Claudine (25 page)

In the second library, a grand affair with a fresco on the ceiling, French windows had been thrown open leading to a stone terrace. The land here dropped off and her eyes were level with the crowns of maples and sycamores. To her far right she could see a beautiful walled garden. It appeared to contain a small orchard, and she could just make out the flash of color from the fruits, cherries probably, which at this time of year would be starting to ripen. Songbirds twittered and chirped in the garden. She breathed in a deep draft of clean, sweet air that carried with it a flavor of sea kelp and wet sand.

She noticed an intercom on the wall beside a large locked cabinet. The button buzzed loudly when she pressed it. “Hello . . . hello . . . Alicia, are you there?” There was no answer.

She huffed in annoyance, wondering whether the thing was even working and decided to continue reading
Justine.
A gloomy topic on such a pleasant day, but she’d fallen far behind in her studies and needed to make up the time. She’d do it in the smaller library, though. Something about this room made her uncomfortable.

When she turned to leave, Alicia stood in the doorway. The woman hadn’t made a sound coming in; it was as if she’d suddenly appeared like some evil fairy. “You called, ma’am?”

Maria recovered from her surprise. “I’d like to send some texts but I can’t get any cell phone service or wireless. Do you know if the servers are down?”

“Did you try it in here?”

“No. Upstairs.”

Alicia offered a thin smile. The woman was so pale with her wheaten hair and colorless skin. Her black uniform only magnified the impression.

“Mr. Carson only permits cell phone and wireless usage in the libraries. He prefers his guests to think of his home as a place of leisure, away from all the pressures of cell phones and social networks.”

“Oh. Good to know. I think I’ll use the other library, then.”

“Would you like to take your meal there?”

“Yes. That would be excellent. Then I can continue my reading. Is there any firmer idea what time Mr. . . . Carson is expected?”

“I’ve heard nothing more.” Alicia said, then turned on her heel and left the room.

Maria settled in the small library and spent an hour or so reading, until right on cue, Victor bustled in pushing a trolley table. Clumsy and uncoordinated, his fat hands, with little red hairs springing up like coiled copper wires, grasped the trolley handle too tightly. Alicia followed him in. Victor nodded to Maria.

“Would you care to eat out on the terrace?” he asked.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Alicia laid a cream linen cloth on the glass and wrought-iron terrace table and Victor pulled out Maria’s chair to seat her. Alicia set a bottle of Evian water down along with a napkin and the place setting. “Salad greens fresh from our garden, a Mediterranean antipasto selection, saffron steamed rice and grilled quail.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.”

Victor uncorked a chilled rosé and poured a little in the wineglass, then handed it to her. It had a crisp, light taste with
just a faint suggestion of sweetness. “Ideal choice for a perfect summer evening,” Maria said as she held out her glass for him to finish filling it.

She sipped at her wine after they left. It seemed passing strange to be sitting here alone, marvelous though the setting was. But knowing Reed, she had the sense he was planning something special for the evening, teasing her with anticipation, and the more she thought about it, the more enthusiastic she became. It was a new experience for her, having someone else drawing the plotlines, making the moves, a change she welcomed. She suddenly realized how hungry she was and, finding all the dishes delectable, ate more than she had in days.

As if reading her thoughts, Alicia entered carrying a silver tray with a cup of coffee and a digestif. Alicia cleared the plates away and handed her a small white envelope. “With Mr. Carson’s compliments and apologies about being so late.”

Alicia dipped her head formally before leaving Maria alone on the terrace. As she turned over the envelope to open it, her eyes lit on the digestif; a lovely fluted glass containing a greenish liquid, Chartreuse probably. Something lay at the bottom of the glass. She picked it up to get a closer look. A round, perfect pearl. She took out the card. Typed inside were the words:

Pearls hide in the ocean,
Green, like your marvelous eyes.
This is the first of many.
Follow the trail for the rest.

Reed’s romantic gesture touched her deeply and she regretted every minute that would pass before he came. She’d misjudged
him and would find a way to make up for it. Alicia had confirmed earlier that she was expected out on the second terrace off the salon at nine
P.M
. Maria laughed at herself, nervous as a schoolgirl when the hour approached.

She chose a floral silk dress, smoothed her hair into an updo and took an evening purse for the pearls. Reed was nowhere to be seen when she stepped onto the terrace flagstones. The last vestiges of the sun, already dipping below the sea, cast the sky in soft peaches and violets. Dusk slowly folded into night. Flaming braziers had been set up on the terrace. She found the next pearl sitting in the center of a single water lily floating in a round glass bowl on the table.

She tripped down the long flight of steps to a pathway illuminated by solar lamps. In the warm and humid atmosphere, the night air clung to her skin. The gravel path meandered for a way through a lush grove of trees. Here, the lights had been spaced farther apart and it was much harder to see. Every now and again a small sculpture bordered the path. These were glazed ceramics and looked Chinese. Old, probably. Perhaps they’d once stood sentry at a wealthy Chinese merchant’s house and, with their frightening faces, were placed to scare away intruders. Maria took her time and scrutinized each foot of the path, determined not to miss the next pearl. She came upon a flat stone about two feet high, probably put there as a seat. On it lay three more lustrous pearls. She dropped them into her purse. The path veered away from the shoreline and angled up a slope, the trees widened out and she emerged into the meadow she imagined lay behind one of the hills she’d seen on the way in, hiding the house.

Up ahead, she saw him.

She could only make out his figure moving far in the distance. His back was turned to her.

She wanted to rush to him but stilled herself. He slowed his pace almost as if he intended to make it easy for her to follow. Perched upon a broad green leaf on the grass beside the path were the next three pearls. In the dusky light she’d almost missed them. How many more would there be? Reed disappeared over the crest of the hill. She hurried to catch up.

As she reached the top of the hill, the path thinned out to a narrow track. The stream winding through the shallow valley between the hills had been dammed to create a wide pool. The moon came out, full and bright in a star-spun sky. From her elevated position, she spotted him at the far side of the pool. He’d stripped off his clothes. Moonlight shone on his powerful back, buttocks and long legs; it turned the sprays of water silver as he dove in.

She smiled to herself and hastened to the fringe of moss and delicate ferns at the pool’s edge. She slipped off her shoes, stepped out of her dress and underwear, dropped them on the ground and laid her purse on top. Reed’s head and shoulders broke through the surface of the water; he heaved in a deep breath and dove under again. He seemed to be enjoying his own private moment, pretending not to notice her.

She stepped gingerly into the water, testing for depth, and immediately plunged to midthigh. A soft, spongy layer of weed cushioned her feet. She pushed off and swam with long languid strokes. The water felt like velvet against her bare skin. She reached the spot she’d last seen him surface, and then tread water, her breasts bobbing on the surface, satiny in the moonlight. Where was he?

Two strong hands gripped her waist; his body bore down behind her; his lips nipped at the nape of her neck. He reached for her nipple with one hand, and a pleasing heat spread in her belly. She felt the hairy brush of his groin as he brought his knee up between her legs. He tightened his arm around her; with his other hand he fondled her cleft.

“Did you find all your pearls?” he whispered in her ear.

It was not Reed’s voice.

CHAPTER
28

Maria screamed. She lashed out at the man grasping her and twisted her body, splashing furiously in her panic to get away. It did no good. One or two powerful strokes and he had her again. He pulled her pelvis against him and she felt the stiff bone of his erection. “You don’t remember me?” The moonlight fell upon his face. It was Claude Ferrer, her client from the Victorian dinner.

“Get away from me.” She tried again to push away from him.

He released her. She swam as if a shark were on her tail and reached solid ground at the pool edge, found her footing, sloshed over to where she’d left her clothes. She threw on her dress, raced barefoot down the path. Despite the temperate air, she shivered, and willed herself not to cry.

He caught up to her as she reached the safety of the terrace steps. She’d stopped finally, panting at the exertion of running, and nursed her feet, hurt by the shards of gravel on the path.

“There should be some warm towels for us in that bag,” he
said, pointing to a canvas gym bag near one of the French doors. He retrieved two white terry bathrobes from the bag, stripped off his wet clothes without making any effort to hide his nakedness, and wrapped the robe around him. She hesitated for a minute, then turned her back and did the same.

“Would you rather go inside?” he asked gently.

She shook her head and sat down at the table where she’d eaten dinner. He slumped in the opposite chair. Alicia had left an ice bucket with champagne and two glasses on the table.

He handed her a face towel. She wiped pond water off her face and ran her fingers through her hair to get the tangles out.

“I’m sorry,” Ferrer said. “I planned what I thought would be a very romantic evening. It looks like I miscalculated.”

She patted her face dry with a corner of the towel. “I’m the one who should be sorry. It
was
romantic. It’s just . . . you startled me. I was expecting someone else.”

“Who?”

She swallowed hard, unwilling to mention Reed’s name. Her fear had subsided completely now and she felt like a fool. Shame colored her cheeks. “His name doesn’t matter. It was just someone who . . .” She waved her hand around. “The pearls, the mystery—he loves drama, and it was the kind of thing he’d do. And he owns a house on the coast. I wasn’t sure exactly where.”

“Well, my dear, there are a good number of houses on the Rhode Island seaside, you know.” It was a mild reproof. She should have known better.

“Yes, there are. I made the wrong assumption. Why did you use the Carson alias?”

“Your rules. They specified you’d spend only one night with a client. I was afraid you’d reject my request out of hand.”

She looked up at him, puzzlement in her eyes. “But how . . . ? We always check clients out beforehand. Your text traced back to an IP address on the Yale servers.”

He shook his head. “No idea. I have no connection with the university at all.”

As he spoke, the answer came to her. She’d trusted her new guard to check the profile. He had her entire contact list. Somehow he must have mixed them up; tracing the message to Yale had been an error.

“Oh. No harm done.” She made a mental note to have her client profiles checked much more carefully.

“Listen, my dear. I think it’s safe to say our evening has not turned out as either of us wished. But the night is yet young. Would you like to retire upstairs for a while? And then if you’re up to it, we could regroup in the small library. Alicia tells me you like it there.” He tapped the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and said, “I’d hate to drink all this by myself.”

She came to her senses and gave his hand a squeeze. “That’s very kind. I’m the one who made the error. I’ll meet you in the library in an hour.”

A
fter a shower and a change of clothes, she felt more like herself. She was in a different frame of mind too. She readied herself, physically and mentally, to entertain Claude Ferrer. He’d paid a substantial sum for her company and she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d do her best to reward him for his efforts. That was her job, after all.

She felt embarrassed for letting her fantasies about Reed overcome her good judgment. Her interest in him had completely
deflated once she realized he no longer wanted her. Irrational though she knew it was, she hated the thought of him now.

Ferrer had a fire burning in the library grate when Claudine came back downstairs. It made for a cheerful atmosphere and he’d thoughtfully turned the air-conditioning up to compensate.

He handed her a glass of champagne. She curled up beside him on the settee and they toasted their misadventure. They talked for a while; he was quite knowledgeable about the history of Newport and explained he used the house primarily as a corporate retreat.

She observed him as he talked. A fine gray gristle lined his jaw and he had small, dark eyes, a narrow face and prominent nose. He didn’t look much like Reed. And he was older. Still, his height and girth were almost identical to Whitman’s. He was well muscled and his stomach still flat. And he had the same languid movements as Reed. At the side of the pool in the dark, anyone could have made the same mistake.

The eight pearls she’d collected sat in splendor on the coffee table. Beside them, another row of four. “You missed them,” he said, “but I’ll add them to the collection anyway. And in between each will sit one of these.” He opened a small drawer in the table and took out a velvet drawstring bag. Fourteen small platinum cylinders spilled out. “Twelve pearls are hardly enough to make up a necklace.”

“They’re stunning.” Claudine reached for one of the cylinders, admiring the way the firelight glinted off it.

He bent over and kissed her cheek. “I have a favor to ask. Would you consider staying for one more night? I know it’s not in keeping with your rules but I’m hoping since this evening
hasn’t worked out, you’ll take pity on me. Of course I’ll pay for the pleasure.”