Page 55

"Yes" I said "And I do appreciate that."

"Good. So now, let me ask you to reciprocate."

"Pardon me?"

He drove in silence for a while, and then he pulled off to the side of the road at a place where we could see the ocean quite unobstructed.

"I'm pretty friendly with everyone at The Breakers," he began, "as you can imagine. I often have a business lunch there. and I've been to many, many socials there. I've been involved with

representing the hotel and some of its more affluent guests."

"What are you getting at. Thatcher?"

"I know the people behind the desk well, too, and one of them, a woman. I'll admit, who might have catty motives, asked me about you this morning and how I knew you, et cetera."

"Oh?"

"She didn't refer to you as Isabel Amou. She referred to the name on your credit card instead."

"Oh." I said, feeling my stomach fill with lead. I turned away from him and looked out at the soft, undulating waves. Why hadn't I thought of that?

"Who are you? Why are you here under false pretenses?" he asked. "I'm sorry, but I'm bringing you into my home, exposing my parents to you. I have to know. I don't think you're some sort of spy or some sort of con, but... well, you can understand my surprise and curiosity, can't you?"

I nodded. "Well?"

This was too soon. I thought, too soon for someone other than my real mother to know the whole truth. And shouldn't she be the first to know it. anyway?

"You were right last night when you guessed my father was a psychiatrist." I began. "What you don't know, perhaps, is that he was one of the nation's most prominent."

"Was? He's gone, too?"

I wanted to bite off my own tongue. Truth had a way of rushing from my mouth. Why hadn't I paid closer attention to my adoptive mother and her techniques for bending, twisting, and hiding the truth?

"Yes," I said. "but I was afraid. and Dr. Anderson agreed, that if I presented myself as Willow De Beers, people might not be so forthcoming."

He grimaced. "That's a bit of a stretch. Willow."

"No, it isn't," I insisted. you wondered why I haven't had many serious relationships with men in my life. Well, most, if not all, of the boys I've dated or known knew who my father was and expected I would be analytical, even critical. They were all terrified of my father. I could count on the fingers of one hand how many actually came to my home and met him, and when they did, they were so nervous they looked guilty of something or guilty of some bad intention."

He stared at me. pondering.

It was the same at college, even with some of my teachers, especially the sociology professor and the psych professor. It was as if I were the daughter of Jonas Salk or Madame Curie attending medical school. In one of my classes, one of my father's books was required reading."

Thatcher still looked skeptical. I felt I had to keep adding truth to the recipe.

"My father began and ran a famous clinic, the Willows," I said.

Thatcher's eyes widened, "Yes."

"You've heard of it. right?"

"I have, yes."

"Some of the patients in that clinic came from Palm Beach," I added.

His eyes brightened more. "Grace

Montgomery."