The creamy roses in Daisy's arms were exquisite and obviously expensive, but revulsion surged through her as she looked at them. She wanted them gone. Why had the woman given them to her, she wondered uneasily. She didn't understand the gesture any more than she understood Cynthia Hayes. "I doubt it." She quickly dropped the bouquet on the prop table in the wings. "She looks more like the veal Orloff type to me."
"Don't you know her?"
"She's Jason Hayes's ex-wife."
"Oops! Then 1 guess you don't want these roses sitting around in your dressing room."
She glanced at him. "Why do you say that?"
"I saw the photo in the Journal. You're clear as water, Eliza Doolittle." He kissed her cheek. "You don't need any more flowers anyway. Your dressing room already looks like a flower garden. I noticed someone even sent you a bottle of wine."
She nodded. "Roderer Cristal. It arrived just before I went on stage. I don't know who sent it. I couldn't read the scrawl on the card."
"Then it must have been Eric. His writing could baffle the guys who deciphered the Rosetta Stone. Shall I pick you up and take you to Eric's party after I get dressed?"
"No, I'm rather tired. I think I'll rest awhile before I change. You go on without me."
"Okay." He started down the corridor toward his own dressing room, his step springy with jubilation. "Though Lord knows how you can be tired on a night like this. We're a hit!"
A faint smile touched Daisy's lips as she proceeded down the corridor to her own dressing room. She knew how he felt. And now that she had rid herself of those blasted roses, her own exhilaration and anticipation were soaring.
Jason had been in the audience tonight. He had seen and heard her make his dream a reality.
And if he had been in the audience, surely he would take the next step and come backstage.
She opened the door of her dressing room and wrinkled her nose as waves of fragrance assaulted her. Kevin was right, the scent of blossoms was overpowering and the room did resemble a flower garden. Still, a romantic rendezvous in a flower garden wasn't a bad idea at all. She had the setting, now she only needed the costume.
The costume she had chosen was a white satin gown that bared and framed her shoulders, hugged her waist and hips before cascading into rows of heavy gleaming petaled skirts like that of a flamenco dancer. The bodice revealed the curves of her upper breasts and she let her hair flow down her back with only two jeweled combs to confine it.
Costume and setting. But where was the male lead?
She drew a deep breath to try to still the butterflies in her stomach. What did she do now? All dressed up and no one to see her. Jason would come, she assured herself desperately. It hadn't taken her more than twenty minutes to dress, and the reporters had probably surrounded him directly after the performance.
She crossed to the vanity, opened the bottle of wine, and poured a little into the goblet on the tray. She needed all the warmth and bolstering she could gather. If Jason didn't—
A knock sounded at the door and she hurriedly set the goblet of wine down on the vanity. She ran across the room and threw open the door.
Jason, dark, powerful, elegant in his black and white tuxedo, stood there.
"Hello." She sounded like a breathless child, she realized with disgust. "Come in, Jason."
He didn't move. He just stood gazing at her. "You look—" He broke off, pulling his gaze away from her smooth shoulders rising from the white satin frame of the gown. "Exquisite."
"My first designer gown." She closed he door behind him. "For Eric's party. Are you going?"
"No."
"Why did I know that would be your answer?" She moved swiftly across the room toward the vanity. "Wine? It's a fantastically good year. It's one of my opening night gifts."
"No, thank you," Jason said haltingly. "I'm here, Daisy. What do you want?"
More than she was brave enough to tell him yet. "I want you to tell me I was everything you wanted in Desdemona."
"That's easy. You were Desdemona." He looked away from her. "I sat in that audience and you gave me gift after gift until my cup ran over. Is that all?"
"No." She cleared her throat. "But you did that very well. Here's the big one. I want you to tell me I'm everything you want in a woman."
He went still, his gaze flying back to her face. "What brought this on?"
" 'Charlie's Song.' "
"Gratitude."
"Oh, yes." A smile made her face radiant. "I'm very grateful."
"All right, now you've said it. But what I told Eric was true. I did it for Charlie, not you."
"That isn't the point. The important thing is that you did it at all." Her face glowed with eagerness. "Don't you understand? It would take an extraordinary man to go to these lengths just to give a man his dying wish. I knew that something was wrong, that I had to have misunderstood what happened between us."
"Stop looking at me like that," he said hoarsely. "And don't make me out to be some kind of saint. I did only what I wanted to do."
"But what you wanted to do was wonderful." She smiled hesitantly. "And that makes you pretty wonderful too."
"The hell it does."
She drew a deep breath and then said in a rush, "I want you to tell me you care about me."
"Of course I care about you. We once had a relationship, and it's always difficult to rid ourselves of emotional baggage when it's ov—"
"Don't do this." Daisy's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I need you to help me."
Jason made a low sound beneath his breath and started to turn away from her. "I don't think we have any more to talk about. Can I drop you at Eric's on my way home?"
"No." She whirled and stared numbly at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked pale and strained, and she felt beaten. She had hoped for so much more. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe he didn't care for her in any permanent fashion. She reached out blindly, lifted the glass of wine to her lips, and sipped it. "I don't think I'll go to the party after all."
"Of course you'll go," he said roughly. "This is your night to celebrate."
"Celebrate?" She hurled the goblet onto the floor and whirled to face him. "Why aren't you celebrating? This is your night more than mine. Why the devil are you going back to Connecticut?"
"I can't do— What the hell is wrong?"
She was swaying, she realized with panic. She was suddenly ice cold and her lungs were starved for air. "I don't feel—" She was falling. What was happening?
"Daisy!" Jason's pale face swam above her as he caught her in his arms, braced her. "What is— My God!" He wasn't looking at her but at something on the vanity—the bottle of wine. His hands closed on her shoulders as he stared down at her. "The wine. Who sent you that damn wine, Daisy?"
She couldn't answer, her throat felt frozen, the words came out in a croak. "I don't know . . . couldn't read . . . scrawl ..."
Then she pitched forward into icy darkness.
She was cold. So cold. She huddled into a ball to try to shut out the chill.
"Shhh." Jason's low agonized voice. "Don't cry. I can't stand it. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me how to help you."
She hadn't known she was crying. She opened her eyes to see Jason's face above her. "Cold."
He immediately drew the sheet higher up around her. White sheets; stark, antiseptic cleanliness. A hospital. That's right she was ill. . . .
"Better?" Jason asked hoarsely.
Poor Jason. His eyes were glittering, his expression tormented. How she wished she could help him. He looked so alone. He was alone. Why had she never realized how terribly alone and isolated he was?
"No," she whispered. "Hold me."
His hand tenderly brushed through the thickness of her loosened hair lying on the pillow. "I shouldn't . . . You need to sleep."
She shook her head and held her arms out to him. "Hold me."
He stood up and slid onto the narrow hospital bed beside her, his arms clasping her close. Her hair was caught bene
ath his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against her cheek. Then, incredibly, she felt something warm and moist on her temple.
"No," she murmured, her arms tightening around him protectively. "Don't be sad. I'll take care . . . of you."
"Will you?" His voice was unsteady as his lips tightened. "I think that should be my job, love." His lips brushed her cheek. "Don't worry, just go to sleep. You're going to be fine."
She wanted to tell him she had to worry if he was in trouble. Didn't he know that was what love was all about? Perhaps he didn't know. He was so guarded and alone. In her own hurt and unrest she hadn't realized how sad he was in his loneliness.
"Stay with me," she whispered. She was too tired to help him now, but as soon as she woke up she would take care of him. ...
"I'll stay," he said thickly. "I'll stay, love."
* *
Jason was gone and Eric was sitting in the chair beside her bed when she opened her eyes again. Disappointment surged through her.
"It's okay." Eric swiftly leaned forward and clasped her hand. "Don't be afraid."
"Why should I be afraid?" Her throat felt dry and her stomach hollow. Otherwise she felt entirely well. Then a thought occurred to her and her gaze flew to his face. "Jason's all right, isn't he?"
Eric nodded. "You're the one who had to have her stomach pumped."
That's why her stomach felt so odd and her throat so sore. She reached up and rubbed her temple as the memory of those last moments before she collapsed came back to her, "The wine ... it was bad." "The wine was poisoned." Daisy's gaze flew back to his face. "Poisoned!" He nodded. "You're lucky you had only a small sip. Any more and nothing Jason could have done would have been enough."
"I don't understand." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Kevin thought you sent me the wine."
He blinked. "Lord, no. It was Cynthia. For once she slipped up. Since you grew up in Europe, she knew you'd be knowledgeable about wines, so she had to choose one that would be sure to tempt you. That Chateau and vintage was rare enough so that the police had no trouble tracing it to her as the purchaser."
She shook her head dazedly. "Why? I don't even know her."
"Unfortunately, she considered you to be in her way. That was all that was important to her." She looked at him blankly. "That's crazy."
"Exactly," he said simply.
"She's unbalanced?"
He nodded. "But not in any detectable way. She's what the psychology books refer to as a sociopath. She's totally without understanding or feeling for the suffering of other people. All she relates to is her own feelings." He paused. "And she has no conscience."
"You make her sound like a monster."
"Oh, she is." He smiled bitterly. "A very clever monster. The quintessential bad seed. When she began to realize she wasn't like other people, she began to study all the books on abnormal psychology to get information she could use to protect herself. She intended to do exactly as she wished and not pay the price. But to do that she had to know what was considered abnormal in a normal world. Cynthia's been given batteries of psychological tests and come out smelling like the proverbial rose. As I said, she's a very clever monster." His hand tightened on hers. "That's why we tried to protect you."
She sat up in bed, gazing at him in bewilderment as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. "You've all been lying to me, You weren't afraid I'd be bothered by reporters."
"Jason didn't want to worry you. He figured you had enough on your plate with the rehearsals." He shrugged. "So we decided to protect you without your knowing it."
"You both treated me as if I were a helpless idiot." She shook her head. "Maybe I was an idiot, a blind idiot. Don't you think it's time I was told what this is all about?"
"That's why Jason asked me to come here. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," she said curtly. "Start at the beginning."
"My father married Cynthia's mother when Cynthia was sixteen—"
"Not that far back, I meant—"
"You said the beginning. That's where it started for Jason."
Jason had married the monster when he was scarcely more than a boy. What must his life have been like after making a mistake like that? "You're right. Go on."
Eric started again, "Jason was different then," His lips twisted. "You couldn't imagine the difference. He was still absorbed in his music, but he was more open, trusting. He reached out to life. He had just gotten a scholarship from Juilliard and was wild with joy." He paused. "Then Cynthia appeared on the scene. She was even more beautiful than she is now. Younger, and she appeared to be so vulnerable." His lips tightened. "And a damn good actress. She was never out of character. Always the gentle, fragile little sister. She never paid much attention to me, but she formed an attachment for Jason and followed him everywhere."
"I can't see Jason putting up with that."
"1 told you he was different." He frowned, "There's something you have to understand about Jason, one of his prime drives is the desire to protect. Cynthia picked up on that right away and used it."
"He fell in love with her?"
He shook his head. "He was too much in love with his music at that time, and besides, Cynthia screwed up. She played so much on his protective side that by the time she decided she wanted to get him into bed, he thought of her as a little sister and would no more have touched her than he would have committed incest."
"But he married her."
"Because she got herself pregnant," he said bluntly. "She came to Jason crying about this creep who knocked her up and then deserted her."
"She lied?"
"No, not entirely. Cynthia always covered herself. She was pregnant all right, but Lord only knows who the father was. She convinced Jason she'd kill herself if her mother and stepfather found out she was pregnant." His lips twisted bitterly. "It was a smart move. Jason knew the mess would hurt not only her but the family, so he took steps to prevent it. He told everyone the baby was his and he eloped with Cynthia."
She murmured, "What a quixotic gesture in this day and age."
"But not unusual for Jason, not the man he was then. He worked day and night to support both of them and still keep up his studies at Juil-liard. Cynthia had a little girl and named her Dana. Jason was craay about the kid." Eric stopped. "Too crazy. Cynthia began to resent Dana."
"Her own daughter?"
"Dana was a tool that had served its purpose, and babies can be troublesome and messy." He looked down at Daisy's hand, which he was still holding. "The baby fell down the stairs and was killed when she was two."
"No." Daisy's eyes widened with shock. "You're saying ..."
He nodded, "Cynthia appeared heartbroken and Jason was nearly crazy with grief. No one suspected the death wasn't an accident."
"I can't believe it." Daisy felt sick. "No one would kill a helpless baby. Maybe it was an accident. She couldn't—"
"Cynthia admitted it." Eric interrupted. "A few months after the baby died, the marriage fell apart. Jason had no reason to stay and was going to leave Cynthia. She fell into a rage and told Jason she had killed the kid because she was jealous of the attention Jason gave her." "What did he do?" Daisy whispered. Eric's lips twisted. "As we both know, Jason isn't exactly tame natured. If she hadn't run out of the apartment, I think he would have killed her. Instead, he went to the police." His expression turned bleak. "They questioned Cynthia, but she convinced the police Jason was bitter because she was divorcing him, Then he tried to commit her to a mental institution and, after two weeks of testing, the psychiatrists turned her out with a clean bill of health." "No!"
"She knew all the answers and the responses. She was so persuasive that by the time she left the hospital they had issued a report to the police that it was Jason who had the potential for being unbalanced and possibly had a persecution complex."
"Dear God!" Daisy exclaimed. "What did he do?"
"What could he do? He had a choice of killing Cynthia and being tried for
murder or trying to get on with his life. It wasn't easy. Cynthia dogged his footsteps, begging him to go on with the marriage. No matter how harshly he rejected her, she wouldn't believe he meant it. He moved to California and tried to lose himself. She found him." He paused. "And then the accidents started."
"Accidents?"
"He had a beagle he loved. The dog ate rat poison. His secretary's car's brakes failed and she went over the cliff. She was in the hospital for over a year. His best friend had a boating accident and drowned. At first Jason thought he was some kind of jinx. Every time he grew close to someone they were either severely hurt or died a violent death. Then, gradually, he realized what was happening."
"The police."
"Accidents. I told you she was clever. Whenever he went to the police, that damn report surfaced saying he had a potential for paranoia. She cut him off, isolated him from anyone or anything he cared about. If it had been a personal attack on him, he could have dealt with it, but he couldn't risk hurt to anyone he cared about. He was afraid to let anyone close to him." He touched his chest. "Even me. Finally, he bought several hundred acres in Connecticut, built Eaglesmount, and devoted himself to his work."
"1 can't believe it. He's been living in a nightmare all these years. Why didn't someone help him?" She glared at him accusingly. "Why didn't you help him?"
"I told you how protective he was. I tried to convince him I didn't care about the risk." He flushed. "But then I met Peg and the kids came and I—"
"So you let him stay in his prison. You let that woman—"
"I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let anything happen to Peg."
"And he couldn't let anything happen to you or the rest of his world. Stalemate." She gazed at him in disbelief. "You all let her terrorize you."
His lips tightened. "May I remind you she almost killed you?" "And what did Jason do about that?" "He went to the police and this time they came up with a link to Cynthia. The wine." He paused. "And then he went after Cynthia. She's disappeared, but both Jason and the police are looking for her now. He said to tell you not to worry. I'm to take you home and keep you under wraps until he finds her." "No." "What?"