A Season of Miracles

But, damn, it was irritating.

There was a tapping on her door.

“I’m busy,” she called out sharply.

The door opened, anyway.

Theo walked in. He was a tall man, imposing in stature. Though barely thirty, he had already acquired a few gray strands in his dark hair. They gave an impression of wisdom and authority. He knew how to use his physical presence well, but he didn’t intimidate her. She glanced at him over her shoulder, irritation evident in her eyes.

“Theo, I said—”

“Yeah, I can see you’re busy, puffing away.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s great, isn’t it? I want to use it for more than just the catalog. I want to pull some of the ads we’ve already got for December and rush this in, instead.”

She flashed him a frown. “Theo, it’s way too late to go changing the Christmas ads! December magazines are already on their way out.”

“I was thinking newspapers. And maybe a television campaign, after Christmas.”

“Television? It’s a sketch!”

Theo was silent for a moment, arms folded over his chest, eyes on hers. He smiled slowly. “We both know the real thing isn’t a sketch.”

No, the real thing wasn’t a sketch. It was Jillian. A perfect likeness. The woman was tall, elegantly slim, but shapely, as well. The hair was long and a beautiful reddish blond. The eyes were deep green, like expensive emeralds. It was Jillian.

And she had been drawn with love. Or at least with pure infatuation.

“Eileen?” Theo said.

She let out a sigh of impatience, stubbing out her cigarette. “Jillian is a designer. Yes, she’s good-looking, Theo, really good-looking, but she isn’t an actress.”

“She could carry this off, and we both know it.”

“Brad Casey in art must have a hell of a crush on her. Besides, who knows if she’d even be willing.”

“Brad Casey saw something and used it in this drawing. As to Jillian being willing? Our Jillian? She is Llewellyn Enterprises. She lives and breathes the company.”

“Careful. She gets angry when you say that,” Eileen warned.

He arched a brow. “Hmm. I’m just a hard-working second cousin—you’re a direct descendant of the old boy, just like our Jillian.”

“Well,” she said sweetly, leaning back against her desk to light another cigarette and survey him with cool blue eyes, “Grandfather doesn’t seem to care about that, does he. No one compares with Jillian, but you’re right up there, aren’t you, Theo?”

“Eileen, it sounds as if we need to supply your office with a scratching post.”

“Would you stop, Theo? I didn’t start this. Look—”

“Eileen, you know I’m right, you know this is brilliant. Pure accident, and yes, that poor sod Brad Casey probably does have a crush on Jillian. But it’s perfect.”

A hard rap on the door interrupted them. Griff swept in, bearing a silver tray with a tea serving and Halloween cookies. He slid the tray onto Eileen’s desk and looked at the sketches.

“Wow! Our golden girl is a beauty, isn’t she? I mean, for real. No wonder the old boy dotes on her.”

“Griff, some of us want to get out of here today,” Eileen said, walking around behind her desk.

“Television spots would be perfect,” Griff told Theo. “I heard you through the door,” he said in response to Theo’s quizzical look.

“Thanks for the input,” Theo said briefly. “What’s with the cookies?”

“The old boy sent them out to all of us—his idea of trick-or-treat, I guess,” Griff said. “I gallantly swept them from the hands of the young office assistant about to hear you two airing the family laundry.”

“We weren’t airing the family laundry,” Eileen said impatiently.

“Think Jillian will be willing?” Theo asked Griff.

“We can persuade her.”

“I want to move on this before Marston gets any more involved.”

“Endear Jillian to us before Marston gets his hands on her, huh?” Griff teased.

“What are you talking about?” Theo asked impatiently.

“He’s brilliant, right? And the old boy has pulled him in above all of us.”

Theo turned away, studying the sketches again. “Don’t be ridiculous. I suggested Marston. I went to school with him.”

“He’ll be just like Big Brother—watching,” Griff said.

“This is a company, not a kingdom,” Theo said impatiently.

But Eileen was studying Griff thoughtfully. “Douglas Llewellyn is all about family. Marston is nothing, really, not without—” Eileen said.

“Jillian,” Griff said. “Ah, but then…”

“What?” Eileen asked.

“There’s you, of course. Another direct descendant. You could slip in and cut her out of the running, keep an eye on him.”

“Griff, you’re ridiculous. I’ve been engaged for—”

“Oh, yeah. You and Gary Brennan have been engaged for what—five years? You won’t give the poor fellow a wedding date. He might want you to go by Mrs. Brennan. Horrors,” Griff said with a shudder. “Would you give up the family name, Eileen? Even for love?”

“Many businesswomen keep their maiden names, Griff,” Eileen said icily. “I adore Gary—we just haven’t had time to plan a wedding.”

“No time in five years. Imagine that,” Griff said with mock solemnity.

“I told you—I adore him,” Eileen said sharply.

“I’m sure you do. But you’d throw the poor boy to the sharks in two seconds if he were any threat to your position at Llewellyn Enterprises,” Griff teased.

“There is no threat to me—I actually work,” Eileen snapped back, eyes narrowed.

“Touché,” Griff told her.

Theo let out an impatient sound. “I hope to God we’re not being overheard. We sound exactly like a pack of squabbling children, and we’re supposed to be running a major company. We all work here, and we work hard.” His eyes fell on his brother, and he shrugged. “All right, most of us work hard. But to suggest that there was an underlying reason for bringing in Marston, to even think that anything should go on is…”

“Is what?” Griff demanded

“Sick,” Theo announced. “And the old boy is in perfect health. To begin to imagine that anything is going on is—”

“Theo,” Griff interrupted, “your lack of curiosity is positively boring. Don’t you think it’s just a little bit strange? I mean, we’ve been dividing the executive duties here since we got out of college.”

“You’ve had executive duties, Griff?” Eileen asked.

“You’re not being very nice,” Griff said.

“I am nice,” she snapped back, a trace of hurt in her tone. Griff heard it, she knew. He always saw the smallest sign of weakness in those around him. “I am nice. I’m simply efficient. When people are ‘artistic,’ they don’t have to be quite so efficient.”

Theo came around behind her, speaking softy. “Artistic? Like cousin Jillian?”

“Theo, I love Jillian dearly. We have a bond. Just like you boys have the bond of brotherhood.”

“We’re all Llewellyns,” Theo said flatly.

“And you’re just as nice as can be,” Griff told Eileen, grinning.

“God himself is going to come down and slap you right across your silly face one day,” Eileen told him.

“Did I just say she’s nice?” Griff asked Theo.

“Griff, some of us do have work to do.”

“I know. That’s the point. I’m getting scared. I may have to actually start working around here, now that Marston has suddenly been called in. The old man has been watching Jillian grieve all this time. She’s been widowed a year now,” Griff said. He looked at the other two. “Almost a year. The traditional mourning time is coming to an end.”

“The old man has figured out that there’s more work than all of us can handle, and he’s brought in a crack management and numbers man who happens to be an old school friend of mine. That’s all there is to it. And I’ve got things to do,” Theo said impatiently. “Eileen, this image here is the one I want to go with. When I meet with our major accounts, I’ll be letting them know that a Llewellyn will actually be displaying our jewelry in our next ad campaign. Get busy with it. See what kind of guest shots we can get on the talk circuit. You can use the family name when you’re trying to land guest spots on radio or television. It may be a bit crass to try to cash in on our good works, but God knows, we give enough to charity at Christmas.”

“We like to get our tax breaks in before New Year’s,” Griff muttered.

“If we didn’t make a fortune, we wouldn’t be able to give away big bucks,” Theo snapped. “Get on with it, both of you.”

He walked out of the room.

Griff grinned at Eileen. “Get on with it, huh?”

“Get out of here, Griff.”

He left, and Eileen sat down, drumming her beautifully manicured nails on her desk. How dare they accuse her of jealousy? She loved Jillian, who was the closest thing to a sister she had. She made a face and mimicked Theo’s tone. “Get on with it. I’m not a servant, Theo. Get on with it?”

She was silent for a minute, then she said softly, “Oh, I’ll be getting on with it, all right.”

She picked up a cookie with pumpkin-orange icing and little black chocolate-drop eyes. She took a bite—a savage bite—glad she made the cute little cookie snap.

Then she set the cookie down, stared at the tea service.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll get on with it, all right.”

Jillian swept past Daniel’s secretary with a quick smile and knocked on his door.

“Yes?” he said sharply from behind the wood.

“It’s Jillian.”

“Get in here.”

She froze for a moment, disturbed by his tone. Then she gritted her teeth and walked in, closing the door behind her. He was behind his desk, writing, and he didn’t look up. She stood before his desk, feeling like an errant school child. Then she grew angry and impatient.

“Daniel, you asked to see me,” she reminded him.

He looked up at last, staring at her as he recapped his pen. “Yes, quite some time ago,” he told her.

Like his brothers, Daniel was an attractive man. He liked clothing and appearances, and dressed well. His eyes were a deep brown, a true deep brown that could appear black. His gaze was always fathomless. Many times, when she’d been young, Daniel had been her protector. Ten years her senior, he had often taken her to and from school. In those days, he had been like a big wolf between her and any danger—be it real or imagined. She had loved him deeply; he had been her favorite relative.

But that had been a long time ago.

In the past several years, with her grandfather handing out more and more responsibility, things had changed.

Daniel had held the reins of power for a long time.

The fact that she was a direct descendant seemed to be raising a barrier between them—though he didn’t seem to show the same reserve to Eileen. Maybe it was all in Jillian’s mind. And maybe she had been so involved with the details of her work—and the death of her husband—that she had built her own walls between them.

“Sorry,” she said briefly. She decided not to mention the fact that Griff had forgotten to tell her that she was supposed to come here. “Really.”

“I thought you were trying to get out of here today?”

“I am. But I gave Connie the day off—” She broke off at his frown. “Daniel, she never misses work. She had some things to finish for the kids.”

“And the two of you are off together this afternoon. I’m not so sure it’s a good thing to have your best friend as your assistant,” he told her.

“Daniel, we don’t miss a beat as far as work is concerned. You know that. Joe works for you, and he’s a great employee.”

“Sit down,” he told her, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk.

She sighed and did so. He heard her sigh, and looked at her sharply. “Daniel, no one puts more time into this company than I do,” she reminded him.

“Oh, I agree,” he murmured. “It’s as if you’re married to it.”

There was a note of bitterness in his tone. Did he think she was trying to make herself the indispensable one?

“Daniel—”

“Never mind,” he said curtly. He thrust his copy of her design for the new cross toward her. “What is this?”

She inhaled, staring at him. “A cross.”

“Yes. It’s supposed to be a contemporary design, Jillian. Sharp, hot, contemporary. A look to the future.”

“Yes,” she said, and faltered. “I know.”

“So?”

“I don’t know what happened. But—”

“It’s a great design. Beautiful. But not contemporary.”

He was right. Definitely right. They’d all been in the meeting, and it had been Douglas Llewellyn himself who had stressed the need to look to the new millennium.

She seldom failed, but she had failed this time. Her voice wavered as she told him, “Well, we can use this in the general line, and I’ll just start over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“We don’t have time, and this…it’s not what we planned, but we can go in another direction. You know. Something like, ‘As we enter the first decade of a new millennium, we welcome the new—and cherish the beauty of our past.’ I’m not sure if that’s quite right, but something like it. I haven’t talked with the old boy yet, but I’m sure he’ll go with it.” He was quiet for a minute. “Especially since it’s you who designed the cross.”

“Daniel—”

“I just wanted to let you know that we would go with it,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m sure you were aware yourself that it doesn’t fit the original concept.”

“Of course.”

He lifted his hands in dismissal. She met his eyes, feeling that she needed to apologize for something. She hadn’t done anything, she reminded herself. The design was different from what they had planned, but…

It was also very good.

“Daniel—” She broke off.

His secretary had tapped on the door and now hesitantly stuck her head in. She was a capable young woman, but to Jillian, Gracie Janner had always given the impression of being a doe caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. She had frizzy dirty-blond hair that seemed like a puffy halo around her head, and huge hazel eyes. Jillian was as nice and soft-spoken as she could be to the woman, but Gracie always seemed to be on edge. Nervous.

Afraid.

“Cookies and tea, Mr. Llewellyn,” Gracie said. “Jillian, I believe your tray has been sent to your office, but I can run down and get it—oh, my God, I called you Jillian. I should have called you Miss Llewellyn. Or are you still going by your married name? Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Jillian is just fine, Gracie. I’ve told you, please, my first name is just fine.”

“Cookies and tea?” Daniel said impatiently. “You brought me cookies and tea?”

“From the Great Pumpkin above,” Gracie said, trying to joke. She was as slim as a saluki, and appeared frazzled. Joking wasn’t her forte. Maybe she was perfect for Daniel. He didn’t seem to know how to joke anymore, either.

“Thanks, Gracie, but we’re finished here. I’ll just run back to my own office,” Jillian said. “Happy Halloween to you both,” she murmured as she got up and moved toward the door.

“Um, happy Halloween,” Daniel said. Then, to her surprise, he called her back.

She paused in his doorway.

His voice was slightly gruff when he spoke again. “Go out and have a great night. And remember, it’s only Halloween. You and Connie leave some Christmas stuff out there for the rest of humanity, hmm?”

“Will do,” she promised. Her voice was light. But tight, as well.

She was sorry about whatever it was that lay so strongly wedged between the two of them, but for the moment, there was nothing she could do about it.

She had been dismissed.

She hurried back into her own office.

Her tray of cookies and tea had been left on her desk. With a few things to clear up, she poured herself tea. She usually liked milk in her tea, but it had gotten cold, so she just shrugged and sipped it black as she started clearing her desk. She picked up one of the cookies, then put it back down, drawn again to her design for this year’s Christmas cross.

What had possessed her?

The design was beautiful. Intricate, delicate. One of the best things she had ever done. But contemporary? Definitely not.

She picked up the cookie again, studying the cross. She leaned low, looking at her own work. It really was so Celtic.

She set the cookie down again. “Am I unintentionally…stealing?” she murmured aloud. “Did I take that off a gravestone in Ireland or a picture somewhere or—?”

She heard the tinkling of a small bell. Jeeves, a big black alley cat who had one day made his way inside and become a company pet, suddenly leapt up on her desk.

She absently stroked his back. “Am I a cheater, Jeeves?” she murmured. “Can’t be.” She shook her head and threw the design into her upper right-hand drawer. Once again she stroked the cat, then poured him a saucer of the milk intended for her tea.

“Drink up, buddy. Have some cookies, too.”

The cat let out a mournful cry, looking at her with huge golden eyes.

She smiled. “Excuse me, you’re a cat, not a dog. Lap up that milk.”

The cat did so, needing no more invitation. Jillian stroked the animal one last time, making a mental note to leave her office door open.

The litter box was down the hall in Griff’s office. Her cousin did, after all, have his responsibilities. Cat food, water—and the litter box.

It had been his idea to keep the cat and feed it. Studies had shown that pets were good for people, lowering blood pressure, making them calmer, more friendly. Eileen had pointed out that cat hair also made many people sneeze.

The cat had stayed. Luckily, no one in the office had been allergic.

“It’s all yours, Jeeves,” she said cheerfully.

She was leaving. She glanced at her watch one more time. Taxi or subway? She was due to meet Connie in fifteen minutes.

Feet. She wasn’t that far from the coffee shop where they had planned to get together. She would just walk fast. That would be her best bet.

“’Night, Jeeves,” she told the cat. Happy Halloween. Trick or treat.

She grabbed her coat and her handbag, and exited her office.

The cat, heedless of the comings and goings of mortals, gave no note. It greedily drank up the milk.

Suddenly the animal’s body went rigid, then convulsed.

It collapsed by the tea tray.

The body twitched once. Twice.

And then it was still.

Dead still.

CHAPTER 2

“I didn’t think I was ever going to get away this afternoon,” Jillian told Connie when she met her at the little coffee bar off Fifth. She’d been in such a hurry to leave. She had actually gotten here first. But now, out of the office at last, she was beginning to relax. Not even the caffeine in her café mocha could start her blood rushing again.

“You shouldn’t have given me the day off,” Connie said sadly, stirring her tea.

Jillian looked at her friend. Connie Adair Murphy was petite, dark haired and blue eyed. Her face was round and always pleasant; she had a dimpled smile, and could be a powerhouse despite her small and cheerful appearance.

“You always take Halloween off. And I don’t think anyone could have helped. It was just one of those family kind of days,” she said, rolling her eyes, then grinning.

“They were feisty today, huh?”

“Moody, I think.”

“Over the cross?”

“Only Daniel.”

“What did your grandfather have to say?”

“He didn’t come in today. He likes to take Halloween off, too.”

“Are you going to start over? It would be a shame. It’s such an outstanding design.”

“No, Daniel says we’re going with it. We’ll just put a different spin on it.” She looked at her watch. “My God, it’s getting late.”

“No, it’s not so bad, only three-thirty.”

“It gets dark so early.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Connie assured her cheerfully. “I told the girls we’d head out at five-thirty or six. We’ve got a little time. It won’t take long to get home on the subway. We’ll just shove anyone in front of us away from the platform. We’re fine.”

“If we hustle.”

“So we’ll hustle.”

“Let’s do it.”

They hustled. And to good avail.

Connie found darling dresses for her daughters. And though Llewellyn Enterprises offered an elegant line of evening wear, they took pleasure in finding the bargains that could be had in haute couture by other designers. They went on to find some fantastic gowns for the season’s parties, and there were going to be a lot of them. They would be celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of Llewellyn Enterprises, and the rounds of activities and events planned for the estate in Connecticut were endless. Naturally Connie, as Jillian’s assistant, was included, as was her husband. There were benefits to having both members of the family working for the same business. Connie had met Joe right out of college, during her first year working for Jillian; Joe had already been a rising star in the management division.

At the end of their whirlwind shopping spree, they happened upon a costume shop, with a last-minute sale. Connie was totally incapable of passing a sign that stated—in large black letters—50% Off, Today Only!

“Wow! Will you look at this?” Connie said.

Inside, Connie pulled a costume off a rack and brandished it before Jillian. It was a witch’s costume in silk and velvet, decorated with rhinestones. It had a high collar, draping sleeves and a suggestive bodice. It was fitted at the waist, and flowed from there.

“Exquisite,” Connie breathed.

“Buy it. Fifty-percent off,” Jillian suggested.

Connie shook her head sadly. “Too long and too tight for me. But…” She paused and looked at Jillian. “It’s you.”

“Me? I’m not wearing a costume. And there’s no time. We have to take the girls out. In fact, we need to take them soon.”

“Yes, and I’m going to find a costume. I’ve decided I’m going to be one of those fun moms, all dressed up like the kids. Oh, look, there—”

Jillian looked where Connie was pointing and saw a large horse’s head. “That one? Oh, no, Connie, even if I decide to come with you, I am not playing the rear end of a horse so you can be a fun mom.”

Connie started to laugh. “No, not the horse. I’m going to be a princess, and you can be the witch. The gorgeous witch, I might add. And when we finish the trick-or-treating bit, we’ll meet Joe at Hennessey’s.” She made a face and shrugged. “It will be fun. You know Joe. He’ll take a few pictures of the kids, tell them they’re adorable, then leave me to do the candy bit. But he’s going to the annual Halloween party at the pub, and he’s always telling me to get my mom to watch the kids and join him. We’ll do it. We’ll get dressed up and go together.”

“An Irish pub for Halloween?” Jillian asked skeptically.

“Why not? It’s sure to be filled with pixies and leprechauns and maybe a banshee or two.” Connie cocked her head, looking at Jillian hopefully. “All right, so there are sure to be a few big bad wolves around, as well. Actually, you could use a big bad wolf or two in your life.”

“My life is fine.”

“You can’t mourn Milo forever,” Connie said, studying her friend.

Jillian felt another twinge of loss. People still tiptoed around mentioning Milo’s name most of the time. Today, though, he seemed in the forefront of her mind, and she reminded herself again that she had married Milo Anderson with her eyes wide open. She had known about his cancer. He had tried to talk her out of marriage on the basis that she pitied him but didn’t love him. She had insisted, though. Because he had been wrong. She had loved him very much.

Even more than Connie, he had been the best friend she’d ever had. Maybe she hadn’t been in love the way it was in movies and romance novels, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be in love that way. Loving Milo had hurt enough.

Neither all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—nor all the Llewellyn money—had been able to stop the growth of the disease. Milo had died almost a year to the day after their wedding. Almost a year ago now. No one in her family ever told her, “Well, you knew it was bound to happen,” and for that she was grateful.