After Innocence (11 page)

Lisa sighed and stood. “Are you going to draw?” She eyed the page in Sofie’s hand.

“Not today,” Sofie said, putting the sheet aside, making her decision.

“Oh, Sofie, you’ve crumpled your art.” Lisa knew how important her art was to her and she quickly smoothed it out. Her hands stilled. Lisa stared. “Sofie, you’ve been drawing
him
!”

Sofie did not respond.

But Lisa was frozen. “You are in love with him!” she finally cried.

“No!” Sofie cried back.

Lisa stared breathlessly at the portrait. “I can see it, Sofie—it’s right there on the page.”

Sofie was rigid. “I do not even know Mr. Delanza, Lisa, It is ludicrous to claim that I am in love with him.”

“Ludicrous? Hardly! Half the women in town are in love with Edward Delanza!” Lisa embraced her. “Oh, you poor dear. I never thought that you would fall in love with him when I said you’d be smitten. I just meant you’d find him as exciting as we all do.”

“I am
not
in love with him,” Sofie said tersely, but her heart was palpitating. “He is just … terribly attractive.” She envisioned him with Hilary, recalled his glorious virility.

“Dear, he is utterly attractive, of course he is, but he is utterly unacceptable—and utterly dangerous.” Lisa bent to hug her once again. “You could not be safe with a man like that. He might very well decide to seduce you, Sofie,” Lisa warned.

Sofie gasped. Her cheeks flamed. “Now you are speaking utter nonsense,” Sofie cried. “He would never try to seduce
me!
”

Lisa gazed at her for a moment. “Sometimes you are a complete ninny,” she said. “Obviously you did not notice how he was looking at you last night—but I did. I think it is for the best that he left today, Sofie, when all is said and done.”

Sofie could only gape at her stepsister. While images of Edward embracing her danced in her mind.

“Mother, you wished to speak with me?” Sofie asked.

Suzanne sat at her small French escritoire and did not look up until she finished penning the guest list for the last weekend of the summer. She studied her daughter’s somber countenance. Like Lisa, she had noticed that Sofie was unusually pale and withdrawn during the luncheon. “I think you should stay here, Sofie, for the remainder of the summer.”

Sofie stiffened in surprise. “I must go back!”

Suzanne laid aside her pen. “I’ve thought about it since you arrived yesterday. Really, you
are
becoming a recluse. Reputations are easily made but impossible to unmake, Sofie. I am worried about you.” It was the truth.

“I thought I was only coming for the weekend,” Sofie cried, pale. “What about my art classes?”

Suzanne sighed. “The Academy will still be there when you return, Sofie. If you miss a few weeks, it will not be such a tragedy.”

“Mother, I must go home. I cannot miss my classes.”

Suzanne stood, gripping her pen. She thought of Edward Delanza, who was involved with the very beautiful Hilary. Yet he had flirted with Sofie, and Suzanne recalled just how he had looked at her. She thought about the young lawyer, Annette Marten’s cousin, who had made an about-face since the other day and now appeared interested in Sofie. Suzanne knew she could not let Sofie go back to the city alone. Just thinking about it panicked her. At least here Suzanne could keep a sharp eye on her and control any more surprising situations. “Sofie, dear. I miss your company, and as always,! have your best interest in mind. I would like you to stay with me for the rest of the summer. You would disobey me?”

For a moment Sofie, pale and drawn, did not answer. “I prefer not to disobey you. Mother. But I am not a child anymore. I am a grown woman; my twentieth birthday was just last May. I cannot leave my classes for an entire month.”

Suzanne was unsmiling. “I know when you were born, Sofie. And you may be twenty, but you are hardly a grown woman. Or has Edward Delanza convinced you of that with his kisses?”

Sofie started, flushing. “He never kissed me.”

“Well, mat’s a relief!” Suzanne paced to Sofie and put her hands on her shoulders. “It’s best if you stay here for a few more weeks. You must learn to be more sociable, Sofie.”
And I can watch over you, protect you,
Suzanne thought. She forced a smile. “I will send for all of your supplies. We can even turn one of the guest rooms into a temporary studio. I do not expect you to give up your work, you see.”

“Mother, if only I could make you understand how important my studies are!” Sofie cried.

“I do understand. I’ve understood ever since you were a withdrawn child who refused to attend birthday parties and other amusements, a child who could stare at a painting for
hours and hours and who always had her hands in a pot of paint. I understand, Sofie.”

“If you really understood,” Sofie said tersely, “we would not be having this discussion.”

Suzanne flinched. She decided to change the subject, to another topic that was bothering her as much as anything else. “You did not look well at lunch today. Is something wrong?”

Sofie looked at her mother, hesitating.

Suzanne’s heart lurched. “It’s him, isn’t it? You know you can confide in me, dear.”

Sofie trembled. “I find him terribly attractive. Mother,” she finally said, low.

Very carefully, Suzanne returned, “All women find that type of man enticing, darling. You are one of hundreds, I promise you that.”

“I realize that. It’s just—” she flushed “—I am a social disaster, and the only man who has ever been kind to me is Edward Delanza—and he was only that, kind.”

Suzanne guided her to the sofa, where they sat down. She studied her for a moment. “He was toying with you, dear. I know his type. He is exactly like your father, ruled by whim and lust, so that nothing else matters, not even if it means destroying innocence.”

“Mother!” Sofie gasped. “You are wrong about Mr. Delanza, for he does not find me attractive—and you are wrong about my father.”

Suzanne’s face hardened. “Let me be blunt. Jake O’Neil was a rotten philanderer, and so is Edward Delanza.”

Sofie’s shoulders squared. “Mother, please. That’s not fair. Jake is dead. He can’t defend himself.”

Suzanne smiled bitterly. “Even were he still alive, he could not defend himself on that account.”

Sofie hesitated, then slid closer to her mother, to put her arm around her. “He loved you. Mother, I know it.”

But Suzanne slipped away and stood. “As if I care whether Jake O’Neil loved me or not.” But even as she spoke, she knew it was an absolute lie.

“Sometimes people hurt one another without intending to,” Sofie said slowly.

“He wanted to hurt me,” Suzanne said emphatically, facing her daughter. “That is why he left everything to you, and not a penny to me.”

“No,” Sofie said, “you are wrong. That was a mistake, I am certain of it.” She smiled brightly. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need those kinds of funds. There is plenty for the both of us.”

Suzanne stared, feeling a stabbing of guilt. “That is not the point. Sofie. There is a principle here.”

Sofie was silent, clearly sympathetic. Finally she said softly, “I’m sorry Jake hurt you.”

“He didn’t hurt me.” Suzanne was cool and she shrugged. Appearances were everything—she had learned that the hard way when she was young and thought herself above social ostracism and reproach. How quickly she had learned that no one was immune from society’s cold, unforgiving shoulder. Long ago, at the age of twenty-five, she had finally grown up and married Benjamin, not for love, but to regain acceptance and respectability from the society that had both spawned and rejected her.

Suzanne paced, wishing she could fling aside her memories. But she knew she needed to cling to them, needed them to remind her that once she had been a woman, one very much alive. “Enough of your damned father. What did Edward Delanza say, Sofie, when the two of you were alone on the veranda?”

Sofie stared. “He was merely being kind. I explained about my limp—and he was unbelievably kind.”

“His kindness is a disguise for one thing—his intention to seduce you and ruin you,” Suzanne snapped.

“No,” Sofie said firmly. “No, you are wrong. Edward has no interest in seducing me. He was only being gallant. He was being a gentleman.”

Suzanne stared. “Sofie—you sound dismayed! If he truly is not intent upon seduction, then you are very fortunate. I hope to God that you are right and you shall be spared the kind of grief a man like that leaves in his wake. And how gallant is it, my dear, to smuggle diamonds or carry on with Hilary Stewart out of wedlock? He
is
having an affair with Hilary Stewart. Why do you think I gave them adjoining rooms?”

Sofie stood, her hands raised. “I realize that he is fond of Hilary,” she said hoarsely.

Suzanne was staring at Sofie, comprehension searing her. Her daughter was enamored of Edward, she could see that, and distraught over his relationship with their neighbor. Suzanne was horrified. Tragedy flashed through her mind. Jake had nearly destroyed her, and she could envision Edward destroying her daughter. “Hilary was not in her room last night—you realize that.”

Sofie blanched. “How would you know?”

“Her bed wasn’t slept in. I saw that myself when I stopped by her room on my way to breakfast—and the maids do not get into the guest rooms that early, Sofie.” Seeing Sofie’s dismay, she said softly, “I make it my business to know what goes on in my own home, Sofie.”

“I don’t want to hear any more.”

“I’m sorry that you must learn about life so abruptly,” Suzanne said. “But it’s for your own good. If your paths should ever cross again, steer clear of him.”

Sofie nodded stiffly. “I have learned my lesson, Mother,” she finally said. “I enjoyed flirting with him, but no more. Have no fear.” She took a deep breath. “If I do not return to the city, Mother, I will not be able to finish Miss Ames’s portrait in time for her birthday. Or have you forgotten despite your having arranged it, insisted upon it?”

Suzanne studied her, hardly hearing what she said. If Sofie was so enamored of Edward Delanza, then she herself must change tactics immediately. Hilary had a summer home not far from the Ralstons’ beachfront retreat, and Suzanne imagined that Edward would be spending a lot of time in Newport Beach, warming Hilary’s bed. When he was not with Hilary, what if he was sniffing around Sofie? “I have changed my mind,” Suzanne said abruptly, perspiring. The very idea of Edward being so close to Sofie made her heart pound with fear. “You may leave Monday morning as we planned.”

Sofie’s eyes widened. “Thank you. Mother.” She embraced her, but she looked at her queerly, and then she hurried from the room.

Suzanne stared after her daughter, prickling with unease.
Sofie had never been interested in a man before, Suzanne was certain of that, and now she was far more than interested, despite her denials to the contrary.

Suzanne crossed the floor and watched from the doorway as Sofie hurried awkwardly up the stairs. She frowned. It did not make sense. Edward Delanza could have any woman he chose. Why had he pursued Sofie while at their beachfront home? Had his interest grown out of boredom, or perhaps out of some bizarre sense of empathy? Surely he would not extend himself to chase her, not now that it was hardly convenient. Not a man like that.

Suzanne’s palms were sweating just the same. She decided that she would not take any chances. She made a mental note to send word to Mrs. Murdock to see that Sofie was chaperoned at all times. If for some incredible reason Edward Delanza chose to pursue Sofie in Manhattan, Suzanne would learn of it immediately.

New York City

T
he roaring increased until it was deafening. The ground beneath Sofie’s feet actually vibrated, as did the wall of the brick building behind her, and its glass windowpanes. The canvas on her easel seemed to quiver beneath her hand. Sofie did not notice.

Standing there on the sidewalk of Third Avenue, she worked with single-minded intensity, her strokes sure and short and swift. Finally the elevated train above the broad thoroughfare passed and the normal sounds of the streets came to the fore again—the competing cries of the strolling vendors, the animated Yiddish of the East European neighbors, the shouts and laughter of small children playing in the tenement-lined street below the El. Horses clip-clopped by on the cobblestones, carriages, carts, and lorries rumbled loudly, a trolley went clanging by. A policeman’s whistle blew in short warning spurts a few blocks away. Gangling boys played a game with a stick and ball there. Drovers and carters yelled at them for blocking the traffic. And a fat German grocer stood in the doorway of his shop, just across the street, watching the passersby and Sofie while guarding his stand of fruit from thieves. She had been coming to this spot to paint since June, and while at first, people had been curious, they now seemed to accept her presence readily. Sofie sighed, staring now at the heavily shadowed canvas, and finally she put her brush down.

Sofie knew it was time to leave and that she was late. She checked the man’s pocket watch she had left open on
a small folding table behind her back, where her other art supplies lay in apparent disorder. Miss Ames would be at the house at any moment to inspect and pick up her portrait. Still, Sofie was reluctant to leave.

Sofie stared at the genre painting, scowling. Her impressions were exact; she’d captured the two heavyset women on the stoop of the tenement in front of her just as they were, tired yet animated, clothes worn but colorful. Mrs. Guttenberg wore a red dress, a brilliant splash of color in the otherwise dark painting. But despite her surprising use of red and the way the sunlight danced off the pavement at their feet, the work was missing something.

Sofie knew what one of her problems was. She was not enamored of her subject anymore. The subject she was enamored of, she refused to paint. That subject was Edward Delanza.

She was not going to paint him.

Sofie sighed. She had returned to the city more than a week ago, and she had spent that entire time working on this canvas and finishing the portrait of Miss Ames, yet she could not shake him from her mind. Sofie estimated that the amount of time they had conversed that weekend at the beach did not even total fifteen full minutes. Nevertheless, he lurked about in her thoughts constantly.