Adam's Daughter Part 43

That was what she could do -- go to each of the newspapers. It was the perfect idea. She would be performing a vital task, but far away from Stephen's realm of influence.

The next day, Kellen picked up Tyler and they headed out to Napa. It was a cool cloudless spring day, and she had put the top down on the Rolls. She glanced over at Tyler, who was slumped in the pa.s.senger seat, his eyes hidden by sungla.s.ses.

"You don't mind the top down, do you?" she said.

Tyler didn't reply. He remained morose, so she gave up on conversation and concentrated on driving. She had hoped bringing Tyler along to Napa might snap him out of his depression over Mike Bierce.

Earlier in the week, Tyler had told her what had happened. He also said he had dropped out of his college art courses. She was beginning to worry about his state of mind.

"Tyler," she said, "did you get the invitation I sent you to the Black and White Ball?"

"I can't go."

"Why not?"

"I've had my fill of b.a.l.l.s lately," he said.

Kellen let the remark go. "This isn't the usual stuffy event," she said.

"And who would be my date?" he said. "I guess I could run down to Castro Street and find someone who'd look sweet in pink crepe. Would I need to buy a corsage? I'm so bad at these things. I wouldn't want to do the wrong thing and embarra.s.s you."

Kellen curbed her impulse to strike back. "You can come alone. I've saved you a place at our table. It would really make me happy if you'd come. We see so little of --"

"All right," Tyler interrupted. "All right. I'll go if you promise to drop the subject."

They barely talked the rest of the way. The weather grew warmer and the air sweeter the closer they got to Napa Valley.

The rolling hills of the vineyards rose up around them, an occasional discreet sign marking the entrance to a winery. Kellen spotted the squat stone tower that marked the beginning of the Bryant land and turned onto the property. She parked the car under a canopy of old trees, and she and Tyler got out. It was quiet except for the chirping of birds and buzz of cicadas.

On the grounds were several old stone buildings, one of which appeared to be a winery. The most striking one, however, was a Victorian home. It wasn't big, only two stories, with a widow's walk, but its sweeping veranda and perfect proportions made it an elegant miniature of a grand mansion. The house's dusty stained-gla.s.s windows stared out forlornly.

"This is lovely," Kellen said.

They went up onto the veranda and Kellen tried the door, but it was locked. "I guess we'll have to wait for the real estate agent," she said, perching on the railing. Tyler circled the veranda, peering into the windows.

"I'm glad you decided to come with me," Kellen said. "I don't know anything about real estate."

Tyler let out a rueful chuckle. "And I do?"

"Well, you can help me deal with this agent. We have to find out what this place could sell for."

Tyler sat down on the steps. "Why do we have to sell it after all these years?"

"Stephen needs the money for the newspaper."

"Ah, the newspaper."

There was a long silence. Tyler was sitting, arms propped on knees, staring out at the vineyards. Kellen sensed that he wanted to talk.

"Are you going to go back to art school?" she asked.

"No. I'm finished with that c.r.a.p."

"But what will you do?"

He reached up and moved his sungla.s.ses to wipe at his eyes. After a moment, he carefully readjusted the gla.s.ses. "I don't know," he said softly. "I don't know."

She thought about bringing up the idea of his coming to work at the Times again. She knew he would be dead set against it. "Well, next month, you'll be a rich man in your own right," she said.

Tyler let out a long sigh. "Did you ever think that maybe that's not such a good thing," he said. "The problem with being born rich is that you're already at the end, at the goal. Where do you go from there?"

Kellen heard the despair in his voice. "You could do anything you wanted, Tyler," she said.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. "No, I can't. Everything I've done in my life has been a hobby. I'm not the cause of anything, like Father was. I'm just another effect of what he did."

Before she could answer, a car pulled into the drive. The real estate agent greeted Kellen and Tyler, introduced herself, and went on for some time about how honored her company was to have managed the Bryant land for all these years. Finally, at Kellen's prodding, they started the inspection.

The agent led them through an old stable, where the air was filled with dust motes and the heavy sweet smell of hay. The winery still had much of its old equipment intact, including rows of ma.s.sive oak casks. They went out into the bright sun again, walking down the rows of gnarled grapevines. Kellen and the agent talked about how the valley was changing, with new growers moving in. There was talk among the vintners of starting an organization to promote California wines.

Back at the house, the agent unlocked the door, letting them in. It was cool and dark inside after the suns.h.i.+ne of outside, and Kellen's eyes took a few moments to adjust.

The rooms were small but with soaring ceilings and beautiful carved woodwork. There was a parlor with an octagonal bay window and a red marble fireplace. The dining room had two etched-gla.s.s gas chandeliers. The few pieces of furniture were covered with white dust cloths.

"Who lived here originally?" Kellen asked the woman.

"I'm told it was built by a German immigrant who bottled his own wine until he was wiped out by Prohibition," the woman said. "After your father bought it, he let the man stay here until he died." The woman ran a finger along the curving banister. "Ratty old place, isn't it."

Kellen nodded absently. She glanced around for Tyler but he had disappeared. She heard footsteps overhead and a moment later he came down the stairs.

"There's a claw-foot bathtub," he said. "And a concealed staircase."

"So, what do you estimate we could get for this?" Kellen asked the agent.

"Well, you've only got about a hundred acres here," the woman said. "And the buildings are worthless. You'd make the most by subdividing into five-acre plots for vacation homes. There's going to be a real boom here soon. Why don't we go back to the office and talk?"

Kellen followed the woman to the front door. She turned and saw Tyler, who was still standing in the center of the parlor. His face was bathed in the rainbow colors of the stained-gla.s.s window.

"Tyler, are you ready?" Kellen asked.

He lingered, staring up at the chandelier. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and followed Kellen to the door.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR.

Adele buzzed to let Kellen know that Clark was on the phone. Kellen wondered what he wanted. It was unlike him to bother her during the day when she was in her office.

"Can you spare me a minute?" he asked. "I'd like you to take a look at my column for tomorrow."

"Clark, I'd rather you talk to Stephen."

"I really want you to see this before it goes in, Kel."

She told him to come up and put down the phone, immediately wis.h.i.+ng she had not given in. She hated the idea of skirting Stephen, even with something as innocent as Clark's column. The last thing she needed now was another reason to upset him, especially after what had happened yesterday.

Tyler had called and shocked her by announcing he wanted to move into the old house in Napa.

"But why?" she had asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "All I know is that I felt at home there. Please, let me keep it."

"But what will you do there?"

He chuckled. "I saw a medium once who told me I was a shepherd in another life. Maybe that's what I'll do."

She feared Tyler's interest in the land was just another pa.s.sing fancy but he seemed so sincere she couldn't deny his wish. Stephen had taken the news hard but stoically.

Adele buzzed to say Clark was waiting. He came in and sat down. "I thought you should read this before I hand it in," Clark said, holding out a piece of copy paper.

She took it and began to read: ABLE CABLES: A tipster from Tiburon tells me that the British are coming - again. The Tiburon aerie of Garrett Richardson is being prepared for the press baron's homecoming. Has our adopted native son finally tired of the wormy Big Apple?

Kellen looked up at Clark. "Is this true?" she asked.

He nodded.

"How did you find out?" she asked.

"A guy who owns a cleaning service called me. Said he had been hired to open Garrett's house in Tiburon. It's being stocked with all the same stuff Garrett used to order, right down to the kind of wine he drinks."

"Is this all you know?" she asked.

When Clark nodded she looked away, covering her mouth with her hand.

Clark sat quietly, watching Kellen's face. "Kel, what is it?" he asked. When she wouldn't answer, he added, "Good Lord, you're not still in love with him, are you?"

She still said nothing.

"Are you going to see him?"

"No," she said quickly.

Clark leaned forward. "Kellen, maybe it's none of my business -- tell me if it's not -- but I think you should. I know how you felt about Garrett but it's been a long time. You've changed. He probably has, too. You should see him. If nothing else so you can put the past to rest."

She looked at him, dazed. "Clark, can we talk later?"

He rose. "Sure."

She held out the paper. "Go ahead and run the item," she said. "Everyone will know soon enough anyway. You might as well have the scoop."

After Clark left, Kellen leaned back in her chair, her eyes going to the picture of her children. They lingered on Sara. How could she put the past to rest when she was confronted by it every day in her daughter's face?

No, she would not see Garrett. It would only disrupt everything she had worked so hard to create all these years -- her family, her marriage, her life. It would disrupt everything.

Why was he coming back? What could he possibly want? She glanced down at the Times, still spread out before her on the desk.

It's the newspapers, she thought. Not me. The newspapers. That's what it was eight years ago. That's all it is now.

The realization left her somehow calmer, liberated. He wanted the newspapers and that was something she could defend. She thought suddenly of Ian and his recent threats to sell. She wondered if Ian had anything to do with Garrett's return. He had to. That was what this was all about. Ian and Garrett were in league again.

She realized suddenly she had forgotten to ask Clark if Stephen had seen the item yet. She had to talk to him now. It couldn't wait.

She took the elevator down to the newsroom. Stephen's door was open and he looked up in surprise when she walked in. It was rare for her to venture down to the newsroom. Then he noticed her expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shut the door behind her, sat down and took a deep breath. "Garrett's coming back," she said.

A quick look of apprehension flashed across his face and was gone. "How do you know?" he asked.

She told him about Clark's tip. "You know how Ian's been talking about selling," she said. "I think Garrett's coming back to make another run at the newspapers."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That's all it can be, Stephen." She paused, knowing what he was thinking. "It's not me," she said. "That was over a long time ago."

"And Sara?" he asked.

"He doesn't know about her," Kellen said.

"Will you tell him?"

"No," she said. "Sara has nothing to do with Garrett. She's our daughter."

The silence that followed was broken only by the muted noises of the newsroom. Stephen rose and, hands in pockets, walked slowly around his office. He paused before the window, looking out over the newsroom.

She watched him then rose and went over to him. "Don't worry," she said. "We'll fight them both, Stephen. There's no way Garrett will get the newspapers."

When she took his hand he looked at her. There was no way he could tell her that it wasn't the newspapers he was most worried about.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE.