A Novel

by V. C. Andrews

  “Thank you.”

  “Ready?” he asked. “Don’t worry. I think my father’s more nervous about it than you.”

  “That only makes me more nervous,” I said.

  I looked at my mother. She nodded, her eyes narrowing with that look that told me to be proud, and then she hugged me. “You two have a great time,” she said, “but . . .”

  “But be careful,” Ryder finished for her. “Don’t you know that’s my middle name, Miss Corey? Ryder Careful Davenport.”

  “Never you mind what’s your name. Keep your wits about you.”

  “We will,” he promised. He reached for my hand.

  For a little while, at least, I could pretend I was really his date.

  Then Mr. Stark did something that would keep this moment forever for me. “Hold on,” he called as we started out the door to the hallway that led into the main house. He took out his smartphone again. “A quick picture of the two of you, all grown up,” he said.

  Ryder looked at me, smiled, and then put his arm around my shoulders as we turned toward Mr. Stark.

  “Got it,” he said.

  We continued out. I thought Ryder would let go of my hand after we had left the help’s quarters, but he held on as we walked toward his father’s office door. Before we got there, Mrs. Marlene stepped out of the kitchen and looked our way.

  “My, my,” she said. “What a pair of young beauties we have here. You two have a whale of a time.” One of the maids peered at us over her shoulder. “Go on,” Mrs. Marlene told her. “Don’t gape at them like they’re in a zoo.” She smiled again at us and disappeared.

  We paused at the door. Ryder knocked. We heard Dr. Davenport say, “Come in.” Ryder glanced at me and opened the door. Dr. Davenport was behind his desk, leaning forward, his reading glasses lower on the bridge of his nose so he could look over them as we entered. I had never realized he wore reading glasses, but it had been some time since I had stepped into his office. He sat back. He was still wearing a tie and a white shirt, but he had his jacket off.

  “Well,” he said. “Come in, come in.”

  Ryder let go of my hand, and we drew closer to his large, dark oak desk. I glanced at the framed picture of Samantha Davenport that hung on the wall to our left. She was dressed in her wedding gown. My first thought was to wonder if Dr. Davenport had a picture of her in the dress I was wearing. Would he be making an immediate comparison?

  On the desk, he had only a book and a yellow legal-size pad. He pressed his long fingers together in a cathedral shape and looked at me with such intensity I couldn’t help but hold my breath.

  “Who tailored the dress for you?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Levine. She’s done things before for me and for my mother.”

  He nodded. He still neither indicated in his face nor said anything to indicate whether he thought it looked nice on me. He wasn’t looking at Ryder at all, however. Then he turned slightly to him.

  “The first time your mother wore this dress was when we attended a gala in honor of the governor. She looked so beautiful that she could stop clocks.”

  I glanced at Ryder and saw how fascinated he was with what his father was saying. I could only imagine that references to his mother were few and far between.

  Dr. Davenport turned back to me. “What did your mother say when she saw you in the dress?” he asked.

  “She said it looked very nice on me. Mrs. Levine took a picture of me in it to frame and put on her wall,” I added. I thought he should know that, especially if he wasn’t going to compliment me very much.

  “That’s not surprising,” he said. “My wife would have been very proud of how you’re wearing it.”

  “She sure would,” Ryder said. He said it like he wanted his words nailed to the wall.

  Dr. Davenport didn’t look like he was smiling, exactly, but there was something in his face that told me he was very pleased about what Ryder had said and how he had said it.

  “Thank you for coming to show me how the dress was fitted for you, Fern. I like what you’ve had done with your hair, too,” he said. “Very becoming. I wish someone else worried more about what his hair looked like.”

  Ryder smiled.

  “Who is your date tonight, Fern?”

  “Paul Gabriel,” Ryder answered for me. “He’s our star pitcher.”

  Dr. Davenport nodded. “I believe I’ve seen him pitch. Impressive. Let’s see how impressive he is tonight,” he added. If he hadn’t smiled, I wouldn’t have realized he was kidding. There was always so much firmness and authority in his voice, even when he said a simple “Good morning.”

  “I’ll make sure he’s impressive,” Ryder said.

  “I believe you’ll have your own date to impress,” his father said quickly. “I expect you to enjoy yourselves, but take care. Life is a very fragile thing,” he added, glancing, I thought, at Samantha’s portrait.

  “We will, Dad,” Ryder said.

  Dr. Davenport nodded. “Thank you for stopping by, Fern,” he said. He didn’t dismiss us, but we knew the visit had ended when he raised his glasses on his nose and looked at his notepad.

  Ryder nodded at me, and we walked out.

  “If you weren’t wearing that dress, I’d never have known where my mother wore it,” he said as soon as he closed the door behind us. “He doesn’t like talking about her too much, and not because Bea would be jealous. Even when we’re alone, he avoids any reference to her.”

  “It’s like you’re a virginal conception, huh?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Sometimes it is.”

  “That’s the way I feel. How ironic. My mother avoids any possible reference to who my father might be. She might change that soon.”

  “Aren’t we a pair?” Ryder said.

  We heard the bells ringing from the front entrance.

  “Paul’s here,” he said. “If he does something you don’t like, just say, ‘Ball one.’ ”

  “Ball one?”

  “Yes. Four balls, and he takes a walk,” he added, smiling. “Keep everything in baseball lingo, and you’ll do fine.”

  As we approached the door, Bea Davenport began to descend the stairway with Sam right behind her.

  “Just a moment,” she called to us. “You could think of your little sister, who was waiting to see you all dressed,” she added as she continued coming down.

  “Sorry,” Ryder said to Sam. “What do you think of us?”

  “Cool,” Sam said, which made us both smile.

  “That’s not a word to express a compliment,” Bea told her. She turned to me. “Your dress isn’t exactly what I would call fashionable today, but your mother’s tailor did a good job on it.”

  “That’s not a way to express a compliment,” Ryder parroted.

  Before she could reply, he opened the door for Paul.

  “Hey!” Paul cried, looking at us. “Let’s play ball!”

  He held up my corsage like he was going to throw it at home plate.

  Ryder glanced back at Bea, who had stepped closer with Sam, I was sure to see what sort of boy would want to take me to the prom.

  “You have to pin that on her, Paul,” Ryder said in a little over a whisper.

  “Oh, yeah.” He took out the pin and held it and the corsage up, obviously not sure where it would go.

  “Let me help you,” Ryder offered, and pinned the corsage carefully to my dress.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking at Ryder.

  “Look all right to you?” Ryder asked Paul.

  “Sure,” he said, nodding.

  Ryder and I laughed.

  Paul leaned forward, looking behind us at Bea. “That your mother?” he whispered.

  “Hardly,” I said. “My mother’s a human being.”

  I didn’t know if Bea had heard me, and I didn’t care.

  Ryder, smiling, closed the door behind us. “Let’s go have a great time,” he said.

  “Will do,” Paul said. He st
arted ahead of us for his car.

  Ryder looked at me and shrugged. But he took my hand to do what Paul should have done, and I couldn’t have been happier about it.

  6

  I HAD BEEN in Alison’s neighborhood many times, but when she had begun to date Ryder steadily, I paid attention to the addresses and noted her family’s home. Mr. Stark’s house wasn’t far from it, either, and I had taken rides with Aunt Cathy and him often, so I knew what Alison’s neighborhood was like. Most of the homes were modest two-story Queen Annes like hers, and most were kept nicely, with patches of lawn and some landscaping. Very few were new structures, but there were many that had been somewhat upgraded with improved landscaping and better siding.

  Once, when my mother was with us and we were passing through this area on our way to a mall to shop, she wondered aloud what it would be like to live in a house that wasn’t a mansion. Maybe these houses situated closely to each other on quiet streets brought back memories of her own home back in Guildford, England. On more than one occasion, she told me that although her father had been a banker, they certainly didn’t live in a posh mansion.

  “It’s noisier than it is at Wyndemere, that’s for sure,” Mr. Stark had told her. “Ryder Davenport could play drums in his room and no one would notice. There was a joke about Wyndemere. Old man Davenport could invite guests for a few days or so and never know if they had left or not.”

  My mother didn’t say anything more when he had told her that. She stared out the car window with a slight smile across her lips when we saw children on a front lawn running in a circle around a woman who looked like their mother. It had gotten me thinking. What, I wondered, did my mother really miss? How close were she and her sister and parents when she was young? How brokenhearted was her mother when my mother left? Did she think her father would regret casting her out of their family and contact her? Were he and she, as Mrs. Marlene would say, cut from the same cloth, both too proud to compromise or apologize? For years, all these questions surely haunted her. It was no wonder that she resisted reminiscing with me. It was like salting a wound.

  All these feelings and questions returned to my memory as we continued to Alison’s house.

  Ryder mistook my introspection for nervousness. “Hey,” he said, reaching forward to touch me on the shoulder. “Relax. You’re going to have a lot of fun.”

  Paul looked at me as if doubting that was the strangest thing possible.

  “I’m not nervous,” I said. Of course, that was a lie.

  “You’re in good hands tonight,” Paul assured me with a gleeful smile. “Right, Ryder?”

  “Just keep them on the steering wheel,” Ryder said.

  “Until we stop,” Paul replied, and laughed at his own joke, if it was a joke.

  When Paul pulled into the Reubens’ driveway, Ryder opened the door almost before he had come to a stop. He stepped out quickly and hurried to the front door. In my heart of hearts, I wished he was rushing to my door with that much enthusiasm and excitement. He disappeared inside for a few moments, and when he reemerged with Alison, her parents were with them.

  Alison’s father was a tall, stout man with broad shoulders and hair closer to Alison’s color than her mother’s, which was a darker brown, but it was obvious that Alison had inherited most of her pretty features from her mother, who really did look like she could be her older sister. Ryder gestured for us to get out and approach them.

  “What’s up?” Paul asked me.

  I saw the camera in Alison’s father’s hands. “They want to take our picture.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He nodded. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to that.”

  I sighed at his attempts to be humorous and got out. Paul followed. Who was more into themselves, I wondered, snobby rich girls or sports heroes? The only thing Paul had said about my gown when we had gotten into the car was “Nice.”

  “Nice?” Ryder had said, laughing at Paul’s response. “We’ll have to work on your vocabulary. We’re not playing softball. She looks more than just nice.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Very nice,” he’d corrected himself.

  Paul struck me as someone who couldn’t easily be embarrassed, mainly because he didn’t realize he was being kidded. He had simply shrugged. To be fair, I hadn’t given him much of a compliment, either. I wouldn’t say he was handsome in his tuxedo. He looked very uncomfortable, in fact, or, as Mrs. Marlene might say, like a fish out of water. On the way to Alison’s, he’d said he wouldn’t want to try to pitch wearing such a straitjacket. I’d looked at Ryder, who shook his head and smiled at me as if we both knew a secret.

  As we approached the Reubens now, Alison stepped out to look at me in my dress. She was wearing a long prom dress with a shirred crisscross bodice and a sweetheart neckline. It had side cutouts and a wide strap that connected in the back. It had a natural waistline and cascaded loosely over her hips. I loved her chandelier earrings. I doubted any other girl would look as sexy.

  “Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Fern!” her mother cried. “That is a beautiful dress.”

  “Yes, you do,” Alison said, with an expression I thought was a cross between surprise and disappointment.

  “I love your dress,” I said, still worried that Bea Davenport might be right. My dress was out of fashion, and the moment I entered the prom, everyone would look at me and think I was obviously wearing a hand-me-down.

  Ryder stepped up quickly to pin Alison’s corsage on her dress.

  “Very pretty corsage,” her mother said. “Yours, too, Fern.”

  “Thank you.”

  “C’mon, the four of you stop jabberin’ and stand together here,” her father ordered. “Boys on the outside, right, Tess?”

  “Yes, that will be nice. We’ll make copies for all of you,” she promised.

  Paul watched how Ryder put his arm around Alison’s waist and did the same with me. Alison’s father took a half dozen shots, and then Alison’s mother hugged her and wished us all a great time.

  “You drive carefully,” Alison’s father told Paul. Warned him sharply was more like it.

  “I’ve got it under control,” Paul said. “Just like any other game.”

  It was hard to contain the excitement in the air when Paul backed out of the driveway and we were on our way. Everyone was talking at once most of the time.

  “You know, my hairdresser did me a favor and fit Fern in today,” Alison told Paul. It was as if she wanted to absorb or take credit for every compliment.

  “Great. I did my own,” Paul said, laughing and missing the point.

  Alison smirked. “Men always have it easier than women. Did you tell Ryder what the stylist called you?” Alison asked me.

  A flutter of panic flew through my breasts.

  “No.”

  “What did he call you?” Ryder asked.

  Before I could respond, Alison blurted, “He called her the princess of Wyndemere.”

  “No kidding. What do you think of that, Paul?” Ryder asked him. “You might be with the prom queen tonight.”

  “Does that mean I’ll be king?”

  “Not necessarily, no,” Ryder said. “Each is chosen independently.”

  “Who chooses them?”

  “Traditionally, the band,” Ryder replied.

  “Okay. I’ll offer them all tickets to the playoffs. They’ll want to see that.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’ll do it for you, Paul,” Ryder joked.

  The senior class prom committee had decorated the gym with hundreds of multicolored balloons and crepe paper. The basketball nets and backboards were collapsible and had been moved to the far corners. The bleachers were also folded up and away, making for more space. Tables and chairs had been rented, the tables also with multicolored paper tablecloths. At the end opposite to where refreshments had been set up, a stage had been put together for the live band, a local Hillsborough group simply called Flight, with a lead female singer who didn’t look much older than us, t
wo guitar players, a drummer, and a keyboard player. They had recorded their first album, and Ryder had negotiated a good deal for his class by giving them permission to sell their CDs tonight, which would also serve as mementos of the prom. A professional photographer had a backdrop set up for couples to have their photos snapped, printed, and framed before they left the prom. The backdrop made it look like the couples were standing on the edge of a cliff with the ocean behind them.

  A half dozen of our teachers, some with their wives and husbands, were scattered around the gym to serve as chaperones. As soon as we arrived, the prom committee, headed by Grace Richards, practically attacked Ryder with their problems and questions regarding everything from the refreshments to the entertainment. Each was trying to impress Ryder with how important her problem was. Paul got into a conversation with some of his teammates, and Alison and I stood off to the side, where she soon attracted most of the girls in her class, who circled her with their excitement about her dress, giving me hardly a glance.

  I looked for the half dozen girls in my class who also had been invited, but they were off with their escorts talking with girls from the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades. None of them was really a close friend of mine anyway. I began to feel foolish just standing there while Paul joked with his teammates about their tuxedos. Their girlfriends were all eleventh and twelfth graders and obviously hung around together.

  Finally, Ryder broke free and returned. He took one look at me and shouted to Paul. “You’re here to dance, idiot,” he told him.

  Paul looked stunned for a moment and then nodded. “Hey,” he said. “I’m not the best dancer, but no one seems to care. How about you?”

  I shrugged. I wanted to enjoy dancing, but I was having a hard time getting into the mood. I knew the moment we stepped out there, we’d attract lots of attention. Paul’s comical moves made me look foolish, too. When I glanced at some of the kids looking at us, I saw the grins and laughter. Off to our right, Ryder and Alison were dancing. They looked so graceful together; it was like they had been dancing together most of their lives.