Dream Trilogy Page 9

  But that didn’t seem to be enough.

  She sat on a rock, absently tugging a woolly white blossom from its slender stem. Laura would know the name of the wildflower, Margo mused. But then, Laura, despite the privileges of birthright, was the wildflower type, whereas Margo was strictly hothouse.

  She was ruined.

  Somehow it had been easier to handle the possibility of being broke before Kate had put it all in stark black and white. Possibilities were abstract and changeable. Now it was reality. She was, or soon would be, without a home, without an income. Without a life.

  She stared down at the flower in her hand. It was simple, it was stubborn, planting its roots in shallow soil, fighting its way to the sun. Rip off the bloom, another would grow.

  She understood now that she’d never had to fight for anything. And she was afraid, deeply afraid, that now that she was uprooted, she would simply wither.

  “Waiting for Seraphina?”

  Margo continued to study the flower, twirling it as Josh settled on the rock beside her. “No, just waiting.”

  “Laura took the girls to dance class, so I thought I’d take a walk.” Actually, he’d been considering a quick jaunt to the tennis court to work on his serve. But then he saw Margo on the cliffs from his bedroom window. “How’s Kate?”

  “Busy and efficient. I’d say she’s found her Nirvana with Bittle and Associates.”

  He shuddered. “Scary.”

  The quick chuckle felt good. Tossing her hair back, she smiled at him. “We’re so miserably shallow, Josh. How do we stand ourselves?”

  “By never standing still long enough to take a close look. Is that what’s got you down, Margo?” He tugged on the hair she’d pulled sleekly back from her face. “Have you been looking too close?”

  “That’s what happens when you get a mirror shoved in your face.”

  He slipped her shaded glasses off, narrowed his own eyes. “It’s a hell of a face,” he said lightly, then tucked the glasses back on her nose. “Do you want to know what I see?”

  She pushed off the rock, wandered closer to the edge of the cliff. “I’m not sure I could take another shot today. You’ve never bothered to sugarcoat what you thought of me.”

  “Why should I? When a woman looks like you, she collects flattery, tossing the less inventive lines aside like last year’s fashions. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He watched her turn, and though her eyes were hidden, he sensed her surprise. “It’s a sinful face, a sinful body. They almost punish a man for wanting them, for wanting you. All that abundant, hot sex with hints of the wild driving it. And you use it without even thinking. A look, a tilt of the head, a gesture. It’s a phenomenal, and occasionally cruel, talent you have. But you’ve heard that before.”

  “Not exactly,” she murmured. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered or insulted.

  “But most of that’s an accident of nature.” He rose and walked to stand beside her. “You were born to be a fantasy. Maybe that’s all you can manage.”

  The hurt was so sharp, so sudden she couldn’t even gasp. “That’s cold, Josh. And just like you.”

  When she started to whirl away, he took her arm, his grip unexpectedly strong, his voice infuriatingly mild. “I haven’t finished.”

  Bright, bubbling fury spewed inside her. If she could have wrenched away and clawed him, she would have. “Let go of me. I’m sick of you and everyone like you. I’m worth bothering with as long as I fit the mold. The party girl. For a good time, call. But the minute there’s trouble it’s so easy to say I wasn’t anything to begin with. Just a scrabbler, reaching above my station.”

  He slid his hands down to cuff her wrists, his voice still detestably patient. “Were you?”

  “I’m not a damn picture in a magazine. I have feelings and fears and needs. And I don’t have to prove anything to anyone but myself.”

  “Good. Good for you. It’s about time you realized that.” With an easy strength that both baffled and infuriated her, he simply pulled her back from the cliff and nudged her down on the rock. He kept his grip firm as he crouched in front of her. “You’re the one who played with the illusion, Margo, who used it. And you’re the one who’s going to have to shatter it.”

  “Don’t tell me what I have to do. If you don’t take your hands off me—”

  “Shut up. Just shut up.” He gave her a brisk shake that made her mouth fall open in shock. “You’ll have to get used to that, too,” he told her. “Being treated like a human being instead of a pampered Barbie doll. Life’s finally been tossed in your face, duchess. Deal with it.”

  “What do you know about life?” Bitterness ached in her throat. “You were born with everything. You never had to struggle for a single thing you wanted, never had to worry if you’d be accepted or loved or wanted back.”

  He stared at her, grateful for the moment that she couldn’t see that he’d spent nearly half of his life worrying that she, the single thing he wanted, would accept him, love him, and want him back. “But we’re not talking about me, are we?”

  She turned her face, stared hard out to sea. “I don’t care what you think of me.”

  “Fine, but I’m going to tell you anyway. You’re a spoiled, careless, and reckless woman who has for a good long time hardly given a thought to anything beyond the moment. Up till now your ambitions have melded nicely with your fantasies. Now you’ve been given a very rude slap. It’ll be interesting to see if you’ll be able to draw on your other qualities to pull yourself up again.”

  “Oh?” she began icily. “I have other qualities?”

  He wondered what perverted twist in his makeup caused him to adore that frosty, fuck-you tone of hers. “You come from strong and resilient stock, Margo, a temperament that doesn’t take failure lying down.” Absently, he lifted her hands and kissed them. “You’re loyal and warm and compassionate to those you care for. What you lack in common sense you make up for with humor and charm.”

  The emotions that swirled inside her threatened to erupt in laughter or tears or screams. She forced them to wither and kept her face as blank and cold as her voice. “That’s a fascinating analysis. You’ll have to bill me for it. I’m a little short of cash.”

  “No charge.” He drew her to her feet again, brushed at the hair that danced wildly around her face. “Listen, if you need something to tide you over until—”

  “Don’t you dare offer me money,” she interrupted with a snap in her voice. “I’m not some destitute family retainer.”

  It was his turn to be insulted. “I thought you were a friend.”

  “Well, keep your money in your numbered Swiss account, friend. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “As you like.” After a shrug, he held out his hand. “How about a lift back to the house?”

  Her lips curved coolly. “How about you stick out your well-manicured thumb?” She strode away, picking her way with careless grace over rocks. Moments later he heard the panther roar of his own car and the skid of tires on pavement.

  Christ, he thought with a quick laugh. He was crazy about her.

  She was still seething with fury when she marched into the house. Temper carried her well down the central hallway before the sound of voices registered. Calm, reasonable voices. Overly calm, Margo realized at once. Coldly reasonable and bitingly formal.

  It made her shudder to think that husband and wife would speak to each other in such lifeless tones. However wrenching it had been, she much preferred the passionate exchange she’d just had with Josh to the kind of studied argument going on between Laura and Peter in the library.

  The heavy pocket doors were open, allowing her to step up to the threshold and observe the entire scene. Such a civilized room, Margo thought, with its soaring ceiling, its two levels walled with books and diamond-paned windows. The old Bokhara rug and the smell of leather. A civilized room, she thought again, for a civilized argument.

  How perfectly horribl
e.

  “I’m very sorry you feel that way, Peter. I simply can’t agree with you.”

  “The business, the running of Templeton hotels, our place in society, and the media are hardly your fortes, Laura. I would not be in the position I’m in, nor have the responsibilities I have, if your parents and the board of directors didn’t value and respect my opinion.”

  “That’s true.”

  Margo stepped quietly to the doorway. She could see Laura standing in front of the window seat, her hands clasped loosely. There was such temper and distress in her eyes that Margo wondered how Peter could remain oblivious to it.

  For himself, Peter was in front of the lovely old Adam fireplace, very lord of the manor with one hand on the mantel and the other wrapped around a Waterford lowball glass gleaming with light and unblended Scotch.

  “In this case, however,” Laura continued in that same quiet, empty voice, “I don’t believe the family would share your concern. Josh certainly doesn’t.”

  Peter let out a hard, dismissive laugh. “Josh is hardly one to worry about reputation. He’s more at home flitting off to clubs and rubbing elbows with Eurotrash.”

  “Be careful.” Laura only murmured the warning, but there was force behind it. “You and Josh approach things differently, but you’re each an important part of Templeton. My point is that Josh fully supports Margo’s remaining at Templeton House as long as she chooses. And, foreseeing this altercation, I contacted my parents this morning. They’re delighted Margo is home.”

  His lips went thin and white at that. Margo would have been pleased by the reaction if his temper hadn’t been directed at Laura. “You went behind my back. That’s typical of you, isn’t it? Running to your parents whenever we disagree.”

  “I don’t run to them, Peter.” There was weariness now. As if giving in to it, Laura sat down on the padded window seat. Light streamed in through the lovely arched window at her back, causing her to look fragile, pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful. “And I don’t discuss our private problems with them. In this case it was, in your words, business.”

  “And business is for me to handle.” His voice was clipped, all reason with an undertone of carefully controlled impatience. “You only have the house to run and the children to see to. Both of which you’re putting in second place to some misguided sense of loyalty.”

  “No one and nothing comes ahead of my children.”

  “Really?” A small smile curved his lips as he took a sip of his Scotch. “I don’t suppose you found time in your busy and demanding day of manicures and luncheons to watch television? One of the tabloid shows dedicated an entire thirty minutes to your old friend. There was a particularly interesting clip of her sunbathing topless on a yacht. Several of her close friends gave interviews detailing her many affairs and her so-called free-spirited lifestyle. Naturally the show didn’t fail to report her connection with Templeton, and her long-standing friendship with Laura Templeton Ridgeway.”

  Pleased that she didn’t respond, he inclined his head. “It included a picture of the two of you, and the children. In addition, a waiter at the country club was happy to tell them how the two of you and an unnamed woman had a giddy champagne lunch by the pool two years ago.”

  Laura waited a beat. “Kate’s going to be annoyed they didn’t get her name.” Out of patience, she waved a hand and rose, and he saw that what he had taken for shame was annoyance. “Really, Peter, it’s all nonsense. The last time we were on the Riviera you were irritated with me because I was too shy to go French, yet you’re condemning Margo because she did. And if any of those people had been her friends, they wouldn’t have been chafing to give interviews, which they were paid for, that gossiped about her. And nearly half the women I know get snockered at the club regularly. If we wanted to have a giddy champagne lunch to celebrate being together, it’s no one’s business.”

  “You’re not only blind and stubborn, but you’re foolish. And this attitude you’ve developed of late has gone on long enough.”

  “Attitude?”

  He set his glass on the mantel with a snap. “Questioning me, defying my wishes, neglecting your duties in the community. Margo’s presence here is merely an excuse for you to go on behaving badly.”

  “I don’t need an excuse.”

  “Apparently not. I’ll put it another way, a clearer way, Laura. As long as that woman lives in this house, I don’t.”

  “An ultimatum, Peter?” Very slowly, she inclined her head. “I think you might be rudely surprised by my answer to that.”

  On impulse, Margo stepped into the room. “Hello, Peter. Don’t worry, I’m every bit as thrilled to see you as you are to see me.”

  With a brittle smile, she walked over to the decanter. Though she rarely drank anything other than wine, she poured two fingers of Scotch. She wanted something to do with her hands.

  “I know I’m interrupting, but I was on my way back to speak to Mum.” She took a quick, bracing sip, shuddered it down.

  “You seem to be taking your most recent debacle in stride,” Peter commented.

  “Oh, you know me. Roll with the flow.” She gestured widely, rings glittering. “I’m sorry I missed the show you were telling Laura about. I do hope those shots of me sunbathing were flattering. Those long-range lenses can distort, you know.” Beaming smiles, she lifted her glass to him. “And you and I understand all about appearances, don’t we, Peter?”

  He didn’t bother to conceal his disdain. She was, as she had always been to him, the housekeeper’s inconvenient daughter. “People who eavesdrop on private conversations rarely hear anything flattering.”

  “Absolutely true.” Resolved now, she took a last sip before setting the glass down. “As you’d be aware if you’d ever heard any of my private conversations about you. You can rest easy. I was coming in to tell my mother I have to go back to Milan.”

  Distress made Laura step forward, step between them. “Margo, there’s no need for that.”

  She took the hand Laura offered, squeezed it. “There is. I left dozens of things hanging. I needed this little breather, but I have to go back and tend to the details.”

  Ignoring Peter, she gathered Laura close. “I love you, Laura.”

  “Don’t say it like that.” Alarmed, Laura drew back, searched Margo’s face. “You’re coming back.”

  She gave a careless shrug even as her stomach jittered. “We’ll see how the wind blows. But I’ll be in touch. I need to talk to Mum before I pack.” She gave Laura a last hug before turning toward the door. Not sure if she’d have another chance, she went with impulse again and turned back. She offered Peter her sultriest smile. “One more thing. You’re a pompous, egotistical, self-important ass. You weren’t good enough for her when she married you, you’re still not good enough for her, and you never will be. It must be hell for you knowing that.”

  As exits went, Margo thought as she glided out, she’d never done better.

  “I’m not running away,” Margo insisted as she hurriedly packed.

  “Aren’t you?” With her hands folded at her waist, Ann watched her daughter. Always in a rush, she thought, to get from one place to the next. Never stopping to think.

  “I’d stay if I could. I’d rather stay, but—” She tossed a cashmere sweater into her bag. “I just can’t.”

  Out of habit, Ann took the sweater out, folded it neatly, replaced it. “You should take more care with your possessions. And your friends. You’re leaving Miss Laura when she needs you.”

  “I’m leaving to make things easier for her, damn it.” Out of patience, Margo tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Can’t you ever give me credit for doing something right? She’s downstairs right now arguing with Peter because of me. He threatened to leave her if I stay. He doesn’t want me here.”

  “This is Templeton House,” Ann said simply.

  “And he lives here. Laura is his wife. I’m just—”

  “The housekeeper’s daughter. Odd, you only remember
that when it suits you. I’m asking you to stay and do what you can for her.”

  Oh, guilt works so well, she thought as she stalked over to wrench a blouse out of the armoire. Like a bell to Pavlov’s dog. “I’m a cause of tension in her marriage, an embarrassment. I will not see her torn between me and the man she’s been married to for ten years. You know I love her.”

  “Yes.” Ann sighed a little. “Yes, I know you do. Loyalty isn’t one of your failings, Margo. But I’m telling you she needs you here. Her parents are off in Africa someplace. They know little about what’s gone on in this house and little, I suspect, of what’s happened to you. They would be here otherwise. But you’re here, and you should stay. If you would for once listen to what I say, do as I ask.”

  “I can’t.” She sent her mother a thin smile. “Some things don’t change. Kate and Josh are here for her. And you,” she added. “I have to get out of the way so she can work things out with Peter. If that’s what she wants. Though God knows why—” She cut herself off, waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s her decision. Mine is to go back to Milan. I have to deal with things there. I have to pick up my life.”

  “Well, you’ve made the mess of it, you’ll have to clean it up. You’ll hurt her by going,” she said quietly. And me, Ann thought. Can’t you see how it hurts me to see you walk away again?

  “I hurt her by staying, too. So either way I’m of no use to her. At least in Milan I can try to put some of my own pieces back together. I need money, I need work.”

  “You need.” Eyes cool, Ann studied her daughter. “Well, then, that naturally comes first. I’ll arrange for your cab to the airport.”

  “Mum.” Washed with regret, Margo took a step after her. “I’m trying to do what’s right. If it’s a mistake, then it’s a mistake, but I’m trying to do what I think is best. Try to understand that.”

  “I only see you’re going when you’ve hardly come home.” Ann closed the door behind her, the only good-bye Margo would have.