Stranger on the Shore - lanyon Josh. Страница 37

Pierce shoved aside the low oval table with his elegantly shod foot, helped Griff lower to the brocade cushions. “Put your head down.” His hand tightened again, and Griff obediently bent forward. He knew the drill. He nodded, leaning so far forward his hair almost brushed the carpet.

“Deep, slow breaths.” Pierce sounded perfectly calm, like this was a normal part of his lawyerly duties. Maybe so. Maybe clients frequently keeled over when they heard they were being sued or learned the contents of loved ones’ wills. Maybe he had a lot of practice at this.

Everyone was still talking, offering suggestions, advice. He should put his feet up. He should lie down. Should we call 911? Someone get a fan. Get some water. Get some brandy.

“I knew there was something strange about him.” That was Muriel, and Griff’s mouth curved. Good old Muriel. He closed his eyes. Concentrated on breathing, on calming his heart rate.

What was the matter with him? But no. He couldn’t afford to explore that thought. Not here. Not now.

“You’re okay. You’re just short on sleep.” Pierce crouched next to the sofa, one arm around Griff’s shoulders, so close Griff could hear the tick of Pierce’s watch, feel the muscular heat of Pierce’s lean body beneath the tailored clothes. Pierce’s breath tickled Griff’s ear, his tone was low and somehow intimate.

Maybe the husky voice was deliberate because the recollection of why he was short of sleep, or at least part of why he was short of sleep, did the trick. Griff sat up and wiped his face, ashamed that his hands were still not steady.

“Sorry.” He intended it for the room in general, but somehow it was to Pierce that he was speaking. “Thanks.”

Pierce rose, perfectly at ease, and winked at him. The wink was slick and rehearsed, but it didn’t erase Griff’s memory of the hard, comforting grip of Pierce’s arm around him when he’d needed it.

“My boy, are you sure you’re all right?” Jarrett looked worried.

The sick panicky feeling had receded before the embarrassment of nearly keeling over in the Arlingtons’ drawing room. “I’m fine. It’s just...low blood sugar.”

“Someone get him a sandwich.” Jarrett looked around as though expecting peanut butter and jelly to materialize.

“No. Really. I’m okay.”

“You’re upset about the book, and I don’t blame you,” Chloe said. She threw Brian a contemptuous look. He shrugged.

“Chloe,” Ring said.

“You’re not my father, so butt out.”

“Chloe,” Michaela said in much sharper tones.

“And you’re barely my mother,” Chloe snarled. “Gemma was more of a mother to me than you ever were.”

As diversions went, it was a pretty good one. Michaela looked startled, then wounded, then furious. “What’s the matter with you? You have no right to talk to me that way.”

Chloe raised her chin pugnaciously. “I have every right.”

“You brought this on yourself by staying away so long,” Muriel told her sister.

Michaela turned on her. “You’re going to give me advice on parenting? The last of the old maids?”

“That’s lovely coming from a former crack whore.”

So much for the happy family reunion. The Arlingtons seemed to be reverting to type fast. “Will you all kindly shut up?” roared Jarrett as voices rose once again.

The room was instantly silent. Brian cleared his throat.

Jarrett, moderating his tone with obvious effort, said, “Griff, if you’re recovered now, would you excuse us? We have some family matters we need to discuss.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Griff rose. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Except that getting kicked out now had to be the worst timing in the world.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” Jarrett’s smile was strained.

“Sure. I’m fine.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chloe said.

“No, you sure as hell will not,” Michaela said.

But Chloe ignored her, heading for the double doors.

Pierce said, “Shall I take off as well? You don’t seem to want my advice.”

“Don’t be impertinent, young man.” Jarrett fixed Pierce with a bleak eye. To Griff he said, “Don’t worry about the book. We’ll work out something equitable.”

“Thanks.” Something equitable? Was Jarrett going to try and buy him off? Griff managed a smile. It felt like he was taking his final farewell of the old man. Because if Jarrett thought Griff could be bought off...

Michaela was still calling after Chloe, who had vanished down the hall. Griff passed Brian on his way to the door. Brian’s mouth curved in a wide, white smile.

* * *

There was no sign of Mrs. Truscott or Molly Keane in the kitchen, but Chloe was waiting for him. She stood next to the large table, which was covered with wire racks of cooling cookies. She was licking a cookie which she promptly threw in the cold fireplace hearth.

“I despise that whole eating for comfort thing,” she said.

“You’d have to take a bite to qualify for comfort eating.”

“That’s not going to happen. Haven’t you been listening to Auntie Muriel? Sugar is poison.”

He was off his stride. The question he should have asked was, Why do you need comfort? But maybe he already knew the answer to that.

She followed him out and across the mud porch and then through the back door. The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy with moisture, smelling of wet earth. Fat drops fell from the leaves overhead. “So what are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to sit at that table tonight and pretend while they kill the fatted calf or whatever you call it.”

Griff stared at her. “Pretend what?”

Chloe’s lipstick was so pale her lips looked almost invisible as they twisted. “Pretend that I believe that guy is Brian.”

Griff stopped walking. “You don’t believe he’s Brian?”

“He was checking me out. He was sitting on that sofa, checking me out!”

Chloe sounded indignant, but even if she was correct, that wasn’t exactly conclusive proof. First cousins or not, she and Brian hadn’t grown up together, and there was no biological reason they had to respond to each other like family, right? Just because Brian had bad instincts and worse manners didn’t mean he wasn’t family.

Griff started walking again. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to me.”

“You don’t want to believe he’s Brian. That’s not the same as knowing he isn’t Brian.”

“No, I don’t want to believe he’s Brian.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like him.” She held Griff’s gaze defiantly. “Because they’re all too desperate to believe. Anyone could have walked in—you could have walked in—and claimed to be Brian and they’d have bought it. They want to believe. They’re ready to believe. That’s all this is.”

“He looks like an Arlington.”

“They always do.”

“He has Tiny Teddy.”

She wheeled away and started down the path that led to the front of the house. She said over her shoulder. “I’m going to go get drunk. You want to come?”

“No,” Griff said.

Chloe didn’t answer and Griff continued his way down to the cottage. But once he found himself in the blue-and-silver living room, his energy drained away. He sat on the flimsy sofa and frowningly regarded the tasseled lampshades, the ornate fire screen, the gold-framed painting of the Gibson girls eternally frozen in their game.

Brian was home. The prodigal had returned. Putting aside his own self-interest, that was fantastic news. The best possible news. Griff was delighted. He had to be delighted. To not be delighted would be strange and wrong.

Even taking his own self-interest into consideration, Brian’s return made for a better book. Right? Who didn’t love a happy ending?

And if Brian didn’t want him to write the book, so what? That didn’t mean Griff wouldn’t continue researching the story, writing Brian’s story.