“Shhhh. The door’s open. Let’s let it go at that.”
The door was indeed open when Marni and Web arrived Sunday evening at the handsome estate where she’d grown up. Fourteen years before, Web would have been taken aback by the splendor of the long, tree-lined drive and the majesty of the huge Georgian colonial mansion. Now he could admire it without awe or envy.
They were greeted in the front hall by Duncan, Cook’s husband, who’d served as handyman, chauffeur and butler for the Langes for as long as Marni could remember. “Miss Marni, it’s good to see you. You’re looking fine.”
“Thank you, Duncan,” she said quietly. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Mr. Webster.”
“How are you, Duncan?” Web extended his hand. He, like Marni, was unpretentious when it came to hired help. He’d always treated the most lowly of his own assistants as important members of the crew. Whereas Marni was softhearted and compassionate, Web was understanding as only one who’d once been “hired help” himself could be.
Duncan pumped his hand, clearly pleased with the offering. “Just fine, Mr. Webster. And my congratulations to you both. I had no idea we’d be having a wedding coming up here soon.”
Marni cleared her throat and threw what might have been an amused glance at Web had she not been utterly incapable of amusement at that moment. “We, uh, we haven’t made final plans.” She paused. “My parents are expecting me, I think.”
“That’s right,” Duncan returned with the faintest hint of tension. “They’re in the library. They suggested you join them there.”
The library. Warm and intimate in some homes, formal and forbidding in this one. It had been the scene of many a reprimand in Marni’s youth, and that knowledge did nothing to curb her anxiety now. There were differences of course. She was no longer in her youth, and Web was with her …
Head held high, she led the way through the large front hall and down a long hallway to the room at the very end. The door was open, but the symbolism was deceptive. Marni knew what she would find even before she entered the room and nodded to her parents.
Jonathan Lange was sitting in one corner of the studded leather sofa. His legs were crossed at the knees, and one arm was thrown over the back of the sofa while the other hand held his customary glass of Scotch. He was wearing a suit, customary as well; he always wore a suit when discussing serious business.
Adele Lange sat on the sofa not far from him. She wore a simple dress, nursed an aperitif and looked eminently poised.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Marni began with what she hoped was corresponding poise. “I think you remember Brian.”
Neither of the Langes looked at him. “Sit down,” Jonathan said stiffly, tossing his head toward one of two leather chairs opposite the sofa. That particular symbolism did have meaning, Marni mused. The two chairs were well separated by a marble coffee table.
Marni took the seat near her father, leaving the one closer to her mother for Web. She sat back, folded her hands in her lap and spoke softly. “Brian and I are planning to get married. We’d like your support.”
“Why?” Jonathan asked baldly.
“Because we feel that what we’re doing is right and we’d like you to share our happiness.”
“Why now? It’s been fourteen years since you were first involved. Fourteen years is a long time for an engagement. Why the sudden rush to marry?”
Marni was confused. “We haven’t been seeing each other all that time. I hadn’t seen him since the day of the accident until three weeks ago when I went to his studio to be photographed.”
“But you’ve carried a torch for him all these years.”
“No! After the accident you forbade me to see him, so I didn’t. I forced myself to forget about him, to put what we had down to a seventeen-year-old’s infatuation, just as you said. It wasn’t a matter of carrying a torch, and I never dreamed he’d be the photographer when I stepped foot in that studio—”
“I was wondering about that, too,” Jonathan interrupted scornfully. “You were in favor of this magazine thing from the start—” his eyes narrowed “—and then to suddenly come up with the photographer who just happened to be the man you’d imagined yourself in love with—”
“It wasn’t that way at all!”
Web, who’d been sitting quietly, spoke for the first time. “Marni’s right. She had no idea I was—”
“I’m not talking to you,” Jonathan cut in, his eyes still on Marni.
Web wasn’t about to be bullied. “Well, I’m talking to you, and if you haveanythingto say to me, you can look me in the eye.”
Marni put out a hand. “Web, please …” she whispered.
He softened his tone, but that was his only concession. His eyes were sharply focused on Marni’s father. “I have pictures from that first photo session, one after the other showing the shock on Marni’s face. She knew nothing of the past identity of Brian Webster the photographer. No one does except your family and mine.”
Though Jonathan still refused to look at him, Adele did. Instinctively Web met her gaze. “Marni hadn’t been pining away for me any more than I’d been pining away for her. In hindsight I can see that she was special even back then. But it’s the woman I know today whom I’ve fallen in love with. And it’s the man I am today whom I think you should try to understand.”
“There’s not much to understand,” Adele returned. Her voice wasn’t quite as cold as her husband’s had been, but it was far from encouraging. “We firmly believe that had it not been for you our son would be alive today. Can you honestly expect us to let our daughter marry you, knowing that every time we look at you we’ll remember what you did?”
