Christmas Pie Page 25

  With his back to her, James asked, “Did he make any demands? Request your silence? Anything of that nature?”

  “No.”

  He turned around again and demanded curtly, “Are you certain of that, Polly?”

  “Well, you’re welcome to read the letter yourself, James. I’m sure my mother will be happy to see you.”

  As if to make up for her prior expression of doubt about his morals, Polly added, “It was very sweet of you to come by this morning to see how we’re doing. And I truly appreciate being rescued from that awful man.”

  James waived away both her apology and her thanks. He wanted to see that damned letter. There had to be a mistake.

  “Thank you. I should be happy to read the letter, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  Neither of them spoke again until they were seated in the MacNamara parlor. Then Polly excused herself to make tea. James gritted his teeth and managed to endure Lillian’s effusive thanks. When she offered him the letter from his father, it was all he could do to keep from snatching it out of her hands.

  First he scrutinized the signature, searching for hints of forgery. There were none. Then he read the letter carefully twice, and yet a third time, dissecting its every phrase, searching for hidden catches in the text. Again, he found none.

  When he lifted his gaze at last, Polly had returned to the parlor with tea, and James was filled with an almost overwhelming sense of confusion.

  “I don’t understand it.”

  Lillian looked at him oddly. “You mean there are legal ramifications I didn’t discern, Mr. Drayton? The letter seemed quite straightforward to me, but then I’m not versed in legal phraseology.”

  Surprised, James turned toward her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mr. Drayton believes his father to be an unscrupulous man, Mother. He is surprised that J. P. Drayton has made this compensatory gesture. I believe that’s what he doesn’t understand.”

  “Oh.” Lillian looked profoundly shocked.

  Polly gave James a kind smile and James found himself wanting to yell at her, to shake her, to make her understand. The sudden thought struck him that maybe this was his father’s latest plot: since he’d failed to get James’s submission, J. P. now planned to turn the only woman he’d ever loved against him.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr. Drayton,” Lillian murmured.

  “It’s nothing,” James said curtly. Then he sighed and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Mrs. MacNamara. This whole situation is beyond my comprehension. If it’s true—and it seems to be—I am certainly glad for you both.”

  Good Lord. It seemed to him that all his life he’d longed for his father to behave in just such a manner as this. Now that he had, James not only couldn’t make himself believe it, but he felt somehow betrayed by his father’s gesture. He didn’t understand it. Surely he wasn’t so mean-spirited as to resent his father’s helping these two women. Was he?

  Turning toward Polly, he tried to smile when he asked, “And will the draft he enclosed be enough to negate your having to work so hard for a living, Miss MacNamara? If it will, I confess it will go hard on my law firm if you leave us, although I will, of course, be happy for you.”

  An ungentlemanly flood of bitter satisfaction assailed him at Polly’s shocked expression. So she hadn’t begun to consider all the consequences of his father’s saintly gesture, had she? James wasn’t surprised.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Drayton. I—well, I haven’t had a chance to think about it yet. I guess.” She gave him a bewildered look then turned toward her mother as if hoping to find an answer from that quarter.

  Lillian smiled from her seat at the little writing desk in the parlor. She hadn’t moved from her seat since James entered the room, and for the first time he realized her wheelchair was nowhere in sight. Good heavens.

  “Mrs. MacNamara, did you walk into this room?”

  “What?”

  Taken aback by the shock in Polly’s voice, James turned his attention from Lillian to Polly. He noted that Polly’s cheeks had gone pale and wondered, not for the first time, how much of her own worth Polly gained from serving her mother. As much as he gained from righting his villainous father’s wrongs? It bore thinking about.

  Lillian gave her daughter a sheepish grin. “Please don’t scold me, Polly. It’s not far from the dining room to this little desk, and I’ve been trying to practice my walking as much as possible. This morning practicing seemed especially appropriate in light of the good fortune already visited on us.”

  James saw Polly swallow before she said, “How . . . how wonderful. That’s wonderful, Mother.”

  James decided he didn’t care to sit here and puzzle out Polly’s reaction to her mother’s news. However much he enjoyed a mystery, this morning had already been too full of them for his taste. He rose from his chair.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, ladies, but I believe Dewey and I should be off now. I have a business to run, after all. I’m very happy for your good fortune, although I find it—” He struggled for an appropriate word and finally settled on, “—incredible.”

  Polly stood, too, and looked contrite. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Drayton. And—well, I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you.”

  “No. No, that’s quite all right, Miss MacNamara.” In truth, James never been so ruffled, and his usual urbane manner was straining at its seams. “But I truly do have lots of work to do.”

  “Please thank your father for us, Mr. Drayton. I was just writing him a letter when you paid your call, but please thank him for us.” Lillian smiled up at him.

  James couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Polly murmured, “I don’t believe the Draytons have much to do with each other, Mother.”

  James wanted to hit something when Lillian looked surprised and said, “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Drayton. I had no idea things were so bad between you. I . . .” Her words dribbled out and she looked disconcerted.

  Groping almost desperately for his society manners, James pasted on his patented smile and said, “It’s quite all right, Mrs. MacNamara. Please don’t be embarrassed. The truth is, I did speak with my father about you lovely ladies. And, although I find myself enormously surprised because he didn’t seem receptive at the time, I’m glad he did the right thing.”

  “Well,” said Lillian, “We do thank you both, very much.”

  James offered her a glittering parting smile and a little bow.

  “I’ll see you to the door, Mr. Drayton.”

  Although he did not want Polly’s company at the moment, James said, “Thank you.”

  At the door, Polly took him by the arm. “James, please don’t be angry. I guess it’s difficult for my mother and me to understand the feelings you have for your father.” She bowed her head. “My own family is so precious to me, it’s hard for me to imagine someone choosing to sever such relationships.”

  “Yes, well, not all of us are as lucky in our families as you are, Polly.”

  He knew she watched him long after he and Dewey had descended her porch steps and begun to walk away. It wasn’t until he turned the corner onto Grant that he realized how ludicrous his last statement had been.

  # # #

  Cynthia Ingram had never visited James in his law office before. When the door opened to admit her, he almost groaned when he saw who had invaded his misery.

  Damn. He wanted to sulk some more; to puzzle out his odd reaction to his father’s generosity; to consider why it—yes, he admitted it to himself in the privacy of his office—frightened him so damned much. He didn’t need this sultry creature interrupting his gloom. He summoned a smile from somewhere and lent it to her.

  “My, my, Cynthia. What brings you here?” He almost achieved the light-hearted, irreverent tone that had once come so naturally to him. Before he met Polly and began to care about things other than Chinese criminals and vague, impersonal societal wrongs.

  “Hell
o, James, darling.” Cynthia even made door-closing provocative. “I’m surprised there’s no secretary out there to block my entry. Do you allow just anybody to enter these sacred portals?”

  Her smile glittered. It annoyed James and he snapped, “I sacked him, Cynthia. Darling.” His voice curdled on the last word.

  “Oh, my, how brutal you are, my love.”

  Cynthia seemed to slither to his desk. James eyed her with distaste. Why had he never noticed before the way Cynthia’s every movement, every gesture, was aimed at seduction? He told himself he was being silly. Of course, he’d noticed before. That’s why she and he were lovers, for heaven’s sake. Had been lovers. Once.

  “Well, James, since you seem to have deserted me, I decided I’d just have to visit you in your lair.”

  The way she mouthed “lair” made it sound as though she considered his business office a den of iniquity. James felt his grin slipping. “Don’t be absurd, sweetheart.”

  “Am I?” Cynthia picked up the paperweight James had thrown at Lawrence Bullock’s head and ran a gloved finger over the nick in its polished surface.

  “Of course.” His annoyance came out in the words, and James was peeved with himself.

  Cynthia sat on one of James’s specially upholstered chairs as though the mundane act of sitting were a prelude to the act of love. “But darling, you haven’t called me on the telephone or dropped by to see me for simply ages.” Her pout was perfection itself.

  “Don’t be silly,” he spat. Then he reigned in his irritation and sighed. “I’ve been very busy, Cynthia.”

  “I see.” Cynthia’s sapphire eyes appraised him candidly. “Well, James, my love, I do value our—association. But if you’ve found another playmate—”

  “Don’t be absurd, Cynthia.” He rapped his disclaimer out too quickly and with too much force, and he knew she knew he was lying. He sighed again and wondered where his famous detachment had hidden itself.

  Her smile mocked him. “Well, my dear, since you haven’t seen fit to telephone me or return my calls, I decided to visit you and ask if you plan to attend the grand Charity Ball on Christmas Eve.”

  Suddenly on the alert, James eyed her sharply. “I do plan to attend the function, Cynthia, but I don’t believe you and I ever discussed it before.”

  With a sly, slanting glance under her lush lashes, Cynthia murmured, “No, I don’t believe we ever did, James. But I wanted to determine exactly how the wind blew with us before I accepted another gentleman’s kind offer of escort.”

  Still wary, James murmured, “That was nice of you, Cynthia. I believe you may accept the other gentleman’s offer with a clear conscience, however, as I have made other plans.”

  “I see.”

  Her eyes seemed to harden as James watched. They were sharp as diamond facets when she said, “You seem to have made other plans quite often lately, my sweet.”

  Suddenly sick of Cynthia and everything she stood for—including his former way of life—James stood abruptly. “Yes, I have, Cynthia. And I expect I shall continue to make other plans in the future, as well.”

  Cynthia’s lips tightened. “I see. Well, James, I can’t say I’m glad to hear it. We had a good time together, you and I.” She held out a gloved hand and smiled.

  Her smile looked grim. James could see tight little lines radiating from her pinched lips. He took her hand.

  “I hope we can still be friends, James.”

  “Thank you, Cynthia. I appreciate your understanding.”

  “Oh, I don’t understand at all, darling, but you’ve been most generous, and I do care for you.”

  “Thank you, Cynthia,” he said dryly

  He saw her to the door, silently cursing himself for ever having become entangled with her. Then he walked slowly back to his desk, sat, and resumed brooding.

  # # #

  Polly’s thoughts were in such a jumble, she found it impossible to hold onto one of them long enough to reach a sensible conclusion about it before another one bumped it out of the way.

  What an incredible morning.

  Their financial problems were over.

  Lawrence Bullock had actually tried to kidnap her!

  And she’d been rescued by James and Dewey.

  She needed to file a police report. Had James already done so? Should she ask him? Did she dare?

  James Drayton was the son of J. P. Drayton. And they apparently hated each other.

  She needed to thank J. P. Drayton. Oh, she knew her mother had written him, but she felt the need to thank him personally.

  Why? Why did she want to do such a thing?

  Her motives were murky to her, and she shook her head. Immediately thoughts of thanks were nudged aside by another incredible fact.

  Her mother was walking. Walking! She was actually walking.

  Pretty soon she wouldn’t need Polly at all. A shudder made Polly’s feet speed up until she was almost running down the sidewalk.

  Would she keep her job?

  And the ball. The charity ball. Good heavens, what should she do about that? Nothing? Something? Had anything changed between James and her? Was there anything between James and her to change?

  She’d barely been able to help her mother back into her wheelchair before she felt compelled to flee the stuffy house for the second time this morning. And she’d made a botch of helping her into the chair, too, fumbling, stuttering, wondering if she should offer, wondering if it would upset her mother if she didn’t.

  Ultimately, Lillian had asked for her assistance, and Polly had given it silently, unable to think of a thing to say.

  And then there was the coin. Her coin. Her magic coin?

  The facts remained, though, and spoke louder than words. After wishing on her coin last night, she’d seen Dewey today. She hadn’t asked for anything dramatic, but—

  And Stephen was still missing.

  Oh, Lord.

  Polly raced down Pacific Avenue, heading like a bee to its hive toward the Sisters of Benevolence’s orphanage on Grant and Rampart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Why, Polly! Whatever are you doing here on a Saturday morning?”

  Mother Francis Mary looked up in astonishment from what she’d been writing. Polly could barely see her dear black-and-white head over the huge pile of papers on her desk. She had time to register surprise that it was still morning before she burst into tears and sank into the hard chair across from the Mother Superior’s desk.

  She realized she was dabbing at her eyes with a kidskin glove just as Mother Francis Mary handed her a white linen handkerchief. “Th-thank you.”

  Polly appreciated the nun’s hand on her shoulder as much as her affectionate smile. Making a monumental effort to get her ragged emotions under control, she sucked in a shuddering breath.

  “Are you all right, my dear?”

  “Yes. Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

  “Do you want to talk about it, Polly? I presume that’s why you came to visit.”

  The Mother Superior waited by her side until Polly said, “Yes. If you have a moment or two, I need to talk to somebody and—and I have no friends.”