Page 12 of A Princess, Stolen
On the other hand, so many years had passed since then, maybe Grandma only wanted to remember the good times. And as a child, maybe I hadn’t noticed the tension between them. Maybe I should ask her about it myself, but that meant I would have to talk to her. “Dad,” I said, “no one could ever drive a wedge between us. Grandma wouldn’t be able to do that either, no matter what she says.”
He smiled sadly. “She tried to shortly after the accident. You just don’t remember. She also claimed that I didn’t have enough time for you and that I was neglecting you.”
“Excuse me? You always took all the time in the world for me.” How could Grandma say something like that? Then again, she also said Dad was to blame for Mom’s death. That alone was unfair. “Grandma doesn’t truly know you at all,” I said, shaking my head. Somehow, it made me angry and sad how Grandmathought about Dad—the person who meant everything to me in the world.
Dad didn’t say anything and studied me as if he was pondering something before asking, “Would you like to go back to Rosewood Manor for the summer? Is that it?”
I swallowed as I remembered the summer months with Mom and Grandma, my rustling dresses, and the fragrant roses. And Nathan, the boy whose gift I wore in one of my braids for the party.
“There were reasons why we didn’t return, but now...did you know that it would soon be yours?” Dad smiled.
I almost fainted. “Excuse me?”
“I had it signed over to your mom for tax purposes. After she died, I transferred it to you. Once you’ve turned twenty-one, you have full authority over it.”
And he told me that in passing! That was so typical of Dad. Once, he had given me a perfect replica of the Heart of the Ocean necklace, the legendary piece of jewelry from theTitanicthat he had originally bought at an auction for his collection. It cost seventeen million dollars.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t say anything before I threw my arms around Dad’s neck and hugged him as tightly as I could. Rosewood Manor meant everything to me. However, suddenly something completely different occurred to me. What if we hadn’t returned because the memories of Rosewood Manor were too painful for Dad?
I let go of him and looked at him. “Dad…we don’t have to go…if you don’t have time…or if you’re just doing it so I won’t go see Grandma… I no longer want to go see her anyway.” Not if she tried to poison my and my father’s relationship with the past.
Dad pulled me back into his arms. “I want to go with you to make you happy. If you’re happy, I am too.” He laughed. “And now we should go back. I need to talk to Mr. Strickland aboutCanada and you’d better get to Penelope quickly before she accidentally strangles herself with her purse. God, who thinks of things like that?”
“Plazane.” I grinned, suddenly feeling as light as a feather.For the summer, Dad had said. It was already early June. That meant we would leave in the next few weeks.
When we returned, I searched for Delilah and, thanks to her saffron sari, immediately spotted her near the main entrance to the hall, the phone pressed tightly against her ear. Her eyes were wide open.
My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to tell her about Rosewood Manor, but the timing seemed bad. Whoever she was speaking with told her something that terrified her. Maybe it was her father again, for what felt like the nine hundredth time today! He had been calling all day.
I was hurrying toward her along the edge of the dance floor when my cell phone rang. It was neither Dad’s piano sonata nor the ringtone from one of the staff. That ringtone was the standard tone.
The light-as-a-feather feeling suddenly evaporated. I stopped between the dance floor and the entrance, and even though I was still maybe twenty steps away from Delilah, she noticed me and caught my eye. She seemed in shock but tried to smile.
Confused, I fished my iPhone out of my clutch. Who was calling me? No one knew the number except for Dad, the staff, and Penelope, not even Grandma had the number. But Delilah might have given her my number. She had also given me her letter without Dad’s knowledge. That may be why she seemed so shocked. At the same time, I knew it could never be the reason for her wide, frightened eyes.
“Willa Rae Hampton,” I said, covering my free ear so I could hear better.
“Good evening, little lady.”
I blinked. The man’s voice was completely unfamiliar to me and yet something about it immediately made me uneasy. My heart beat faster. It seemed to me as if the bad premonition that had haunted me all day was being confirmed at that moment. And, like in my nightmare, I suddenly had the feeling that something dark and deadly was pulling me into the depths. Whatever it was, it felt as if it was directly related to this man.
Chapter 4
“Who’s speaking, please?” My question was a reflex, I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say.
On the other end of the line, I could hear the man breathing, maybe blowing out cigarette smoke. “Listen carefully; there’s a gun pointed at your father right now. If you don’t do what I say, the shooter will pull the trigger. And he always scores.”
Blood rushed through my ears, and for some reason, I imagined a Springfield M1903, a sniper rifle that Dad often talked about even though he only had Glocks and antique revolvers in his gun cabinet. With the phone to my ear, I looked around. The dance floor was to my right. The tables were to my left and the colonnade beyond. Dad was standing behind the columns by the large window facing Fifth Avenue still talking to Mr. Strickland. The two of them were obviously laughing at a joke. Instinctively, I wanted to shout at him to duck but the man continued.
“You won’t do anything to draw his attention. One wrong reaction and his brain will be all over good old Mr. Strickland like pudding. Do you understand?” For a split second, I wondered if Penelope was playing a horrible joke that would end with a surprise cake and a stripper, but the man sounded too hostile for that, besides, even Penelope wouldn’t go that far. “I asked if you understood that?” he repeated when I didn’t reply.
“Yes,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my throat.
“That’s good, little lady. Do you see Delilah Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“Smile at her!” His voice was as sharp as a razor. But what was worse was that he seemed to be looking through my eyes, at least he knew who Dad was talking to and he could definitely see me. Maybe he was in the Grand Ballroom? Maybe the shooter was here too!
