The Daughters of Nightsong. V. J. Banis
his face, she could not rid herself of the uneasy feeling that stirred inside her.
“I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Nightsong. April talks about you all the time.”
“Oh? You have known April for some time then?”
“Since the beginning of the summer. We met in Chinatown.”
“I see.”
An awkward silence followed.
David cleared his throat and said, “I’m fond of April, Mrs. Nightsong. Extremely fond.”
“As am I,” Lydia said with a charming smile.
David swallowed hard and said, “We would like to consider ourselves engaged to be married.”
Lydia’s smile slowly disappeared. “I see.” She motioned toward the adjoining sitting room and moved toward it. “You realize, of course, Mr....”
“MacNair. David MacNair.”
“Mr. MacNair, that April....” Her voice stopped. “MacNair?” she said, whirling around to face him. “Peter MacNair’s son?”
“Yes,” David admitted.
“How dare you!” She glowered at April. “How could you encourage him knowing....”
“But I didn’t know,” April argued. “Not at first. And then when I learned, it didn’t seem to make any difference.”
Quickly David put in, “And it doesn’t matter, Mrs. Nightsong. April told me that you were not particularly fond of my father, but that’s something between you and him. I’m concerned about my life and that life includes April.”
“It most assuredly does not include April, young man, nor will it ever! Now kindly leave this house and you are never to see each other again. Is that understood?”
April clenched her fists and stood up to her. “No, that is not understood. I love David, and he loves me. All my life I’ve had to do what you want me to do. Well, I’m not going to anymore.” She grasped David’s hand. “David and I are going to be married whether you approve or not.”
Lydia stood with her spine stretched straight and taut, every nerve in her body tingling. She folded her hands in front of her and turning to David, said as calmly as she could, “My daughter is sixteen; you are not much older. I am certain your father would not condone this marriage any more than I do. If you are wise, young man, you will leave this house and put all of this nonsense out of your head.” She knew she was being cruel, but it was for April’s own good. A marriage into the MacNair household was unthinkable on both sides.
“As you can see for yourself,” Lydia said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “April is a Eurasian and as such is very susceptible to the attentions of those who are not.”
“Mother,” April gasped.
“Now kindly leave, Mr. MacNair. I suggest you go home and forget you ever met us. I intend to do everything possible for April to do the same.”
David and April looked helplessly at one another.
“Go!” Lydia ordered, pointing to the door.
He started away. April clung to his hand. “David,” she cried.
As he hugged her to him he whispered, “I’ll be waiting at the tea shop tomorrow.” He gave Lydia a cold nod and walked out of the house.
April collapsed into tears and fled up the stairs.
* * * *
Peter MacNair was blazing with anger when he burst into Lydia’s offices at Empress Cosmetics. Evelyn Clary jumped up from her desk and tried to block the door to Lydia’s private office, but Peter put his hands on her waist and lifted her easily out of the way.
“I know she’s in and I intend seeing her,” he said. He shoved open the heavy oak door and stormed into the office.
Lydia looked up sharply. When she saw who it was she threw aside the pen in her hand and said, “How dare you barge in here? Get out!”
“Not until I’ve given you a good piece of my mind,” Peter stormed.
Lydia picked up a book and threw it at him. “Get out of here.” The book almost hit Evelyn Clary who had come up behind Peter.
“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said. “I tried to keep him out.”
Peter grabbed Evelyn’s arm, turned her around and hurried her through the door, slamming it behind her.
Lydia had almost forgotten how handsome he was, now that she was seeing him up close again. Even his good-looking son paled in comparison. There were tiny age lines at the corners of Peter’s eyes and his face had a more worn look, but it only accentuated the flecks of rust in his eyes and the sandy brown hair that spilled over his forehead.
“Will you please leave?” Lydia ordered. “We have nothing to say to one another.”
“Like hell we haven’t.” He leaned on her desk, putting his face close to hers. She found his nearness unnerving but she held herself firm. She was sure she knew why he’d come. Knowing him, he’d use any excuse to see her, even the unhappiness of his son.
“How in the devil did you get to Andrieux?” he demanded.
Her eyes widened in surprise. She had been sure Peter had come about David and April.
“Get to him?” she said innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know perfectly well that I brought Raymond Andrieux here to work for P.M. Cosmetics.”
“My dear Mr. MacNair,” Lydia said imperiously. “I cannot be held accountable for any ex-employee of yours who finds himself dissatisfied with his employer and asks for employment elsewhere.”
“Did he duplicate the Empress’s perfume?”
“Nightsong.” Lydia gloated and said no more, leaving Peter to draw whatever conclusion he wished.
She felt wonderful. For years she’d wanted this moment when things were turned around and she held him at a disadvantage. Too often she’d been subjected to his villainy, his cruelties; now, she could understand the pleasure it must have given him to see her suffer.
A quickening of her pulse began as she thought of what would happen if he were again to take his revenge upon her. She recalled the brute strength of him when he made love to her, the animal prowess of his body, the ferocity of his passions, the marks his hands left on her skin as he held her hard on the bed.
“Then he’s already duplicated it?” Peter demanded.
But unlike Peter’s, Lydia’s joy in seeing him suffer began to fade. “No.” Was it possible, she wondered, for a woman to despise a man and want him at the same time?
Peter’s expression softened as he straightened. “You know, Lydia, instead of fighting each other we should join sides.”
“And with my perfume, become the biggest cosmeticians in the world,” she finished.
He laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, something like that.” He looked at her standing so tall and so lovely in the shaft of sunlight. “You are still the most ravishing woman I have ever seen, Lydia.”
“And I still have Nightsong and intend to keep it exclusively for myself, so kindly save your Scottish flattery for your wife.”
“You know perfectly well that I’d divorce Lorna tomorrow if you’d agree to marry me.”
She gave a little toss of her head and settled a steady gaze on him. “I told myself a long, long time ago, Peter, that I would never again put myself in a position where I would have to accept the terms dictated to me by a man—any man.”
“Any man?” Peter asked, pointedly.