Six days passed, four of which Seth spent in the Venezuelan oilfields, with a side trip to Peru to check on a project his foundation had started in Lima two years ago. He was glad to get home, he thought, as he climbed the steps of his brownstone near Central Park. Everything looked the same: the polished brass door handle, the elegantly proportioned windows and the dark oak door. But inside, he knew, Lia and Marise were waiting for him.
He hadn't talked to Lia since he'd left Meadowland; since a lovemaking so different in quality that it had both disarmed and dismayed him.
Too emotional. That was the catch. The e-word, he thought with a rueful smile, unlocked the door and stepped inside. But the first person he saw wasn't Lia or Marise. It was Allan, his father, who came around the corner, his shirt rumpled and far from clean. "Seth!" he exclaimed. "We weren't expecting you for another hour."
So Lia had invited his father, Seth thought in a rush of gratitude mingled with another, deeper emotion he didn't want to name.
"Plane was early," he said prosaically. "How are you, Father?"
Allan gave him an atypically boyish grin. "Wonderful," he said. "I've spent the day with Lia and my totally charming granddaughter-took her on a tour of my favorite bookstore. She talked the ears off me."
Seth blinked. "What's that on your shirt?"
Allan glanced down. "Fingerpaint," he said. "We're in the kitchen, why don't you join us?"
"Lia's there, too?"
"She's a lovely woman, Seth."
Seth grunted something indecipherable and followed his father into the ultramodern kitchen. The granite counters were covered with sheets of paper that had been smeared in every shade from pink to bilious green. The warm odor of chocolate chip cookies filled the air. Marise looked up. "Hi!" she crowed. "Come see my painting, can you guess what it is?"
"Mmm … an orchid?" Seth hazarded.
She giggled. "It's a flamingo-look, here are its wings."
"Ah," he said, "I see. Hello, Lia."
She was standing by the counter, wearing a T-shirt that under a riot of musical notes announced that Musicians Score. As always, he was struck first by her beauty. The shiny fall of her hair, the luscious curves of her cheekbones, now delicately flushed … had he forgotten anything about her?
"Can I have a cookie?" he asked.
Laughing, she passed the plate. "You sure can."
Effortlessly he was incorporated into the chatter and warmth. If Allan looked different, so too did his own house, Seth realized. Cluttered. Lived in. In a way that he'd never managed on his own.
A family kind of clutter.
He kept this thought to himself.
An hour later, they walked three or four blocks to a trattoria Seth frequented; on the way, to his annoyance, they ran into a media crew conducting a survey. Although Marise was entranced by the cameras and questions, Seth hurried her past them. "I'm starving," he said. "The last time I ate was in Miami. Did I tell you about the dog at the airport?"
Deflected, Marise skipped along beside him. "Was it a Dalmatian?"
"It was a Scottie with very short legs," he said, and took her by the hand to cross the street.
"Is it another story?" she asked hopefully.
"I believe it might be."
"I like the way you tell stories," Marise said. "What am I s'posed to call you?"
Seth stopped dead in the middle of the street. "You could try Dad. If you felt like it. Or Seth is fine with me."
"Dad's best. What happened to the Scottie?"
He tried to gather his wits; her small hand curled in his, her astonishing acceptance of him as her father, had thrown him for a loop. "We're nearly at the restaurant," he said. "Why don't I save it until we're sitting down?"
Allan went ahead with her; Seth turned to Lia, realizing how quiet she'd been. He said softly, his hand at the small of her back, "How are you?"
"I missed you," Lia said. It was true. She had missed him, unrelentingly, day and night. She'd also, when she'd seen Marise hold his hand a few minutes ago, fallen a little more deeply in love with him.
"I'd like to be making love with you right now," Seth said.
"That, too," she said, tossing her head.
"So why else did you miss me?" he rapped, his smile fading.
"I'll tell you later," she said and walked across the charming patio of the trattoria to one of the brightly painted tables.
Yes, he thought, you will, and sat down at the table. But that evening, once Marise was settled in bed, Allan said edgily, "Seth, can I have a word with you? In private."
Lia stood up, stretching lazily. "I'm going to have a leisurely bath and go to bed early," she said. "I'll see you both in the morning."
She was avoiding him, Seth thought. Had been ever since he'd arrived home. What was going on? Not that he was likely to find out with all these people around.
Trying to tamp down his frustration, he watched her leave the room. He needed to touch her. Hold her in his arms. That way he'd find out what the matter was.
Meanwhile Allan was pacing up and down the faded antique carpet. As soon as Lia shut the door behind her, he said jerkily, "I've left your mother."
"What?"
"She was furious that I was planning to come to Manhattan to see Marise. Absolutely furious. Forbade me to even think of it. One thing led to another … and for the first time in years I didn't back down, Seth. I held my ground."
"Good for you," Seth said warmly.
"She told me if I came to Manhattan today, she'd never speak to me again. So I said she was right, she wouldn't, because I wouldn't be living with her anymore … I've moved into a suite at the Ritz-Carlton." His smile was wry. "To say she was taken aback is putting it mildly."
"I'm proud of you, Dad," Seth said, noticing absently how easily the diminutive slipped off his tongue.
"Thanks, son," Allan said huskily. "She's not an easy woman, your mother. But I've never told you about her background-she didn't want anyone to know, least of all you, so she swore me to secrecy years ago. Now that I've left her, I don't feel bound by that promise any longer … she had a terrible childhood, Seth. Unrelenting poverty coupled with violence. Her father was a migrant worker, and when he hit the bottle, which was frequently, he also took out the belt and hit whichever kid was nearest-she ran away from home when she was fourteen, got herself a menial job and never saw him again. Never trusted anyone again, as far as I can tell. Even me, who loves her. But for the sake of that skinny little girl picking grapes when she should have been in school, I've forgiven her a great deal."
Shaken, Seth said, "I didn't know any of that."
"Maybe I should have told you long ago, despite Eleonore's wishes to the contrary. But somehow the occasion never arose."
Seth asked several questions, learning more about his parents' difficult marriage in half an hour than he had in all his thirty-seven years. Allan finished by saying heavily, "Not even for Eleonore will I shut myself off from my granddaughter. Not for anyone."
"Marise is a sweetheart."
"As is her mother."
Seth didn't want to talk about Lia. "You look tired, Dad, and I know I'm wiped. Worked my guts out all last week. Shall we hit the pit?"
"I'm glad we had this talk, son. Long overdue."
"I'm glad, too." Seth gave his father a rough hug and watched him leave the room. His head was whirling, from a combination of jet lag, information overload and too much emotion.
He craved sleep. But more than that, he craved Lia. Who was sleeping in the guest wing next to her daughter.
She might as well be in Venezuela.
Seth was up before anyone else in the morning. He went downstairs and settled himself with his coffee in the breakfast nook that overlooked the garden. As was his habit, he skimmed through the newspapers first, to get an overview of what was going on in the world.
On the seventh page of the second section was a large colored photo of himself, Lia, Marise and Allan. "Family Outing," the caption read, giving his and Allan's names. Lia d'Angeli was listed as Seth's companion, Marise as her daughter. His eyes and his daughter's had been printed an identical, startling green.
Companion, thought Seth, feeling his temper rise. What kind of word was that? The caption hadn't needed to say anything else. The point was made. Lia as mistress, Marise as illegitimate child.