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You know how hard it is to get good help these days. Everyone thinks he or she is a manager and a boss instead of an employee. But I leave the running of the house up to Betty Ann. She's more adept at that. I just don't have the patience, not with all I have to do with the hotel now."

Finally, he stopped talking and stared blankly ahead. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, but a little while later, I felt his hand cover mine on the arm rest. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, his face inches from mine.

"Christie, oh Christie, why did you run off like that? I never meant to hurt you or frighten you, and certainly never meant to chase you away," he whispered.

"What did you expect I would do, Uncle Philip?" I asked, shaking my head in disgust.

"We made promises to each other. I thought you would keep them," he said.

"Promises? What promises?"

"Don't you remember? I do," he said, sitting back again, his eyes closed, a smile on his face. "We made a pact. We promised to trust and depend on each other forever and ever, to tell each other things we wouldn't tell anyone else.

"I told you," he continued, turning back to me and putting his hand over mine again, "that whatever made you sad would make me sad, and whatever would make you happy would make me happy. Don't you remember? We sealed it with a kiss," he said, "a wonderful, warm kiss."

I did remember that time in my room, but it had been all his idea. I had said nothing; I was too amazed and confused by his expression of deep affection then.

"If something was bothering you, you should have come to me," he said, nodding. "You should have knocked on my door and told me and I would have done everything I could to fix the problem."

"Fix the problem?" Is that all it was to him—a small problem?

"Yes," he said. "I told you many times—I'm here for you. And for Jefferson, of course. Why, as soon as that doctor called and I had heard what had happened to Jefferson, I rushed out of the house without so much as telling Betty Ann where I was going. I didn't have time for that; I left that for Julius to do. You and Jefferson needed me," he said. "I made all the arrangements quickly and flew out to get you.

"And now we're together again," he concluded, smiling. "You're safe. You'll always be safe with me."

I stared at him. Was he just pretending or had he really forgotten what he had done to me? I was tempted to bring it up, to shout it at him, but instead I turned away, closing my eyes and imagining I was like a clam with its shell shu

t tight. If I squeezed myself firmly enough and dreamt of other things, I could lock him out of my life, I thought. I would look at him when he spoke and I would nod, but I wouldn't hear him, nor would I really see him. In time he would be as invisible as a ghost. I would even get to the point where if he touched me, I wouldn't feel it.

Julius was waiting for us at the airport, happy to see me.

"How's Jefferson doing?" he asked immediately.

"He's going to be all right," Uncle Philip told him. "With the special and proper care I'm arranging, that is."

"No luggage?" Julius asked surprised.

"No," I said quickly. I didn't want to get into what had happened after I had run away.

"Let's just get home," Uncle Philip said, taking my arm and leading me out of the airport. "Wait until you see the progress with the restoration of the hotel," he said, getting into the rear of the limousine with me. "Even in the short time you've been away, there has been quite a change, right, Julius?"

"Yes sir."

Been away? I thought. He acts as if I had taken a short holiday, gone to visit friends or been to school somewhere. How could he go on pretending like this? How could I? I wondered. Uncle Philip obviously had hopes that this little episode (as he liked to think of it) would simply go away, burst like a soap bubble. However, those hopes were dashed the moment we drove up to the house and opened the front door. Aunt Bet saw to that. She had obviously been waiting by the window in the sitting room and had seen us drive up. Her face was full of fury and anger. Her eyes were so hot I thought they could singe with a glance.

"Well, are you happy now?" she snapped the moment I set foot in the entryway. She stepped forward, her bony hands on her thin hips so firmly that her elbows stuck out sharply. I thought they would cut right through her skin and in moments I would see the ghostly white bone. Her neck muscles strained, causing ripples to appear along the sides of her neck, and her lips stretched thin and taut, revealing her clenched gray teeth beneath.

"Are you happy you caused all this turmoil? Are you happy you had us all frantic and worried and crazy with concern? Are you?" she demanded, her voice as shrill as the screams of frightened terns.

"Betty Ann," Philip began, "let's . . ." She pivoted and threw him a look of rage that made his mouth snap shut.

"Don't you start telling me to calm down, Philip Cutler," she said, wagging her small fist in his face. "Don't you try to defend her. I'm the one sitting here waiting, not knowing everything that's happening. I'm the one left in the dark. I've got to hear it from help, from servants sent to give me messages as if I were some sort of second-class citizen."

"Now Betty Ann, no one meant to leave you out. It was just that I had to act fast with Jefferson very sick and all . . ."

"Look at what you've done!" she screamed at me. "Your brother nearly died!"

My lips began to tremble. I folded my arms under my breasts and stared at the floor while she ranted and raved.