by Diane Wood
Once settled in California, Mother had continued the lucrative business of supplying boys and girls to the jaded rich, only now she owned an impressive small estate in an expensive neighborhood and had developed a high profile as a clairvoyant. Privately, Charlotte Silver was the person to go to when you wanted your desires satisfied, no matter how perverse—confidentiality guaranteed.
After Mother had left, George had implored Nathalie to stay at his new home, but she’d avoided it. Then Mother provided tickets for them to visit in Los Angeles. It had been a demand. And it had been three weeks of hell.
From the moment their plane touched down in Los Angeles, it had been made clear that Mother expected Nat to help entertain at whatever parties Charlotte was catering to. Nathalie had refused, and Mother was furious. Twice during the stay George had forced his way into her bed, begging her to love him like she had when they were children, like she had when they’d been forced to perform for clients. Bitterly, she’d fought him, allowing him only the comfort of being held by her until he fell asleep. Nat had waited for retribution from Mother, but strangely, nothing happened.
After the trip, Nathalie had refused to see George and refused to give in to Mother’s entreaties from America that they remain a close family. Now suddenly, with one phone call, she felt like she was right back where she started.
With a shock, Nathalie realized she was clinging to the sides of her chair—that her hands were white with the effort and her muscles aching. Stifling anger at her own cowardice, she rose, poured an almost full glass of brandy and swallowed it in consecutive gulps.
* * *
Alex Messner was ready when Nathalie arrived to pick her up on Wednesday. It took her only moments to recognize that Nathalie Duncan was severely stressed, the tension showing in her face and shoulders.
“So how has your week been?” Alex asked curiously.
“Okay, thanks.” Nathalie shrugged vaguely.
For a while they traveled in silence.
Eventually Alex spoke. “So are you married…in a relationship?”
“No, I’m not. Are you?”
“No. I lost my partner to cancer two years ago. I’ve had the odd date, but can’t really get interested.”
“I’m sorry. It must be hard to lose someone you cared about.”
“Loved…” she corrected. “I didn’t just care about Lou…I loved her…she was my life.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.”
For the next three hours Alex sat in on various groups and spoke to the other volunteers who helped at the center. Nathalie noticed that she seemed to have a way of putting people at ease and making them feel included. And it was soon obvious that neither the women nor the other staff would have a problem working with her.
Later, on the drive home, Alex asked, “Are you always that quiet at the center?”
“I figure you’ll either see the center as a worthwhile cause, or you’ll decide you can’t spare the time,” Nathalie stated with a wry smile. “Either way, nothing I could say would change that.”
“Aha, a fatalist,” Alex commented drily. “I like that, although I don’t necessarily agree with it. I do have a couple of things to sort out, but I imagine I can manage a few hours a week for the center. How about I ring you?”
“Thank you. That would be great, the others will be thrilled.”
And what about you, Nathalie Duncan, Alex thought. Will you be thrilled? It was only a passing thought, but it irritated her. Instead, she asked, “Would you like a coffee…if it’s not too late?”
“Thanks, but I’m very tired and I have a lot to do tomorrow, perhaps another time.”
Disappointed, but not surprised, Alex arranged to ring Nathalie when she’d made her decision. Watching the car pull away, she wondered at the cause of Nathalie Duncan’s distraction and the barely hidden anger in her eyes. Acknowledging it as none of her business, Alex entered the house. Tonight it seemed large and quiet and lonely.
After pouring herself a drink and flooding the room with the soulful voice of Aretha Franklin, Alex turned to look at the photo above the sound system. “God, Lou, I miss you so much,” she said, raising her glass to the attractive woman smiling out at her. “You had no business leaving me like that.”
By the time Miss Franklin was singing “I say a little prayer,” Alex was on her third drink and the tears she’d been holding in check so bravely began to flow.
The ache never left, sometimes it eased, but mostly there was little relief from the crushing sense of loss and abandonment. Looking again at the photo, Alex was reminded of all they’d had together and all she’d lost, and this time her tears turned to sobs.
Chapter Three
Catching Up On The Past
Nathalie had been irritable and short-tempered all week. Bella wondered briefly what was wrong, but Nat didn’t mention anything and Bella didn’t ask. Jackie had been nagging for a while to invite Nathalie over for a meal, but somehow the time never seemed right.
“So what’s bugging you lately?” she asked, depositing her coffee on Nathalie’s desk and pulling up a chair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think your lover had just walked out on you?”
Steely eyes glared back. “I’m really not in the mood,” Nat snapped. “You know nothing about me, Bella, you just think you do. I could be sleeping with half the police force, for all you know.”
It was the most emotion Bella had seen in two years, and she instantly recognized that her friend was in some sort of trouble. “You’re right and I’m sorry,” she said seriously. “But whatever is happening is eating you up. You look terrible and your personality is now officially a disaster.”
The last comment made Nat laugh, despite her annoyance. “I’m sorry, Bella. It will get better, honest.”
“You can talk to me, you know. That’s what friends are for.”
“I appreciate it, but it’s nothing…really.”
“If you say so,” she muttered. “Anyway, what about dinner at my place next Tuesday. Jackie wants to try out a new recipe and I promised I’d ask.”
“That would be great and I promise to be in a better mood.”
The rest of the day went quickly, but by finish time the knot in Nathalie’s stomach felt like a football. Facing Mother after all these years was turning out to be so much worse than she could ever have imagined.
* * *
George’s house was large, modern, stood in its own grounds and was very different than their original home, yet hauntingly familiar. It was only thirty minutes away, but this was her first visit. Parking her Toyota Aurion alongside a Subaru and Mother’s luxury hire car, she looked hesitantly toward the door. Its locked-down look, so similar to that of the old house, caused a shiver to run down her spine.
A biracial girl of fifteen or sixteen answered the door and silently led her toward the back of the house where Mother and George were sitting at a dining table. Even after all this time, Mother looked the same. George, however, though still very handsome, looked a little older, from alcohol and drugs, Nathalie presumed.
“Nathalie, darling,” gushed Mother from her seat. “Do come and give me a kiss. It’s been so long.”
She moved toward the chair, and Charlotte stood, pulling Nathalie into a firm embrace. The kiss was lingering and designed to make her feel uncomfortable. When she let go, George was waiting to greet his sister.
“I’ve missed you, Nat,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Pulling away, Nat stood awkwardly. George visited Mother several times a year in Los Angeles, but to Nathalie both were now virtual strangers—just an occasional voice on the end of a telephone, calls that always left her feeling uncomfortable and fearful.
Pouring a drink, George called out to someone named Belinda. Within seconds the young girl who answered the door appeared beside him. “Nathalie, this is Belinda, my girlfriend,” he said smugly. “I’m sure you two will get on like a house on fire. M
other thinks very highly of her.” The girl blushed slightly but continued to look adoringly at George. “How about showing Nathalie to her room,” he demanded, indicating for Belinda to take Nat’s overnight bag. “Then when you’ve freshened up,” he instructed Nathalie, “we’ll meet in the lounge. Dinner will be in about an hour.”
The room was big and well-furnished and the bed a large, well-sprung king. As she placed the bag on the floor, the dark young girl looked shyly at Nat. “You don’t look like George,” she said in a whispery childlike voice, “and you don’t look like your mother. But you’re very attractive anyway.”
“Thank you,” muttered Nathalie curtly, angry that Mother’s expectation of her obviously hadn’t changed.
“It’s a comfortable bed,” Belinda rambled on blindly, nodding toward it with a look of anticipation. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Glaring at the girl, Nathalie walked to the door and held it open. “Thank you, Belinda,” she growled. “I’m sure you’d know.”
Startled by Nathalie’s animosity, the girl fled the room, the door slamming behind her.
* * *
It was beginning again. Nathalie felt overwhelmed and powerless. Yet there had to be another reason she’d been invited to the house for the weekend. Mother and George had a smorgasbord of young boys and girls to choose from, and she was no longer young enough to interest either of them or most of their clients. Besides, they had to know that she wouldn’t participate any longer in their idea of family relations.
It was twenty minutes before she returned to the lounge, and the moment she entered, George rose from his seat and closed the solid-looking door.
“We have things to talk about, child,” said Mother, taking a sip of her drink. “Important things that you need to be involved in. But before we discuss such serious matters, tell us what you’re doing with your life. Obviously we know you’re a police officer, but what about your love life?”
“My sex life, don’t you mean, Mother?” she mumbled, struggling to control her fear of the woman in front of her.
“Actually, yes, you’re right. I do mean your sex life.” She smiled, but her hard eyes showed only scorn. “Are you living with someone and are they good in bed? That’s really what I wanted to know, but you always were a secretive one, so I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me.”
Shaking her head, Nathalie began to feel like a small child again. Mother was annoyed and that meant that she had to do something to please her. But she didn’t really know what she wanted. Out of the corner of her eye she could see George watching her.
“Oh, I’m sure Nat’s just a bit shy from not having seen us for so long,” George offered from his seat opposite. He was a man now. Although he was still very slim, his shoulders had broadened and his face had a manly hardness. Dressed in expensive dark trousers and a white designer shirt—open at the collar—and with a single earring in his left ear, he looked roguish and powerful. Reluctantly, Nathalie admitted to herself that he was incredibly handsome.
“Nathalie is going to have to shed her shyness very quickly if she wants to fit back into this family,” Mother pointed out emphatically. “Because families sometimes have to band together to survive and that requires a special closeness. Doesn’t it, George?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Nathalie, experiencing a flood of emotions that she hadn’t yet sorted. “I thought you were here for a holiday.”
“And other business, but we’ll discuss that after our meal. Perhaps George would like to show you the photos he has of his little daughter. She’s going to be such a beauty.”
“You’ve got a child?” she asked in a stunned voice, turning to George. “You never mentioned it on the phone.”
“Why would he?” snapped Mother irritably. “You made it quite clear you didn’t want to be part of the family, so I told him not to tell you. As it happens he has two children. Jeremy is six and Samantha nearly four. Different mothers, of course, but they’re both as beautiful as him.”
As the innocent, happy faces looked out at her from George’s iPhone, Nathalie’s heart sank and a sour taste flooded her mouth. They were certainly beautiful—too beautiful.
“Where are they now?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Jeremy stays here,” answered George proudly. “And Samantha is at her grandmother’s. But Jeremy won’t be home until tomorrow, he’s visiting his mother down the coast. They—”
“The children are part of the business we’ll discuss later,” interrupted Charlotte, indicating that the subject of the children was now closed. “But in the meantime you must tell us all about your life.”
Still struggling with the concept of George having children, Nathalie couldn’t think straight. But Mother wanted answers, and she needed to create a reason why she shouldn’t have to participate in what Mother obviously expected would be a proper family reunion. “I’m…I’m engaged to marry,” Nat stuttered in panic. “He’s another police officer, a detective sergeant.”
“Really,” declared Mother cynically. “You surprise me. I always thought your preference would be women. After all you were never exactly a very feminine child and even now you seem neither one thing nor the other.” Stunned into silence, Nathalie stared blankly while George gave a comforting smile. But Mother had moved on. “So, what’s his name…this fiancé of yours? And when do you plan to marry?”
“Josh...Joshua Dawson,” she stuttered. “We live together. But we haven’t set a date.”
Thankfully, at that moment Belinda returned to announce that dinner was ready.
The meal looked delicious, but Nathalie ate little and what she did eat tasted like paper. Belinda spent her time giggling adoringly at everything George said, and the meal took forever. Mother spoke about America and the astronomical money she was making pandering to LA’s rich and powerful.
For Nathalie, it was as if she were once again trapped in some hellish alternate universe that she believed she’d left behind. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and make it all disappear.
After the meal they retired to the lounge, where George handed them each a cognac.
“So what’s the business you wish to discuss?” inquired Nathalie, trying to sound in control. “And how can I help?”
Mother and son caught each other’s eyes—a furtive glance. “We want legal advice about the children,” Charlotte stated without preamble.
“What sort of advice?”
“George is going to join me in America this year and he wants to take the children with him. However, Samantha’s mother is in prison and won’t allow George to put the child on his passport.”
“So what do you want me to do?” she asked, suddenly afraid.
“Well, there has to be some legal loophole that will allow us to take her with us. Surely we don’t have to resort to other means. George is the girl’s father.”
Wondering what “other means” Mother could be referring to, she replied, “So has Jeremy’s mother agreed to him leaving Australia?”
“She will,” snapped George quickly. “She’s not the problem. Susan’s the stubborn one, and we can’t get to her,” he finished lamely.
Charlotte glared at him.
“What do you mean, you can’t get to her?”
“Because she’s in prison…that’s all he meant,” stated Mother flatly, giving him another filthy look. “It’s hard to negotiate with someone who won’t allow you to visit.”
Nathalie didn’t believe her.
“From the little I know, I’d say that you only have one option, and that’s to take Samantha’s mother to court for full custody and let the court decide whether the child can leave Australia or not.”
“Then we want you to start the proceedings.”
“No. I can’t do that,” she answered quickly. “I don’t know anything about family law, I don’t deal with it,” she lied.
Mother’s face became hard, her eyes even harder. “Not even at that crisis cente
r you say you work at? I would have thought that was nothing but family law?” Before Nat could answer, Charlotte Silver continued. “All that’s required of you is for you to put the paperwork together and lodge the application. The rest will be taken care of by a friend of mine—a family court judge, a man who’ll be very sympathetic.”
“My God, you’ve got this all set up,” she gasped. “But what about the child’s mother?”
“We told you,” she snapped again. “She’s in prison—a useless junkie. The child will be much better off with us.” Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, she continued, “Anyway, it’s getting late and we have all weekend to discuss it, so let’s not bog ourselves down with boring details right now. It must be time to have some fun.”
Nat’s mind was spinning.
George has children and he actually wants to put them where Mother has access to them. Can’t he see their young lives heading in the same direction Mother took ours? Doesn’t he think there is anything wrong in that?
Flashes from the past hit her at once and she remembered a time, when she was a child, when, much as she despised what they were forced to do, she honestly thought this was how everyone lived. And then she remembered later times, when she knew better but wanted to please Mother, a time when she’d coldly lured other young teenagers into their lifestyle. A wave of utter exhaustion flooded her. Mumbling an excuse about needing to visit the bathroom, Nat stumbled from the room.
Lying on her bed, overwhelmed by a sense of defeat, Nat tried to close down her mind. But the thoughts of George’s children in Mother’s clutches allowed her no peace. Gradually, defeat turned to a need to protect. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know if she even had it in her. But she had to try.
It was close to forty minutes before she returned and when she did, she found Belinda, Mother and George doing lines of coke. Deciding that anything that got her through the weekend would do, Nathalie joined them at the coffee table, taking the straw George offered. They drank, did more coke and went to bed, but Mother never slept alone. On this occasion Belinda followed obediently to her room, while George and Nathalie went to their own rooms.
