And, for the first time, he'd included her. Usually, acquisitions went through preliminary calls made by his assistant buyers, depending on the type of piece and area of expertise. If they deemed the object of interest, they would call in her father. But this time, he'd come straight to her, asking her to call Mrs. Delaney. She couldn't help wondering why, but she wasn't inclined to ask. If he wanted her involved, then she'd be involved.
She smiled as he ran a restless hand through his wavy brown hair, messing it up. It drove her mother, Victoria, crazy that her husband often looked as creased as the dollar bills he stuffed into his pockets, instead of in the expensive wallet she'd given him for his fifty-fifth birthday several months earlier. But that was David Hathaway, a little bit rumpled, often impulsive, and always interesting. Sometimes Paige wished she was more like him. But, despite having inherited her father's dark brown eyes, she was more her mother's daughter. Maybe if he'd spent more time at home, if he'd taught her the things he knew instead of leaving her education up to her mother, if he'd loved her as much as he'd loved China ...
No, she wouldn't go there. She wouldn't be jealous of an entire country. That was ridiculous, and Hathaways were never ridiculous or anything else that was less than perfect.
Her grandfather and her mother had instructed her every day of her life to sit up straight, be responsible, never show emotion, never lose control. The lessons of a lifetime still ran through her head like an irritating song, one she couldn't ignore. Her impeccably neat office reflected those lessons, replicating the atmosphere in which she had grown up, one of sophistication, money, culture, and coldness. Even now, she felt a chill run down her arms that had nothing to do with the cool February weather and everything to do with her family.
Maybe if her sister, Elizabeth, had lived, things would have been different. She wouldn't have had to bear the burden of expectations, especially those of her mother and her grandfather, who looked to her as the only Hathaway heir upon whom all responsibilities would one day fall. Paige felt guilty at the thought, because there were a million reasons why her older sister should be alive and none of them had anything to do with making Paige's life easier.
"She found it in her attic," David said abruptly, turning back to her. "That's what the old woman said, right?"
"Yes, that's what she said on the show." Paige forced herself to focus on the present.
"You need to call her again, Paige, right now."
The strange gleam in his eyes increased her uneasiness. "Why is this so important, Dad?"
"That's a good question." The voice came from the doorway.
Paige turned to see her mother, Victoria, enter the room. A tall, rail-thin blonde, Victoria was a picture of sophistication, the ultimate feminine executive. There was intelligence in her sharp blue eyes, impatience in her voice, and a hint of ruthlessness in her face. Dressed in a black power suit; Victoria was too intimidating to be truly beautiful, but no one who met her ever forgot her.
"I asked you a question, David," Victoria repeated. "Why are you stirring up the staff, asking Martin and Paige and God knows who else to find this Delaney woman? Is the dragon worth that much?"
"It could be priceless."
She uttered a short, cynical laugh. "Everything has a price, darling."
"Not everything."
"Have you seen something like this dragon before in one of your books? Or perhaps you've heard a story, a fairy tale? We know how much you love fairy tales, especially ones coming from China. You know everything there is to know about that country and its people." Victoria spit out the word people as if it had left a bad taste in her mouth. "Don't you?"
"Why do you care, Vicky?" he asked, deliberately using the nickname she hated. "It's not as if actual art holds any interest for you."
"Its value certainly does."
Paige sighed as her parents exchanged a glance of mutual dislike. Her father was right, though. Her mother rarely even looked at the inventory in the store. She was the financial wizard, the company spokesperson. David was the passionate art expert, the one for whom each piece told a special story. And Paige, well, no one had figured out her place at Hathaway's yet, least of all herself.
"Oh, I almost forgot." David reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. "I bought this for Elizabeth's birthday, to add to her collection."
Paige watched as he slipped out a small, exquisitely carved jade dragon that had probably been designed to fit on the top of a sword. "It's perfect. It will go nicely with the others," she said as her mother turned away. Victoria had never been comfortable talking about Elizabeth or acknowledging the tokens that David continued to buy each year in honor of his oldest daughter's love of dragons. "Do you want to leave that with me now?" she asked.
Her father returned the dragon to its pouch. "No, I'll keep it until we go to the cemetery next week."
"Really, David, these ridiculous birthday parties of yours. They're so distasteful," Victoria said with a frustrated shake of her head. "It's been twenty-two years. Don't you think --"
"No, I don't think," David said, cutting her off. "If you don't want to go to the cemetery, then Paige and I will go on our own. Right, Paige?"
Paige looked from one to the other, feeling very much like a wishbone. But she couldn't say no to her father. Elizabeth's annual birthday party was one of the few occasions they always spent together. "Of course."
The phone on her desk rang. Paige pushed the button for the intercom, grateful for the distraction.
"Mrs. Delaney is on line one," her secretary said.
"Thanks, Monica." She put the phone on speaker. "Hello, Mrs. Delaney. I'm glad you called. We'd love to talk to you about your dragon."
"I'm so excited," Nan said. "It's been such an incredible day. I can't tell you."
Paige smiled at the enthusiasm in the older woman's voice. "I'm sure it has been. We're hoping we might persuade you to bring the dragon down to the store tomorrow so we can take a look at it. Maybe first thing in the morning?"
"The morning is out, I'm afraid. Riley can't drive me until tomorrow afternoon."
"That will be fine. In fact, we have a wonderful tea. I don't know if you've heard of it, but --"
"Oh, yes, yes, I have heard of it," Nan said. "I've heard it's fantastic."
"Good, because we'd like to treat you and a friend or a family member to tea and a private appraisal. What do you say?"
"That sounds terrific," Nan replied.
"Good, why don't we --"
"Just a second," Nan said. There was a rustling, then a male voice came over the speaker.
"Miss Hathaway, I'm Riley McAllister, Mrs. Delaney's grandson. We'll be entertaining offers from numerous dealers, you understand," he said in a brusque voice.
"Of course, but I hope you'll give us a chance to make you an offer after we verify the authenticity of your piece."
"Since your store has had people calling my grandmother all day long, I'm fairly certain we have the real thing. But we will not be making any decisions without doing considerable research into the company making the offer. The House of Hathaway isn't the only game in town. And I will not allow my grandmother to be taken advantage of."
Paige frowned, not caring for the implication. The House of Hathaway had an impeccable reputation, certainly not one of taking advantage of little old ladies.
"My grandmother will bring the dragon in tomorrow," Mr. McAllister continued. "She'll be coming with a friend and myself. We'll be there at three o'clock."
"That sounds --" The dial tone cut off her reply. "Well, that was rude," she said, pressing the button to disconnect the call.
"Why did you suggest the tea?" her father asked, irritated. "That's not until the afternoon."
"She said she couldn't do it in the morning."
"I just hope that doesn't mean she's taking the dragon somewhere else. I want that dragon, whatever it costs," he said.
"Don't be absurd, David," Victoria replied. "We don't have an unlimited budget. Need I remind you of that?"
"Need I remind you that I make the buying decisions?" David looked Victoria straight in the eye. "Don't get in my way, Vicky, not on this." And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving Paige alone with her mother.
"Always so dramatic," Victoria murmured.
"Why do you think this dragon is so important to Dad?" Paige asked.
"I have no idea. What's important to your father has been a mystery to me for some time." She paused. "Keep me informed about the dragon, won't you?"
"Why?"
"Because I run the company."
"I've never known you to care about an old statue."
"I care about everything that concerns this store, especially things that make your father believe he has a blank check."
Paige frowned as her mother left the office, shutting the door behind her. It had been a long time since both her parents had been interested in the same thing. That couldn't possibly be good.
Wind chimes blew in the warm breeze, a robin sang out for its mate to finish the nest before the babies came, and Nick's guitar played a soothing melody of sleep and love. The porch swing creaked as Lisa stroked her baby's head, letting the fine strands of black silk curl around her fingers. She pressed the baby closer to her heart. She'd never felt so happy, so complete. Then Nick hit a false chord, a shrieking note that clashed with the springtime harmony. The robins squawked and fluttered and flew away, leaving their nest dark and empty ...
Lisa Alvarez jolted awake, her heart racing, her breathing ragged. "It was a dream," she told herself. "Just a dream." The pounding on her office door brought her back to reality.
"Elisabeth?" her secretary called.
"Come in," Lisa said somewhat weakly, still disoriented by the vivid dream.
Her secretary, Marian Griggs, walked into the office with a brightly wrapped box in her hand. "I know you told me not to disturb you, but this just came for you. I thought it might be a wedding present, and well, you know how I am about presents," Marian set the box down on the desk in front of Lisa and sent her a curious look. "Are you all right?"
She pushed a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. I just put my head down for a minute. I was so tired after working all night, I guess I fell asleep."
"Open the gift," Marian encouraged.
Her hand shook slightly as she slipped the ribbon off the box and removed the lid. She carefully pulled away the white tissue paper to reveal a charm bracelet that held only one small charm, a pair of gold baby shoes. "Oh, no," she whispered as she touched the shoes with her fingertip. "Oh, no." The metal burned her fingers, and she slammed the lid down on the box and took a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" Marian asked with concern.
"Please, go. Just go."
Marian looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded. "Okay. I'm going." She walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Lisa took several calming breaths. Why was it all coming back now, when she finally had her life together? After a long moment of indecision, she opened the box once again. This time, she reached for the small envelope lying beneath the bracelet. She slipped it out and opened it.
"Eight years, Lisa. You can push the rest of us away. You can marry this safe, older man, but I will not let you forget her -- Robin Nicole Maddux. This bracelet was blessed. If you hold on to it, you will feel the magic. Believe in it now and come home, before it's too late."
Eight years, and her mother, Silvia Alvarez, still hoped for a miracle. When would Silvia learn that there was no magic in the world -- only foolish dreams?
She looked at the bracelet once again. It had been blessed by her great-aunt Carmela, who drank tequila for "medicinal purposes" and fashioned jewelry out of gold nuggets she believed were from an ancient Aztec city. Her mother might believe Carmela was a descendant from the mystical Aztecs and therefore had special powers, but as far as Lisa was concerned, Carmela was nothing more than an old con artist. That's why Lisa had left the bracelet behind all those years ago -- as she had left everything else behind.
Setting the box on the edge of the desk, she walked over to the window, resting her palms on the windowsill. Below, the streets of downtown Los Angeles bustled with activity, but here in her third-floor office, she was protected from the heat and the smog, the mix of languages, the car horns, the curses, the smells of burritos and quesadillas being sold in tiny taquerias tucked in between the glass and chrome skyscrapers.
She had left Solana Beach, a suburb of San Diego, to come to the sprawling city of Los Angeles, to lose herself in the crowds. It was easy to do that here. Her Mexican/Irish heritage raised few eyebrows in this city of immigrants. She heard three or four languages every time she stepped on the elevator. No one questioned why her hair was so black, her eyes so blue. No one asked, because no one cared. That was the trade-off.
For almost eight years she'd lived in LA., working her way up from a receptionist in a public relations firm to a senior account executive at one of the most prestigious advertising agencies in Los Angeles. She had changed jobs every few years and apartments almost as frequently, never letting herself get too close or too settled -- until now.
In less than a month, she would marry her boss, fifty-two-year-old Raymond Curtis, a man twenty-one years her senior. The age gap didn't bother her. Raymond was the first man she'd felt comfortable with in a long time. She couldn't keep running for the rest of her life. It was time to settle down.
Her mother thought she had chosen Raymond because she wanted a father figure, but Lisa had stopped looking for a father years before. Patrick O'Donegan had taken off two days after Lisa's birth, knowing his family couldn't accept a child who wasn't pure Irish.
In truth, she didn't feel Irish or Mexican. She felt alone. Her mother said she'd been born with a chip on her shoulder. Maybe so. After all, her father had taken one look at her and run screaming for the hills. Was it any wonder she always anticipated rejection?
As she turned, her gaze was caught by the sudden fluttering of a bird outside the window. The bird had a bright orange chest and a gray coat -- a robin. She swallowed hard as the bird settled on top of the streetlight just a few feet from her office window. She couldn't imagine how the bird had come to be here, amidst the concrete, the buildings and the smog. She closed her eyes against a wave of memories. But in her mind she could see another robin, a tall tree, a budding nest and Nick holding their baby ... no, she wouldn't remember. She couldn't.
A knock came at her door, and Lisa opened her eyes. The robin had disappeared. Perhaps she had simply imagined its appearance. With a sense of relief, she turned away from the window as her fiance entered the office.
"I'm back," Raymond Curtis said, offering her a broad smile.
Raymond was an attractive man with thin brown hair, graying sideburns, and a narrow face. Of average height, he had a lean, wiry look that came from hours of exercising. A noted clotheshorse, he had a closet full of suits and ties for every occasion. Today, he wore his trademark charcoal gray Armani suit, which he fondly referred to as his "pitch" suit. Judging by the smile on his face, his latest pitch had gone well.
"How did it go?" Lisa asked.
"Exceptionally well." He kissed her on the cheek, then set a box of cereal down on her desk. "I hope you tike graham cracker cereal with marshmallows."
"Can't say I've tried it."
"It's new, and the Nature Brand people want to launch the cereal with print, broadcast and internet ads. This is going to be great, Elisabeth." His eyes lit up at the prospect of landing a big new client. "I need an initial proposal, campaign strategy complete with various slogans and artwork four weeks from today. We're competing with one other firm, and we're talking million-dollar account,"
She stared at him in amazement as he rattled off a hectic schedule of meetings and appointments with the Nature Brand people. "Raymond, have you forgotten? We're getting married in four weeks."
"I know." The light in his eyes dimmed slightly. "The timing isn't the best."
"That's an understatement."
"This account is too good to pass up." He smiled persuasively. "The wedding details are pretty much set. All we have to do is send out the invitations."
Her eyes drifted over to the box of invitations sitting on her credenza. The engraved ivory cards still needed to be addressed, sealed and stamped. She tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear.
"I wouldn't say that's all we have to do, Raymond. I still have the final fitting of my gown, presents to buy for the bridesmaids you insisted we have, last-minute decisions about flowers, and -- "
"Let Mrs. Carstairs handle it."
"I'm still not comfortable with a wedding consultant planning my wedding."
Raymond laughed. "That's her job. Look, I know I'm asking a lot, but this account is just what we've been waiting for, especially since losing Bailey Brothers to Beverly Wickham earlier this year. This one will put us back on top."
"Is Beverly competing for Nature Brand, too?"
Raymond tugged at the knot in his tie. "Unfortunately, yes. There's one other thing -- the honeymoon."
She stared at him with dismay. "You're not planning on canceling the honeymoon?"
"No, of course not."
"Good, for a minute there ..."
"Just cut it short a day or two. If we get this account, Monty Friedman, Nature Brand's CEO, has asked that we meet the week after our presentation to work out a detailed game plan. I can put him off until Wednesday or Thursday, of course."
"Of course." Lisa echoed with a sigh.
"Once we have the campaign up and running, we'll take two weeks off and go wherever your heart desires. What do you say?"
What could she say? She couldn't deny Raymond the opportunity to land a big account. The agency was more than just a job to him. It was his life -- hers, too. "All right."
"I can always count on you. So, what have you been up to today?" Raymond glanced at her desk, immediately zeroing in on the package. "Hey, what's this? Did we get a wedding present already?" He reached for the box before she could stop him.
"No. It's not a wedding present. It's -- "
"A bracelet." His gaze turned puzzled as he looked into her eyes. "Baby shoes?"
Lisa swallowed hard as she stared at the gold charm bracelet swinging from his fingers. In her mind, she saw another man's hand, heard another man's voice.
"I wonder what other charms she'll get over the years, a baseball bat, a mitt, a basketball,'' Nick said with a laugh, his curly brown hair still mussed from his daughter's restless fingers, his light green eyes twinkling with pleasure.
"She's a girl," Lisa replied.
"She can still be an athlete.
"Like her dad.'' Lisa felt Nick's strong arm slide around her waist.
"Or a writer, like you. In fact, she can he anything she wants to be. As long as she's happy.
"Oh, Nick, you make it easy to believe in the impossible."
"I don't believe in the impossible. I believe in you -- in us''
Damn that bracelet. She didn't want to remember.
"Elisabeth, what's wrong?"
She took a deep breath. "Nothing is wrong. The bracelet is a gift from my mother. Something old for luck."
Raymond didn't look satisfied with her answer. "You did tell her we're not planning on having children, didn't you?" he asked, worry running through his usually placid brown eyes.
"Yes, but my mother doesn't hear anything she doesn't want to hear. My father was gone for ten years before she admitted he might not be coming back. The woman is the queen of denial."
"Elisabeth, I raised a son, and I don't want to do it again. Frankly, I was never good at being a father. Just ask Ray Junior, if you don't believe me. He's twenty-five now, and I still don't know what to say to him."
Twenty-five! His son was twenty-five, only six years younger than herself. When she'd been in the first grade, Raymond had been having a child. Lisa took another deep breath. The age difference didn't matter. They had the same goals now. That's what was important.
"I don't want children," she said. "I don't need to be -- a mother."
He looked deep into her eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely, positively sure." She refused to let any doubts creep into her voice.
He glanced down at the bracelet in his hand, fingering the tiny gold baby shoes. Finally, he set it back in the box and checked his watch. "What time are you meeting Mrs. Carstairs?''
"Five-thirty at the bridal salon," she replied with a sigh.
Raymond sent her a curious look. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She hesitated. "Don't you think it would be better to have a small, intimate wedding?"
"How small would you suggest?"
"You and me and two witnesses," she said hopefully,
"Don't be silly. I have family, friends, business associates. I want to show you off. Every time I see you I thank God no one snatched you up before now."
Lisa's heart stopped. She had to tell him. She'd been trying to for days, but the right moment had never arrived.
"Raymond -- "
She stopped as the intercom buzzed, feeling both relieved and annoyed by the interruption. She reached over and picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"Maggie Scott on line one, Elisabeth," the receptionist said.
Maggie Scott -- another voice from her past. Why were they all coining back now -- when she finally had her life under control? "Tell her I'll be with her in a minute."
"Problems?" Raymond asked.
"It's an old friend of mine, Maggie Scott. We grew up together in Solana Beach. We used to be best friends."
"Used to be?"
"She got married, had kids. I moved away." Lisa waved her hand in the air. "We drifted apart."
"That happens."
Lisa nodded, knowing they hadn't just drifted apart. She'd turned her back on Maggie, the same way she'd turned her back on her mother and ...
"Stop by my office when you're done," Raymond said, turning toward the door, "We'll discuss our plans for the weekend. Monty Friedman has invited us to a party tomorrow afternoon. Everyone will be there. It will be a good opportunity for you to meet the key players."
"Okay," Lisa replied, her mind more on Maggie than the upcoming party. She was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. The past was catching up to the present, and she wasn't ready yet.
Maggie Scott pulled the phone cord around the corner of the desk in the upstairs hall, searching for a quiet place to talk. She could hear her thirteen-year-old daughter, Roxanne, practicing cheerleading routines in the living room with three other giggling, adolescent girls. Her eight-year-old son, Dylan, was playing video games on the television in the family room, yelling "Victory!" every time he knocked out a warrior. Her five-year-old daughter, Mary Bea, was having a tantrum in her bedroom. Even with the door closed, Maggie could hear Mary Bea crying, her sobs intermixed with defiant shouts of "I don't like you, and I wish I had another mommy!"