Oh, yes, she could. She had read his review. She said carefully, “I know Daddy looked down on classical crossover. I can give you all the usual arguments – I use tried and true compositional patterns, I draw on folklore and mythology for my source material, I’m in the vein of the Romantics – but the truth is I like telling stories through music. I feel lucky that others like it too.”
“What are your demographics?” Diana leaned back on one hand and twisted herself around to open a desk drawer with the other, a contortionist’s trick that somehow didn’t topple her over. “I can’t imagine that you really fly with Gen-X or Y or whatever the new Gen is right now.”
“Well – no.” Laura watched, appalled, as she pulled out a bottle and refilled her glass. “I sell best to baby boomers, especially men. I do very well, don’t ask me why, in Scandinavia and Canada and Russia. The fastest I ever sold out was in Iceland. I guess it’s all those dark nights.”
My God, Di, you keep Scotch in your desk?
Lucy, now off the phone, looked impassively at Laura. “Sure,” she said, “they need something to listen to while they’re drowning their sorrows over the short days.”
She’s trying to live with the memory of Francie. And you let it happen.
“But your voice,” Diana continued, without missing a beat. “You never sing anything but mezzo now, and you had such a sweet soprano when you were younger! I was shocked the first time I heard you. And Daddy was so mad! He said he’d wasted all that time working on your range—”
“I sing mezzo because that’s what I am. I had problems with my voice about ten years ago, and the doctors said I had been straining my vocal cords trying to sing out of my tessitura.” She did not add, because she did not have to, that she had only attempted coloratura soprano because Dominic had forced her to.
Silence greeted that. Diana looked deep into her glass, and Lucy looked down at the blotter on the desk, not quickly enough to hide the sheen of tears.
“How do you deal with it?” Diana finally broke the stillness, restlessly, rhythmically tapping her shoe against the desk front.
“Deal with what?” Diana’s abrupt switches in topic confused her.
“Daddy,” said Diana flatly. “What he did. To you. To all of us.”
She hadn’t prepared for that. Maybe she hadn’t really prepared for any of this, or else why did she feel so disoriented? She bit off the instinctive answer, I don’t keep a bottle handy, for starters. Diana hadn’t been joking. “I went to counseling for a few years. I learned a little about myself, that there wasn’t anything inherently wrong or – or bad about me, it was him and his obsessions. And – and I just put him out of my mind, as much as I could. I was pretty busy when Meg was little, and by the time she was older – it didn’t hurt as much to think about him.”
“Meg?” Diana turned back to Lucy with her question.
“Laurie’s daughter. Doesn’t look like her at all.”
“Oh, we have a niece?” Diana refilled her tumbler. “What’s her voice?”
“She’s in ballet.” Laura wondered where the food was; Diana’s eyes were glazing over. “She started when she was four. She went en pointe last year.”
“Ballet!” Lucy leaned forward. “Di – didn’t your grandmother do some time in the corps?”
“No.” Diana dabbed at her nose with a lace handkerchief. “You’re thinking of our great-grandma. She danced in Paris fin de siècle – mostly with her clothes off. You probably never heard, Laurie, you know how Daddy was. Mama used to tell me the stories.”
Laura knew almost nothing about her mother or her mother’s family, since Renée Dane had disappeared into the sea three weeks after her birth. Francie had not remembered her, and the Ashmores had never known her, so Laura had only glimpsed the woman who had given her life through Diana’s few memories. She hadn’t seen a picture of her mother until she was an adult (Dominic had destroyed all photographs), so she never expected Lucy’s next question.
“Have you ever heard from my mother, Laurie?”
“Me?” She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “No. Why would I?”
“We thought you might.” Lucy sounded matter-of-fact. “Sometimes, when people become rich and famous, they start hearing from all kinds of forgotten relatives.”
“I didn’t.” She was still stunned from the unexpected broadside. “Maybe she did contact someone, I don’t know. If she asked for money – it’s entirely possible that Cam got rid of her and never told me. And I don’t get my Cat Courtney mail. It goes to an outside firm for scanning.”
“Yes, we know,” said Lucy dryly. “I have conducted quite a correspondence with them. Did it never occur to you that we might like to hear from you?”
“It was thoughtless, not to say rude, to ignore us,” added Diana. “We missed you.”
The force of their accusing stares drove her back against her chair. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.” She wanted to wince at her defensiveness; she had nothing to excuse. “I wasn’t before.”
And no way on earth was I going to bring Meg back here.
Lucy’s head shot up.
“How dare you? Did we ever, either one of us, make you feel unwelcome? Don’t you confuse either of us with Dominic – you never had any reason to think we didn’t want you to come home—” And she left her words dangling, weighted with the burden of that unspoken name.
Diana had gone pale, but she managed to whisper through dry lips, “You should have known better. You were silly to think that we would throw you out. Remember that poem Philip always used to recite? Something about home is where when you go there, they have to take you in?”
“Frost,” said Lucy. “His favorite. I’m sorry, Laurie. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I don’t understand why you ran off like that. I wish you’d tell us.”
The invitation hung in the air.
Laura looked at them both. “No.”
She’d thrown down the gauntlet, she knew that. She could not gauge how they would react – Diana, clearly stoned, clearly drunk and getting drunker, and Lucy, flexing some familial muscle to see how malleable Laura still was. She sensed a battle of wills even between the two of them, a hint that Diana had not totally surrendered to Lucy.
But Lucy surprised her. “Okay,” she said, “you’ll tell us in your own good time.”
The atmosphere, tense enough at that moment, lightened with a discreet knock and the arrival of a plate of crudités. Lucy abandoned the power struggle and kept a light conversation going. Laura told them about the show in London and life as a working actress; Diana gave her a quick turn around the club that they had bought two years before and remodeled from a bankrupt gentlemen’s club, gambling that adult piano bars would come back into fashion. “Maybe we’ll turn a profit soon,” said Diana hopefully when they returned, and managed to eat an orange slice before she helped herself to another drink.
“We’d better,” Lucy sighed. “I’m getting tired of Tom’s lectures about cash flow.”
“Do you enjoy it, Di?” Laura could not imagine Diana running a business.
Diana shrugged. “Most of the time. It’s a good place to meet people.” Lucy shot her a curious glance under her lashes, and Laura noticed the coldness Diana volleyed in return. “I handle the entertainment side – you know, line up the acts – and Lucy does the books. I hate that sort of thing.”
She had no problem believing that. “Do you ever play here?”
She saw the idea dawning in Lucy’s eyes even as Diana shrugged again and said that, no, she wasn’t much interested in playing for the clientele. She said, “No, Lucy!” but Lucy paid her no heed.
“Of course! It would be perfect. You’re our sister, after all, the one who made it big. Why shouldn’t you come and sing for us one night? My God, think of it—”
“No, no, no—”
“Cat Courtney herself appearing at the Tavern – we’d make it into the black for sure!” She turned sparkling eyes to her victim. “Com
e on, you know you’ll do it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. You can do the playlist from Waterfalls. Di could play for you. Your songs are all arranged for piano.”
Still running everyone’s lives, Richard had said. “No. I’m on vacation. My manager would have a fit.”
“Doesn’t he work for you? Or do you work for him?”
“Well, I wonder sometimes. I don’t—”
Lucy dismissed all that. “Just one night – that shouldn’t interfere with your vacation that much. We’ll make it for a charity, sell tables, have a reception and auction afterwards… people love that sort of thing. My God, what a coup!” She pulled a sheet of paper towards her and started writing. “The neonatal wing at the hospital, they’re always looking for money. I’ll contact them… and I’ll work things out with your manager. Give me his number.”
She’d argue better with a tank. “But I don’t want to.”
“Just one performance, Laurie, that’s all,” Lucy coaxed. “You can’t believe how much it would help us. You’re big time now, even if this isn’t the North Pole. Besides,” and she smiled sweetly, “you’re our sister. You’ve cut us out of half your life. Are you really going to turn us down?”
“Lucy—”
“And think of those poor kids – all those crack babies, and the preemies – it’ll just break your heart—”
Had Lucy always been such an accomplished blackmailer? Laura turned to Diana for salvation. “Surely you don’t want this?”
“Why not?” said Diana, and finished her drink. “It would help the club. I don’t mind playing for you, if we can get some decent rehearsal time in.”
“Of course.” Oh, dear heavens, she was agreeing to this nonsense. They obviously had no idea that Cat Courtney sang with a full orchestra behind her, not one drunk piano player. “No, no, I mean – my manager won’t approve it – Lucy—”
Lucy lurched to her feet, stumbled across the room to the adjoining bathroom, slammed the door, and audibly threw up.
“What the hell?” Diana began, and started to put down her glass.
Laura didn’t wait for her. She thrust past Diana to the closed door and raised her hand to knock, then hesitated until she heard running water and Lucy saying faintly in protest, “I’m all right. Go away.”
“Open the door, Lucy.”
“What in the world—” Diana swayed behind her, and fell silent when Lucy peeked out again.
If she’d had any doubts about her informal diagnosis, the sight of Lucy, pale, trembling, and too sick to be humiliated, dispelled them. She ignored Lucy’s protest and hooked her arm around her sister’s waist. “She’s okay. Get her a damp cloth, all right? And get out of the way.” Lucy was no lightweight. One foot, two – it couldn’t really be such a trek back to the desk, but Lucy had gone limp against her, and it took ages to cross the floor.
She managed to deposit her sister back in her chair. Lucy moaned, a quiet little moan with no real backbone, and slumped forward onto folded arms on the desktop. Cool to the touch, Laura noted. She smoothed back Lucy’s dark hair and took a dripping cloth from Diana’s outstretched hand.
“Here. Raise your head.”
Diana hovered while Laura squeezed the cloth into a glass. “I’m almost afraid to ask.” The alcohol had fled from her voice. “Are you pregnant again?”
“Again?” Laura looked up in surprise, and barely caught Lucy’s weak assent.
“Lucy?” Diana reached over to touch her arm. “How far along?”
They had to strain to hear, “Two months.”
“Oh, honestly!” Whatever Laura had expected to hear, it was not such an indignant response. Diana’s eyes had lost their dullness and were shining with all the animation of – what was she sniffing? Not cocaine, surely, not from a handkerchief, unless she was really extravagant. “Didn’t your doctor tell you to wait six months before you tried again? What is the matter with you, are you determined to have a baby or die trying?”
“That’s enough.” Laura hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. “If you’re not going to help, sit down and be quiet. Lucy,” she bent over her sister, “are you okay now?”
Lucy lifted her head slowly. Laura saw that a little color had begun to stain her sister’s face again, and automatically her hand went out again to smooth back the hair from Lucy’s forehead. “I’m fine.” Lucy’s voice gathered strength. “Something just hit me wrong all of a sudden. Maybe it was the fruit.”
“More likely, all the tension,” Laura said gently. “I know my stomach’s been tied in knots all day, and I’m not pregnant. Look, should we call Tom and have him come get you? Or I’ll run you home, if that’s more convenient.”
Diana had slumped down into Laura’s chair, her arms crossed across her chest. “Yes, call Tom, why don’t you? He’s going to get a piece of my mind, getting you pregnant so soon—”
“Shut up, Di.” Lucy definitely felt better now. She was strong enough to scowl ferociously across the table. “Don’t blame Tom. He was just as upset as you when we found out.”
“Why should anyone be upset?” Diana and Lucy stopped glaring at each other long enough to turn startled eyes in Laura’s direction. She couldn’t fathom Diana’s antagonism – surely a childless married woman was entitled to get pregnant without her family acting as if she had done something criminal? “I think it’s wonderful. When are you due?”
“January,” Lucy started, and Diana interrupted.
“It isn’t wonderful! It’s damn dumb, is what it is! January – oh, my God, that’ll make it just a year—”
Lucy said quietly to Laura, “All this ranting and raving is because I had a stillbirth last September. The – the baby did live for a few minutes. We named him John for Tom’s dad. Then I had another miscarriage in January.”
“Oh, Lucy.” She hurt for her sister. Her own miscarriages, except for the last, had been fairly early; she had mourned terribly, had blamed herself for her inability to sustain life for those poor flawed embryos. But to lose a baby that you could actually hold in your arms – oh, Lucy, how do you stand it? I couldn’t bear the loss. She said carefully, “Do they know what happened?”
Diana still sparked angrily. “Yes. Premature labor syndrome. Incompetent cervix. And only a certified idiot would get pregnant again after that, particularly after having three – three! – miscarriages in the two years before that—”
“All right, so I’m an idiot,” Lucy yelled back. “We can’t all be Miss Fertility—”
“Cut!” Incredible! She couldn’t believe her sisters, spitting and clawing at each other, two mother cats each clawing the other’s maternity. “I don’t see the point in this,” she said more calmly, as Lucy subsided back onto the desktop and Diana slouched down into her chair. “I, for one, am excited, Lucy, being a mom is – it’s just the best thing in life.”
This is what Richard wouldn’t tell me. This is why Lucy was in the hospital. Diana continued to glower, even though deep down she had to be scared stiff. The stillbirth must have been harrowing. No wonder he had written that Diana was falling apart – forget al Qaeda, she had been worried about Lucy.
Hers had not been the only September 11 loss, or the greatest.
She drew in a deep breath and held out her hands to both her sisters. Lucy didn’t hesitate but slid her hand under Laura’s fingers; she was shocked to feel how fragile Lucy’s capable hand felt in her own. Diana wasn’t as easy to win over. She pointedly looked beyond Laura’s shoulders, and after a few moments, Laura let her hand drop.
Fine. If Diana wanted to sulk, she wouldn’t stop her.
She stood up and summoned Cat Courtney’s command. “You need to get on home, Lucy. I’ll follow you home, if you’re up to driving.” Lucy nodded, subdued. Laura looked over at Diana, who had reached for her not-quite-empty tumbler. “Give me a call, Di. Here’s my cell number. I’ll be out at Edwards Lake for a while.”
“Edwards Lake?” Diana’s head jerked up. “Out near Richard?”
“Right.” Storm warnings flew in Diana’s eyes again, but she’d had quite enough. “Come on, Lucy, let’s go.”
Her firmness had thrown her sisters. They were eying her cautiously, unsure how to take a baby sister who had seized the moment. The balance of power had shifted again. Lucy obviously still felt unwell; her protestations were mild, and she put up little resistance as Laura packed her into her car. Diana, trailing behind them, kept a strange silence while Lucy settled herself.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Laura said, and Lucy nodded tiredly as she pulled the seat belt around her. “I’m in the silver Jag. Keep me in the mirror.”
“Before you go,” Diana’s voice cut through hers, “I want to know something. Where’s Francie?”
That nailed the coffin of Laura’s patience.
“Diana,” she said clearly, and didn’t care whether her voice carried, whether the patrons now arriving for cocktail hour heard her or recognized her, “this isn’t the time or place to discuss Francie. We’ll talk later.”
She thought she heard “Thank God” from inside the car, but she ignored Lucy. She felt in control now, fixing Diana with all the strength of her stage presence and watching as Diana straightened up and visibly fought her way past the alcoholic mists. She was angry, angry that Diana dared bring Francie up, angry that she had forgotten that Francie could never laugh and argue with them again. Angry because, for this hour, she had not remembered how Diana had won the war.
“No, I want to know now,” Diana persisted. “You don’t want to talk about you, fine, don’t! But I want to know. Where is she? Why did she run away?”
If she hadn’t spent that wild hour mourning on the sands of the Chesapeake, she might have forgiven her. She might have listened to Diana and wondered, she might have seen the questioning in Diana’s face, but she never would have turned on her.
All Who Are Lost (Ashmore's Folly Book 1) Page 18
