He pressed her shoulders. “That’s my girl. I wouldn’t have scheduled the conference if I thought it would cause you a setback. George has assured me that you’re strong enough. In fact, he told me that the sooner you get back into the swing of things, the better you’ll feel.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Nothing. Dalton will deliver a brief eulogy to Mrs. Gaston. He’ll credit you with writing it, but he’ll read it. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty for the cameras. You can handle that, can’t you?”
“Of course she can,” Clete said expansively. “What time does she need to be downstairs?”
“Shortly before eleven. If you could stay with her until then, Clete, I’ve got some matters to attend to.” With that, David left the room.
“You should eat something, Vanessa.”
“I’m not hungry. I drank some orange juice earlier.” She crossed to the window and parted the drapes. “Daddy, I didn’t want to bring it up in front of David, but did I hear him mention Gray?”
“Unfortunately,” he grumbled. He had decided not to tell her about Bondurant’s reappearance on the scene and wasn’t at all happy that David had let it slip. “I hoped we’d seen the last of Rambo.”
“He’s here in Washington?”
“He was. By now, he’s probably tucked tail and gone slinking back to Wyoming.”
“You always hated him. You shouldn’t have. He was nice to me. I wish I could see him.”
“Let’s not argue about him, Vanessa.”
“What was he doing here? What brought him back?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“It can wait for another time. You’ve got plenty to deal with already.”
“I want to hear about Gray,” she demanded in a shrill voice.
Her composure was so tenuous, Clete obliged her. But only to a point. “I don’t know what brought him back,” he lied. “All I know is that he was in the company of Barrie Travis. I can’t think of a more hazardous combination. On the other hand, the two of them richly deserve each other.”
“How did Gray link up with her?”
“Who knows? What difference does it make? She’s as unethical as they come. Bondurant is… Why go into it, Vanessa? You know what a low opinion I have of him.”
“He’s not like you think, Daddy. Not at all. He—”
Clete laid his thick index finger vertically against her lips. “I don’t want to know, Vanessa.”
“But you have to know. I have to talk about it.” There were fractures in the beautiful mask the stylist had created for the press conference. Her blue eyes were riddled with emotional turmoil.
“Not now,” he said softly. “Later.”
“Things are so messed up. I’m messed up, aren’t I? David’s just pretending I’m well. But I’m not. You know it too, don’t you? I’m… cracked on the inside, aren’t I? I can feel it.”
“Shh, shh,” he said, drawing her close. Pressing her face into his lapel, he placed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “Listen to me, Vanessa. You’ve always trusted me to take care of things, haven’t you? Well, I’m still taking care of things. You’ve got to trust me. I’ll handle it. All of it. I promise. Okay?”
She pulled away. He gazed deeply into her eyes, hoping that his message would penetrate her confusion and the drugs in her system. Finally she nodded.
“Good. Now, go powder your nose,” he said cheerfully. “The First Lady of the U.S. of A. can’t appear on TV with a shiny honker!”
She headed to the bathroom, then turned back. “Will Spence be there this morning?”
“I suppose so. Why?”