Chapter Nine: The Piper's Bill

He was quite simply the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

That was her first thought, the most overwhelming impression she got from Edward Ashton when he came up to them.

He was beautiful. This gorgeous, perfect man. His soulful eyes, dimpled cheeks, exquisitely formed face, soft dark hair. He was the epitome of masculine grace, every bit as handsome as his father had been at his best, every bit as strong as her father had been, or her brother. An unspeakably perfect blend of the best physical traits of both the Quartermaine and the Ashton lines.

He took her breath away, this son of hers.

She couldn't speak—couldn't even part her lips to try. She simply stared at him, this child she'd borne who'd grown up literally while her back was turned.

"I can't believe you would show your face at a time like this," he continued when she didn't speak. She noticed he had some of Larry's vocal inflections, although how that had happened, she couldn't fathom. Maybe it was genetic…

"Don't you have anything to say? Any lies to tell? Let me guess—you heard about the fire and couldn't get on a plane fast enough to be at Dear Grandfather's Bedside."

A young woman had come up to him now. Tracy didn't remember seeing her get off the elevator, but she wasn't tracking very clearly through the haze of things. The woman had very pale skin, silky red hair, elegant features. She could have been a fashion model, except for the hardness in her eyes. "What's going on, Daddy?" she said to Alan.

"Daddy?" This was the first word Tracy managed to speak since Ned had entered the scene. She turned to Alan with a questioning look.

"Not now, Skye," he warned. "Ned, you need to calm down. The last thing your Grandfather needs is an all-scale war between you and your mother to break out."

"Your mother? You're Tracy Quartermaine?" Skye stared at her as if seeing a legend, or a monster from a horror film. "Well, isn't this interesting?"

"Enough," Alan said firmly. "Tracy has every right to be here. So let's not start anything. We have things to do, decisions to make, and I don't think squabbling between us is the best way to—"

"She has no voice in any decisions we make in this family, Alan." He pushed away the hand that Alan had placed on his shoulder. "Whatever she has to say, she can find somebody who gives a damn."

"Hey, now—" Tracy turned to see Simon—had she forgotten he was here?—pushing through the little huddle of Quartermaines to take her side. "There's no need for—"

"Who the hell is this, Mother? Husband Number What? Or is he your accountant? Your parole officer?" Ned was glaring at her, his entire body poised for battle, as if he'd been waiting all his life for this chance.

She realized that he probably had been waiting all his life for this chance. "Ned, I didn't come to cause any trouble." Her own voice was soft. Maybe even a bit repentant. She didn't know for sure. It was hard to tell where the choking in her throat ended and the actual emotion began.

Her son hated her.

It wasn't a huge surprise, really. Why shouldn't he hate her? She'd abandoned him, and left him in the care of a family who…

What had they told him? How much had twenty years embellished the tales of her evil? Who was she, now? Pathetic Tracy who married the wrong men? Manipulative Tracy who pulled all the strings for her own greedy reasons?

Or Murderess Tracy who committed the unspeakable crime of trying to kill Edward, and failing?

"Ned…I just came to see your grandfather." She barely recognized her own voice, gentle, pleading. She tried to remember the last time she needed like this, the last time someone's opinion of her mattered so desperately.

Daddy.

"She's trying to get back into Grandfather's will," Skye said with unmistakable scorn in her voice. "Of all the nerve…"

"Oh, shut up, whoever you are," Tracy said, her temper flaring at the audacity of this little red-haired bitch who was apparently another of Alan and Monica's offspring. She wondered who Monica had slept with to get pregnant with this little monster.

"No, she's right mother," Ned said darkly. He stared at her, his eyes flaming with years of hatred and resentment. "You may think you're going to weasel your way into the family, but you're wrong. There are too many people around, now. You can't get to him, you can't be alone with him." He turned to Simon again. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm her friend," Simon said simply. "Simon Fullerton."

"Well did your friend /i? here tell you why she's not welcome in Port Charles?" Ned asked with a sneer.

"Ned, son, now's not time for this," Alan said in a placating tone.

"I'm not your son, Alan. I'm hers." Ned fixed her with a glare that would have shot holes through a lesser woman. As it was, Tracy felt that she'd been struck physically. "I'm the heir apparent to Tracy Quartermaine's legacy, a hell of a lot of good that did me. Did you friend tell you how she just up and left, Simon? Until I was eighteen, all Tracy Quartermaine was to me was a check from Banc Suisse at birthdays and holidays. Once, she sent me a postcard from India. I thought she was a Buddhist for a while, but then I realized that couldn't be possible because she doesn't have a soul."

"Ned…"

"Stay out of this, Alan," Tracy said softly. "Let him say his peace."

"When I turned eighteen, I got my trust fund. And the checks stopped. There were no postcards. She was gone. All I had left of my no-good mother was her legacy, her gift to me. Do you know what that was, Simon? Besides money, do you know what my mother, Tracy Quartermaine, gave to me?" He narrowed his eyes. "The joy of growing up the son of an attempted murderer."

Alan put his arm on Ned's, but the younger man brushed it off. "Listen, Ned, I know you're angry. But now is not the time or place to be airing the family's dirty laundry. We all know what happened with your mother, but that was a long time ago."

"You have no idea what happened with me," Tracy whispered, her heart sinking. It had never occurred to her—no, she'd never wanted to think about it. What would life be like for Ned if the real reason she was banished ever got out? What kind of life would he have?

"Did she tell you everything, Simon?"

Tracy watched Simon's expression carefully, her stomach in knots, her hands shaking. It didn't seem real, somehow, that this would be happening. She'd just come to see Daddy. She still hadn't seen Daddy. Why was Ned destroying her? Didn't he understand…?

He didn't understand. Nobody did, not even Tracy.

Ned leveled his gaze at Simon, as if aiming for the killing blow. "Tell me, Simon. Did your friend ever tell you how she tried to murder her own father?"

Coming in Chapter Ten: The Truth and a Cup of Tea