Chapter 9 Helena #2
Ten minutes later, Raymond stopped in front of a historical-looking building on Fifth Avenue, and I got out, heading for the silver-gilded doorway.
With its light gray stonework, it didn’t look like company premises from the outside, but that was intentional.
My family’s business wasn’t reliant on passing trade, and it wasn’t in their nature to showboat.
The only thing that gave any hint to passersby of what the top two floors of the building contained was a discreet brass sign engraved with the words Weston Family Group.
I didn’t have to show my ID this time since the doorman recognized me—as did the receptionist, who’d worked for my family for years.
Without waiting for her to call my dad to ask if he was free, I made directly for his office.
On the way, I passed several other glass-fronted offices and was shocked to see many of them empty—no, they were sitting empty.
There were no personal items on the dark wooden desks, and everything seemed incredibly neat and tidy.
I knit my brow in confusion. I’d only ever known this place full of people, sitting at their desks or gathered in one of the conference rooms discussing current projects.
Did my parents have a new work-from-home policy?
Or were there fewer employees now than there had been two and a half years ago?
I put those questions aside for now. My dad’s office was at the end of the corridor; the door was open, and as I spotted his tall frame hunched over plans at a large conference table, my heart gave a joyful leap.
“Dad!” I shouted, running up to him and throwing myself into his arms.
“Len! Well, this is a surprise!” He gave me an enormous hug, beaming at me as he let me go, but there was concern in his eyes as he looked me up and down, and I could tell he was wondering whether it had been the right decision to allow me to come home.
But he didn’t mention it. “I’m so sorry not to have seen you before now—I only got back this morning. ”
“Don’t worry, nobody knew I was planning to show up a day early.” It was a move that had gone wrong on every level.
“Do you want coffee?” my father asked. “I have ten minutes before I have to leave for a meeting in Midtown.”
I nodded, happy that he could spare some time for me.
“Okay.” He picked up the phone and ordered two coffees from someone on the other end, and less than a minute later a young man with glasses arrived holding a tray.
We thanked him, and I stirred milk into mine before taking a sip.
My father wrapped his hands around his mug but didn’t drink, scrutinizing me instead.
“How are you, sweetie?”
“Good,” I replied as convincingly as possible. “I’m really happy to be back. And I’ve enrolled in college already; I’m starting the week after next.”
“That’s really great.” He beamed. “I’m glad you’re looking to the future.”
Yes, since Valerie died it was all about looking to the future.
Leaving the past behind. And maybe I would have been able to do that if Trish Coldwell hadn’t decided to embark on a witch hunt against my sister.
At the thought of Adam’s mother, I had a brief flashback to my encounter with Jessiah. But I didn’t give anything away.
“Dad, are you okay?” The dark rings under his eyes suggested he wasn’t—he looked done in, and sad, somehow. I almost asked him whether he was sleeping in Valerie’s old room, and if so, why, but it didn’t feel right to confront him with my suspicions so soon after we’d been reunited.
“Of course, honey.” He forced a smile. “I’m just a little tired; the last few days have been tough.”
“Because of the Winchester renovations?” I gestured at the plans on the conference table.
Dad’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know about Winchester?”
“You told us about it at Christmas,” I said. “You said it was hard to convince the decision-makers to keep hold of the buildings instead of tearing them down.”
“Yes, that’s right. I didn’t think you’d remember.
But don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” He nodded, and silence fell.
I cast around frantically for something harmless to talk about, but came up short.
This never used to happen. My relationship with my dad had been pretty close before Valerie died—ever since I was a kid, I’d been a real daddy’s girl.
But we hadn’t spoken much while I’d been in England, and now it seemed like neither of us really knew how to act around the other.
As if we didn’t know each other anymore.
“You know, I wasn’t eager about the idea of your coming back to New York,” he said at last, voicing what I’d seen in his eyes when I first arrived. “I think maybe it’s too soon.”
“It’ll be three years in May, Dad,” I reminded him. And anyway, I thought, though I didn’t say it, you guys are really doing everything in your power to stop me from doing anything stupid.
“You think three years is long enough to come to terms with the fact that your sister died?” I saw that combination of skepticism and worry on his face again.
“No,” I replied honestly. “But I don’t think her death should stop me from living here.” I said it firmly, with all the self-confidence I’d picked up in England. I didn’t want my father to think I was weak. Or anybody, for that matter. “I love New York, Dad.”
“Yes,” he sighed softly. “Just like her.”
“Just like you and Mom too,” I reminded him. “I miss Valerie, but I’ve also missed all of you over the last few years. Coming back means everything to me. Please, trust me—it isn’t too soon.”
“I’ll try, honey.” He nodded, and it seemed as though he wanted to say more, but then he glanced at his watch and stood up. “I have to get going. The planning commission folks are waiting for me. I’ll see you at home for dinner later?”
“Sure.” I nodded and followed him out of his office to the elevator.
We rode down in silence and said goodbye outside before he got in his car, parked directly in front of Raymond’s.
I watched him with a heavy heart and dark thoughts on my mind.
I didn’t expect everything to be the same as it was before Valerie died.
But my gut was telling me that more had changed in the last three years than just the bedroom on the top floor.
A lot more.
“I heard you signed up at Columbia today, Helena. What are you majoring in?” Paige was studying me from across the dining table.
“Psychology,” I replied shortly, skewering a piece of potato.
“What an interesting subject.” She was overdoing it a bit on the enthusiasm. “I took some courses in it last year.”
“Yeah, super interesting.” I popped the piece of potato in my mouth and tore my eyes from the double row of pearls she wore around her neck.
Which wasn’t easy, since they were practically screaming: Look at me; I’m an heirloom!
My sole purpose is to hang around my owner’s neck to prove she’s worthy of sitting at this table.
Paige Irvine was the daughter of my parents’ business partners and just as blond, pretty, and perfect as you might imagine.
Lincoln had started dating her only last summer, which was why I didn’t know her better, nor did I have any great desire to.
My brother’s dating life followed a strict pattern: he always gave his girlfriend the boot after six months and moved on to the next one, who in turn would get to spend a magical half year hoping he was serious about her.
There was no point getting friendly with Paige—her time at the table was nearly up.
“How’s it going with setting up your apartment, you two?” My mother interjected, noticing that I wasn’t about to continue the conversation.
Wait a second. Their apartment?
“Oh, fantastic,” Paige replied. “I ordered the curtains just last week, a beautiful green brocade material, not too heavy, it goes perfectly with the—”
“You’re living together?” I interrupted her, looking at my brother. Lincoln had been mostly silent throughout the meal, as usual. He’d always let Valerie and me do the talking before, and now he was doing the same with his girlfriend.
“Yes,” was all he said.
“As we should,” Paige continued proudly. “After all, we are getting married soon.”
“What?” I exclaimed, almost dropping my fork. At that moment I noticed the ring on her finger—my grandmother’s engagement ring, which had been set aside for Lincoln’s future wife since the day he was born. I stared at my brother, aghast. “You’re engaged? Are you crazy?”
“Helena, please,” my mother said firmly. “We don’t talk to one another that way in this house—and what a thing to say! ‘Congratulations’ would be more appropriate.”
But I hadn’t recovered from the shock. “Sorry, Mom, but I’m within my rights to be a little surprised, no? Since no one bothered to tell me Lincoln got engaged.”
Paige came to my brother’s defense. “He only asked me at New Year’s. And you were in England, so—”
I silenced her with a single look, secretly thanking my sister for teaching me how when I was about thirteen.
Then I smiled sweetly. “You’re not going to believe this, but there’s been this groundbreaking invention called the telephone.
You can use it to talk to people who are very far away. Even in England.”
Paige took a deep breath, but my father jumped in.
“Helena? Could you check to see if the dessert is ready, please?” He made it sound like a question, but it was clearly an order to leave the room and compose myself. In my family, there was no fighting at the dinner table, especially in front of guests.
I wanted to argue, but I was already on thin ice for asking my brother if he was crazy. Pushing it was a bad idea, since my being in New York hinged on my parents thinking that was a good idea.
So I got up and walked down the long hall to the kitchen, where our cook, Mary, was in the process of spooning something peach-colored into little crystal dishes.
She looked up and broke into a smile. “Everything okay with the entrées, Helena?”