Against All Odds (Arabesque) (33 page)

“Thought you could use a little diversion,” Wayne answered, obviously unperturbed by the faint rebuke.

“Like having my heart plummet to my knees? You’re so considerate.”

They sat around the fire on either side of their uncle, prepared to tolerate one of the latest herbal teas Bill Henry had received from Winterflower. He did hand Wayne a warm glass fragrant with rosemary, but he opened a bottle of fine VSOP cognac, gave Adam a glass, and poured him a drink.

“I expect you’ll be full of this stuff by the time you get to New York. If I were in your place, I know that’s what I’d do. The day Emily married Rafer Grant, I stayed sober until after the wedding, making sure the deed was done, you might say. But an hour later I was three sheets to the wind and stayed that way for two weeks. Then I sobered up, and signed on for Vietnam. I must have been the only man in the service who didn’t want to go back home.” He changed the subject so quickly that Adam had to laugh. His uncle knew just how far to go with him.

“Run over to see Winterflower first chance you get and tell her what’s happening with me. ’Course I expect she knows. Go anyway. Westchester’s beautiful this time of year with its hills and snow and the Christmas lights decorating the houses and lawns. And I like the peace—it’s so quiet there.” He raised his head as if to bring himself back from a dream. “You go and see her. Maybe she’ll put some sense into you.”

Adam sipped the drink, savoring its flavor and aroma, but he remained silent. When Bill Henry wanted to say something, he said it. He was that much like his sister, Mary.

“I hate to see you walk away from something you want, Adam. There’s no virtue in useless martyrdom. If life has taught me anything, it’s that one lesson.” Adam turned toward his uncle to announce that he was leaving, but the faraway look in the eyes of that strong man stopped him.

“I didn’t pressure Emily enough to stand up to Mittie and Moses Morris, and I should have. I’ve paid for that every day since.”

Adam downed the remainder of his drink, stood, and signaled Wayne to join him, but his brother remained seated. “I know what you’re saying and what you’re trying to protect me from, B-H,” Adam said, “but don’t let it bother you. I can handle it.”

“Then you’re a better man than I am, son.”

Adam’s eyes widened, their often luminous twinkle dulled by his vision of the future. For the second time since he’d left home for college, indeed in the last five days, his uncle had called him “son.” Somewhere in that was a message. He slapped B-H on the shoulders in a gesture of affection.

“You’re making too much of this. I feel like I’ve had more lectures today than in my first week as a college freshman. Hang in there, B-H, and if you want me for—well, for whatever, call me.” He brought himself up short. B-H didn’t want his hopes raised, and he had almost offered to be his uncle’s best man.

Wayne drove through Frederick, past the Taney house, and Adam felt his heart constrict when he glanced out of the window and remembered Melissa’s funny and foolish little habit of spitting in its direction. He spread his knees and slid down in the soft leather seat.

“Want me to drive by there? Just for a minute?” Adam didn’t ask where, and the negative movement of his head sufficed for an answer.

Sitting at last in an aisle seat in front of the curtain that separated first class and cabin class of his Piedmont flight, Adam released a deep breath and surrendered to the fatigue that had dogged him for days. He’d been hoping that he wouldn’t have a seatmate, but one arrived and immediately attempted to press him into service. Would he put her carry-on in the overhead bin? He would and did. Would he excuse her so she could go to the lavatory? He did. She returned, sat in her seat beside the window, and decided she needed a magazine. Would he—? Adam turned to face her.

“Madam, this is a fifty-minute flight. Please resist the temptation to spend the entire time getting in and out of your seat.”

When her scowl failed to move him, she offered her feminine charm. Adam laughed.

“Lady, I’ve had it up to here with women.” He sliced the air above his head. “You’re wasting your time.”

She crossed a pair of long brown legs, adjusted her suit jacket to avoid wrinkling the hem and leaned back in her seat. “That’s no surprise. I’m out of practice.” She opened her lizardskin handbag and took out a deck of cards. “How about some blackjack? I usually play against myself, but it’s nice to have a real game for a change.”

He didn’t want a conversation with her, and he didn’t want to play blackjack, but she had aroused his curiosity. A good-looking woman, around thirty-five, he supposed, who dressed with taste and money. And she’d just admitted to not having a man in her life for some time, at least not one susceptible to her brand of allure.

“Deal.”

She dealt him two jacks, and he thought of the song about new fools. “I’m really not interested in a game,” he told her, and turned away. She pushed a business card toward him.

“You wouldn’t happen to need an office manager, would you? I just got fired from a big insurance company, and I have a child to support.”

He tried not to listen, but compassion was as much a part of him as his skin. “What for? What were you accused of?”

“I refused to lie for my boss. I could fight it in court, but I need the money. Besides, I wouldn’t win—it would be my word against his. I worked there for ten years, and I can’t get a reference.”

Adam sat up straight, adjusted his pants at the knees, and looked her over. He asked her the name of the company and what her duties had been. The flight attendant offered drinks, and he took a bourbon and soda, but she declined. One in her favor, he noted. He steered the conversation to other areas while he wondered how an office manager could afford such expensive clothes. She answered his unasked question when she told him. “Half of my salary went for clothes, because my boss demanded that the women working there dress like socialites.”

Adam heard the change in the thrust of the engines and made up his mind. “Come to see me Monday morning.” She looked at the card he handed her and drew back.

“You’re—I didn’t know who you were, honest. I mean, I wouldn’t have—” Her hands dropped into her lap. “Mr. Roundtree, please don’t build up my hopes for nothing.” The pilot turned off the seat belt sign, and Adam stood and took her bag out of the overhead bin. “And to think, I asked you to...I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. I’ll see you Monday morning at eleven.” He looked back at her. “The women who work in my office wear whatever they like.”

Adam walked rapidly through LaGuardia Airport. If the energy pulsing around him was an omen, he wouldn’t have time to think of Melissa. And at least he wouldn’t have to go back to her for another office manager.

* * *

Melissa opened her door reluctantly, hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with her father. She stared, tongue-tied, at Bill Henry until he asked her if he could come in.

“Why, yes. Yes, sure,” she stammered.

“I know you’re surprised,” he said, “but probably not much more than I am. I’ve been sitting home counting off the hours, and it just got to be too much. About the only other person whose company I could stand right now is Adam’s, and he’s not here.” When Melissa’s raised eyebrow allowed him to see her skepticism, he explained.

“I wouldn’t want to be near your mother, either, until after midnight tonight, because I’ve never yet put my hands on another man’s wife and the temptation to do that would be too great. Three more hours.”

“But that’s nothing compared to how long you’ve waited already.” He took the chair she offered and stretched out his legs. So much like Adam, she thought.

“Melissa, don’t you believe that. I could bear it before, because I didn’t think of Emily in relation to the passing time. She was lost to me forever. I came to terms with it, but now I have hope. I trust I’m not intruding—I just wanted to while away the time with a friend.”

“I won’t ask if you’d like coffee, because Adam said you don’t drink stimulants, just those teas that Winterflower concocts. How about some mint tea?” He accepted her offer, and she brought large mugs of the fragrant tea for them both. He took a few sips and set the cup aside.

“Melissa, have you decided to give Adam up? Is there a chance that you two could learn what happened to your mother and me and let the same thing occur to you? Adam told me Emily bloomed into a different woman when Rafer moved out, and I know how much more like a live and breathing man I’ve felt since then. Looks like we both just shriveled up inside, and I hate to think that the same thing will happen to you and Adam. Did he call you before he left?”

“Yes, but only to tell me about the arrests.” His look of disbelief disconcerted her.

“Come, now, Melissa. He wasn’t obliged to do that. Sounds to me as if he used it as an excuse to call you. Didn’t you talk?”

“Not really. I was so surprised and pleased to hear from him that I blurted out the wrong thing, and I knew it. He didn’t call me again, just left town without another word.”

“You’re a businesswoman, and I hear you swing some heavy deals. So use your head. Adam is strong, and he’s tough, but you can bend him with your little finger. Just apply what you already know.” He stood to go, and she walked with him to the front door.

“B-H, I’m glad you stopped by. I’ll pull out of this, but it may take me a while.” He bent and kissed her cheek, and she stood with the door ajar until he reached the sidewalk. Ten o’clock. She hadn’t known a night could be so long, and it had only begun. She went to the kitchen, put the mugs in the dishwasher, doused the downstairs lights, and started up to her bedroom. She got the phone on its fourth ring.

“Melissa, darling. Tell me you’re watching this beautiful black dancer with the long neck right now on the public television station. She is exquisite. Such a ballerina!” Melissa told Ilona that she hadn’t been watching.

“Then you are with Adam. Hmmm. What eyes this man has!” Melissa tried to pull herself together before Ilona sensed her mood, but she didn’t succeed. “He isn’t with you?”

“Ilona, Adam is in New York, maybe four blocks from you. We’ve split.” Ilona’s silence told her more than words would have.

Finally her friend asked her, “Is it over for good? It can’t be.”

“He didn’t tell me goodbye.”

“I’m sorry—” then after a minute “—but darling, turn on the ballet. You can be unhappy and still enjoy this wonderful ballerina. Call Adam and tell him you made a mess of things and you want to make it up.”

“How do you know it’s my fault?” Melissa huffed.

“Because I’m sensible. He didn’t give you up voluntarily, darling. I saw him with you. Remember? You’re the one who needs to have the head examined.”

“Alright, I’ll watch the ballet. And don’t worry, I made my bed hard, and I won’t complain about lying in it.”

Ilona snorted. “Big words, darling. Just think how much more fun it would be if the bed was a little less hard and you weren’t in it by yourself.”

Chapter 15

M
elissa closed her desk drawer and opened the wrapper of her fifth Snickers since she’d returned from lunch an hour and a half earlier. She stared at her blank computer screen while she devoured the miniature candy bar. She had dialed her mother and hung up before the first ring. Her walk up to Banks’s office had been without reward, and as she stood looking at Banks’s empty desk chair, she remembered belatedly that her friend had gone shopping when they separated after lunch. At the other end of the long hallway, she found that all of the paper cups had been used, and she had to drink from her hand. Where was everybody on Monday afternoon, she wondered, though she ordinarily wouldn’t have noticed the desolateness, because she, too, would have been busy. She trudged back to her office suite.

“Just a minute, Mr. Roundtree, she just walked in.” Melissa’s secretary punched the hold button, and she went into her office and closed the door. Her heart fluttered and excitement flared up in her as she anticipated the sound of his voice. Maybe this was it—maybe this time he’d tell her he cared, that he couldn’t wait to be with her. She calmed herself.

“Hello, Adam. How are you?”

“Hello, Melissa. I’m just fine. I’m calling to tell you that I have decided not to extend Lester’s contract. We all agree that he’s competent and efficient, but we—my staff, from Jason to the new messenger—dislike him. You’re entitled to know why I’m letting him go. It’s his officiousness. Olivia threatened to quit, and that settled it. She’s indispensable.”

“Are you planning to hire another office manager?”

“I’ve already done that.” He said it too quickly, she thought, as though being able to do so held a measure of triumph. “I didn’t use a search firm this time. I met her on the plane coming up Saturday night, and I think she’s exactly what we need.” You mean what you need, Melissa surmised as she fought a feeling of melancholy, but she refused to allow him the pleasure of knowing it, and her response concealed her real feelings.

“I see. MTG is glad to have been of service, and I hope we may continue to count you among our clients.” She found his silence aggravating, but it was his call, his next move, and she remained silent, refusing to ease the way for him.

“Have you ever done anything that you later regretted?”

“Hasn’t everyone?” she asked, wondering about the question and stalling because she couldn’t figure out what had prompted it.

“You’re not everyone,” he told her in a voice that was a little rough and lacked its usual authority. “I’m interested only in you. Have you?”

“Of course. Why?” She picked up a pencil and began tapping its eraser rhythmically against the phone.

“How did you manage to forgive yourself, Melissa? Or did you?” She stopped the tapping.

“How did I—?” He interrupted and spoke rapidly as if anxious to release something he’d held for a long time, to finish an unpleasant task.

“Something else I’ve wanted to ask you ever since we met.”

“What?”

“What do you think of masquerade parties? Do you like them?”

At first she thought he might want to invite her to one. Then she wondered if he was accusing her of some pretense.

“Adam, this isn’t the best day I’ve had recently, so would you just say whatever it is that’s bothering you?”

“Sure. How about answering my question?”

“I can take masquerade parties and most other kinds or I can leave them. Some of the most unforgettable ones have been distasteful, but I remember others because they brought pleasure that I least expected and that had a lasting impact.” She tried to fathom his sigh of obvious dissatisfaction at her remark.

“Tell me about it!” he said, affirming his frustration. His pause led her to expect more, something he’d forgotten, something more personal. But he only added, “Give my regards to your mother, Melissa. I’m glad I got to know her. Take care.”

“Adam—”

“What is it?”

She thought she detected hope in his voice, but he’d been so distant in recent days that she couldn’t risk more evidence of his disinterest.

“Adam, I— Take care.” She hung up.

* * *

Melissa struggled with the turmoil into which her conversation with Adam had plunged her. She couldn’t decide what his questions implied. The man with whom she’d just spoken had not displayed the tough candor that she thought of as such an essential part of Adam’s makeup. Furthermore, he hadn’t even mentioned the affidavit, and she knew that the document was of importance to him. The oversight bordered on rudeness, a trait that she couldn’t associate with him. She wished he hadn’t called her.

“I’m not sitting here moaning over that man or any other one,” she lectured herself. She went to her lavatory, splashed cold water on her face, applied a touch of makeup, and went back upstairs to look for Banks.

“Let’s go look for some antiques after work,” she suggested to her friend. Banks lit a cigarette and took a few draws, looked Melissa up and down, and declared, “You sure won’t find him wandering around in Bessie’s Yesteryear, honey. Adam’s in New York. For good, I heard.”

“I know that, Banks. Do I ever.”

“What are you planning to do about it? Just sit around here and dry up?”

“Right now, I just want to make it through today. I didn’t send him packing—he left.”

Not many people could match Banks’s expressions of disgust, Melissa decided, watching her arched eyebrows and tired shrug.

“He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” It was more a statement than a question. “But if you like being miserable, you won’t find a better opportunity. Let’s call it a day.” Everybody told her that she had to go after Adam, but she didn’t know how she could. “Everybody” didn’t know that Adam had never professed to love her, and without that armor she couldn’t make herself approach him.

* * *

Why did he continue punishing himself, calling her under any reasonable pretext in the hope that she’d tell him what he wanted to hear? He’d spent one night in his apartment, and already he hated it. Not that he minded living alone; he didn’t. But he’d gotten used to looking forward to seeing her every day, often many times. The last two weeks hadn’t been easy ones. He needed her, and he sensed that she wanted them closer, but he couldn’t compromise on the issues of trust and faith. He stood on his balcony looking toward the Hudson River and the building where she’d lived. Once, he hadn’t doubted his ability to walk away from her and stay away. But he hadn’t counted on the pain he felt when she showed him that she didn’t have faith in him, didn’t trust him.

A harsh wind swirled around him, bringing below freezing air that penetrated his heavy cashmere sweater, and he walked back into his living room. Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind, out of his system, out of his— He sat down on the oversized leather sofa, spread his legs, and rested his elbows on his knees. Was she really in his heart? He cared. He cared a lot. But did it really go that deep? He walked into his den, picked up the phone, held it, and returned it to its cradle. He wasn’t about to whip himself again, getting his hope raised and his libido unruly from the sound of her voice.

“Damn! I’ve got to get on top of this thing. I promised myself that I wouldn’t give another woman the upper hand with me.” He looked at his watch. “And that includes Ms. Grant.”

He picked up the phone again—and dialed. “Hello, Ariel,” he said when she answered on the first ring. He resented that habit of hers even before he greeted her. As he expected, she commented on his long absence and wanted to know when they might get together. But to his surprise, he demurred, telling her that he’d just gotten into town, that he was only touching base and would call her in a few days. His uncharacteristically inconsistent behavior disgusted him, and what he considered a softness in himself made him uneasy.

He tied a scarf around his neck, threw on his coat, and went out. Twenty minutes later he stood in front of Carnegie Hall. It hadn’t been his intention to go there, but he figured the Preservation Hall Band might be just the thing. If he concentrated on Dixieland jazz, he couldn’t stew over Melissa. He paid thirty dollars for the remaining forty minutes and went in. Twenty minutes later he left. The last time he’d heard live jazz, the fingers of Melissa’s left hand had been entwined with his right one. He pulled up his coat collar and headed up Broadway. He loved New York. Hell, no, he didn’t. He couldn’t stand it.

* * *

Melissa steadied herself and took her mother’s arm as they entered the district attorney’s office where an attendant directed them to seats behind her father, Timothy, and his mother, Louise. The chairs had been arranged to make the office resemble a courtroom, with rows on either side of an aisle that led to the DA’s desk. Before she succumbed to the urge to look for Adam, she put on the dark glasses that she’d bought for the purpose—to shield herself from his knowing looks and the seductive twinkle in his eyes. He sat with Wayne on the other side of the aisle, and she knew at once that with the seating arrangements putting her in her father’s camp—against him—the gulf between them would widen the minute he realized it.

And as if by a magical ability to read her mind or to divine her concerns, he looked back and locked his gaze on her face, nodded briefly, and turned around. Less than a week had passed since he’d gone back to New York, but those few days had given her a glimpse of what forever without him would be. She recognized the gentle squeeze of her mother’s hand as a gesture of support and wondered how she’d ever gotten along without the wonderful woman at her side.

The assistant district attorney breezed in with an air of importance greater than that to which her status entitled her. She stopped to shake hands with Adam and Wayne, nodded to Rafer, who sat away from the aisle, and began the proceedings.

“Mr. Grant, as Mr. Coston’s attorney, would you repeat the charges, please.”

Rafer made the accusation, but Melissa thought he lacked his usual verve, that his heart was no longer in it.

“Miss Grant, would you please read your sworn affidavit.” The clerk brought the document to Melissa, and she stood and read from it. When she finished, she had to look at Adam, had to see his reaction to her public confession that she had spent half a night with him at his lodge. Their first time together. Her first time. She brushed away the tears that coursed down her cheeks. He had turned to look at her while she read it, and he didn’t alter his gaze. But from where she stood, she couldn’t see his expression, though she did know that the twinkle in his eyes seemed to remain still. Dull.

Suddenly Timothy stood, resisting Rafer’s efforts to make him sit down and be quiet. “I don’t want to go on with this,” he said. “I never did want to accuse him.” He nodded toward Adam. “He didn’t have anything to do with it. I got into some trouble in Baltimore, and the guys warned me with that shot. That’s all.” The DA’s office concluded the proceedings, and Melissa hurried out, pulling her mother with her. Adam and Wayne stopped them in the lobby.

“Thank you for the affidavit, Melissa. The DA has assured me that it exonerated me, so even without Timothy’s confession, I wouldn’t have been indicted.” So cool and formal, like a dash of cold water, she thought.

“I only did the decent thing,” she said, adopting what she took to be his demeanor. She watched Adam hug her mother in a warm, tender greeting and felt an unreasonable tinge of jealousy.

“I’m glad to see you, Adam,” Emily said. “By the way, have you met my daughter?” Neither Wayne’s laughter nor Adam’s indulgent grin sat well with Melissa.

“My mother’s a comedienne, now,” she said to no one in particular. Adam introduced Emily to Wayne, and the two stood there making conversation, while Adam and Melissa gazed at each other. She wanted to reach out to him and couldn’t understand why he didn’t respond to the longing he must have seen in her eyes. She swallowed the bitterness she felt at his determination to withhold himself from her, to
be oblivious to the needs he had cultivated in her. Needs that he alone had fulfilled. She waved at them and left.

Twenty minutes later she walked into her office, pulled off the dark glasses, and threw them across the desk.

“Oh, dear,” she sighed, awareness dawning, “how could he know what I was thinking or feeling? He couldn’t see my eyes.” With a humorless chuckle she tipped her hat to herself—she had outfoxed Melissa Grant. Her purpose in wearing the glasses was to protect her emotions while she read that paper, and when she’d looked at him, he hadn’t seen her, only her glasses.

She switched on her computer, lecturing to herself while it checked itself out. “I will not wonder when he arrived, whether he’ll call before he goes back, or when he’s leaving. I will not give a hoot.” She looked at her email and enjoyed a provocative message from Magnus Cooper.

“I suppose by now the men of Maryland are in mourning, having lost you to Roundtree,” he wrote. “But if I’m wrong and you’re slower than I think, drop me a note.”

“You’re wrong, and I’m slower than you and everybody else think,” she answered, switching to her “talk” mode in the hope that he was at the computer and she’d get an immediate answer.

“Come down here for the holidays, and give him something to think about.”

She laughed. He was there. “Sorry. That’s family time. I’d have to bring my mother,” she teased, enjoying the fun.

“Fine with me. If she’s half your equal, don’t hesitate to bring her.”

“The question is whether I’m half her equal. Emily Grant is a beauty.”

“This machine doesn’t transmit whistles—I’ll have to get another one. You coming down?”

“Maybe another time.” She signed off.

By five o’clock she knew she wouldn’t hear from Adam. She trudged home, went through the motions of eating and, completely out of sorts, crawled into bed and counted sheep, butterflies, horses, and cows until she fell asleep around two o’clock.

* * *

Melissa arrived at her office a half hour earlier than usual the next morning. If she couldn’t be with Adam, she wanted to be alone, and she couldn’t manage that unless she’d closed her office door before the tenants on her floor arrived for work. She missed Banks. Not that her friend wouldn’t happily provide company, but Banks had fallen hard for Wayne Roundtree—and apart from work, didn’t allow herself to think or speak of anything except her schemes to make Wayne reciprocate.