Priceless. Nicole Richie
ended it with a preposition. I can’t continue this conversation.” But he was smiling.
Charlotte put down her glass and reached for his hand. Jacob pulled her up, held her in the curve of his arm, and started to dance.
She grinned up at him as they moved slowly into the hall, dancing gravely.
“The lovely girl … the lovely day … ”
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, Jacob dipping Charlotte low as they finished the song together. Then he pushed her toward the stairs.
“Go to bed, little one. Get your beauty sleep, not that you need to be any prettier, Lord knows.”
He watched until she was out of sight, then closed his eyes, trying to hold the image. Decisively, he turned and headed back to the study. It was morning in Tokyo, and there really is no rest for the wicked.
Jacob was long gone when Charlotte came down to breakfast the next day. Sipping her latte, she wandered around the apartment.
“Looking for me, Charlotte?” Greta surprised her. She’d caught Charlotte watching the young man she’d seen the day before, who was deliciously bent over, repairing something in the kitchen. “Admiring my new appliances?”
“Is that what you call him?” Charlotte kept her voice low, but Greta raised hers.
“Watch out, Andy, the mistress of the house is after you.”
He straightened, turning around to regard his audience. Broad grin. White teeth. Dark skin.
“You know my heart belongs to you, Greta.”
“I know, but she’s new in town.”
Charlotte protested. “I’m not really new, I’m just back again.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you missed the memo. Young and pretty is out, older and wiser is in.” He grinned at Greta and turned back to work.
Greta walked out, crooking her finger at Charlotte as she did so. They went into the conservatory, with its curving glass walls overlooking Central Park. It was winter still, and the warmth of the room and the tangle of exotic plants felt surreal against the background of ashen trees below.
“Now, listen here, Charlotte.” Greta had been with the Williams family since before Charlotte was born, and she had become another mother to Charlotte after her own had died. “You keep your hands off Andy. He’s a man, like any other, and likely to get his head turned by you, but he’s happily married, with two small children, and you have no interest in any of that. Leave him alone.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean, Greta.”
The older woman snorted. “Please. I’ve seen the kind of trouble you can cause. Burning down a building was comparatively civilized for you.”
Charlotte was offended. “Greta, you’re exaggerating.”
“I am not. We went through three pool boys at the summer house one year. And you were only seventeen, so Lord alone knows what you could do now that you have more experience.”
Charlotte giggled. “Yes, that was a great summer.”
Greta looked firm. “For you, it was fun; for them, it was a disaster. Some people need to work, you know.”
Charlotte was unbowed. “Look, Greta, I didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do. They weren’t much older than I was. We were just having fun.”
“Hmm. Well, my point is that you’re not seventeen anymore, and people like Andy have responsibilities beyond protecting rich young women from sunburn and over-chlorinated swimming pools.”
Charlotte put up her hand. “OK, Greta, I get it. I hear you. No messing with Andy. You have my word.”
“That and a MetroCard will get me anywhere. Promise?” “I promise.”
Greta looked at her for a moment. “Are you looking forward to going back to Yale in the fall?”
Charlotte thought about it. “No, not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t find the studies very interesting, and because people are going to remember the whole stupid building thing. I wish I’d gone to Juilliard instead.”
“To study singing?”
The younger woman nodded. “I don’t think I would make the same decision now.”
Several years earlier, at the ludicrously expensive private school Charlotte had attended, the college counselors had been discouraging about Charlotte’s chances of a musical career. “The kids who go to Juilliard are going to be professional musicians,” they’d said. “You don’t have a classically trained voice. You’ve been gaining a traditional education. If you wanted to be a musician, you should have gone to a music school. No, Miss Williams, you should consider your voice a wonderful gift from God, something lovely to share with your future husband and children. Have you considered medicine? Or the law? A law degree could offer you freedom to follow multiple careers. Yale is an excellent school. Think about Yale.”
Embarrassed, Charlotte had shut down, taken the information about Yale, filled out the paperwork, and let the school handle the whole thing. Unsurprisingly, Yale had accepted her sight unseen, the historical relationship between the two schools as strong and preferential as ever.
“Have you been to see Janet yet?”
Charlotte smiled. “I’m going later this morning. We’re going to do a lesson and then have lunch.”
Janet was Charlotte’s voice coach and one of the limited number of people Charlotte felt truly comfortable with. You wouldn’t think to look at Janet, in her Stevie Nicks handkerchief hemlines and general love of the witchy look, her long gray hair defiantly undyed and untamed, that she was one of the leading music teachers on the East Coast, but she was. She guided many members of the Philharmonic, frequently held master classes for members of the Metropolitan, and taught the talented children of the wealthy. Charlotte loved her.
“In fact, I’d better go get dressed right now.” She turned back at the door. “I think there’s a leak in my shower. Do you think Andy could come and take a look?”
Greta opened her mouth to chastise her but then realized she was teasing. Charlotte headed upstairs, still giggling.
Greta sat for a while, thinking. She wasn’t sure what was going to become of Charlotte, to be honest. She had so much—looks, money, opportunity. But to Greta, Charlotte would always be the sobbing seven-year-old, calling for Mommy in the night, her father too anguished to hear. A few weeks after Jackie had been killed, a nanny had arrived, found by Greta, and Miss Millie and Greta had raised the girl between them. Jacob was a doting father, but he spent all his time at work. And something had changed in him when Jackie had died. Greta saw it; so did Davis. Miss Millie had been a wonderful nanny, though, very loving and firm, and Charlotte had recovered and eventually started to flourish. Seven years of relative peace had passed, but then one of Millie’s own children had needed her back in Louisiana, and she’d had to leave. Charlotte hadn’t ever really gotten over the loss, and Greta missed her colleague and friend, too. Early in Charlotte’s teen years, things had started to go badly, with boys and God knows what else. It was hardly surprising; there was no one there to set an example, although Greta had done what she could. Now Charlotte was a young woman, and there wasn’t much Greta could do to protect her anymore.
In fact, there wasn’t anything anyone could do.