Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [44]
Paris didn’t know whether she sat down or whether her legs gave out from under her. All she knew was that this time she hadn’t let Jenny down. She had saved her pride—and her mother’s.
“It was what Jenny wanted,” agreed India. “It’s no different from the way it’s been since we left school. We’ve all managed, one way or another, to earn our own living.”
“Absolutely,” confirmed Venetia. She was only two years out of school and her smile may have been shaky, but her resolve wasn’t.
Stan pushed the documents back into his case and prepared to leave. Shit, you had to admire those girls. They were tough little cookies. They’d sat here in this room expecting to hear that they were millionairesses and they’d taken the blow on the chin. There was true Jenny Haven steel there, all right. Maybe she’d brought them up right after all. Anyway, he was off the hook.
“I wonder,” said Paris hesitantly, “—do you think it would be possible for each of us to choose something, just one thing of Jenny’s, to keep? Surely the courts couldn’t object to that? I mean, I know it all has to be sold, but if we could just buy a memento, something to remind us of her. We would pay for them from our ten thousand.”
There was the loophole! Stan grasped at it with relief. There was the way to come out of this as the good guy. He’d been a bit afraid of nasty rumors when the story hit the papers—everyone knew he and Bill had been involved with Jenny for years. He’d be able to “lose” a few bits and pieces of personal items in the inventory of her assets, and after all, it was only right that the girls should want something of their mother’s. His wife would be the first to support that point of view—and she’d make sure to tell everyone on the Beverly Hills gossip circuit how kind Stan had been to them personally.
“Choose what you want,” he said magnanimously. “There’ll be no need to pay. I’ll see it’s squared with the estate.”
“But if there are creditors …?”
“Please”—Stan was wearing his most winning courtroom smile—“choose what you want. Let me work out the details.”
Venetia walked to the portrait of Jenny that hung to the right of the fireplace. It was Jenny at twenty-eight, slender and supple in a gauzy blue evening dress, diamonds sparkling in her blond hair and the familiar wide blue gaze that was so nearly Venetia’s own. All her life Venetia had loved that painting. The artist had seen Jenny as she saw herself, the real woman behind the glossy façade. There was a fleeting undercurrent of self-mockery in the smile, as if even then she was aware of playing the role of the movie star having her portrait painted, and there was a touch of vulnerability that Jenny rarely let anyone see. It was a tender portrait, and for Venetia, it captured her mother exactly.
She ran a finger across the paint as if wanting to touch Jenny. “This has always meant a lot to me,” she said. “I’ve no idea what it’s worth …?”
“Take it, take it,” said Stan. “I told you not to worry—it’s yours.” It wouldn’t have been worth that much at auction—though possibly the studios might have paid a decent price … still, the kid wanted it, didn’t she? He lit an immense Romeo y Julieta, puffing on the cigar and waiting.
“I don’t know whether I should ask for this,” said India, “because like Vennie, I’ve no idea what it’s worth. I guess it’s expensive, but it does mean a lot to me. …”
“Yeah? What is it?” asked Bill.
“Do you remember the ring she always wore? The ruby? My father gave it to her in Kashmir when she told him that she was pregnant with me. It was their ‘engagement ring.’ I never saw her without it.” Her sad brown eyes met Stan’s. “I would dearly like to keep it, if that’s possible?”
“Sure. Sure, it’s yours, India.” Stan spoke quickly before he could change his mind. That was a bit pricier than he had bargained for. Still, didn’t he remember that ruby being flawed?
“And Paris? What about you?” India looked anxiously at