by Janet Dailey
The closer they came to her home on the outskirts of the city, the more her thoughts became preoccupied with her dilemma. When Forest walked her to the door, the kiss she gave him appeared natural enough on the surface, but underneath her nerves were becoming raw from the strain of her decision.
When she stepped inside the house, she discovered her legs were trembling. Their weakness had no basis in Forest’s ardent kiss. Her widened eyes, like fully opened African violets, darted to the closed study door, almost the only room in the large, rambling house that her father used. In her mind’s eye, Erica could visualise the freezing scorn and contempt that would pierce the blue depths of his eyes if she went to him with her problem.
It had never been his contempt that she had feared. There had been times in the past when she had deliberately provoked his wrath to gain his attention. Only once had her actions backfired on her, the very last time she had done it. Only afterwards had she realised how very foolish her childish attempts had been.
But it had succeeded in forcing her to grow up. And Erica had finally realised that her father was incapable of loving her as much as she loved him. In many ways their temperaments were alike. She could be as bull-headed and stubborn as he and just as quick to anger. Yet Vance Wakefield was not able to give of himself and he had never been able to understand her need as a child to be constantly assured of his affection.
Her coming of age had opened her eyes to this one fallacy of her father’s. In the last almost two years, Erica had stopped demanding more than he could give. Their relationship had reached a peak of casual companionship that she had never thought they could attain. To go to him now would destroy it.
Her teeth sank sharply into her lower lip to bite back the sob of despair. Casting a last furtive glance at the study, she hurried down the hallway to her bedroom. When the oak door was closed behind her, she leaned weakly against it, then pushed herself away to cross the Persian carpet of a richly patterned blue and gold. Her fingers closed tightly around the carved oak bedpost while her darkly clouded eyes stared at the brilliant sea blue of the bedspread.
Her first impulse was to throw herself on to the bed, to wallow in a pool of self-pity that she was ever foolish enough to get in such a situation. Instead Erica shook her head determinedly, banishing the impulse as a waste of energy. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, breathing in deeply to calm her jumping nerves. Low, mocking laughter surged through the tight muscles of her throat, its echo taunting her as it sounded through the room.
‘I’ve spent nearly two years hiding and dreading this day,’ she chided herself. ‘I kept stupidly believing that it would all work out on its own.’
She buried her head in her hands, refusing to cry as she forced her mind to search for a solution — any solution that would not involve going to her father. Lifting her head out of her hands and letting her fingers close over her throat, she sighed dispiritedly. If only she had someone to talk to, she thought dejectedly. Someone close who would understand what had prompted her to do such a stupid thing. She refused to take the chance of confiding in Forest and risk the loss of his love.
She had no close girl friends, at least, none she would trust with this kind of damaging information. As she was growing up, her father had insisted she attend private schools, snobbishly believing they offered a better and broader education. At the same time Erica had thought he was sending her to these expensive boarding schools because he didn’t care about her. Only now could she see that he simply had not known what to do with a young child under his roof. The few friends she had made lived in other parts of the country and after more than four years of separation, correspondence between them had ceased except for annual Christmas cards.
Lawrence Darby, her father’s secretary and Man Friday, had always been a sympathetic sounding board in the past, but Erica was totally aware that any major problem he automatically carried to Vance Wakefield, the very thing she wanted to avoid. Not that Lawrence would deliberately betray her, he would only be turning to the man Lawrence knew would have the connections and influence to solve it.
As for relations, Erica only had aunts and uncles and cousins, none of whom were over-concerned about her personal problems or even whether she had any. She drew a sharp breath of hope.
‘Uncle Jules,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, how stupid! Why didn’t I think of him before?’
Jules Blackwell was not related to her at all, but he had grown up with Vance Wakefield and was one of her father’s rare friends. When Erica was born, Jules Blackwell had appointed himself as her godparent and had taken an active interest in her life. His affection she had never doubted, in fact took for granted. His position and profession were independent of her father’s and therefore Jules looked on her father as a man and not the powerful Vance Wakefield. And the man she had affectionately titled ‘uncle’ was aware of the struggle she had made to win her father’s love. He could be trusted not to race to her father.
Equally important as all the other reasons was the knowledge that Jules Blackwell was an attorney of some renown. For the first time in nearly two years, the yoke of shame and guilt seemed to ease its ponderous weight from her shoulders and Erica wanted to cry with relief. But the time for weeping was when success was in her grasp.
Dashing to the polished oak chest of drawers, she rummaged through the expensive lingerie until her fingers closed around the knotted handkerchief buried in one corner. Hot colour raged over her skin at the touch of the heavy metal object penetrating the material. The red stain didn’t leave her cheeks until the knotted handkerchief was buried again, this time in the bottom of her purse.
Sleep eluded her so that most of her rest came in fitful dozes. Still Erica tarried in bed as long as she could the next morning to avoid meeting her father. When she arrived in the sunny yellow breakfast room, only Lawrence was still seated.
‘You’re late this morning,’ he smiled, his eyes crinkling behind wire-rimmed glasses. He was only two years older than Forest, yet his receding hairline and thinness added at least ten years.
‘I overslept,’ Erica fibbed, helping herself to toast and marmalade before pouring a cup of coffee for herself.
‘Vance has already eaten, but he asked me to pass a message on to you.’
‘What’s that?’ Subconsciously she was holding her breath as she took a chair opposite Lawrence.
‘The first part was to remind you about the dinner tonight at the Mendelsens’ and the second was to suggest that you invite Mr Granger to accompany you.’
Her surprised glance took in the rather smug expression. Her father’s suggestions were virtually royal commands, and never before had he even hinted one of her dates should be included in an invitation extended to them.
’did you have any part in his suggestion, Lawrence?’ A knowing smile played with the corners of her mouth.
‘No one makes decisions for your father.’ But there was a twinkle in the pale blue eyes that indicated he had undoubtedly introduced Forest’s name into the conversation. ‘I think Vance is beginning to realise there might be something serious developing between you two.’
It was a probing remark designed to inspire confidence, but Erica knew her reply would be passed on to her father. It was his indirect way of remaining involved in her life without taking the time to inquire for himself.
‘It’s a bit soon to be certain, but it could be serious.’ It was serious, but Erica didn’t want to admit that until she had her other problem solved. ‘I’ll call Forest when I get to the boutique and find out if he’s free this evening.’
‘How is business?’ Lawrence inquired.
‘I believe Daddy is going to be very surprised when he receives my monthly report,’ she declared, raising a complacent brow as she sipped her coffee.
Over a year ago Erica had persuaded her father that she needed an outside interest, some reason for getting up in the morning. It was beneath his dignity to allow her to be employed by someone. She was
Vance Wakefield’s daughter. Erica doubted that her father had actually believed she was serious. To humour her, he had financed the setting up of a small boutique along the landscaped riverwalk.
Along with some of his other traits, Erica had also inherited his business acumen. At the end of her first year in business, the exclusive dress shop had broken even. Now, partly due to nearly flawless taste in fashions and her keen management, it was beginning to show a profit. Being responsible for its success or failure had also made Erica appreciate more the endless demands her father’s multiple interests placed upon him.
The instant Lawrence left the breakfast nook, all conscious thought of the boutique vanished. The haste that made Erica leave her toast and coffee half finished was a desire to arrive at the shop and call Jules Blackwell in privacy where there was no risk that her father or Lawrence could accidentally overhear.
The boutique, appropriately called ‘Erica’s’, was already open when Erica arrived. As she locked the doors of her sports car, she said a silent prayer of thanks that she had acquired a clerk as trustworthy and conscientious as Donna Kemper, a petitely attractive blonde in her early thirties, divorced and with two little school-age girls. With Donna and a teenage girl named Mary who helped part-time after school, Erica had discovered the shop could survive without her constant supervision.
There was only one customer in the store when she walked in. Smiling a hello to the woman, Erica murmured a friendly greeting to Donna.
‘The shipment has arrived from Logan’s,’ Donna informed her.
Erica’s head bobbed in wry acknowledgment. ‘I have some calls to make, then I’ll be out to give you a hand.’
A wide smile of understanding spread across the fair woman’s face. ‘We’ve waited this long to receive it. Another few hours before it’s on the rack won’t make much difference.’
Then the customer required Donna’s attention and Erica walked to the back of the store to the small alcove hidden in the storage section. After she dialled Jules’s office number, she sifted through the mail Donna had placed on the desk, schooling her hammering heart to slow down. It was several minutes before his secretary was able to connect her with Jules. He was plainly delighted and surprised that she had called. The open affection in his voice made her wish she had done it earlier and not have to seek him out now when she had a problem.
‘I was calling to see if you would be free around lunch time, Uncle Jules,’ Erica explained in answer to his question.
‘Are you asking me out to lunch, young lady?’ His teasing laughter lifted her spirits. ‘Because if you are, I’m accepting.’
‘Actually, I am,’ she smiled at the beige-coloured receiver, visualising the rotund, ever-smiling face on the opposite end.
‘Good. Where would you like me to meet you?’
Erica hesitated. ‘I . . . I was hoping I could see you for a few minutes at your office.’
Her statement was followed by a small silence before his voice spoke again, the laughter giving way to solemnness. ‘Are you and Vance having problems again?’
‘No, not exactly,’ she hedged.
He must have sensed her unwillingness to discuss it over the telephone. ‘All right. I’ll expect you here at eleven-thirty. How’s that?’
‘Thank you,’ she sighed.
’don’t worry. Uncle Jules will fix it, whatever it is.’
When Erica replaced the receiver, a tentative smile was gleaming in her eyes. With her burden lightened, she telephoned Forest, who very willingly accepted the invitation her father had extended.
Two
* * *
Promptly at eleven-thirty, Erica entered the spacious reception area of the Blackwell & Todd law firm. The receptionist-secretary glanced up, her keen look appraising the fairly tall, curvaceously slender girl in the simple elegant dress of vivid blue flowers against a background of white.
‘Good morning, Miss Wakefield,’ she greeted Erica. ‘Mr Blackwell said for me to send you right in the minute you arrived.’
Erica nodded her thanks, her fingers tightening nervously on the strap of her white purse. Between unpacking the shipment of new fashions that had arrived and waiting on customers, there had been little time to mentally prepare for her meeting with Jules. She would have welcomed a few minutes’ delay.
The door to his office was open and a moderately heavy-set man was sitting behind the desk, his dark hair liberally peppered with grey as he bent over some papers on his desk. At her light rap, his head raised, the stern expression of concentration replaced by a jovial smile that seemed to better fit his features.
‘Hello, Uncle Jules,’ she smiled, stepping into the room as he pushed himself out of the large leather chair.
‘Close the door.’ His hand wagged the air in accompaniment of his order. By the time Erica had complied, he was standing in front of her, only an inch or two taller than she was. ‘I don’t want to make my associates jealous when they see me kissing a beautiful young girl,’ he declared with a broad wink. After he had placed an affectionate kiss on her proffered cheek, his arm circled her shoulders as he drew her towards a large chair near his desk. ‘It’s been two months — no, three months since I last saw you. That’s much too long, Erica.’
The mild reproof changed her smile to one of rueful apology. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Jules. It doesn’t seem that long, but what with one thing or another, time has a way of slipping by.’
‘From all I’ve heard, your dress shop is doing well,’ he nodded, forsaking the chair behind his desk for one next to Erica’s while he retained possession of one of her hands. ‘I’ve also heard you’ve been seeing a great deal of Forest Granger,’ he added with a twinkle. ‘If he’s lasted this long, you must be more than just fond of him.’
Erica had forgotten how easy it was to confide in Jules. ‘I am,’ she admitted, glancing down at the stubby fingers holding her hand. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m in love with him.’ She tossed her head back, sending her long brunette hair away from her shoulders and down her back. ‘Last night, Forest asked me to marry him.’
‘Mmmm.’ A thoughtfully serious look crept into his otherwise smiling expression. ‘And Forest Granger has been something of a playboy, loving them and leaving them. Which means his reputation has preceded him in your father’s eye. Is that what you wanted to see me about? So I could use my charm to convince Vance that he’s the right man for you?’
‘No, I . . . I don’t think Daddy is bothered by that.’ Now that it was time to tell Jules why she was here, Erica found herself faltering. ’daddy isn’t going to be a problem.’
‘But something else is,’ he prodded gently.
The deep breath she had taken was exhaled slowly so that her affirmative ‘yes’ came out as a sigh. ’do you remember — it will be two years ago this January — when I insisted that Daddy and I take a vacation together?’
‘To Acapulco? Yes, I remember,’ Jules smiled. ‘As I recall, you came to me then to enlist my persuasion in that effort. Considering the improvement in the relationship between the two of you after you came back, I think spending time alone together was the best thing that could have happened. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t take a vacation together before.’
‘The whole thing was a fiasco, a terrible disaster,’ Erica declared in a trembling voice.
She stared sightlessly at shelves of law books behind his desk, no longer trying to stop the flood of vivid memories. Her voice was flat and unemotional as she related her narrative of the events that had taken place. It was a censored version dealing only with facts, but in her mind, Erica relived every moment.
The idea for the vacation had developed from an obsessive need to be the sole object of her father’s attention. Only by separating him from his business could she succeed. Many times in her growing years, Vance Wakefield had hired a female companion and sent Erica off in her company to some exclusive resort, but never once in all her years could she remember her father taking any vacation, any
respite from his work.
Enlisting the aid of everyone around him, Erica had forced a reluctant agreement from her father that he should take a vacation. Her first clue that her plans were not going the way she had intended was when her father made reservations for three, explaining that Lawrence had not had any vacation in the four years he had worked for him.
Not until they had stepped from the plane and were registered and shown to the expensive suite of rooms in one of the luxurious hotels in Acapulco did Erica fully realise that a vacation to Vance Wakefield meant conducting business long distance. Her first reaction had been anger, then a complete denial that she wanted his company at all as she commandeered Lawrence, with her father’s permission.
Lawrence tagged faithfully after her that first afternoon when Erica fled the hotel for the sun-kissed beaches of Acapulco. Anger tempered with self-pity seethed just below the surface as she realised that Lawrence was to be her companion bodyguard, a male babysitter not much different from the women chaperones her father had forced on her in the past. As the toes of her sandals dug into the golden sand, she knew her father was probably congratulating himself over his threefold usage of Lawrence, a secretary when he needed him, a suitable companion to show Erica the sights, and providing Lawrence with a paid vacation in a luxury resort. Vance Wakefield was capable of such a callously insensitive thought.
‘Poor Lawrence,’ she murmured aloud, staring at the vast expanse of blue water, broken only by curling white caps, the occasional boat and the heads of swimmers.
‘Why poor me?’ he asked quietly, stopping beside her, his tan jacket thrown over one shoulder with his tie sticking out of its pocket. The whiteness of his shirt, opened at the throat, accented his pale skin.
‘As long and as hard as you’ve worked for Daddy, this is some kind of repayment — being constantly at his beck and call and forced to put up with me,’ sighed Erica, feeling almost as sorry for him as she did for herself.
