"I'm in a-"
"Please, Seth."
Stifling a sigh, Seth followed Allan further down the wide hallway to the library where Allan spent most of his time. Allan closed the door behind him, shutting them in with the long-remembered odors of leather upholstery, old books and beeswax polish. "I overheard what you just told your mother," he said unevenly. "I'd seen your car outside, so I was looking for you. I never realized you knew what happened all those years ago-about the abortion, I mean. That was a terrible burden for a small boy to carry."
"It's a long time ago, Father."
"If I'd only known you'd heard every word your mother and I said … right here in this room." An old pain scored Allan's face. "That was the worst night of my life-and to find out that you witnessed it is almost more than I can bear."
"I survived," Seth said dryly. "As you see."
"I'd always wanted another child, Eleonore knew that. Once she'd told me what she'd done, I couldn't bring myself to get close to her again. To reach out to her in any way." He dashed a hand to his eyes, adding with scathing self-criticism, "I reached for the bottle instead."
"You're scarcely to be blamed."
"I wish I could agree. I couldn't bring myself to divorce her, either-what kind of man does that make me?"
"How about loyal?" Seth ventured, feeling his heart ache with unaccustomed sympathy. Had he ever really allowed himself to see his father's pain before?
"Gutless is a better word."
"You're being too harsh. The past is done with, over. Beating up on yourself doesn't accomplish anything."
"I'm not sure the past is ever over."
He, Seth, had certainly been living his life as though the past rode him like a millstone. He said awkwardly, "Why don't we change gears here, Father? You have a granddaughter now. A little girl called Marise who's seven years old and who inherited the Talbot green eyes."
Allan's eyes filmed with tears. "Have you seen her?"
"Not yet. Lia's being very protective of her, understandably so. For eight years she thought I'd abandoned any responsibility for that night in Paris and its outcome … until we met again by sheer chance a few days ago at White Cay, and it all came out in the open. But sooner or later I'm going to see Marise. I have to."
"I'd love to meet her," Allan said wistfully.
Seth took one more step into new territory. "Perhaps that can be arranged. Given time."
Clumsily Allan put an arm around his son's shoulders. "Marise," he whispered. "Such a pretty name."
"Her mother is the most beautiful woman in the world," Seth said hoarsely.
"You're in love with her."
"No, I'm not-I don't seem to have that ability. But I admire and respect her. And," Seth's smile was wry, "lust after her. That hasn't changed over the last eight years."
"Respect and passion aren't a bad basis for marriage."
"Lia doesn't want to get married."
"Then you'll have to change her mind, won't you? That shouldn't be any problem for the man who runs Talbot Holdings. Iron fist in the velvet glove, and all that."
"Lia's fists aren't what you'd call velvet and she doesn't bother with gloves," Seth said with a grin.
"She must be quite a woman."
"That's one way of describing her."
"I look forward to meeting her," Allan said. "Will you send me a photo of Marise, Seth? Of Lia, too, if you have one."
He didn't. "I'll send them to your private postbox," Seth said tautly. "Otherwise Mother'll tear them to shreds."
"What she did was unconscionable-you have every right to be angry."
"So do you."
Allan sighed. "The hard truth is, I still love her. Don't ask me why. But I do. Who knows, perhaps little Marise will cause some sort of miracle."
"I won't bring Marise into this house!"
Allan rubbed his forehead. "I'm so sorry, for so much," he said. "But you mustn't let my failings and Eleonore's keep you from your own happiness, Seth. That only compounds the tragedy."
Seth felt his throat tighten. He said roughly, "You know what? This is the nearest we've ever come to a real conversation."
Allan suddenly smiled, a smile that made him look years younger. "Good," he said. "Keep in touch, son. I'll travel anywhere at any time to meet my granddaughter."
The two men exchanged another unaccustomed hug, then Seth ran downstairs and let himself out. It was already growing dark and he had a long drive ahead of him. But plenty to think about on that drive, he realized, checking that he had the single piece of paper his mother had signed.
He was going to make sure Lia saw that piece of paper. Nor was he going to wait ten days for it to happen.
Quickly Seth punched in the numbers. The connection was made and the phone began to ring. The receiver was picked up and a woman's voice said crisply, "Lia d'Angeli."
His mouth dry, Seth said easily, "I'll meet you in half an hour at the Klimt Coffee House. It's right across from your hotel."
There was an instant of dead silence. "Seth, is this your idea of a joke?"
"We won't jump each other at the Klimt. I promise."
Lia scowled at the opposite wall of her hotel room and said the obvious. "You're in Vienna."
"Yep. Did you really think I'd wait until you came back?"
"Actually I did. Silly me. I can't meet you, I've got a rehearsal this afternoon and a concert tonight."
He kept his voice light with a huge effort. "So are you shacked up with Rosnikov?"
She made a very rude noise down the receiver. "Are you traveling with a malleable woman who never raises her voice?"
"I've discovered they bore me," he said meekly.
"And I don't?"
"Not so far."
"You have such a winning way with words."
"Spend half an hour with me and I'll see if I can improve," he said. "You can leave in lots of time for your rehearsal."
"I-dammit," she exploded, and slammed down the phone. The portrait on the opposite wall was of a plumply naked Renaissance woman with artless blue eyes and loopy blond curls; Lia glared at her and yanked open the doors of the immense baroque wardrobe in which her few clothes hung like orphans. Seth was here. In Vienna.
She didn't have to meet him.
If she didn't turn up, she wouldn't put it past him to storm the hotel.
She couldn't allow him to come to her room. It had a bed in it.
She snagged her jersey pants and tunic from the hanger; they were a rich shade of aubergine. Quickly she dressed, making up her face with care and leaving her hair loose. Then she flung a glittering silver-embroidered scarf over her shoulders and jammed silver hoops into her earlobes. The supple leather boots she'd bought in Paris were the final touch.
She looked very classy. No way was she going to let Seth Talbot know she was a mass of pre-concert nerves.
He'd be a useful distraction, she thought. Anything to make the hours pass until tonight.
Pulling a rude face at the portrait, Lia left the room. Her hotel was in the Belvedere district, near the monumental Musikverein, where she would be performing tonight. Trying to breathe slowly and deeply, as her coach had taught her, Lia walked to Karlsplatz, mentally saluting the two carved angels at the entrance to the magnificent Karlskirche. Then she stopped to smooth the curves of the Henry Moore sculptures by the pond.
The spring sunshine was warm on her face; the ducks were in an amatory mood. Why had she thought about Seth entirely too much in the past few days?
Maybe when she saw him again, she'd find some answers.
The Klimt Coffee House was one of her favorites, not the least for its fine quality reproductions of the artist's fiercely beautiful portraits of women. She could add to that the high ceilings and elegantly arched windows, the civilized murmur of conversation and the delicious odor of Turkish coffee. Her eyes flicked around the room.
Seth was seated beneath a huge reproduction of The Kiss, that unabashedly erotic blend of golds and reds depicting a man and a woman so entwined as to be almost indistinguishable. Her heels clicking on the marble floor, she walked toward Seth. He got up to meet her, kissing her on both cheeks.
"What's up?" he said abruptly. "You'll do fine tonight."
Scowling at him, she replied, "Is it so pitifully obvious that I'm a mass of nerves?"
"To me it is-although I've never been known for empathy."
She raised her brows. "Well," she remarked, "I should've realized we wouldn't waste time with small talk … I'll have a Turkish coffee and a big slice of Sachertorte."