Authors: Marie Ferrarella
Pierce wouldn’t carry stories to Grimsley, even inadvertently. Would he?
She dismissed the idea. If nothing else, Pierce was too close-mouthed for that to happen. “He’s not that careless,” she insisted.
Stone had learned not to place odds on the impossible. But he didn’t feel like arguing the matter. His job, as he saw it, was to merely suggest.
“And neither should we be. I can only give you the benefit of my experience, Miss Foster. It is what you’re paying for.”
Amanda nodded, conceding the point.
What Stone was saying to her made sense. Logically. But it was hard to separate her emotions from the situation with Pierce. Far too much had happened between them. She’d shared too much of herself, had felt too much in a very short space of time. If she had been a planet, Pierce would have been the meteor that had collided with her—and thrown her completely out of orbit.
Amanda raised her eyes to see that Stone was studying her carefully, watching her reaction.
“All right,” she agreed stiffly, “I’ll take your recommendation under consideration.”
“That is all I ask. Now then”—he raised his pad before him, glancing over once again at what he’d jotted down—“my first order of business will be to get in contact with the station’s legal department.”
Amanda nodded, thinking of the people she knew there. A schism had materialized, separating her from the others, transforming them into adversaries. She was now part of “us” while everyone else at K-DAL had joined the ranks of “them.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Without her work to keep her mentally and physically occupied, Amanda suddenly had too much time on her hands. Worse, she had too many opportunities to think. Over the course of the next two days, she found herself pacing about her house like a caged tiger, reexamining pieces of her life that were still too raw to face the light of day.
Growing up beneath her father’s constant criticism and then suffering Jeffs belittling accusations just before the divorce had greatly undermined and shaken her self-esteem. Looking back over those years brought her only grief.
Maybe Pierce had been right. Maybe she was too angry—not that her father, Jeff, and Grimsley didn’t warrant her anger. But by letting her anger consume her, she was lowering herself to the level of the people she held in contempt. And it was a colossal waste of time and energy.
Amanda knew that the only way to triumph over anything was to rise above it. Anger had given her the energy, the drive to overcome obstacles, but it had also sapped away the basic core of her being. That part of her which allowed her to feel happy, to be optimistic. To dream dreams and then forge ahead to turn them into reality.
Dwelling on the past would only turn her into a bitter woman. She had to put a stop to it, to continue to move ahead.
She closed her eyes. And saw Pierce’s face, as she so often did these days.
And what about Pierce? Doubts continued to plague her. How could she begin to understand him and the way he figured in her life? Was he a user? Or was the way things had fallen into place just a matter of coincidence?
Even if it was a coincidence, even if Pierce hadn’t been instrumental in causing any of her problems, what was their future together?
Was there a future together?
Her head began to hurt.
Amanda decided she needed to get out of the house before she exploded. With a few parting words, Amanda left Carla, Christopher, and Mr. Rogers together in the living room and hurried out the door in search of her sanity.
She went to see Whitney.
She’d been following his story closely, and knew that bail had been posted for him. Her father had arranged for it so quickly, Whitney hadn’t had to spend any time behind bars. She was relieved that he had been spared the humiliation of having to be incarcerated. At least her father was good for something.
No, no more bitterness, she thought firmly. Her father was who he was. In a certain light, he was as much a prisoner of his personality as she was. He could no more reach out to her than she could reach in to him. Her mother had proven that to her. She had loved Henry Foster beyond all reason. In return, he had given her his name, his money, and his seed, but not his love.
A person couldn’t give what he didn’t have to give. For the first time in her life, Amanda felt sorry for her father. How awful it had to be to never have experienced the exhilarating effects of love. She had felt it when she had been swept off her feet by Jeff. It had been a wild, dizzying sensation that made her blood rush and centered the world, however fleetingly, on one person.
It had been like a madness, perhaps, but it had been a wonderful madness just the same.
She smiled without realizing it and thought of Pierce. Now there was madness. Falling in love with him was like trying to tie a kite to the tail of the wind. Impossible. But exciting.
Maybe, in time, she’d learn to appreciate the small things, because that was all that life granted. The small things.
Showing her ID to the guard on Whitney’s estate, Amanda waited until the iron gates parted and then drove through. When she drove up the winding path to the house, she saw a sleek, black Mercedes 560 parked in the driveway. A short, stocky man dressed in a gray driver’s livery was leaning against the hood. He was reading a newspaper and trying not to look impatient.
Amanda instinctively knew her father was there. Rita always arranged to have a Mercedes and a driver at his disposal wherever he went. Henry Foster demanded only the best.
For a moment, Amanda thought of turning her car around and going home. But that would be running away, and she had ceased to do that a long time ago. Besides, she’d have to face her father sometime. It might as well be today.
She parked her Mustang beside the Mercedes. It looked like an impromptu statement contrasting practicality and elegance, she mused, getting out. The driver looked her way. She flashed a smile at him and walked up to the front door.
When she knocked, a familiar old face opened the door. Hastings, the butler Whitney had told her he’d released, was standing in front of her. The old man smiled broadly when he recognized her.
“Hastings, you’re back.” She looked at him in total surprise.
“Indeed I am, Ms. Foster. Indeed I am.” With a little flourish, he ushered her in. “Couldn’t leave Mr. Granger in his time of need, now, could I? He tried to send me off, but as soon as I heard the real reason on the news, I marched myself right back into his life. Loyalty counts for something, even in these days.”
Hastings shut the door. He towered over Amanda by a good foot, but reduced the distance by the confidential tone he used in addressing her.
“He’s been more than generous to me through the years, so money’s no problem.” He leaned over, his tone lowering. “Had to talk him into letting me come back, but he needs us, don’t you know?” He winked conspiratorially at her, then straightened, resuming his position as butler. “Mr. Granger’s in the den. With your father. Shall I announce you?”
Amanda shook her head. “No, I’ll be a surprise.” For her father, at any rate.
“Very well.” Hastings nodded. “It’s this way.” Turning smartly on his heel, the seventy-two-year-old man led her to the room and then unobtrusively withdrew, like a white wisp of a shadow.
Amanda stood in the doorway, looking in. There was only one man in the room, and he had his back to her. The years hadn’t stooped the shoulders any, any more than they had mellowed the man, she thought, looking at her father’s back. He appeared to be perusing a book. Whitney was nowhere in sight.
She debated waiting outside the den until Whitney appeared. But if her father turned around and saw her, she’d look as if she were hiding. Her pride wouldn’t allow that.
Bracing herself like one of Tennyson’s riders galloping into the Valley of Death, Amanda entered the room. “Hello, Father.”
Henry Foster turned his head in the direction of her voice. If he was surprised to see her here, only the slightest flicker in his eyes hinted at it.
“Amanda.” The gray eyes measured her, assessing his daughter and reducing her to a combination of details. He disapproved of loose hair and tight jeans. She was guilty of both. He noted the flush in her face and wondered absently if it was embarrassment. If it wasn’t, it should be. “You’re looking well, considering.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, “Considering what?” but she wasn’t here to argue. She was here to see Whitney and offer a few words of comfort and support if she could. Arguing with Whitney’s lawyer wouldn’t accomplish that.
“You too.” She was purposely enigmatic. Two can play, Father.
They stood there stiffly regarding one another, as if they didn’t share the same blood and hadn’t shared the same house for almost eighteen years, before she had eagerly gone off to college. They had lived together for almost two decades and now they stood looking at one another with nothing to say.
Amanda viewed it as a great pity, even though she knew her father didn’t.
She hated silence around her father. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her, judging her. Amanda wanted to say something before the inevitable criticism commenced. “How’s the case coming along?”
He frowned. Her father’s expression clearly indicated that he thought she was trying to intrude on his territory. “Well.”
Just one word. No details, no embellishments. Not a single crumb to toss her way. He was more talkative with the caddies at his country club than he was with her.
Let it pass.
Amanda pressed her lips together. “Where’s Whitney?”
“Right here,” a warm, familiar voice said.
With a wave of relief, Amanda turned to see Whitney walking into the room.
He held a book in his hand, which he passed to the older man. “Here, Henry, an F. Scott Fitzgerald first edition, as promised.”
Turning, Whitney took both Amanda’s hands into his. “Amanda, what a pleasant surprise.” He released her. “Here to see the jailbird?”
“You’re not a jailbird, and you won’t be. Clash of wills
notwithstanding, you do have the best lawyer there is.” Amanda glanced toward her father. There wasn’t even an iota of acknowledgment on his face that she was speaking of him. So much for truce-making. “I came to see how you were doing. I heard about the indictment on the radio.”
“The media is always looking for a new prominent citizen to crucify,” Henry commented. He didn’t bother to look up at her, but merely continued slowly paging through the rare book. Rare books were a passion with him. Not to read, but to own. For ownership meant control and control was everything. “But then, you’d know all about that kind of pulp journalism.”
Whitney saw the way Amanda’s eyes darkened. He spoke quickly. “Your father thinks I can get off with a limited sentence, which might then be commuted to several hundred hours of public service and a hefty fine.”
If anyone could find a way to arrange things, her father could. She was relieved for Whitney, and nodded enthusiastically.
“Especially since you’ve already begun to repay the money.” In her eagerness for a commuted sentence, she forgot that she no longer held down her anchor position. She could only think of the fact that there were times when judges took popular support into account when they passed sentence. “I could try to drum up popular support for you.” The thought caught fire, feeding on itself. “A grass-roots type of thing. I could get petitions started and find a way to announce it on the air—“
Her father cut in just as she remembered that there wasn’t anything she could do at present on the air, aside from having herself interviewed by someone else.
“Amanda, I would appreciate it if you would leave the management of the case to me.” His voice dripped of acid. “You have no business interfering in something you know nothing about.”
All the battered emotions that she had been trying to hold at bay erupted as she turned to look at her father.
“I know about friendship, Father. About coming through for someone you care about. Of being there for them. That’s something you know nothing about.”
In all the years that he had been a family friend, Whitney had never seen Amanda like this. He’d witnessed the hurting words and the demeaning looks Henry had given his daughter, but she had either borne them in silence or ignored them entirely. She had never lashed out before.
He placed his hand on her arm and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Please, Amanda, don’t get yourself excited.”
No, her father wasn’t worth working herself up over. “Maybe I’d better go.” She looked into Whitney’s eyes. “I just wanted to—“
Whitney nodded. No words were necessary. He understood what she was trying to do. “I know. Let me walk you to the door.” He glanced at his lawyer. “I’ll be right back, Henry.”
Whitney placed his arm around her shoulder and walked her to the front door. “Don’t let him get to you like that, Amanda. Henry’s never going to change. He’s never going to open up to you.” He smiled down at her. “It’s his loss, you know.”
She glanced toward the den, feeling sad and angry again. “He doesn’t think so.”
“Maybe not, but I do.” He opened the front door and escorted Amanda out. “And I appreciate what you’re offering to do for me, especially since you’re not exactly trouble-free at the moment yourself.”
Amanda stopped on the top step, surprised. “How did you—?”
“I can still read, Amanda. The story is in the newspaper.”
Of course it was. She’d forgotten about that. All she’d been thinking about since she’d arrived was Whitney. She smiled in spite of herself. “Newspapers? Huh. Never touch the stuff.”
But Whitney wasn’t fooled by her blase attitude. He knew what her career meant to her. It was the brass ring she’d secured all on her own. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She was touched that he could think of her at a time like this. “Yeah. Win your case.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’m very proud of you, Amanda.”
He walked her to her car. Her father’s driver turned his back to give them privacy.
“You’ve turned out to be a wonderful woman. Someday the right person will come along who’ll appreciate all those good traits of yours, and the years you’ve lost with your father won’t hurt as much.” He held the door open for her as she slid in, then closed it. “He’s not a happy man, you know.”