Again, it was a matter of show. An impressive office and a t.i.tle to match were valuable in and of themselves. They were part of the image he cultivated and went hand in hand with dinners at Locke Ober's, rounds of tennis at the Cricket Club, and weekends in Newport.

He also happened to know more about the workings of St. George Mining than he did about anything else, and for the first time in his life he had clout. It wasn't a whole lot, but it was something, and the more he used it, and used it well, the more it worked for him. People within the company were eager to please him.

Clinging to that notion and the satisfaction that it brought to his everyday life, John spent the next few years refining his interests. Although he was intimate with no one friend, he was active with many, and that included women. He was good-looking, well-to-do, and had an impressive position and enough charm to please almost any woman he met. He took advantage of that. If he'd been into carving notches on his belt, it would have been covered.

Most of the women he dated were debutantes, firmly ensconced in the social scene within which he saw himself taking part. He wasn't wildly in love with any of them, but then, love wasn't something he valued. He wasn't looking for it and he didn't need it. What he needed was to be seen at the right times and places with the right people.

As he moved into his midtwenties, though, he needed something else. The women he bedded were pretty enough and accommodating enough. They were clever enough. But they weren't loose and exciting and aggressive. He found himself dreaming of women who were.

Women like Hillary c.o.x. John hated to admit it, since she was from Timiny Cove and he didn't want to give the town credit for much of anything, but Hillary, in bed, was something else.

He met her for the first time during the summer after his junior year in college. She was fifteen to his twenty-one, and she seemed to be hanging around the places he went-sitting outside the post office when he came out, standing by the magazines while he was buying cigarettes. She was always alone, and while other local girls eyed him when they thought he wasn't looking, she made no bones about meeting his gaze. She was different in other ways, too. Her clothes were nicer, newer, not high fashion by a long shot, but interesting. She had darker hair, fairer skin, and looked gypsyish and smart.

Having nothing better to do until he finished his business in Timiny Cove, he approached her. She wasn't shy. No sooner had he introduced himself-a formality, since the whole town knew who he was, but it was the proper thing, and he prided himself on doing the proper thing even in as backward a place as Timiny Cove-than she began asking questions. She wanted to know about life in the city. She imagined it was very exciting.

Because she was different, and because she was interested, he talked with her. While the others in town made him feel like an outsider, she made him feel like the worldly sort he considered himself. She was good for his ego. He wanted to think he was good for hers, but he wasn't sure. She didn't seem to care much whether people saw them talking. Her main interest seemed to be in learning as much as she could about the life he led.

He gave her information to dream on, and she sought him out often after that, always with curious dark eyes and questions that only a person with a destination would ask. She was going to Boston, maybe even New York, she informed him, either for college or after. She wanted to be a writer. She was going to make a name for herself.

John humored her. He doubted that she'd ever attain her lofty goals, this young girl from Timiny Cove, but the fervor in her eyes when she spoke intrigued him. When she was accepted into Radcliffe, he was impressed. That fervor could do things. He began to wonder whether it went beyond her mind.

It was a simple enough matter to find out. She was clearly smitten with him. One night, not long after, he took her for a drive down the private lane behind Eugene's big brick house, parked the car on a rise overlooking the valley, and kissed her. She was hot, responding to him with an innocent hunger that he couldn't resist. He took her virginity in the backseat of his Olds, then made love to her twice more before driving her home. Each time she grew bolder. He taught her wildness even as he discovered it in himself. The release he found with her was potent.

He didn't see her often, even when she came to Boston the next year. His lifestyle didn't allow for a steady woman; his image didn't allow for one from Timiny Cove. But from time to time he needed the rowdy pa.s.sion she offered. As an outlet for s.e.xual aggression, she was second to none.

She also happened to be the only person with whom he could talk. Not that he said much; he was largely self-contained. But he was human. Some things had to come out. He might have been more guarded if Hillary had been from society, but she was from Timiny Cove. She already knew his family. Nothing he said about them could change her opinion of him.

So he sounded off about his father. Although Eugene pretty much let him handle the office end of the business on his own, the times they were together were more difficult than ever. John was learning the business well, noticing its strengths and weaknesses. While it was a steady, profit-making venture, he saw potential for far more. Eugene wasn't interested. He was perfectly comfortable with the status quo and saw no need to take unnecessary risks. John argued ad infinitum about the value of growth, but Eugene couldn't see it. He couldn't see much of anything John's way. He was too busy feeling pride in Pam.

John had no qualms about telling Hillary his opinion of Pam: "She's a regular b.i.t.c.h."

"Come on, John. She's only twelve."

"Try telling her that. She's spoiled as sin, and no wonder, the way he dotes. You'd think there was something special about her, but if there is, I can't see it. She isn't a genius. And she's not gorgeous."

"She's cute."

"She smiles a lot. That's all."

"Not at you. She's very careful with you."

"She knows I'm no fool. She can't wrap me around her finger the way she does him."

"I think you're jealous."

"Of what?"

"Their relationship."

But he didn't believe that. He'd go farther in life than either one of them. "Try again, Hillary."

"I think it's nice that they're close, she and her father. I wish I had half that closeness with mine."

"If you did, you wouldn't be as independent as you are. That's what I like about you. You think for yourself. You don't cling. You have your own life, and you let me lead mine."

"Am I supposed to be happier that way?"

"Definitely. Look at Patricia. She's just the opposite, and she's miserable."

"Is she jealous of the relationship between Pam and Eugene?"

"Not quite. She's relieved they're close. It takes the burden off her. She has a lot on her mind."

That was a whole other story, one that John chose not to relate to Hillary. In her own way, Patricia was bothering him even more than Pam and Eugene. From the start their relationship had been awkward. Their closeness in age, John's antagonism toward her, and her resultant deference all led to tension. For years they walked carefully around each other.

Then John joined the business, and it was as though Patricia had suddenly found a friend. The business concerned her. She wanted to know how it was doing and where it was headed. Not only was Eugene spending more and more of his time in Timiny Cove, but when he was in Boston he had less and less patience for her questions.

John could understand why she turned to him. He knew what was going on in the company, could give her the answers she wanted, and he was available. He also came to understand that there was a power to be had in possessing and sharing information, particularly when the power had to do with Patricia and Eugene. So he indulged Patricia her questions, and the more he did, the more she asked. Increasingly, he found her waiting for him to come home, upset by something Eugene had said or done, desperate for rea.s.surance. He gave her that, and if it meant speaking out against Eugene, he did so.

Surprisingly often, Patricia was on John's side, particularly on the matter of expansion. She too wanted Eugene to broaden his base, but he wouldn't listen to her either. Frustrated and upset, she argued with him, which promptly sent him running back to Maine, frustrating and upsetting her all the more.

And John was there.

It was totally spontaneous the first time, on a dark and rainy Friday night shortly after Eugene and she had argued. Eugene had swept Pam off in the car to spend the weekend in Maine, leaving Patricia behind to stew alone. Coming in from work, John had found her distraught. Gentleman that he was, when she slipped her arms around his waist and began to cry, he comforted her. Then, in the course of the comforting, something happened. His hands began to move over a body that was soft and lovely. His mouth touched hers once, then again and again. His body responded in the only way that an active twenty-eight-year-old man with a healthy appreciation of women could respond.

While the climax he reached that night wasn't as sweet as some he'd had or as fiery as others, it was unique. It satisfied the dark cravings of his mind, gave him the perverse pleasure of cuckolding his father.

Chapter 5.

MOM?" PAM BEGAN CALLING as soon as she opened the front door. "Mom?" Even before the door slammed shut, she had dropped her book bag and was darting into the living room, but there was no sign of Patricia. Nor was she in the parlor or the library. "Mom?" She poked her head into the kitchen. "Hettie, isn't my mother home?"

Hettie was a very large, very dark Jamaican who cooked like a dream. "Oo-yes, Miss Pamela. She be upstairs napping." She held out a plate. "Sand dollars. Made just for you."

Pam flashed her a grin, took one of the cookies from the plate, and pushed it into her mouth on the way out the door. She dashed back through the hall and was halfway up the front stairs when John came down from the top and blocked her way. He was the last person she wanted to see.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I live here."

"You're supposed to be at work." She moved to the side to pa.s.s him, but he flattened a hand against the wall.

"I had to change clothes. There's a c.o.c.ktail party at the Parker House."

She moved to the other side, but he gripped the mahogany banister. "Move, John. I have to go up."

"What's the rush?"

"I have to see my mother."

"She's resting."

Pam tried to duck under his arm, but she wasn't as short as she used to be. In the last few months she'd sprouted up. She might have minded, had Eugene not been so proud of her height, which he said she'd inherited from him. Since she had more friends than ever in seventh grade, she figured it was just fine to be tall and slim rather than voluptuous.

She wasn't anywhere near tall enough to be able to look John in the eye, though, and she wasn't about to physically b.u.t.t him. He made her uneasy. Although he wore the trousers and shirt he'd worn to work that day, the shirt was unb.u.t.toned, exposing his chest, and his hair was mussed. He didn't look as civilized as usual.

"I have to talk with her. Please, John. Let me by."

"What do you have to talk with her about?"

"Something."

"What is it?"

Pam wasn't about to share her excitement with him. "Nothing special."

"You're in a pretty big rush for nothing special. Couldn't you even stop to take off your coat?"

Her coat was the last thing on her mind. "Let me by, John!" She aimed her voice up the stairs. "Mom? Mom!"

"I said, she's resting."

"I just have to ask her something quick." She tried to move his arm, but it wouldn't budge. Taking another breath, she hollered, "Mom?"

"Shut up, Pam, and leave her be." Grasping her arm in one very large hand, he began to propel her back down the stairs.

"Let me go," she protested, squirming. Freed after a step or two, she turned on him. "Who do you think you are? You're not my father, and you're not my guard. She's my mother, not yours. If I want to see her, I have a right to!"

"Not when she has other things on her mind."

"She always has other things on her mind, because you come home and talk about work, work, work with her. Well, this is important. I have to speak to her now. It can't wait."

"It'll just have to, princess, because you're not going up there yet-"

"John?" Patricia called from the top of the stairs. She was wearing a silk robe and was combing her hair back with her fingers. "It's all right, John. What is it, Pamela?"

Pam heard the annoyance in her voice and blamed it on John. "I have to ask you something, and he won't let me." She tried to dodge him once again, but he deftly shifted his body and continued to block her way. There was no need for him to do it, since her mother was up, but he was enjoying himself, she realized. He was enjoying her frustration. So she promptly stopped fighting him and moved back down the stairs until she could look up at Patricia around his towering frame. "The Claflins asked me to go to North Conway with them this weekend. They're leaving right after dinner and will be back Sunday night. Can I go?"

"What's in North Conway?" Patricia asked.

"They have a house there. It's less than five minutes from the mountain, Laurie says."

"Skiing," John told Patricia. "You can't go," he said to Pam. "You've never been skiing before. You'll break a leg."

Ignoring him, Pam pleaded with her mother. "There's a ski school at the bottom of the mountain. I'll take lessons. That's what Laurie does. Please, Mom? I've always wanted to go skiing."

"You have not," John argued. "But you and every other little teenager is dreaming about b.u.mping into Jean Claude Killy on the slopes. He won't be there, princess, and the boys who will be will laugh when you fall." The doorbell rang. "If you wanted to ski, you should have started when you were little." He scowled when she turned and ran toward the door. "For G.o.d's sake, Pam, we have a butler."

Not one to stand on ceremony, she opened the door herself. "Hillary," she breathed in relief. Despite their shaky start, she and Hillary had become friends. Hillary wasn't exactly a flower child like the ones on the Common, but she'd loosened up since she'd been at college. Pam thought she looked wonderful. Her eyes were lined in black, her hair was parted in the middle, worn long and loose, and her coat was open over a dress that was far more mini than anything Patricia would allow Pam to wear. "Am I glad you're here. Have you ever been skiing?"

Hillary regarded her quizzically, then looked past her toward John. The quizzical look became one of interest when she saw his state of dishabille. "Skiing?" Then she caught sight of Patricia at the top of the stairs, and her eyes shot back to Pam. "Sure I have. It's fun."

"When did you first go?"

"Three years ago, when I was a freshman."

"And you didn't break a leg?"

"Of course not."

Pam turned a triumphant smile on John before transferring the smile, minus the triumph, to Patricia. "See? It's perfectly safe. Laurie says I can rent skis and stuff there. I already have a parka. All I have to do is buy ski pants and heavy socks and long underwear."

"But they're leaving tonight," Patricia protested.

"We have this afternoon."

"I can't take you shopping now. I have to get dressed. What time is the party, John?"

"Five-thirty."

"You're going too?" Pam asked, feeling the dismay she always felt when Patricia did things with John.

"Of course I'm going. I'm on the committee. There are c.o.c.ktails and hors d'oeuvres at the Parker House, then we're all going down to the theater. After the show, there's a light buffet back at the hotel."

"Why isn't Daddy going?"

"Because he's in Maine," John answered.

Still Pam directed her questions to Patricia. "Does he know about the party?"

"Of course he does," she answered. "But he can't get in, so John has agreed to take me. Honestly, Pamela, this really doesn't concern you."

"It does. I want to go skiing, and I can't do it if we don't go shopping first. It won't take long to run down to Filene's."

"I can't, Pamela."

Hillary spoke up. "I'll take her shopping."

Looking back at her, Pam saw that her eyes were on John, which wasn't at all surprising. Hillary always looked at John. What was surprising was the edge Pam saw in the look.

"I have nothing to do until later tonight. I'd be glad to take Pam shopping. I've been skiing. I know just what she needs."

Pam looked more hesitantly at her mother. Much as she liked Hillary, she'd still rather shop with Patricia. They hadn't done it in such a long time.