If I Can't Have You (47 page)

“Good night,” she whispered, as she kissed her finger and touched it to the pillow.

The musky fragrance of aftershave clinging to the lace-
edged case wrapped around her, n
ot imagined this time, but real.

She smiled, then pulled the pillow close, and went to sleep holding a dream in her arms.

oOo

The scent of strong French roast and frying bacon swirled through the bedroom, waking Adriana from her deep, dream-filled slumber.

“Mmmm, smells good,” she whispered.

Pushing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stood in the middle of her bedroom, waiting for her eyes to clear. Rubbing the morning chill from her arms, she followed the heavenly scent down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she sang, but the joy left her
voice when she confronted an empty kitchen. No skillets sat on the stove. No bacon had been
made
or coffee perked.

It was only a dream—but a pleasant one.

Her stomach growled, and she felt the overwhelming craving for a rich, cheesy omelet fried in real butter. She wanted thick slices of crispy bacon and croissants slathered with raspberry preserves.

She wanted to share them with the hallucination she’d seen in the bathroom last night, the man in tight black Levi’s with shaving cream covering his cheeks.

He was only a dream—but she needed him.

Going back to her bedroom, she turned the radio on and the strains of “The Way You Look Tonight” from
Swing Time
echoed around the room. She hummed as she made her bed, grabbing hold of the bedpost, pretending it was Fred Astaire and she was Ginger Rogers as she swayed back and forth, then let go of her partner and waltzed—all alone—around her bedroom.

When the music stopped, she realized what she’d done. She’d danced. She’d never done it before—not by herself, not with Harrison, not with anyone. She’d felt too awkward, too inhibited. But it felt so right this time, as if she’d been taught by an expert, someone who’d held her close, and didn’t mind when she stepped on his toes.

Folly, Adriana. Pure folly.

Still, it made her smile as she went into the bathroom, showered, brushed her teeth, and, with a lightheartedness she hadn’t experienced in a long time, readied herself for the day.

She took a tuxedo-style jumper from the closet and laid it on her bed, then went in search of a pair of black-velvet sandals—something from the forties—that she’d bought years ago and had never worn.

It was dark at the back of the closet. She reached
for the string on the overhead bulb, and ripped the ring off the end when she turned on the light.

The old plastic ring slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, rolling somewhere to the back of the closet.

Getting down on her knees, she pulled the shoe box she was looking for from the very back, and saw the ring wedged in a crack in the baseboard.

She reached for it, and the baseboard slid sideways.

Pushing the plastic ring on her finger to keep from losing it while she tried to repair the baseboard, she shoved aside clothes to get closer to the wall, and heard a sudden, faint voice.

Marry me, Adriana. Marry me.

She shivered at the sound, at the feel of lips brushing lightly across her mouth.

Breathing became difficult. Her heart began to pound. The voice wasn’t real. It wasn’t.

“Marry me, Adriana. Marry me
—
now.”

The fragrance of roses wafted around her, and in her hands she saw a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red and white roses. She closed her eyes to rid herself of the vision, but sounds came to her instead. A violinist played the song she’d been dancing to, a minister spoke words she’d heard only in movies: “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

She touched the plastic ring on her finger, and saw another hand touching hers, strong, bronzed fingers sliding the ring on her hand. She heard other tenderly spoken words. “I’ll give you diamonds the size of walnuts next time.”

She looked up through tear-soaked lashes and instead of see
ing the clothes, she saw a wav
y vision of Trevor Montgomery.

“I love you, Adriana,” he whispered. “Forever.”

The words rang out loud and clear, stronger than any words she’d ever heard.

Other things came to her, too. Stomping grapes on the beach. Skinny-dipping in the ocean. Making love behind a mummy case. Those weren’t dreams—they were memories.

Had it really happened? Had she married Trevor Montgomery and forgotten?

He’d disappeared sixty years ago, though. He’d disappeared after Carole Sinclair committed suicide, after he’d gone to his home—this home—and
, as Janet had told her,
written a letter.

Trevor’s words came to her. “If anything happens, I’ll leave you a message.”

A message.
She tried to smile through her tears. He
had
been here. He’d proposed to her here in the closet.

She wasn’t crazy.

She pushed aside the baseboard and peered into the darkened hole.

A yellowed envelope rested inside. She took it from its hiding place, and staring up at her were the words:
For Adriana.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the envelope and began to read:

Adriana,

I love you. That’s the one thought that has kept me going these past twelve months—that, and the thought of being with you again.

You’re my life, Adriana. Without you, I feel I’m but half of a man. With you, I’m whole.

I live on the memories of our days together. Quiet walks on the beach, a drive along the ocean. Teaching you to dance and loving the feel of you floating in my arms. Our wedding, and our wedding night, when we made love and promised we’d never be apart.

We couldn’t stop that from happening, though. We are apart—for now—but I won’t rest until we’re together again.

It’s July 4,1938. I’ve done all I could to change history. I hope I haven’t done too much—or too little. Maybe I’ll never know, but tonight I’ll try to come to you again.

I pray that you’ll remember our time together. I pray you haven’t forgotten—as I did at first. The memories, though, were too precious to stay forgotten. I hope that you, too, will remember me again.

Wish me back
, Adriana. Please, wish me back.
I’ll be waiting for you at the Poseidon Pool..

I
lo
ve you,

Trevor

Adriana clasped the letter to her breast, and tears streaked her cheeks. Everything she’d imagined was real. Trevor had come into her life. He’d loved her.

It was all so real.

And she wanted him back again.

oOo

The drive from Santa Barbara to Sparta was nothing but a blur of asphalt and memories: Trevor smiling at her as he stood in a doorway, one hand tucked in the pockets of his trousers while his coat hung loose from broad shoulders; Trevor wiping pinkish hamburger sauce from her lips and licking his fingers; Trevor lying in the grass, his arms folded behind his head, talking of nothing more than dancing the night away, and making her happy.

He did make her happy, and she wondered how she could possibly have forgotten so many cherished moments.

She prayed that he’d come back to her. Prayed that they could make more memories together; the
children they had talked of; the grandchildren he wanted to bounce on his knee when he grew old; the second Oscar he still wanted to win.

He had a chance at all those things—if only she could bring him back.

Elliott, standing tall and serene, was waiting for her in the circular drive when she reached the mansion.

“We missed you last night,” he said, backing a discreet distance away after she affectionately brushed her cheek against his.
So very proper,
Adriana thought.
Once a butler, always a butler
—and she laughingly remembered having those same exact thoughts once before.

History
was
repeating itself. She prayed it would repeat itself at least once more.

“Our Fourth of July celebration wasn’t quite the same without you,” Elliott said in his decidedly British tone. “We hope this won’t become a common occurrence.”

“Of course not. You know I’d rather be here than anywhere else on the Fourth, but I just couldn’t get away.” She pulled the black-silk scarf from her head and dropped it on the passenger seat in the Duesenberg, then removed her sunglasses. She looked over Elliott’s shoulder toward the rose gardens, the flower-laden terraces, and the Poseidon Pool, where her adventure with Trevor had begun.

“You seem terribly preoccupied, Miss Adriana. Is something amiss?”

“A restless night, that’s all,” she said, knowing she could hide little from the man who’d helped to raise her. “I thought I’d walk through the gardens a bit, maybe stick my toes in the Poseidon Pool.”

“I could bring iced tea out for you.”

“Thank you, Elliott, but that won’t be necessary.”

She looked around for visitors, for strangers—for Trevor, hoping he might have miraculously shown
up without her help. But she saw no one. “Are there tour groups here today?” she asked.

“One in the east wing of the mansion, one on the grounds. Would you like me to ask the guides to make a slight detour so you won’t be bothered?”

Adriana smiled, fondly remembering the way he’d always anticipated her needs. “Thank you, Elliot. I feel like being alone.”

“You’re alone too much, if you ask me. That’s probably the reason for sleepless nights.”

“I imagine you’re right.”

She tucked her sunglasses into her purse and held it out to Elliott. “Would you mind taking these in for me? I should be up in an hour or so.”

He took the purse from her hands, and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll ask Juanita to prepare a light lunch for you.”

“Could you ask her to prepare something for two? And something not so light?” she asked, delighted at the questioning frown on Elliott’s face. “I remember tasting her chocolate chip cookies once.”

“You don’t like chocolate chip cookies.”

“My
father
didn’t like chocolate
chip cookies, Elliott. I loved th
em, and I’d like to try them again if Juanita has time.”

A smile tilted Elliott’s lips, and she saw a twinkle in his wise old eyes. “And the second person, Miss Adriana? Are you expecting a guest, or are you especially hungry today?”

“A guest—I hope. I’m expecting him, but I’m not sure if he can make it.”

“Someone I know?”

Adriana winked. “It’s a surprise.”

She brushed a kiss across Elliott’s cheek, and decided to give him one more surprise. “I’ll be staying in my suite for a few days. My guest might be staying also. I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”

Elliott winked back, and turned toward the house. “As you wish, Miss Adriana.”

She heard the rumble of laughter in his words as he walked up the stairs.

The scents of honeysuckle, star jasmine, and roses surrounded her as she walked along the meandering path. She remembered the gardens at Magnolia Acres and the story Charlie had told her and Trevor about Carole Sinclair’s death—originally murder, now suicide. Trevor
had
changed history—in a way. Maybe some things, like Carole’s sad, unfortunate death, couldn’t be changed, but Janet’s life had taken a much happier course. As Trevor had always said, Janet was sweet. It seemed impossible that she could be a murderer.

Pushing the thought away, she snapped a red rosebud from one of the bushes and ran toward the Poseidon Pool.

Wrapping her arms around one of the marble columns, she stared at the sun’s sparkling rays bouncing off the water. So peaceful. So serene.

Please, bring him back to me,
she silently prayed, then moved to the edge of the pool, trying to remember exactly what she’d done before.

She kissed the rosebud, thinking of Trevor’s kisses, wanting to taste them again, and tossed the rose into the pool.

“Come back to me. Please, Trevor. Come to me.”

The flower floated on the surface, slowly gl
iding to the center of the pool.
Adriana followed its movements, hoping and praying that something would happen.

Suddenly the water percolated, it churned. The rose bobbed up and down, then the water calmed.

A tear slid down her cheek.

It wasn’t going to work this time.

“Please, Trevor,” she begged. “Come back to me. I love you. I need you with me.”

Still, nothing happened. The rose just rested on the water.

She had to do something more. She slipped out of her shoes and walked into the water, hoping her nearness would make the miracle occur. She’d stand there for a week—for a lifetime—if that’s what it took.