Chapter 22
Starting at six o'clock, a steady stream of cars began to arrive at Buona Fortuna. From the window seat in her bedroom, Callie watched them come up the lighted drive, disappear under the porte cochere, and then get parked by uniformed attendants on the lawn. They were a fleet of luxury, every make and model that cost an arm and a leg. She even thought she'd made out a Bentley or two.
All those flashy cars were not inspiring heir to join the party. She imagined the people getting out of them were every bit as glamorous as their choice of transportation. As someone who avoided crowds to begin with, getting thrown in with a bunch of corporate raiders and beauty queens was like the second ring of Hell to her and she was debating the merits of hiding in her room. It smacked of cowardice, sure, but she was almost guaranteed to have a better time.
Besides, she wasn't feeling festive. When she'd come back from the garage, she'd gone upstairs looking for Grace. The door to her half sister's room had been shut, however, and the sensual, masculine laughter coming through the panels didn't prompt a good knocking. Callie had gone to her room to change, resolving to talk to Grace the minute the party was over.
She looked down at her black skirt, the one she'd worn out to dinner with Gray. Twice.
The one that Jack had taken off her body that first night they'd made love.
She thought of burning it just to get away from the memories.
There was a knocking sound and then Grace put her head in the door. "Are you all set? Ross and I are ready."
Callie stood, smoothed down the skirt, and squeezed her feet into her heels.
"You look lovely," she said to Grace with a smile.
Her half sister was wearing a dark red sheath dress that fell, strapless, from her pale shoulders. With her blond hair cascading down her back, she was almost too beautiful to be real.
"Well, thank you. So do you. Those simple lines really suit you." Grace went over to the window and leaned in, looking at the cars. "I used to come to Jack's holiday party religiously, but in the last couple of years I've had to bow out. There are so many friends to catch up with! And I'd like to introduce you to a couple of eligible men, if you wouldn't mind."
Oh, no. Not that.
Grace turned around, a smile on her face, but the expression faded. "Callie? Are you all right? You don't look well."
That was funny, she didn't feel well, either.
"I'm fine. But I need to talk with you."
Concern lifted Grace's perfectly arched brows. "Is everything all right?"
"No, it isn't. After we get through this evening, can we find a quiet place?"
"Of course." Grace eyed Ross who was waiting in the hall. "Do you want to talk now?"
"I think later would be better." She didn't want the pressure of keeping Grace from the party and had no idea how long the conversation was going to take. "Just promise me. By the end of tonight."
Walking downstairs behind Grace and Ross, Callie felt as if she were wearing concrete shoes. Or maybe lead-lined underwear. Her body was impossibly heavy and she gripped the railing as she approached the crush of people in the front hall. There was a jam as guests came in the door and handed their coats to more uniformed staff. The foyer was filled with the sounds of the party and the volley of talk and laughter made Callie wince as her senses became overloaded. There was too much noise, too much light, too many perfumes competing for the same air space.
As Grace got swept up in some woman's arms, Callie blindly went into the living room and immediately knew she'd taken a wrong turn. She was lost in a sea of people. There must have been a hundred already there and more kept squeezing in from the hall. Moving through the throng, she went over to one of the bars that had been set up and ordered a glass of wine, not because she was thirsty but because she felt like she needed something to do.
She'd just accepted a Chardonnay when a woman wearing a dramatic gold dress stepped in front of her and said crisply, "Oh, good. And my husband wants a martini."
The woman snatched the glass out of Callie's hand and turned back to the man she'd been talking with.
I'm out of here, Callie thought.
But before she left, she tapped the brunette on the shoulder.
The woman pirouetted around and then smiled at the man next to her. "Oh, darling, your drink's here already."
"No," Callie said politely, taking her glass back. "That one's mine. If you want to be waited on, you could ask one of the men in tuxedos who are passing trays. Otherwise, you can stand in line at the bar."
As the woman began to sputter Callie walked away, leaving the glass on a side table as she tried to get back to the stairs. The congestion in the hall had gotten worse, though, so she decided to head for the rear of the house. She was moving through the dining room, which was filled with some truly gorgeous food, when she saw Jack in one corner. He was talking to someone intently, his back to her.
Callie stopped, forgetting the feel of people brushing up against her.
Jack had changed into a tuxedo and he looked good in formal clothes. The jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and the stark white of the shirt's jaunty collar played well against his dark hair.
He turned to shake a man's hand and she saw he'd been talking with a woman. Like so many of the other ladies, the long-haired blond was wearing a dress that was right off the runway and she'd accessorized it with plenty of important jewelry. Jack turned back to her when he was done talking to the man and she said something in his ear, a smile playing over her lips as she ran her hand over his cast. Jack laughed and pointedly stepped back.
It could have been innocent, probably was, at least on Jack's part, but at that moment Callie wasn't inclined to hang around. Her head was spinning from the noise and the people and so much more. If she didn't get away from the party, she was going to disintegrate and do something ridiculous, like elbow that woman right out of the room. As quickly as she could, she fled to the kitchen and left through the back door.
The night was cold and she was grateful because the chill helped quiet the buzz in her ears. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked across the driveway and went up into the studio. She just couldn't bear to be in that house, not until after the party died down. She wasn't part of Jack's world and she couldn't pretend to be. Not tonight.
She went over to the couch and sat down by the last of the documents. One by one, she picked pieces of paper from the bin, in search of Nathaniel's truth.
Jack saw Gray through the crowd in the dining room and excused himself from a conversation about highway funds. There were a lot of people who wanted to discuss issues involving the state and it was clear that rumors about his candidacy were getting around.
Waving his arm, he caught Gray's attention and motioned the man over.
"Glad you came," Jack said as they met in front of a platter of poached salmon.
"I just talked with Senator McBride. I think you're going to be pleased." Gray lifted his glass in salute at a congressman who had just walked into the room. "The preliminary reports from the exploratory committee are highly favorable. You'll hear all about it tomorrow, but so far you've got some big backers on the fund-raising side and your name recognition is through the roof. There's heat, Jack. We've got some heat."
"That's great," he said for his friend's benefit.
"It's a hell of a lot more than great. And I've heard some interesting news. Were you aware that Butch Callahan physically threatened his deputy director when the woman didn't get behind him on those construction awards last year? You know, the ones that went to half his family?"
"Jesus. No, I wasn't."
"Yeah, well, no one else has heard about it either."
"Gray, how do you find this stuff out?"
"You don't want to know. Anyway, what this means is we've got something to barter with—”
"Later." Jack nodded toward his mother who'd just come into the room and was eyeing them both with purpose.
Mercedes's arms stretched out widely as she approached. "Gray, dear, how are you?"
"Mrs. Walker, you look lovely."
As she accepted Gray's kiss on the cheek, Jack eyed his mother objectively. She did look good in the dark blue gown she was wearing and he noted that the collar of diamonds and sapphires at her neck had been a wedding gift to her from his grandparents. Which meant it was one of the few pieces in her safe that he didn't technically own.
"Now, Gray, I understand you and Jack have been hard at work, plotting. I want you to know I thoroughly approve." Gray made a noncommittal noise as she tucked her arm into his. "I can't tell you the number of people here who are prepared to vote for my son. There's going to be a stampede to the polls."
As Gray did the social dance with his mother. Jack searched the room. He'd been looking for Callie all night long, but she was nowhere to be found. Hell, maybe she was avoiding him on purpose. After all, the deadline he'd given her was up tomorrow. Maybe she was just running the clock down.
"Jack?" his mother prompted him.
"What?"
Mercedes let out her social laugh, the one that carried like wind chimes through the small group that had gathered around her. "Isn't that just like my son? Always deep in thought. Jack just has so much going on. Now, if you all will excuse us, my son and I need a moment alone."
"We do?" he drawled.
She was smiling and nodding as she grabbed onto his good arm and led him into the butler's pantry. She slid the pocket door in place and glared at him.
"What happened to that painting!"
Even though he knew exactly what she was talking about, he muttered, "You want to be a little more specific?"
"She's ruined it."
"And who did you hear this from? "
"Gerard told me everything."
"Then I'm quite sure he didn't phrase it like that."
Mercedes threw her shoulders back and hit him with the full regal routine. "Jackson, I do not understand what that woman has done to you. She comes into this house, destroys your relationship with Blair, and then does untold damage to that priceless piece of art and you defend her?"
"Mother, relax. Grace and I reviewed the painting with Callie this afternoon. It's perfectly fine."
This stopped Mercedes in her tracks. "Grace has seen the devastation?"
He tightened his lips. "Let's get this straight. The painting is not ruined."
"What about that face! Who is it?"
"We have a theory, and if it proves to be correct, the value of the painting has probably been enhanced."
His mother's eyes narrowed. "Well."
He lifted a brow and waited to see if she came up with some other way to try and blow the situation out of proportion.
Instead, she hit him from a fresh angle.
"And what of the party at the MFA?" she prompted him. "I thought we were going to have a reception when the painting is mounted next to the Paul Revere. I've already started to invite people, but Gerard says you're being evasive."
"If there's a reception, we'll have it here. No matter how great my ancestor would look next to the Revere, that painting's going back over my fireplace where it belongs."
"But that's where your father is!"
Like the man, and not a portrait of him, was mounted on the wall.
"Actually, I'm going to move that picture."
While his mother stared at him as if he'd committed blasphemy, Jack checked his watch. It was seven o'clock on the West Coast. Perfect, he thought.
"If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."
He knew that was the only way his mother would let go of him. She'd forgive him anything that had to do with the Walker Fund. Mercedes, he thought, had always kept her eye on the prize. And the prize was almost always green.
But she took his arm in a sturdy grip. "I'm very concerned about you."
"I don't know why. The cast comes off in a week or two."
"Be serious!" Her eyes flashed. "I just don't know what you're thinking anymore, Jackson. But I refuse to let you lose sight of the big picture."
"Lucky me," he said as he opened the door.
Moving quickly through the party, Jack shut himself in his study, picked a note card off his desk, and dialed the phone.
The voice was harried on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" There was a muffled noise and then, "No, no, honey, Daddy's got the phone."
A wail sounded out.
"Bryan McKay?" Jack said.
"Yes." There was a loud sigh. "Listen, I don't accept phone calls from telemarketers—”
"This is Jack Walker."
Pure silence. And then, "Oh, my God. Ah—hello, how did you get my home number? Never mind, you must have people who—Oh, my God. What can I do for you?"
"Take a deep breath first."
Jack laughed as the good doctor actually did it.
"Dr. McKay, I'm going to invest in your company. I'm going to fund your entire operation for the next three years, down to the cost of lightbulbs and floor mops."
There was another resounding silence and then, "OhmyGod—ohmyGod—”
Jack smiled, feeling good about his decision.
"Now, listen, we're going to have work out some details," he said crisply. "I'm not just investing, I'm going to help you guys make it. Your family and I are going to be in business together."
Callie reached into the bin, took hold of a piece of paper, and then felt it slip from her grasp on the way to her lap. The page scooted under the couch and she muttered a few choice words as she got on her hands and knees, hiked up the slipcover's kick pleat and stuck her hand into the darkness.
When she felt paper under her fingertips, she sat back up and brushed off the darkened, half-torn sheet.
Her breath caught the moment she noted its deep brown color. It was old. Very old. Carefully holding the two sides together, she could barely make out the words because the ink was so faded.
She leaned over to the light and tried to read the sprawling script.
Dear Nathaniel—
It is with great sorrow that I must detail the passing of my beloved daughter Anne. She went unto the Lord's gentle hands on 15th September. My sorrow is boundless, coming to me in the night and under the sun likewise. In the disposition of her things, I found your letters to her and I return them herein to your care as a matter of discretion. Had I but known of her feelings for you and yours to her, I would have been o'er joyed at the prospect of a marriage. I cherished her like nothing on earth, but would have granted her passage into your house because I know of the man you are. Tis a double loss to my heart that I came so close to calling you son. Our angel is with the rest.
Yours faithfully, J.J. Rowe
Callie looked up. Over the tattered edge of the paper, she saw the portrait.
She reread the letter and went to the painting.
Reaching out, she brushed her fingertips lightly over Nathaniel's cheek and then stared at the reflection of the girl he had loved and lost.
September fifteenth.
The Battle of Concord had been staged in early September. Which meant that Nathaniel and Anne's failed midnight meeting had been a matter of weeks before she'd died. Afraid of her father's reaction, Anne had missed her last chance to see the man she loved, but it had been for no reason. If the general's letter truly reflected his feelings, he would have approved of the union after all.
Callie looked into Nathaniel's eyes, shaking her head ?adly at what he had lost. And what might have been.
Good Lord, to have missed so much out of a fear that was ultimately unfounded.
Anne would still have died, in all probability, but who knew what would have come of that meeting? A marriage proposal? Perhaps Nathaniel would have taken her with him somehow and she wouldn't have contracted typhus in the city.
Callie wondered what kinds of regrets Anne had had. By the time the girl fell ill, it would have been too late to get word to Nathaniel, so her destiny to forgo a last good-bye was sealed. Her father and her love were fighting and away from Boston. Even if she had sent for Nathaniel, it was doubtful she could have reached him in time, given the constraints of communication and the confusion of battle. It was hard not to imagine the sickened girl yearning to see the man she cared for so deeply.
Callie put the letter down and wandered over to the windows that overlooked Buona Fortuna. The mansion was stunning in its illuminated glory. For a house that appeared so dour in the daylight, at night, with lights shining in all the rooms, it was dazzling.
And the party was in full swing. Through the first-floor windows, she could see shapes passing by as people in beautiful clothes mingled with one another.
Somewhere, Jack was among them, she thought. And she was, once again, on the outside looking in.
Recalling the evening she'd stood in front of that mansion with her mother, watching her father be with people that were friends to him and strangers to her, she was struck by how her life had come full circle.
The difference was, now she was choosing not to go inside. There was nothing holding her back, nothing keeping her out of Jack's life, but herself.
She pictured Anne again, lying on her deathbed.
And with a sudden, sickening clarity, Callie relived the last moment between her parents. She saw her mother, weak, unable to speak, her eyes the only things that moved. She saw her father bent down low, face contorted in an anguish that was clearly from the heart. The words he had spoken washed over Callie and the pain they caused came swiftly, harshly. Immutably.
As she heard what he'd said once again, she realized it wasn't just Grace she was protecting by keeping the past out of her life. She, herself, was hiding from the worst truth of them all. It was as if, by not speaking her father's name to anyone, what had happened, especially at the end, had not been real.
But it had happened. It was real.
And Callie knew with complete conviction that if she couldn't acknowledge the past openly, she was going to lose the one shot she had at everything she had ever wanted. A man who loved her. A family. A place where she belonged.
Someone who was hers. She knew what she had to do. On her way out, she picked up the letter and holding it with care, she headed back to the house.