Ripples Page 5

  That didn’t matter. Claire would adjust, just as she always did. What mattered was being together as a family. With Nate’s business recently focused in the EU, France was a better gathering place than their island, though Claire did love her island.

  There would always be something special about their place hidden in the South Pacific and the significant role it had played in her and Tony’s reconciliation. That seemed so long ago. It was—decades now. The memories held just a bit of melancholy. The proprietors who she’d first met long ago were no longer with them. Francis and Madeline had lived their lives out on the small island, tending to the home and caring for the Rawlings, even welcoming each new addition. The new caretakers are equally as devoted, but Claire liked familiarity.

  Sitting up, she scanned the large room, taking in the sitting area, the sofa draped with Claire’s dress from the night before. She’d been too exhausted to hang it up. If the drapes were open, she expected a gorgeous view of the Ligurian Sea. Slowly, she moved her feet to the soft carpet and made her way to the window.

  The soft hues of the breaking dawn calmed her pulse and eased her mind.

  As she took in the view of the sparkling sea from high above, she contemplated her awakening—her racing pulse and thundering heart. It was not that unusual. Whenever her family was about to congregate, she worried. Not about the reunion per se, but just the type of maternal worries that infiltrate her thoughts. Tony would tell her that it was silly. Everything always worked out. Yet the mothering side of Claire couldn’t quell the concern. Perhaps it was something embedded in a mother’s DNA?

  She wasn’t concerned about their son. Nate had arrived at the chateau yesterday. No doubt he and his father were deep in conversation, even at this early hour, over concerns she truly didn’t care about. Having her son home, drinking coffee and solving the world’s problems, was what mattered to her.

  Nichol was due to arrive today and so was Natalie.

  Claire’s stomach twisted.

  Why had Natalie insisted on flying commercially and more importantly, why had Tony agreed?

  Claire shook her head with a grin. Natalie was so like her mother, so Claire. No children wanted to hear that they were the spitting image of a parent, but Natalie was. She wasn’t as demonstrative as her siblings. Natalie got her way in everything with her father—in his eyes she could do no wrong—by simply smiling and asking sweetly.

  There had been more times than Claire could count that Nichol and Nate’s personalities had caused clashes within the Rawlings household. That began when they were young. They each had their father’s determination and if Claire were being completely honest, his stubbornness. The waters calmed with time and acceptance.

  Anthony Rawlings may never have planned to be a father, but of what Claire was certain was that he wasn’t prepared to father himself. That was what raising Nichol and Nate had been like, or as much as Claire could imagine.

  Natalie was their surprise, their child who came after they were done having children. With their age difference, Tony was nearly twenty years Claire’s senior. He was certain his days as a father to a newborn were behind him. Besides, he was concerned about Claire enduring childbirth again. Though Nate’s was an easy birth, both Tony and Claire recalled the difficulty of Nichol’s. No one expected a third child. At first, Claire thought she was ill with the flu—she was so tired. The news that she was carrying a third child was amazing and frightening.

  Like her brother before her, Natalie Elizabeth Rawlings came into the world without any difficulties. Her dark hair was her father’s but her emerald green eyes were her mother’s. In those eyes, Claire saw her own reflection and her reprieve. From the first time their gazes met, Claire knew that Natalie was different. She was a Rawlings, but so much more a Nichols. With time, it became more evident. Even at a young age, she was accommodating and a people pleaser, understanding that an expression or tone could change the undercurrent of a conversation. Even with her siblings—who to this day referred to her as the baby—she got her way.

  Claire looked again at the clock. Half past six.

  Slipping into her robe and slippers, she pulled herself from the glorious lightening view and made her way down to the first level of the chateau.

  As she rounded the large column near the bottom of the stairs, the masculine voices she loved came into range. With each step closer, her worries evaporated into the air filled with the scent of coffee, backdrop of surf, and talk of things Claire didn’t care to understand.

  “...make a move now. The US markets won’t open for hours...” Nate was saying.

  Claire couldn’t stop the smile as she entered the room. Though their conversations bored her to tears, they were always the same. Of course, Nate’s father knew the time of the markets, probably better than the arrival time of their daughters.

  Stepping closer, Claire went behind Tony and kissed his prickly cheek. His dark hair had succumbed to time, now more white than black. That didn’t in any way lessen his handsome appearance, not in Claire’s eyes or the eyes of the world. He was often still mentioned when citing wealthy, handsome entrepreneurs. It’s a phenomenon with men. They never age, only becoming more distinguished.

  “Good morning, Claire,” Tony’s deep voice took on the timbre it always did when the two of them conversed, reverberating to her heart like a calming wave.

  “Good morning.”

  She ran her hand over Nate’s shoulder as she wished him a good day, also. Their son was more and more like his father—in appearance. Though Nate was younger than Tony had been when Claire had first met him long ago in Atlanta, she saw the resemblance and wondered when their son would find that right lady for his life. Truly she wasn’t a fan of the women who threw themselves at her son’s feet. Had it been that way for Tony in his youth? Claire didn’t know. Her life began when they found one another. In her mind, his did too.

  Though Nate shared his father’s flair for business and all things numerical, his heart was more like his mother’s, tender and caring. The combination wasn’t a flaw, as he’d shown already in his short time as a world-renowned businessman.

  She gave his neck a quick hug. “Have I told you how nice it is to have you here?”

  “About fifty times, but I haven’t been here that long,” Nate replied with a grin. “I’m expecting fifty more before the girls arrive and take up all your time.”

  “Nonsense. I always have time for you. Where’s Phil?” she asked, looking around the large dining table.

  Tony’s head tilted to the side. “Really? Your two favorite Rawlings men are here, you promise them your time, and you’re looking for Roach?”

  Claire laughed. “After I pour myself some coffee I am, unless one of you two favorite Rawlings men can help me.”

  “What do you need?” Nate asked.

  “To confirm the details of Nichol’s and Natalie’s arrivals and the plans to pick them up from the airport.”

  Nate shook his head. “Phil’s your man.”

  Claire winked at Tony. “That’s what I’ve always said.”

  Tony’s dark eyes sparkled. “Taylor’s in the kitchen. Maybe you should discuss it with her.”

  “The girls’ arrival?”

  “No,” Tony said. “Your plans for Roach.”

  Shaking her head, Claire went to the buffet and poured herself a cup of rich, dark coffee. After adding just the right amount of cream, she left Tony and Nate to continue their conversation that no doubt included world domination—probably before noon.

  “What about John and Emily and the kids?” Tony asked before she made it too far.

  Spinning on her heels, she replied, “First, Michael is married with a child on the way. I don’t think he qualifies as a kid anymore. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “That Michael is married?” Tony asked. “I believe I was at the wedding. I may be aging, but I’m not senile.”

  “No.” Claire scoffed. “The doctor didn’t want Ann to travel. With her due da
te a little over a month away, they thought it was better to stay in the States.”

  Tony’s smile broadened. “Merry Christmas to me.”

  Nate shook his head. “Dad! You like Uncle John.”

  Tony nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  Claire’s grin grew. “He likes your Aunt Emily too, don’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, dear. Of course.”

  “See,” Nate said, “This is why I’ll never marry.”

  “Just make sure you get along with her family first.”

  “Tony!” Claire said as she made her way toward Taylor.

  The marble floors glistened under her slippers as she followed the hallway. Instead of going directly to the kitchen, she entered the large hall. The Christmas tree she’d ordered was nearly twelve feet tall. As the coffee in her cup warmed her hands, the beauty of the scene all around her helped to continue the settling of her nerves.

  The decorations were perfect, not only the tree but also the garland sparkling over the mantel and archways. The large windowed doors that opened onto a stone balcony gave a beautiful view of the glittering sea. One door was slightly ajar, the reason for the sound of the surf below. She continued to splay her fingers over the large cup. It wasn’t as warm in Nice as it would be in the South Pacific, but it was Christmas and soon their girls would be present and all would be right with the world.

  The door to the kitchen swung inward as Claire pushed the heavy barrier. For an older chateau, the kitchen was amazingly modern with granite countertops and appliances that hid behind ornate carpentry. The cook was preparing breakfast as Claire found the person she was seeking. Sitting at the high bar separating the cooking from the sitting area was Phil’s wife and partner in all things, Taylor.

  “Claire?” she said, looking up from the tablet before her.

  They’d all been together too long for formalities. Besides, Claire wasn’t much for titles. She was simply Claire Rawlings. Her husband was another story. While Phil had been with the Rawlingses longer, once Taylor was added to the mix, their family seemed complete.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. You didn’t need to come find me. We can go out to the living room.”

  “Nonsense.” Claire sat her coffee on the counter bar and eased up onto a stool.

  “Mrs. Rawlings, may I get you anything?” the woman cooking asked.

  “No, I’m just looking for Taylor.” She peered toward the large cooking surface. “Something smells wonderful.”

  “I hope so, madame.”

  Claire turned to Taylor. “Do you know the plans for the girls? Or should I find Phil?”

  Taylor shook her head as she looked back at her tablet. “I’ve got it. I know Phil promised Nat he’d pick her up.”

  Claire simply smiled. Nat would get her way no matter who she had wrapped around her finger.

  “Nichol is arriving at Aéroport Nice Côte d’Azur at 10:20 this morning. I’ll be happy to pick her up.” Taylor continued her search of her information. “It appears as though she left the US on schedule. Hopefully she got some sleep during the flight.”

  Claire watched Taylor, waiting for more. “And Nat?”

  Taylor smiled. “Well, with commercial it’s not as black and white, but she left Boston yesterday on schedule. Jamison did mention to Phil that she wasn’t ready to leave Harvard and seemed distracted.”

  “Wasn’t ready? Why not?”

  “I didn’t hear any more. I’m sure she’ll fill you in as soon as she arrives.”

  “Did you or Phil tell Mr. Rawlings?” Tony never had an issue with titles or being addressed by them. With him, Mr. Rawlings was about as informal as it got unless you were family or friend, one not on the payroll.

  “No. Phil said that Jamison didn’t make it sound too urgent. However, it was a close call for her to get to the gate in time, but she did.”

  “I suppose punctuality isn’t one of her strong suits,” Claire said, the uneasy feeling from her awakening finding new life.

  Taylor continued to read the screen. “...and according to the airline, her flight has recently landed in Munich. Her layover is for two and a half hours. Then once she gets to Nice, she’ll go through customs. She should be at the airport about the same time as Nichol. We’ll both go, or Phil will pick them both up since he promised Natalie.”

  “That’s great. So she’s on the ground in Germany now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Taylor. I’ll give her a call,” Claire said excitedly as she stood, her anticipation growing at hearing her youngest daughter’s voice. It was a good thing Claire hadn’t told her husband about her worries. He’d have said that she was being overprotective. As if he could talk. It didn’t matter. Her heart grew lighter knowing that soon they would all be together.

  “Tell her that Phil will be waiting.”

  “I will,” Claire called over her shoulder as she hurried out of the kitchen and back up to their suite to find her phone.

  Her coffee forgotten on the counter near Taylor, Claire thought about all the things she and Nat could do together. While Nichol and Nate impressed their father with their knowledge and achievements, Claire and Natalie would enjoy Nice. There were cafes and shops. Even with a chill, they could sit outside and people watch. Just as they had when Nat was a little girl, they would make up stories of the other people, complete with past and future. Those stories were a glimpse into the creative imagination of her daughter.

  Claire was certain that inclination led to Natalie’s difficulties at Harvard. She undoubtedly took the business track to follow in her father and siblings’ shoes. Their youngest daughter had never been the kind for crunching numbers or striving for success. Corporate takeovers may be in her blood, but not in her heart. They would all talk about it after Natalie arrived.

  They’d waited for her to tell them, and when it never happened, Claire and Tony decided to give Natalie time before they confronted her.

  As Claire reached for her phone, it came to life with the ping of a text message.

  Excitedly, she swiped the screen.

  “MOM AND DAD, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY THIS...”

  Claire clutched her chest as her eyes filled with tears. As seconds lingered in the cool French air, her knees grew weak and she collapsed against the bed as she read and reread the entire text message. Instinctively she hit the call-back button.

  The ringing stopped, but no one was there.

  “Natalie!” Claire called into her phone.

  Nothing.

  The line went dead.

  Claire’s heart ached as she called out to the one man who’d always known what to do. “Tony!”

  His phone too had pinged, still attached to the charger at his bedside stand. That was a sure sign he was excited to have Nate here. Normally he’d never be that far away from his phone.

  The dread that had awakened Claire this morning with a start was back, twisting her stomach and accelerating the coursing of her blood.

  Though slightly faint, she moved forward and unplugged Tony’s phone. On the screen, she saw the same message from Nat’s number.

  With both phones in hand, she ran toward the stairs. “Tony! Oh God. Our baby. Something is wrong. Tony!”

  Dark eyes, the color of molten chocolate, met her halfway to the first floor. He must have heard her initial scream. “What is it?”

  Chapter 8

  The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence,

  rather a condition of it. ~ Nietzsche

  Natalie awakened with a start. She was in the moment where dreams collide with reality at the intersection of consciousness and unconsciousness, where memories linger only to be blown away, the end of one and beginning of the other, the flash where connections blur and lines fade away.

  Cold and damp.

  So cold.

  She huddled closer, tighter within herself, her knees at her chest as she hugged her arms nearer. Heat was the element she craved, yet her bod
y was without it.

  Every muscle ached as if she'd been maintaining this position for too long. It wasn't only her arms and legs that hurt; her stomach also cried out. Its need wasn't for warmth but for food. Audible grumblings of hunger echoed off the empty walls.

  Where was she and why was she cold and hungry?

  Blindly she reached for a blanket, a sheet, anything. Her cool fingertips met a scratchy surface.

  Crash! The sound of reality and dreams smashing together.

  Natalie's eyes squeezed tighter, and she buried her face into her knees, trying to escape the memories materializing behind her closed lids. If she didn't look—didn't see—perhaps nothing would be real. Yet in her heart and soul, she knew that she hadn't dreamt it or even had a nightmare. The deep ache in her bruised thigh confirmed the reality—flashes of recollections on the plane, in the car, and in a room—that she'd lived it.

  Her eyes sprang open as she quickly scooted to a sitting position. Her knees still pressed against her breasts, and her arms now hugged her legs. As she moved, the rough bedding scratched the soft skin of her behind. Despite the uncomfortable surface, she continued until her back collided with something hard. Behind her, at the side of the bed where she'd slept, was a cold painted concrete wall. Like the mattress where she'd lain, its coarse texture abraded her skin.

  Her skin.

  Natalie ran her palm over her bare legs, one and then the other. Goose bumps peppered her body, not only her legs but her arms and torso too. Her nipples beaded as small hairs stood to attention. Everything—all of her skin, all of her body—was exposed. Her clothes were gone.

  Her teeth chattered and body trembled as she unsuccessfully fought the urge to cry. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.

  As occurs in dim light, her eyes adjusted, allowing the prison around her to materialize.

  There wasn't much to see.

  The same dull white walls, four of them, created a box—perhaps more of a rectangle than a square. The ceiling was high and painted the same white as the walls, devoid of color. She searched for a light or even a bare bulb. The dim illumination that allowed her to see didn't come from electricity but from a narrow strip of glass high upon one wall. It was a window, but not one that would open. Even if it did, it was too high to reach and too small for her to fit through. As she stared, the distortions in the panes caught her attention. The glass was reinforced and leaded, the kind of window found in renovated ancient castles to keep invaders out or prisoners in.