The Ugly Duckling (3 page)

“Then stay with me,” Jill coaxed.

“I can’t.” She wrinkled her nose. “Daddy’s boss wouldn’t like it. This is a very important night for Daddy, and we both have to help him.” She saw her daughter’s face begin to cloud again, and said quickly, “But I’ll bring you up a tray of goodies before you go to sleep. We’ll have a picnic.”

The anxiety immediately vanished. “And wine?” Jill asked eagerly. “Jean Marc’s mother lets him have a glass of wine every evening for supper. She says it’s good for him.”

Jean Marc was the son of the housekeeper who reigned supreme in their apartment in Paris, and Nell was hearing a good deal about the rascal. “Orange juice.” To stave off an argument, she added quickly, “But if you eat all your supper, I’ll see if I can find a chocolate eclair for you.” She stood up and pulled the little girl to her feet. “Now, go run your bath while I take this flower arrangement downstairs. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

Jill gazed solemnly at the Chinese vase and then
smiled luminously. “It’s pretty, Mama. Even nicer than when they were in the garden.”

Nell didn’t agree. She always thought it was a shame to pick flowers. Nothing was more beautiful than a garden in bloom. Like the garden of the bed-and-breakfast she had painted when she was going to school at William and Mary. Mists and rich colors and all the textures of morning …

She felt a sharp pang and quickly shied away from the memory. She had no reason to pity herself. Richard had never denigrated her paintings as her parents had done. After they were married, he had even encouraged her to continue with her work. She just had no time. Being the wife of an ambitious young executive seemed to occupy every hour of the day.

She made a face at the vase as she picked it up. If she had not been forced to spend all afternoon doing Sally Brenden’s flower arrangements, she could have sketched that beautiful shoreline. But that would have meant going with the Brendens and Richard for that walk along the beach. She would have had to smile and chat and bear Sally being gracious to her. Sally’s subtle tyrannies were a welcome alternative to her company.

Nell brushed her lips across Jill’s brow. “Lay out your pajamas and don’t go near the balcony.”

“You’ve already told me that,” Jill said with dignity.

“I told you not to go into the cave too.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Jill started toward the bathroom. “Caves are neat. I don’t like balconies. I get dizzy looking down at the rocks.”

Thank heaven for small mercies. She couldn’t believe Sally had given them, a couple with a small child, a suite with a balcony overlooking that rocky shore. Yes, she could believe it. Richard had told Sally years
before that he loved the view from a balcony, and Sally always tried to please him. Everyone tried to please the golden boy.

“You should see the boatload of security men Kavinski sent ahead. You’d think he was Arafat.” Richard blew into the suite like a strong breeze. He glanced at the flowers. “Pretty. You’d better get them downstairs. Sally mentioned there wasn’t a bouquet in the foyer.”

“I just finished it.” She was making excuses again, she realized with annoyance. “I’m not a professional. She could have had someone come out to the island from Athens to do them.”

He kissed her cheek. “But they wouldn’t be as pretty as yours. She’s always saying how lucky I am to have such an artistic wife. Be a love and hurry them down to her.” He headed for the bedroom. “I have to shower. Kavinski should be here within the hour, and Martin wants to introduce me to him over drinks.”

“Do I have to go? I thought I’d show up just for the party.”

Richard thought about it and then shrugged. “Not if you don’t want to. I don’t think you’ll be missed in the crowd.”

Relief flowed through her. It was much easier to fade into the background during a party. She turned toward the door. “Jill’s running her bath. Will you keep an eye on her until I come back?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

He was dressed in white shorts and shirt, his brown hair rumpled and his lean cheeks flushed by the sun. He always looked wonderful in a tuxedo or a business suit, but she liked him best like this. He was more approachable, more
hers
.

He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Hurry. Sally’s waiting.”

She nodded and reluctantly left the suite.

She heard Sally’s sharp, birdlike voice before she started down the curving marble staircase. She had always thought that tiny voice incongruous in a woman almost six feet tall and lean and sleek as a panther.

Sally Brenden turned away from the servant she had been scolding. “There you are. It’s about time.” She took the vase away from Nell and placed it on the marble table beneath an elaborately gilded mirror. “I’d think you’d be more considerate. It’s not as if I don’t have enough to worry about. I still have to speak to that little man who’s going to shoot off the fireworks, talk to the chef, and I’m not even dressed yet. You know how important this night is to Martin. Everything has to be perfect.”

Nell felt the heat flush her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sally.”

“An executive’s wife is important in advancing his career. Martin would never have become vice president if I hadn’t been there helping him. We don’t ask much of you, do we?”

Nell had heard this self-laudatory lecture many times before. She felt a ripple of annoyance but quickly smothered it. “I’m sorry, Sally,” she repeated. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Sally waved a beautifully manicured hand. “I’ve invited Madame Gueray to the party. Make sure she’s comfortable. She’s deplorably awkward in public.”

Elise Gueray was even more shy and out of her element at a party than Nell. She didn’t mind that Sally usually gave all the misfits to her. She received a deep satisfaction from making their way easier and less painful. God knows, she’d have been passionately grateful to anyone who’d have eased her way during those first few years after she had come to Europe.

“I don’t know why Henri Gueray ever married her.” Sally glanced at Nell with guilelessness. “Yet you
so often see these powerhouse men with meek, inadequate wives.”

A swift jab and then a turn of the knife. Nell was too accustomed to barbs to give Sally the satisfaction of reacting. “I found her very pleasant.” She turned away and moved hastily toward the staircase. “I have to get back to Jill. She has to have her bath and dinner.”

“Really, Nell, you should get a nanny.”

“I like taking care of her myself.”

“But she does get in the way.” She paused. “I spoke to Richard about it this afternoon, and he agrees with me.”

Nell went still. “Did he say that?”

“Of course, he realizes that the higher up he moves in the company, the more duties will be expected of you. When we get back to Paris, I’ll contact the agency I used when Jonathan was a child. Simone made sure he gave me no trouble at all.”

And Jonathan was now a thoroughly obnoxious and rebellious teenager hidden away in a boarding school in Massachusetts. “Thank you, but I’m not that busy. Perhaps when she’s a little older.”

“If Kavinski can be persuaded to give us his foreign investments, Richard will be in line to manage them. You’ll be expected to travel with him. I think he’s quite right to break in a nanny before she becomes a necessity.” She turned away and moved toward the ballroom.

Sally was acting as if it were already settled, Nell thought frantically. She could not give her daughter up to one of those serene-faced women she had seen walking with their charges in the park. Jill belonged to her. How could Richard even consider taking her away?

He wouldn’t consider it. Jill was everything to her. She did everything he asked of her, but he couldn’t expect her to—

“Don’t let the old witch bother you. She just wants to see you squirm.” Nadine Fallon was coming down the steps. “Bullies always pounce on the gentle ones. It’s the nature of the beast.”

“Shh.” Nell glanced over her shoulder, but Sally was already gone.

Nadine grinned. “Want me to spit in her eye for you?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “But somehow she’d find out and then Richard would be upset.”

Nadine’s grin faded. “Then let him be upset. He should know you’re no match for her. He should be the one spitting in that barracuda’s eye.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.” She passed Nell and continued downstairs in a cloud of Opium perfume and Karl Lagerfeld chiffon—red-haired, beautiful, exotic, totally confident. “I learned a long time ago back in Brooklyn that she who doesn’t fight back gets squashed.”

Nadine would never get squashed, Nell thought wistfully. She had fought her way from Seventh Avenue to be one of the top runway models of Paris and never lost that earthy humor and boldness. She was invited everywhere, and Nell had run into her more and more frequently of late. Richard called her “designer window dressing,” but Nell was always glad to see her.

Nadine glanced back over her shoulder. “You look great. Lost a few pounds?”

“Maybe.” She knew she didn’t look great. She was as plump as when Nadine had seen her last month, her slacks were rumpled, and she hadn’t had time to comb her hair since that morning. Nadine was just trying to soothe her after that malicious savaging by Sally Brenden. Why not? Size six could afford to be kind to size twelve. She felt a rush of shame at the thought. Kindness
should always be valued and never looked at askance. “I have to see Richard right away. I’ll see you later at the party.”

Nadine smiled and waved.

Nell took the stairs two at a time and ran down the long hall. Richard wasn’t in the sitting room. She could hear him humming in the bedroom. She paused outside to steel herself and then threw open the door. “I don’t want a nanny for Jill.”

Richard turned away from the mirror. “What?”

“Sally said you were considering a nanny. I don’t want one. We don’t need one.”

“Why are you upset?” He turned back to the mirror and straightened his tie. “It was just an idle discussion. It’s not good to smother children with attention. All our friends have help. A nanny is something of a status symbol.”

“You
are
considering it.”

“Not without your consent.” He put on his tuxedo jacket. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“I don’t know.” What difference did it make? She always looked the same anyway. “The blue lace gown, I guess.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “I don’t smother Jill.”

“The blue is a good choice. That scalloped neckline makes your shoulders look wonderful.”

She crossed the room and laid her head on his chest. “I want to take care of her myself. You’re gone so often and we’re company for each other.” She whispered, “Please, Richard.”

He stroked her hair. “I want only what’s best for you. You know how hard I work to make sure you and Jill have a good life. Just help me a little, Nell.”

He was going to do it, she realized in despair. “I try to help you.”

“And you do.” He pushed her away and looked
down into her face. “But I’m going to need more from you.” A flicker of excitement lit his face. “Kavinski’s the key, Nell. I’ve been waiting for six years for an opening like this. It’s not only the money, it’s the power. There’s no telling how far I can go now.”

“I’ll work harder. I’ll do everything you tell me to do. Just let me keep Jill.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He kissed her on the forehead and turned away. “Now I’d better get downstairs. Kavinski will be here any minute.”

She stared numbly at the door after it closed behind him. They would talk tomorrow and he would be gentle and firm and a little sad that he couldn’t do what she wanted. He would make her feel guilty and helpless and, when they returned to Paris, he would buy her favorite yellow roses and take care of the interviewing of the nanny himself in order not to distress her.

“Mama, my bathwater’s getting cold,” Jill said reprovingly. She stood barefoot in the doorway, wrapped in a huge pink towel.

“Is it?” She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. She would enjoy this precious time with Jill and try not to think of tomorrow. Maybe they wouldn’t get the Kavinski accounts. Perhaps Richard would change his mind. “Then I guess we’d better warm it up and get you in it.”

“Yep.” Jill turned on her heel and vanished into the bathroom.

“Y
ou look like a princess.” Jill rocked back and forth in her bed, hugging her knees.

“Not likely.” Nell gently pushed her down on the pillows and pulled up the blanket. “Now, don’t try to stay awake. Take a nap and I’ll wake you when I bring our picnic. One of the maids will be right outside in
the sitting room.” She teasingly ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Just in case you see any monsters.”

“I did see him, Mama,” Jill said gravely.

“Well, you won’t see him again.” She kissed her forehead. “I promise you.”

She had reached the doorway when Jill called, “Remember the wine.”

Nell chuckled as she shut the bedroom door. Jill would never suffer from either shyness or inability to assert herself.

Her smile vanished as she passed the mirror in the hall. Only her daughter would see anything princesslike in her appearance. She was a little over five seven but definitely plump rather than Junoesque. Plump and boring and plain as grass. Her features were nondescript except for a nose that turned up instead of fading into the boring sameness as the rest of her face. Even her short brown hair was boring, the same pale acorn shade of Jill’s without childhood’s sheen. Plain.

Well, Jill thought she was beautiful, and that was enough for her. Not that Richard didn’t think she was attractive. He had once told her she reminded him of a country quilt—enduring, traditional, and beautiful in its simplicity. She wrinkled her nose ruefully at her reflection before moving quickly toward the door. She didn’t know one woman in the world who wouldn’t rather be a glamorous silk sheet than a country quilt. But plain women had one advantage; no one ever noticed when they entered or left a room. She would have no trouble escaping the ballroom with Jill’s picnic supper.

She stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down at the crowded foyer.