eyes. Meredith had accused her of feeling guilt, and of course, she had. Guilt, shame, anguish, all those things. She felt the weight of her villainy tonight, along with her memories. Meredith’s pleading face, Cy’s unyielding one, Tony’s innocent complicity, came back to torment her. Cy had stayed drunk for days afterward, refusing to leave his room, even to speak to his mother. When he regained his composure, he became a playboy of the worst kind, and for months the business suffered.
He’d weathered his storm, but he wasn’t the same. Myrna laughed bitterly. She wasn’t the same, either. Her plotting had caused so much tragedy that even the terrible fear that had triggered her actions couldn’t justify them. She thought of the child and wished she knew if Meredith had really had it. Was it safe? Was it happy? Was it in the hands of loving people and not sadists who might abuse it? The same thoughts had grieved her all the long years, had given her no peace. She got up from the table, leaving the maid to clear away, and she strolled aimlessly into the living room. A mausoleum, she thought, looking around at the exquisite decor. She was entombed in this luxury, with no real friends and no living relatives except her son. She was alone, as perhaps she deserved to be.
Her long fingers touched a Ming vase on a side table, caressing its beauty, its faded colors. She was like that, she mused. Old and faded and delicate, for all her bluster. Meredith hated her, and it was no more than she deserved. She hadn’t really expected to get away with her sins. Nobody did. Payment might take twenty years, but inevitably your trespasses ricocheted right back to you.
Myrna shivered as she felt the approaching storm. Meredith couldn’t be bought, she couldn’t be intimidated. There was no way to make her leave, and if she stayed, there was every chance that Cy would learn the truth. All of it.
Her eyes closed on a shudder. Her son would hate her when he learned what she’d done.
Restlessly, she walked over to the darkened window and looked out at the cold, bare silhouette of the trees on the horizon. Farther, in the distance, were the lights of the refinery near the Yellowstone, like beacons against the dark sky. She couldn’t confess her crime, not yet. She’d just have to bide her time. There was so much Cy didn’t know about her past, about the reasons she’d fought so hard for respectability. She’d even married Frank Harden for that, when she didn’t love him. The man she’d really loved had gone off to Vietnam shattered by her cold mercenary plotting, and he’d been killed there. That, too, was on Myrna’s conscience. She’d sacrificed love all her life in the pursuit of wealth and power, to arm herself with the things that would protect her son from the devastating childhood she’d had to suffer.
Nobody knew, not even the one great-uncle she had left, what she’d had to endure as a little girl because of her mother. No one would know, ever, she swore. She’d made her bed, now she had to lie in it. But what she’d done to Meredith, to Cy, to the man she’d loved—her soul ached with the bruises her actions had dealt it.
But there might still be time to spare herself the humiliation of having Cy know what she’d done. If she begged, she might gain Meredith’s compassion and get her out of Billings in time. The damage was done, the child was lost. She was almost certain now that Meredith had placed him or her up for adoption. The only possible course of action was to convince her that revenge was an empty pleasure, to ask her to spare them.
It would scorch her pride, but perhaps it was no less than she deserved. She’d hurt so many lives with her determination to have Cy marry into the proper bloodlines. She laughed mirthlessly. Myrna’s fierce need for social acceptance had probably cost her any hope of grandchildren, because Cy refused even to consider marriage anymore. The only grandchild she’d ever had was lost to her, through her own arrogance. She closed her eyes and shivered. Paradise lost, she thought. How cold were the dead dreams of the past. She turned slowly and wandered back into the living room to sit down.
IT WASN’T LATE WHEN Meredith left the restaurant. Cy had walked out just after their brief quarrel. How silly of her to expect that he might ask Myrna for the truth, when he’d believed his mother’s lies from the beginning.
If she felt any consolation at all, it came from Myrna’s uncertainty about the fate of her only grandchild. It was a bitter pleasure at that, because Meredith didn’t like hurting people—not even people like Myrna. All that pain, all that anguish, and for what? Myrna had wanted Cy to marry a local socialite he’d been dating infrequently, but that had obviously come to nothing. Cy was still single and showed no interest whatsoever in becoming anyone’s husband. There was a cold cynicism in him now that Meredith didn’t recognize, a hardness that completely overshadowed the sensitivity she remembered. He’d changed, as she had. Only Myrna remained the same: icy and arrogant and certain of getting her own way. But not this time, Meredith told herself. Oh, no, not this time. She wasn’t leaving town until Cy had the truth of it, no matter what it took. And she had a few surprises for him before that day came.
Meredith called the office as soon as she reached Mary’s house. Working eased her aching heart, made her whole again. She wanted to check with her contacts on the inquiries she was making into Harden Properties. Cy had to have an Achilles’ heel. She’d noticed that most of his executives ate at the restaurant where she worked. She smiled at that irony. He’d given her a job at the very best place to eavesdrop on his business. How would he feel, she wondered smugly, when he found out?
During the next few days, she made it her business to be especially courteous to his executives and become friendly with them. That being the case, they were much less guarded in their conversation, assuming that she wouldn’t know what they were talking about. But she did. From the information she gleaned, she gathered that one of Cy’s directors was quietly working against him, trying to obtain a majority of the stockholders’ votes to oust Cy from his own company. She mentioned that over the phone to Don the night she heard this. He agreed to find the director and cultivate him.
Little bits and pieces of conversation, small tidbits of gossip, fueled her secretive inquiries, provided her with insight into the best avenues to pursue as she sought a foothold in Cy’s company.
Cy hadn’t been back to the restaurant since they argued, which was something of a relief. Neither had Myrna, and Meredith began to wonder if something was afoot.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Dade had noticed Meredith’s special attention to the Harden executives, and she asked her employee into the office late one evening to discuss it.
“You’re a good waitress,” Mrs. Dade said with a steely look, “but I don’t like the attention you’re giving Cy Harden’s employees. Not only does it not look good, but you’re making a spectacle of yourself in front of the other help.”
Meredith’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware that I was paying them any special attention, Mrs. Dade,” she said innocently. “They’re very nice tippers….” She added that last bit with a calculating look and saw with pleasure that she’d given exactly the impression she meant to.
Mrs. Dade’s face relaxed into a smile. “I see.”
I thought you would, Meredith thought with silent satisfaction.
“Well, if that’s all it is,” Mrs. Dade continued. “But you mustn’t pay them such obvious attention. It does look bad. And I’d hate to have to let you go.”
That would be interesting, she thought. She wondered what Mrs. Dade would do if she fired Meredith and Cy found out. It might be the restaurant manager who was out on the streets looking for work, because Cy didn’t like anyone undermining his orders.
“I’ll be very careful not to let it happen again, Mrs. Dade,” Meredith promised.
The
