missy Laura, had had a nanny who in turn had boasted an assistant. Yet they had been raised by their parents. Ann had always admired the devotion, the discipline, and the care with which the Templetons had reared their family. Although she knew it could, wealth had never outdistanced love in this house.
It had been Mrs. Templeton’s suggestion that the girls play together. They were, after all, the same age, and Joshua, being a boy and four years their senior, had little time for them.
Ann would forever be grateful for Mrs. Templeton, not only for the position and the simple kindnesses but for the advantages she had offered Ann’s daughter. Margo had never been treated like a servant. Instead, she was treated as the cherished friend of the daughter of the house.
In ten years, Ann had become housekeeper. It was a position she knew she had earned and one she took great pride in. There was no corner of the house she hadn’t cleaned with her own hands, no scrap of linen she hadn’t washed. Her love for Templeton House was deep and abiding. Perhaps deeper and more abiding than for anything else in her life.
