books and papers. “No, I’m fine. This man,” she said with forced casualness, “the twins’ father…how old is he?”
“Oh, probably about forty, I’d guess. Quite a handsome fellow in a rugged, Clint Eastwood kind of way. Apparently, he had a couple of years of college when he was young but never finished his degree, so now he’s decided to go back to school along with his kids.”
Camilla got to her feet and lifted the pile of books. “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting these brilliant little twins of yours,” she said. “Help yourself to whatever books you need, Gwen. I’ll see you later this afternoon, okay?”
She hurried out of the office and down the hall, trying to calm herself as she walked.
After all, she wasn’t in any danger, Camilla reminded herself. Now that she was a fully tenured professor, her academic position here and her life were both utterly secure.
Being granted tenure had been, for many years, the most important concern in her life. She’d passionately wanted the security of that position.
Once she managed to acquire tenure, she was guaranteed a future that nobody could ever take away, no matter what happened.
She’d achieved this coveted status almost three years ago, and had hoped that, for the first time in her life, maybe she’d begin to feel safe.
But it hadn’t worked that way. The fears remained, stirred by feelings of anxiety whenever people began to speculate about her personal background.
And now that Jonathan Campbell had inexplicably popped up once more in the middle of her life, she was more afraid than ever.
THE SUN WAS still hanging above the mountains when Jon finally bought the last of his textbooks, checked some materials out of the library and left the campus. He drove through the city of Calgary and headed west toward his new property, a sprawling acreage in the foothills of the Rockies.
He parked the car in the garage, walked past the aluminum hangar where his six-seater airplane was kept and strolled toward the house, which seemed unnaturally quiet in the early-autumn afternoon.
He glanced at his watch and realized it was almost time for supper. The kids liked to eat early, leaving plenty of time for their various activities in the evening. In fact, they might already be waiting for him. Margaret always had them wait for their father if there was any chance he might be home in time for dinner.
Jon quickened his steps, still looking at the big house. It was a modern split-level made of pale field-stone, with a brown-tiled roof and banks of high, sharply angled windows.
A lot different from the comfortable old clapboard mansion at the ranch, with its shady veranda and white picket fences.
Again he reminded himself that this move was necessary. Besides, it was only temporary. In a few years when the twins were older the bus ride wouldn’t be so hard on them. Then they’d all be able to go back to the ranch full-time.
He walked up a path at the side of the house and let himself inside, pausing to wash his hands and hang up his hat and jacket. Then he entered the kitchen where a storm was brewing.
“You little animal,” Vanessa shouted, gripping the telephone receiver in one hand as she glared across the room at her seven-year-old brother. “You absolute beast. Ari, give me that before I kill you!”
Aaron smiled up at her with maddening calm. He stood in the doorway holding a book in his hands. Amelia hovered just behind him, eyeing their sister with a cautious, frightened expression.
The twins were beautiful children with curly dark hair clipped short around their heads, and slim, straight bodies. Amelia had green eyes while Ari’s were gray, and she was a little smaller than her brother. Apart from these slight differences, they were very similar in appearance.
During their early years, the twins had hardly spoken to anyone but each other, and they still inhabited a private world that few adults were allowed to enter. Ari was usually the instigator, impulsive and creative. Amelia acted as his partner and support, always ready to help him carry out his schemes.
While Vanessa watched in speechless outrage, Ari opened the book and pretended to read from it. “I just love Jason Weatherly,” he said in a loud, exaggerated voice. “When he smiles at me across the room in math class, I go all—”
Vanessa screamed, dropped the receiver and lunged at her little brother.
Ari dodged away from her and ran around the kitchen, still reading. “I go all shivery inside, and then I feel…”
The teenager continued to scream. Steven, Jon’s elder son, watched idly from the adjoining family room where he lounged on a couch, watching television. None of the children seemed to be aware of Jon’s arrival on the scene.
Vanessa tripped on the kitchen tiles and fell sprawling to her knees. She crouched on the floor, glaring furiously, long dark hair falling messily around her face.
When Jon strode into the middle of the room, an abrupt silence fell. He crossed the kitchen, lifted the telephone and said, “Vanessa will call you back.”
Then he hung up and turned to face his children.
“Where’s Margaret?”
Nobody answered. The only sounds were Vanessa’s heavy breathing and the roar of gunfire on the television.
Jon looked from one young face to another. “Where’s Margaret?” he repeated.
“In the garden,” Steven said at last. “She went out to pick some tomatoes for the salad.”
“I see.” Jon turned to his younger son, who stood near the archway leading to the family room. “What’s that book, Ari?”
“Van’s diary,” Ari said reluctantly.
“What are you doing with your sister’s diary?” Jon asked. “You know better than to go into somebody else’s bedroom.”
“It wasn’t in her room,” Ari said.
Amy stood close behind him, lending support with her presence. She nodded earnestly.
“Where was it?” Jon asked.
“Under the couch.” Ari gestured toward Steven in the family room. “She left it right over there in plain sight. We found it when Margaret made us clean up our Lego.”
“You horrible little monsters,” Vanessa muttered, getting to her feet. “Do something, Daddy,” she added bitterly. “You always let them get away with everything.”
Jon looked at his elder daughter with a familiar mixture of sympathy and exasperation. At sixteen, Vanessa was a beautiful girl, and bright enough that she was already in her final year of high school. But her looks and personality were so similar to her mother’s that he often worried about her.
Jon and Shelley Campbell had suffered through a dozen years of a stormy, unhappy marriage, complicated by the fact that they shared almost nothing in the way of tastes, dreams or attitudes. In fact, they shared nothing at all except their children, and Shelley’s
