DeBeers 01 Willow Read online

  "You don't respect your parents at all, do you?"

  He thought a moment. "I guess I never took them seriously enough to do that." He gazed at the grand estate. "When you live in all this, when you're brought up here, you can lose sight of meaningful relationships rather easily. Let me put it to you this way." he said, looking more thoughtful than ever. "in most other places, love is something you can assume because it's already there for you. Here, it's something you have to find, discover under a pile of riches and luxury. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not, and when it's not, you just buy another Rolls or jet to Paris."

  I stared at him, surprised at his frankness and sincerity. He looked uncomfortable under my scrutiny.

  "Sorry I got so heavy." he said.

  "No, it's all right. Maybe you're the best subject of all for my study," I blurted, It brought a smile to his face.

  "I was hoping you would think that." he said. "Consider me at your disposal."

  "A busy lawyer like you?" I teased. "What about your caseload?"

  "Let's see" he said, squeezing his chin with his right hand as he thought. "The most pressing case I have right now is defending Harry Stevens, the flooring company billionaire whose yacht damaged the dock. The city wants him to rebuild the entire thing, and Harry is threatening to sue them. I think I might have a little spare time."

  I laughed and continued on with him through the house and to my car,

  "Just get some rest," he said. "I intend to show you a good time tonight and same of the real Palm Beach nightlife as well."

  He closed the door for me and stood there watching me drive off. The gates opened like magical gates in an Arabian fairy tale. I drove out and watched them close behind me. I was back in the real world again, I thought, and my mother was behind those walls but, more significantly, behind the walls of her own sadness and disappointment as well.

  What a mistakeI've made, I concluded. I should have been honest from the beginning-. I should have confronted her with the truth instead of this contrivance which just exploded in my face in front of her. She looked as if she would have welcomed me. I could feel it in her gaze.

  And now there was Linden to contend with, whose confidence and trust would be that much more impossible to win. If and when I told the truth, he might believe that was a lie as well, or at least that my motives were false. Would he ever, could he ever, welcome me as his half-sister? I had never seen such trouble and pain in a young man's eyes, not even at Daddy's clinic. Why was he in such mental anguish? Was it something he had inherited from our mother? Would I ever know? Were there secrets even darker and deeper than the ones I already knew?

  Despite what Thatcher had ridiculed as the eagerness of people to reveal their social

  embarrassments, perhaps the walls were really so high here not to keep things from outside coming in but to keep certain truths hidden inside. After all, the richer they were, the tighter the doors, the stronger the locks, the thicker the safes, and the darker and deeper the shadows looming like cobwebs in the corners of their mansions.

  Hunger and the need to relieve the intensity of my quest led me back to the hotel, where I changed and went down to the poolside to get some lunch. Afterward. I decided to buy a bathing suit, since I hadn't brought one along, and found a quiet corner to lounge in the shade and get some rest and think. For a while. I was able to turn off the sounds of other guests, the laughter of children, the music, and all that was around me. I fell asleep and then woke abruptly, sensing someone nearby, When I opened my eyes. I saw a man, well into his sixties, if not seventy, standing next to my lounge chair and gazing at me. He held a tall glass with a small yellow paper umbrella sticking out of the top of it. When I opened my eyes, he rained a smile down on me as if he were some long-lost relative who had just found me.

  "Yes?" I asked. "Can I help you?"

  "I was hoping I could help you," he said. "I was sitting just over there." He nodded at the lounge chair across from mine. "I saw how you fell asleep." He glanced at his Rolex. You slept for nearly an hour and a half, and with all this noise. too. Must've been tired. huh?"

  "Yes," I said, sitting up and brushing back my hair.

  "Hard night last night?"

  "No," I said firmly, not liking the tone behind his question.

  He laughed as if I were not telling the truth. "As soon as I saw your eyelids flickering. I ordered one of these for you... pina colada. Here," he said, extending it toward me.

  "No, thank you." I said.

  "Aw, you should. It's happiness in a glass, believe mle." he urged, keeping his arm extended.

  Who was this man, and what did he want? He was about my height and easily twenty pounds overweight. His gray hair was thinned to the point of revealing a scalp peppered with age spots, and the line of gray hair on his chest curled down aver his bulging belly like piano wire and made a small circle around his belly button. There were small moles over his saag-ing chest. In the, waistband of his boxer-style bathing shorts were two rather thick cigars. His spindly legs were ribbed with embossed veins. He wore a pair of leather slippers, and there were patches of purple around his ankles. Around his neck was draped an ostentatious gold chain.

  "I'm not fond of rich, sweet drinks." I said, and he finally drew his arm back.

  "No wonder you have the figure you have," he commented. Then he looked at the drink, considered it, and sipped it himself, shaking his head. "Can't resist these things."

  I nodded. I was sure he was telling the truth about that.

  "I guess you're here by yourself," he said. "Am I right?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "What's a pretty young woman like you doing all alone?" he followed, but smiled with his head tilted to the right as if he already knew the answer and was just waiting for confirmation.

  I really wasn't in any mood to have a conversation with someone's grandfather. but I couldn't be impolite.

  "I'm just here for a short stay, doing some research." I said.

  "Research? Uh-huh. That's a new one, but it's a good one," he added quickly.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Hey," he said, sitting on the lounge beside mine. "I never demand a woman be honest with me, whether it's about her age, her weight, or her previous love affairs." he said. laughing. He sipped some more of the pina colada.

  I just stared at him. Was this old man flirting with me? Just the thought of it nauseated me.

  "Excuse me." I said, gathering my towel and slipping my feet into my sandals. "but I've got to go in."

  "Hey, take it easy. Are you busy tonight?" "Pardon me?"

  "If you haven't any plans. I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner. There's a party on a friend of mine's yacht later. too. Maybe you've heard of him. Michael Thomas?"

  "No," I said. I was smiling with incredulity, but he thought I was amused, I guess.

  "He's the grandson of Thomas door springs, that family." he said. "You'll meet a lot of people there, interesting rich people," he added. "not thatI'm not interesting and rich enough." He laughed and sipped his drink again. "My name's Gordon Lauer," he said, and waited for my reaction. "Breston-Lauer, the fragrance company?" he said.

  "Oh."

  "Yes," he said. smiling. "I'll get you a lifetime supply of our best products."

  "Thank you. but I think you've made a mistake," I said. smiling. "I'm not really here to have a good time. Thank you for your invitation." I told him, and rose.

  He sat there with a very surprised look of disbelief as I started away. Why would a man that age think I would want to be his date, no matter how rich he was? I didn't know whether to be amused or upset. but I knew I wanted to get back upstairs and away from this as soon as I could.

  In my room, there was a message waiting for me from Dr. Anderson. He had made arrangements for me to see two other families if I wished, He had left their names and telephone numbers. It brought back my feelings of guilt and my anger at myself for contriving this whole scheme in the first place. I had to
find a way to tell the truth. I thought, especially to my mother, and as quickly as I could.

  For now. I had to get myself ready to go out to dinner with Thatcher Eaton. A part of me was laden with heavy guilt over having even an iota of excitement about it and making any effort at all to make myself attractive. Daddy's death was far too fresh. What right did I have to experience even the smallest pleasure, and besides, what did this have to do with my real purpose for coming here?

  Once again, I was thrown into an argument within myself, a part of me rationalizing my actions, justifying them with. He's helping you approach your mother. Look at how difficult Lindenwas. You should be grateful Thatcher is here and interested in you.

  Don't lie to yourself Willow De Beers, said an inner voice that sounded very much like my adoptive mother's. Be honest, at least. You're attracted to this man.You've been beguiled, and now you're taking that titillation to another level. .Meeting and getting to know your mother has been put on the back burner.

  "No, that's not so." I practically shouted at my image in the mirror.

  I could hear my adoptive mother's thin, deriding laugh. and I turned from the mirror and sat down hard on the bed. I should call Thatcher and cancel, I thought.

  And then what? Go back and throw yourself at the beach house door? Just think of Linden's reaction to that. You could ruin it all forever and ever, and then what would you go home to with _Allan angry at you, with your schoolwork, damaged? You could fall into that maelstrom of madness you have feared your whole life, Willow De Beers.

  "Oh, this is ridiculous," I cried, and jumped up to shower and wash my hair. Afterward. I brushed it so hard I nearly ripped out some strands at the roots. I just put on some lipstick and threw on the nicest dress I had brought. No one had ever gotten dressed in as much of a rage. I thought, still conflicted and angry at myself for accepting the bargain with Thatcher.

  While I was still pondering whether or not I was making too much of this dinner date, the phone rang.

  "I can come up to get you," Thatcher said. "I wasn't sure and thought it was better to call to see how close you are to being ready, Most of the women in Palm Beach have little respect for time, at least the women I know."

  "You should get out of town more." I countered, and he laughed, obviously amused and not put off by my hard, cold tone. "I'm ready. I'll be right there."

  "Terrific," he said.

  Why was I so angry at him? Was it because I was afraid this bright young man would eventually see through my cover story and be upset, or was I angry at myself for feeling like a high school girl on her first real date?

  Try not to talk too much, I told myself. The less said, the better. But maybe that was easier thought than done, especially with a man like Thatcher Eaton,

  When I stepped into the lobby, he turned from the reception desk where he had been conversing with one of the female employees, who looked absolutely dazzled by him. It was difficult not to be. He wore a solid olive suit with a pearl-white mock-turtleneck shirt. The suit was fitted and brought out the richness of his tan and the sparkle in his blue eyes. He smiled and started toward me.

  "I'm sorry." I said immediately, referring to my rather plain black dress. I had no pretty jewelry, either, not even earrings, "I didn't bring anything special to wear because I didn't come here to party."

  "Don't apologize. You look terrific." he said. "It's actually refreshing to see a woman who is understated these days, especially here."

  "Understated? You are a good lawyer, very diplomatic," I said, and he laughed.

  He held up his arm for me to take. It seemed to me that everyone was looking our way. As we walked toward the door, the elderly man who had tried to pick me up at the pool came in, still in a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. He nodded at me.

  "Caught your fish. I see," he said as he continued by.

  Thatcher paused, a curious smile on his face. "What did he say?"

  "I don't know. He's a terrible old man. He actually asked me out when I was down at the pool, tried to get me to go to some yacht party. Whatever gave him the idea is beyond me.," I muttered.

  Thatcher's eyes twinkled with amusement. He nodded at the valet attendant, who jumped to bring up Thatcher's Rolls,

  "Why do you think that business with the elderly man was so funny?" I asked him.

  "He just assumed that, being an unescorted young lady, you were here to play the Palm Beach game," Thatcher explained.

  He moved before the valet attendant to open the door for me. I got in quickly, and he went around and slipped in as well,

  "What game?" I asked.

  He started us away and smiled, "You'd be surprised at the number of young, attractive women who come here with the express purpose of becoming some wealthy old man's mistress or, hopefully, wife. Many stay at this very hotel because it's good hunting grounds."

  "Well, you can be sure I'm not one of those." I said sharply. He started to laugh, looked at me, and then shook his head. "What?"

  "I don't know. I'll have to reserve judgment for a while. You fit the first half of the definition."

  "And what is that?" I said, not hiding my annoyance.

  "You're certainly young and attractive."

  "Just like a rich, arrogant man to think that every young and attractive woman is after his money."

  That released a bigger laugh from him.

  "Well? Aren't I right about that?" I demanded.

  "Maybe," he said, nodding. "I don't know what your theories are about one of the wealthiest communities in America, but it's just possible you might be in for a surprise or two," he said. It sounded almost like a warning,

  I've had enough surprises in m y lifetime, I thought. Thank you very much.

  "This is Worth Avenue," Thatcher said when we turned onto it. "One of the world's richest shopping malls," he added with a grin. "Like Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills or El Paseo in Palm Desert. California."

  "Hardly a mall," I said, gazing at the upscale shops, department stores, boutiques, and restaurants. Everything did look fresh and new. glittering like the diamonds and gold that were truly costume jewelry to the wealthy inhabitants,

  "I don't know how much you know about Palm Beach. It always amazes people to learn it's only a fourteen-mile-long strip. Henry Morrison Flagler created it in a sense when he opened the Royal Poinciana Hotel in 1894. His home is now the Finder Museum off Cocoanut Row. You should take a look if you have time."

  "Maybe I will." I said without much

  commitment.

  'There was once an army base at the northern end of the island in charge of coastal defense, making sure the German subs weren't coming ashore. Now there's an army of elite who make sure no riffraff come ashore," he jested.

  "The season used to be only ten weeks long, but these days it goes until the end of April," he continued, sounding more like a tourist guide.

  "Many of these structures, shops, and apartment buildings were created by the island's most famous architect. Addison Mizner, He built the Montgomery house," Thatcher said. "Or at least started it."

  "Oh?"

  "He established this Moorish-Mediterranean style. Probably the most famous is Mar-a-Lago, now owned by Donald Trump. It was built by Edward F. Hutton for his wife. Marjorie Merriweather Post, the breakfast cereal heiress. It's a mere seventeen-acre estate with a one hundred-plus-room mansion. It has a nine-hole golf course. a seventy-five-foot-high tower, cottages, citrus groves, greenhouses, and an

  underground tunnel to the beach. Trump's turned it into a private club. I'll take you there, if you like."

  When I didn't respond, he turned to me and asked. "I know you said you didn't come here to party, but it's all right to enjoy yourself while you work, isn't it?"

  -"Depends," I said.

  "On what?"

  "How much I enjoy myself and how much I work," I replied, and he laughed.

  We pulled up in front of a restaurant called TaBoo. The maitre d' recognized Thatcher and greeted him imme
diately. I looked at the women and men drinking, talking, and laughing at the long bar. Many of the women were attractive and dressed in sexy, expensive-looking outfits.

  "And who might this pretty young thing be?" the maitre d' asked Thatcher,

  "Be careful, she's doing research on Palm Beach." Thatcher warned him.

  He laughed and led us to a table in the gazebo room.

  "Anybody who's anybody in this town will be here one night or the other during the week." Thatcher said. "The combined wealth of the people eating and drinking here is probably close to the gross national product of most Third World nations."

  I glanced around and mentally agreed.

  "Despite the location, the prices aren't outrageous," Thatcher said when the waiter brought us a menu and asked if we wanted a cocktail.

  Thatcher looked to me.

  "I'm not sure," I said.

  He ordered a Cosmopolitan, and I acted as if I knew what it was and ordered the same.

  "So," he said. "aside from the geriatric Don Juan at the pool, did you get some rest?"

  "Yes, but I'm not here for rest," I said.

  "Still disappointed about the Montgomery's?" he asked.

  I looked up. "Yes. I can't help wondering about them, how they ended up this way."

  He shrugged. "Most of what I know about their past. I've been told, you understand. I was only a little boy when Grace Montgomery returned from what everyone knows was a mental clinic in South Carolina.

  "In the beginning. Grace's mother. Jackie Lee, attempted to fool Palm Beach society by putting out the story Grace was suffering from a brain tumor and had to have a delicate operation, but as time passed, the reality overtook the fiction. and Jackie Lee fell off the A-list."

  "What does that mean exactly?"

  "In Palm Beach, that's akin to haying leprosy. She was no longer invited to the important balls, dinners, and parties. She was already involved with Kirby, who everyone believes seduced Grace and made her pregnant, which might have exacerbated her mental condition, When Jackie Lee's fortune was depleted and her reputation was lost. Kirby decided to seek greener pastures."

  "When was Linden born?"

  "About a year before Grace went to the clinic. Jackie Lee was able to perpetrate her fiction for quite a while, my parents say. because Grace was so withdrawn and such a recluse: none of her