Roz Fox - The Secret Daughter

Esme was slower to rise. “You’ll sit here,” she directed. Her miniature schnauzer, Toodles, lay curled on a velvet pillow under Esme’s chair.

Noelani gripped the back of her assigned seat. A place mat peeked out from beneath off-white china. She spotted lead crystal and real silver. A soup bowl sat perfectly centered on her dinner plate, and a matching soup tureen steamed as it sat just so between etched, hand-blown glass fly-catchers. Esme had explained that before Bellefontaine was fitted for air-conditioning in the 1940s, the bottom of these globes were filled with sugar water to attract the flies that came into the house through unscreened open windows.

Noelani tried to remember what the odd contraption hanging beside the light fixture above the table was called. Ah, yes. A shoo-fly fan. According to Esme, a slave child would sit out of sight in a corner and operate the fan with a rope pulley, which controlled the sweeping blades. It was impossible for Noelani to comprehend what life must have been like back then.

Anytime she felt as nervous as she was now, trivia tended to cycle over and over in her head. Aunt Esme had given her plenty of trivial facts.

“Noelani, you’ve met Adam. Jackson’s at the end. His daughter, Megan, is to your right next to her nanny, Tanya Carson.” Esme inclined her head toward a thin young woman. “And this,” she finished breathlessly, “is Noelani Hana.” Esme smiled through a series of greetings. At last, she suggested they all sit again, and she requested Jackson serve the soup.

Noelani detected a similarity between Duke Fontaine—as he looked in the snapshot she’d tucked into her purse at the last minute—and his son. Brown hair streaked blond by the sun had been recently cut. His navy eyes were shaded by indecently long lashes, which Noelani noted his daughter shared. Megan’s eyes were gray, however, and her mop of curls a much richer brown. Athletically built, Jackson Fontaine appeared tanned, fit and stylish, although casually put together with that look only top designers could achieve.

Tanya Carson, young for a nanny in Noelani’s estimation, had pouty lips and wore big glasses that gave her violet eyes a permanently myopic look.

Adam and Tanya had been discussing music, and they continued their conversation after everyone sat. Noelani deduced that jazz was Tanya’s area of study. Although the young woman chattered nonstop with Adam, her eyes followed Jackson’s every move. In fact, she gazed dreamily at him, although Noelani doubted he even noticed.

It was just as well that Adam and Tanya were talking, considering no one else at the table bothered. Megan was practically falling asleep in her soup. And no wonder, given the late hour. Noelani tried to draw her out several times to no avail.

Really, though, she was dying to inquire if what Adam had said about cutting wet cane was true. If so, what type of harvester did they use? Bruce’s operation could benefit from cutting stalks beaten down by Maui’s heavy rains. Maybe she’d have to wait until Casey joined them before she could ask. Since Jackson seemed preoccupied, and his silent wraith of a child didn’t respond to her overtures, Noelani endured a tense meal except for an occasional word from the stiff-backed Esme.

The soup, a creamy yellow squash with just a hint of nutmeg flavoring, was delicious. Ravenous, Noelani ate every drop. By the time she finished the fresh spinach salad that came next, she was full. As she avoided red meat, she was dismayed to see the others load roast beef, potatoes smothered in brown gravy and creamed baby carrots onto their plates.

Declining the beef, Noelani dipped out small portions of the side dishes. At that point even Tanya and Adam ate in silence. The knot in Noelani’s stomach grew.

Toying with her carrots, she glanced up once and found Adam staring at her. He gave her a warm smile, and she mustered a small one in return.

“Red is your color,” he said offhandedly, as if he ought to make some remark, simply because she’d caught him staring at her.

“That’s good. It’s my favorite color.” To her own ears, her voice sounded rusty from disuse. Understandable, considering how long it’d been since she’d mumbled hello to a tableful of folks who virtually ignored her.

Jackson set his fork down and used a napkin to blot his lips. “I have no doubt you are who you say. But did you by chance bring your birth certificate, Noelani?”

“Not by chance. Your lawyer requested it. But if you’re hoping to verify your father’s name on it, I can save you the trouble. It’s not there. I’m Noelani Hana, daughter of Anela Hana, period.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes without blinking.

Jackson’s cheeks reddened under his tan. “Duke had a copy of your birth certificate in his files. You were born October 8, 1975, at Wailuku, Maui. The purpose of asking for the original is to match it to Duke’s copy.”

“Fine. It’s in my suitcase. I’ll get it and you can study it to your heart’s content.”

Esme arched an eyebrow. “It’s plain the jeune fille has Duke’s short fuse.”

“The girl also understands French,” Noelani muttered. “I throw that out so no one will assume they can talk around me that way.”

Esme coughed discreetly. Jackson made no effort to disguise his scowl. “We aren’t trying to dispute your cla—” He broke off as a three-toned doorbell played loudly up and then down the scale.

“Excuse me.” Rising, he slid back his chair. “That’s probably Shel Prescott. I’ll take him to my office. Aunt Esme, will you phone Casey, then bring Noelani over after the two of you finish eating?”

“I’m through.” Noelani folded her napkin. “Shall I help clear the table?”

“Tanya will stack dishes tonight. Betty will wash them in the morning. You run along and find your document. By the time you return, I’ll have notified Cassandra of Shelburne’s arrival.”

Inclining her head, Noelani left the room and slowly climbed the stairs. Had Jackson been about to say they weren’t disputing her claim on Duke’s money? She hadn’t made any claim. They’d contacted her. She wondered if his comment implied they were looking for a way to cut her out of Duke’s will.

She wouldn’t put it past anyone raised by Duke Fontaine. Noelani knew Bruce liked the man, but what had Fontaine ever done to earn the love her mother reserved for no one but him until the day she died?

Noelani retrieved the certificate. She detoured past the bath long enough to press a damp washcloth to her face and put on lip gloss. Making her way downstairs again, she let out a surprised “Ack” and threw up an arm to ward off a bulky form appearing suddenly in her path.

“Careful,” drawled a soft masculine voice. “Were you planning to karate-chop me in the old jugular?” Adam asked with a laugh.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Noelani was a master kick-boxer. Had she not recognized him when she did, Adam Ross might have been flattened by a well-placed kick. Of course, she thought wryly, in the process she’d have ripped off every button from hem to waist of her red dress.

Adam eyed her, still trying to decide whether or not she was joking.

“Why were you sneaking around?” She deftly sidestepped him.

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was waiting for you. Casey and Nick showed up two seconds after you left the table. They and Esme went on to Jackson’s office. I’ve been appointed your escort.”

“Aunt Esme showed me the office on our tour. I don’t need escorting, but thanks, anyway. Or…were you instructed to delay me long enough so they can plot how to get rid of me?”

“Get rid of you? That’s a pretty paranoid statement, don’t you think?”

She lifted a shoulder delicately as they fell into step. “I imagine the lawful duo wishes Papa had drowned the mongrel at birth.”