In Name Only (2 page)

Until her father's death, she had known very little about Uncle Dan. He was her father's brother, mining in Brazil, and that was all she knew. And then, alone in Chicago after her father died, and broke, she was just about ready to give up the idea of college, when there Daniel Carteret was, via airmail, via tidy, pale blue envelopes. Letters, money, instructions about what to study, lectures through four long years about the uses to which a knowledge of languages might be put eventually, and yet, in the end—nothing.

The truth was, Jill wanted to be rescued when she was eighteen years old, and more alone than ever, still wanted to be rescued, now that she was twenty-two.

She slipped out of her skirt and blouse into a yellow terry robe. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she made a face. Her hair, thick and wavy, seemed as usual, to be trying to escape the businesslike coil she had forced it into. Her dark skin and light blue eyes, set off by the yellow robe, seemed entirely too exotic for chill Chicago. She had always felt out of place there, the tropical orchid trying vainly to bloom in a world of cement.

She turned away. In a while she would begin to smell jasmine or rosewood, or find palm trees swaying outside her window. The vision of Brazil was getting to her. She propped herself up in bed, the letter in her hand. Her room was really very pretty, with handsome old furniture and violet-spattered wallpaper forming a sanctuary against the bleak world beyond. She had no complaints about her room or even Mrs. Hughes's Victorian boarding house, which stood on a tree-lined side street, a short train ride from the center of town. She had been lucky to find the room, lucky to have a warm, caring landlady. Still, it was nothing compared to Jill's sun-drenched dream of Brazil.

Brazil, Brazil. She sighed. A country with a long past, yet the country of the future, the last frontier. Her education cried to be useful. Her uncle's sense of time, however, was not the same as hers. He was busy—she a mere shadow in his life—the faraway daughter of a beloved brother, for whom he must have some unnamed plan. She sighed once again. She could be of use to him, she knew it. Manaus was a free port and surely an American with a good knowledge of Portuguese would be a valuable asset. It was what he wanted when he told her to study Portuguese, it had to be, and she had done her homework. How she had done it!

Now it was up to Uncle Dan. Another deep, deep sigh. She had better face the truth. But for his monthly letters, Jill Carteret might never have had him for her benefactor.

Tuesday, March 4, 11 a.m. Four long days away. Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Four long days. Would Simon Todd come to the boarding house? Would he call first? Should they meet in the parlor with Mrs. Hughes serving coffee?

She must play it cool, be demure, sweet, grateful.

What did Simon Todd want? What did he
want
?

It all seemed so queer. Perhaps a letter would arrive in the meantime, explaining everything, Uncle Dan cheerfully wanting her to show Simon Todd the delights of Chicago. There were delights, of course. The museums, galleries, concert halls, the ballet. The tall, tall, gray, gray buildings. The slush. The wind driving off the lake and spilling down the canyons as if trying to impress everyone and everything with its icy impartiality.

The delights of Chicago. "That's it," she breathed out loud with some relief. "That has to be it. He's here on business and wants a guide, that's all. Well, at least I'll learn something about Uncle Dan. Maybe even a hint of his plans—if he has any." She was determined not to be disappointed. She slid down onto her pillow. Tuesday, March 4, 11 a.m. She would have to take off from work. That wouldn't be any hardship at all. Simon Todd, she wondered, drifting off to sleep. What was he like? What sort of man was he? What did he
want
?

The weekend went by quickly. Jill slept late on Saturday and then spent the rest of the day cleaning and refurbishing her wardrobe for the week ahead. On Saturday night she went to dinner and a movie and dancing with Derek. She did not mention the word Brazil once, although it sat at the back of her mind like a haunting.

"What's the matter with you?" he had asked once, impatiently, when she had drifted dreamily off.

"Nothing," she had responded hastily, forcing a smile. "Nothing at all. Just a little sleepy maybe."

She forgot about Derek as quickly as she forgot his kiss good-night. She slept late on Sunday again, and then in the afternoon, went to an exhibition at the Art Institute with a college friend—and did not speak a word about Brazil. She felt now that it was a magic word, kept best to herself until she met and talked to Simon Todd.

On Monday, Jill was back at her desk in the insurance agency. The harsh, fluorescent lit office never seemed uglier, where, seated in the midst of a row of bored typists, she pecked away at invoices. Time set a new record for passing slowly. It was with relief that she told her superior she could not work the next day. All the way back to the boarding house, the cold tweaked her small, upturned nose. Trying without much success to fight the aching damp that touched her skin through the old coat, she had the feeling that a good case of sniffles was on the way.

Later that night, thawed out at last, Jill spent some time contemplating the thin ranks of her wardrobe, trying to determine the correct thing to wear before an elderly gentleman who had spent a lifetime in the tropics. Something extremely sober and mature, she decided, with her hair forced once again into a ladylike coil. No makeup, although her dark, thick lashes always looked as though she had spent hours layering them with mascara.

Thus settled, she curled up in the parlor to watch television with Mrs. Hughes and some of the other boarders. There was no way she would be able to sleep, she told herself. Whatever Simon Todd had to say, her life was going to have to change, and the possibilities seemed endless. Unless of course, he merely wanted a guide around Chicago. Ugh. Tramping through all that snow with a complete stranger, trying to act as if she
liked
it.

Brazil. A name that was magic.
Music
. It had a green sound. And a sun sound. A sound of warmth and blue skies. And a sound of scents. Rowers blooming all year long. And tastes. Fruits whose names she had memorized but never eaten. Caju, biriba, sugar apples, carambolas, pitomabas.

What did Simon Todd
want
?

The thought came to her with a sudden, upsetting force. Perhaps Uncle Dan meant, through the medium of Simon Todd, to tell her that he was done with her. Perhaps he had married and had begun a family of his own. He had never once mentioned a wife but then why should he? He owed Jill nothing, really, not even insight into his private life.

Whatever it was, Jill knew that, as of Tuesday, March 4, at 11 a.m., things would never be the same for her.

In spite of herself, in spite of the dozen new ideas that came to her to explain Simon Todd's visit, Jill fell asleep that night. She awoke Tuesday morning completely refreshed, with the surcease of worry that sleep often brings. What would be, would be. The sun was shining at last, the snow on her window sill sending off blue and pink sequins of light. Jill made a face. She didn't want treacherous blue and pink sequins of light exploding outside her window. She turned from it. It was the northern sun's little winter tricks, tricks she didn't want played on her, not now.

Her hair was still wet from the shower, when Mrs. Hughes knocked at her door. It was 10 a.m.

"Mr. Todd to see you. Better hop to it, young lady. He doesn't look a man to keep waiting."

"Oh, no," Jill groaned. "That's not fair." She peered out of the door. "Mrs. Hughes, tell him he'll just have to wait."

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "Suit yourself, my dear. But I'd rush if I were you."

"Shove a cup of coffee at him or something, would you please, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "If that's what he wants, but I'd still hurry."

The landlady had turned away when Jill called her back. "What does he look like?"

Mrs. Hughes stared at her for a moment, a smile playing about her lips. "Like a man, I'd say," she murmured vaguely, and walked rapidly away without saying another word.

Keep cool, keep cool, keep cool, Jill told herself, ever more ringlets perversely curling her hair under the furious wind of her dryer. Now it would never sit still long enough to be wrapped up in a sedate hairdo.

"Oh, nuts," she muttered, throwing the dryer onto the bed. "I don't care what he wants. I don't have to sell myself to old Simon Todd. I didn't even invite him here."

She ran a comb through her hair and it bounced shinily about her shoulders. "That's that." She changed her mind about the sedate dress, too, and stepped into a pair of close-fitting jeans and a Western blouse. "Tuesday-morning-off-from-work clothes for Jill Carteret, and he's stuck with it," she informed her image in the mirror. Her figure was good and the jeans showed it off. She was small, with a tiny waist and long, shapely legs.

"Ready, get set, go." She slipped out into the hall. Mrs. Hughes was just coming from the parlor carrying an empty tray. She cocked an eyebrow at the way Jill was dressed. Jill grinned naughtily. It's too late now, she thought.

"He's waiting for you," Mrs. Hughes said in a disapproving tone.

Jill shivered slightly. Winter was everywhere. She pushed the parlor door to. Simon Todd stood at the window, his back to her, his hands in his pockets. He was dressed in a suit of luxurious brown tweed, his broad shoulders, even so, seeming to strain against the fabric, as if wanting to burst away of their own accord. He was very tall, with thick, copper-colored hair, out of which the morning sun picked golden threads.

Her heart suddenly began to pound. She felt the same strange fear as when the pale blue envelope revealed its slim contents. As if sensing her silent appraisal and the beating of the drums that had replaced her heart, Simon Todd turned, his dark-eyed gaze picking her out at once.

Jill drew her breath in sharply. Why hadn't her uncle told her, she thought suddenly and resentfully. This Simon Todd wasn't the man she expected at all. She involuntarily took a step backward, but her visitor strode rapidly across the room, and taking her hand in his, drew her over to the couch.

Deeply tanned with a high-cheekboned aesthetic face, he gazed solemnly at her out of black, brilliant eyes. "I'm sorry I've burst in so early," he said, a faint Texas accent coloring his voice. "Brazilian air schedules are a little quixotic, to say the least. I was certain you'd understand. Would you like to sit down?"

Dumbly, unable to gather her senses, Jill did as she was told.

Apparently not given to wasting time on preliminaries, Simon Todd pulled up a straight-backed parlor chair and sat down opposite her. "You never met your uncle."

Jill shook her head.

"He was the finest man I've ever known."

"Was?" Jill asked faintly.

His gaze, never flickering from her face, was quite unemotional. "I'm afraid that's what I'm here to talk to you about."

Jill felt all at once that she might suffocate in the warm, closed room. "Tell me then," she said in a tight voice.

He shifted in the chair but continued to watch her closely. "Miss Carteret, I'm afraid your uncle has had an accident."

"He's dead, isn't he?" Jill said, fighting back tears. "That's what you came to tell me."

He leaned back in his chair. "It's more complicated than that," he said after a few seconds.

"Complicated? He's either dead or he isn't."

His dark gaze washed over her, giving no hint of his feelings.

"It's true, then," Jill said quietly.

"I'm afraid so."

"Was he—?" she hesitated. "Was he in much pain?"

He stood up abruptly and circled the room, as if he found the clutter of furniture, its Victorian trappings, too much for him. Then he turned to her suddenly. "You should know that he was planning on coming up here to meet you and bring you back to Manaus with him, just before this happened. He meant to surprise you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, tears for a man she had never met, genuine tears of mourning. Why hadn't he told her? It would have meant a lot to know he cared, to have been able to express her appreciation.

Her visitor seemed not to notice. "His death, however," Todd went on, "alters nothing."

Jill looked at him dully. "What do you mean?"

"You must know that you're your uncle's heir." He waited a moment, standing before her, staring down at her, as if expecting a cry of joy, an expression that after all, it was only Daniel Carteret's money that interested her. He wouldn't understand, that much was clear. She had been, in a second, cut down, cut free from all family ties. There was no one left, no one at all. The size of her uncle's estate, or if, indeed, he had a fortune at all, had little meaning. She was alone. Incredibly alone.

"With stipulations, I'm afraid," Todd went on. "Stipulations made with my agreement, as a matter of fact. For the sake of Carteret-Todd, there was no other way. Entirely too much at stake," he added vaguely. "Too many workers involved, too many families dependent."

Jill stared at him. He acted as though she would make trouble if she could. But trouble about what? Why? What did he thing she could do or would do?

"Mr. Todd," she said, suddenly impatient. "Would you mind making yourself clear?"

He was unruffled. "Miss Carteret, your uncle was a man in his prime when he died. He had made a will several years ago, leaving you his entire estate. He expected you would come live with him and that one day you or your husband would assume his role in the company. He lived long enough after his accident to add a codicil to his will." Todd paused and looked at her curiously, as if seeing her whole for the first time. "A codicil I helped draw up," he went on briskly. "I assure you it won't be an easy will to break. As a matter of fact, I've been named his executor."

"I really think this is an odd time to discuss his will," Jill said resentfully. "I don't think you should go on. It's not right."

"I'm afraid, Miss Carteret, this is the only time we'll discuss it." His voice, commanding and icy, seemed to shut a door on any objections she might have. She sat very still, watching his restless pacing. Whatever the current was, it was obvious she would have to swim with it.