You Can Run... (16 page)

Finally Lenore leaned forward and took her brother’s hand. “Jeff, I admit at first I thought Penny was after your money, but later I changed my mind. I watched her and I couldn’t ignore the way she touched you, looked at you—well, so many things she did that you just can’t fake unless you’re a great actor.”

“Maybe she was.”

“She wasn’t,” Blake said, looking away from the framed photo. “I’m not saying this as your brother-in-law or your closest friend for over twenty years, Jeff. I felt the same way Lenore did at first about Penny. After you were married, though, I saw that Penny loved you. Love is one of those things you can sense between two people. You don’t have to ask yourself if they’re in love—you
know
. And I know you and Penny were in love.
Both
of you—not you alone.”

Lenore looked at her husband with almost unbearable tenderness. Diana had to glance away, her desire for such depth of feeling so great that it almost hurt. The emotion surprised her—she hadn’t realized how much she longed for love. Maybe the awareness came tonight because all of her feelings were raw, she thought. They were raw with the knowledge that Penny was dying.

Diana swallowed hard. “The Penny I know would only have married for love. I’m glad you agree.”

“Well, love
and
money,” Lenore offered almost apologetically. “If she’d married only for love, she could never have treated Jeff the way she has. Money was
very
important to Penny.”

Her shock giving way to loyalty toward her friend, Diana said staunchly, “I would like to point out something. Penny lived on a small income. Her house was modest. I can remember going shopping with her several times. Penny bought things for Willow as she grew, but only two or three outfits for herself and those weren’t in upscale stores. She drove a twelve-year-old car with almost a hundred thousand miles on it.”

Penny’s relatives simply stared at her. Diana sighed impatiently. “If she was a gold digger who married you for money, Mr. Cavanaugh, it certainly doesn’t appear as if she ran off with any of it!”

“Well, she did!” Jeffrey’s moment of weakness had fled. He looked at Diana unflinchingly. “Cash. Jewelry.”

“A lot?” Diana asked in surprise.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Lenore cast her brother an uneasy glance then spoke up. “Jeff, no matter what Penny
did
do, I think we have to be fair about what she
didn’t
do.” She looked at Diana. “She took fifteen thousand dollars from her personal bank account that only contained thirty thousand. Jeff kept her on a budget—he never let her have access to his bank accounts.”

Jeffrey flushed, and Blake rushed to his rescue. “That was my idea,” he said. “He hadn’t known Penny long when they got married, and . . . well . . . I just thought it would make everyone feel more secure about the money issue. Also, it isn’t as if she was living in poverty. The thirty thousand dollars was hers to spend on clothes, entertainment, whatever she wanted. It wasn’t a household fund.”

Lenore nodded. “Oh yes, Jeff was very indulgent. I didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t. Still, Penny only withdrew half the money in her bank account, as I said. She didn’t take any of her designer clothes—none of the Chanel suits, the Armani, the Versace. She didn’t even take one piece of the Vuitton luggage.”

New money,
Diana thought, almost smiling at Lenore’s designer-name dropping. Diana glanced at Blake, whose color had heightened, but Lenore surged on, oblivious.

“As for jewelry,” Lenore continued, “Penny took a pair of small diamond-stud earrings from Cartier—a gift from Blake and me. She also took a little gold cross she said her grandmother had given her when she was a child, and a pendant Blake and I had made at Tiffany’s for Cornelia when she was born—a ruby rose with an emerald stem set in gold. Oh, and we got her the traditional, engraved platinum rattle from Tiffany’s along with an engraved cup supposedly from my mother.” Lenore finally tossed a glance at Blake. “I don’t think we ever fooled Penny with that cup. She knew it didn’t come from Mother.” She looked back at Diana. “Penny took the rattle but not the cup. I don’t think I was clear about that. And let me think if there was anything else—”

“Oh for God’s sake, that’s enough!” Jeffrey exploded.
“You sound like you’re making a report for an insurance company.”

Lenore’s face flamed and her gaze dropped. “I’m sorry. . . .”

Blake jumped to his wife’s defense. “Jeff, don’t take out your anger on your sister. She hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”

“Yes, I did.” Lenore looked up and spoke meekly. “I was babbling. Again. I’m sorry, Jeff. I know how upsetting this is for you.”

“It is, but you upset me even more, acting like Penny didn’t do anything wrong because she didn’t take a Chanel . . . whatever.” Jeffrey’s big right hand whipped through the air, sweeping away Penny’s designer clothes as his rough voice boomed relentlessly. “She left without a word! She deserted me after I gave her everything! When, because of me, she went from being a stripper to being a princess!”

“A
stripper
!” Diana and Simon exclaimed in unison.

Jeffrey glowered at them. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“How would we know?” Simon nearly shouted. “We didn’t even know she had a husband!” He paused, looking as if he was trying to absorb a byzantine concept. “Penny was a
stripper
? Are you sure?”

“Am I
sure
?” For the first time, Jeffrey looked almost amused. “Good God, man, she was my wife. I met her in a club after she’d finished her act, which I watched from demure beginning to scorching close.”

Diana glanced at Simon, whose mouth remained partly open in surprise. She’d never seen him looked so astonished, and she couldn’t concentrate on her own shock.

Lenore gazed at Simon, too her eyes widening in apprehension as if she thought he might have a heart attack. “Dr. Van Etton, Penny wasn’t actually a stripper,” she said quickly. “She was an exotic dancer. There’s a
big
difference. She explained it to me. Exotic dancers really
are
dancers and they
don’t
take off all of their clothes. Really, they don’t. Penny didn’t dance naked on a bar or give those disgraceful, grinding lap dances or—” This time Blake nudged her so forcefully he nearly knocked her off her seat. “She was an exotic dancer,” Lenore ended, face flaming.

“What did her parents think of her profession?” Diana asked. Simon still seemed unable to say a word.

Jeffrey took a deep breath. “Penny said her father died when she was seven. Her mother was murdered by a boyfriend, to put it politely.”

Diana wondered if Penny’s mother had become a prostitute. No wonder she never mentioned her parents.

“She had no other relatives, so when she was ten, she was put in a foster home. At eighteen she was on her own,” Jeffrey went on. “She waitressed for a while, and when she turned twenty-one, she started dancing. She made a reputation for herself and went by the name Copper Penny. It was a perfect name with her copper hair. One evening an important client insisted on taking me to the club where she danced, and the rest is history.”

“Except that our mother and a lot of our friends were horrified,” the irrepressible Lenore began. “Jeff was strong enough to ignore everyone, though. He married Penny and the both of them seemed very happy, especially when Corny was born, except that Jeff insisted on naming her Cornelia Ruth, our mother’s name. Penny wanted to name the baby Willow Rose. That’s why Blake designed the rose pendant—to sort of cheer up Penny about the name.”

“Naming the baby Cornelia didn’t make his mother accept the little girl, though,” Blake said, for the first time sounding angry instead of placating. “The woman refused to see the baby more than three times and always when Cornelia was alone with Jeff. Mrs. Cavanaugh only met Penny once.”

“And your father?” Diana asked Lenore.

“He’s been dead for almost seventeen years,” Lenore said. “He—”

Jeffrey held up his hand to silence her. “We don’t have to bare the family history with these people.” He looked piercingly at Simon. “I demand to see my daughter.”

Diana grew taut. Of course she feared that Jeffrey Cavanaugh would simply take Willow away tonight, and she would never again see the child. That wasn’t Diana’s only fear, though. Another apprehension tingled throughout her, one she couldn’t exactly identify but whose reality she trusted.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, it’s getting late,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be better to see Willow—Cornelia—tomorrow, when she’s not tired?”

He glanced at his watch, although she was certain he knew the exact time. “It’s just past eight o’clock. She can’t be too exhausted to see her own father. I want her brought to me
now
!”

Everyone stared at him, startled. Simon finally spoke, resignation in his voice. “Would you mind getting her, Diana? If Mr. Cavanaugh wants to see her, it should be before her bedtime.”

Upstairs in Willow’s room, Clarice sat in an armchair. Willow lay curled on the bed, both cats cuddled beside her as everyone watched a Disney movie. Or rather, everyone except Romeo, who usually never made it past eight at night and now lay, a seemingly boneless gray mass, snorting slightly every time Christabel’s plumy tail brushed across his nose.

Clarice looked at Diana. “Is our company gone?” she asked with false brightness.

“No, not yet. They would like to see Willow before they leave.” She tried to match the cheerfulness in Clarice’s voice but failed. “Hey, kid, can we stop the movie long enough for you to go downstairs and meet some people?”

Willow gave her a reluctant look. “Do I have to? The movie’s really good and I don’t want to wake up Romeo and Christabel.”

“You can start the movie right where you left off.” Diana strode to the DVD player and stopped the movie, although
she wasn’t at all certain they would be turning it back on tonight. “And nothing will wake up Romeo.”

Willow emitted an exaggerated sigh and gently pulled away from the cats. She still wore the dress the nurse from the hospital had given her, although now its skirt fell in wrinkles. Her smooth face showed shadows of fatigue around the big blue eyes, and her mouth was set in a slightly petulant expression. “Okay, but Mommy would say I’m tired and fussy. I’m just tellin’ you.”

“Well, thank you for being so considerate. I’m forewarned.” Willow walked toward her and put her hand in Diana’s. Before heading for the door, though, Diana kneeled and looked into Willow’s eyes. “Honey, do you remember your daddy?”

Diana felt, rather than saw, Clarice stiffen in her chair as Willow frowned. “I kind of remember a man I was s’posed to call Daddy,” she said slowly. “I remember Mommy takin’ me to see a big man in a real tall building in a great big city. He sat behind a desk. Willow paused. “But it was a long time ago and I didn’t see him very much. Then Mommy said that big man wasn’t my daddy at all. She said my real daddy died a long time ago. And then we came here and I liked it here a lot better.”

Diana didn’t have time to sort out this tangle of information and determine what Penny had actually said and how Willow had misinterpreted it. She took a deep breath. “Well, this will come as a surprise, Willow, but it seems your mommy made a mistake. She didn’t mean to, of course. Your mommy loved you more than anything in the world. You must always remember that, Willow.”

“I know Mommy loved me best of anything. What do you mean about Mommy makin’ a mistake?”

“Your daddy isn’t dead. He didn’t know where you were for a long time, but he’s finally found you. He’s right here in this house, and he just can’t wait to see his little girl—who’s not such a little girl anymore!”

Willow merely stared at her before saying suspiciously, “A man who says he’s my daddy is here?”

“Yes, honey. I know you want to see him.”

“If it’s my real daddy, then he’s a ghost.”

“Willow, he is
not
a ghost!”

“Then he’s not my daddy.”

“He
is
your daddy and he isn’t a ghost. I know a ghost when I see one,” she ended lamely.

Willow gazed at Diana steadily. “You’re gonna make me see him, aren’t you?”

“Well, he wants to see you, sweetheart. If you don’t go down to see him, then he’ll just come up to your bedroom.”

“No! He can’t come in here!”

Diana drew back. “Why can’t he come in here?”

“Because . . .” Willow’s eyes filled with tears. “Because even if he really is Daddy, he’s still a ghost. I can’t let ghosts in my bedroom!”

“Okay, sweetheart, settle down,” Diana crooned. “I say he’s not a ghost, but just in case I’m wrong, let’s see him downstairs. Wouldn’t that be better?”

Diana hated forcing the child to meet a man she had no desire to see. Willow had been through too much already, but if she didn’t go down to see Jeffrey, he would certainly come up to the bedroom, and the possibility of that seemed to terrify Willow.

“Willow, I know you’re a little nervous to see your father, but I’ll be there and so will Uncle Simon.”

Willow gave her a defeated look. “I guess I
have
to go,” she said lifelessly just as Diana reached for the door.

Christabel leaped off the bed, ran to the door, trilled in her musical little voice, and circled Willow’s legs twice. “Chris wants to go, too,” Diana said cheerfully. “Are you ready, Willow?”

“Yeah,” Willow said with a quaver in her voice. “I’m ready.”

Willow clung to Diana’s hand as they descended the stairs, Christabel running ahead of them, and Clarice watching them from the top of the staircase. Willow stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. Simon, Lenore,
Blake, and Jeffrey all stood in the foyer, the light from the chandelier shining down on them. Lenore broke into an ecstatic smile and chortled, “Corny! Oh darling, you’re just
beautiful
!”

But Willow looked past her. Her blue eyes fastened on Jeffrey, who stood still but sent the child a tense, slitted smile. He held out his hands and asked, “Cornelia? Do you remember me?”

By now Willow’s eyes had grown huge, horror in her gaze. Blood drained from her face, turning it parchment white, and her whole body went rigid, as if with an old, remembered terror. She lifted her hand and pointed a finger at Jeffrey.