Hearts That Survive Part 20

She cut into the filet and savored the taste of it. Tender, warm, delicious. How she could enjoy eating when everything else seemed a burden, she didn't know, but welcomed having an enjoyable activity.

"What's that about?" She took a bite of vegetable and smothered her potato with b.u.t.ter and sour cream.

"An investigation. And they want your story. I've told them you're in seclusion and I am the spokesman for Beaumont. I will let them know when you have something to say."

"I will talk to them. I will tell them I married John Ancell on that ship."

"No."

Her mouth opened, and she didn't care if there was food in it. "This is not up for debate. I am making a statement. To you, before I make it to the rest of the world."

He swallowed the steak and took a bite of potato, calmly, unperturbed, waiting, not blinking, just looking.

"I can speak for myself. I will report that I am Mrs. John Ancell."

His expression didn't change. After a moment, he reached for his wine gla.s.s, lifted it to his lips, and drank from it.

She picked up her gla.s.s, just as calmly as he.

He returned his to the table, keeping that bland expression. "Just in case anything should come up about that night, you need to get your nonexistent marriage annulled."

Lydia gasped, and not having fully swallowed the wine, she began to cough as the gla.s.s fell from her hand, spilled on the table, and crashed to the floor.

"I'll call for someone to clean it up."

She looked around. "Marcella. Where's Marcella?"

His face grim, he didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She tried to collect herself while he got a towel and covered the mess. Marcella's name wasn't on the survivor's list.

Neither was John's.

Could this really be true?

She could not eat any more. How could she ever eat again? But when he poured wine into his gla.s.s and handed it to her, she drank. She didn't need to make a spectacle of herself.

He must have thought she'd calmed down, because he lost his mind again. "The papers have been drawn up," he said. "All you need do is sign them."

Obviously he was not as smart as he was made out to be. That was too ridiculous to even discuss. However, finally, as she nibbled absently on a roll, she managed to say, "Why would I do something so inane as to get an annulment?"

37.

Lydia," he said calmly, having returned to the table and taking an occasional bite. She would too, and she lifted a forkful of potato. "It's the only sensible thing to do because you're not married to John Ancell."

She chewed furiously and glared at him.

"There was no license. No papers officially filed. Did you sign anything?"

"We were going to the next morning."

"It wasn't done. You're not married. If your father doesn't make it, G.o.d forbid, and you claim to be Mrs. Ancell, then as your husband he inherits part of Beaumont Company."

She felt so angry, she spouted what she didn't want to face. "He isn't here."

"He has relatives. He has parents in a small town outside London. His father is a carpenter. He has a nice business and his family is comfortable. He was very handy with wood and liked to whittle and-"

"I know. He made little wooden trains. Why are you telling me this?"

"If you insist upon being Mrs. Ancell, then they are legally ent.i.tled to some of your inheritance."

"They wouldn't."

He raised his eyebrows. He didn't have to tell her what people did for money and what it could do to them. It made them think they ruled the world and could look down on dear people like John simply because of a lack of it.

Relentless, Craven continued. "Can you imagine a middlecla.s.s family being asked to sign papers, giving up any rights to the biggest railroad company in the world?"

She didn't know about the legalities. She remembered John saying his family was proud of him.

"Another thing," he said, interrupting her thoughts, which made no sense anyway. "As his wife you would be rightful owner of Ancell Toy Trains."

Her jaw dropped. That had never occurred to her.

"But, I expect he had a will making family members his beneficiaries."

She got up from the table and paced. She didn't want to think of all that. She wanted to think of John, her husband, their lovely short life together, their wedding. She put her hands over her ears.

She heard him anyway. "Even if he had a will, leaving everything to his family, you as his legal wife would be ent.i.tled. It will involve the courts, and attorneys they probably can't afford."

She sneered. "I have no need or desire to take anything from his family. As you've said many times, they make toy trains. I have real ones."

"It's out of your hands, Lydia. It's business. Your father will not have the privilege of favorable publicity about that pseudo-wedding now that the t.i.tanic has sunk. Quite the contrary. It will be a shame and a disgrace."

She stopped pacing and opened her mouth to deliver a reprimand, but he spoke quickly. "If you had received the publicity, and the t.i.tanic hadn't sunk, he might have accepted John because John's toy company would have become a part of his own business, and John would be your husband. But," he said pointedly, "the t.i.tanic did sink."

She walked faster about the room as if she were going somewhere. She knew the t.i.tanic sank. But she didn't want to think about it. She wanted to say she was married to John and to go off somewhere and find some kind of peace.

"What might have been, has changed now." He glanced at her and then at the floor as if she might wear a hole in it. She wished it would swallow her up. "If your father thinks you married John Ancell, the only way he can save face, in his opinion, will be to demand you take control of Ancell Trains." He shrugged. "I mean, how else can we incorporate John's designs?"

"No." She sat on the couch. "I will relinquish any control over Ancell Trains. His family can have the business and Beaumont cannot."

"This kind of business does not work like that. Your father owns Beaumont. Beaumont has a board. They can make decisions that don't necessarily go along with your father." He shook his head. "We might talk Cyril out of any legal action, but the Board in London wants John's designs. The board in America will want them. How can they get them?"

Lydia was getting the point. Likely, not from his family. Beaumont would take legal action.

"And it only takes one Ancell or one member of his company to put a bug in the ear of an attorney about John having been married to a Beaumont." He shrugged as if it were a hopeless situation. "There's a court case. The Ancells want a piece of Beaumont."

She scoffed, "They would know that's a losing battle."

"Right," he agreed. "But the attorneys would know Beaumont would settle rather than go through a scandal of whether or not a marriage occurred, and who is ent.i.tled to what."

She shook her head and walked over to the table. She took a bite of roll and said confidently. "There's the other side of it. The Ancell family might not want a scandal either."

"Lydia." He looked at her as if she were a foolish child. "For the Ancells, his marrying a Beaumont would not be a scandal. It would be like winning the lottery."

"Did John's company have a board?"

"He had business dealings with other companies. But John was owner and president. His company had the usual things an ordinary business has." His shrug meant they were inconsequential. "a.s.sistant. Secretary. Financial Advisor. John had vision," he acknowledged. "Not big-business sense."

She looked down at him. "Really?" He met her gaze for a moment, then simply turned to his gla.s.s for another sip of wine. She didn't have to say the obvious.

John had enough sense to cause Beaumont Railroad Company to pursue him, have the board consult with him, have him inspect their designs for the possibility of incorporating his, and pay his pa.s.sage to America to talk with the board in New York. "Maybe I should sue Beaumont for-for-"

He gave a small laugh. "You can't sue Beaumont. You own it."

She returned to the table and sat across from him. "Even if I said there was no wedding, there were over three hundred people who witnessed it."

His glance meant were, just as she thought it.

The sound of his voice was quiet and might even be mistaken for reverent. But the words were tearing down all her lovely memories. "There are no pictures, no stories about the wedding to prove it ever took place. The publicity is all about the tragedy. When women lose their husbands, I think they will be mourning instead of talking about another woman's wedding."

Mourning? Didn't he know that's what she was doing?

He handed her the gla.s.s, and she sipped.

"Besides," he said, "they didn't know John. Yes, there were a few introductions and his name was said at the end of the ceremony, but at times like this, who is going to remember him? Did anyone connect John with his trains? And his trains aren't that widely known outside London. It wasn't his train success that brought him to our attention, but his designs."

She wasn't sure she had even mentioned the trains to Caroline. It was mentioned one night at dinner. But as Craven said, at a time like this, who will remember? A three-year-old thinking about a Christmas present?

"But if just one person remembers and tries to make a story of it, then comes the scandal and the courts. An official annulment will put it all behind us before it can begin. Let's hope n.o.body mentions it."

She dropped her hand to her lap. "Like you said, who knows?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea who might have wired someone between the time of your engagement and your wedding. I wired your father every day, sometimes more than once. John could have wired someone."

Yes, he might have. But she didn't think Craven had had time to wire her father after the wedding. "Did you mention anything to father about the wedding?"

"Of course not. I didn't want to kill him." He paused for a sip of wine. "And I wanted to wait until I felt you could handle this, but-" He paused, then said quickly, "Your father is under constant care right now. He's worried about how you're handling everything."

She scoffed. "Did you tell him I'm not handling anything?"

No, Craven was handling everything.

"You can," he said calmly. "The decisions are yours to make. You have two options. One, you can say you're John Ancell's wife and take possession of his toy train company and have them try getting a part of Beaumont. Or you can have the marriage annulled and protect his family, your father, and keep Beaumont out of any litigation."

She remembered he had stopped being condescending after he realized she and John would be married despite his misgivings. He'd been . . . best man.

Best man?

Even a good man didn't go around destroying someone's dreams.

"Sometimes, Craven, you can be so cruel."

"Not cruel," he said blandly. "Realistic."

38.

Shortly after Craven left the living room, he knocked on the adjoining door. Lydia opened it, and he held out a manila envelope. Her paralyzed hand could not take it. "I'll just leave it here on the dresser." He did, then stepped back into his room and closed the door.

She could not stay in the room with it, so she returned to the living room and called room service to come for the dishes and the broken gla.s.s. She called Caroline, who said she and Bess had had a nice dinner, had read newspaper articles aloud to each other, and were working a crossword puzzle.

They all were about ready to turn in, but yes, they'd breakfast together in her suite. After the phone call and the mess was cleaned up, Lydia got into the nightdress she'd bought that day and wondered what to do.

She did not want to read a paper. The headlines were enough to turn her world upside-down, as if it weren't already. She looked at the Bible but didn't want to touch that either. Listening to the radio might be worse. Perhaps she could find some music. She found a program that said "Sweet Dreams Music." That sounded perfect.

Feeling drained, she thought she might sleep and turned out the light. It was a restless night, but one without nightmares. She awoke to another day without purpose and wondered why she should live it.

But, of course, to have breakfast with her friends. So she readied herself and was in a little better state of mind when Caroline and Bess entered.

Fortunately, they had finished eating before Craven came. Surely he would not ask for those papers. He didn't, but held another envelope.

"I thought you'd be at the hearing," she said.

"This was delivered." He took a deep breath. "Identifications are coming in from the Mackay-Bennett."

"Mackay . . . ?"

"Let's sit on the couch," Caroline said. The three women left the breakfast table and settled on the couch, but Craven remained standing.

"Not for you, Caroline," he said.

She nodded and reached for Lydia's hand.

"We can do this alone if you prefer, Lydia."

She didn't know what the envelope held but had the feeling she shouldn't be alone. "Identifications? Mackay-Bennett?"