Danielle Steel: Kaleidoscope

There was an electronic gate when they arrived, and they were buzzed in by an unknown voice, but other than that bit of security the property looked simple and unimpressive. There was a long winding drive up a hill, and after a sharp turn, there was a pretty Victorian with a wide porch and widow's walk. It looked like someone's grandmother's house, or that of a great-aunt. There was a lot of wicker furniture on the porch, and an old barn behind the house. It looked cozy and inviting, and Alexandra stepped out of the limousine carefully, looking around, thinking how pretty it was, and how much her children would like it. And then she saw a familiar face watching her from the porch, and she smiled as he hurried toward her.

“Hello! … how was your trip?” It was John Chapman, in khaki slacks and an open blue shirt. He looked totally at ease and his eyes were warm and friendly as he shook her hand and then took her valise from the chauffeur.

“It was fine, thank you very much. What a nice place this is.”

“It is, isn't it? I've been poking around all afternoon. There are some wonderful old things in the barn, I guess Mr. Patterson has owned this place for years. Come on in, you'll love the house.” And he walked her slowly toward it, silently admiring the shining red hair that was so different from the quiet blonde she'd been before. And then finally he decided to go ahead and say it. “Your hair looks wonderful, if it isn't rude to say it.”

But she only laughed and shook her head. She was pleased that he liked it. “I decided to go back to my natural color in honor of this trip. It's going to be hard enough for us to recognize each other without complicating things any further.” She smiled and their eyes met, and she finally got up the courage to ask him what she most wanted to know. “Have the others arrived yet?”

He knit his brows and glanced at her, trying to look unconcerned, but he was still worried about Hilary. She had given no indication that she would come, and he was desperately afraid that she wouldn't. “Not yet. Megan said she'd get here around six o'clock. And Hilary …” His voice drifted off and Alexandra looked at him long and hard and then nodded. She understood, and it saddened her. But it wasn't really surprising.

“She hasn't agreed to come, has she?”

“Not in so many words. But I told her how badly you wanted her to. I thought it was fair to say that.” She nodded in answer and silently prayed that her sister would have the courage to face them. She knew that the past was deeply painful for her, more so than for the others, and she might just decide not to do it. But Alexandra hoped that she would. Deep within, a small forgotten child desperately needed to see her. “We'll keep our fingers crossed,” Chapman added as they walked into the front hall. There was a small sitting room on the right, and a large parlor on the left, with a cozy fireplace, and well-kept Victorian furniture. She wondered where Arthur Patterson was, their benefactor who had brought them back together, and she asked John as much in a whisper.

“He's upstairs, resting.” He had brought two nurses with him, and when John saw him that morning, he realized that it was a miracle the man was still alive at all. It was as though he had hung on, just for this, and couldn't possibly hang on much longer. He had aged twenty years in the past four months, and it was obvious that he was in great pain all the time now. But he was coherent and alert, and anxious to see the three women he'd finally brought back together.

“Are you sure they'll come?” He'd pressed John, and Chapman had assured him, praying that Hilary wouldn't let them down. But as much as she hated Patterson, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing after all if she didn't come. Chapman wasn't sure how well the old man would weather that kind of confrontation. And after lunch, his nurses had put him to bed, and urged John to let him rest until dinner. He was determined to come downstairs that night and dine with his guests. And the plan was for John to leave after dinner. By then the women would have settled in, he would have introduced them all to each other and the rest was up to them … and to Arthur.

Alexandra was peeking around the living room, and from there, wandered into the dining room with the long English table.

“It looks as though he spent a lot of time here,” Alexandra observed, “the place looks well loved.” He smiled at her choice of words, and said he wasn't sure how much time Arthur had spent in Connecticut, and he didn't add that Arthur had told him he wanted to die there.

“Would you like to go upstairs?”

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him, wondering how old he was. He seemed so boyish in some ways, and yet so mature. He was serious and yet fun … a world away from Henri, and yet he looked childish to her compared to her husband. She was so accustomed to Henri's forceful ways, his habits of command, his way of striding into a room and taking charge, with his stern face and his powerful shoulders, and it was odd how suddenly she missed it. He made other men seem weak, and too young, and as though somehow, no matter how nice they were, they lacked something. And she couldn't help wondering if things would ever be the same again, if he'd even take her back when she returned to France … maybe she'd be forced to live with her mother again, or find her own house. For the time being, everything was uncertain.

John showed her to a sunny room at the corner of the house; it was still hot from the afternoon sun, and the bedspread was sparkling white with lace trim, with a cozy rocking chair next to it, and the same Victorian furniture that seemed to fill the house. There was a love seat and a porcelain washstand, and someone had put flowers in the room, and for some reason the room made her feel young again, as though she were a young girl coming home. And there were tears in her eyes when she turned to John and thanked him.

“It's so odd being here,” she tried to explain but she couldn't find the words, “it's like being very young and very old … visiting the past … it's all very confusing.”

“I understand.” He left her to freshen up, and she came downstairs in a little while in a beige linen suit, her makeup fresh, her beige shoes with the familiar black toe of Chanel, and her red hair bringing it all to life. She looked elegant and in control, and she turned as she heard a stir of voices on the stairs behind her. It was Arthur coming downstairs with the assistance of the two nurses. He was bent over and frail, and he groaned with every step, but suddenly as he saw her, he stopped, and gave a startled sound, and then tears began to roll down his cheeks, as Alexandra walked halfway up the stairs to meet him.

“Hello, Mr. Patterson.” she said, quietly, and as he trembled, she bent down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here.” But he was trembling so violently, he couldn't speak. He only took her hand and squeezed it hard, with the last of his strength, and then allowed her to assist him downstairs with the help of one nurse, and when they had settled him in a comfortable chair in the large sitting room, he stared up at her and spoke at last in a voice hoarse from his illness.

“My God, you look so much like her. Are you Alexandra or Megan?” He still remembered little Hilary's jet-black hair, exactly like her father's.

“I am Alexandra, sir.” She looked serious and deeply touched and he began to cry again as she spoke.

“You even have the same accent. Through all those years, she always had that lilt of French …” He shook his head, stunned by the resemblance between Alexandra and her mother. And it was an odd feeling for Alexandra, to be so like someone she had never known, and yet who was her mother.