by Judy Angelo
Golden shrugged, not the least bit intimidated by Claire’s sudden change in demeanor. “It must have been the thunderstorm. It took me a while to fall asleep so I got up late this morning. How was it for you? Did the wind and thunder disturb you?”
Claire heaved a sigh. “Oh, how I wish. I’m half deaf, as it is. I slept through it all, my dear, like a lamb.” Then she reached out to pat Golden’s hand. “But who cares about me, an old bat on her way out of this rat race called life? Let’s talk about you, dear. How are things with you?”
“I’m alive and well, Claire, so I’m giving thanks,” she gave the old lady a crooked grin, “as should you. Old bat or no, you’re going to be around for a long time. It’s the crankiest ones who live longest. You know that.”
That got her a laugh from Claire. “You naughty girl. But really, how are you, dearie? Last time you told me you were looking for work. Did you find any?”
“Yes and no.” Golden grimaced. “I got a temp position at an event which didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned. I never even got paid.”
“Never got paid? Tell me the name of the company and I’ll have my solicitor write them a strong letter. Outrageous.” The old dame bristled with indignation.
“No, no,” Golden said with a laugh. “It wasn’t their fault.” She proceeded to tell her story, leaving nothing out, not the shock of being dragged on stage, not the humiliation of her fall, not her precipitous flight to the refuge of her home.
If she had expected sympathy – which she hadn’t – she got none from Claire. On the contrary, she was rewarded with loud guffaws that made a nurse come running to check if everything was all right. “What were you thinking?” the woman asked, wiping away tears of laughter. “One would think it takes some training to be a model.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Golden said in self-defense. “It was taken out of my hands.” But she was grinning just as broadly as Claire was. She was glad she had given her friend a good laugh because, with a smile on her face, Claire looked like a new woman. With the frown smoothed away, the tightness gone from her lips and her eyes sparkling with mirth, she looked surprisingly young and carefree, like she’d lost twenty years in the blink of an eye. Golden could see the happy woman she used to be and she couldn’t help but wonder what had made her the person she was now – confrontational, disagreeable and downright rude.
But she wouldn’t ask. One day when Claire was good and ready she would share her story. Golden was sure of it.
Golden ended up spending over an hour with Claire but when she glanced at her cell phone and realized it was twenty minutes before noon she began to rise. “I have to go now,” she said as she collected the half eaten pudding that lay on Claire’s lap. “If I stay out too long Mother will begin fretting and then my cell phone won’t stop ringing.”
“What? How old are you, girl? Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“I’m twenty,” she replied, “and I know I’m a tad too old for my mother to be keeping me on such a tight leash but that’s just the way she is.”
“The way she is?” Claire planted her palms on the bed and pushed herself up on the pillows. “What mother would expect a young lady of your age to be forever at her beck and call?”
Golden only smiled. How could she begin to explain? Who would understand the nature of her mother, so needy and dependent? Unfortunately that had always been her mother’s downfall, a determining factor in her choice of life-long companion.
Golden was reaching for her handbag when Claire stopped her. “Sit down, child. Sit down and explain yourself. What kind of prison are you living in, with that mother of yours?”
Here we go again. Golden almost sighed but she sucked it back in. She’d gone over this with Claire before. It wasn’t like she hadn’t explained her situation at home but her friend was past eighty and prone to spells of forgetfulness which meant Golden had to sometimes backtrack and tell her story all over again.
She sank back into the chair she’d been trying to vacate. It was no use telling Claire she had to go. She knew from past experience that the elderly woman would insist on having her way. Five more minutes. She would give her that and then she would have to go.
“It’s not that bad,” she began, giving Claire her usual reassurance. “Mother is just overly protective, that’s all. Maybe a bit too attached but I don’t mind.”
Claire’s lips tightened. “She’s that way because of that man she married after your father died, isn’t it? What did you say his name was? Manchester?” Her brows furrowed. “I may know his people. Manchester from what county?”
Golden shook her head. “I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter, Claire. As long as she’s happy.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “But are you happy? What with the wretched man in your father’s house and his good-for-nothing son dropping by at any hour, you must be in a tizzy half the time.”
“Oh, Claire, it’s not that bad.” Golden reached out and touched her hand, regretting that she’d shared so much of her private life with her. If she weren’t careful she would be the cause of Claire working herself into a royal fit over her situation and she definitely did not want that. “And please forget I ever told you those things. I’m handling things quite well. There’s no need to fret over me.”
“What? When the man has control of your father’s money and you can’t get a penny of it? That does not sound like a situation that’s being handled well at all.” Claire’s eyes flashed with an anger that told Golden her confidante was taking the whole thing personally and was getting quite agitated. That was not good. It was time to end the conversation.
She got up and leaned over to kiss Claire on her softly wrinkled cheek. “It will all work out,” she said, her tone filled with a confidence she did not truly feel. “Just give it some time.”
Claire’s look said she was far from convinced but Golden gave her no chance to prolong the discussion. She turned away and picked up her handbag. “I’ll be back next Sunday,” she said then turned back to give Claire a cheerful smile. “Now you be a good girl until I get back. Promise?”
Claire didn’t even bother to answer that. She lifted a finger and pointed to Golden. “Start standing up for yourself. Do you hear me? I got to where I am because I didn’t let anyone take advantage of me. You be strong. Understand?”
Golden gave her a nod. “Understood, my lady.”
The old woman’s face cleared and she chuckled. “And next Sunday don’t be late.”
“I won’t.” Golden gave her a wave and then she slipped out the door just as her cell phone began to buzz.
“Mother,” she said in a whispered sigh as she hurried down the hallway, “will you ever give me space to breathe?”
As she walked she dug into her handbag and pulled out the phone. “Yes, Mother?” She was trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice but this time it was really hard.
“I need you home right now, Golden.” Eugenia’s voice sounded breathless. “Dunstan needs to speak with you.”
“With me?” Golden frowned. “About what?”
“A strange phone call he got. Somebody called the house looking for a Golden Browne. Something about a check? It all sounded very strange.”
Golden came to a halt. A check. The call must have come from the agency. “So why does Dunstan need to speak to me? All he had to do was take a message.”
“Your Uncle Dunstan,” Eugenia said, putting noticeable stress on the last two words, “would like to know what this check is for.” Then her voice fell to a whisper. “And please have a reasonable explanation, Golden. You know he doesn’t like you doing things without his knowledge.”
Golden gasped in indignation. “Mother, I’m almost twenty-one. When is he going to stop this meddling?”
“Dear, let’s not discuss it right now. Try to get home soon, will you?” The pleading tone was back in Eugenia’s voice.
“I’m on my way,” Golden said, her jaws tight with anger. “I’ll deal wi
th him when I get there.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Dunstan Manchester could be intimidating even when he was in a good mood. Today, he was not in a good mood.
Over six feet tall with bushy eyebrows and a thick, old fashioned mustache, his face was set in what Golden’s stepbrother had jokingly described as a ‘permanent screw’. Today he was wearing suspenders over his plaid shirt and even sported a tie although he was home on a Sunday afternoon with no plans to go out for the rest of the day. He was usually home on Sundays, which was why Golden made it a point to keep herself busy with activities that would take her out of the house on that day. Being in Dunstan Manchester’s presence was sheer torture.
But today it could not be helped. He was demanding answers and this time her mother would have no explanations to calm him down. Golden would have to handle him herself.
As she laid her handbag on her mother’s prized Chippendale breakfront china cabinet her stepfather glanced up from the Sunday paper and gave her a sour look. His lunch was still sitting in front of him on the dining table, the half-eaten roast beef, carrots and Yorkshire pudding adorning his plate. As usual, despite the admonition of his doctors, the meal was covered with a generous helping of gravy.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Golden asked, her voice as cool as her expression. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his summons had upset her.
Slowly, he lowered his paper and gave her a cold stare. “What’s this about a check? Who is it from and what is it for?”
Golden felt her heart tighten in anger. He was a presumptuous one to be asking such questions. She folded her arms across her chest, refusing to be intimidated. “I think that’s my business. If you got a message for me the only thing you need to do is pass it on.”
There was a gasp and they both turned to see Eugenia standing in the doorway. “Golden. Please.” On her face was a stricken look like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
Golden almost groaned. Now why did her mother have to come in right at that moment? She knew it hurt Eugenia when she stood up to her husband but she wanted so badly to make Manchester understand that he might be her mother’s boss but he was certainly not hers. Now she would have to back down all for the sake of her mother. There was nothing she wanted less than to cause her grief.
“Sorry,” she muttered only for the benefit of her mother. She drew in her breath then began again. There was no way she could get around it now. She would have to explain. “I was a temp at a fashion show the other day. They were probably calling to tell me my check was ready. Did they say where I should pick it up?”
Manchester didn’t answer. For several seconds he just sat there, silent, staring at her with unreadable dark eyes. The twitching of the left side of his mustache was the only indication of his anger. “I thought it was understood,” he said slowly, “that there should be no employment without my prior knowledge and consent. You are provided with food, shelter and an allowance which should be enough to satisfy your needs.”
“What? Forty pounds a week? How do you expect me to maintain my car, take care of my needs and clothe myself with that?” Whether or not her mother was in the room there was no way Golden could leave that unanswered. “And by the way, just in case you hadn’t heard, we’re now in the twenty-first century. I’m twenty years old. I don’t need to report to you for anything I decide to do.”
The scowl on the man’s face deepened and he pushed back his chair. “Now, you listen. As long as you’re under my roof-”
“Your roof? You, you...” Golden began to sputter, so blazing was her anger, and that was when she knew she’d better shut up. If not, she’d be bound to say something she would regret.
She shook her head. Then she drew in her breath and let it out. Finally, she spoke. “Do you know what? I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. I’m going to my room now. Don’t bother to give me whatever message you got for me.”
Golden grabbed her handbag off the china cabinet then turned and stalked off, leaving both her guardians staring after her.
In her room, her only sanctuary, Golden threw her handbag onto the armchair then went and flopped down on the bed, feeling even more desperate than ever. She needed to get away, move out on her own. As much as she wanted to stay in the family home to be there for her mother how could she, with that despicable man trying to control her life? She would have to go all out in her search for employment and as soon as she was earning reasonable wages she would move out. She only hoped she could convince her mother to make the move with her. Sadly, she didn’t hold out much hope for that happening.
But then there was one ever-present option that was available, one that she refused to even consider. It would get her out of this cursed house and would even mean freedom for her mother. But could she make that move?”
That one other option would take her far out of Manchester’s reach but wouldn’t that fate be even worse than this one?
***
“The agency got the call,” Sharon said, her face beaming. “We found her.”
“Great work, Sharon. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
But Reed knew it was not ‘nothing’. He’d been ready to hire a P.I. firm to help him find the runaway girl and had shared his plan with Sharon.
She’d waved off his idea. “You don’t need a private investigator for that. Let me handle it. How many Golden Brownes do you think could be in the Greater London area?”
Slowly, he nodded. “You’re right. Browne’s pretty common but this is the first Golden I’ve heard of.”
“I’ve heard the name before,” Sharon said, “but it’s definitely not common. Let me do a search before you bring a P.I. in.” Then she cocked her head to one side and gave him a knowing look “You’re really taken with this girl, aren’t you?”
Her question took him by surprise. Despite the fact that he and Sharon had an excellent working relationship he hadn’t expected her question. “Taken?”
Sharon chuckled. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m sorry. I know you too well.” Still chuckling, she went out the door to tackle the task she’d assigned herself, the pursuit of Reed’s latest business interest.
He grimaced. Unfortunately, he couldn’t use that as an excuse, saying she was his latest discovery, a girl who would make a perfect Davidoff model. He could not pretend that his interest in this girl was purely professional. Even his assistant could see through that story.
There was a tap at the door and Sharon stuck her head back in. “I just spoke with them again. The girl contacted the agency after we left a message at her house,” she said. “She plans to stop by their office on Thursday. What do you want me to tell them?”
“Let them gather all her particulars,” he said. “They should be doing that anyway. They’ll need that information for their database.”
Sharon nodded. “Then what? I’m not sure they’ll pass her information on to you.”
“Maybe not,” he said, giving it some thought. “Tell them to give her my contact information. Let them tell her that the owner of Davidoff Fashions would like to speak with her.”
“Very well,” Sharon said with a smile. “Consider it done.”
But even after she’d gone back to her office, leaving him to soak up the good news, Reed could not rid himself of one worrying thought.
As much as she intrigued him, why was he even bothering to track this girl down? In his situation it wasn’t like anything could ever come of it.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh, shoot,” Golden mumbled under her breath. She’d done it and there was no escaping the consequences. She knew she shouldn’t have gone in but she’d been desperate and now she was paying the price.
She’d gone to the agency office to collect the pay they’d called about and was surprised when she was told they had a message for her. Frowning in confusion, she took the envelope from the woman but she did not open it until she got back
to her car. “Mr. Reed Davidoff of Davidoff Fashions requests that you contact him as soon as possible,” it read. “Please see telephone number below.” Her heart lurched. Reed Davidoff, the owner of the company. Dear Lord, she was in big trouble now.
This could only mean one thing. He was planning to have her head for destroying his show. She drew in her breath then let it out slowly. What in the world was she going to do now?
But deep down she knew. Whether or not she was skewered and roasted by the great Reed Davidoff himself she would not duck out of this meeting. She was at fault so she would go in and apologize and do whatever it took to make things right...not that there was much she could do. The deed was done and the show was over. But still, she had to try...
That afternoon, as instructed, Golden called Reed Davidoff’s office, holding her breath while the phone rang. She sagged in relief when she heard a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
The woman thanked her for calling then set up an appointment for her to come in to see Mr. Davidoff the very next day.
“So soon?” Golden blurted out. “I mean, I’m flexible. I’m sure Mr. Davidoff is very busy. I can come later this week or even next week if that’s better for him.”
“No, no,” the woman said, dismissing her offer. “Tomorrow is perfect. Please be here by three.” Then she hung up and that was that.
Next day Golden dressed carefully, putting on her best suit, the one she saved for job interviews. It was navy blue with a knee-length skirt and a jacket that sat just atop her hips. She made sure to put on stockings before sliding her feet into black leather pumps.
The clothes taken care of, Golden turned to look at herself in the mirror. Now what was she to do about make-up? The truth was she owned very little, just lip gloss and rose-pink lipstick. She didn’t even have foundation. She bit her lip, pondering if she should slip into her mother’s room and borrow some of hers.
