Chris fixed his strong regard on both before he stepped out of the elevator. “Jory, Cindy, you listen to me carefully. I want you both to do your best tonight to see that Bart’s party is successful. Forget your enmity, at least for one night. He was a troubled little boy, and he has grown into a more troubled man. He needs help, and badly. Not from more sessions with psychiatrists, but help from those who love him most—and despite everything, I know you both love him. Just as his mother and I love him and care what happens to him. As for Melodie, I visited her before dinner, and she’s not feeling well enough to attend the party. She wouldn’t let me examine her, though I tried to insist, and she says she feels too big, too clumsy and won’t be coming out where guests can stare at her enormous size. I think that might be the best solution for her. But if you would, look in on her and say a few kind words of encouragement, for that poor girl is coming apart from worry . . .”
Jory steered his chair down the hall, turning directly into his room, ignoring Melodie’s closed door. I sighed, as did Chris.
Dutifully Cindy tried to say a few consoling words to Melodie outside of her locked door before she came prancing back to join Chris and I. “I’m not going to let Melodie spoil my fun. I think she’s acting like a damned selfish fool. As for me, I intend to have the time of my life tonight,” said Cindy in parting. “I don’t give a damn about Bart and his party except what pleasure it gives me.”
“I’m concerned about Cindy,” said Chris when we were lying on our wide bed, trying to catch a short nap. “I have the feeling Cindy is not stingy with her favors.”
“Chris, don’t you dare say that! Just because we caught her with that boy Lance doesn’t mean she is loose. She’s looking, looking all the time at each young man she meets, hoping he’s the one. If one says he loves her, she believes because she needs to believe. Don’t you realize Bart has stolen her confidence? She’s afraid she is exactly what Bart thinks she is. She’s torn between being as wicked as he thinks and being as nice as we want her to be. Cindy’s a beautiful young woman . . . and Bart treats her like filth.”
It had been a long day for Chris. He closed his eyes and turned on his side to embrace me. “Eventually Bart will straighten out,” he murmured. “For the first time I’m seeing in his eyes the need to find a compromise. He has the desperate desire to find someone or something to believe in. Someday he will find what he needs, and when he does, he’ll be set free to be the fine man he is under that hateful exterior.”
Sleep and dream of impossible things, like harmony in the family, like brothers and a sister who found love for each other. Dream on, dreamer . . .
I heard the grandfather clock down the hall chiming the hour of seven when we were supposed to rise from our naps to bathe and dress. I shook Chris awake and told him to hurry and dress. He stretched, yawned, lazily got up to shower while I took a quick tub bath; then he was shaving before donning his custom-tailored tux. Chris stared at himself in a pier glass. “Cathy, am I gaining weight?” he asked with concern.
“No, darling. You look terrif—as Cindy would say.”
“What do you say?”
“You grow more handsome with each passing year.” I stepped closer to encircle his waist with my arms as my cheek rested against his back. “I love you more each year . . . and even when you are as old as Joel, I will see you as you are now . . . standing twelve feet tall, in your shining suit of armor, soon to ride your white unicorn. In your hand you’ll carry a twelve-foot spear with a green dragon’s head perched upon its point.”
In the mirror I saw his reflection; tears had come to glisten in his eyes. “After all this time, you remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “After all these many years . . .”
“As if I could forget . . .”
“But it’s been so long ago.”
“And today the moon shone at noon,” I murmured, moving to face him and slide my arms up around his neck, “and a blizzard blew in your unicorn . . . and I saw to my own delight that you’ve always had my respect. You didn’t need to earn it.”
Those two tears trickled slowly down his cheeks. I kissed them away. “So you forgive me, Catherine? Say now, while we have the chance, that you forgive me for putting you through so much hell. For Bart would have turned out differently if I had stayed only his uncle and found another wife.”
I was careful not to smudge his jacket with my makeup as I rested my cheek over his heart, which I heard thumpity-thump-thumping. Just as I’d heard it the first time our love changed and became more than it should have been. “If I blink my eyes just once, I’m twelve years old again, and you’re fourteen. I can see you as you were then . . . but I can’t see me. Chris, why can’t I see me?”
His crooked smile was bittersweet. “Because I’ve stolen all the memories of what you were and stored them in my heart. But you haven’t said you forgive me.”
“Would I be here, where I am, if I didn’t want to be?”
“I hope and pray not,” and I was held, held so tightly in his arms my ribs ached.
Outside the snow began to fall again. Inside my Christopher Doll had turned back the clock, and if there was no magic for Melodie in this house, and Lance’s departure had stolen romance from Cindy, there was more than enough magic for me when Chris was there to cast his spell.
* * *
At nine-thirty we sat, all ready to stand when Trevor hurried to open the door. He stood anxiously looking at his watch, glancing at us with great pride. Bart, Chris, Jory, and myself in our elegant expensive formal clothes faced the front windows with their splendid draperies. The towering Christmas tree in the foyer sparkled with a thousand tiny white lights. It had taken five people hours to decorate that tree.
As I sat there like some middle-aged Cinderella who had already found her prince and married him and was caught in the spell of the happy-ever-after, which wasn’t all that perfect, something pulled my eyes upward. In the shadows of the rotunda where two knights in full armor stood on pedestals opposite each other, I saw a dark shadow move. Even in the shade of that smaller closer knight, I thought I knew who it was. Joel, who was supposed to be in bed asleep, or on his knees praying for all our sinning un-Christian souls.
“Bart,” I whispered to my second son, who moved to stand beside my chair, “wasn’t this supposed to be the special party to reintroduce Joel to all his old friends?”
“Yes,” he whispered back, putting his arm over my shoulders. “But that was just my excuse. I knew he wouldn’t want to come. The truth of the matter is, few of his old friends are still alive, although many of my grandmother’s school chums are still around.” His strong fingers bit down into my shoulder’s tender flesh. “You look lovely—like an angel.”
Was that a compliment, or a suggestion?
He smiled at me cynically, then snatched his arm away as if it had betrayed him.
I laughed nervously. “Oh, someday when I’m as old as Joel I suppose I’ll take on a dowager’s hump and shuffle my feet along, and when my sinning is over, I’ll put on the halo I lost way back when I was in puberty . . .”
Both Bart and Chris scowled to hear me talk that way, but I felt good when I saw the shadow of Joel slink away.
Liveried servants readied the buffet tables as Bart got up to pace the floor, looking exceptionally handsome in his black tux with the pleated formal shirt.
I reached for Jory’s hand, squeezed it. “You’re looking just as handsome as Bart,” I whispered.
“Mom, have you given him a compliment? He looks great, really great, the very man his father must have been.”
Blushing, I felt ashamed. “No, I haven’t said a word because he seems so devilishly pleased with himself that I think he’d burst with any praise he might hear from me.”
“Mom, you’re wrong. Go on, say to him what you say to me. You may think I need it more, but I think he does.”
Standing, I strode over to where Bart was peering out onto the drive, which curved gradually downward. “Can’t
see a single headlight,” he gruffly complained. “It’s not snowing now. The roads have been cleared. Ours is sprinkled over with gravel; where the hell are they?”
“I’ve never seen you look more handsome than you do tonight, Bart.”
He turned to stare into my eyes, then he glanced at Jory. “More handsome than Jory?”
“Equally as handsome.”
Scowling, he turned back to the window. Out there he saw something to take his mind off of himself.
“Hey—look, here they come!”
I watched the string of headlights in the distance, heading up the hill. “Get ready, everybody,” called Bart, giving Trevor an excited gesture to be ready to swing wide the doors.
Chris strolled beside Jory’s chair, which he guided expertly, as I caught hold of Bart’s arm and went to form a receiving line. Trevor hurried up to give us all a bright smile.
“I just love parties, I always have, I always will. Makes the heart beat faster. Makes old bones feel young again. I can tell it’s going to be a jolly smashing one tonight.”
Two or three times Trevor said that—with less conviction each time, as still not one pair of those headlights climbed high enough to reach our drive. No one rang our bell, banged our door knocker.
The musicians were in position under the rotunda, on a dais that had been constructed especially for them, centered directly between the curving dual stairways. They tuned their instruments over and over again as my feet in their high-heeled fancy slippers began to ache. I sat again on an elegant chair and wiggled my shoes off under the folds of my gown, which was growing heavier and more uncomfortable by the minute. Eventually Chris sat beside me, and Bart took the righthand chair, all of us very silent, almost holding our breaths. Jory had his own special chair that could buzz him around tirelessly. From window to window he drove, looking out and reporting.
I knew that Cindy was upstairs, all dressed and ready, waiting to be “fashionably” late and impress everyone when finally she drifted down the stairs. She had to be growing very impatient.
“They must be coming soon—” Jory said when the hour reached ten-thirty. “There’s lots of banked snow on the side roads to confuse them . . .”
Bart’s lips were tight and grim, his eyes stony cold.
No one said anything. I was afraid to even speculate on why no one had arrived. Trevor looked very anxious when he thought we weren’t noticing.
To give myself something pleasant to think about, I fixed my eyes on the buffet tables, which reminded me so much of that first ball I’d seen in the original Foxworth Hall.
Very much like what I was staring at.
Red linen tablecloths, silver dishes and bowls. A fountain spraying champagne. Huge, gleaming, chafing dishes emitting delicious odors. Heaps and heaps of food on fancy tiered plates of crystal, porcelain, gold, and silver. At last I could resist no longer and got up to taste of this and that while Bart frowned and complained I was ruining the beautiful designs. I wrinkled my nose his way and handed Chris a plate full of everything I knew he’d like best. Soon Jory was helping himself.
Red beeswax bayberry candles burned lower and lower. Towering gelatin masterpieces began to sag. Melted cheeses began to toughen, and the heating sauces thickened. Crepe batter waited to be poured on turned over thin pans, while chefs eyed each other curiously. I had to look away from all that was going bad.
Fires cheered all our main rooms, making them cozy, exceptionally lovely. Extra servants grew restless and anxious-looking as they fidgeted and began to mill about, whispering amongst themselves, not knowing what to do.
Down the stairs drifted Cindy in a crimson hooped-skirted gown, so elaborate it put my delicately beaded gown to shame. Hers had a tight bodice, with a flounce of fluted ruffles to cover a little of her upper arms, displaying her shoulders to advantage and creating a magnificent frame for her creamy, swelling breasts. The red gown was cut very low. The skirt was a masterpiece of ruffles, caught with white silk flowers rain-dropped with iridescent crystals, A few of these white silk blossoms were tucked in her upswept hair, duplicating something Scarlett O’Hara might have liked.
“Where’s everybody?” she asked, looking around, her radiant expression fading. “I waited and waited to hear the music playing, then sort of dozed off, thinking when I woke that I was missing out on all the fun.”
She paused and glanced around before a look of dismay flooded her expression. “Don’t tell me nobody’s going to come! I just can’t stand another disappointment!” Dramatically she threw her hands about.
“No one has as yet arrived, Miss,” said Trevor tactfully. “They must have lost their way, and I must say you look a dream of loveliness, as does your mother.”
“Thank you,” she said, floating his way and brushing his cheek with a daughterly kiss. “You look very distinguished yourself.” She dashed past Bart’s look of astonishment and ran to the piano. “Please, may I?” she asked a young, good-looking musician who seemed delighted to have something happening, at last.
Cindy sat down beside him, put her hands on the keys, threw back her head and began to sing: “Oh, holy night, Oh, night when stars are shining.”
I stared, as did all of us, at the girl we thought we knew so well. It wasn’t an easy song to sing, but she did it so well, with so much emotion even Bart stopped pacing the floor to turn and stare at her in amazement.
Tears were in my eyes. Oh, Cindy, how could you keep that voice a secret for so long? Her piano playing was only adequate, but that voice, the feeling she put into her phrasing. All the musicians then joined in to drown out her piano playing, if not her voice.
I sat, stunned, hardly believing that my Cindy could sing so beautifully. When she’d finished, we all applauded enthusiastically. As Jory called out, “Sensational! Fantastic! Absolutely wonderful, Cindy! You sneak—you never told us you continued with your voice lessons.”
“I haven’t. It’s just me expressing the way I feel.”
She cast her eyes down, then took a sly, hooded look at Bart’s astonished expression, which showed not only his surprise but some pleasure as well. For the first time he had found something to admire about Cindy. Her small smile of satisfaction fleeted quickly by, kind of a sad smile, as if she wished Bart could like her for other reasons as well.
“I love Christmas carols and religious songs, they do something for me. Once in school I sang ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,’ and the teacher said I had the kind of emotional feeling to make a great singer. But I still want most to be an actress.”
Laughing and happy again, she asked us to join in and we’d make this a real party, even if no one showed up. She began to bang out a tune resembling “Joy to the World.” Then “Jingle Bells.”
This time Bart was not moved.
He strode again to the windows to stare out, his back straight. “They can’t ignore my invitations, not when they responded,” he mumbled to himself.
I couldn’t understand how his business friends could dare to offend him when he had to be their most important client, and everyone loved a party, especially the kind of party they had to know would be sensational.
Somehow or other, Bart was accomplishing miracles with that five hundred thousand a year, making it grow in ways that Chris would have found too risky. Bart risked everything . . . calculated gambles that paid off handsomely. Only then did I realize that perhaps my mother had meant it to be this way. If she had given Bart all the fortune in one grand huge sum, he wouldn’t have worked as hard to build his own fortune, which would, if he kept it up, far exceed what Malcolm had left him. And in this way Bart would find his own worth.
Yet what did money matter when he was so disappointed he couldn’t eat a thing that was lavishly displayed? However, disillusionment drove him to the liquor, and in a short while he’d managed to swallow half a dozen strong drinks as he paced the floors, growing angrier by the second.
I could hardly bear to watch his disappointment, and soon, despite mysel
f, tears were silently wetting my face.
Chris whispered, “We can’t go to bed and leave him here alone. Cathy, he’s suffering. Look at him pacing back and forth. With every step he takes his anger grows. Somebody is going to pay for this slight.”
Eleven-thirty came and went.
By this time Cindy was the only one having a good time. The musicians and servants seemed to adore her. Eagerly they played and she sang. When she wasn’t singing, she was dancing with every man there, even Trevor and other male servants. She gestured to the maids, inviting them to dance, and happily they joined in the festivity she created around her as they took turns to see that she, at least, was entertained.
“Let’s all eat, drink, and be merry!” Cindy cried, smiling at Bart. “It’s not the end of the world, brother Bart. What do you care? We’re too rich to be well liked. We’re also too rich to feel sorry for ourselves. And look, we have at least twenty guests . . . let’s dance, drink, eat, have a ball!”
Bart stopped pacing to stare at her. Cindy held high her glass of champagne. “My toast to you, brother Bart. For every ugly thing you’ve said to me, I give you back blessings of good will, good health, long life, and much love.” She touched his highball glass with her champagne glass and then sipped, smiling into his eyes charmingly before she offered another toast. “I think you look absolutely terrif, and the girls who don’t show up tonight are missing the chance of their lifetimes. So here it is, another toast to the most eligible bachelor in the world. I wish you joy, I wish you happiness, I wish you love. I would wish you success, but you don’t need that.”
He couldn’t move his eyes away. “Why don’t I need success?” he asked in a low tone.
“Because what more could you want? You have success when you have millions, and soon enough you’ll have more money than you know what to do with.”
Bart’s dark head bowed. “I don’t feel successful. Not when no one will even come to my party.” His voice cracked as he turned his back.
The Flowers in the Attic Series: The Dollangangers: Flowers in the Attic, Petals on the Wind, If There Be Thorns, Seeds of Yesterday, and a New Excerpt! Page 144
