He threw his clothes bag down. Might as well get it over with.
On a walk lined with fading daffodils, he trudged up to the mansion without regard for the pink azaleas, purple wisteria and red rhododendron.
It had been humiliating to come home the day after the gala in Houston and admit to Claire what he'd done. Telling her the detectives had found nothing would be as bad.
She hadn't blamed him—she never blamed him—but he knew where the fault for losing the journal lay.
Mere days till Johanna's wedding, and they were no closer to catching the redhead.
He found his sister alone in the study, a comfortable room she used as an office. Chintz-covered armchairs stood on an Aubusson carpet among cherry bookcases and small tables with bronze lamps.
Claire sat at her writing table, checking some sort of lists against each other. At his entrance, she threw her pen down and jumped up. “I told you to call.”
She shared his wide forehead and pliable mouth, but her determined jaw came from their mother. His older sister, the one person he depended on, was usually unflappable. Not today.
Cal closed the door. “There was nothing to tell. He hasn't found out anything that will help.”
The hope in her face died. She bit her lip.
Cal walked over to the mantel, picked up a wooden mask brought back from Africa, checked a sconce for dust, and looked at the painting of Amsterdam's river district.
Anything not to have to face her.
If only she’d accuse him or yell at him. He wouldn’t say a word if she hit him.
But she was Claire. Reproach was never her style.
He put down the mask and went over to where she'd sunk into an armchair by the fireplace. One hand covered her throat. It would have been a melodramatic gesture had it not been Claire making it.
“Hang in there, Bags.” He called her by the childish nickname and patted her shoulder awkwardly, her pain another nail in his heart. “It's been nearly two weeks and there's been no attempt at blackmail. Maybe there won't be.”
“What if the woman's approached someone else?” Claire moistened her lips. “What if she's approached Matt?”
He stiffened. “Matthew would have told us.” Walking over to the bookcase, he studied the volumes through the glass. “Matthew can't afford to be blackmailed. Not in his position.”
“He's too fine a man to be blackmailed.”
Too fine a man? Hell. He shouldn't care that she forgave Matthew Swift so easily. After all, she never censured Cal for his lifestyle. But her shielding the man after all this time...
Damned annoying. “Come on, Claire, Matthew's no better than the rest of us.”
“Don't start that. Not now, not when everything's such a mess.” She stood, took a few paces. “I can't bear it. I can't bear to think that it might come out after everything everyone went through to cover it up. You, Mother, Tip... After all this time, for this to happen now. With Johanna so happy, her wedding so close.”
“Steady, steady.” He came over and put his arm around her.
Claire, always so strong and confident, leaned on him in a way she'd never done before.
Under the slacks and neat shirt, her waist felt thinner while her whole body seemed so fragile the bones might crack like dry twigs if he hugged her too tightly.
Remorse coursed side by side with anger at the redheaded witch.
Of all the people he cared about, Claire was the last one he should have let down. She'd been the big sister who picked him up when he fell skating, the one who wiped his nose and dried his tears and gave him candy, the one who protected him from Lila's rigid expectations and punishments, often by drawing their mother's anger toward herself.
Claire pulled away. “It's a nightmare. I didn’t have to see the journal. I should have made you destroy it right away. What if the woman goes to the tabloids? Or Johanna? Or Robert?” She wrung her hands. “If Robert finds out, I can't bear it.”
Robert Winslow was single-minded almost to intolerance, but Claire could manage him. “Robert may be more understanding than you give him credit for. Maybe you should tell him.”
Her eyes, the same melted chocolate color as his, widened. “Never! I can't. He'd... I don't know what he'd do. You don't understand, Cal. Don't you dare speak of it to him.”
He’d guessed his sister's marriage wasn't as smooth as it seemed, but she was almost incoherent talking about it. “Okay. But I don't know of anything else to do. We have to wait for this woman, whoever she is, to make the next move. Come on, Bags, you can make it. Is Robert due in from Virginia tomorrow?”
“He's been detained, but he'll be home in time for the rehearsal dinner Saturday. I mean it, Cal. He can't find out. He'd leave me if he knew.”
“No way.”
“Maybe not. But even if he forgave me, he'd hold it over me. You know how he hated me coming to work after Mother died. He wanted me to stay home with the boys and only gave in when you and Tip insisted... No, if Robert finds out, I won't be able to work with him. I'll end up like some of my friends, taking to drink or a younger lover because I don’t have enough to do.”
“Not you. You've got too much character.”
And no way I'd let him browbeat you.
What if the SOB was already doing just that? Cal's teeth clenched. He'd…
“Cal.” Their stepfather, golf shirt hanging loose over plaid shorts, wearing loafers with no socks, interrupted. “I thought I heard you.”
Travis Isaacs Penn Lathen, long retired from the state department, was seventy-eight years old and not in good health. He was one more person who'd be hurt if Lila's journal became public.
“The detective wasn't able to find her,” Cal answered the unspoken question.
Claire put on a brave face. “We're not giving up, Tip. We'll get Mother's journal back.”
“My dear, I know what anguish you're going through.” Tip patted her shoulder before turning to Cal. “I still can't imagine why you let yourself be taken in so easily.”
Cal flushed but Claire, fiercely loyal, spoke out. “Don't start on Cal. Blame won't do anybody any good right now.”
“I do know it's my fault,” Cal said.
Tip's grave face looked out of place over his small rotund figure. “I'm only glad Lila isn't here. After all she went through to protect you and Johanna, my dear,” he said to Claire, “she would be devastated if everything comes out now.”
Chagrin fled and affection swelled. Despite never being around children, Tip had accepted Cal and Claire without condition when he’d married their mother, taking on a paternal role and even acting as a shield between them and Lila. They could never repay Tip.
“Well, it isn't public yet.” Cal forced himself to speak cheerfully. “With luck it won't be.”
“And you mustn't worry. With your heart condition, you don't need to get upset.” Claire slipped her arm through Tip's and kissed his cheek. “We'll pay whatever we have to pay to get it back. Cal will take care of it.”
“You still won’t go to Robert?” Tip asked her.
The stricken look reappeared. “No. He mustn't find out.”
“I suppose that's best. The fewer who know, the better.” Tip hesitated. “What about Matthew?”
Cal turned up his lip.
Claire turned away. “Cal says if Matt's approached, he'll come to us and he's right. Besides, if the woman does plan on blackmail, we'll be the logical first target.”
Tip looked troubled but didn’t reply. On her way out, Claire patted his shoulder and said again, “It'll be all right.”
Cal followed her. “We'll work it out.”
“I know.” She took a ragged breath. “Go upstairs and see Johanna. She was asking for you this morning. I think she's getting a case of jitters now that the wedding's upon us.”
He forced a smile. “Will do. One of my meager talents is calming down nervous women.”
Chapter Five
In her muted peach and beige bedroom, Johanna wasn't a bundle of nerves after all so instead of launching into a pep talk, Cal teased her a little. “Oooh. Revealing. Are you sure Jeremy will approve of this?” He picked up a filmy teddy off a bed stacked high with clothing.
Johanna didn't look up from her packing. “He'll love it.”
“But he's so prudish. I don't want you to shock him on your wedding night and have him annul the marriage. Good grief, you'd have to come back home. Don’t you have a nice flannel gown more his speed?”
Johanna threw a stuffed bear at him. “Stop making fun of Jeremy.”
He caught the bear, lifted aside Johanna’s cat sleeping on a coral-colored skirted chair and sat down. The cat yawned reproachfully from its new spot on the floor. Cal stroked its head with the toe of his shoe. “I'm not making fun of Jeremy. I want your marriage to get off to a good start, Princess. I like Jeremy a lot more than that Lassiter boy who was always around, eating three meals a day with us and sleeping over every weekend. He even washed his clothes here.”
“You’ve been listening to Dad.” Johanna mimicked Tip's dulcet voice, “Is that boy boarding with us? Are we charging enough to cover his grocery bill?” She unloaded the contents of another drawer onto the bed. “For your information, Larry's father ran off when he was eight. He had a hard time.”
“No harder than his mother, I bet. And don't make fun of Tip. The father of the bride deserves all the respect he can get. Never mind me.” Cal hugged the teddy bear. “I don't know why I bother to give advice. Nobody around here listens or respects me. That's for sure.”
“Stop with the pity party. You don't deserve any respect.” As if agreeing, the yellow cat whipped its tail back and forth, and stalked away. “You're a bum. If you and Dad thought I'd marry Larry, you're both crazy. Unlike my big brother and his raging hormones still stuck in the pubescent stages, I have good sense.”
“Ouch.” Johanna had the same high standards as Claire but didn’t view Cal's failings with Claire’s loving equanimity. “You know all that happened when I was young and idealistic, Johanna. I thought if you slept with a girl, you ought to marry her. So I did.”
“Three times?” Holding up a stack of lingerie, Johanna shook her head sternly, but couldn't suppress a smile. “Come on, Cal.”
Cal tossed the bear aside. “I have a learning deficiency when it comes to women.”
“You have a learning deficiency when it comes to sex.”
In many ways, Johanna reminded Callaway of Claire. She had Claire's way of making a person feel she was laughing with him rather than at him, but while Claire was forgiving, Johanna, under Jeremy's influence, was heading toward puritanical.
Cal hoped she wouldn't turn into another Robert.
Her standards were part of the reason this business with the redhead hit so hard. He didn't want either Claire or Johanna hurt by the nasty publicity that would follow if the journal was made public.
A satin robe sailed by, missing the bed and landing beside him on the exact spot where the cat had taken refuge. “Pick that up for me, will you, bro? It goes in my honeymoon bag, too.”
Ignoring the cat, which emerged from shiny folds puffed up with outrage, Cal lifted the robe and idly fingered the lacy trim.
And half-forgotten memories of the lost night flashed. His watch stem catching in lace. Heavy woven threads of lace edging an elaborate label on an expensive dress. A designer dress label with embroidered letters.
He marshaled runaway thoughts. “Johanna.”
“What?”
“Do you have a pencil and paper?”
“Why? Can you write?” But she found them for him.
“Thanks.” He started sketching. “You're a real clotheshorse, up on the latest styles and all, aren't you?”
She made a face. “What does that have to do with the price of coffee? You’re going to fuss at me about how much I've spent on clothes for this wedding, aren’t you?”
“What? Don’t be silly. You only get married once. Well, most people do. No, I saw a great dress the other night. The label was unusual, kind of a satiny oval thing in a bunch of lace. Kind of like this.” He thrust the rough drawing at her. “I think a name was embroidered on it, but I can't remember. Maybe it had an A in it? Where would I go to find out who made this dress?”
“You?” Johanna’s chin dropped. “Found a great dress?”
“What?” He spread his hands. “You don’t think I could tell a great dress when I see one? I happen to be as interested in clothes as much as the next guy, thank you very much.”
She snorted. “Since when have you started buying dresses?”
“Well,” he stalled, trying to think of a plausible lie, “since, um, since, um...” Inspiration came. “Since Claire saw this dress and raved over it. You know her birthday's coming up next month and I thought this year I'd get her something she actually wanted.”
Johanna narrowed her eyes.
He rushed on, embellishing on the fly. “I can't get the dress if I don't know the designer. I don't remember where we were when we saw it but we weren't at a store. And Claire was so enthusiastic.” He let his shoulders sag. “Oh well, if you won't help me, I guess it's perfume like last year.”
“And the year before.” Johanna took the sketch. “Okay, bro. Strangely enough, I might be able to help you despite your totally inadequate skills as an artist.” She went to the closet and pulled out a beaded top. “Was this the label?”