"That's not negotiating. That's a form of blackmail," I snapped at him.
"All's fair in love and war," he quipped with that winning smile of his.
"You'd do this just to win a bet with your associate?"
"No. To win a bet with myself," he replied. "Besides, after meeting you. I've decided it's something I really want to do. Well?"
"Okay," I said after taking a deep breath. "Introduce me."
He smiled and nodded at the beach house. "Shall we?"
I suddenly felt so weak I wasn't sure I could walk the distance. A moan escaped my lips, and he turned to see that my face was white.
"Hey, are you all right? Here, sit down a moment." He guided me to one of the chairs.
"I'm okay," I said.
"You look a little peaked. I saw you didn't eat much breakfast today. Aren't you well?"
"I'm fine. really. It's just travel and everything. especially not getting enough sleep."
"Let me get you something, some orange. juice. That's what you need to do... raise your blood sugar level. No arguments. I'm a quasi-doctor after all the medical malpractice cases I've handled, and not only ones involving dogs," he added with a smile. "Just sit. I'll be right back." he insisted, and hurried into the house.
I closed my eyes and fought to get hold of myself. What a moment to show weakness. I thought. I took another deep breath, and when I opened my eyes again and looked out at the beach. I saw a young man in a white shirt and jeans trekking along, his head down. He carried an easel under his arm and a black leather case in his left hand. He was barefoot.
His blond hair was so bright in the sunshine it looked frosted. It was long, nearly to his shoulders, and hung limply over his ears and down the sides of his face. I couldn't see much of his face because he never lifted his head as he walked. He kept close enough to the sea to step into the trail of the waves as they spread over the sand and retreated.
"Ali," Thatcher said as he returned and saw the direction of my gaze. "Linden is returning home already. Usually, he finds a spot out there and stays most of the day. Maybe he's hungry: for lunch. Here." He placed the glass of orange juice in front of me. 'Freshly squeezed. I saw to it myself."
"Thank you." I drank it. It was good.
"Linden!" he shouted. "Hey, Linden!" The young man didn't lift his head,
"He hears me," Thatcher said. "but he couldn't care less. Sure you still want me to introduce you to that mad family?"
"Yes," I said after drinking the juice. "Please." I stood up.
"All right, Right this way." he said, leading me down the steps from the loggia.
We crossed behind the pool. The water ran over a shelf of slate and looked absolutely delicious and inviting. It was practically the color of the ocean, too. Once again. Thatcher seemed to read my mind.
"It's a saltwater pool," he said. "Better for your skin. Anytime you want to take a dip..."
"Thank you."
"No problem. The rich are generous when it comes to showing off their wealth and property. you'll find. If you qualify as someone who will show her appreciation, that is."
"Why do you remain here if you find the people so superficial?" I asked him.
He stopped and looked at me and then at the sea. "I'm not sure I belong anywhere else." he said. "Maybe I'm a coward after all. That's what attracted me to you this morning," he added.
"What?"
"You looked like someone who belonged out there." He nodded at the horizon.
"Out where?"
"There. The real world." he said. And then he added something that practically rang bells in my heart. "Grace Montgomery is like you that way. She's no longer part of this place.
"Maybe she will talk to you." he concluded, and we walked on toward the beach house, the bells still sounding in my heart and in my bones.
7
Thatcher
.
The walkway between two rows of hedges led
up to the much smaller loggia and the front entrance of the beach house. The building looked as if it had once been painted the same rich pearl white. Now the walls looked faded from the sea air. There were two second-floor balconies that faced the ocean, each with a set of potted palm trees, and vines ran along the sides of the building, reaching the tiled roof.
"Servants do well here," Thatcher said. 'There are twenty rooms in the building, not including the dining room and two sitting roams. My parents' servants live here as well, of course. That also makes the Montgomerys untouchables," he concluded with a tone of bitterness, "Living with servants.
"Okay, here we go," he said, and rang the door buzzer. No one came, so he rang it again. 'They just might not respond at all," Thatcher said. ''But it still counts as far as our bargain." he insisted.
That brought a smile to my face just as the door did open. Linden stood there gazing out at us. He was a fragile-looking young man with an immediately angry fact. His straggly hair. which I had thought looked frosted, out of the sunlight looked pale yellow. The expression in his dark eyes, the turn of his lips, the way he held his body so stiffly with his hands tightened into fists, made him appear downright belligerent.
"What is it?" he demanded instead of any sort of civil greeting.
"We have an interesting guest who would love the opportunity to speak with your mother, if she is available." Thatcher said calmly.
"Why?" Linden demanded. He took a step toward us, trying to keep his eves on Thatcher but dropping them to me. I thought I caught a note of some interest that overcame his suspicion. I was encouraged by it and smiled.
"This is Miss Isabel Amou. She is in graduate school, and she thinks speaking with your mother would be interesting and might help her with a project she has undertaken. Linden. It's nothing to be concerned about. I think you know by now that I wouldn't do anything that would cause your mother worry, but just the opposite. right?"
Thatcher was talking to him in a tone of voice that he might use to speak with a young contentious boy, trying to handle him the way Daddy might. I thought. Linden, however, continued to stand there like an immovable object, his features hardened, cold, full of distrust,
"I called to you before when we saw you walking home on the beach," Thatcher continued to fill the pregnant pause, "but I guess you couldn't hear me over the sound of the sea."
Linden looked at him with an expression that clearly indicated he had heard but didn't care to speak with Thatcher.
"What brings you in so early today?" Thatcher continued, determined not to permit any silences among us. "Didn't you catch anything artistic out there?"
He turned to me to explain. "Linden once told me he was a sort of fisherman, casting his artistic eyes at the sea like a rod to pull in his inspiration. Wasn't that how you put it. Linden?"
It wasn't told so you could use it as something with which to amuse people," he replied.
"Oh. no. that's not what I'm doing. I'm truly impressed with what you said, and from the look on Miss Amou's face. I would conclude she is as well. Isn't that right. Miss Amou?"
"Yes." I said, looking from him to Linden. He studied me with a pair of eves that looked capable of probing my very soul. What he saw didn't displease him. His narrow shoulders relaxed, and his lips softened.
"What is this project he speaks about?" Linden asked me.
"As he said. I'm a student doing a sociological project, a work-study assignment involving Palm Beach society," I began.
"We're not in Palm Beach society," Linden said sharply, his lips tight and bitter.
"Oh, but you are, Linden. One can't live here and not be part of that." Thatcher said.
"We can." Linden challenged. It would be a waste of time to speak with my mother. She doesn't attend any functions or socialize with any of the royals," he added, his words so dry they drew the corners of his lips down.
She has a history here, doesn't she?" Thatcher pursued. "Why don't you let her decide for herself. Linden? Miss Amou is not here to do anyone any harm. She
's not writing for the Sheet. or any other paper. This isn't an expose. It's a legitimate study project. Your mother might actually enjoy speaking with her. Linden."
"I doubt it." Linden insisted,
"Well. why don't we at least let her make that decision?" Thatcher pursued.
I wasn't sure if Thatcher was not used to being denied anything or if he was trying to ingratiate himself with me. but whatever his motive. Linden was moved by his determination.
"You're just wasting your time," he said. relenting. "Wait here."
He turned and went into the house. Thatcher smiled at me. "Difficult young man. He scares most people. and not only with his art, which sells from time to time but not enough to command any real numbers for him. I can show you some pieces at a gallery on Worth Avenue, if you like."
"Yes, I would like that," I said quickly.
"I thought so. The dark, the disturbed, the dangerous are far more enticing than what we would call normal and levelheaded, aren't they? It's why Iago is a far more interesting character in Shakespeare's Othello than Othello is himself. Don't you agree?" he asked with that impish little smile on his lips.
Despite my resistance, he was charming me. I could feel it through my body-- this warm, titillating sensation sparking little fires of passion inside me where I had never imagined they would start. For a moment or two. it took my attention away from the dramatic meeting I was about to experience. Talk about your kaleidoscope of emotions, I thought. I'm frightened, excited, and aroused all simultaneously.
"He's right, though. Just as I told you, they really are out of it when it comes to Palm Beach social life. I'm afraid this isn't going to be very valuable for you."
If you only knew how valuable itwas, I thought.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway seized my heart like a strong hand and squeezed the pounding down to a barely felt tap in my chest. She appeared from around the corner of the hallway. Her hair, the same color as mine, only streaked with some o-ay, was tied behind in a thick ponytail. She had a light complexion, and as she drew closer. I could see I had inherited my freckles from her. We had the same nose, the same turquoise eyes. but the shape of my face was closer to my father's.
Despite the simple way she wore her hair, the absence of any makeup, and the plain faded blue housecoat she wore, she had a quiet, truly angelic beauty. Her neck was slim, and all of her features had an almost childlike look; I was especially struck by the innocence and vulnerability in those eyes.
My adoptive mother would have been so disappointed. I thought, Regardless of the turmoil and difficulties in her life, my real mother looked relatively unscathed by age. With just some thin crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes, her complexion was milk smooth. She had a nice figure with a small waist and graceful hands. She wore no jewelry, no earrings, not even a wristwatch.
"Hello. Grace," Thatcher said quickly. "How are you?"
Her smile consisted solely of pulling in the corners of her lips slightly and a flash of brightness in her eyes. It was as if she were afraid of holding cheerfulness in her face too long, as if she distrusted it or the disappointments that often followed. Linden came up behind her, still glaring with some hostility at us.
"I'm fine. Thatcher," she said. Her voice was soft, nearly inaudible. "How can I help you?'
"I have someone who would like to meet you," he said, turning to me.
She then looked at me, and for a moment, her eyes widened with more than just curiosity. Her gaze was intense, deep, searching my face as if she had been looking for me for years and years, as if she knew. It drew the breath from my lungs. I almost expected her to ask if I was who she thought I was. I actually hoped she would so I could let the truth burst out and end this pathetic attempt to hide my true purpose from her and Linden,
This is Isabel Amou," Thatcher continued. "She's doing a study of Palm Beach society as a class assignment."
"Amou?'" she asked, her eyebrows lifting. She was still looking at me. I would finally have to speak.
"Yes," I said, nearly as breathless as she had been.
Her eyes narrowed with more suspicion, putting my heart into a quicker pitter-patter. what is it you want from me?" she followed.
Thatcher smiled as if to say. Well, I did my part. Now it up to you.
"I would just like to talk to you about your experiences living here," I said quickly. "Growing up so wealthy and..."
"Experiences?"
"You have a unique sort of history, and I thought your views about the Palm Beach world would be very informative and add to my work," I struggled to say, "It's not easy to find people with a distinctly different perspective and opinions."
She looked at me harder. My heart began to thump now. I could feel her closing in, the way her eves perused my face, the way her lips began to open and pull back into that gentle smile. I held my breath. Was she just going to burst out and ask if I was Claude De Beers's daughter? Her daughter?
But before she could respond. Linden surged forward,
"This is ridiculous!" he cried, and came up beside her, practically nudging her out of the way, "What are we now, some sort of new species to be dissected? Are we being singled out because of our financial situation? Who put you up to this?" he demanded of me.
No one! I just thought... I mean, when I learned about you, I..."
"So, there it is. You learned about us? People were talking about us, is that it? We were the subject of some gossip, and you thought you'd come here and exploit us."
"Linden," Thatcher said softly, "relax."
"No! How many times are we to be ridiculed in someone's column or living room. huh? How often are we supposed to be made to feel inferior because we are not invited to some ball or charity tea. huh?"
"I don't know anything about any of that." I said quickly. "I came here to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Eaton, and I learned about you. and--"
"There, you see!" Linden cried, shaking his right forefinger in the air between him and Thatcher. "Your parents turned her onto us. Thatcher. Pointed us out as some sort of freakish curiosity caged on the property."
"Take it easy. Linden," Thatcher said softly. You know my parents don't do that, and besides, no one wants to upset either you or your mother here."
"Then get out" he said. "Leave us alone."
His face was crimson now, his eyes bulging and the veins in his neck straining.
"Please, don't upset yourself so. Linden," my mother begged him.
"Then tell them to go!" he shouted.
"Okay. Linden. okay." Thatcher said, reaching to take my arm. "We're sorry we disturbed you. Grace. As you heard her say, the young lady was simply looking for a variety of views and approaches to Palm Beach society. No harm intended, believe me. I remember when I was a college student and I had to do some work-study. It's never easy to depend on the kindness of strangers." he concluded.
"I'm surprised we weren't offered some sort of fee." Linden muttered.
"Is that what you're looking for, Linden?" Thatcher fired back at him.
Linden's face seemed to drain instantly of blood, except for around his lips. "What do you think I am, a lawyer, charging people by the minute for every breath I take?" he shot back.
Thatcher laughed. "Okay. Sorry. Grace." he repeated, and urged me back and out of the house.
My mother had kept her eyes on me the whole time. My eyes never left her. either. An expression of pain crossed her face, and she almost stepped forward to stop us from leaving, but instantly Linden was between us and slammed the door sharply the moment we stepped out, shutting me off from my mother without my saying another word to her or her to me.
"I kind of warned you about that." Thatcher said, his face now free to reflect the anger he felt. "He's the one who should have been sent to a mental institution, not her. I feel sorry for her with that burden to carry,"
He fired his words at the closed door and then turned to me.
"Hey, you all right?" he asked. You look like you're trembling
."
"Yes," I said, embracing myself and hurrying off the loggia and down the sidewalk. He caught up quickly.
"Hey, take it easy." he said, rubbing my arm. "Don't let that bother vou. I'll set you up with some great subjects. You won't be able to stop them talking, and they'll talk about the most intimate details of their lives. too. Around here, some people wear their dysfunctional family life as if it were a badge of achievement or something."
I kept my head down as we continued to walk back to the main house.
"Take Helen Krescan, for example." he rattled on "She knows her husband keeps his mistress on his yacht right here in the Palm Beach harbor. She complains about it in the beauty salon all the time, but does she move for a divorce? No. She'd rather bask in self-pity or use it for some notoriety. You'll love talking with her. She'll tell you about more than just her own husband. She knows dirt on all the husbands. You can meet with her tomorrow, if you'd like.
"Hey," he said when I didn't respond. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I don't know. Maybe this project is a bad idea," I said.
"I don't think so. I think it would be great. Don't give up just because of that," he said, nodding back at the beach house.
"I should just leave," I muttered, more to myself than to him. I looked out at the ocean. There were sailboats now and someone's magnificent yacht, all so still against the horizon they looked unreal. It was more like a movie set, something painted.
It was too easy to slip into illusion and fantasy here, I thought. This place was too dangerous for me, especially now, when I was more vulnerable than ever.
"Out of the question," Thatcher said. "You can't leave. You have an agreement to fulfill, and don't forget. I'm an attorney. I'll come by for you at seven." he said. "Give it a day or two. You'll get back on track after you have one good interview. Believe me." he promised. "Besides, tomorrow you're due at my parents' brunch. A more authentic Palm Beach couple you won't find anywhere." he assured me. "They're spoiled, self-indulgent, vain, full of prejudices, but essentially harmless," he added.
I tilted my head and gazed at him curiously, "What?" he asked.
"You don't respect your parents at all, do you?"
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