“Eden,” Royce snorted. “That name of yours, it’s absurd. It makes me shudder every time I think of it. I do hope none of the past gets raked up. However, the tabloids are sleazy and always looking out for cheap thrills. I don’t think Sydney plans on speaking of the past, Lindsay, because it would hurt her, and she knows I don’t want her to be hurt. She’s had too much pain to bear already because of what you did.” He turned to Sydney. “Are you set on doing this modeling?”
“We need the money,” Sydney said matter-of-factly. “And Arden will pay buckets, so Demos tells me. Besides, Italy is boring and too far from home. A real live princess is out of the ordinary, Demos says. And one who doesn’t look like a dog without makeup is evidently priceless. Since his percentage depends on how much he can squeeze out of them, he’ll do his best.”
Royce nodded. “I’m still not sure about this. I hope you’re right. I trust you won’t claim any relationship to Lindsay. I don’t want all that garbage raked up again. I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”
“My suffering is over, Father, I promise.”
Royce still looked uncertain. He looked toward a portrait of Gates, painted in 1964. Stylish, cold, so sure of herself and her dominance over him. “God, that old woman will live forever, Holly’s correct about that.”
Lindsay drank more of her soda water to keep her mouth shut. Then she heard herself asking, “Will you, Sydney? Tell people who I am?”
Sydney smiled. “Father’s right, you know. Eden is such a junky name, so silly really, like a kid playing grown- up. Maybe what you need is to have the air cleared, face up to the past and just laugh. Maybe that would really give your career a needed boost. Perhaps I can help you. Then again, perhaps not.”
Judge Royce Foxe laughed and lightly tapped his fingers on Sydney’s cheek. “I’ve always loved your sense of humor, you damned little tease.”
“Let’s have dinner,” Holly said, and jumped to her feet. She really had gained weight, Lindsay noticed. At least fifteen pounds. Just like her mother. She watched Holly stop in front of a mirror just beside the door, a mirror that hadn’t been there before.
“I don’t know what to do, Grandmother.”
It was the next afternoon. Summer fog was thick, blurring the scenery outside the hospital window. It felt cozy and warm in here, protected.
“Well, at last you’re ready to tell me what’s been making you fidget all over my room for the past hour! What is it?”
“I don’t like to burden you, truly—”
“I’m bored, Lindsay, just plain bored. Give me a problem, give me something to think about, something to focus on, so my brain won’t rot.”
“Sydney is going to be a model. Like me.”
“That’s absurd!”
“No. She even told Father last night. He was unsure about it, but she talked him around. Did you notice that Holly’s gaining weight?”
“She’s also drinking more. Yes, I know, just like your mother. But about Sydney. Why is she doing it?”
“She told Father she needs money.”
“All right, why do you care?”
Lindsay could feel the cramping in her belly as she forced the words out. “People will figure out who she is really fast and she’ll tell them who I am and it will all start over again. That’s why I’m Eden. I don’t have a last name, I don’t have Lindsay Foxe’s identity in New York. I’ve been safe the past year.”
Gates Foxe didn’t say anything. She stared at her granddaughter.
Lindsay kept talking, unable to keep the words inside. “She’ll do it in such a way that everyone will think that I seduced the prince, that it was all my fault, that I was some kind of slut and a pervert.”
“No, my dear. Actually, Lindsay, she won’t say a word.”
“But you didn’t hear her last night! I don’t know what to do! I’ve tried to plead with her and—”
“How can you be so stupid? One never pleads with Sydney, it’s a waste of time. She despises weakness. I’m surprised you haven’t ever realized that before. Of course, to be fair, you haven’t been around her all that much. There are nine years between you. But with Sydney, my dear, it’s pure and simple reason that works, reason and self-interest, nothing else, and that reason must be bottom-line. Sydney has had to deal with quite a lot on her plate, too much, I’d say, for someone weaker than she. But there it is. She copes and she succeeds at what she does. She sets a course and doesn’t go off on a tangent. She also enjoys tormenting you. You’re a wonderful target for her, just as your mother was before you, because you care about feelings, your own and others’. She doesn’t.”
“But by speaking of Paris and Alessandro, she would be hurting herself as well, wouldn’t she? I don’t understand why she would even consider doing it.”
“You were correct the first time. You would be the one to come out looking like a Lolita. Sydney is so bright it sometimes frightens me. If she chose to speak of what happened in Paris, why, then, you would look like a conscienceless little slut, and Sydney would come out the brave wife/martyr and everyone would praise her and adore her.”
“I’ve got to stop her. I can’t deal with it again.”
“So you have dealt with it, then. Is that why you majored in psychology? I thought so. Something so juicy is difficult to keep buried.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“A thought, but impractical, my dear. No, Lindsay, I will deal with Sydney. You don’t have the ability to do it. At least not yet. Yes, leave her to me.”
The following afternoon Sydney came into Lindsay’s bedroom. She looked beautiful, immaculate, chic. She looked angry, but when she spoke, it was with rueful amusement.
“You’ve won this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You got Grandmother to do your dirty work for you. I won’t tell anyone about you, that’s the deal. You can continue being wholesome Eden with your sweet smile. Oh, sure, the media will find out who I am almost immediately and I’ll be bugged about Alessandro and about Paris and about what really happened. But I won’t give you away, little sister. But know this, I will outshine you, Lindsay, don’t doubt it. Give me six months and you’ll be a has-been.”
Lindsay wasn’t really listening. She wondered what her grandmother had used as bottom line to ensure Sydney’s silence. Self-interest, she thought. That meant money.
10
It was late October and the leaves were turning. Central Park was never more beautiful than in the fall. Lindsay toed aside yellow leaves from red ones as she walked from the East Side to the West on her way to meet Gayle Werth at their Mexican restaurant on Seventy-first Street.
The air was crisp, cool, and she was working up a light sweat walking.
She heard some children and raised her head. They were arguing over a toy truck, pulling and tugging at it. Two mothers stood in close conversation, paying them no heed. Lindsay smiled and continued, saying nothing. They were cute kids. And the thought she hated came to her then, with no warning: I’m twenty-six years old. I’m terrified of men. I’ll never marry and have children.
Just stop it, she told herself, kicking a large pile of brittle leaves out of her way. Just stop it, you stupid fool. Your life is fine, wonderful, no problems, no hassles. You’re handling things just fine. And indeed, the past two years had been something of a marvel for both her and her half-sister, when one looked at it from a certain point of view.
Sydney, La Principessa, was seen everywhere, not only in magazines, on television, but also at the biggest society bashes in New York. As for the prince, he was never around. “In Milan, running the family business, the dear,” Sydney would say in a wistful sort of way. “I get away to see him and my darling daughter whenever I can.
