Hellfire - By John Saul Page 0,110

bobbed dutifully. “Oh … and, Hannah,” he added as he started up the stairs. “From now on, there will be no need for you to do anything about Tracy’s room. Shell be cleaning it up herself, starting tomorrow.”

Hannah’s brows arched, and she eyed Phillip shrewdly. “Is that what this is all about?” she asked, tilting her head toward the library.

“I’m afraid not,” Phillip replied. “She doesn’t even know about having to clean her own room yet.”

“In that case, sir, I’ll lock up the rest of the crystal and the china as soon as I get back from the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Phillip said, and found himself grinning as he went up the stairs and turned toward his mother’s suite. He found Abigail sitting in her favorite chair, a book facedown in her lap. The moment he came into the room, her sharp old eyes fell on him suspiciously.

“What in the name of God is that racket, Phillip?” she demanded.

“It’s Tracy, Mother,” he replied. “I have finally put my foot down with her.” As briefly as possible, he explained to his mother what he had told his daughter, and why. When he was done, the old lady gazed at him from beneath hooded eyes.

“You’re making a terrible mistake, Phillip.”

Phillip shrugged, and dropped into the chair opposite her. “It seems to me I’ve been making a series of terrible mistakes with Tracy all her life.” His mother, though, didn’t seem to have heard him. She was staring at him now with the disapproval a mother reserves for a wayward child. What, he wondered, was she angry about now? And then he realized that the chair he had unconsciously sunk into had never been occupied by anyone but his father. “He’s dead, Mother,” he said quietly. “Is the chair in the mausoleum not enough? Is this supposed to be a shrine as well?”

He immediately regretted the words, but there was no recovering them.

“Sit where you wish,” Abigail replied, her voice cold. “Since you seem intent on taking over his place in this house, you might as well take his chair as well. But as for Tracy, you can’t simply change the rules on a child like her. She’s far too sensitive.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree with your assessment of her sensitivity,” Phillip observed dryly. “And as to the rules, I haven’t changed them. I’ve simply established some.”

“And you expect me to allow it?” Abigail asked, her expression hardening.

“It’s not a question of your allowing anything,” Phillip replied. “I’m simply setting some limits and rules on my daughter, that’s all.”

Abigail’s lips twisted with scorn. “Your daughter? I suppose you have a biological right to say that, but I’d hardly say you’ve fulfilled the functions of a father with her.”

Phillip refused to rise to the bait. “And of course you’d be right in saying it,” he agreed. “But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s time she learned that being a Sturgess does not make her anything special, and I intend to teach her that.”

“By punishing her for being naturally resentful of the wrong sort of people intruding into her life?”

“That’s enough, Mother,” Phillip said, rising to his feet. “I simply wanted to find out how you were. I didn’t come in here to debate with you.”

Abigail’s voice took on the coldness that Phillip had long since learned to recognize as the ultimate sign of his mother’s rage. “And you presumed that I would simply acquiesce?”

“I don’t presume anything, Mother,” he replied, struggling to retain control of his own anger. “But it does occur to me that you might be just the slightest bit interested in how Beth is doing. Her father died this afternoon. Is protecting Tracy’s selfishness really more important than Beth’s welfare?”

“There’s nothing I can do for Beth Rogers,” was Abigail’s acerbic reply. “But there is a great deal I can do for my own granddaughter. Not the least of which is preventing you from moving young Beth back into this house.”

“Because she’s ‘the wrong sort of person,’ Mother?” Phillip asked wearily.

“Not at all,” Abigail shot back. “I do not want her here because I regard her as a danger to us all.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother. You’re sounding as paranoid as Father was just before he died.”

“I am not the least bit convinced that your father did not have all his faculties intact,” Abigail stiffly replied.

Phillip sighed. “All right, Mother. There’s obviously no point in discussing it anymore. If you need anything, I’ll be in my rooms.”

“If I need anything,

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