Eye of the Storm by V. C. Andrews
He held out the roses again.
Ever thing inside me, including my too vulnerable heart, told me to toss them back in his face and shut the door. but I didn't. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I was just willing to think of something else beside the arrival of my mother: instead of closing the door. I took his roses and stepped back.
"All right. You can come in for a while. but I have people coming in about an hour for an important meeting."
"Thanks." he said entering. He gazed around with some surprise in his eyes as if he expected to see a house stripped of all of its valuables immediately after Grandmother Hudson's death.
"What?" I asked.
"Quite a house, quite a house. My mother always talks about this house. She'd love to buy it."
"Maybe she'll have the opportunity," I said dryly and led him into the drawing room. I set the flowers in a vast. They were beautiful, a creamy rich white with a strong, fresh scent.
"The word around is that you've inherited most everything. Is that so?" he asked without delay.
"So that's it." I said turning on him. "You're here to get all the good gossip to spread. I bet you bragged you could get me to tell you all the details. right. Corbette?"
He started to shake his head and I laughed.
"Go ahead. sit. Corbette," I said in the tone of voice I would use on a mischievous little boy. I nodded at the chair to his right.
He did and I sat across from him on the smaller settee. For a moment I just looked at him, fixing my eyes on him intently. It made him a little
uncomfortable.
"You are different," he said. "You seem very bitter. What happened to you in England?"
"I'm not any more or less bitter than I was before I went to England. What happened is I grew up a little more," I said. "You don't look like you have changed much." I didn't mean it to sound like a compliment, but that's the way he took it.
"Hey," he said holding out his arms. "why fix it if it ain't broke?"
"Who says it ain't broke?" I retorted, wiping the smug smile off his face.
He nodded.
"You were always a lot tougher than the other girls at Dogwood. I knew that right away and I liked it," he added with a wide-eyed smile. "You've got spunk. Who wanted just another Barbie doll?"
"Normally, that would be flattering, but coming from you, it almost sounds like an insult. Okay. Corbette," I said sitting back and folding my arms under my breasts, "catch me up on your life. How was your college year?"
"Oh. terrific. I was in a play and I won a big part, too. One of the first freshman to do so, it seems."
"What play?"
'Death of a Salesman. I played Biff You know it. right?"
"Of course." I said. I nodded, "I can see you as Biff"
What I was referring to was someone whose ego had been blown up way out of proportion to what he really was and was able to accomplish, but again. Corbette saw only what he wanted to see. I was beginning to wonder if that wasn't a disease of the rich and privileged in our world.
"I received a lot of compliments for my performance. I'm seriously thinking of going to Hollywood, maybe even before I finish college. A friend of mine at school has an uncle who's an agent and he told him about me. You might see me in the movies," Corbette predicted.
"Somehow, I think that would be very natural for you. Corbette."
He stared a moment, finally realizing that I wasn't being complimentary.
"You sure don't like me. I guess I can't blame anyone but myself "
"I don't think about you enough anymore to not like you. Corbette."
He brightened again, again deliberately missing the point.
"I was hoping we might bury the hatchet and maybe go out or something. I'd love to take you to dinner tonight." He lifted his hands quickly, palms to me. "Nothing bad, no plans to take you to my place. I won't even kiss you good night if you don't want me to," he promised.
I was almost tempted to say yes just to be with someone my age, just to get away from all this tension and turmoil. My hesitation gave him reason to hope.
"There's this great new Italian restaurant I've found. It's small, cozy. We could sit and talk and maybe get to know each other properly. We've got a lot more in common now, you know," he added.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you're a significant landowner in the community. You've inherited some wealth. You're no longer some poor girl from the inner city dependent upon someone's charity. You're different--"
"I'm no different than I was before all this. Corbette. You think just having some money makes me a better person? Is that how you measure people?" I snapped back at him.
"No, of course not." He shook his head. "Damn, you make me think about every word I use as if we're in court or something. Maybe you should study to be an attorney."
"Maybe I will. It seems these days they're just as important as doctors used to be," I said thinking about all that was about to happen between me and my mother and aunt.
He laughed.
"Right. In a television advertisement they could say. "Lawyers, don't leave home without one.'' he recited, writing the words in the air between us. I couldn't help but smile.
"That's better. We don't have to be dueling with words."
Was I a fool to permit his sweet talk and smile to relax my defenses? Grandmother Hudson had taught me a saying early on: Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
An idea occurred to me, a quick test of Corbetters sincerity.
"Maybe I don't have as much money as you think. Corbett, and maybe I'm not a landowner. Maybe everything you've heard is just an
exaggeration. Maybe I'm waiting to get my walking papers and be off, never to be seen or heard from again,"
His smile froze and then slowly evaporated. "What is the truth?" he asked.
I smiled to myself seeing how the look of uncertainty had entered those magnificent eyes and snuffed out some of their charm and glitter.
"Well," I said gazing around and lowering my voice. "I'll tell you as long as you promise not to make this the news of the day."
"Hey. I'm not a aossip."
"Good. They said I could stay here awhile as long as I kept it clean."
"Huh?"
"They actually wanted me to stay awhile and maintain it. They'll pay me, of course, and they'll even pay for my train ticket to wherever I want to go afterward, They hope to sell it in about a month. I think. Someone's got to be here to watch over it all until then and no one in Mrs. Hudson's family is willing to live here."
"Are you saying she didn't leave you a wad of money?"
"Hardly," I said laughing. "Is that what people really think?" He stared.
"Oh, she had arranged for me to return to England for another year and I'm hoping to win a scholarship for expenses, but if that doesn't happen..."
"What?"
"I have a cousin who manages a department store in Charlotte and she said she could give me a job. maybe in the cosmetic department."
"You mean you wouldn't even return to college?'"
"Not for a while. I couldn't afford it," I said. "You know how expensive college can be. and I don't have a sugar daddy. I don't have any daddy," I added, my voice sharper, my eyes narrowing.
He nodded and stared. Suddenly, he looked very uncomfortable and shifted in his chair.
"What's this meeting you're having here in a little while?" he asked, still a little skeptical.
"Oh, just a meeting to get my instructions." I said, sounding as nonchalant about it as I could, Then I smiled. "So, you want to take me to dinner? About what time?" I asked.
"Huh? Oh, er... first I gotta see if I can get us reservations. It's a small place and it's gotten so popular lately."
"You want to use the phone? You can as long as it isn't a long- distance call. I promised them I wouldn't make any long- distance calls," I added.
"Really? Well. I think it would be long distance from here. Yes, yes it would. Why
"Fine."
He was squirming now, glancing at the doorway.
"You know you were so right when you said I should let you apologize. It isn't right to hold a grudge and everyone should be given a second chance, don't you think?" I asked him.
"Yes, sure." he said.
"Boys will be boys, but you're older now and wiser. Something like that wouldn't happen again. I'm sure. I just know you're a more considerate person. Corbette. How's your brother, by the way?" I asked.
He was so ashamed about having a brother with Down's Syndrome that he had initially told me his brother was dead. I had found out he wasn't dead: when I had confronted him, he had blamed it all on his mother who couldn't face the facts. The truth was it was easier for him to simply say his brother was dead because to him he was dead.
"He's okay. No different," he quickly replied. He glanced at his watch, "Well. I'd better get a move on if I'm going to make any arrangement for tonight."
"So soon? We didn't really get a chance to catch up," I said.
"Well... well, we'll have plenty of time later," he offered.
"That's right, we will, won't we? Fine," I said standing. He practically jumped to his feet. "Thanks for the roses and for coming by."
"Sure."
"Please don't gossip about what I told you," I said, scowling at him.
He shook his head.
"I wouldn't,"
"Good." I smiled at him and walked him to the front door,
"I'll call you in a few hours. Unless it's absolutely impossible," he said. 'Then I'll call tomorrow or the next day. okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Don't forget. I'm so looking forward to getting to know you the right way, as you said before." I told him.
He nodded and walked out. I felt sure I wouldn't be seeing him again.
"I see you still have that sports car,"
"Oh, yeah. I'm taking it to college with me this year," he said. "Freshmen weren't permitted to have cars on campus."
"See." I said. "There are truly some benefits to getting older. Everyone thinks you're wiser,"
"Right."
"I know I am," I said as he hurried down to the automobile. I watched him get in and start the engine. Then I waved. "I know I am," I repeated, my eyes small.
He drove off and I went inside and closed the door behind me. For a moment I stood in the entry way and thought.
There's a lesson, a lesson about money and how important it really is.
I was grateful Corbette had come along to teach it to me. It made me feel stronger and even more determined for the meeting that was about to take place.
Of course, they didn't have to ring a doorbell. I should have realized that. Victoria had her own set of keys to this house. I was putting away my dishes and glass from my lunch when I heard her voice reverberate through the hallway, ricocheting off the walls like a hard thrown tennis ball.
"I want to have each and every art piece evaluated and some of the accent pieces in this house are valuable antiques. Mother never paid attention to what things cost. She had no idea, no idea at all what she was giving away."
I stepped out and looked down the hallway at the three of them. My mother looked smartly dressed in a black leather jacket, a tailored shirt and an anklelength pleated skirt. Aunt Victoria wore her usual double-breasted business suit and Grant was in a dark blue, pin-striped suit.
Right from the moment I first met my real mother. I could see the resemblance between us. She was about my height, slim and small boned. We had the same color eves and practically the same shape jaw. Her forehead wasn't as wide and her nose was smaller, but perfectly straight with just a slight sharpness at the tip.
The dimple in her cheek flashed on and off at will it seemed or else reacted to some thought flashing through her mind. I always wondered what my real mother saw when she looked at me. Did she see the resemblances between me and my father and did that bring back some romantic memory? Or did she merely see a living, breathing problem, a reminder of her big mistake? I had long since given up the hope that she would ever look at me the way a mother should look at a daughter: eyes filled with pride and love.
Today, her eyes were dark with worry. Every time she turned them to me, they would practically shout out with the plea for me to make all the stress disappear. I could hear her prayer: let me return to my fantasy world: let me continue to float through my happy illusions, ignoring anything and everything unpleasant and burying worry and concerns in some bottom drawer to be forgotten. Please, those eyes begged from the very second she turned to me in the hallway, please. Rain.
Grant was as calm and as distinguished as ever. His suit looked as though it had just come off the rack in the department store. He was a handsome man with thick, light brown hair that resembled the color of dry hay when the sunlight played through it. I saw that during the days of Grandmother Hudson's funeral and after. Somehow he managed to keep a tan all year long. I suspected he went to one of those tanning salons. His dark complexion brought out the blue in his blue-green eyes, eves that always looked full of intelligence. When he gazed at me. I could feel his concentration, his search for every little hint of thought in my face. No wonder he was so successful in court and as a negotiator.
The moment I appeared. Victoria's stern, narrow and honey face flashed its fury at me. She pulled back her shoulders and stiffened her long neck. After what Jake had revealed. I couldn't help searching for some suggestion of him in her looks. Now that I was thinking about it. I did see similarities in their mouths and jaws and even in the shape of their eyes. However, she had nothing of his joviality, not even a hint of softness or compassion in her face. What brought laughter and smiles to Jake's lips brought only smirks and scowls to hers. I couldn't imagine her even considering the possibility of any relationship to him, much less being his daughter.
Jake was right: I could wound her deeply by telling her. She thought she was such a blue blood.
"We'll all go into the drawing room," she declared.
"I'll be right there." I said and deliberately returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. I wanted them to wait.
When I did enter the room. I could see my making her wait had raised Victoria's ire to explosive heights. Her normally pallid cheeks were crimson and her eyes looked like matches had been lit behind them.
"If you have the time for us, we'd like to have a sensible business conversation," she said.
My mother and Grant were sitting on the settee. Grant was sitting back with his legs crossed. My mother looked very uncomfortable, her shoulders turned in, her eyes down. She glanced up at me to see what I was going to do.
"Hello to all of you. too," I said and sat in the chair opposite Victoria.
She turned to Grant, who was obviously elected to conduct the meeting. I was sure they had practically rehearsed every word at lunch before arriving.
"You were expecting us, weren't you?" he began softly.
"No, not really. I learned about your coming only from Jake who informed me he was picking you up in Richmond. I had to guess as to why."
Grant turned to Victoria who sat back, her arms on the arms of the chair, looking like some queen about to pronounce sentence on one of her subjects. Her long, thin right finger moved up and down nervously.
"I thought you were calling her.," he said.
"What difference did it make? She wasn't going anywhere," she said. Then, softening, she added. "I knew Jake would tell her."
She lifted her eyes and looked at Grant, obviously concerned he would be displeased.
"Okay. I apologize for what this looks like then. Rain. We didn't mean to come bursting in on you.'
"You're not," I said.
"Good. Now that things have settled down somewhat, we all should stand back and take a clear, intelligent look at what's been done and what should be done, for the benefit of all concerned," he quickly added.
"It seems very late for tha
"Yes, well, reliving mistakes doesn't really do anyone any good. It's like opening wounds, tearing away scars, bleeding and bleeding. Healing is way overdue," he said.
Grant did have a strong, resonant voice that he could shape with sincerity and feeling. He will be a great political candidate. I thought.
I glanced at Victoria and saw how she was fixed intently on him. It was almost as if he was speaking to her and not to me. It was only when she looked at him. I realized, that her face showed any softness. That held my curiosity almost as much as the purpose of the meeting.
"Now, no one is here to deny you what is rightfully yours. No one here wants you to return to your previous, unfortunate state," he continued.
"No one?" I asked glancing at Victoria.
"No one," he insisted. "However," he said. "there is an obvious misappropriation of good intentions, an obvious lack of balance. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson saw all this as an opportunity far her to right the wrongs she believed had been inflicted on you. Like any mother she wanted to right the wrongs committed by her child," he explained.
While he spoke about me and what was my mother's affair with an African-American man, he didn't so much as glance at her. He could have been talking about anyone, any client. Always the professional apparently, he could distance himself even from his own wife.
My mother didn't lift her gaze from the floor, but her right hand rose to flutter at her throat as if it were seeking some string of pearls to fondle, while her left hand squeezed her thigh. She looked like she was holding onto a railing to keep from falling,
"I don't believe my grandmother did anything for me out of guilt," I said. "She wasn't the type. She did what she believed was right and she had her reasons. You can call it disproportionate or whatever fancy word you want to use, but it's what she decided and she wasn't crazy at the time. Her attorney is willing to swear on the stand about that."
"I know, I know." Grant said, still talking in reasonable tones. "but when these things reach courtroom stages, what seems clear and simple often turns out to be quite complicated. Mr. Sanger will be the first to admit on the stand that he is not qualified to evaluate someone's mental condition. He's not trained as a psychiatrist or any sort of doctor. He's only an attorney doing the bidding of his client."