Нора Робертс - Hideaway

The asshole lawyer had finally paid off. He just had to die to do it.

And not tabloids this time, but real press. She’d done the Los Angeles Times , the New York Times . When cable news came knocking, she opened the door.

Or the servants did.

Now, finally, the cover of People , and a four-page spread.

Sure, a lot of it meant playing the devoted wife, the reformed socialite, but now, at last, sitting in the sweeping parlor, the white marble fireplace simmering, the soaring Christmas tree—done in white and gold and shimmering crystal—dressed (intentionally) like a flame, she got down to the real business.

“Charles’s death—the police say murder—is so shocking. I’m still shaken by it. Anyone who knew him must be. I remember, so clearly, his strength and support at the lowest point of my life.”

She looked away, a hand to her throat as the reporter asked questions.

“I’m sorry. I was lost in the past. No, I’m afraid we didn’t really stay in touch. I had to do my penance, of course, and Charles helped me understand that. I did ask his advice on how to adjust when I’d paid my debt.

“What did he advise?” Charlotte repeated to give herself time to make something up. “To give myself time, to forgive myself. He was so supportive, so wise.”

On a quiet sigh, she touched a fingertip just under the corner of her eye as if to catch a tear.

“When I came back to Los Angeles, I wanted only to try to reconnect with my daughter, to find a way to earn Caitlyn’s forgiveness. I hoped she’d find it in her heart to give me a second chance, to be her mother again.”

Turning her head so the lights caught the diamonds, Charlotte put on that sad, brave smile. “I still hope, especially during the holidays, or on her birthday. I had to turn her rejection into my own strength. Rebuilding my life, my career. Wouldn’t there be a chance she could see that, and consider forgiving?”

Leaning forward just a little, as if sharing a confidence, she added the slightest tremor to her voice. “I worry about her. I was deceived by men, used by them. I allowed myself to become so subservient I made the most terrible decision a woman, a mother, can make. She—my daughter—I’m afraid she’s walking that same path.”

Keeping the sad smile in place, Charlotte nodded at the reporter, used the response as her cue.

“How? Caitlyn’s broken relationship with Justin Harlowe is just the latest, isn’t it? Everything I hear makes it sound as if she’s repeating my mistakes. Wanting too much, demanding too much, expecting—on one hand—a man to fill that void, and on the other allowing herself to be walked over because of that desperate need for love.

“If I hadn’t found Conrad, learned to trust his kindness and his loving heart, I don’t know what would have become of me. I can only hope that my daughter finds someone as loving to help her find her true self, her inner strength. Someone who might help her find that forgiveness.”

As a flourish, Charlotte gestured up. “Do you see the angel on top of the tree? That’s Caitlyn, my angel. One day I hope she’ll wing her way back to me.”

And scene, Charlotte thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rather than push through it, Cate simply blocked out the noise. She kept the news, especially entertainment news, turned off. If she sat down with her tablet or computer to research, she restricted her use to the research or personal interests. No deviation, no giving in to the tug to check—just for a minute—on what someone said, wrote, blogged about.

She had her work and, through the holidays, a lot of family to keep her busy.

Before she knew it, the holidays slid toward February.

February always ushered in a period of bad dreams. Maybe, she could admit, they carried more intensity because she’d come back to where they’d started.

When she woke up, shuddering, breathless, for the third night running, she got up, went down to make herself tea.

The falling dream again, she thought. A popular favorite in her nightmare repertoire. Her hands, a child’s hands, sliding, sliding helplessly on the rope of sheets. And all the fiercely tied knots breaking away.

Falling, falling, without even the breath to scream, with the second-story window changing into a cliff, the ground turned into the thrashing sea.

They’d pass, she told herself, standing with the tea, looking out at the sea. They always did.

But at three in the morning, they exhausted.

No pills, she thought, though February often tempted her. But no pills. Her mother had used them, and often as an excuse.

I’m too tired, Caitlyn. I took a pill to help me sleep. Go tell Nina to take you shopping. I need a nap.

Why, she wondered, did a child crave the attention and affection of the very person who routinely withheld both? Like cats who wanted the lap of someone averse to them.

That craving had certainly passed.

But since she needed to sleep, as Lily left the next day for New York—which meant she had to at least look rested for the morning goodbyes—she’d take her tea upstairs. She’d find a movie again, and hope she could drift off.

Since drifting off came in fits and starts, the wonder of makeup and a skilled hand did the trick.

“You two keep an eye on each other. I’ll know if you don’t.” Lily gave Cate and Hugh a wagging finger warning. “I have my spies.”

“I’m taking him to a strip club tonight.”

“See that you have plenty of singles.” Lily checked her purse, again. “Those girls work hard.”

After shutting her enormous travel purse again, Lily put her hands on Cate’s cheeks. “I’ll miss that face.” Then turned to Hugh, did the same. “And this one.”

“I expect a call when you’re settled.”

“You’ll get one. All right, here I go.” She kissed Hugh. Kissed him again before enfolding Cate in a hug and subtle clouds of J’adore.

“Knock ’em dead, Mame,” Cate murmured.

Lily touched a hand to her heart, to her lips, then slid into the limo.

With Hugh, Cate stood watching the car wind down to the gate. “Alone at last,” she said to make him laugh.

“She is a presence, isn’t she? How long is the list she gave you about keeping an eye on me?”

“It’s lengthy. How about yours for me?”

“Same. So I’ll cross an item off, ask you what you’re up to today.”

February had opted for balmy. It wouldn’t last, but for this day, this moment, the air held the teasing promise of spring. Spears of bulbs, nubs of wildflowers poked up to bask in the sun. Out at sea, a ship, white as winter, glided toward the horizon.

There were times you really should seize the day.

“I worked a couple hours, and need a couple more. Audiobook, and it’s going well. Then I think it’ll be a really good afternoon for a walk on the beach. You could help me cross two items off my list. How about sitting in on the recording, then taking some sandwiches or whatever and walking with me.”

“Oddly, that would also cross some off my list.”

He took her hand, the way he had when she’d been a little girl. And she shortened her gait for him—as he’d once done for her.

“Have you heard from your dad?”

“I did, just yesterday. It’s cold and rainy in London.”

“Aren’t we the lucky ones? Are you happy here, Catey?”

“Of course I am. Don’t I look happy?”

“You look content, which isn’t quite there. One of the items on my long list is to convince you to get out, find some people your own age. Lily suggests Dillon for that.”

“Does she?”

“He’s lived here all his life, he has friends. Work, for us, it’s essential, but it can’t be all.”