The long road home - By Danielle Steel Page 0,9

perfume. Gabriella hated the scent of her mother's perfume. “Can't you come downstairs for a little while?” Marianne asked, wanting to whisk the little girl into her arms and take her downstairs with her. There was a quality to the child that always seemed to reach out to her and seize her heart. Everythi… out the little girl made her want to love and protect her. She didn't know why she felt that way, but Gabriella was one of those rare, fragile souls that reached out and touched you, and Marianne felt the pull of her now as she took her hand in her own and held it. It was small and cold and the fingers felt unbearably frail, the grip firm and almost pleading.

“No, no… I can't come down… Mommy would be really angry. I'm supposed to be in bed,” she whispered. She knew the penalty for leaving her bed and disobeying those orders, yet she could never resist the temptation to watch the people arriving for her parents’ parties. And now and then there was a bonus like this one. “Is that a real crown?” Marianne looked like the fairy godmother in “Cinderella” to her, and Robert Marks, waiting for his wife patiently at the foot of the stairs, looked very handsome.

“It's called a tiara,” Marianne giggled. Gabriella had to call her either Aunt Marianne, or Mrs. Marks. There were severe penalties for calling her parents’ friends, or any adult, by their first names, and she knew that. “Isn't it silly? It belonged to my grandma.”

“Was she a queen?” Gabriella asked solemnly with the huge, knowing eyes that always touched Marianne Marks’ heart in ways she didn't quite understand, but felt acutely.

“No, she was just a funny old lady in Boston. But she met the Queen of England once, that's when she wore this. I thought it would be fun to wear it tonight,” and as she explained, she unpinned it carefully from her elegantly coiffed blond hair, and set it gracefully on Gabriella's head of blond curls with a single gesture. “Now you look like a little princess.”

“I do?” Gabriella looked awestruck at the prospect. How could anyone as bad as she look like a princess?

“Come… I'll show you,” the pretty blond woman whispered, and took her hand and led her across the upstairs hall to a large antique mirror. And as Gabriella stared at her own reflection with wide eyes, she was startled by what she saw there. She saw the beautiful woman standing next to her, looking down at her with a warm smile, and the elegant little diamond crown shimmering atop her own head, as Marianne held it.

“Oh… it's so beautiful… and so are you…” It was one of the most magical moments in her short life, a moment engraving itself forever on her heart as they stood there. Why was this woman always so kind to her? How could she be? How could she and her own mother be so different? It was a mystery that, to Gabriella, defied explanation, except that she knew, and had for years, that she had never done anything to deserve a mother like this one.

“You're a very special little girl,” Marianne said softly as she bent to kiss her again, and then took the tiara gently from her head and pinned it easily onto her own head again, with a last glance in the mirror. “Your parents are very lucky people.” But Gabriella's eyes only grew desperately sad as she said it. If Marianne only knew how bad Gabriella was, she would never say things like that. She knew her mother could have told the woman a very different story, and would have. “I think I probably should go back downstairs now. Poor Robert is waiting for me.”

Gabriella nodded wisely, still overwhelmed by what she had done, the kiss, the tiara, the gentle touch, the kind words. She knew she would remember it for a lifetime. It was a gift to her beyond anything the woman could have known or suspected.

“I wish I lived with you.” Gabriella blurted out the words as she held the woman's hand, and they walked slowly to the top of the stairs. Marianne thought it was an odd thing for Gabriella to say and she couldn't imagine what would make her say it.

“So do I,” she said gently, hating to let go of the child's hand, feeling her tug at her heart, and seeing something so sorrowful in the child's eyes that

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