Christmas Pie Read online

  “Good!”

  But she, too, glanced at her neighbors. James saw her cheeks heat up again, he presumed with embarrassment. Thank God. If he couldn’t get her to shut up and explain things to him, maybe the fear of public humiliation would.

  He managed to get her to sit down. Dewey immediately flopped at her feet and laid his big hairy head in her lap. She took a hicuppy breath and began to pet the hound. Relieved, James sat down next to her. Still, he held onto her coat sleeve for insurance.

  “Now, will you please tell me why you keep saying I lied to you, Polly?”

  Polly shot him a wicked look. “My name is Miss MacNamara, Mr. Drayton.”

  James let out a disgruntled sigh. “Miss MacNamara.”

  For several moments Polly stroked Dewey’s head and said nothing. Her shoulders heaved every now and then when a sob shook her. James began to wonder if he was supposed to discern through second sight why she was so mad at him. He’d heard women did things like this—made you figure out, without offering clues, what you’d done to upset them—but he’d never expected Polly MacNamara to be so contrary.

  Just when he decided he was going to have to drag it out of her syllable by syllable, Polly said stiffly, “You told us you have no family.”

  Puzzled, James said, “That’s not a lie. I have no family. My mother died shortly after I was born.”

  Polly turned on him as if she’d just discovered him to be Jack the Ripper, moved from Whitechapel to San Francisco for the express purpose of plaguing her. “Ha! And what about your father, Mr. James, the rich ladies’ man, Drayton? What about him?”

  James’s compressed his lips and narrowed his gaze. His father? Was all this hysteria about his father?

  “My father is still living.” Coldness congealed the words into hard icy lumps.

  “Ha!”

  She began to dig in her pocket, James suspected for a handkerchief. She withdrew a glove—one of the brand-new, ten-dollar kidskin gloves he’d bought especially for her from I. Magnin—glared at it, and stuffed it back. Absently, he whipped out his pocket handkerchief and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said rigidly, and snatched the handkerchief and blew her nose.

  Frowning, James said, “Polly, I broke connections with my father almost ten years ago. Until a couple of weeks or so ago, I hadn’t spoken to him in six years.”

  With the handkerchief pressed to her cheek, Polly eyed him suspiciously. Her eyes still swam with tears, her nose was a bright cherry pink, and her normally porcelain skin looked blotchy. James longed to draw her sweet body to him and give her a measure of comfort, but he didn’t dare. Yet.

  He drew in a deep breath. “My father is a hard, unscrupulous businessman. He hated it when I objected to his business practices. He hated it even more when I chose the legal profession over his shipping concern, but I had to get away from him and his ways. He’s—he’s a monster, Polly.”

  Slowly, the handkerchief dropped. Polly looked as though she wasn’t going to bolt, so James dared let go of her coat sleeve. His hand was beginning to cramp. He took her expression of interest for a signal that he should continue.

  “My father’s philosophy has always been to succeed at any cost. As I grew up, I realized the cost was always to others. He ruined people with no more compunction than you or I would feel for an ant we happened to step on. I couldn’t live like that, Polly.”

  “Really?” Her voice was small, scratchy.

  “Really.” Another deep breath fortified James to continue. “After I went to law school, I tried to maintain a relationship with him, but he wouldn’t let me be. He kept trying to draw me into his business, to make me work for him. Well, I couldn’t work the way he demanded, with no regard for the welfare of others, so six years ago I finally broke away completely. I couldn’t take any more of his pressure.

  “I worked hard and made my way, without my father’s help or support. I won’t say that his name didn’t help, because I’m sure it did, but my own code of ethics would never allow me to treat others the way my father does. I made my way honestly, and without destroying other people in the process.”

  Another peek convinced him Polly wasn’t going anywhere. She seemed fascinated by his depressing narrative.

  “I don’t advertise the fact, Polly, and I would be pleased if you wouldn’t, either, but I have tried over the years to make up in some small way for the damage my father has done to innocent people during his rise to riches. My experiment with the Sisters of Benevolence is an example.”

  A brief period of silence followed James confession. After a moment or two, Polly asked in a near-whisper, “Do you honestly believe him to be all bad, James?”

  After a moment required to think, he said, “Yes. Yes, I do.” He looked at her steadily and strove to put the sincerity he felt in to the words he uttered. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Polly. It’s just that I consider myself to be without a family. As I said, until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t talked to J. P. Drayton in years.”

  “What—what happened a couple of weeks ago?”

  “He came to my office and asked if my law firm would represent his shipping business.”

  “What did you say?”

  Surprised, James exclaimed, “What did I say? Why, I said no. For heaven’s sake, I don’t want anything to do with that miserable, cruel old man!”

  “You don’t think he came to you to make peace?”

  “Not on a bet.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh, James, don’t you think you should give him another chance? I’m sure he came to you to make amends.”

  “You don’t know him,” he said sharply. With difficulty, he suppressed the jolt of anger her words had provoked. “You don’t know him, Polly. He just wanted to get me under his thumb again.”

  “Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”

  For some reason, he didn’t want to look at her when he answered, “Yes.” His heart gave an enormous plunge on the word.

  “Oh, James,” Polly whispered. “I’m so sorry. How sad for you both.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As much as James wanted Polly’s understanding, he disliked hearing the pity in her voice even more. He almost flinched when she put her hand on his arm and said, “Oh, James, I had no idea.”

  “Well, it’s not a worldwide catastrophe, Polly. It’s only a schism between a father and a son. Worse things happen every day.” He sounded terribly cynical.

  “Oh, but James, think of it. It’s a catastrophe in your world. You’re all the family the both of you have, and you don’t even speak to each other.” Polly shook her head sadly. “When you might be each other’s solace, give one another love and comfort, you each have nobody.”

  Enough of this maudlin nonsense, James thought irritably. “It’s not like that.”

  She lifted her head and her gaze met his. He couldn’t maintain her honest scrutiny and turned to scan the street. Thank God they no longer had an audience. Why was it that all of his encounters with Polly seemed to take place on public streets? James, who disliked public displays, found the fact extremely aggravating.

  “And at Christmas, too. I’m so sorry.” Polly’s voice made him hunch up as he tried to ward off emotions threatening to escape the prison into which he’d stuffed them so many years before.

  “Christmas is just one more day in the year.” James chose to ignore memories of a little boy who longed to sit on his father’s lap and sing Christmas songs. Of course, he’d never dared. Long ago, those childish needs had hardened into a demeanor of world-weariness fostered to keep the world at bay so that it couldn’t disappoint him, too. “People make a big thing of it, but it’s just another day.”

  “It’s not!”

  James winced again.

  “Oh, no, James. Christmas is a wonderful time. It’s a time of love and joy and forgiveness. And families and friends and closeness. One shouldn’t be estranged from one’s fami
ly at Christmas time, of all times.”

  He cleared his throat, an angry sound that tore through the feelings lumping up around them. “Nonsense,” he said, his voice hard and crisp. “Not all of us are blessed with close families. It’s nothing to do with the season.”

  Polly didn’t say anything, but he knew she didn’t believe him; that she believed him to be deprived somehow. Him! Of all people. And her! To feel sorry for him, a man who had wealth she couldn’t even dream of. Polly MacNamara—what had she called herself? A poor little type-writing wench? Feeling sorry for him, James Drayton. It was ludicrous. Laughable.

  James didn’t feel like laughing, though, and the fact disturbed him.

  “And here I thought you were deliberately withholding information from us.” She sounded even sadder now, and James turned toward her, annoyed.

  “Now why would I do that?”

  She shrugged. “To lure me into your snare, I thought.” Her confession came out almost casually, as though it didn’t matter anymore.

  It mattered to James. “To what?” His roar startled both Polly and Dewey, who lifted his head from Polly’s lap to direct a soft growl at him.

  Polly at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, you know. You have such a reputation. I—I thought you wanted to dally with me for your amusement. Because I’d be such a departure from the rich, sophisticated ladies you usually see.”

  James knew it was irrational, but fury rose in him, hot and painful. He wanted to yell at her for believing the pretense he’d gone to such great pains to encourage.

  “I see. Well, it’s nice to know what you think of me, at any rate.” The hurt he heard in his voice bothered him.

  “I don’t think it anymore,” she said softly. “Truly, I don’t.”

  “Good.” Relief washed over him and he couldn’t be scathing, although he wanted to be.

  “But, James, don’t you think you’re being a little hard on your father?”

  Oh, good God, now they were back to his father. First she demolished his character and now she was harping on his rotten old man. James wasn’t sure he could stand it.

  “No,” he said shortly. “I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. You know, people can change. Maybe he’s changed. He’s getting older. Maybe he wants another chance.”

  “Good grief.”

  “But you’re his only son, James. His only relative. And he’s your only relative. You only get one father in this life, you know.”

  Aggravated beyond endurance, James surged from the cold porch step and took an agitated turn in front of Polly, his hands jammed into his overcoat pocket. “You don’t know him. You have absolutely no idea what a ruthless son of a bi-buzzard he is.”

  He stopped still and glared down at her. “It was his ship that killed your father, Polly. Your only father. Did you know that about my sainted father.”

  Her sad little nod completely flabbergasted him. His mouth dropped open. “You did?”

  She nodded again. “Just this morning.”

  “This morning?”

  “Yes.”

  Recovering his composure with an effort, James rasped, “Well, do you know how it happened? How he hired a drunkard who staged a race between Golden Liberty and another ship, who taxed his vessel so far that a boiler blew up and killed your father? Left your mother an invalid? And all for the sake of saving a few paltry dollars. Eleven people died because my father wouldn’t pay the salary to hire a competent captain or keep his ship in repair!”

  “Perhaps you’re being too hard on him, James,” Polly said gently. “I’ve never seen you be unkind before.”

  “Unkind? Me, unkind?”

  His voice had risen, and he stopped talking, unwilling to shout on a public street. They’d already given Pacific Avenue quite a show this morning; he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself for the amusement of Polly’s neighbors.

  She reached out to him, as though she wanted to offer him a dose of solace, but he jerked back from her touch. He didn’t want her damned solace; he wanted her to see reason. For heaven’s sake, his father was a monster! He watched her hand drop to Dewey’s head and felt, irrationally, as though his last hope had just deserted him.

  Livid, he said, “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re telling me I’m being unkind to the man who killed your father, who has never felt a drop of compassion for another human being in his life? I come over here to see how you’re faring, to tell you how my investigation into your brother’s ship is coming along. I find you being accosted by a villain and sic my dog on him. Then you vilify my character and yell at me for lying to you. And now you try to tell me I—I—am being unkind to my father. My father, the vilest man on the face of the earth.”

  He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it!”

  “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.”

  He jumped when he felt her hands settle on his shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know anything about your father. Or you. It just hurts me to hear the unhappiness in your voice when you speak of him.”

  Her hands felt warm even through the thickness of his overcoat. He wanted to turn around and take her in his arms; to kiss her as she’d never been kissed before; to feel her body against his; to lose himself in her.

  But he was a civilized man in a civilized city, and he wouldn’t do it. Damn the constraints of society.

  He felt Dewey bump his leg and absently reached down to pat his head. His throat felt tight and he had to force himself to speak. “How did you discover that J. P. Drayton was my father?”

  “Mother and I got a special delivery letter this morning. It contained a letter from him and a—a bank draft.” Her voice almost gave out when she said, “It was a bank draft for a—for an enormous sum of money.”

  “What?” Incredulous, James turned and took Polly’s hands in his.

  He knew there was some mistake. There must be. J. P. Drayton was not the sort of man to make amends. How could he be, when he never acknowledged culpability for any of the evils he perpetrated? It must be a joke or— No. Somebody else must have found out about Polly’s plight and sent the draft. Some secret benefactor. Some— No.

  The whole thing was impossible.

  “Are you sure the letter came from my father, Polly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the letter signed? Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe it’s some sort of vile joke. Maybe—” James ran out of possible alternatives just when Polly shook her head.

  “It was a letter signed by him, James. Anyway, who else would do such a thing?”

  “But that’s just the point, Polly. Anybody would do such a thing before he would. Hell, he practically scoffed at me when I told him about you and your mother.”

  Her smile, when it happened, was so soft and beautiful that James could barely look at it. It was a smile that spoke almost painfully of love and gratitude.

  “I guess he stopped scoffing after you left, James.”

  He turned around, unable to withstand the purity of Polly’s expression. He still didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. If J. P. Drayton had actually—really and truly—made amends for a wrong he had done, there must be a trick involved. There had to be a catch.