Sweet Pretender Page 11

  "He'll make it," Eli said, nodding. "He's a real little battler. That's what Tracy means, 'he who does battle with bravery.'"

  Murphy had been given the run of the kitchen for the last two days, it seemed. He'd graduated to the screened flying cage and was ready to be set free.

  The thought sobered her. Melissa could only think of the many perils that lay waiting in the outside world.

  "Ah, yes. Wind, weather, other birds. Human beings—his worst enemies, I'm afraid. I know. He knows. But he's a free spirit. Imprisonment would be the crudest punishment of all. If it hadn't been for Illona, he'd have made a devilish ruckus trying to escape before."

  "Illona?" Melissa questioned. "You'll set them free at the same time?"

  "I will. The lad's made his choice."

  "And if Illona has other ideas?"

  Eli, missing the teasing in his visitor's voice, drank deeply from his cup before answering. "It's harder to tell with that one. She's shy, but something of a coquette. I can only hope she feels the same. We'll know soon. Tomorrow, if it doesn't rain. The next day, if it's clear."

  "I'll be leaving, myself," Melissa told him, recognizing the moment had come to let him know. "I really only came over to tell you and Murphy goodbye."

  He looked genuinely distressed. "How does Jeremiah feel about this?"

  "Jeremy?" His question took her by surprise. "He doesn't know yet."

  "He won't like it."

  She didn't know what to say. The two men were fast friends. She couldn't very well tell Eli that it was Jeremy who was driving her away. "If he notices I'm gone at all, his reaction will be one of relief."

  "He'll notice. And he won't like it."

  "We didn't exactly hit it off, he and I." To put it mildly.

  "You hit it off all right. You hit him right between the eyes. I could tell from the first. Before I met you. Just hearing him tell about you bringing Murphy here. But Jeremy's peculiar. Keeps his feelings to himself. Because he's been alone for so many years, I'd wager."

  "You've been alone," she said, seizing the opportunity to suggest that he put aside the past and make a future for himself in the world of the living. "It hasn't embittered you."

  "I'm never alone." He made a sweeping gesture with one hand to call her attention to the never-ending twittering, chirping and squawking that filled the room.

  "As much as you love your little people, Eli," she told him gently, "they aren't human beings."

  "Thank the Lord for that!" he guffawed. "I have all the human beings I want. There's Jeremiah and one or two others who come by now and again. They jaw awhile and bring me something to read or something fresh baked. A man doesn't need more than a handful of good friends, does he? And now I have you."

  "But I'm leaving."

  "You'll be back."

  "No." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "That is, maybe just once more before I leave. If I can. To see Murphy and—"

  "We'll see." His eyes twinkled. "Don't waste good sympathy on me, Melissa. I have memories. Memories enough to last several lifetimes. I'm a fortunate man."

  The visit was over too soon. Brian would be wondering where she was, if he'd arrived on schedule. Reluctantly she made her way down to the beach. As she sat waiting, her knees drawn up to her chin, she pondered what Eli had said. He was a fortunate man. He had memories. Did Jeremy have memories? Were they good ones?

  Lost in thought, she wasn't aware of Jeremy's approach until he stood over her, and she had to dig her hands into the sand to control their movement.

  "I was on my way to Eli's when I saw you," he said. "You make quite a picture sitting here, looking out over the water, your hair blowing. You love the sea, don't you?"

  She nodded. "When I was a little girl we used to vacation at the seashore. Never enough to suit me, though. My grandfather had been a sailor," she went on, her words tumbling out too fast, betraying her agitation at the unexpected meeting. "He told me that when the wind was high and the breakers were crashing, it was the water sprites doing battle. I ached with all my heart to lie all night, covered with sand, except for my head, and fall asleep, hearing the roar of the surf."

  "And did you?" Jeremy knelt beside her. "I couldn't get my father's permission."

  "If you were the same as a little girl as you are as a big one, I'm surprised to hear you didn't do it anyway."

  "I was docile as a child," she said, carefully measuring her reactions.

  "What happened to change you?"

  The edge of sarcasm gave her the strength she needed to lock eyes with him. "I grew up."

  "So I see."

  He looked tired and rather pale, but stirringly appealing all the same. An empty ache began in her middle as she realized that after today or possibly tomorrow she would never see him again. She would never hear his voice or experience his kiss.

  With a small gasp, she forced such thoughts to the shadowy edges of her consciousness where they belonged. She should be celebrating. Soon she'd be free of the York hegemony. "You probably flatter yourself that I came looking for you."

  "No," he said. "I didn't think that."

  "You did once."

  "As you say, I was flattering myself and indulging in some wishful thinking." He looked to one side and then the other. They were alone. There wasn't a sail on the horizon. "Are you waiting for someone?"

  "Brian. He's late."

  "He'll be here." Jeremy pressed his lips together. "I deliberately watched for you this morning, hoping you'd come. We should talk."

  She ignored his suggestion and looked pointedly at the paper bag he carried. Unmistakably it held a wine bottle. Several magazines were tucked under his arm, as well.

  "Gifts for Eli?"

  He nodded.

  "With a friend like you, he doesn't need enemies."

  "Meaning?"

  "A friend wouldn't encourage his drinking."

  He stood up, his face changing ever so slightly as he teetered on the edge of an angry retort. Trying for good behavior wasn't easy for him. "You know Eli. Can't you weigh what you've seen against the loose talk? Does he seem like a staggering drunk to you?"

  Now it was Melissa's turn to bristle. "Not all alcoholics are staggering drunks," she said.

  "You're right, of course," he admitted. "But your accusation put me off. I wish I knew where those damn rumors about him got started. Eli isn't an alcoholic. This is a special blackberry wine I pick up for him sometimes. He enjoys a glass of it occasionally before he goes to bed. It helps his circulation." He walked a few paces, then came back and rammed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. His tirade was evidently not finished. "It makes me mad as hell. People talk about him because he doesn't wear a tie, complain about the weather or attend town meetings."

  "Maybe you should encourage him to do that."

  "Complain about the weather?"

  "He should get out more. He's a dear, wonderful person. He has much to contribute, and he's wasting it."

  "Wasting it? I could name more than a few important people who wouldn't agree with you. He's a respected authority on birds. He's had two books and countless articles published on the things he's learned about them. One is in here, if you care to read it."

  As he knelt beside her and began flipping through the pages of one of the magazines, her senses responded predictably. Her inner woman, wild with longing, nagged at her to throw pride to the wind and accept as much or as little as he was willing to offer, and gratefully.

  The scene that might follow her surrender whirled across her mind. She and Jeremy would make love there on the sand, oblivious to the maelstrom of waves breaking around them.

  "Do you want to?" he asked.

  She warmed as he looked at her quizzically. "Do I want to—what?"

  "Read the article."

  Very well. His presence disquieted her. All the logic in the world couldn't change that. It would take time and distance. "Not now," she answered, dismissing his attempt to show her the magazine. "I'll
pick up a copy of my own later. I'd like to have it to keep."

  "Eli isn't like everyone else. Being a nonconformist yourself to some extent, you should respect that. He's living the way he chooses to live. Isn't that what happiness is all about?"

  "You've made your point."

  "Is that what I'm trying to do, do you suppose? Make points?"

  "I can't say what you're trying to do, but I'm tired of having you pounce on each word I say and tear it apart."

  He closed the magazine, rolled it up and slapped it against his other hand in frustration. "You're right. I have no justifiable quarrel with you."

  "I wish you'd go." She hugged her knees and sat with her forehead resting on them.

  "Melissa, I don't want it to be this way."

  "Please!"

  "Afraid Hendricks will come and find me here?"

  Until he'd said it, she hadn't given a thought to Brian's certain reaction to discovering her with Jeremy. The men might even come to blows. Now she was more anxious than ever that he go. "Just do me one last favor and leave."

  "We might get some rain," he said, looking over the water. "If we do, you might see your water sprites in action."

  "I won't be here long enough."

  "It's easy to feel a kinship with the ocean," he went on as if he hadn't heard her. "They say the turbulence of the sky and water is much like the turbulence in men's souls."

  It was an odd remark for him to have made under the circumstances. "That's true of men who are changeable and inconstant," she said archly.

  He didn't answer but caught up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers, as a buyer of cloth might do to determine the thread content. "Few things are as beautiful as a woman's hair. I should have asked you to clip off a lock for me."

  She jerked her head away and glared at him. "If you're planning to make a doll to stick pins into, won't you need nail parings as well?"

  He didn't smile. He didn't even look self-satisfied or cocky. Such deep pain crept into his eyes that for an instant all bitterness between them was erased.

  "I wish the circumstances of our meeting could have been different," he said in a voice that was no more than a whisper.

  Translated, that meant he wished her father was an oil magnate, Melissa decided. Or that she had the knack of spinning straw into gold. She almost wished she had. Swallowing a painful lump in her throat, she dragged her eyes away from his. "People make their own circumstances."

  "That's true, I suppose," he said, after a long pause. He turned then and walked away the way he had come.

  He was hardly out of sight when Brian arrived, huffing and puffing and full of apologies for being late. As he helped her into the car, she worked hard at sounding enthusiastic about their day—even harder to keep from crying.

  The road wound past green hills fragrant with pine. It plunged past glistening lakes, then dipped into fertile valleys and eased through sleepy, all-but-forgotten villages. Much of the way was bordered with bluebells and mountain laurel. The meadows were now golden with buttercup, then white with daisies. After snacking at an old inn that had once been a stagecoach stop, they investigated the thunderous roar of a waterfall and strolled along the water's edge picking wildflowers.

  Without warning, Brian planted a kiss on top of her head. Why couldn't she feel for him something of what she felt for Jeremy?

  "Melissa. Sweet Melissa." His voice was thick with emotion as he repeated her name, as if to reassure himself that he was really holding her.

  Alerted to danger, she tensed. It was wrong—terribly wrong—to pretend to feel more for Brian than she did. She would only be using him, as she had been used.

  "A friend of mine has a cabin near here," he said. "We could—"

  "No. We couldn't," she broke in, her voice soft, but allowing no argument.

  "I was afraid of that."

  "Brian…" The atmosphere seemed charged, each of their breaths measured. How could she make him understand without hurting him?

  "Uh—how about a swim?" he tried. "Somewhere."

  "A swim would be fine. Anywhere."

  "How about Tahiti?" He'd managed it. He'd bounced back and was himself again.

  Their brief swim was followed by a shopping spree, in which they went their separate ways and returned with outlandish purchases. Brian bought Melissa a black stuffed kitten he claimed looked exactly like her because of its huge green eyes. She bought him a beanie with a pinwheel that whirled madly as he walked.

  After a delectable seafood dinner at a restaurant that had once been a boat, they sat on the bank and watched the sun set.

  From somewhere far off came a faint trill. As it grew louder, Melissa spotted the grayish flash of a bird she couldn't identify. Its song swelled as it soared above the treetops, then grew fainter again until it died away entirely, leaving her with a feeling of sweet sadness.

  It seemed to have touched Brian, too. His eyes were fixed as if on something seen only by him. It was then the thought struck her. She'd been incredibly self-centered. Despite all their hours together, she knew next to nothing about him. She'd make up for it now by questioning him about his work, his ambitions and his dreams. To her surprise, his answers were evasive.

  She jokingly accused him of being first, a private eye; second, a secret agent; and last, a Mafia hit man. He laughed and told her she was right on all three counts. "I like to keep busy," he teased.

  He was also a practiced changer-of-subjects, she concluded. By the time they'd said good-night and she had shut herself in her room, she realized that she knew little more about him than she'd known the day they met.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Had anyone predicted at eight o'clock the next morning that by one in the afternoon she'd be nibbling finger sandwiches and sipping tea, watching a parade of fashions she would never be able to afford, Melissa would have denied it vehemently. Yet here she was.

  Her plan had been a seemingly simple one. She would hibernate in her room until everyone had gone wherever they were going. Still in her robe, she'd enjoy a late but leisurely breakfast, pack her suitcase and be sinfully idle until it was time to get ready for her last Sandgate appearance—the talent show that night.

  She might have guessed her sister would have other ideas.

  "It isn't just a skip and a twirl down a runway, Missy," the girl argued. "The fashion show's going to be spectacular. There's live music. The spotlight effects are unbelievable, and there'll be photographers from every newspaper within a hundred miles."

  The segment Arlene would grace was called "Night and Day," and, as could be expected, all the costumes would be white or black. The girl would be wearing a white evening suit with beaded satin lapels.

  "The skirt is so slim, I practically have to lie on the floor to wriggle into it."

  "It sounds frightfully uncomfortable."

  "Who expects to be beautiful and comfortable at the same time?" she reasoned philosophically. "Wait till you see Mama dear. She's all ruffles in black tulle."

  "Natalie?"

  "Yes. It's a mother-daughter thing, you know. But she'll be in too much of a nervous tizzy to even see you. I promise. You can wear dark glasses, slide in and take a back table."

  "I forgot to bring my trench coat. Besides, I'm leaving in the morning," Melissa said as she sensed herself weakening. "I don't want to see anyone."

  "You don't have to worry about Jeremy."

  The girl's comment jarred her. Did she guess what had gone on between Jeremy and her? "You can guarantee that?"

  "Absolutely. You know perfectly well men detest this kind of thing. Todd has headed for the hills, and even Brian is begging off."

  "I don't know." Melissa had seen her sister model more than a few times at the department store. But this did sound like something she'd hate to miss.

  "I'll do the dishes for a month," Arlene threw in, deciding to cinch the argument. "Oh, Missy, I want you there."

  So here she was, and everything was fairly much
as her sister had promised. With one small difference. Jeremy wasn't as phobic about women's style shows as Melissa's sister had expected he would be. He sat only four tables away, looking dashing enough in his dark gray sports jacket to knock her off her feet all over again. In spite of Melissa's efforts to hide behind the floral centerpiece, he'd noticed her minutes after his arrival with his breathlessly excited mother-in-law on his arm.

  Melissa might have been sitting too close to an open fire, judging by the uncomfortable hotness that spread over her, tempting her to sprint for the door, explanations be damned. But by turning her chair at a slight angle to the table, she was able to pretend not to notice when Jeremy favored her with a nod of recognition. With all the courage she could muster, she stared at the platform, grateful, at least, for the dim lighting.

  The opening segment was called only "Seasons," and each quarter year was represented with appropriate costumes and spotlights. There were swimsuits and hostess dresses, tennis outfits and ball gowns. The emcee was entertaining, and the scenery would have done credit to a professional stage production.

  Natalie opened the "Night and Day" segment in a dress that was soft and flowing, yet elegant and sensual. Arlene, whose dark curls had been sleeked and fastened with a looped hairpiece, earned a ripple of oohs and aahs from the audience and dozens of pencils set to work as women made notes of the white evening suit for possible purchase.

  "This seat isn't taken, is it?" Jeremy asked.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Melissa had seen him rise and move toward her, closer—closer. Still she clutched the table with a start when she heard his voice, losing the presence of mind to tell him she expected a luncheon companion at any moment. Then it was too late. He was seated beside her.

  "I'd rather hoped to run into you last night," he said.

  According to the schedule Natalie had tacked in the hallway, there had been a gala dinner-dance at the country club. "I had other plans," she said.