The Rich Shall Inherit (42 page)

1898

Greg’s handsome face, smiling at her with a look in his eyes that told her he’d missed her and he loved her, lit San Francisco’s gloomy railroad station like a beacon of hope. He hugged her and kissed her, and Poppy’s smile held such profound relief that he laughed. “I can see you’re glad to be back,” he said.

“And I’m glad to see
you,”
she whispered, with a surge of hope that, after all, life might not be over.

The Konstant house had never seemed more like home. As she fed her Arabian mare, Rhanee, an apple from her jacket pocket, Poppy stared across the paddock to the rolling tawny hills and the distant blue ridge of the mountains, and she thanked God for not letting her do anything foolish that desperate morning alone in her hotel room in Venice. She was home again where she belonged, and she never wanted to leave it again.

Each night when she went to bed, she told herself that Greg need never know what had happened, and finally, convinced that she was doing the right thing, she told him she would marry him.

How sweet his kisses were compared with Felipe’s impassioned brutal ones, and how gentle his hands were as they caressed her hair or held her arm. But she felt listless and tired, and not at all her usual self.

When she first missed her period, she thought it must be something to do with Felipe’s brutal attack and wondered if he had damaged her in some way; but she was too ignorant and too frightened to consult a doctor. When it didn’t appear the second month, she told herself she must be anemic, that her whole
system had been thrown off balance. Didn’t they say that was something that happened to newly marrieds … but, of course, she wasn’t married, so she couldn’t ask. And then, the week Angel and Felipe were due to arrive, she woke up one morning and was violently sick.

A grand ball was held at the Arlington Hotel as the Abrego family gathered for the homecoming of the new bride and her foreign husband. “We welcome our son to our land and to our home,” Nik said, raising his glass to Felipe. “To a true nobleman!”

Rosalia thought Nik looked very Russian tonight, with his thick blond hair streaked with silver, and his eyes as clear and frost-blue as if he still gazed across the frozen Russian plains that he now saw only in his memories and dreams. But we are
true Americans
, she thought, a mixture of Russian and Mexican—and now Italian. Glancing at Poppy’s pale, shadowed face, she added to herself, and Irish too, because once Greg married Poppy, Jeb Mallory’s Irish blood would eventually flow in Konstant veins.

Poppy sat with her eyes downcast, fiddling nervously with the stem of her champagne glass as Felipe made a charming reply to Nik’s speech of welcome. The girl is unhappy, Rosalia thought intuitively; something’s wrong … yet there was no doubt Poppy was glad to be marrying Greg, and she’d told her only the other day how happy she was to be back home again, and that she had no more desire to travel. Still, she looked restless, nervous … as though she couldn’t wait to escape. But from what?

Just then, the ten-piece orchestra from San Francisco began to play. Rosalia watched as Felipe swept her lovely Angel into his arms and circled the floor while the guests applauded, and for the moment Poppy was forgotten.

Angel sat on her old bed in Poppy’s lamp-lit room, her legs tucked under her, spilling tales of their travels; of the restaurants in Paris and the rain in London and the wonders of New York. Poppy busied herself nervously at her dressing table, brushing her long hair endlessly, her eyes fixed on Angel in the mirror.

“Poppy,” said Angel shyly, “remember our promise? That whoever got married first should tell? We-ll … it’s not a bit like cows and sheep! Oh, Poppy, it’s
wonderful.
How can I tell you? It’s the most tender, loving …
gentle
feeling in the world—and at the same time, it’s exciting. Felipe was so sweet and understanding … why, it took me a whole week to get used to it but
he never rushed me, he just held me close and soothed me and then when we finally did it, it just seemed so natural somehow.”

Her eyes sparkled at the memory and Poppy thought she must be talking about a different man from the Felipe she knew.

“Poppy, I want to tell you first before anyone else—except Felipe, of course, but before Mama and Papa, or anyone. Guess what? I’m pregnant!”

Poppy dropped the silver hairbrush with a crash. “Pregnant?” she whispered.

Angel nodded happily. “Isn’t it wonderful? Of course, Felipe is longing for a son to carry on the Rinardi name, but I don’t mind which it is—a boy or a girl.” She glanced at Poppy’s white face doubtfully. “Aren’t you pleased?”

“Pleased?” Poppy repeated, dazed. “Oh, yes, yes, of course I’m pleased. Why wouldn’t I be—it’s wonderful news, Angel. But tell me … how do you feel?”

Angel sighed. “That’s the unpleasant bit. I throw up every morning as soon as I set foot out of bed. In fact some mornings I’m tempted just to stay in bed so I don’t have to go through the whole nauseous feeling, but after a while I’m right as rain again. Of course, I’m only a couple of months so I don’t even show yet, I’m still as sylphlike as you.” Running her eyes up and down Poppy’s thin body, she frowned. “In fact you are way
too thin
, Poppy. Mama said she thought you were too. Is anything wrong?”

Poppy shook her head miserably. She’d been eating as little as possible the last few weeks, both because of the terrible nausea and because she wanted to stay as thin as possible to guard her frightening secret. She simply didn’t know what to do. How could she marry Greg when she was carrying another man’s child—and that man his brother-in-law? She began to brush her hair again, with smooth, automatic strokes. She was beyond despair. Her life was in ruins and there was no way out of the mess. Her mind dwelled again on the pretty silver pistols in the gun room.

“Poppy, I want to ask a favor.” Angel tilted her head wheedlingly. “I know it’s a lot to ask you to leave Greg again, but oh, Poppy, I do so want you to come and stay with me at the Villa d’Oro. I shall be so lonely there, and Poppy, now I’m pregnant, I’m a bit scared. Please don’t give me your answer yet,” she said, holding up her hand, “because I know you’ll say no. Just promise me you’ll think it over.”

“I can’t bear to think of you being frightened,” Poppy said quietly, “of course I’ll consider it, Angel.”

She lay in bed that night, thinking of Angel in Felipe’s arms in the guest suite along the hall, and as she tossed and turned the germ of an idea came into her head. She went over it again and again until, as dawn broke, the plan was formed clearly in her mind. If it worked, she would be free.

The next morning she told Greg that it was her duty to help Angel; it wouldn’t be fair to let her go through the difficult months of her first pregnancy without her dearest friend and sister’s companionship and help. She would stay with Angel until the baby was born and then she would return home and they would be married.

“Is that a promise?” Greg asked sadly. “You promise me you’ll come back to me, Poppy?”

“I promise,”
she vowed.

A week later Angel and Felipe left for Europe and a month afterward Poppy followed them. She traveled alone this time, staying mainly in her stateroom on the ocean liner and emerging only for dinner. Several of the young officers tried to make conversation with her, asking her why she didn’t attend the dancing in the Palm Court after dinner, but Poppy pleaded seasickness. She wanted nothing more to do with flirtations and romance and men.

She was four months pregnant when she arrived in Italy, but she’d starved herself so that it didn’t show. Angel was pleasantly buxom and blooming, and of course she was thrilled to see her, but Felipe scarcely bothered to conceal his impatience. Leaving them at the villa, he departed for Venice on what he called “important business.”

“I can’t tell you what a difference it makes having you here,” Angel said when they were alone in Poppy’s room. “Felipe is behaving so strangely, I wonder what can be wrong. Not that he’s inhospitable,” she added hurriedly, “but I suppose it’s difficult having a wife who’s sick all the time … oh, Poppy, if only you knew how it feels, you’d never have a child!”

“Angel,” said Poppy, “I do know. That’s why I’m here.”

Angel laughed. “Don’t be so silly, Poppy, how can you? Wait till you marry Greg, I’ll bet you soon find out though.”

“Angel,” Poppy repeated, grasping her arm and gazing determinedly into her eyes, “how much do you love Greg?”

“Greg,” Angel repeated, puzzled. “Why, I love him more than anything.”

“And me?” Poppy demanded, gripping her arm even tighter.

“Of course, you too,” Angel cried, alarmed.

“Good, then you’ll help us. Now listen to me carefully, Angel, it’s a complicated story, but unfortunately it’s true. I’m in desperate trouble and if you care at all for Greg’s happiness, you’ll help me.”

“But what is it?” Angel asked, frightened. “Whatever is the matter?”

“You remember I told you about the man I met in Venice? My ‘secret lover’ as you called him? I can assure you, Angel, he never was that. Oh, I hoped he might be, I was infatuated with him, I couldn’t bear to be without him … I couldn’t see his weaknesses, his faults … Oh, Angel,” Poppy wailed, “he turned out to be a demon sent from hell. One afternoon he lured me into his apartment and then he locked the door behind me and … oh,
Angel … he raped
me.”

Angel’s face blanched …. “Rape?” she whispered.

Poppy nodded. “It was …
it was hell.
Remember when you told me about your wedding night?”

Angel nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Well, it was nothing like that … it was …
brutal
, Angel, a terrible, frightening, humiliating act by a despicable man. When he’d finally done with me, all I wanted to do was die.”

“Die?”
Angel repeated, terrified.

Poppy nodded. “Oh, believe me, I looked for ways. I thought of how to get hold of poison, guns, knives, anything to kill myself.” She gazed into Angel’s stunned blue eyes. “But Angel, I knew I didn’t want to die—
because I loved Greg.
Can you blame me for not killing myself?”

“Blame you?” Angel gasped.
“Of course not!”

“Loving Greg as I did—and because he loved me—I just knew that this had been a foolish infatuation with the wrong man, a foreigner who had preyed on my girlish romantic notions and then taken advantage of me. Oh, Angel, I thought no one would ever know, that I could put it all behind me. After all,” she said piteously, “I wouldn’t be hurting Greg, would I? I was still
mentally
as I had been before. You see,
it wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course not,” breathed Angel, loyally.

“And then I realized I was pregnant,” Poppy said slowly. “And I couldn’t think of what to do.”

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Angel. “Whatever
are
you going to do?”

“That’s why I’m here. Listen to me carefully, Angel. I don’t want you to make any comment until I’ve finished. Just let me tell you my plan.” Angel nodded solemnly. “I shall go stay at a
pensione
somewhere in the Italian countryside, far away from here—a quiet place where no one knows me. I’ll arrange for the baby to be born there.”

“You’re not going to give him away?” gasped Angel, horrified.

Poppy shook her head. “You promised not to comment until I’ve finished,” she said reprovingly. “Now listen carefully, Angel, because this concerns you. And Felipe,” she added softly. “We are both pregnant; our children will be born almost at the same time. Angel, I’m asking
you
to take my child, to bring him up as your own … don’t you see? No one need know—it would be as though you’d had twins.” Angel’s blue eyes widened with shock as she hurried on, “Don’t you see it’s just a baby, another dear, sweet child … my child, Angel. How can I give him to strangers when he could be brought up as part of our family?
Please
, Angel,
I’m begging you
… take my child. Free me from this hideous burden … I just don’t know what to do if you say no,” she added piteously.

Angel stared at her, terrified. “You can’t mean … not
suicide?”
she whispered.

Poppy dropped her eyes and stared at the rug. “What else would be left?”

“My poor, poor darling Poppy,” cried Angel, flinging her arms around her. “Of course I want to help you. I
must
help you. But what shall we tell Felipe?”

“Felipe is a charitable man,” Poppy said softly. “Just ask him, Angel, and see what he says. I’m sure you’ll find that, because he loves you, he will agree.”

It was Felipe who came back to her with their answer. “Angel insists on taking the child,” he told her coldly.

“Your
child,” Poppy said quietly.

“As you are aware, that cannot be proven. However, rather than have you cause trouble in the Konstant family, I have agreed that the child will be brought up as our own.”

“As he should be,” she replied coldly.

“There is a condition,” he said, “and Angel agrees with me on
this. After the child is handed over, you must go away from here and never return.”

“Naturally, I shall go home. To Santa Barbara.”

There was a gleam of triumph in Felipe’s eyes as he replied, “That’s not what I meant, Poppy.
You will disappear! You will never surface to bother our lives again.
And if you ever try to return, I shall make it my business to inform your family that their so-called daughter has turned out to be just like her blackguard father! I will make sure that
Greg Konstant
will never want to see you again.
He
will know the truth, Poppy—about how you threw yourself at me, how you came to me on the night before your dearest friend—your
sister’s
—wedding and offered yourself to me … how you seduced me with your wiles ….
No, Poppy. You will never go home again!”

1899, ITALY

Instinct sent Poppy back to the small, welcoming
pensione
on the shores of Lake Como, and the Rossis, the kindly Italian couple who had looked after her and Aunt Melody so well. Even though she wore the thin gold wedding band she’d purchased in Venice, she knew by the look in Signora Rossi’s eyes that the woman didn’t believe her story of sudden sad widowhood. Still, the Signora took her to her heart and looked after her with the same motherly kindness she lavished on her own grown-up children and grandchildren.