Chapter Two
"My name is Eve Wyman," the woman continued as Perry openly gaped at her. "But my last name used to be Street."
Perry remained uncharacteristically dumbstruck.
Eve Wyman regarded him with high amusement, her head cocked slightly to the right. Della cocked her head to the left when she gave him a similar look. Even their short dark curls were similarly styled, except that the woman's hair was shorter and parted on the opposite side than Della's, and was a lighter shade of chestnut brown. "Now I know for certain I'm in the right place. Is Maeve here?"
Perry regained a semblance of coherence with a shake of his head. "Maeve? There is no Maeve here." His voice sounded shaky in his ears. He knew she must be looking for Della, but why would she refer to her by that strange name? The woman was so obviously Della's mother, the mother who had abandoned her toddler daughter to be raised by a cold, rigid grandmother and a distracted, equally rigid father. The mother who had not made one attempt to see her daughter her entire life.
The woman gave a small grimace of distaste. "I'm sorry. They gave her that damnable woman's name, didn't they?" She grimaced again without expounding further. "I'm fairly certain you know who I am, and I believe I know who you are. Won't you invite me in for a proper introduction?"
"My name is Mason," he said, refusing to move, his large frame blocking the doorway protectively.
Eve Wyman accepted his rebuff calmly and studied him from beneath thick lashes. "It's Perry Mason, isn't it? I must say your picture doesn't do you justice, Mr. Mason."
"You've seen my picture?"
"Of course. How do you think I knew where to find Maeve…I mean Della. I abhor that name," she admitted with a tiny shudder.
"I rather like it," he offered.
"You wouldn't if you had known the old battle axe," she replied evenly. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised they took away the name I gave her. In the end Katherine Street always gets her way. I assume her middle initial 'K' is for 'Katherine'? I was so hoping that D.M. Street in the Los Angeles directory was her, and not D.K. Street."
Perry neither confirmed nor denied the woman's assumption. He wondered if Della would possibly stay in the bathroom long enough for him to get rid of this woman. It would be better for everyone if the two women met elsewhere, on less personal turf, after he had gently broken the news to Della that the woman who had given birth to her and then abandoned her was inexplicitly standing outside her apartment twenty-five years later and wanted to see her.
His thoughts were barely formed when the bathroom door opened behind him and Della floated down the hallway into the living room. He remained in the doorway, desperately trying to obscure the woman who stood before him.
"Really, Chief," she scolded good-naturedly. "Let the poor man in. If he's so determined to deplete my scotch, we shouldn't deny him."
Eve Wyman gasped audibly, her eyes round and startled at the sound of her daughter's voice. She reached a hand up to smooth perfectly arranged curls. "Please," she whispered. "Let me see her. I don't deserve to, but please…"
He should have shut the door in her face, the face so like the face of the woman he loved, but while his brain wanted to, it couldn't convince his arm to actually do it. So he turned toward Della, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, still shielding her from the biggest shock of her life, and held out his hand. "Come here, Della," he commanded softly.
Della took a few steps tentative steps toward him, sensing something amiss from his posture. "What's wrong, Perry?" She halted several feet from him, one hand on her stomach, the other resting on the back of the couch. "Has something happened?"
"Please come here," he repeated.
She shook her head emphatically. "No. You come here." Every hair on her body was standing on end.
Damn her stubbornness. He knew she was beginning to get frightened by his behavior so he decided the element of total surprise would be best all the way around. He stepped away from the doorway.
"Oh," Eve Wyman breathed. Hand held against trembling lips, she advanced into the apartment and Perry was astounded to smell Della's perfume, the expensive scent she had herself applied mere moments ago. "Oh, you look just like me."
Della recoiled in utter shock, her knees suddenly weak as the older version of herself approached. She looked at Perry, confusion, hurt, and fear playing across her features.
"Della," he began gently. "This is Eve Wyman. She says she's your mother."
Eve laughed softly. "I think it's apparent who I am now that I see her. No wonder you couldn't speak when you first opened the door, Mr. Mason."
Della retreated, gripping the back of the couch for all she was worth. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "No, don't come any closer."
Perry moved quickly to Della's side, slid his arm reassuringly around her waist, regretful of the part he had played in her shock. "I'm sorry, Della. I didn't want to let her in at first, and then I thought maybe you should see her…"
"Why on earth would I want to see her?" Della asked in a voice bordering on shrill. "She's never wanted anything to do with me. Get her out of here."
Eve Wyman stood awkwardly at one end of the couch while her look-alike daughter stood at the other end, curled into the arms of the big, dark haired man. She wondered what was between them that he would be answering the door and her daughter would be dressed in only a robe. "That's not true. I very much wanted to be a part of your life."
"You expect me to believe that? No calls…no letters…not even a lousy postcard. You left me and never looked back. Get out of my apartment."
Eve lowered her head sadly, then raised it and pinned a defiant look on Della. "I thought that being a legal secretary you would believe in the concept of innocent until proven guilty."
Della's eyes flickered momentarily. "There is overwhelming evidence to contradict what you claim," she said stiffly. "I've asked you twice to leave. You're very good at leaving. Please do it again."
"You haven't asked, you've ordered me," Eve Wyman pointed out testily before gathering herself again and speaking more calmly. "I don't expect you to be thrilled to see me. I took a chance on making our first contact in person instead of with a telephone call because I'm not a coward. I face things squarely and let the chips fall where they may."
"Abandoning your husband and child is facing things squarely? My dictionary has a very different definition of bravery than yours."
Perry was silent, listening to the two similarly-pitched voices volley back and forth, neither gaining nor giving up any ground. "Ladies, let me say that this apartment at eight o'clock in the evening after we've been in court all day is not the proper place or time for what you want to say to Della, Miss Wyman."
"Mrs. Wyman," she corrected archly. "Now that I'm here and she's reacting this way, I can see that it isn't."
"This is surreal," Della declared, pushing herself away from Perry. "You let this complete stranger in here without me knowing what was coming, and now you both act like I'm not being a proper hostess."
"I tried to tell you," Perry reminded her quietly.
"You should have been more insistent," she charged irrationally. "Do you actually think I need to listen to anything this woman has to say?"
"That's entirely up to you, Della."
She stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You do actually think I need to listen to her," she told him accusingly, incredulity and hurt interwoven in her words.
"I'll leave," Eve Wyman announced. "It's obvious I shouldn't have made a surprise visit like this."
"Damn straight," Della muttered.
Perry furrowed his brow. He had hoped Della would listen to this woman, if only to put to rest any lingering questions about why she had left, to fill in the gaps of the story her father, her grandmother, and her Aunt Mae would not tell her. In all the years he had known Della, she had mentioned her mother exactly once, her words sparse and devoid of emotion. "I have a mother. Somewhere." And for quite a while he wasn't sure if Mae Kirby was Della's paternal or maternal aunt, until one day Mae mentioned that her maiden name had been Sherwood and he realized she was actually Della's mother's sister.
Della had an infuriating habit of dealing with things silently and alone, of burying events deep within herself and moving on as if they hadn't happened, so he shouldn't be terribly surprised by her reaction to meeting the mother who had left when she was just two years old. Her calm exterior hid depths he was still discovering, depths of pain that he suspected would make a weaker woman crumble. Her reticence about her childhood frustrated him, because even though she felt she had dealt with the reality of it, he could tell it bothered her that aside from Mae, the few relatives she had seemed not to care about her.
He didn't know this woman, this Eve Wyman, but he also didn't want Della to rashly shove aside someone who could love her, and whom she might learn to love in return.
Eve Wyman lowered her eyes once again, this time in apparent defeat. "This was a gamble," she spoke to the floor. "I expected you to be suspicious, but I had hoped you would allow me the benefit of the doubt. I can see that whatever your father and grandmother told you has affected you deeply."
"On the contrary, Mrs. Wyman," Della said with icy formality, "my father and grandmother told me exactly nothing about you. My perception of you was formed when you completely erased me from your life."
The older woman's head snapped up. "They never explained why I left? They never told you what happened? What about Mae? Didn't anyone tell you anything?"
At the mention of her aunt's name, Della blinked, but her expression remained blank. "Actions speak louder than words," she offered a trifle lamely.
Perry nearly sighed out loud. "Della –"
She rounded on him. "Don't butt in, mister. I'll deal with you later." She turned back to Eve Wyman but Perry grabbed her arm.
"If you'll excuse us, Mrs. Wyman, I'd like a word in private with Della."
The grip on her arm tightened and she knew not to struggle against his will. She shouldn't have taken her anger and surprise out on him, but it wasn't every day that the mother who abandoned you showed up on your doorstep and frankly, she didn't know how to react to such a situation.
Perry closed the bedroom door behind them and firmly seated Della on the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest and all but stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.
"Della, I'm going to say what I think and I hope you'll open your mind a bit for me."
"I can't believe you're taking her side," Della complained bitterly. "Don't you see she's a phony?"
"I'm not taking her side, Della. You know better than that. Her resemblance to you satisfies me that she's your mother."
"Oh, she's my mother all right. It's everything else about her that's phony – I don't believe for a minute she's thought of me since she left. Why didn't she try to see me? Where has she been all my life? Why is she here now?"
Perry stood in front of her, his expression sober. "I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you, darling. Why don't you ask her those questions yourself?"
Della's shoulders slumped. Damn him for making the point perfectly clear. She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm being ridiculous," she told him, "but don't you think I have a right to be? I don't know who that woman is. She waltzes in here looking and sounding like me…" much to her horror and confusion, a huge tear rolled slowly down her cheek.
Perry sat next to her on the bed and gathered her into his arms. "Imagine my surprise when I had just left you in the bathroom and opened the door to find you staring back at me," he said with a catch in his voice. "At least we know what you'll look like in twenty-odd years."
"Nineteen," Della corrected with a little sniffle. "I was born two months after her nineteenth birthday."
"I didn't know she was so young."
"That's nearly all I know about her," Della admitted. She ran her hand under her nose. "So you think I should hear her out?"
Perry nodded. "She's your family, Della. Aside from Mae, you maintain that the rest of your family is a lost cause, but maybe you could have a relationship with your mother."
"I don't think I could ever love her."
"You don't know that, but I understand what makes you think it." His lips brushed hers lightly. "One thing I'm certain of – there is no way she won't love you once she gets to know you."
She hugged him hard.
"Why don't you get dressed while I go out and invite her to have dinner with us? A restaurant will be neutral ground, and if you don't want Paul to know this much about your past, we can give him a rain check. But I think having Paul around will be good. He can be a more objective observer than either you or I, and he can investigate her background if you'd like."
"That's actually a good idea. I won't mind if Paul hears the sad story of my childhood. Maybe it will keep him from teasing me so mercilessly."
"He only teases you because he's in reality a thirteen year old boy who has a crush on you."
She nodded. "And the thirteen year old girl in me has a crush on him too, but I have to be on my toes all the time around him. It's exhausting."
Perry laughed. "You don't have to be on your toes around me?"
She shook her head. "You I have figured out."
Perry laughed again. "You certainly do, baby. Hurry and get dressed. Paul is probably on his third cocktail right now and fuming."
"I'll call the restaurant," she said, reaching for the bedside telephone. "Go out and invite that woman to join us. I promise I'll behave civilly toward her."
"That's my girl," he said approvingly.
Eve Wyman wandered around the small but neat and cozy apartment, noting the soothing colors and soft fabrics, the simple but good furniture, the thoughtfully placed knick-knacks. Her daughter clearly had taste, and a limited budget supplemented by what were more than likely gifts: a heavy cut crystal bowl and matching vase in which three dried yellow roses tied with bead-adorned white ribbons had been placed, elegant Corinthian column silver candlesticks, a flower patterned clock box. Her keen eye told her the beads were Swarovski, the crystal Waterford, the silver candlesticks Gorham, the clock sterling silver and Guilloche enamel. How could Maeve, a mere secretary, afford such exquisite items?
She shook herself. She had to remember that her daughter was called Della. Such a shame and a huge regret on her part that she hadn't insisted Katherine Street not change her child's name. She had fought for all she was worth to not follow the Street tradition of naming daughters after a great-grandmother and a grandmother, especially those two harridans whose mutual purpose in life was to make everyone around them miserable. And she had won. Her daughter was christened Maeve Marie, after her aunt, her mother, and her maternal grandmother.
Whenever she had thought of her daughter it had always been as Maeve – what did Maeve look like at five, at ten, at sixteen, at her high school graduation, at twenty-one? Was she married, did she have children? Then two days ago Elliott had shown her the picture of the noted attorney Perry Mason and his beautiful secretary, and she had known without reading the caption that the secretary was her daughter. It was a bitter disappointment to see the young woman's name, but the proof of her daughter's existence quickly overshadowed the disappointment as Elliott presented her with a new diamond bracelet as a belated Mother's Day gift.
She was staring at the green enamel clock box, lost in thought when Perry Mason returned to the living room. "It's beautiful," she said, looking up with a swift smile.
Perry nodded. The woman's resemblance to Della had struck him nearly dumb at first, as had the innate mannerisms they shared,but he now noticed subtle differences, however, in addition to the color of their hair: the color of their eyes, the shape of their mouths, the slope of their noses. "We found it at a little shop up north. I gave it to Della for her birthday last year."
"It's quite a gift for a boss to give a secretary."
"She's quite a secretary."
Eve Wyman regarded him that amused glance again, her head cocked to the side. "Mr. Mason, I know a boss doesn't give a secretary a gift like this no matter how well she performs her job. Do you think as her mother I'll disapprove?"
"Whether you approve or disapprove is neither here nor there, Mrs. Wyman. It is simply no one's business. Not even her mother's."
"Especially not her mother's, since her mother is a complete stranger," Eve pointed out, using her daughter's own words to describe herself.
"Perhaps your status of complete stranger can be overcome, Mrs. Wyman. Della and I would like to invite you to join us for dinner. We have a table waiting for us at a very nice restaurant downtown, as well as a business colleague who is probably three sheets to the wind by now."
Eve hesitated for a few seconds before replying. "All right, Mr. Mason. I would be honored to be your guest at dinner. I'd like to freshen up a bit, though. Do you think Maeve – Della would mind if I used her powder room?"
Perry bowed slightly and swept his hand in the direction of the bathroom. "She won't mind at all. It's the first door on the right."
Eve glided past him and he was once again enveloped by Della's perfume. He lowered himself slowly to the couch after she closed the door of the bathroom, lit a cigarette, and took a long, deep, contemplative drag. This was going to be one hell of an interesting evening.
Eve Sherwood Street Akers Wyman dispatched with her business then stood at the sink and studied her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The pink terry cloth robe hanging on a hook next to a decidedly masculine navy silk robe told her more than Perry Mason had been willing to impart. As if the robes weren't enough to confirm her suspicions, there were two toothbrushes in the holder, and a bottle of men's cologne with the cap off was precariously perched on the edge of the sink. She had to hand it to her daughter. She had hooked herself quite a catch in the enigmatic, handsome attorney.
She ran her hand down the smooth column of her neck, turned her head from side to side, critically assessing. Nary a wrinkle, bright clear eyes, trim figure. Not bad for a woman her age. She wasn't old, but she certainly wasn't the ingénue her daughter was. And if she wasn't mistaken, Perry Mason might be closer to her age than that of her daughter.
She quickly tidied her hair, reapplied lipstick, touched up her foundation, and snapped the compact shut with satisfaction. She was ready to face an evening that now had the potential to be so much better than she could ever have imagined.
Eve Wyman emerged from the bathroom and nearly bumped into Della, who was exiting her bedroom at that exact moment. She was dressed in a sleeveless black fit-and-flair dress, sublime in its simplicity, with long elegant lines, a sweetheart neckline and a matching bolero jacket, which she held in her hand. Her jewelry was a single strand of pearls and dangle earrings that positively glowed against her youthfully creamy skin. The pearls were obviously real, obviously expensive, and Eve thought them to be obviously another gift from the generous Mr. Mason.
"What a beautiful dress!" Eve exclaimed.
Della smiled faintly, not yet ready to give herself over completely to this woman, no matter what Perry thought. "Thank you. A very good friend is a dress designer."
"You must take me to her shop while I'm in town," Eve said conversationally, linking arms with her daughter. As she did so, she managed to glimpse the interior of the bedroom. The bed was unmade, sheets in total disarray, and there were suitcases lined up on the floor next to the closet. She gave her daughter an appraisingly surreptitious glance beneath false eyelashes.
"Perry invited you to dinner?" Della asked as they walked the short distance to the living room. She wanted to disentangle her arm from that of Eve Wyman and escape the curious looks the older woman sent her way. Just because she would be having dinner with them didn't automatically make the woman anything more than a stranger who just happened to have given birth to her, and the physical contact made her uneasy.
Eve Wyman squeezed her daughter's arm and nodded. "He did indeed. I'm very happy to be included in your plans, Della." She was quite pleased with herself for not stumbling over her daughter's name.
Perry was standing at the door, holding it open. "There you both are," he said. "All ready to go?"
Della handed him the bolero jacket and he held it out for her to slide her arms into. He gently passed his hand across her back in a subtle, encouraging caress before offering his arm to Eve Wyman.
Della closed and locked the door to her apartment as Perry escorted Eve to the elevator. She turned to follow them just as Eve reached up and straightened Perry's tie. The smile on her mother's face sent a jolt of undeniable unease through her. Oh boy, she was most definitely not going to enjoy this evening.