Danielle Steel - The Cottage

It was so much easier being with a woman like Alex. She was fair and kind and funny, and she didn't ask for much. He liked that about her too. She was wonderfully self-sufficient, and if he did get desperate and the bottom fell out of his life financially, he knew he could turn to her. The money she had was like an insurance policy for him. He didn't need it yet, but he might one day. He wasn't with her because of her money, but he liked knowing it was there. Just in case. It made him feel safe.

The only thing he didn't like, and which kept him from making any overt promises, was that she was young enough to have kids, and probably should have them one day. That really was too bad, in Coop's eyes. And a real flaw in their relationship. But you couldn't have everything. Maybe being Arthur Madison's daughter was enough to compensate for it. He hadn't figured that out yet. But he would one of these days. She hadn't pressed him yet, and he liked that about her too. There was no pressure involved in being with her. There was a lot about her he liked. Almost too much.

He was thinking about her, as he walked back into the house, and ran smack into Paloma. She was dusting furniture and eating a sandwich at the same time. And while she did, she was dropping mayonnaise on the rug. And he pointed it out to her.

“Sorry,” she said, as she stepped on the spot she'd made with the leopard sneakers.

He had given up trying to train or educate her. They were just trying to survive on parallel paths without killing each other. And he had figured out several weeks before, that she was doing work for the Fried-mans too, but as long as she did what she had to do for him, he didn't really care. It wasn't worth the fight. Out of sheer necessity, he was mellowing. Maybe it was Alex's effect on him. The glaziers were working on his living room window that afternoon, although he still wasn't amused about the baseball incident. If he did have children with Alex one day, he hoped they wouldn't be boys. Just thinking about it made him feel sick. Like that damn woman Charlene. At least she wasn't in the tabloids that week.

He was pouring himself a glass of the iced tea he had taught Paloma to make. She left it in a jug in the fridge. And as he did, the phone rang. He thought it might be Alex, but it was an unfamiliar voice, a woman called Taryn Dougherty who said she'd like a meeting with him.

“Are you a producer?” he asked, still holding the glass of iced tea. He'd been a little lax about drumming up work since the incident with Charlene. He had other things on his mind.

“No, actually I'm a designer. But that's not why I called. There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you.” He thought she might be a reporter, and was instantly sorry he'd answered the phone, and he'd already admitted who he was. It was too late to say he was the butler and Mr. Winslow was out, which he did sometimes now that Livermore was gone.

“What sort of matter?” he asked coolly. He didn't trust anyone these days. Everyone seemed to want something from him, or Charlene did at least.

“It's a personal matter. I have a letter from an old friend of yours.” It sounded too mysterious to him. It was probably a ruse, or a scheme of some kind. Maybe from Charlene. But the woman sounded pleasant at least.

“Who would that be?”

“Jane Axman. I'm not sure you'll remember the name.”

“I don't. Are you her attorney?” It was also possible that he owed her money. He got a lot of calls like that too. He always referred them to Abe. Liz used to screen them for him, but now he had to do it himself.

“I'm her daughter.” The woman on the phone didn't seem to want to say more, but she insisted that it was important and wouldn't take much time. And he was ever so slightly intrigued. He wondered how attractive she was. He was tempted to tell her he'd meet her at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but he was too lazy to go out. And he was waiting to hear from Alex, after she met with her father. She hadn't called him yet. And he was afraid she might be upset. He didn't want to take her call on a cell phone in the middle of a restaurant.

“Where are you?” Coop asked as though it mattered.

“I'm at the Bel Air Hotel. I just arrived from New York.” At least she was staying at a good hotel. It didn't mean much, but it was something, and finally his curiosity got the best of him.

“I'm not far from there. Why don't you come over now?”

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” she said politely. “I won't take much of your time.” She just wanted to see him. Once. And show him her mother's letter. It was a piece of history for them to share.

She was at the gate ten minutes later, and he buzzed her in from the house. She drove up in a rented car, and when she got out, he saw that she was tall and blonde, in her late thirties, he guessed. She was actually thirty-nine. She was a good-looking woman, with a slim figure, and a short skirt. She was very well dressed, and seemed to have a sense of style. There was something familiar about her, but he didn't know what it was. He didn't think he'd ever seen her before. And as she approached, she smiled, and then shook his hand.

“Thank you for seeing me. I'm very sorry to disturb you. I wanted to get this out of the way. I've been wanting to write to you for a long time.”

“What are you doing in California?” he asked as he led her into the library, and offered her a glass of wine, which she declined. She asked for a glass of water instead. It was hot outside.

“I'm not sure yet. I had a design business in New York. I just sold it. I've always wanted to do costume design for a movie, but I think that's just one of those crazy ideas. I thought I'd come out here and look around.” And meet him.

“That must mean you're not married,” he said, handing her the glass of water she'd asked for, in a Baccarat glass. Paloma was using one like it to water the plants.

“I'm divorced. I got divorced, sold my business, and my mother died, all within a few months. It's one of those rare times when you have no encumbrances and can do anything you want. I'm not sure if I like it, or if it scares me to death,” but she smiled as she said it. She didn't look as though she would be scared by much. She was extremely poised.

“So what's in this letter? Did someone leave me some money?” He laughed as he said it, and she smiled in response.

“I'm afraid not.” She handed him the letter from the woman he no longer remembered, and didn't say another word. The letter was long, and as he read it, he looked up at her several times. And when he finished it, he sat for a long moment, staring at her, not sure what to say next, or what she wanted from him. He handed her back the letter, and looked serious as he did. If it was another blackmail scheme, he wasn't up to it. One of those was enough.

“What do you want from me?” he asked bluntly, and the question made her sad. She had hoped for a warmer response from him.

“Absolutely nothing. I wanted to meet you. Once. And I hoped you'd want to meet me. I'll admit, it's a bit of a shock. It was to me too. My mother never told me. I found the letter, as she intended me to, after she died. My father died years ago. I have no idea if he ever knew.”

“I hope not,” Coop said solemnly. He was still in shock. But relieved by what she'd said about wanting nothing from him. He believed her. She looked like an honest person, and a nice woman. He would have been attracted to her, but she was a little old for him.

“I don't think it would have mattered to him. He was very good to me. He left me most of his money. He had no other children. And if he did know, he didn't seem to hold it against my mother or me. He was a very kind man.”

“How fortunate for you,” Coop said, looking closely at her, and suddenly realized why she looked familiar. She looked like him. With good reason. The letter said that her mother had had an affair with Coop forty years before. They were both in a play in London, and the affair had been brief. When the play closed and she went back to Chicago, she had discovered she was pregnant, and she decided, for reasons of her own, not to tell Coop. She didn't feel she knew him well enough to impose on him, as she put it. It was an odd thing for a woman to think when she was having his baby, which she had decided to do, again for reasons of her own. She married someone else, had the baby, a daughter, and never told her that the man she believed was her father actually wasn't. It was Coop. Instead, she left her a letter, which explained it all. And now they were sitting, examining each other. The man who thought he had no children suddenly had two. This thirty-nine-year-old woman who had suddenly appeared, and the one Charlene was carrying, and claimed was his. It was a very odd feeling for a man who hated kids. But Taryn was no kid. She was a grown woman, who appeared to be respectable and intelligent, had money, and looked a great deal like him. “What did your mother look like? Do you have a picture of her?” He was curious to see if he remembered her at all.