Gathering Clouds by V. C. Andrews Page B

she was going to be that way, let her, I thought. It wasn’t going to be my life; it was going to be hers. I was going to have a good time first and then worry about responsibilities. It made me feel good to throw that in Victoria’s face. My mother hated it when I said that.
    “Where is it written that you are owed a good time first, Megan?” she would fire back at me. “You’re spoiled, Megan, you know that? Your father insists on spoiling you, but he’ll come to regret it, believe me,” she warned.
    She was right, of course. My mother was always right. I suppose she intimidated me with her perfection, her stature, and her position in the community. I saw the way she commanded respect, even from the most chauvinistic of my father’s male friends. My mother was the sort of magnetic woman who drew all the attention to her when she walked into a room, and not because she was a raving beauty. She was attractive; she was always concerned about her appearance and she was always fashionable and elegant, but there was something else, a majesty. I had no doubt that my mother could have easily competed with Queen Elizabeth or any monarch, for that matter. She was never frivolous, hated gossip, and knew as much about our finances and property as my father did.
    Anyone would think she would favor Victoria over me for all those reasons. Victoria was the serious one. Victoria was the efficient and the responsible one, but no matter what she did or how she tried, Victoria couldn’t get our mother and especially our father to favor her over me. She even tried telling on me whenever I did anything that broke a rule or an order. She brought home stories about my misbehavior in school or my flirtations with boys. She pointed out the neglectful way I treated some of my expensive possessions and how wasteful I was, even with my toothpaste.
    But none of it won her great favor with our parents. I was reprimanded or punished as a result sometimes, but Daddy would step in and defend me or reduce my sentence from being grounded for a week to being grounded for a day and sometimes not even that. It reached a stage where Victoria gave up trying to make points by ratting on me, especially after Daddy told her that informers are never really respected even though their information might bring some benefit.
    “It’s always thought to be the lowest form of rodent,” he lectured her in front of me, “because everyone knows the informer is just trying to get something for him or herself and would do the same with or to anyone, for that matter.
    “Disloyalty is a disease. It strikes anyone without regard,” Daddy said. “And how can you ever trust someone who betrays another? What’s to say she or her won’t betray you when it becomes advantageous for him or her to do so? Look what Judas did to Jesus. If ratting on someone is the only way you can get ahead, stay behind.”
    He brought her close tears, but my iron-eyed sister froze those drops before they dared attempt to escape over a lid. And then with her icy orbs, she turned to me to glare and shake her head.
    Why, she was surely wondering, did I get away with everything? What did I have that she didn’t when it came to pleasing our father?
    I couldn’t answer the question except to say Daddy loved pretty women. Although our mother never came right out and said it in front of us, I had no doubt she suspected him of being unfaithful. He had too many sudden trips, too many nights away, and too often carried the aroma of some other woman’s perfume, more than he would have merely greeting and hugging.
    Daddy could be faithful only to the things that pleased him.
    Maybe that was why he liked me more than he liked Victoria, I thought.
    He even liked me more after I broke his heart.
    Fortunately for me, Victoria never knew why I had done that or how. She would have gotten it printed in some rag gossip column just so she could discredit me enough to make it impossible for Daddy to pretend it