Dimly, Cathy noticed a distant sound, like footsteps, and remembered the workmen. With a supreme effort, she managed to turn her mouth from his enough to say, “We should close the door—”
“I’m not moving,” he said hoarsely. “Shh.”
Alice sat up, staring at them, and bumped the champagne bottle. It toppled over and slowly poured onto the rug.
“But,” Cathy protested weakly, “the workmen—”
Adam was kissing the hollow at the base of her throat. “Devil take the workmen. Let them watch!”
From the doorway to the library, a high-pitched, strident voice suddenly exclaimed, “I beg your pardon!?” Then, as Cathy struggled to sit up and see who had spoken, Hermione Parrish gaped in her direction and collapsed against her companion. “Auggie! Auggie? Do catch me! I believe I may faint!”
Cathy felt as if the library were spinning around her. Every time she tried to focus on her mother, her vision blurred. Adam helped her sit up, and she held onto the shell-shaped side of the chaise and surveyed the wreckage of her world.
She sensed that her headtie was askew and curls fell down around her eyes. Overripe mango was smashed into her apron, and lime-tinted paint decorated the rest of her. Food littered the carpet. The champagne bottle lay on its side; Alice was lapping up the fizzy puddle faster than it could soak into the antique rug. Worse yet, the entire house was a scene of chaos, and Cathy’s first encounter with her mother in Barbados made her cheeks blaze.
“Catherine, is that really you?” Hermione demanded. “What have you got on your head? It makes you look like a little piccaninny.”
Adam stood up to face his mother-in-law, blocking Cathy so that she could adjust her clothing. “I must ask you not to use that word in our home. I won’t have our staff insulted.” He paused to let his words sink in, then spoke again. “You’ll have to forgive us for being a bit surprised to see you here, Mrs. Parrish. We weren’t expecting you until early next week; Christmas Eve, if I remember correctly.”
“My nephew Auggie is a superb yachtsman. He believes that we may have set a new record during our voyage south.” She smoothed the perfectly draped skirts of her violet-gray traveling costume and began to remove her gloves. “Dear heavens, but it is warm in this part of the world. No wonder Americans haven’t taken to the West Indies very readily.” Then, as if suddenly remembering the tall man standing off to one side, Hermione drew him forward. “I am remiss. This is my great-nephew, August Randolph Chase III. Auggie, say hello to Adam, Viscount Raveneau, my— ah— son-in-law.”
The two men shook hands. Adam decided that Chase appeared to be the quintessential Newport gentleman. He was tall and slender, with a deeply tanned complexion, wavy dark hair, and a stylish mustache. His pale blue eyes were heavy-lidded as he languidly returned his host’s stare.
“A pleasure, my lord,” Chase said.
Adam turned to extend a hand to Cathy, lifting her to her feet. “Join us, darling. It’s your own mother, after all.” Then he returned his attention Hermione. “I hope you’ll both accept our apologies for the state of the house. As you can see, repairs are still very much in progress. When we learned of your unexpected visit, we decided to pick up paintbrushes and join the workmen.”
Smoothing her apron, Cathy approached with Alice in tow. The dog’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
“I find your house deplorable, my lord, and I won’t pretend otherwise,” Hermione was saying. Taking the pins from her peony-shaped hat, she removed it and gestured grandly in every direction. “I would never have let you bring her here if I had known she’d be living in a pigsty.” Her nostrils flared. “It’s appalling!”
“Please don’t talk that way about Tempest Hall, Mother.” Cathy forgot about her own appearance as she spoke. “It is our home, and I happen to love it very much. If you had waited for us to invite you when the repairs were finished, you wouldn’t have seen it like this.”
“You still like to argue, I see,” her mother said sharply. “Remember your breeding, my child, and greet your cousin.”
“Hello, Auggie. I was sorry that you couldn’t attend our wedding.”
He bowed. “Egypt held me in her thrall, I fear. I must say I was shocked to return to Newport and find you gone, Cousin.” He paused. “I know your mother won’t ask herself, but I will. We are both famished. Could you ring for a late lunch for us?”
“We could,” Cathy echoed and glanced up at Adam. “But we haven’t any cooking staff at the moment. Our— uhm, butler, is buying supplies in Bridgetown, our old cook is too old and frail to stand very long, and our new cook has gone to the beach.”
“How can you live like this?” Hermione wore an expression of icy disgust. “I expect your housekeeper to ride into the room on a unicycle, juggling vegetables. I am thoroughly disappointed in you, Catherine. Do show me to my room so that I may lie down.”
Adam squeezed Cathy’s hand. “We were just about to start painting your room, Mrs. Parrish—”
“I’ll take yours, then, until my own is ready.”
It was a bitter pill for Adam to swallow, but he saw that he had no choice. He was the host, and this guest was his wife’s mother. “You anticipate me. That was my plan.”
Cathy threw him a grateful look. “And we will put Auggie in my bedroom. Let me show you the way. Then, while you both are resting, I’ll fix you a light meal. One of our maids will bring you fresh water and towels.”
“I’ll have your luggage brought up immediately,” Adam assured them. Of course, unless the workmen offered to help, he would haul Hermione’s trunk up the stairs himself.
Cathy led the way, and when she opened the door to Auggie’s room, he stepped inside and declared, “At least there is a balcony. I am ill from this heat and shall lie down without delay.” Glancing back at Cathy, he added, “If you would have a servant bring me a tray with food and cold planter’s punch, I should like it. I’m terribly thirsty.”
She tried to smile. “I’ll do my best, but I ought to warn you that we haven’t any ice today...”
“I feel as if I’ve gone back in time,” cried her mother. “How can you live like this, Catherine?”
Steering her into Adam’s spacious bedroom, Cathy closed the door and met her eyes. “I must ask you to listen to me, Mother. I am very happy in my marriage. I enjoy the work of restoring Tempest Hall and, as you must have realized when you came upon us in the library, I am in love with my husband.”
“Neither of you knows the first thing about love. The only perception I gained from that exceedingly common scene was that my daughter has cast her breeding to the wind and her husband is a worse barbarian than I had feared.” Hermione walked around the room, assessing Adam’s possessions as she spoke. “And it’s no wonder your servants have no respect for you, dressed and cavorting like a hoyden. No wonder your cook is at the beach rather than doing her job!”
Cathy went to the washstand and poured water into a simple white ewer. “I realize that Barbados must seem very foreign to you, Mother. It is a far cry from Newport, I know, but I am trying to adapt. I can’t behave as if I’m in Newport, or I’ll never have any success here.”
Hermione sank into the chair by Adam’s desk. She stared out the window, appearing not to have heard a word of Cathy’s speech. Her bejeweled hand went to a strip of velvet trimming her bodice, and she rubbed it between her fingertips.
Cathy set about washing her face and hands. When her mother still hadn’t spoken, she went into the dressing room and changed into a simple tan skirt and thin, lace-edged shirtwaist. Without even looking into a mirror, she piled her mass of hair atop her head and inserted tortoiseshell pins to secure it. Hermione was still staring and rubbing the bit of velvet.
“Mother?” She went to her side and knelt beside the chair. The daughter in her was glad to be reunited with her parent. “Is anything wrong?”
The older woman swiveled, and their eyes locked. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that he loves you.”
Cathy felt as if she’d been struck. In the old days, at Beechcliff, she would have been afraid to face her down, but this was new territory and even Hermione seemed altered somehow. “I don’t understand why you would say something so unkind and hurtful to me.”
“I’m your mother. If I don’t speak the truth, who will?”
“Well, you’re wrong! Adam does love me. We are blissfully happy.”
Hermione stared out the window again, over the tops of silvery casuarina trees, over sugar cane fields and reddish dirt roads and mahogany forests that led to the wild Atlantic Ocean. Her fingers found the velvet again. A furrow appeared in her brow.
When had her mother ever looked so stricken over her welfare? In the end, everything had always come back to Hermione, hadn’t it? In a gentler voice, Cathy asked, “Mother, why are you here? Why did you decide to visit me so soon after my wedding?” She touched her wrist. “Is anything wrong?”