Legacy by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online Page B

changes in her life, was that she wanted it to be different from before. Settling for “easy and comfortable” no longer seemed like enough.

Chapter 3
    Marguerite Nicholson looked relieved and delighted when she opened the door to her daughter. It was pouring rain in New York, and Brigitte was soaked just getting from the cab into the building. Her mother hurried to hang up her wet raincoat, told her to take off her shoes, and a few minutes later handed her a cup of tea as they sat in front of the fire. There was something immensely reassuring about being there for Brigitte, like sinking into a down comforter, or a feather bed, with a sigh of relief. Her mother was a capable, intelligent woman Brigitte could always count on. Marguerite had saved them from disaster and turned tragedy into a good life for both of them. She had built a respectable career in publishing. When she retired the year before, she left as a senior editor, with many well-known books to her credit, and respected in her field. She had put her daughter all through school, for both degrees, and taught Brigitte the importance of an education, and she’d been proud of Brigitte’s accomplishments and plan to get a Ph.D. She was only disappointed when Brigitte settled for an uninspiring job in the admissions officeat BU, and even more so when Brigitte’s seemingly endless years of research never produced her long-promised book. She was as disappointed by that as by Brigitte’s failure to marry and have kids. She wanted her to challenge herself and take life by the horns, but so far Brigitte never had. Marguerite knew she was conscientious and worked hard, but she wanted so much more for her. She was well aware of Brigitte’s aversion to risk-taking and she knew where it came from. All Brigitte had ever wanted was to be safe. Her mother had always wanted a more adventuresome, inspiring life for her. Marguerite knew she was capable of it, but something always seemed to hold Brigitte back. She was still haunted by the traumas of her childhood and her father’s death.
    They sat in the cheerful living room of the apartment, and the two women couldn’t have looked more different. Marguerite was as fair as her daughter was dark, although both were tall, with good figures, and whereas Brigitte’s eyes were nearly as dark as her hair, her mother’s were an almost sky blue. They had similar smiles, but different features. Brigitte’s looks and bone structure were far more exotic.
    The room was warm and pleasantly decorated, there were a few well-worn antiques, and Marguerite had lit a fire in the fireplace before Brigitte arrived. They sat in front of it in worn but elegant old velvet chairs, drinking tea from the Limoges cups her mother was so proud of, which had been her grandmother’s. Marguerite looked aristocratic and genteel, although nothing in the apartment was of great value, but she had good taste, and had lived there for years. Their home had the patina of time. On every wall, there were bookcases filled with books. It was a home where learning, literature, and educationwere revered, and anything about their family history fascinated Marguerite, and always had.
    “So tell me what’s happening with your book?” Brigitte’s mother asked with interest, not wanting to bring up the painful subjects of Ted and her job.
    “I don’t know. I think I’m too distracted. It’s stalling, I’m completely blocked. The research is good, but I can’t seem to get it off the ground. I guess I’m upset about Ted. Maybe it’ll go better after I take a break. That’s why I came down to see you.”
    “I’m glad you did. Do you want me to have a look at it? I have to admit, anthropology isn’t my usual subject, and your material is a little lofty, but maybe I can help you give it some zip.” Brigitte smiled at the offer, typical of her mother. And Brigitte was grateful that her mother hadn’t made any harsh comments about Ted. She was just sad for