Gwynne Forster - Swept Away

She reflected on Schyler’s admonishment of minutes earlier. “I’ve seen the lion close up when he roared loudest; he can no longer frighten me, Mr. Henderson.”

She couldn’t let the pain she saw in his eyes soften her attitude. He’d had her father’s love; she hadn’t. Yet, something in her hurt for him, and because of him. He put a half-smile on his face, but it never reached his eyes, and she had to grasp her shoulder bag with both hands to prevent herself from reaching out to him. He opened the door to what appeared to be a small solarium. Sunny and homey with white rattan furniture and numerous green plants.

“Who was that at the door, Son?”

Son, indeed! For the first time in thirty years, she heard the voice of the man who’d sired her. And in spite of herself, excitement and anticipation shot through her.

How gentle his voice, she thought, when Schyler answered his father, and how solicitous. “Brace yourself, Dad,” he said, blocking her entrance to the room. “We knew she’d come sooner or later, and she’s here.” He stepped aside. “Come on in, Veronica.”

“Veronica? Veronica!” As she walked in, Richard Henderson bounded up from his desk and started toward her. “Veronica!” He pronounced the name as if it were sacred to him. “I despaired of ever setting my eyes on you again.”

He opened his arms to her, but she couldn’t walk into them, couldn’t make herself act the lie. She gave him as much as she could, extending her hand to him. After seconds during which tension crackled in the room and her blood pounded in her ears, he took her hand and held it, though only for a second.

He stepped back then, and she saw him as he was. Tall. Proud. Self-possessed. If she’d hurt him, he didn’t show it. “If you’re not glad to see me, Veronica, why have you come?”

She tried to shove aside the connection she’d instantly felt to him. An indefinable something that drew and held her, repositioning her center of gravity.

“I came because it was my mother’s last request of me. I promised her I’d find you.”

He gasped, held his head up and his flat belly seemed to jam itself against his backbone. He closed his eyes, large and almond shaped like hers. “Esther is dead? Your investigator didn’t mention it. She’s dead?”

She nodded, unwilling to believe the news would mean anything to him. “Just before my investigator located you.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Schyler move toward his father, but Richard walked over to the window, turned his back and gazed out. From the bend of his shoulders, she knew he’d gone there for privacy, to shield his emotions and to get a grip on them. She glanced at Schyler, but the dark expression that clouded his face as he gazed in the direction of his father gave her no comfort. She walked halfway to the window and paused, uncertain as to what to do. She thought she detected a quick, jerky movement of his shoulders as though a shudder had torn through him. But the man possessed dignity.

He turned and smiled at her. “At least you’ve come. I’d like us to get acquainted. Would you…would you…spend the night?”

She wasn’t prepared for a love-in, not after years of resenting this man who had rejected her, only to welcome another man’s child into his home and his heart.

“Thanks, but I’m staying at that little white, two-story hotel on Front Street. It doesn’t seem to have a name,” she told him, “and I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Richard made a pyramid of his long fingers, propped up his chin and scrutinized her. She had the feeling that he judged her and found her wanting. But what could he expect from the daughter he’d left thirty years earlier?

He gazed steadily into her eyes. “If Esther told you to find me, what did she want me—or you, for that matter—to know?”

She’d wondered about that but couldn’t guess a convincing answer. “I…I don’t know. She didn’t get a chance to tell me.”

He knocked his right fist into his left palm as she’d seen Schyler do while he tried to sway the judge against her. “I see. In that case, we’ll have to spend enough time together to figure out what was left unsaid. So stay for dinner.”

A command if she’d ever heard one, and her good sense told her to obey it. She glanced at Schyler, who’d said nothing during her exchanges with his father. His guarded expression told her that she’d displeased him and that she was on her own.

“My housekeeper is usually here on Saturdays,” Richard explained, “but she’s at a church outing today. The food will be edible, though, because I cook about as well as anybody, and I’ve taught Schyler to do the same.”

He shifted his glance to Schyler. “Son, why don’t you show Veronica our little village while I get the meal together? We eat at six-thirty, Veronica.”

“Well I—”

Schyler had her by the arm. She didn’t think she’d find his fingerprints on her flesh, but he had certainly touched her with gentler fingers in the past.

“Finish your writing, Dad. There’s plenty of time before dinner. I’ll entertain her.”

He ushered her into the living room and pointed to a brown leather recliner. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dark colors didn’t do a thing for her, and her green suit would die against brown. Feeling wayward and, in a way, trapped, she ignored his suggestion and sat on the huge cream-colored sofa.

“Thanks, but I’ll sit over here.”

He stood several feet away looking at her. And saying nothing. She resisted crossing her knee, or swinging her foot, or pulling her hair. And she was damned if she’d rub her nose. When she could no longer stand this scrutiny, she blurted out, “Are you being rude deliberately?”

His shrug was slow, nonchalant. “If I were, you’d probably know it, considering what an expert you are at it.”

She knew she deserved the reprimand, for she’d hurt Richard Henderson when she didn’t return his warm greeting. But she couldn’t explain it to Schyler, couldn’t expose herself by telling him what her youth had been compared to his.

Instead, she defended herself. “I’m honest, Mr. Henderson, and I’m not good at pretense. I was as gracious as I could be.”

He dug the toe of his house shoe into the broadloom carpet. “Yes. I suppose you were. But that’s not saying much. Did you plan to hurt him? Did you come here to get revenge for something he doesn’t seem to remember?”

She could feel her shoulders sag with a heavy weight that seemed to shroud her body. Weary in spirit. She knew it wasn’t the kind of fatigue that a tub of hot water could soak away. It seeped into her marrow and nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying honestly to understand her motive. “I don’t believe I planned anything. This is a trial for you and for him, but what do you think this visit is doing to me? I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw myself. My eyes, hair, coloring, face and height. It’s as though I didn’t know myself until now. Don’t you think this is a shock for me? That it hurts? No. You’re too busy judging me. Both of you.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, sat down with his legs spread wide apart and gazed steadily at her. After what she figured was a full minute, he rested his left ankle on his right knee and leaned back in the chair.

“And how do you think I feel, Veronica? You’ve taken up permanent residence in my head. A woman who turned me around. A woman who detests my dad and with whom I’ve had a rough legal battle. A woman who probably blames me for having done my job as honestly and competently as I knew how. But the worst of it is the fire between us, a fire so hot not even our attitudes toward each other can put it out.”