All he had to do now was make sure he wasn’t the one who got burned.
CHAPTER TWO
Her parents!
What on earth was she going to tell her parents about this move? Gabrielle thought with a dawning sense of horror as she listened to her mother cheerfully rattling on about the tea party she’d attended the previous afternoon in one of the gracious old houses overlooking Charleston Harbor.
“I do so love that part of town. I don’t know why your father won’t consider moving. I suppose it’s because this old house has been in his family for generations. I’m all for preserving family history, but is it necessary to live in it? Oh, well, if he won’t, he won’t. Did I mention that Townsend was there?”
When Gabrielle didn’t respond, her mother prodded, “Gabrielle, dear, are you there?”
“What?”
“Is something wrong, dear?”
“No, of course not, Mother.” She injected a note of cheery bravado into her voice. “Everything’s just fine. What were you saying about Mrs. Lane’s tea party?”
“I was telling you that Townsend stopped in. He asked how you were,” she said pointedly.
“That’s nice.”
“Don’t you want to know how he is, dear?”
“Not particularly.”
“Gabrielle!”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. Of course, I want to know how he is.”
“He misses you, dear. I’m sure of it, even though…”
“Even though what, Mother?” she responded on cue.
“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you, but since you ask, he’s been seeing Patricia Henley.”
“That’s nice. I’m sure she’s much more suited for life with Townsend than I ever was. She actually likes those awful horses of his.”
There was an audible gasp on the other end of the line. “Gabrielle, what is the matter with you? It’s not like you to be so sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. Townsend is happiest on the polo field, as you perfectly well know. Patricia adores horses. She’s been riding since she was five.”
“We gave you riding lessons,” Elizabeth Clayton said stiffly, her voice filled with hurt.
“And I hated them. You didn’t fail me, Mother,” she said more gently. “You and Father offered me an opportunity to learn all of the social graces. Can I help it if I preferred the Wall Street Journal?”
It was a tedious and all-too-familiar conversation. It did, however, serve as an excellent delaying tactic. Any minute now her mother would hang up in a huff.
Coward! The accusation nagged at her. “Mother,” she began, interrupting further news of Townsend. “Mother, I really do have to go. I’m busy packing.”
“Packing? Where are you going, dear? You haven’t mentioned a trip. Are you coming home?” she inquired, her voice suddenly excited. “Oh, it will be so good to see you. Your father and I miss you terribly. We worry about you up there in that awful, dangerous city.”
Guilt was now added to cowardice. “Actually, no, I’m not coming home. I’m…” Blurt it out, Gabrielle! “I’m moving.”
“Oh, are you? It’s about time.” Whatever disappointment her mother was feeling that Gabrielle was not coming home was now tempered by swift and obvious relief. “I’ve always thought that apartment of yours was much too small. Whoever heard of living in a single room? I don’t care if it is on Park Avenue, that apartment doesn’t suit someone of your background. Why, the closet in my bedroom is bigger than that.”
That was certainly true enough. It had been specially built to accommodate Elizabeth Clayton’s designer wardrobe, which included enough hats to supply every woman who turned out for the annual Fifth Avenue Easter Parade. It was not that her mother was a frivolous woman. She simply needed the trappings to feel secure in Charleston’s more elite social circles, from which she’d once been excluded. Gabrielle had learned long ago to tolerate the excesses, since her father actually enjoyed them. It gave him frequent opportunities to indulge his still-beautiful and adoring wife. He’d learned to his chagrin that similar gifts were wasted on his daughter. She preferred lessons in financial management and subscriptions to business magazines.
“The new apartment is larger,” Gabrielle said cautiously, hoping that would be enough information to appease her mother’s curiosity. If her mother even suspected the existence of a man like Paul Reed, she’d be on the next flight to New York, clucking over her endangered chick.
“Two bedrooms in fact,” Gabrielle added.
“How wonderful! Your father and I will come for a visit soon, now that you have room for us. Tell me all about it. Where is it? Is it a new building, one of those skyscrapers? I’m sure the view must be quite spectacular.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Gabrielle hedged, already regretting the impulsive disclosure. She couldn’t very well explain that the second bedroom was going to be very much occupied or that the building predated her birth and quite possibly her mother’s. Mentioning that it was in Brooklyn would definitely arouse more discussion than she could possibly cope with.
“It will take me a while to get settled and do some decorating.” Talk about understatements. “I have to go now, Mother. Give my love to Dad. I’ll call you soon.”
“But, dear, you haven’t given me the new address or phone number.”
“I’ll call you with it later. The phone’s not even installed yet. Bye, Mother. I love you.”
She hung up quickly, before her mother could force her to divulge any more details. Her mother could have been used by the military. She had ways of extracting
