To Love and Cherish by Diana Palmer Page A

beautiful….” His voice broke. He took a deep breath and went to the bar to pour himself a drink. He offered Shelby one, but she refused.
    She sat down in an armchair and stared blankly at the deep blue of the sofa across from it, so dramatic a color against the deep white shag carpet. The contrasts suited her mother.
    All of a sudden, she felt a sense of terrible regret. Perhaps if she’d tried a little harder, the distance between the two of them might have been breached. But her mother hadn’t even tried. Not at all.
    â€œDid she leave a note, or anything?” she asked Brad.
    He shrugged. “No note, no nothing.” He glanced at her. “No money either, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “You know how she liked to spend it. The house is all that’s left,and its sale will barely clear the bills.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” Shelby said kindly. “I have a good job, you know, and very frugal tastes.”
    He flushed and looked uncomfortable. “I wasn’t implying…”
    â€œI know you better than that,” she reminded him. “She stayed with you a long time. I think she really cared, Brad.”
    His eyes dropped to his glass. “As much as she was capable of caring, yes, I think she did. I’m sorry you weren’t included in those vagrant affections of hers. She didn’t like being reminded that she had a grown daughter. You see,” he added wistfully, “she wasn’t grown herself.”
    Shelby nodded. “I know.”
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    The house was terribly empty when Brad left. He and Shelby had gone to the funeral home earlier inthe evening, and she came away feeling hollow, carrying with her the sight of her mother lying there like some beautiful marble sculpture on that lacy white background. The picture haunted her, and she almost asked Brad not to go. But he was just as torn up, and looked as if he needed more than anything a few hours at his favorite bar.
    The maids went to their quarters shortly after Brad left, and Shelby sat there amid all the glamour and luxury of her mother’s house, and wept for the childhood she never had.
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    The phone was lying carefully off the hook. That had been necessary, because as soon as she and Brad went to the funeral home, they were besieged by reporters. It was news to most of them that the infamous Maria Kane had a grown daughter, and they went after her in droves. Where didshe live, what did she do, how did she feel about her mother’s death? It was suicide, wasn’t it? Did she know why her beautiful, famous mother had taken her own life?
    It was an accident, Brad told them, losing his temper after they’d been hounded all the way out to the car. It was simply an overdose of sleeping pills, not suicide! But the press didn’t buy it, and in spite of their attempts at evasion, a carload of eager journalists tracked them back to Maria’s house.
    Brad finally went out through the basement and escaped. But there were still two or three of the newsmen left outside the front door, one of them with a crew of cameramen and lights from a local television station. They’d finally given up banging on the door, but they were still calling to Shelby through it in the dark, faintly lit by the outside torchlights.They were still waiting, like persistent vultures. Waiting.
    She heard a noise outside, and, thinking it was the reporters again, she ignored it. There came a loud, hard banging on the door.
    Her small hands went to her ears and she stood there in the middle of the living room and screamed. And screamed. And screamed, until the banging finally stopped. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap of beige with the silky caftan she’d found crumbling into soft folds around her slender young body as she shook with the force of the sobs she’d held back for so long. She’d never felt more alone and lost and hopeless. Her heart was breaking for