Daphne was crying now. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“In life, we are given many challenges. You mustn’t give up, my dear. I know it is hard. And I would do anything to hold you in my arms and take care of you. But I would not be doing you any favors to encourage you to give up now. Remember, Daphne, this is your destiny.”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because I believe it.” The phone crackled then, and whatever else Mother said was lost. “Mr. Witherspoon,” Mother was saying when the connection cleared. “I feel you can trust him. Go to him.”
“All right, Mother.”
“Be brave, my dear, beautiful child. God will give you strength. All of these things that frighten you ... you are stronger than all of them.”
“But when I don’t know what is real and what is not—”
Daphne stopped in midsentence. She saw the call had been dropped.
She figured it was no use to try calling back. Mother had made her position clear. She did not feel Daphne should give up.
Over the next couple of days, Daphne began to agree with her. Mother was right. She couldn’t expect to go running back to the sanctuary of Our Lady every time she got scared or confused. This was her life now. It was sink or swim, fight or flight. She knew she was not crazy. She had always been a sensible, logical person. All her teachers had commented on Daphne’s grace under pressure. She had to believe in herself. Mother Angela had taught her that. She had to believe she would succeed, and then she would.
She took Mother’s advice to speak with Pete. She shared with him her concerns about Christopher. She admitted—lest the boy expose her first—that she had done some research on the family tragedy, not for any “prurient reasons,” she told Mr. Witherspoon, but because she felt she had to know the full story. She assured him the details would never be shared with anyone, nor, now that she knew everything, did she feel the need to bring any of it up again. He seemed relieved at that. He also said he would speak to Christopher about being more cooperative. Daphne urged him to rethink the idea of a psychotherapist or counselor for the boy. His problems went very deep, she said, far deeper than she was capable of handling. Multiplication tables and American history she could take care of. But his ongoing grief and anger were matters for a very different kind of skilled professional.
Mr. Witherspoon seemed impressed with Daphne’s articulate expression of the situation, and indeed, she was quite pleased with herself. Mother Angela’s talk, while difficult, had had the desired effect on her. A day before, Daphne had been a crying, frightened child. Now she might still be frightened, but she was no longer crying.
And she no longer felt like a child.
Ashlee had seemed surprised to learn that Daphne wasn’t packing back her bags to leave, but then insisted she was delighted she was staying. But, she said, if Daphne stayed, she had to do one thing.
“What’s that?” Daphne asked.
“You have to take Gregory Winston up on his offer of a date.”
Daphne didn’t know if it was a good idea. It would feel as if she was going behind Mr. Witherspoon’s back. But Ashlee insisted what Daphne did in her off time was her business. “Besides,” Ashlee added, “you have
got
to get out of this house once in a while. Look how upset and jittery you were a day ago. You need some time out of here so you can breathe.”
So, when Wednesday night arrived, Ashlee told everyone that she and Daphne were going down to Portland to see a movie. But what she really planned to do was drop Daphne off at Rico’s, where she’d meet Gregory. They spent the late afternoon getting ready. Ashlee styled Daphne’s hair in a sophisticated sort of updo, and let her borrow a pair of Manolo Blahnik high heels. Of course the polka-dotted skirt from the other day was taken out of the closet. Daphne had thought she’d never have a chance to wear it, but that chance had come. To top it all off, Ashlee let her wear a gorgeous white faux-fur coat. Daphne looked, Ashlee said, like a model.
Then it was off to meet Gregory. That was, if he remembered.
He did. He was waiting for her at a table in the back. A bud vase containing a single red rose sat opposite him at the table.
“You came,” he said, with genuine pleasure. The rose, he said, was for her.
She was touched. She sat down, and for a few awkward moments, neither of them said a word. Then Gregory snapped his fingers and a waiter brought over a bottle of what looked like champagne.
“Don’t worry,” Gregory said. “It’s sparkling, but there’s no alcohol.”
Daphne laughed. She felt her cheeks blush.
“You look ... amazing,” Gregory said. “Hardly the picture of a convent girl any longer.”
“Oh, I really still am,” she said with a laugh.
Gregory smiled. “And that’s why I like you.”
They talked about everything other than Witherswood and the events that had gone on there. They talked about the harbor, and the boats Gregory owned. They talked about things to do in Maine in the winter. Did Daphne like to ice-skate? She did. Gregory knew places to go. Did she like to ski? She’d tried just once, she replied, with a group of girls from Our Lady, and had been kind of clumsy. Gregory told her he was, too, which surprised her. He suggested maybe they take skiing lessons together. Daphne laughed. It was a nice idea, she thought to herself, but just what would she tell Mr. Witherspoon?
Their food was delicious. Gregory had had his chef whip up a special wild salmon for them. The bread was homemade, crusty and warm, fresh from the oven. The butternut squash was the sweetest Daphne had ever tasted.
They talked about places Gregory had been—it seemed he’d been everywhere—and places Daphne had always dreamed of seeing. London, Paris, Rome, of course, but also the fjords of Norway, she told him, and the Great Wall of China. Gregory had been to them all. He described the fjords as breathtaking, especially at sunset. And the Great Wall was like a walk into the far, dim reaches of the ancient past. One of the great man-made wonders of the world.
What an exciting man. What hadn’t Gregory done? He was a skilled yachtsman and, Daphne learned, a motorcyclist. He’d climbed mountains, dived into the deep sea, and loved spelunking in caves. He’d also built his own house.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked Daphne. “It’s nearby.”
She hesitated. Was it right to go to a man’s house on the first date?
But she trusted Gregory. So she said yes, and they quickly polished off their dessert—a gorgeous chocolate cheesecake—and headed outside.
A damp, cold mist was rolling in from the sea. Daphne was glad for Ashlee’s coat.
“Where’s the house?” she asked Gregory.
“On the cliff road,” he told her, as he quickly popped into a small lean-to attached to the restaurant. He emerged with a helmet in his hands.
“Ever been on a bike?”
“Oh, my, no,” Daphne said.
Gregory helped affix the helmet onto her head. “Don’t worry, it won’t scrunch your hair too much,” he said. “And I have plenty of combs and brushes at my place if you want to fix it up when we get there.”
Daphne didn’t care about her hair. She should have been terrified about the prospect of getting on the back of a motorcycle. The old Daphne would have been. But the new Daphne ... in her polka-dotted skirt and high heels ... the new Daphne who had faced down sinister clowns, whether they were real or in her mind ... she found herself surprisingly excited to get on that bike.
What a ride it was! Her arms wrapped around Gregory’s waist, Daphne felt the wind on her face as they zoomed through the center of the village and out onto the cliff road. A sliver of a white moon hung high in the sky. In less than ten minutes they had reached a strange-looking structure built into the side of the cliff. It looked as if it were a house that had sunk. Only a roof and a few small windows were visible. Dismounting the bike, Daphne looked at the place. Gregory gestured for her to follow him through a small, stained-glass door.
As she stepped through, Daphne’s jaw dropped. The reason one saw so little of the house from the road was because it had been built into the side of the cliff. The entire other side of the house was made of glass. It was like living in the ocean. The waves crashed all around her, on both sides and even under her feet.
“This is magnificent,” she said, her voice wondrous.
Gregory smiled. “Thanks. I designed it and did much of the construction myself.”
He gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa that looked out over the roiling sea below.
“I’ll make some coffee,” he told her.
Daphne sat down. How very, very far away she was from the staid, redbrick, ivy-covered walls of Our Lady’s School for Girls.
“Look, Daphne,” Gregory said, when he brought over the coffee. “We’ve talked about everything tonight except Witherswood. I’ll admit I’m concerned about you. I spoke with the sheriff yesterday, and he told me what you reported to him.”
She accepted the coffee and took a sip. It was good.
“A few days ago,” she admitted, “I wanted to leave. I even called Mother Angela, begging to come back. But now ...”
“Now?” Gregory asked, when it seemed as if she might not finish her thought.
“Now I feel determined to find out what connection I might have to this place.” Daphne looked out at the sea, dappled with moonlight. “There is something going on. What I saw ... I don’t believe it was an illusion or a hallucination. Just because that terrible clown walked the other way doesn’t mean he couldn’t have doubled back and gone around the block to meet me in that parking lot and scare me. If that had been his intent, in fact, then it would have made more sense for him not to follow me in front of a witness.” She looked over at Gregory. “The ride over here on the back of your bike confirmed it was possible. I spotted an alley right near the bench where I had been sitting. The clown could have easily hurried down there to catch up with me.”
“So you think this person, whoever he is, dressed as a clown, is somehow targeting you?” Gregory sat down beside Daphne.
“It’s either that, or it’s the ghost of Mr. Witherspoon’s father.”
She saw the look that crossed Gregory’s face.
Daphne smiled. “I know that sounds crazy. And maybe it is.” She leaned forward a bit to make her point. “But I know that
I’m
not crazy.”
“Well, that’s good at least.”
“And I also know that I’m going to find out what’s going on. Because I’m starting to believe there’s something about myself I’m supposed to find out here.” She took a sip of coffee. “My destiny.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not leaving,” Gregory said. “But it’s not just mysterious clowns and the possibility of ghosts that has me worried about you in that house.”
“Oh no?” She smiled. “What else then?”
“They are a very dysfunctional clan, Daphne, and that’s putting it mildly.” Gregory sighed. As he settled back into the couch, his broad, strong shoulder touched Daphne’s, and she felt what could only be described as a surge of electricity crackle through her. “How could they not be, after what they’ve been through?”
“Well, Christopher started acting up again, but after his father spoke with him, he’s once again being cooperative,” Daphne told him. “I suspect more outbursts will come in the future though.”
“Pete needs to get the boy to a shrink,” Gregory said.
“I agree. He said he’d consider it.”
“I’ll believe it when it happens.” Gregory let his shoulder touch Daphne’s again. “What about the others?”
“Abigail is still very hostile. It’s like she doesn’t want me in the house.”
“A bitter old woman. I don’t she’s ever been—” Gregory caught himself. “Well, I think she’s been by herself too long.”
“Were you about to say she’s never been laid?” Daphne asked.
Gregory blushed.
“I might be a convent girl,” Daphne said, laughing, “but it’s not like I’m completely clueless.”
Gregory smiled. “What about Donovan?”
Daphne’s smile faded. “He’s become ... more aggressive.”
“Watch out for him,” Gregory cautioned. “I don’t trust him.”
“He made a move the other night, and I made it clear he was never to do that again.”
“I’ll break his neck if he tries anything again,” Gregory mumbled. “Isn’t his fiancée around?”
“Yes, and I think she thinks I’m the aggressor.”
“He probably tells her that you are. He’s pathological. Remember, I grew up with all those boys. Donovan, Ben, Gabe. They were my best friends. We did everything together. But even then Donovan was a prick.” He looked over at Daphne to see if he’d offended her with the word, but she just nodded for him to go on. “He was always teasing Ben about being gay. Ben was a brave teenager, coming out at a very young age. But Donovan was even worse to Gabe, making him feel like a lesser athlete, a lesser horseman, a lesser everything. And Pete didn’t help, always seeming to favor Donovan over his other two nephews. We all believed that Donovan was going to inherit the estate—but I guess that’s changed now that Pete actually had a son of his own.”