Нора Робертс - Hideaway

The old gnarled tree—under which she’d gotten and given her first kiss. Tom McLaughlin, she remembered, a fourth or fifth cousin, so somehow still all in the family.

The cow stretching its head over a stone wall to crop grass on the other side. Mrs. Leary’s cottage, because Mrs. Leary had taught both Nan and herself how to bake brown bread.

She’d take all that with her to look at anytime she felt sad or lost.

Barely a half mile from the cottage, she turned down the bumpy lane. Knowing where they were headed, Lola let out a happy bark and ran ahead.

“Goodbye,” Cate said, and let the tears come because Nina would understand them. “Goodbye,” she said again.

She stood a moment, slim and straight, long black hair flowing down her back. Then followed the dog to make it official.

L.A. poured sunshine. The streets and sidewalks baked under it. Flowers bright and bold pulsed hot. Beyond the walls and gate of the Sullivan estate, traffic snarled and bitched.

In the trendy restaurants, beautiful people talked business over their organic salads and quinoa while beautiful people who hoped to break into the business served them.

The guesthouse had its advantages. She had a beautiful room, full of soft colors and shabby chic, her own bath with a generous shower that pumped out hot water as long as she wanted.

She even had her own entrance so she could slip out, night or day, without going through the main part of the house—a habit she developed and kept up even when her father was working.

She enjoyed the gardens, and seriously loved having a pool.

She could make her own meals if she wanted—Mrs. Leary had taught her how to make more than brown bread—or wander over to the main house to join her grandparents. If they had a dinner engagement, she could sit in the kitchen with Consuela, their cook and de facto housekeeper, beg a meal and conversation.

When her grandfather gave her the script for the part he had in mind, she read it, then devoured it. Then got busy on the work to transform herself into Jute—the quirky, careless best friend of the daughter of the single mother in a sharp little romantic comedy.

She’d only have a handful of scenes, but they counted. Because she respected his opinion, and she’d need his permission, she passed the script to her father.

When he knocked on her bedroom door, she stopped practicing Jute’s walk, called a “Come in.”

Her palms actually got sweaty when she saw he had the script in his hand.

“You read it.”

“Yeah. It’s good, but your grandfather’s careful about projects. You understand they’ve already cast Karrie.”

“I don’t want Karrie. Not that it isn’t a good part. I don’t want to take that much on, not now. Not yet. Jute’s better for me. She plays off Karrie’s need to be perfect, and the way the mother’s always overcompensating. She brings a little chaos in.”

“She does,” Aidan agreed. “She’s got a mouth on her, Cate.”

In response, Cate did a slow roll of her shoulders, eyes rolling up as she dropped into a chair, slouched. “Jesus, she’s just, you know, like fucking expressing herself.”

She saw his eyes widen, that instant shock, and wondered if she’d gone too far putting Jute on for size.

Then he laughed. He sat on the side of her bed, set the script down beside him. “It’s no wonder Jute’s parents are a little afraid of her.”

“She’s smarter and braver than they are. I get her, Dad.” Cate leaned forward. “I admire that she doesn’t care about fitting in. I think, I really think, if I can get the part, I’ll be good in it. And it’ll be good for me.”

“You haven’t wanted any of this for a long time. Or…” He looked away, toward her glass doors to where twilight crept. “I kept the door closed. Not locked, but closed.”

“It’s not on you. I never asked if I could open the door, and really only thought about it once in a while. Now I just want to see if I can, and how I feel if I do.”

“You have to be prepared for questions, for the ones who’ll rehash what happened in Big Sur.”

She said nothing for a moment, just sat, held his eyes with hers. “Do I have to give up everything because of what she did?”

“No, Cate, no. But—”

“Then let me do this, let me try to get the part. Let me see what happens.”

“I won’t stand in your way.”

She jumped up, threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He squeezed tight. “There are conditions.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I’ll hire a bodyguard.”

Stunned, appalled, she yanked back. “Come on.”

“I’ll get a woman,” he continued. “We can say she’s your PA.”

“God, like I’d need a personal assistant. Dad, the studio has security.”

“Deal breaker.”

She knew that tone, the one calm and clear as water. He meant it.

“Are you going to worry about me my whole life?”

“Yes.” Same tone. “It’s part of the job description.”

“Fine, fine. What else?”

“If a call runs late, you text me. And as we both might be working, I get a text when you’re home if I’m not here.”

“No problem. More?”

“You keep your grades up.”

“Done. Is that it?”

“Other than the already in place no drinking, no drugs, yeah. That’s it.”

“We have a deal. I’m going to run over and ask Grandpa to set up an audition.”

She raced off so fast he barely had a moment to feel pride she’d expect to audition. But he had plenty of time to worry about what she might face out in the world he’d kept her from for seven years.

But Cate thought only of now as she raced along the wide, pavered path toward the main house. It stood gloriously Georgian, magnificently ornate in the deepening shadows. Lights flickered along the path, and along other paths through gardens smelling of roses and peonies, inside the many windows, glimmered in the blue, blue waters of the pool.

And, she saw, washed over the big patio with its outdoor kitchen under a pergola of wisteria where her grandparents sat sipping drinks.

“Look who’s come to call.” Lily, her hair a flaming red swing around her face, lifted her martini in toast. “Get a Coke, darling, and sit with us old farts.”

“I don’t see any old farts.”

She sat, on the edge of a seat because that’s how she felt. On the edge.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I got the check mark from Dad. We read the script for Absolutely Maybe . He said I could do it, and boy, I want to. When can I audition for Jute?”

Obviously pleased, Hugh studied her over his whiskey. “Honey, I’m not just playing Karrie’s irascible grandfather, I’m executive producer. It’s yours.”

Her pulse did a quick dance, just as her feet wanted to. “Oh, man, I want it so much. It’d be so easy to take it that way. But no, please. I want to audition. I want to do it right.”

“Hugh, set up the audition, and congratulate yourself on having a granddaughter with pride and integrity.”

“All right, I’ll set it up.”

“Yes! I need to go prepare.” She jumped up, then dropped down again. “I need … G-Lil, I need a salon. My hair. And I need some L.A. clothes. Can you tell me where, and can I use the driver?”

Lily held up a finger, then picked up the phone she’d set on the table. She hit speed dial. “Mimi, do me a favor? Cancel my lunch date tomorrow and contact Gino—yes, now, at home. Tell him I need him to take care of my granddaughter tomorrow. That’s right, personally. We can work around his schedule. We’ll be shopping most of the day. Thanks.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Have to?” She threw back her head, let out a hoot. “Does a rooster have to crow? I’ve wanted my Gino to get his genius hands on your hair for years. Now’s my chance. Add shopping, it’s a day at the damn circus for me. And I do love a circus.”