Tempest in Eden

"Where do you live?" he asked at last, as if to fill the silent void.

"In Woodville, near Greenwich. It's small. Mostly commuters to New York live there."

"What do you do?"

His eyes were incredibly blue, and she found it hard to keep her mind on the subject. "Do?" she repeated, distracted. The doltish vagueness in her voice yanked her back into the present. "Do? Oh, I work in a gallery. We carry inexpensive works of art, decorating items, things like that."

"In Manhattan?"

"No, in Woodville. When I have to go to the city, I drive to Greenwich and take the train. But that's only once or twice a week."

"Once or twice a week? What takes you to New York once or twice a week?"

"I—"

She was cut off by the loud blaring of an automobile horn. They turned simultaneously to see a Mercedes sedan coming to a stop beside Ian's station wagon. As Shay watched, a silver-haired man got out of the driver's side, came around to the passenger side, and offered his hand to Celia. Her mother smiled happily as she took her husband's hand. He planted a soft kiss on her mouth before ushering her toward the back door.

Ian was there to greet them, holding the screen door open. "I thought my hostess and host had abandoned me," he said, slapping his father on the back. "Hi, Dad. Celia," he said more gently, leaning down to kiss her proffered cheek.

"Sorry we're so late getting back. Celia had an extensive grocery list. I hope you're hungry." John Douglas's eyes swept the room until they lighted on Shay. "Hello. You must be Shay."

"Darling, I'm so glad you came." Her mother extricated herself from John's arms and hurried to embrace her daughter. "How are you?"

"Fine," Shay said into her mother's soft, carefully coiffed brown hair. She hugged her gently and gazed down into a face that reflected deep joy. Smiling broadly, she said, "I don't need to ask how you are. You're positively radiant."

"And all because of John," her mother said in the soft voice of an enthralled young girl. Stretching out her hand to clasp his, she pulled him forward. "John, this is my daughter Shay."

With no compunction, he took both her hands in his and let his eyes, a disturbingly familiar blue, roam freely over her face. "Shay, you're as beautiful as your mother." He kissed her on the cheek. "Forgive an aging man his impatience, but I was so eager to give my name to your mother, I wouldn't allow her the time to organize a formal wedding."

Shay smiled warmly at him. "You've made her very happy. I'd rather be a witness to that than the exchanging of vows."

"She's brought me more happiness than I ever thought to know again. You're welcome in our home anytime."

"Thank you."

He squeezed her hands once more before releasing them and turning toward Ian. "I see that you've met my son."

"Yes," Shay said, her eyes dancing with reawakened mischief. "I already feel like I know him very well."

"I'm so glad," Celia gushed. "John and I wanted the two of you to become close friends."

"You'd be amazed at how close I feel to him," Shay replied meaningfully. Her mother glanced at her warily, and Shay was immediately contrite. She knew that her impish grin and salty tone alerted Celia that she was up to something. Having seen first-hand the happiness this marriage had brought her mother, she didn't want to do anything to spoil it. Putting her devious bent aside, she said humbly, "Ian and I were having a nice getting-acquainted discussion when you drove up."

"Yes," Ian said. After a significant pause he added, "We were discussing how one's conscience should be one's guide."

"Oh!" Shay choked on her coffee in startled outrage, her head coming up with a snap. She glared at him. "My conscience isn't one bit offended."

"Then maybe you should examine your morals."

"Ian…" John Douglas began uneasily.

"Oh, dear," said Celia. "And I was so hoping—"

"My morals are in great shape," Shay retorted, tilting her head back to look directly into Ian's face.

"You couldn't prove it by me."

"I don't need to prove anything to you," she snapped. She barely heard her mother's plea to calm herself. "I've never put much merit in the narrow-minded, pious, petty opinions of self-righteous prigs like you." Her breasts heaved with anger as she stared up into his chiseled face, gone hard with rage. "Excuse me," Shay said, moving swiftly toward the door. "I'm going to shower and change before dinner."