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“He called coxswain again,” she said. “Lazy arse.”
“Did he enjoy the party last night?” her father asked.
“He spent most of it under my bed hiding.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
She sighed, shrugged. “It was fine. Alcohol helped.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown the big party.” He winced. “I know you hate them.”
“I didn’t hate it,” she said. A true statement.
“You spent half the party in your room.”
That was true. She couldn’t argue with that. “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to disappoint you.”
Her father took her face in his hands.
“Are you alive?” he asked.
She grinned, rolled her eyes.
“Yes, obviously.”
“If you want to disappoint me, you’ll die before I do. Nothing else will work,” he said. “And then I’d never forgive you, and you’d be written right out of the will. I’ll leave everything to the Virgins just to spite you for dying on me.”
“Daddy, you have to stop calling Art and Charlie ‘the Virgins.’ They despise you enough as it is.”
“Ungrateful children, I swear. I’ll call those two anything I want. You know what they call me, don’t you?” he demanded.
“The Sexual Predator.”
“The Sexual Predator,”he said, carrying on as if he hadn’t heard her. “They don’t say, ‘Where’s Dad gone?’ or ‘What’s our father—who pays all our bills and puts a roof over our heads—want us to do now to show him our gratitude?’ It’s ‘Where’s the Sexual Predator? What’s ye olde Predator up to now?’ And all because once, just once, they caught me and your mother...in our own damn house.”
“They caught you inthe kitchen. That we all use.”
“They were supposed to be out,” her father said.
“There are sixty rooms in the house and you picked the kitchen to...” She fluttered her hand. “There are things boys do not need to see their father doing to their mother. Can you blame them for thinking you’re a pervert?”
“God only knows what they call your mother,” he said.
“Stockholm Syndrome.”
Her father chuckled. “Well, it is clever.”
“You’re barmy,” she said.
“And you’re my favorite,” he said. “Don’t tell the boys. I want to be the one to tell them.”
He kissed her forehead and walked to the door. On the threshold, he paused and looked back at her.
“Oh, forgot to tell you. David Bell stopped by last night. He’s back in the country.”
“I heard,” Lia said, keeping her expression neutral.
“He left you a gift,” her father said. “It’s in your sitting room. And we’re all going to his opening Friday. Please don’t make other plans.”
