“Oh, yes, you will,” her father answered softly. “Unless you want that guttersnipe boyfriend of yours charged with statutory rape.”
“Rape,” Jessica whispered, shocked, barely able to frame the word.
“Statutory rape,” her father repeated with satisfaction, pleased at his complete mastery of the situation. “The Chabrol boy is over eighteen, you are not. In this state the penalty is a prison term—quite a long one, I understand.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Jessica said, swallowing hard, feeling suddenly ill. “Even you wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“Try me,” her father said equably. “Now do I call Arthur and tell him to make the arrangements and expect you tomorrow, or do I call the district attorney’s office? I know Cal Williams, the DA, personally. That Chabrol whelp will wind up in a cell at Walpole, I can guarantee it.”
“Why?” Jessica said hopelessly. “Why do you hate me so much?”
For the first time George Portman showed a softening of expression. “I don’t hate you, Jessica. I’m doing this for your own good, and in the future you will realize that I was right. I don’t expect you to thank me now, but someday you will.”
“Never,” she murmured. “Never.”
He waited and saw the exact moment when she made up her mind. “If I do this, you won’t hurt Jack or his family?” she asked, eyeing him levelly.
Portman’s mouth hardened. “That kid will get what he deserves eventually.”
“Promise me,” Jessica said. “Promise, or I don’t go.”
“You have my word on it,” Portman said grudgingly. Then, almost to himself, “Let him try to latch on to someone else’s money by seducing their daughter. He won’t get mine.”
“If I find out you’ve done anything to him I’ll come back and take out an ad in the paper telling the whole story to the world,” Jessica said fiercely, knowing this was the direst threat she could utter. Portman’s reputation was everything to him. It was the main reason he was shipping her off to Arthur’s waiting arms.
“This is no time to blackmail me, young lady,” Portman replied. “You’re hardly in a position to bargain.”
“I mean it. You leave Jack alone.”
“I think you had better go upstairs and pack,” Portman said mildly, ignoring her last statement. “I’ll get Arthur on the phone and tell him to meet your plane. I’ve already checked the schedule, and there’s a flight out of Bradley at one tomorrow. I’ll have to inquire about your finishing high school. I’m sure there’s a night course or something that can be arranged.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Jessica asked bitterly.
“I try to be thorough.” Jessica moved toward the hall, and he called after her. “And Jessica, I wouldn’t try to contact that boy in any way. Just a warning.”
“He’ll try to find out what happened to me,” she replied, sickened at the thought of Jack’s bewilderment, his desperation at her disappearance.
“You leave him to me,” Portman said.
“What will you tell him?” she asked anxiously.
“Something that will shut him up and keep him from running after you. That’s my affair. You go and get your things together.”
Jessica heard him on the phone as she climbed the stairs, feeling as if her whole world were collapsing around her. It was all too sudden, too awful to absorb. But there was one thing that made her absolutely determined to go through with her father’s plan: it was the only way to save Jack.
When the plane left Springfield the next afternoon, she would be on it.
* * * *
“Jessica?”
Her sister’s voice floated up the stairs, ending her reverie.
“Jessica, are you up there?” Jean called.
“Yes, I’ll be right down,” Jessica answered, coming back to the present with a jolt. Jean must be home from school on her lunch hour.
Jessica stood and smoothed her skirt, wiping away the tears her painful reminiscence had brought. She glanced in the mirror as she walked to the landing, thinking that the past was a closed book, and there was enough for her to deal with in the present to keep her occupied. She must not indulge herself that way again.
She adopted a cheerful demeanor and descended the stairs to meet her sister.
Chapter 3
Jean was standing at the foot of the stairs and rushed to embrace her sister as Jessica reached the hall.
“It’s so good to see you,” the younger girl said happily. “I spotted the car outside so I knew you were home. When did you get in?”
“Early this morning. I went to the hospital first and then to see Ransom.”
“How is Dad?” Jean asked, her voice concerned, her blue eyes large and full of doubt. The nine-and-a-half-year gap in their ages had given Jean a different picture of their father. She thought of him as old and sickly, struggling to maintain a failing business. She had no memory of the tyrant Portman had been when Jessica was Jean’s age.
“The same,” Jessica replied. “You know doctors, they won’t tell me anything.”
“Can I visit him yet?” Jean asked.
Jessica shook her head. “He’s still in intensive care.”
“How much damage did the heart attack do?” Jean probed, blinking rapidly.
Jessica put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Try not to worry too much. Everything possible is being done for him. We just have to wait.” Deliberately changing the subject, Jessica inquired, “How is school?”
Jean shrugged. “School is school. Art class is the only thing that makes it bearable.” She tossed her blonde hair, several shades darker than Jessica’s, over her shoulder. “Mr. Danforth says that if I want to be a painter or a sculptor I have to do well in all my academic subjects too. Don’t you think that’s silly? I mean, what does the history of the French Revolution have to do with creating a work of art?”
“Mr. Danforth sounds very wise. Isn’t he the counselor you wrote me about, the one who’s arranging those New York interviews for you?”
Jean nodded eagerly, her disillusionment with social studies forgotten. “He thinks I have a good chance of getting into one of the schools, too.” Then her face darkened. “Of course I won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have the money to pay the tuition.” She turned her head to examine Jessica closely. “What happened with the mill, Jessica? Why are we in such trouble?”
Jessica sighed, defeated by the prospect of trying to explain something she barely understood herself. “Competition ruined the business during the past several years. Dad was just squeezed out as a result. That’s about all I can make of it. I know it wasn’t mismanagement. Dad was always a fanatic for keeping on top of things.” She deliberately left Jack out of the picture; Jean didn’t have to know those details.
Jean put her hands on her hips and surveyed Jessica critically. “But if what you’re saying is true, why is someone trying to take over the mill? Why would anyone want to take on the same kind of problems Dad’s been having?”
Why indeed? Jessica thought to herself. Unless that person had a particular score to settle.
“A competing company is looking to expand,” Jessica said as casually as possible, pushing open the swinging doors to the kitchen to allow Jean to follow her through them. “The owner is Jack Chabrol. He has a local trucking business.”
Jean halted and stared at her. “You mean that ex-football player?”
“Yes.”
Jean shook her head. “That’s weird. Does he want it for a tax write-off or something?”
No, he wants it to torment me, Jessica mused inwardly. “What do you know about tax write-offs?” she asked Jean teasingly as her sister went to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of milk.
“I took an accounting course last semester,” Jean announced importantly, looking around for a glass. “Do you think we’ll get to meet him?” she went on, pouring herself a drink. “Chabrol, I mean. Have you ever seen him? He’s a doll. Real tall, with great big shoulders and a killer smile. He gave a talk at the school last year. All the girls fell in love with him.”
“I saw him this morning,” Jessica answered, glad that Jean didn’t know anything about her previous involvement with Jack. “I knew him years ago when we were at school together,” she added, telling the bare truth without elaborating on it.
“Don’t you think he’s cute?” Jean asked ingenuously.
“He’s very attractive,” Jessica replied carefully. “He always was.”
“I don’t believe he isn’t married. You would have thought someone would snag him along the way. After all, he’s pretty old, almost thirty I think, and as rich as Midas. I heard he was engaged once, but broke it off. I can’t imagine why he came back here with all his money. I’d go to Malibu and buy a beach house.”
Jessica smiled at Jean’s teenaged fantasies. “Is that all you’re having for lunch? How about a sandwich?”
Jean shook her head. “I’m on a diet. So what do you think of the old place? Does the house look the same?”
“Very much the same,” Jessica replied quietly.
“Yeah, Dad would never let me change anything. He keeps all the stuff on ice. The maid comes in once a week and dusts the furniture like she’s cleaning a museum.” Jean broke off thoughtfully. “At least she used to. We had to let her go.” Her eyes sought Jessica’s.
“We’ll work it out,” Jessica said reassuringly. “It will all be over soon.”
Jean dropped her eyes and traced the wet pattern her glass left on the counter. “Maybe you’ll get along better with Dad now, too,” she murmured.
“Maybe.”
Jean looked up. “Jessica, what happened to cause the split between the two of you? He would never talk about it, and I didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up. I could tell it was real bad, even thinking about what it might have been used to scare me. I mean, all I know is that you left to get married when I was little, and ever since then you’ve been living abroad. The only time I saw you was when you brought me over there to visit. You never came here until now. Why?”
“When the time is right I’ll tell you,” Jessica answered softly.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise,” Jessica said, marveling that Jean still believed that such a vow meant something and would be kept. Well, she would keep it.
The telephone rang in the front hall, and Jean said, “Will you get that? I want to change my skirt before I go back to school.”
Jessica picked up the phone as Jean sprinted up the staircase to the second floor.
“Hello?” she said absently.
“This is Jack,” a masculine voice announced.
Jessica’s fingers tightened on the receiver.
“Yes?” she answered, with as much panache as she could muster.
“I’d like to get together to discuss the deal,” he said abruptly.
“What’s there to discuss? You’re taking over the mill and we both know why. Anyway, I thought we were meeting with Ransom again on Friday...”
He cut her short. “Without Ransom. Tonight.”
Jessica knew she should refuse, but the desire to be with him again was very strong. “I don’t know that we can settle anything,” she hedged. “We really need the final information Ransom was talking about before we can reach an agreement.”
“Afraid to see me without that old lion to protect you?” Jack asked softly, and she heard the unmistakable note of challenge in his voice.
“What time will you pick me up?” she said crisply, and she thought his tone was tinged with grudging amusement when he replied.
“At seven-thirty. Dress for dinner.”
Before she could say anything further, the line went dead. She stood looking at the framed picture of her mother on the piecrust table, aware that she had risen to Jack’s bait.
Surely this would be a mistake. She already knew that the only way to handle the situation was from a “strictly business” standpoint. Yet on the first day she was accepting an invitation that was anything but. She replaced the receiver quietly and shook her head at her own foolishness. It was no use. Jack’s lure had always been too powerful for her to resist.
Jean bounded down the stairs, asking, “Who was that on the phone?”
“Mr. Chabrol. I’m going out with him tonight.”
Jean’s mouth fell open. “You mean he asked you for a date?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. He wants to discuss the plans for the sale.”
“Like hell,” Jean said firmly. “He could do that in Mr. Ransom’s office. What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t bring much with me.”
“Jessica, what is the matter with you? This guy is the town’s most eligible bachelor, not that we have many. You have to make the most of this opportunity. Go out and buy something slinky if you don’t have anything.”
“I’ll wear this,” Jessica said, pointing to her dress.
“He already saw that this morning,” Jean replied, exasperated. “And it’s as dull as dishwater. Pick out something jazzy, something with zip.”
“I think a sequined cocktail dress is out, Jean. He’s probably taking me to Joe’s Diner.”
“Not him,” Jean said with conviction. “He goes in style.”
“Oh? How do you know?”
“He drives a Maserati and lives in that new high-rise complex near the falls. Joe’s Diner doesn’t exactly fit that scenario.”