Milo had always
sought carefully constructed publicity for his young charge.
He knew how quickly one name could be
replaced by another in the minds of the concert-going public.
While avoiding overexposure, he had never
allowed too much time between interviews or press releases.
Now he needed to keep Stani's name out of the
ugly tabloid press that was certain to be generated by the accident that killed
Mark Stevenson.
As for Betsy Mason, he
had no idea what to expect.
He would
have John look deeper into her relationship with Stani as soon as he returned
from Virginia.
It would be
essential to maintain privacy without appearing to hide anything.
If word began to circulate that Stani's
injuries were severe enough to end his career, it could forever tarnish the
reputation he had already established.
Not to mention the psychological effect on Stani himself, if he believed
his career might be threatened.
Carefully, in the next weeks and months, Milo knew he must balance the
information he made available to the press against the inevitable sensational
speculation that a brilliant young talent had been tragically silenced.
Chapter Fifteen
When Jana
returned to the apartment, relieved to let Peg Shannon take over the grim vigil
at Stani's bedside, she wanted nothing so much as to crawl into bed and lose
herself in sleep.
She mentally counted
the days since she and Milo had left to await Stani's arrival at the
hospital.
That had been the night before
Christmas Eve, and it was now December twenty-eighth.
Only four days, yet it seemed an
eternity.
While Stani remained
unconscious, the doctor assured them he was progressing, healing, and the heavy
sedation was only aiding in that process.
But she longed for him to wake up.
He was so unlike himself, lying there still and unresponsive, and she
ached to see some sign of his usual vitality.
To make matters worse, Stani, always so meticulously groomed, so
elegant, even in casual dress, was now unpleasantly unkempt.
The sight of him, his magnificent hair a tangled
mass, a growth of rusty beard covering his face, the disfiguring bruises on his
forehead and cheek, somehow made her uncomfortable.
Worst of all, she was sickened by the tubes
draining golden urine and bright red blood from his shoulder into bags attached
to the side of the bed; even the IV needle in his forearm repulsed her.
She had failed
him.
She was in no way cut out to act as
a nurse to Stani.
Of course there were
plenty of nurses on hand, but she had expected to be able to do more for him
herself.
As it was, when they came in to
bathe him, she excused herself; and she left it up to the nurses to turn him
and adjust his bed, finding herself reluctant to touch him.
When Peg had arrived, with her air of quiet
authority, Jana had been thankful to surrender her place by his bed.
Let Peg take charge; she had experience
nursing her father, and she seemed undaunted by Stani's condition.
She had even gone to the bedside and kissed
his cheek, murmuring words of greeting as she smoothed the wild curls above the
bandages.
She insisted that Jana go home
and rest.
She would take the night shift
from now on, she said, since she was such a night owl anyway.
The apartment
was a welcoming cocoon after Stani's stark, colorless room.
Or maybe it had just been the exhausted state
of her mind, after so many hours there, that drained all the color from her
surroundings.
Settling on the cool
leather of the couch, she let herself sink into the cushions.
There were things to be done, calls to make;
but for just a few minutes, she wanted to let herself drift.
Time enough, after a shower in her own
bathroom and a nap, to go down the list of people she would have to call,
canceling lunches and meetings, postponing appointments.
Milo might be able to go back to the routine
at his office in the name of safeguarding Stani's career, as well as those of
his other clients; but she would not be able to continue rebuilding her own
career until Stani was well.
She might
not be giving him the hands-on care she had hoped to, but she was still the one
in charge of seeing to his needs.
It suddenly
occurred to her that there remained the unresolved issue of contacting Stani's
mother.
Milo had talked about it while
they waited during the surgery; she should be called, not read about it in the
papers.
Whether he had followed up or
not, she had no idea.
Nothing more had
been said; and when she had seen Stani, so lifeless after he was brought from
the recovery room, the reality of his condition had overshadowed everything
else in her mind.
Until he woke up and
spoke to her again, all she could think to do was watch him, and watching him
had paralyzed her with the fear that he might not wake up at all.
The grate of a
key in the door startled her.
“Mrs.
Scheider?
Don't get up, now.
I just went out for a few things.
I didn't expect to see you today.”
Mamie, her long-time housekeeper, was
struggling through the doorway with a grocery cart.
“How is Young Stani today, ma'am?”
Jana watched as
Mamie shed her coat and hat, hanging them carefully on the peg in the pantry,
and proceeded to unpack the sacks.
How
was she to answer that question?
She had
not tried to quantify his condition.
He
was not worse, he was not better, certainly; in fact he was not at all.
But with a sincere smile, she said now,
“Doing as well as can be expected, Mamie.
It's early days yet to see any change, the doctor says.”
“Yes,
ma'am.
There've been calls.
I took messages for you.”
She nodded toward the little stack of notes
on the table by the phone.
“And the mail
is on Mr. Scheider's desk there.
I think
he must have been home last night.”
Going to the
phone messages first, she leafed through them.
Sure enough, there was one from Eileen Moss.
“When did this one call, Mamie?
Mrs. Moss?”
“Earlier this morning,
ma'am.
Is that his mother?”
There was nothing in her voice, but Jana
thought the way her brows arched spoke volumes.
Mamie had been with them from the time they arrived in New York,
referred to them by Milo's chauffeur, Robert.
She had a particular fondness for Stani, which she demonstrated by
gently scolding him for his absentmindedness and making sure that his favorite
foods were always in the refrigerator.
“Yes.
This is all she said?”
Scanning the message, Jana wasn't sure what
to make of it.
Eileen had said merely
that she heard on the radio that Stani had been in an accident.
Please let him know she had called.
“Yes,
ma'am.”
Mamie seemed to consider for a
moment, then added, “I didn't think I should be the one to tell her anything
more.
But I guess she should know,
shouldn't she?”
“Of
course.
We'll get in touch with
her.”
The thought of trying to describe
Stani's condition to his mother was too much just now.
Later, Milo would have to take care of it.
“I gave his
bedroom a good, deep cleaning yesterday.
It should be about as clean as a hospital room, now.
It's all ready for him, when he comes
home.”
The question in her sharp eyes
was undeniable.
Would
he be
coming home?
“Thank you,
Mamie.
It may be some time, yet.
The doctor said two or three weeks.
He has to wake up first.”
Without any warning, her breath caught in a
sob and she dissolved into tears, covering her face with her hands.
They stood
together, the tall, strong Mamie gathering the tiny, sobbing Jana to her
breast, holding her like a child.
“There, there,” she muttered over and over again, almost singing in her
low, rich voice, “the good Lord would never take him yet.
He still has work to do.
You're just overtired, now.
Come on, I'll run a bath for you and then you
need some nourishment.
I threw out
everything in the icebox this morning and got in fresh.
Can't have the two of you getting food
poisoning on top of everything else.
I'll fix you something to eat, and then you're going to bed.
Who's with Young Stani at the hospital now?”
Sniffing and
wiping at her eyes with the tissue Mamie produced, Jana told her that Peg
Shannon would be staying with him at night now.
“Well, that
just goes to show you.
There's always
help when we need it.”
Turning toward
the master bedroom, Mamie paused.
“Speaking of help, Robert brought that Mr. Kimble to look around in
Young Stani's room.
He seems like a real
nice man.
Is he going to stay long?”
With a weak
smile, Jana replied, “Oh, I hope so, Mamie.
I hope so.”
Chapter Sixteen
At the
beginning of the week after Christmas, Jack took Emily into town.
If she was serious about taking charge of her
affairs, she needed to get started, he said.
“No time like the present, before you start making too many plans.
You're smart enough to know it won't be as
simple as packing your things and moving back to the farm.”
He had arranged
a meeting at the bank, where she sat down with her father's lawyer, Tom
Jeffers, and the bank's trust officer, Emory Harris.
Both men had been instructed to speak frankly
with regard to the arrangements her father had made and the details of the
financial trust.
While Jack was now
Emily's guardian, that would end when she turned twenty-one.
At that time, she would be a woman of means,
with a choice of options for both her own and the farm's futures.
Emily listened
closely, as both men talked to her with gentle respect.
At first she feared that she would find
herself impoverished or worse, in debt.
Growing up, money had never been a topic of conversation at home, but
she had always believed her parents lived frugally out of necessity.
Economy had been practiced in the house, with
an emphasis on preserving the treasures her mother had inherited from her
family; and rarely had anything been purchased without a lengthy debate over
value and cost.
Her father had always
insisted on farming without costly chemicals or fertilizers, instead following
time-honored organic methods.
The garden
had more than paid for itself each year, but there had been little concern
about making a profit anyway.
It was his
passion, rather than a means of supporting his family.
Now it was
explained to her that in fact her parents had been very comfortably fixed, if
not precisely wealthy.
They had each
made substantial investments during the years before their marriage, and those
made up the bulk of her trust fund.
Her
father had inherited the farm, and it remained free from debt.
Emily's college and personal expenses, as
well as her father's care, were provided for out of money her mother had
inherited from her parents, invested many years earlier.
In answer to
her questions, she was assured that while she was far from rich, there was no
danger of running out of money and having to dip into the principal of the
trust before she could begin to earn a living for herself.
There were adequate funds to provide for her
father's nursing home care for years to come, and enough capital on hand to
meet any repair needs at the farm.
With a timid
smile, she asked Mr. Harris if there might be enough for the purchase of a new
washing machine.
The old one had put up
great resistance when she tried to do her laundry, producing a huge puddle of
water on the pantry floor.
Returning her
smile, he leaned on his desk and met her eyes.
“Emily, you can buy as many washers as you need.
I'll set up accounts in the stores here in
town for you, so you can shop whenever you like.
Is your allowance still adequate for your needs
in Williamsburg?”