French Silk(48)

Claire had anticipated the question. It had been posed to her hundreds of times over the years. Her answer was always the same. "Undoubtedly it would be easier. But would it be best?"

"I can see you've got definite opinions on the subject."

Agitated, she began pacing in front of the windows. "For as long as I can remember there have been people from the medical community, from the social services, and from law-enforcement agencies trying to force me to commit her."

"And before that, they tried taking you away from her."

Claire stopped pacing and whipped around to confront him. "You couldn't leave it alone, could you, Mr. Cassidy?"

"No, I couldn't. That's my job."

"Your job sucks."

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Instead of feeding me that hearts-and-flowers rendition of your childhood, why didn't you level with me and tell me about your run-ins with the authorities?"

"Because they're too painful to recall. I still have nightmares about them. I dream the social workers are dragging me, kicking and screaming, from Aunt Laurel's house. Mama's confused and upset. I don't want to go."

"According to the records, little Claire Louise Laurent gave them hell. I can well believe it."

"Things would be going fine," she said. "Then Mama would have a bad spell and do something to stir them up."

"What about your great-aunt? You described her as a loving, caring parent."

"She was, but the experts," she said, emphasizing the word contemptuously, "didn't think so. She was peculiar and therefore didn't fit their textbook criteria for a perfect parent. They'd come for me. I'd be taken away. On three separate occasions I was placed in foster homes. I ran away time after time, until I exhausted them and they let me return home.

"When I was about twelve, Mama wandered away and was lost for several days. We finally located her in a sleazy hotel, but by then the police were involved. Human Resources got wind of it and came for me. I wasn't being brought up in a healthy environment, they said. I needed direction, stability.

"I swore I would run away from wherever they took me and would continue running away, and that no matter what they did, they couldn't keep me separated from my mother. I guess they finally believed me because they never came back."

All her pent-up resentment was turned full force on Cassidy. "I don't give a damn what the records downtown say about me. I gave them hell, yes. I would still give hell to anybody who tried to separate us. I belong with her. I welcome the privilege of looking after her.

"When she got pregnant, she could have done the easy thing—and at that time the fashionable thing among the wealthy. She could have gone to Europe for a year and put me up for adoption. According to Aunt Laurel, that's what my grandparents urged her to do. Or she could have gone across the river to Algiers and found an abortionist. That would have been even simpler. No one would have known, not even her parents. Instead, she chose to have me and to keep me, even though it meant sacrificing her inheritance, her entire way of life."

"Your sense of responsibility is admirable."

"I don't feel responsible for her. I love her."

"Is that why you don't lock her in where she can't possibly get out?"

"Exactly. She doesn't need locks, she needs love and patience and understanding. Besides, that would be cruel, inhumane. I refuse to treat her like an animal."

"She could get hurt out wandering the streets alone, Claire."

She slumped down onto the padded arm of the white-upholstered sofa. "Don't you think I know that? Short of locking her in, I take every precaution to guard against her wanderings. Yasmine does, too. So does Harry. But she has the cunning of a young girl about to elope. Sometimes, in spite of our diligence, she gets past us, like tonight when I thought she was safely asleep."

For a long moment, conversation died. Distant thunder broke the silence, but it wasn't intrusive. Claire folded her arms across her middle and looked up to find Cassidy regarding her with that damned absorption of his. His stare made her uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, and she wondered if he was as aware of the quiet darkness as she.

"Why do I always feel like you're looking at me through a magnifying glass?" she asked resentfully.

"You invite close inspection."

"I'm not that much of an oddity, am I?"

"You're an enigma."

"My life's an open book."

"Hardly, Claire. I've had to pry every scrap of information out of you. You've lied to me every step of the way."

"I went to the Fairmont that night to get my mother," she said wearily. "There was no reason to tell you that."

"You lied about your childhood, which you would have had me believe was bloody terrific."

"Is anyone completely honest about his childhood?"

"And you lied when you told me you'd never been arrested."

She dropped her head forward and exhaled around a bitter laugh. "You have been thorough, haven't you?"

"The day we met, you told me not to underestimate you. Don't ever underestimate me, either." Placing his finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up. "Tell me about it, Claire."