Twist of Fate (48 page)

But where Julia had reserve, Kate had wariness. And most of that was because of him. Oh, no doubt she'd experienced her share of ups and downs since their divorce, but he knew damned well that he was the one who'd destroyed that innocent openness. Over the years he'd done his best to fix his flaws, but nothing could change the past. Kate was a beautiful, excruciating reminder of the worst time of his life.

Thank God she'd go back to San Francisco in a few days.

∗ ∗ ∗

The rumor of snow had produced a general exodus. The last to leave was Kate's cousin Nick Corsi and his quiet, dark-eyed wife, Angie. Nick had worked for PDI for years until leaving recently to start his own demolition business. His face was somber. Kate suspected that like Donovan, he was wondering if it would have made a difference if he'd been at the fatal shoot. Death and guilt were natural partners.

After giving her cousin a farewell hug, Kate closed the door against the piercing cold. With Sam dead and Nick out of the firm, Julia was the owner of PDI, and Donovan was the obvious choice to run it. He'd do as good a job as Sam. Maybe even better, because he was less volatile. Most of the time.

She thought with a flash of bitterness that Donovan had done a lot better from their ill-fated marriage than she had. He'd acquired a second family and an exciting career, while she'd ended up three thousand miles away in a profession that hadn't been her first choice. It had taken death to bring her back to Maryland, and not only because she hadn't wanted to see Donovan. The greater reason was to avoid seeing how much she'd walked away from. Yet if she had to go through the dissolution of her marriage again, she'd probably make all the same decisions, so there was no point in self-pity.

She returned to the living room, pausing in the doorway. Even with empty plates and cups littering every flat surface, she was soothed by the timeless elegance of her mother's lovingly polished antiques and the richly colored patterns of the Persian rugs. The design of the room was pure Julia, yet Sam had loved it, too, as a sign of how far he'd come from East Baltimore.

Seeing Kate, Julia emerged from the temporary refuge of a wing chair. "Since Janet will be cleaning in here, Charles suggested we meet in the family room."

Kate sighed. She'd forgotten that the lawyer had wanted to talk to them. As she and her mother crossed the sprawling house, she asked, "This won't take long, will it? Surely most of the estate goes to you. Given his disapproval of Tom and me, I assume that neither of us will get so much as a shilling for candles."

"You should know better than to try to predict your father. Though it was hard for him to accept some of your actions, he never stopped loving you and your brother."

Kate didn't really doubt that her father loved her, though he'd never forgiven her for divorcing Donovan and leaving Maryland. Over the years of her self-imposed exile, they'd made their peace. There had been visits in San Francisco and regular phone calls. Though their discussions didn't go very deep, they had become friends again.

But Tom was a different matter. Sam hadn't spoken to him in almost ten years. Kate uttered a fervent prayer that he'd left her brother something--anything--as a gesture of reconciliation.

The lights in the family room were restfully low, and Oscar Wilde, the elderly family sheltie, lay dozing in front of a crackling fire. This was the true heart of the house, and a more interesting showcase for Julia's homemaking skills than the formal living room. The solid, comfortable furniture she'd chosen when her children were small had survived years of bouncing, television watching, and Sunday newspaper readings. The pile of large colorful pillows in one corner had accommodated endless sprawling young bodies, since Julia had welcomed all of her children's friends.

The wall around the fireplace was the family photo gallery, with dozens of pictures highlighting decades of living. Kate's gaze went from snapshots of Tom as an altar boy and playing lacrosse, to Kate and her mother working in a garden glowing with spring flowers. Julia had the greenest thumb in Roland Park.

Flanking the garden picture was a handsome portrait of Sam and Julia taken the night they went to a White House dinner, and a shot of Sam helping his mother move into the house he'd bought for her in East Baltimore, aided by at least twenty other Corsis, including Kate and Tom.

Her gaze stopped when it reached her wedding picture. Lord, she and Donovan seemed young, and so happy that it hurt to look. It was characteristic of Julia not to remove that picture, or the ones of Tom. Good and bad, the history of the Corsi family was written on that wall.

Kate blinked back stinging in her eyes as she remembered the good times. They all had a share of blame for shattering what had once been a happy family.

As they entered, Charles Hamilton was closing the fireplace doors, his craggy face illuminated by the flames. In his late fifties, he had the same kind of lean, aristocratic build as Julia, and exactly fit the image of an establishment lawyer.

he stereotype did Charles less than justice. Once, long ago, he and Julia had been engaged. It would have been an eminently sensible alliance between two blue-blooded Marylanders. Then Julia kicked over the traces and broke the engagement when Sam Corsi swept into her life. Instead of languishing from unrequited love, Charles had dismayed his relatives by swiftly marrying Barbara Kantor, a smart, tough, warm-hearted Jewish lawyer.

Traditionalists predicted that both marriages would fail. Instead, both flourished, producing two children each. The families had always been close. Tom and Kate had been friends with the Hamilton daughters, Sandy and Rachel, almost from the cradle.

Kate felt a pang as she thought of Barbara, whose down-to-earth directness had made her more approachable than Kate's own mother, who was sometimes too...perfect. Barbara had been killed by a drunken driver two years before, leaving Charles well qualified to offer Julia sympathy for the sudden death of a spouse.

Oscar rose from his warm spot by the fire and trotted over to greet the newcomers, tail wagging. Kate bent to stroke the silky fur. Old Oscar seemed to remember her, even after so many years. Then she straightened and saw a fourth person pacing restlessly at the far end of the room. Donovan.

She froze, her pulse spiking. A good thing she'd broken some very thick ice by speaking to him earlier. Otherwise this unexpected meeting would be unbearable.

He gave her a casual nod, but he was fidgeting with a half-empty glass, less relaxed than he pretended. She inclined her head as if expecting him, and took a seat as far away as possible.

Actually, his presence made sense. Sam had probably left his former son-in-law a piece of the company, since Donovan had been a much more satisfactory "child" than either Kate or Tom. He'd stayed and worked in the business, providing the affection and companionship that Sam had wanted.

For the thousandth time she thought that it was a great pity that neither of Sam's children had turned out as he'd hoped. It was an even greater pity that he hadn't been able to accept either of them as they were.

After Julia and Kate settled themselves, Charles said, "It's late, we're all dead tired, so I'll get right to the point." His brows drew together as he ordered his thoughts. "Sam's will is unusual. Julia's financial security has already been assured, and of course she'll get this house. A substantial sum has also been designated for charity, and there are bequests for several other relatives. The rest of Sam's financial assets are to be divided equally between you, Kate, and Tom, while Phoenix Demolition will go to Donovan--but only if certain conditions are met."

Kate stiffened, amazed that her father had made her and Tom heirs. This would mean so much to Tom, and not because of the amount of money involved.

She glanced at her former husband, who looked startled and pleased, but also wary. His expression gave her second thoughts. There had to be more to the will, or Charles wouldn't have called this meeting. "What conditions?"

The lawyer gave her a level look. "That you and Donovan live under the same roof for a year."

Book Excerpt

from

The Spiral Path

Book 2 of the Circle of Friends Trilogy

Prologue

Broad Beach, California

Four Years Ago

Being a sex symbol was a hell of a lot of work. Kenzie Scott came in from his morning beach run panting like a racehorse and covered with sweat. Some days he reached the euphoria of a runner's high. Other times exercise was pure torture, and this was one of them.

His all-purpose household help, Ramon, silently handed him a cool glass of juice and disappeared back into the kitchen. Kenzie dropped onto the sofa in the family room, sipping his drink and watching the waves roll toward the beach. He could gaze at the sea forever, he sometimes thought. Wave after wave, eternally. Hypnotic, mindless peace.

There were a couple dozen things he should be doing, but he wasn't in the mood for any of them, so he took a videotape from the haphazard stack teetering on the end table. Oscar voting time was coming up, and studios were inundating Academy members with screeners of nominated films. He glanced at the box.
Home Free
, featuring a nominee for Best Supporting Actress. Raine Marlowe.

He'd heard good things about Raine Marlowe, but hadn't seen any of her work. He popped the tape into the VCR, then returned to the sofa with the remote.

He felt a tingle of anticipation as the opening credits appeared. He'd never outgrown his blind love of movies. The best memories of his childhood were the hours he spent mesmerized in the dark safety of movie theaters. Though becoming an actor had seemed impossible, he'd made it. Along the way he'd learned a lot about the complex skills required by filmmaking, yet he'd never lost the sense of wonder that movies always stirred in him.

Home Free
, a low-budget family drama that had done unexpectedly well, was just getting interesting when the phone rang. His assistant. Josh, wouldn't have let the call through if it wasn't important, so Kenzie hit the VCR mute button and lifted the phone.

His manager, Seth Cowan, said, "Morning, Kenzie. Have you looked at any of the scripts I sent over?"

"I looked at them, they looked at me. So far, nothing else has happened."

"Never mind. I've just got a call about a role I'd really like you to think hard about. Have you heard that a remake of
The Scarlet Pimpernel
is in the works?"

"Vaguely." Though Kenzie had always liked the story of Sir Percy Blakeney, who pretended to be a fop while risking his life to save French aristocrats from the guillotine, at the moment he was more interested in the silent characters on his wide screen television. "
Pimpernel
is one of the all-time great adventures, but it's hard to see how a new version could be better than the one with Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour. Why another remake?"

"For starters, this is a feature, not a television movie. It also has a terrific script, as good as the Andrews-Seymour version." Seth paused dramatically. "Plus, Jim Gomolko is directing, and he wants to open the bedroom door for the love scenes, which hasn't been done in earlier versions."