If I Can't Have You (11 page)

It had been sixty years since she’d claimed to have seen Trevor Montgomery’s body floating in the pool at Sparta, sixty years since she’d had the breakdown, and sixty years since she’d been declared insane.

A promising future for a young Hollywood starlet
had been destroyed the same night Trevor Montgomery had vanished. And it saddened Adriana terribly.

There must be thousands of wonderful memories hidden deep in Janet’s mind. She’d made only seven films in her career, and her name had never burned bright on a theater marquee, but she’d graced all the best Hollywood parties, including the one at Sparta the night Trevor Montgomery made his last public appearance. She’d lived a glamorous life full of rich and intoxicating fun. She’d known everyone who was anyone, but best of all, she’d been one of Trevor’s dearest friends.

Considering the life she’d lived since his disappearance, Adriana thought that Janet might have had a more fulfilling existence if she’d never known Trevor Montgomery.

It seemed odd that she should think that, though. She’d always believed that her own life would have been richer if Trevor had been a part of it.

Adriana watched Janet patiently, and slowly a frail, lace-gloved hand reached out from under the afghan to steal a piece of chocolate. Janet daintily bit the edge, turned to Adriana, and smiled. “You always bring me the nicest things.”

“And you always tell me wonderful stories.”

“Not always,” Janet said, in a delicate, whispery voice. She took another bite of the chocolate. “Sometimes I can’t remember my name.” Her eyes clouded with tears. “Sometimes my head hurts terribly if I try to remember too much.”

Maybe this was the wrong time to talk to Janet, Adriana thought. Did her questions really cause Janet pain?

She turned to Charlie, and, as if sensing her concern, he whispered. “It’s all right. It’s good for her to talk.”

Adriana leaned close to Janet, and spoke soft and
slow. “What about old friends, Janet? Does thinking about them make you hurt?”

Janet frowned, put the half-eaten candy back in the box, and fidgeted with her lace-covered fingers. “I only have one friend now. Charlie comes to visit every day. Charlie takes care of me. He always has.”

“Charlie’s a very nice man,” Adriana said, glancing at Charlie. He winked; then, with great effort, bent over and kissed the top of Janet’s head.

“I can see you have enough to talk about without me getting in the way,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll walk in the gardens a bit.”

“Are you going to pick me some roses?” Janet asked, smiling coquettishly.

“An armful.”

Charlie’s simple words made Adriana’s heart flutter. How wonderful to be loved so long and so well by an affectionate man.

“Charlie’s very sweet to me,” Janet said. “I know I’m a burden to him, but he tells me that isn’t true. He’s loved me for a long time. When I was a star, he used to take pictures of me.”

“They’re beautiful pictures, too,” Adriana told her, thinking of the hundreds of photos she’d seen of Janet with this star and that star, at premieres, out on the town, on the beach, next to some other star’s backyard pool. She might not have been a star, but Charlie had memorialized her in numerous books and had made her a legend.

“I have Charlie’s books scattered all around my house,” Adriana continued. “He captured the Hollywood of the thirties and forties better than any other photographer.”

Janet smiled wistfully. “He was just a cub reporter when I met him. Such a dear boy. He wanted to marry me.” Janet took a new piece of chocolate. ‘Trevor Montgomery wanted to marry me, too.”

This is what Adriana had really wanted to hear.
As much as she cared for Charlie, it was Janet’s life with Trevor that intrigued her.

‘Tell me more about Trevor,” Adriana asked, resting her elbows on her knees, leaning close so she could hear Janet’s faint, whispery voice.

Janet giggled softly. “He was a very wicked man, but I’m sure you know all about that. He drank far too much; of course, most of our friends did, too. We went from one party to another, dancing and singing.”

Hesitating, Janet nibbled on her chocolate.

‘Trevor loved women. Every night there was someone new on his arm... and in his bed, too, I’m afraid.”

Janet looked directly into Adriana’s eyes, leaned forward, and whispered. “He asked me to marry him once, but I turned him down.”

“Why didn’t you marry him? I thought you loved him.”

“I did.” She hesitated, staring at the candy in her trembling fingers. “He left me, though.”

Janet sighed deeply, closing her eyes. “Trevor didn’t love me, not the way Charlie does. Trevor loved me and left me. He liked other women too much.” She opened her eyes, and Adriana could see a red tinge of sorrow. “I knew he could never be happy with just one woman. Not even me.”

She shouldn’t pry further, Adriana realized, but she had questions to ask, things she needed to know. In spite of the tear sliding down Janet’s face, she kept the conversation going.

“I’m sure Trevor loved you, Janet. You knew him better than anyone.”

“He was my best friend.” For a moment Janet seemed lost in her memories, and then she looked about her and whispered, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. “He was my lover. We kept that a secret though. We didn’t want the public to know.”

What an odd comment, Adriana thought. They were two very public people. Surely a touch of scandal—if it could be considered that—wouldn’t have hurt them.

“Why didn’t you want the fans to know you were lovers?” Adriana asked, pushing Janet’s mind back to the past.

Janet frowned. “I don’t remember if that was Trevor’s idea or mine. The studio usually told us what to do.” Her gaze seemed far away as she bit into another piece of candy. “I remember now. They wanted Trevor to love Carole, not me. If Jack Warner had found out, he’d be upset with us, and no one wanted Jack to get upset—about anything.”

“Was there anything else about Trevor that the public didn’t know? Did he have any birthmarks? Any scars?”

Janet shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

She was fading. She was beginning to take deep breaths, frowning as if her head had started to hurt.

Adriana had to hurry.

“Janet?” she said, regaining the old lady’s attention. “May I ask something that might bring back bad memories?”

Janet looked away. She pulled off her gloves and stared at her trembling fingers. “I’m very old now. The doctors tried to make me forget the bad things because they make my head hurt, but I still remember some things.”

“What do you remember about Carole Sinclair?”

“She was my friend.” Janet clenched her fists, and her eyes widened when she looked at Adriana.

“She was murdered. They said Trevor killed her.”

“Do you believe those stories?”

Janet smiled wistfully. ‘Trevor made love to women. He drank a lot and took them to bed, but
he never argued with anyone, he just did what was expected.”

Adriana knew all that. She wanted to know more. “But could he have killed Carole?”

“Carole was my friend.”

“Yes, Janet,” Adriana said softly, wanting to learn more but knowing she was losing Janet’s attention. “I realize Carole was your friend, but was she afraid of Trevor? Had he ever tried to hurt her, or you?”

Janet pressed her hands to her temples. “Trevor loved women. He would never hurt one, not even if she provoked him. I wanted Trevor to be tough—like Cagney—but that wasn’t his style.”

Slowly she lowered her hands and smiled directly at Adriana. “One time I wanted him to play rough. I did everything I could to make him mad. I even scratched his back until it bled. But he wouldn’t play my game. He just left me.”

Janet stared for a few moments at her fingers. She slipped on her gloves, studying her hands. Slowly, she looked at Adriana, and frowned. “Are you a new nurse here?” she asked, and Adriana was saddened to realize that their conversation had come to an end.

“Have you met Charlie?” Janet smiled. “He comes every day.”

Adriana didn’t know anything new—not really. There was book after book about Trevor’s amorous escapades. Many a woman had offered to tell all after Trevor disappeared. Most stories seemed contrived. Most were nothing more than fiction.

But Janet Julian’s story was probably true—most of it anyway. There was documented evidence that she and Trevor had spent time together. Press clippings, gossip columns, photographs of the two out and about. Party after party after party.

Trevor always had a woman on his arm and a drink in his hand, and he went through the ladies
just as fast as he went through the booze.

Adriana smoothed a hand over Janet’s cheek and kissed the old lady’s brow. Janet was staring off across the garden again with those cloudy gray eyes, her memories buried deep inside. There’d be no more revelations today.

Leaving the verandah, Adriana stopped in the gardens to say good-bye to Charlie, who was gathering a huge bouquet of flowers for his lady, then went to her car and drove away from the beauty and sadness of Magnolia Acres.

Did she really want to learn the truth? Did she want to find out that the man in her home was a fraud?

She drove mechanically, the road stretching out before her nothing but a blur as she remembered the stranger’s smile, the rose he’d brought to her on the breakfast tray that morning, and the little-boy-lost look in his eyes.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts.

The man was an impostor. There was no other explanation. Instead of smiles and roses she should be remembering the way he’d bruised her wrists, the way he’d forced his kisses on her.

It didn’t matter how nice that kiss had been at first, or how her body had tingled when her cold, wet breasts had been crushed against his chest, or his tenderness when he’d gently pushed dripping hair from her face.

She slammed on her brakes when she suddenly noticed that traffic had come to a dead stop on the freeway.

She had to get her emotions under control. She had to get her life back to normal.

She’d never allowed a man to get under her skin before, but this one was burrowing in deep, and
that
wasn’t a good sign. Somehow she had to fight this insane attraction before he intruded on her dream.

Trevor sat on the patio and absently rolled his gold doubloon between his thumb and index finger as he stared out the wrought-iron gates he’d had installed for privacy’s sake when he’d first moved into the rancho. He studied the silver van that had been parked across the street most of the day, and the occasional car whizzing past his home while he waited for Adriana to return.

Where could she be?
he wondered, checking his watch for at least the tenth time in the past few hours, forgetting that the solid gold timepiece had quit working after his botched and unsound venture into the Poseidon Pool at Sparta. She’d lied to him. She’d said she’d be back shortly, but she’d left the house at 9:00 A.M. and it was now half past six. The longer she was gone, the more frustrated he became.

He needed a drink—or at least a cigarette.
H
e hadn’t had either in well over eighteen hours. He’d searched the bar, and found nothing. He’d haphazardly searched some of the kitchen cabinets, even the guest room where she’d told him he could stay.

The guest room!
He wanted to sleep in his own room, in his own bed. He wanted to go there now
and look for a bottle of whiske
y and a pack of cigarettes but h
ell, it didn’t seem right. That was her room now. Her private place.

The place where she’d probably hidden the things he needed the most.

She’d hidden herself away, too, and right now he needed her as much as he needed the whiskey and cigarettes.

He didn’t want to be alone.

And he didn’t want to worry about her any longer. Had she been in an automobile accident? Had she been mugged? Was she lying hurt in a ditch?

Or had she decided to stay away?

He wouldn’t blame her i
f she had. He’d thought about ru
nning away a time or two himself because too many things in this world he’d been thrown into didn’t make sense.