All Who Are Lost (Ashmore's Folly Book 1) (37 page)

Her father and grandfather, working to clean up the destruction in the garage. Her grandfather, “This can’t go on, son.” And her father, “I’ve reached the end. She’s not coming back.”

Her grandfather, in the kitchen one afternoon, unaware that Julie was playing on the porch outside, “Of course he’s unhappy. He married the wrong girl.” And her grandmother in reply, “Oh, I wish he’d waited for Laura. She was perfect for him, she adored him, and he never realized how much he depended on that. Now he’s tied to that stupid girl.” Pure dislike in Peggy Ashmore’s usually gentle voice. “Dear heavens, men are such fools for a beautiful face!”

Lucy, when Julie spent the night, confiding on the telephone, “No, I don’t know who he’s with, Di! He just said he’d pick Julie up tomorrow afternoon.”

A sweet voice on the telephone, “Hi, this is Jennifer, may I speak to your father?” And her father swiftly taking the telephone, his voice dropping. In his quiet laughter and intimate tones were distilled all the mysteries of men and women. Julie wasn’t surprised when he took her over to Lucy’s for another weekend sleepover.

Richard one Christmas Eve, “No, not until you sober up. I can’t risk you taking her anywhere.”

Lucy, sobbing helplessly against Richard’s shoulder, “All these years, and no word – tell me, please, I won’t pry, I just need to know. You’ve never heard from Francie?” And, in the firelight, Richard’s distant eyes, even as he touched Lucy’s cheek and said gently, “Not a word.”

Richard, a year ago, eluding Lucy with amusement, “I haven’t had a date in years. Tell Diana, okay?”

Richard calling Tom Maitland late at night, “Margaret St. Bride. Probably born in San Francisco in late 1988, early 1989. February at the outset. Keep this between us. I don’t want Lucy in on this.”

Last week, a famous voice on voice mail, unsure and nervous, “Richard, how’s Julie? I hope she’s doing better. Maybe I can see her after she’s over her cold. I’ll be back from Texas on Tuesday.” The speed with which Julie’s father hit the erase button became one more thread to weave into an increasingly bewildering tapestry.

And now, Julie thought, wrapping her bathrobe around her, Laura emerging from his bedroom with tear-heavy eyes, and he watching them as if – well, almost as if he feared something terrible happening.

And who could miss the way they refused to look at each other!

Richard Ashmore’s little girl smiled to herself and let the shower water continue to run.

~•~

They had their backs to her as she stole quietly out of her room and pulled the door shut. She knew all the creaking boards to avoid; she’d had plenty of practice in the past, creeping over to watch her father as he worked at his desk. Plenty of long-ago nights when he thought he’d put her to bed, she’d hidden out at the end of the landing behind the enormous plant and read in the faint light from his desk. She hugged the wall and reached the sheltering shadows of the dieffenbachia.

Not that either her father or her aunt were likely to hear her. They were standing near the great desk, Laura flipping energetically through Richard’s portfolio and clearly upset with the man looking over her shoulder. Julie, veteran of many a lecture, knew what his folded arms meant.

“Look, damn it, I gave you my word. I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I meant it.” Laura paused at one page, and her voice altered. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Richard. You should frame it. How old was she then?”

“Three or so. The date’s on the back.” The deceptive mildness of Richard’s voice warned Julie. “My favorite’s later, with Julie and Mom. What are you planning to tell her when she asks why you left?”

“You said she wouldn’t.”

I don’t have to
, thought Julie.
I can count. If Meg was born when Dad told Tom she was, then she’s no twelve years old, dear Aunt Laura. So you had a boyfriend they didn’t know about, did you?

“I have no idea what she’ll do. But if I’d heard my family speculating all my life, I’d ask.”

Laura turned over a page. “I’ll tell her what I told Meg. I’ll say that I didn’t get along with my father and I left to get away from him. Richard, these are terrific. Do you still paint?”

“Weekend dabbler.” Julie drew back into the shadows as Richard’s arms unfolded and he leaned in near Laura, and his voice lowered. She strained to hear him. “And what are you planning to say about Francie? She knows damn well that Francie and Dominic got along. That story won’t wash.”

Silence.

Julie’s heart was beating loudly; she held her breath so that she wouldn’t miss a word.

Francie. The great unknown. She’d never heard her father say her name before.

Below her, Laura’s hand shook as she turned to another page, but no one would have thought that she turned a hair as she said lightly, “Oh, that’s easy. I’ll just say that you and Francie had a mad, passionate affair, and she ran away to heal her broken heart after you broke up with her.”

Julie couldn’t stop her gasp, even as her hand came up to her mouth, and for one terrible second she feared that her father might have heard. Richard’s voice cut savagely across that possibility. “That isn’t even remotely funny, Laura.”

“Well, that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?” Laura returned savagery for savagery, and as her voice rose, she turned her head and her eyes searched out Julie’s closed door. Julie released out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. “My
God
, Richard, you are paranoid! I
told
you, damn it, I told you I wouldn’t give you away! I’ll say that Francie and I were too close to leave each other, which, no thanks to you, happens to be the truth—”

Richard’s voice whipped out. Julie had never heard him use such a tone before.

“And she’ll ask, and you’ll just blurt out something like that? The hell you will, Laura, you won’t get the chance! You’re not going anywhere with my daughter.”

“Go to hell.” Laura threw a furious look over her shoulder. “For God’s sake, Richard, I’m a mother! I have a daughter who was crazy about her father, I know all about girls who worship their fathers. I just didn’t happen to be one.” Cat Courtney’s famous projection carried the low vibration of the words straight to Julie’s ears. “In case you’ve forgotten, Julie’s my sister’s daughter,
my
flesh and blood! Do you honestly believe I’d hurt her just to get back at you?”

He said flatly, “I don’t know what to believe of you.”

Neither do I
, thought Julie in a daze.

With a few brutal words, Laura Abbott had sewn together the loose threads in Julie’s memory: half-forgotten conversations, casual references made to the long-gone Francesca, quick glances thrown in Richard’s direction at the mention of her name. And, through all the tapestry of Julie’s life, the monolith of his silence on the disappearance of Julie’s two young aunts.

A monolith Laura had broken in a few cruel seconds.

They act like they hate each other.

But he’s always said how he missed her. And everyone said she loved him.

And look how close they’re standing. Dad doesn’t do that. He’s always so good about giving people space from his height, making them comfortable. She’s not moving away, either. It’s like – it’s like they
want
to be close, it’s like they’re—

It’s like they’re lovers.

Laura had not bothered to reply to Richard’s last caustic observation. Julie peered out from the shadows and saw that her aunt had turned back to the portfolio. Richard had walked over to the great expanse of the western window and was staring out, his shoulders taut and his hands stuck in his pockets.

I’d better get her out of here before she makes him mad again. He doesn’t need that. He’s got to rest, get over that cold and get ready for his presentation tomorrow….

Julie flattened herself against the wall and inched back towards the curve in the landing fifty feet away. She had moved only a foot or two when she heard a small gasp in the stillness of the room.

And then Laura, dryly, “You shouldn’t worry about me giving you away, Richard. You’ve done it all by yourself.”

“What?” Impatiently, Richard reeled around.

“
This
, that’s what. If Julie hasn’t asked about this, you’re luckier than you deserve. What did you do, sketch Francie in some motel room? She looks like she just got out of bed!”

“What are you talking about?” He vanished briefly out of Julie’s line of sight. She heard him approach the desk from the other side. Through the thick leaves, she watched him reach out for the portfolio and turn it around so that the sketches faced him. He stood still for a moment, while Laura stared at him and Julie held her breath.

Her father had shown her his portfolio dozens, hundreds of times, identifying people and places she’d been too young to remember, events that had happened before she was born. For the life of her, Julie couldn’t remember ever seeing a sketch of Francie.

But Laura had seen it. Laura, who was closer to Francie than anyone else in the world, who had known her best, Laura had seen a sketch of Francie.

It must have lain there all this time, mute testimony to the great rumor.

Julie thought sickly,
I guess it wasn’t a lie after all.

Then, astonishingly, Richard laughed.

“So, Cat Courtney,” and his voice had turned light, teasing, “you don’t recognize yourself?”

Cat Courtney! Julie leaned over as far as she could.

“What!” Laura sounded shocked down to her core. Julie saw her aunt snatch the book away from Richard and lean over for a closer examination. After a moment, she straightened, and even through the leaves, the squaring of her shoulders and the shake of her head for bravado signaled, unmistakably, that Laura Abbott alias Cat Courtney had been badly shaken up.

“You have quite an imagination, Richard.”

Julie’s father was relaxing now, his long range easy, as though he’d just vanquished an enemy. “Oh, really? Take a look at your album covers, princess.”

“They don’t look like that.” But Laura sounded less than certain.

“Don’t they?” Richard’s voice dropped into those tones Julie remembered vaguely from his long-ago conversations with Jennifer, edged with a touch of – well, if she didn’t adore her father, she might have called it malice. “You forget, I’m your target audience, Cat Courtney, I’m exactly the demographic those covers are aimed at. The bedroom hair, those glazed eyes, that mouth that just went through the wars—”

“Oh, shut up!” Laura slammed the book shut. “There’s no need to taunt me.”

And then, the most mysterious thing of all. Richard leaned across the desk towards Laura, his hands supporting him, his eyes drawing her to him, his voice, gentle now on the surface, but with a fine hard edge.

“
Quid pro quo
, princess. Not much fun to be on the receiving end, is it?”

~•~

It took Laura ten minutes to figure out that her niece – charming, sweet, innocent Julie – hid the soul of an accomplished con artist.

Oh, Julie was clever. Somewhere in her sixteen years, she had learned all the right buttons to push. On the surface, she exhibited all the exquisite manners that her father turned on and off at will. She asked politely after Laura’s family, she carefully ascertained Laura’s interests and devised an itinerary for the day (insisting that nothing could give her more pleasure than to accompany Laura wherever she wished), and she carried on polite conversation that would have done most adults proud.

No teenage girl could be that perfect.

Maybe, Laura thought, she was imagining the cutting edge to the artless questions Julie threw out. Julie asked permission to email Meg so that “we won’t be strangers when she comes up here to see you.” An innocent, friendly request on the surface, so why did she get the impression that Julie knew perfectly well that she would never lay eyes on Meg in this lifetime? Another guileless comment, “I guess you and Dad are pretty good friends from way back, aren’t you?” and Laura fought the irrational notion that Julie divined the sexual warfare she and Richard had turned on each other.

No, no, no. But still – Julie seemed perfect. Too perfect.

The mask slipped occasionally. When they left the Folly, Laura casually held out the Jaguar keys to her niece, for the sheer pleasure of watching Richard’s face blanch as his daughter gunned the $100,000 car out of the driveway like the proverbial bat out of hell. Julie’s laughter sounded genuine, a rebellious teenager testing her limits, but she calmed down before she reached the first crossroads.

She forgot herself again, briefly, when they stopped in at Edwards Lake, and Max came running into the front hall to greet them. Laura watched in amusement as her dignified niece scooped up the cat in her arms and gave him the petting of his life. Max, lovesick, trailed upstairs after them up, waving his fluffy tail against Julie in a transparent demand for more attention.

“Gosh,” sighed Julie from the depths of Max’s fur, “he’s so sweet. I wish I had a cat.”

“Why don’t you?” The humidity of the day had begun to wax strong, and Laura’s jeans were sticking to her. She searched in her wardrobe for a sundress. “You live in the country. You could keep a cat outside if your father doesn’t want one indoors.”

“Dad says it’s not possible because he has to travel so much and I have to stay with other people when he’s gone.”

Something in Julie’s voice – a keen, bright edge beneath a mild obedience – seized Laura’s wary attention. She glanced at her niece, and caught Julie before she completely recovered herself. One second, flashing eyes and a
moue
that expressed her utter discontent; the next, wide eyes and a look of serene acceptance.

Laura’s instincts went on alert.

No, this she hadn’t imagined. She’d done it herself, this very morning, assuming a sweet, submissive persona for Richard’s benefit. She knew about the effect of widened eyes, the shy duck of the head, the quivering of the lips.

What on earth was Julie up to?

“We could always present him with a
fait accompli.
” Richard would damn her to hell for interfering between him and his child. “He won’t make the cat hit the road, I promise. Did he ever tell you about the kitten he found for me when I was five?”