“I understand you’re an engineer,” Witt had said.

Nick nearly choked on his pie, which was smooth and ultra-sweet. He’d looked at Mattie, but she’d shown no sign of embarrassment. Her hand wasn’t even trembling as she’d handed over a china cup and saucer. There was an intense, compelling serenity about her, and Nick had found himself wondering how it would translate on-screen.

“I would say so,” he’d replied with a smile.

“Mattie tells me your daddy’s in the hydroelectric business,” Jackson Witt said.

“My father’s dead, I’m afraid.”

Witt nodded thoughtfully. “He’s gone to a better life then.”

That was what Nick believed, too, but the way Witt said it had made his skin crawl. He’d sipped his coffee, then set it and his empty pie plate back on the tray. “He wasn’t in the power business.”

“Oh, he wasn’t. May I ask what his business was?”

Mattie gave no indication she was anything but fascinated by Nick’s every word. He’d bet she knew just what his father’s business had been. Sensing her seething soul, Nick wanted to jump up and grab her, shake her until she promised she would get out of this nuthouse.

“Gambling,” he said, suddenly feeling reckless and malicious. “Like his father before him. A penchant for gambling runs in the family.”

Witt had remained rigidly seated in his high-backed chair. “You said your name was Pembroke.”

“That’s right, Nicholas Pembroke.”

The older man’s eyes became tiny pieces of black coal, fierce and intense. “Your grandfather was Ulysses Pembroke.” Jackson Witt’s voice was high and hoarse with indignation. Without looking at his daughter, he’d said, “Mattie, this man has misrepresented himself to you. Please leave the room.”

She’d obeyed silently, but moved with such grace and steadiness that Nick instinctively knew she’d hoped this confrontation would happen-her secret Hollywood friend would shock and horrify her father and perhaps even help set her free someday.

“Ulysses Pembroke was a thief and a profligate,” Witt said, “and you are his grandson.”

“Yep.” Nick was on his feet. “And I make movies for a living.”

He’d left before Jackson Witt could throw him out.

The next morning Nick had returned to the bend in the river, assuming Mattie wouldn’t be within miles. He’d behaved badly, no matter that her father was a rigid fanatic who justified his cruelty to his daughter through a corruption of his religious principles. Nevertheless, Nick had felt he had no right to judge another man’s beliefs. But he’d thought of the lost dark-eyed girl he’d met on the Cumberland. What kind of life could Mattie and her younger sister hope to have with such a father?

The canoe had rocked silently in the water, insects humming nearby. His life back in California suddenly had seemed enormously empty. He made movies. He bedded women. He went to parties. Every day was something new, and yet the same. To what end? Where would he be in another ten years? Another thirty?

“Nicholas.”

Her voice was so soft and melodic he’d thought he must have imagined it. He’d opened his eyes but hadn’t wanted to look, to have his hopes dashed.

Mattie had stood on the riverbank in a simple yellow broadcloth dress, a battered upholstered valise banging against her knees. Her dark hair was brushed out, hanging down her back, catching the morning sun. Nick had never seen eyes so huge and black.

“I want to go to California with you,” she’d said calmly. “Some of the best people I know are in Cedar Springs, but I can’t stay here.”

Nick hadn’t been able to speak. Jackson Witt would have the law after him. He’d be arrested before he could get to the train station in Nashville.

“I have money,” she’d said.

“Mattie.” Nick had been so overcome he’d feared he’d pitch headfirst from the canoe. “Mattie, you can’t.”

Her knuckles had whitened on the handle of the valise. “I can and I will.”

“Your father-”

“I have no father.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“He does. He disowned me this morning when I told him what I mean to do.” She’d spoken without drama or self-pity. “He won’t change his mind.”

“But your sister…”

Her eyes had gone flat with unarticulated pain. “Naomi has her own life to live.”

“What is it you mean to do?”

She hadn’t hesitated. “I mean to become someone else.”

They’d married on the train west.

Mattie had made her debut the following year in The Gamblers. Based on a romanticized version of Ulysses Pembroke’s life, it was a film that launched her career, secured Nick’s reputation as a director and turned his grandfather into one of the great American rakes.

Mattie had continued to work hard. She was popular with her colleagues. Invariably gracious, she never spoke ill of anyone and engendered remarkably little envy. Her one failing-if it could be called that-was a profound reluctance to speak to reporters. She was a private person and never discussed her past with anyone, but her reticence had only added to her aura of mystery.

Shortly before starting work on Tiger’s Eye, her second movie, Nick had brought up the touchy subject of her sister, something he’d usually avoided. “Why don’t we have her out here for a visit.”

“She won’t come.”

“Sure she will. Come on, Mattie, your dad can’t stay mad forever.”

“He isn’t mad. He’s disowned me completely. It’s as if I never existed. Naomi-” Mattie’s eyes had shone with tears, but not one spilled. “I asked her to come with me. I begged her to get away from him before he destroyed her, but she wouldn’t. Nick, am I a bad person for having left her?”

She’d always seemed so sure of herself that her uncertainty had caught Nick by surprise. “No-no, Mattie, no. You had to leave.”

“I could have stayed. I could have found a way to make a life for myself. Naomi stayed. She doesn’t remember Mother as well as I do. Mother had her peculiarities, but she wasn’t as rigid as Father. They were happy together in their own way. Father will never be happy with Naomi or me.” She looked away from Nick; she still hadn’t cried. “I know there’s nothing I can do, but still I think about my sister every day.”

Nick had offered to go to Cedar Springs and have it out with Jackson Witt, cart Naomi off himself. The kid would be better off living with her big sister in California than with that sour old bastard in Tennessee. But, claiming it would be useless to apply force, that Naomi knew the invitation to California stood, Mattie had refused Nick’s offer to intervene. Eventually she could no longer bear to talk about Cedar Springs and the father and sister she’d left behind.

After she and Nick had a son, the gossip pages carried pictures of the happy Pembroke family. Given Jackson Witt’s lurid interest in Hollywood’s goings-on, Nick had assumed his father-in-law had known he had a grandson. There was no note of congratulations, no softening of the old man’s hard heart, nothing from the much-missed little sister. Nick had felt like crying every time his wife returned empty-handed and white-faced from the postbox in the weeks after their son’s birth.

Their relationship was honest and fulfilling, and he had remained faithful to her for four full years. The temptations came on a daily basis. Not long after Mattie had arrived in California, she’d laughingly told Nick she’d learned most of the stories about her husband’s sexual adventures were true, but she’d claimed to believe in the transforming power of love and expected that meeting her-marrying her, having a child together-had changed Nick forever. And it had. But it hadn’t changed his wandering eye.

His first affair occurred on an August trip to Saratoga Springs while Mattie stayed in their Beverly Hills home to play with their baby and take unnecessary singing lessons. She’d never have to sing in any of her films. Being back in Saratoga had proved more than Nick could handle. The money flowed, and the temptations abounded. He’d lost a bundle, and as he’d driven past the abandoned estate he still owned, he remembered his promise to his mother. No gambling, no turning out like his father and grandfather.