Was it really going to be this easy? Alan turned to look at his father. The older man was frowning as he pushed back his chair. “Superb dinner, Marilyn. Alan, why don’t you join me in the library for a cognac?”
It wasn’t an invitation; it was an order. Alan slid his chair back and stood up. Then he walked to the end of the table to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Thank you, Mother. Dinner was excellent.”
“Coming, Alan?”
His father looked impatient, so Alan followed him to the second-floor library. He accepted a snifter of cognac, even though he wasn’t fond of its taste, then waited for all hell to break loose.
“Sit down.” Alan’s father motioned toward the two wing chairs in front of the fireplace. A fire had been laid. As it burned cheerfully, it gave off the scent of cherry wood. Naturally, the fire was real. The fireplace was made of solid river rock; no expense had been spared when his grandfather had built the Stanford mansion.
Alan’s father took a sip of his cognac and set it down on the table. He then turned to Alan, frowning. “Now that we’re away from the ladies, suppose you tell me what that was all about.”
“Connie and I are getting married.” It was difficult, but Alan met his father’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Father. I don’t expect you to approve, or even understand, but I love Connie and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
Ralph Stanford sighed and then shook his head. “Now, son . . . I’m sure she’s a fine girl, but you can’t be serious about actually bringing her into our family.”
“I’m very serious.” Alan managed not to drop his eyes. “We’re getting married next week, Father. It’s all arranged. Of course we’d be delighted if you’d come to the wedding, but Connie doesn’t expect it and neither do I.”
Alan’s father sighed again. “All right, son. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to resort to this, but I see that I have no other choice.”
Alan watched as his father walked to the antique desk and opened the center drawer. Ralph Stanford’s mouth was set in a grim line as he handed Alan a typed report in a blue binding.
“Read this. There may be some facts about your intended that you don’t know.”
Alan’s hands were steady as he opened the binder and started to read. Everything was here, from Connie’s illegitimate birth to her mother’s years on welfare. The investigator hadn’t mentioned the name of Connie’s father. That was too bad. Connie would have liked to know. But the report went into detail about the man Connie’s mother had married, how he’d abused her and forced her into prostitution to support his drug habit, how she’d been an alcoholic.
It was a wonder that Connie was so kind and loving, coming from a background like hers. Alan sighed as he read about how her stepfather had repeatedly molested her, had even offered her to his friends.
Alan knew all about Connie’s past, how she’d run away the night of her fifteenth birthday, lived with a series of men, worked in a topless club as a dancer, and finally saved enough money to finish a secretarial course. Alan had met Connie at work, when she’d come in as a temporary replacement for one of the secretaries. She’d agreed to move in with him only after she’d told him the story of her life.
When he’d finished the last page and closed the report, Alan handed it back to his father. Then he waited. The ball was in his father’s court.
Ralph Stanford cleared his throat. “Well, son?”
“Don’t pay him, Father.” Alan managed not to grin.
“What?”
“Don’t pay this detective. He left out the part about Pete Jones, the truck driver Connie lived with for almost a year. And he didn’t find out about the job Connie took in a massage parlor on lower Hennepin.”
“You knew about all this? Still you want to marry this woman?”
Alan smiled. His father looked utterly deflated, the first time Alan had seen him like this. “It’s not a question of wanting to marry Connie. I’m going to marry her. And nothing you can say will stop me!”
“But . . . why?”
“Because we love each other.” His father seemed to have aged in the past few minutes, and that made Alan feel bad. But he’d promised Connie he’d tell him everything, so he had another blow to deliver. “Connie’s pregnant. We didn’t plan it, and she suggested abortion, but I wouldn’t agree. She only did it to please me. She wants this baby just as much as I do.”
Alan’s father swallowed hard. A vein in his forehead was throbbing as he leaned forward to put a hand on Alan’s arm. “Listen to me, son. You’re falling into the oldest trap in the world!”
Alan shook his head. “It’s not a trap. I’m the one who insisted that Connie marry me. She knew you wouldn’t approve, and she didn’t want to cause trouble in the family. She was willing to leave and raise the baby herself.”
*