for his son, profligate in all things. But, coming out into the drive to meet them, Bernadotte was gracious and hospitable, not at all what she had expected. He was in fact so far removed from his normal composure that Carey was reminded of a remark his mother had once made when he mentioned his father's tranquillity. “You didn't know him when he was young, darling,” she had said with a smile. “He was a very serious, pleasure-seeking man.”
Carey saw the unutterable charm today, the attentive courtesy and captivating social loquacity he'd never before witnessed. The courtly gallantry Bernadotte showed Molly and the two young girls was unconstrained, as though he hosted parties of young ladies every day. They were instantly captivated. As Molly and Carey followed Bernadotte and the two skipping young girls into the house, Molly quietly said, “I thought you said your father was reclusive.”
“He always has been,” Carey slowly replied, astonished by the sight of the trio before him, his father bending toward the chattering girls, responding to them in ways that made them squeal with laughter.
“He seems wonderful,” Molly said, watching her daughter's face glow with smiling delight, understanding where Carey had acquired his effortless charm.
“I told you he was anxious to meet you.”
“You also told me he never had company, except your mother.”
“Well, you're family now.”
“Does he know that?”
“It sure looks like it to me,” Carey replied with a grin. “I've never seen him so delighted in my life.” Taking Molly's hand in his, he began walking again, his dark gaze on the extraordinary sight of his tall, white-haired father entertaining two nine-year-olds.
“In that case, I can relax. We passed muster.”
“Darling, no one has to pass muster.” But in a curious way, Carey, too, felt relieved. Knowing his father's eccentric attitude toward company, Carey hadn't been altogether certain of the degree of warmth his father would exhibit. Apparently Bernadotte was as enchanted as he with his daughter and future wife. Since he had been deliberately reticent over the phone, Carey used their first quiet moment together to explain the situation to his father.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Bailey, suggested she show Molly and the girls their rooms, and Carey took the opportunity to speak with his father. They all agreed to meet at the pool for lunch.
A few moments later, Carey and his father sat over iced tea in the library. Both men relaxed in the soft comfort of worn leather chairs. Carey had kicked off his sandals the minute he sat down; the glazed tile fronting the terrace door felt cool on his feet.
“She's a beautiful woman,” Bernadotte said, thinking how perfect they looked together, golden beauty and youth. But more important he'd noticed how happy his son appeared, how he looked at Molly with a curious kinetic devotion, both volatile and ardent, like a fledgling young boy in love. This was dramatically different from the tolerant indulgence with which he'd viewed women over the years.
“The same one I spent my last summer with-before going out to U.S.C.”
“I thought she bore a remarkable resemblance to the photo you kept on your desk that summer.”
“And Carrie's my daughter.” There was a world of pride in his voice.
Without a modicum of surprise, Bernadotte casually said, “I thought so. She's very much your daughter-her face, her movements, and horse-mad, like you were at nine.”
“Perhaps it's genetic,” Carey said with the doting smile of a father.
“Perhaps,” Bernadotte replied softly, his smile nostalgic as he recalled his own youthful equestrian training under his father's tutelage. His father was patient and kindly to a young child, instilling in his son his own passion for riding. Something Bernadotte had, in turn, taught to Carey. And now his granddaughter had inherited their love of horses. “She has your hands. She'll be good.” It was as if he read Carey's mind.
“I was about to ask if you would help Leon with her first lessons.”
“Carrie and I have already agreed on five o'clock, after the heat of the day has passed.” He lifted his brow in indulgent amusement. “She's insistent, just like you.”
“Do you mind?”
“Of course not, can't abide tractable people. I would have known she was yours blindfolded. She has the same decisive way of making a question a foregone conclusion. And the inflections in her speech… I wouldn't have thought it possible to inherit those patterns, but-” He raised his tall crystal tea glass. “Thank you for a delightful granddaughter. I had, quite frankly, given up hope.”
“You knew my feelings on Agent Orange.”
“Yes… apparently you didn't know of her existence?”
“No.” And then Carey filled his father in on the bizarre set of circumstances which had transpired, making Molly and Bart unaware of Carrie's paternity.
“You're a very lucky man,” his father said at the conclusion of Carey's explanation.
“I know, and it makes this search for Egon doubly frustrating. Going off and leaving Molly and Carrie behind is difficult… unsettling.” He looked across the small distance separating them, thinking how little his father had changed over the years, knowing he'd done the right thing bringing them here. “It's the hardest choice I've ever had to make, but I can't leave Egon out in the cold. You know what Rifat's like.” In short, brusque sentences, Carey described his fear at seeing Ceci at the press conference, and his subsequent dash to the Merchandise Mart to find Carrie and Lucy safe only because of their own resourcefulness.
“They'll be safe here,” Bernadotte assured him. “The surveillance cameras are quite effective, as is the monitoring equipment.” Bernadotte preferred his privacy, and had developed a highly sophisticated electronic barrier around his estate as more of a hobby than a necessity.
“Do you have any idea where Egon might be?”
“My guess is he's making for his retreat in Jamaica. Since his villa is a mile up the mountain beyond the main road, Egon has this peculiar notion he's entirely hidden. Like a child covering his eyes who says, ‘You can't see me.' I've never been able to convince him otherwise, and frankly never had the heart to disillusion him further. And perhaps the major attraction is the availability of drugs there. He'll be strung out-on fear and heroin. Not a difficult person to follow, I'm afraid. Rifat should be hot on his heels, but I may be able to beat him there by a few hours and meet Egon at the airport, a flight or so ahead of Rifat's men. I'm taking a chance by going directly to Jamaica, but Rifat will have to pick up his trail. I should be ahead of him, and if I'm lucky, Egon and I should be back here late tomorrow night, or early the following morning.”
Bernadotte absorbed all the detail, offering no unwanted advice. “What explanation have you given Carrie?”
“None so far. We're here to see her new birthday horse.”
“And Molly is amenable to your leaving and going after Egon? Surely Sylvie must have caused an irritable ripple or two.” Bernadotte had never lacked for female company until he'd married Carey's mother, and he understood the subtleties of jealousy. And although he'd politely avoided Sylvie during her marriage to his son, he knew that Sylvie was difficult, thoroughly selfish, and rude.
“Between Sylvie and Molly's ex it was a toss-up on boorish behavior, but I think Molly's reconciled to my going. Reconciled-but reticent. I'm counting on you to take her mind off my absence. You'll enjoy her. She's outspoken, like Mother.”
“Ah… so I have a reluctant-”
“Fiancйe,” Carey finished. “We're to be married as soon as she says the word.”
“And when do you anticipate that?” Although Bernadotte's question was mildly put, the novelty of Carey pursuing rather than being pursued amused him. He decided Molly was very bright.
“She dislikes all the publicity surrounding my life.”
“Truly?” His brows rose in skepticism. In his experience, women sought the spotlight.
Carey sighed. “Sincerely.”
“An interesting conundrum for you, no doubt,” Bernadotte replied softly and, in a thoughtful aside, asked, “How does your daughter feel about publicity?”
Carey grinned. “It's in the genes. She adores the photographers, wants a date with Chachi from
“Ah, a sweet child,” Bernadotte cheerfully observed. “And can
