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"Don't worry. try to call you later," I promised.

Jennifer and I hugged and then they were all gone. Even with all the servants moving about, cleaning up Farthy, folding up chairs and tables, there was a deep emptiness in the great house. Troy's nurse had convinced him to take a nap; my mother was up in her room resting from what she called "the ordeal," and as far as I could tell, Tony had not yet returned from the cottage. I wondered what he did there now and thought about that painting I had discovered and concealed on the easel. Why was he still doing these pictures? Was he planning a different doll?

"Excuse me, Miss," Curtis said approaching, "but deliverymen brought this a little over an hour ago." He handed me a package. It was my birthday gift from Daddy and Mildred.

"Thank you, Curtis," I said. I decided to take it up to my room before opening it.

Once there, I sat down on the settee in the sitting room and unwrapped the box. I took out a ceramic, hand-painted ballet dancer. It was a music box, After I wound it up and placed it on the table, the dancer moved to some of The Nutcracker Suite.

Daddy's birthday card read: "Mildred and I found something beautiful for a beautiful young lady. Happy Birthday."

I sat back and watched the dancing doll, while I recalled other birthday presents and other birthdays, especially the last one when Daddy had given me this diary. I had been so happy then, so unaware of the storm of unhappiness and sadness that would burst upon us and rain torrents and torrents of tears.

Suddenly, my reverie was interrupted by Tony's presence in the doorway to my sitting room. I had the impression he had been standing there a while, staring in at me.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A present from my father," I replied, staring at him. He looked different. Strands of his usually neatly brushed hair were wild. His face was flushed, his jacket open and baggy, his tie loose. It was as if he had run back from the cottage.

"It's very nice. Imported?" he asked coming farther in. "I guess so." He took it into his hands and turned it upside down.

"Yes, it's made in Holland. I saw many like it during my travels." He put it down again. "Your mother really throws a great party, huh?" he said smiling. I saw he was trying to be friendly, make small talk, but I was still angry about the way he had burst in upon Joshua and me.

"Yes," I said. I put the music box back into the package and stood up. "Well, good night. I'm going to put this in my bedroom," I explained and went in, expecting he would leave; but he followed me.

"Leigh, I'm sorry I frightened you at the cottage, but I saw you two going into the maze and followed, naturally curious as to why you would leave all your guests:'

"I just wanted to show Joshua some of the grounds," I replied, keeping my back to him.

"That's understandable, but you should have waited until you could have taken other guests, too."

"I didn't want to take any other guests to the cottage," I said turning.

"Leigh, I'm not your real father, I know," Tony pursued, stepping closer, "but you're a young girl, just blossoming. You've been somewhat protected up until now, and young men with far more experience can take advantage of a girl like you. Believe me, I know about these things."

"Joshua's not like that," I snapped.

"Maybe, but there's no sense in not being careful and I wouldn't feel right knowing that . . . well,. I wouldn't feel right not giving you some advice. Now, as I told you at the cottage, your mother need not hear a thing about this. It's just between you and me."

He stepped closer until he could reach out and take my shoulders in his hands.

"I'd like there to be something special between us, to always have something special between us," he said, his eyes feasting on me. His fingers tightened until they actually began to hurt.

"Tony." I grimaced but he didn't loosen his grip.

"Actually," he whispered, "your mother wants me to help her with you, expects me to take on this responsibility. She feels overwhelmed being the parent of a young daughter. I don't mind. You're too beautiful and too precious not to care for and protect. Please, let me protect you, let me care for you."

"I appreciate what you want to do for me, Tony. Thank you," I said. I just wanted to end the

conversation. His gaze was fervent, and his fingers tightened even more.

"I mean, I know what goes through a man, especially a young man, when he kisses you and puts his hands on your shoulders like this," he said. His fingers relaxed and moved down my arms. He smiled. "You don't understand what sort of power you possess over a man."

"Power?" What was he talking about now? Why was he so intense? It had been an incident; it was over. Why dwell on it so long and so passionately?

"Yes, power. You have it already, the same sort of power your mother has. Your beauty and her beauty are mesmerizing. Any man who looks at either of you feels himself weaken, feels all his resolve dissipate like smoke. But he wants to be a" "Slave to your beauty. It fulfills him to be twisted and turned, squeezed and caressed. He lives for that," he said, his voice so low, I practically had to read his lips. "Can you understand? Do you understand?"

"No," I said shaking my head. I tried to step back, but he held my upper arms too tightly.