Redemption (27 page)

She watched as someone threw a silver dollar into the fountain. Instantly she thought of Matt standing there, offering her a quarter for her thoughts…right before he found out what secrets her thoughts concealed.

And he still didn’t know all of them.

Claire ignored the sickening thud that pounded between her ribs. Not even she was aware of all the secrets hiding in the dark corners of her mind, and tonight she refused to think about them.

Around her, the hum of the crowd grew expectant, as the Bach rolled into a rock beat. Bendel’s signature model strolled across the carpet, just ahead of a more dignified Mme. Bendel, followed by a string of reporters with flashing cameras. For an instant, Claire froze, reliving the time when the flashbulbs were all aimed at her. But tonight, the reclusive Mme. Bendel was the object of their frenzy.

At the fountain the eighty-year-old perfumier paused, then inclined her head slightly, one grande dame paying her respects to another. Jackie leaned toward her and interrupted the moment of reverie. Probably reciting the legends, Claire guessed from her spot twenty feet away.

Then the turbaned head of Mme. Bendel turned. Her gaze swept the room, finally landing on Claire. As the woman approached, Claire ignored the sudden impulse to curtsy. The Queen of England herself probably hadn’t generated as much excitement when she appeared at Bloomingdale’s years ago.

As introductions were made, Claire’s high school French came in handy. Though Mme. Bendel seemed to understand English, her replies were heavily flavored with French. With a wave of her hand, she encompassed the whole store with the words “
C’est magnifique!
My perfume and your store…a perfect match,
n’est-ce pas?”
She nodded toward the fountain. “Surely, she will smile on us both,
oui?”

“
J’espère bien,”
Claire answered, a vision of climbing stock prices dancing in her head. Then she blinked as a flash went off near her.

Mme. Bendel, having made her pronouncement, swept forward to where Bernard Kaslow and his wife waited for an introduction. An excited flush stained Bernard’s cheeks as he posed for a photo next to the legendary perfumier.

Just behind his uncle lurked Evan, a smile pasted on his face. In a display of continental flair, he leaned in to kiss the woman’s cheek, despite the scowl that seemed entrenched on her face. An impervious hand stopped him mid-way. His smile faltered, and then the sea of onlookers followed Mme. Bendel toward the merchandise display.

Claire felt an almost imperceptible tug at her attention. Turning, she noticed the reclining figure of the goddess, and for a moment, Claire could have sworn the bronze lips were curved in a knowing smile.

The next morning, a photo of Mme. Bendel appeared in the business section of the
Philadelphia Inquirer
. Claire would have been pleased with the publicity Kaslow’s coup had garnered, but for the fact that she herself was shown in the photo, greeting Mme. Bendel, the goddess Fortuna reclining in the background.

Sipping her coffee at her desk, Claire wondered just how much the goddess would fetch on the clearance table.

Her phone buzzed, and Jackie’s animated voice floated into the room. “I just heard:
Advertising Age
has picked up the story; they want to interview me! Oh, and Claire, a reporter called from the
LA Times
. Something about Matt Grayson’s film. They had your name wrong, though. By the way, did you know Nordstrom had the West Coast
Scandal
account?”

She prattled on for a moment, and then Claire’s other line buzzed. “That’ll be the
LA Times
,” Jackie said. “I told her you could answer her questions.”

Claire punched the button and heard the reporter’s voice.

“This is Lesley Burnett,
LA Times
. Could you comment on the story in today’s
Inquisitor
?”

“Actually, Jackie Prescott can give you more information on the
Scandal
debut.”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking about the perfume. The story I’m referring to is the one in Alicia Howard’s column…”

Claire listened, one eye on the figures in front of her.

“In light of your recent association with Matt Grayson, I was wondering, has the romance between you two rekindled? And if so, are you planning to—”

The pen Claire was holding dropped to the desk. She swallowed, but a sick feeling of dread stuck in her throat. “Just exactly what story are you referring to?”

“According to the
Inquisitor
, you were once involved with Matt Grayson…on the set of
Bed of Roses
.” She paused.

Claire’s hand tightened on the phone.

“It is true, isn’t it? You’re the former Clarissa Peters?”

Claire didn’t answer.

“Hello? Ms. Porter?” The reporter’s voice struck silence again.

Claire hung up the phone, the figures forgotten. Only one thought filled her mind: She had to get to her son.

Matt watched the best boy take down a c-stand, folding the contraption like a Tinkertoy. This was the next-to-last scene they would film in Philadelphia. Provided everything went well this afternoon at the mansion where they were shooting the scenes with Jane’s father, most of the filming would be complete.

Later, voiceovers would be taped in the studio, but that would occur in May, after a major portion of editing had been completed.

An assistant director paged him on the walkie talkie he wore around his neck. “Matt, your publicist has been trying to get you since five a.m.”

Matt swore. The call wouldn’t have been put through. With the tight schedule they were on, his assistant was under orders to shield him from any but the direst emergencies.

He punched in Sharon Rogers’s number on the cell Heather handed him.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she told him, “but the
Inquisitor
thinks you’ve met up with an old flame there in Philadelphia.”

His mind still on the afternoon’s schedule, he started to shrug off the news; then, as the realization hit, he halted mid-way to his trailer.

“What are you talking about? What old flame?”

“The woman from that aborted
Bed of Roses
film—what was her name? Clarissa? That’s right; it’s here on their web site. The print article hit the stands this morning.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I figured it wasn’t true, but I wanted to verify it with you before we issued a denial. The article claims she’s now some executive at the store where you’re filming.”

“Oh,
fuck
.” Someone had figured it out—
son of a bitch!

“Matt? Should we even bother to deny this one?”

He rubbed his jaw, thinking hard. Claire would be frantic—provided she’d heard. Her first thought would be Tripper, protecting him from hearing the truth from some kid on the playground.

“Matt?”

“No. Don’t deny a damn thing. If you get any questions, just act coy—keep them guessing. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare a statement—” He looked at his watch. “Shit. I can’t cancel this afternoon’s shoot without screwing the schedule…” His mind leaped to possible solutions. “Listen, call my pilot, have him get the plane ready to fly to Montana. Leaving from—from Brandywine Airport, in Chester County,” he said. No one would look for her there.

With an apology for asking her to make arrangements he’d normally have his assistant make, Matt rang off. His first priority now was Claire, making sure she didn’t get the same treatment she had received the last time her name had been linked with his.

He called her work number. She had left a half hour ago—in a hurry, her assistant informed him—and she had no idea when she would return.

He tried her cell, but she didn’t pick up.

She had obviously heard the news. She’d be with Tripper, shielding him the best way she could—most likely with more lies, he thought grimly.

It was past time to tell him the truth, but now, a sudden attack of stage fright knotted his gut. What if Tripper decided Matt was to blame for everything that had befallen his mother? Would he ever be able to forgive him for not protecting Claire, for not being a part of his life?

Their relationship was hardly off the ground, and already Matt had plenty of explaining to do. Opening the door to his trailer, he swore to himself. He’d rather face a bar full of mean drunks than his son right now.

Inside, he tried Claire’s cell again. When she answered, he gave her instructions, ignoring the trace of panic he heard in her voice. “Go home and pack a bag for you and Tripper. Don’t worry about Sadie; I’ll have someone pick her up later. My plane will be at the Brandywine Airport—” he glanced at his watch “—in an hour. I’ll send a car for you, and a couple of security guys.”

“Brandywine? The commuter airport?”

“Yeah, it’ll be the last place they’ll look. I’d come with you, but by the time this breaks, they’ll be all over me like mold on cheese.”

“But, Matt, we can’t—we can’t just go to Montana. What on earth would your family say?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ve already told Mark everything. He’ll meet you at the airport.”

“You’ve told your family? Everything?” Her voice was skeptical.

“I told them Tripper was my son. That’s all that matters to them. Trust me, Claire.”

“I can’t go to Montana. I—I have work to do. Tripper has school…” Her voice trailed off. They both knew it was only a matter of time before the tabloid reporters discovered where Tripper went to school and aimed their zoom lenses on the playground.

“He’s out next week for spring break. Taking a few extra days won’t matter. And you can work from my ranch—believe it or not, we’ve got Internet out there now.”

There was silence on the other end. Matt wasn’t sure if that indicated agreement. “I’m going to straighten this mess out, one way or another,” he vowed. “All you have to do is keep Tripper from hearing anything from anyone other than you or me.”

“Right,” she said, her voice guarded. “That should be…a snap.”

“Right now, they only know who you are—or were. They have no idea Tripper was born nine months after our affair.”

“It won’t take more than a day for that to become public knowledge.” He could hear the note of despair in her voice.

“Just stay calm, Claire. I’ll fix everything,” he assured her. “Just get him to the airport in an hour. Okay?”

“All right,” she agreed, though there was still a note of uncertainty in her voice. Matt knew her well enough to know she didn’t like to be cornered.

He heard her sigh over the phone. “I suppose it’s better than moving to Australia.”

“You were going to move to Australia?”

“Yes. I hear the weather’s better there than Antarctica.”

He laughed, applauding her gallows humor. She was a tough cookie, but even tough cookies crumbled sometimes.

Damn the press for putting them in this position, he thought, ending the conversation. He would have preferred to choose his own time for telling Tripper the truth.

Like maybe when he announced he was marrying his mother.

Chapter Nineteen

C
LAIRE
L
OOKED
D
OWN
on the state of Montana while the plane began its descent. The mirror lake below reflected the fluffy clouds, but the sight didn’t lift the gloom that had settled around her. Next to her, though, Tripper was beside himself with excitement. She had told him Matt had reissued the invitation to join him in Montana and she had decided to take him up on it, using the age-old excuse that she had been working too hard. It wasn’t exactly a lie, and Tripper believed her, with a trust that stabbed at her heart.

Matt had promised to meet them at this brother’s house that evening, as soon as he had a handle on the rumors that would certainly be flying now. She didn’t know how, could not even begin to focus on the mechanics involved with dealing with the media. She just knew Matt wouldn’t let them down.

His brother, Mark, met them at the tiny Great Falls airport. Claire recognized him right away. With hair barely a shade darker than Matt’s and a neatly trimmed beard, just tinged with gray, Mark was exactly as she had pictured him. A more sober, and older, version of Matt. Mark accepted the presence of Claire and her son in the brisk air of Montana as if nothing were amiss, greeting them like old friends rather than refugees.

Claire, whose nerves were still jangling from the morning’s near brush with notoriety, felt the first stirrings of relief sweep through her system.

“This it?” Mark asked, hefting their bags as if they were filled with popcorn.

“Yes,” Claire replied. “I wasn’t sure what the weather was like here, so I packed everything.”