Part 17 (1/2)

”Believe it or not, ma'am, I've not come to rape and pillage,” he replied stiffly in a British accent. ”I only want a word with you.”

Immediately, Betsy reddened, ashamed that she had leaped to exactly that prejudiced conclusion at the sight of him. But the manhadtaken her by surprise. She wasn't about to apologize for being startled, for heaven's sake. ”I'm not accustomed to being accosted in my garden. You might have just rung the doorbell, like any other visitor. My husband is in the house.”

”I don't want to see your husband. I've tried to talk to your husband, but he insisted he can't help me. I was hoping to find you a bit more sympathetic.”

Betsy clutched the bag of birdseed to her narrow chest and eyed the man with a mixture of curiosity and lingering fear. ”Sympathetic about what?” she asked. ”If you're selling something, I can tell you right now-”

”My name is Julian Graham,” he interrupted. ”My mother is Veronica Fairchild.”

Betsy gasped. ”Veronica? My . . . daughter-in-law?”

”That's right,” he said, enjoying her dismay. ”Didn't she tell you about me?”

Betsy shook her head.

”There's a surprise. Yeah, she was my mum, all right. Left me and my dad when I was about a year old and ran off to the States. I'm told she married your son.”

”My son is dead,” Betsy said dully.

The young man frowned. ”So I've heard. It's a pity, ma'am. But it's my mother I'm looking for.”

”Veronica. Are you sure? Maybe you're mistaken.”

”No mistake,” he said angrily.

”Well, I'm sorry. We never knew you existed. Veronica never breathed a word about you to us. Or to my son either, I'm sure. Well, she wouldn't, would she?” The young's man eyes flashed, and Betsy noticed. ”I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded.” Then she frowned. ”It's just that she wasn't . . . I never trusted her. Even before she . . .” Betsy's mind started to drift, but then she forced her attention back to the man in front of her. ”Veronica is a very cruel woman. Very cold. I wonder . . . was she . . . did she ever divorce your father?”

”They were never married,” he said, raising his chin defiantly.

Betsy nodded and shook her head. ”Hmmm . . . why am I not surprised?” she said. ”Veronica.” She heaved a sigh and then looked up and studied the exotic-looking young man in front of her. ”Well, you won't find her here. She left here years ago. Ran off to Las Vegas with some . . . married man. One with money, of course,” Betsy added tartly.

Julian Graham sighed. ”Do you have her address?”

Betsy shook her head. ”I don't know where she is, and I don't care. I'm sorry to say this, young man, but you may be better off not finding her. I can't imagine it would bring you anything but heartache.”

”That's for me to decide, ma'am,” Julian said coolly. ”I just want the information.”

”Well, I'm afraid that after she broke my son's heart and ruined his life, we didn't keep in touch,” said Betsy in a frosty tone. Then, reminding herself that none of it was this young man's fault, her tone softened. ”I'd help you if I could. But it was years ago. She didn't want anything more to do with us. I asked her for her phone number and her address when she called. Personally, I would have been glad to wash my hands of her, but Prentice . . .” Her voice faltered. Then she squared her shoulders. ”He tried to follow her. He went out there, to the address she gave us, and it turned out to be phony. Can you imagine how my son felt . . .?” And then, seeing the hurt in the young man's eyes, she realized how well he probably could imagine. ”I've nothing against you personally, you understand. We were all her victims.”

”I'm n.o.body's victim,” the young man corrected her.

”No, of course not,” said Betsy. ”How do you happen to be here, anyway?”

”I'm come to the States from Britain on tour, actually, with a band,” he said.

”Well, that's wonderful,” Betsy murmured. ”Though I'm sure I don't know the music you young people like anymore. Would you like to come in? Have a . . . cup of tea?” Her voice brightened at the very idea of offering an Englishman the solace of a cup of tea.

Julian sighed. He gazed up at the imposing house, then shook his head. But his tone was less rueful. ”No, thanks. I've got to be off.”

”I'm . . . sorry. I hope I haven't been rude. I just can't help you . . .”

”Never mind,” he said.

”Good luck . . . Julian . . .” Betsy said, her voice trailing away. She watched him go, then slowly she made her way back to the house, her mind ruminating furiously on the young man's unexpected visit. Why hadn't Lucas mentioned Julian Graham to her before? They never keptsecrets. Surely he'd have realized she would want to know. And then she sighed, thinking of all the terrible memories it reawakened. Prentice's grief. The way he blamed them. Accused them of driving Veronica away, making her feel unwelcome. For months after he'd returned from Las Vegas without her, he hadn't even spoken to them, had refused their efforts to comfort him. Taken comfort in the bottle. Betsy clutched the sack of seed against the front of her quilted jacket as if it were a baby.

When she walked in the door, she saw Lucas setting the phone back into its cradle. He turned and looked at her. His face was as white as paste, and his eyes were wide and frightened. Lucas rarely looked frightened.

Betsy dumped the seed bag on the table and rushed to him. ”Darling, what is it?” she cried. ”You look awful.”

”That was Keely,” he whispered.

Betsy frowned. ”At this hour? What did she want?”

”She just got home from the hospital. Been there all night. Dylan . . . tried to kill himself.”

Betsy stared at him, shaking her head. ”No, that's not possible.” She grabbed Lucas's hand. It was cold and clammy. ”There must be some mistake.”

”Last night. When she got home from here, she found him. He'd cut his throat.”

Betsy groaned. ”Oh, Lucas. Oh no . . .”

He nodded, his lips pressed together grimly. ”I'm afraid so.”

”Will he . . . is he going to live?”

Lucas nodded. ”Yes. Thank G.o.d.”

”How is she? How is Keely?” Betsy asked.

Lucas shook his head. ”Holding up, somehow.”

”Oh, poor thing,” Betsy wailed. ”Here, sit down. You look terrible.”

”Such a shock,” he muttered as she helped him to a chair, then sat down beside him. They sat there, hands clasped, all too familiar with the despair that Keely was now feeling.

”She told me that he was depressed,” said Betsy.

Lucas shook his head. ”I should have known . . .”

”How could you know?” Betsy chided him gently. ”You hardly know the boy.”

”You know what I mean,” Lucas insisted. ”The pressure on him. The police . . . Maureen Chase. Especially Maureen. And Keely has no idea what was going on . . .”

”You don't think she knows?” Betsy asked worriedly.

”I'm sure she doesn't,” said Lucas grimly. ”And I don't want to be the one to tell her.”

”No. No. But it's not up to you. You've done everything you can to protect her,” Betsy reminded him gently. ”And we'll keep on doing all we can. We will. Honestly, when I think of Mark . . . it makes me sick . . .”

”How well can we really know anyone?” Lucas said glumly. They sat silently, clinging to one another.