The first, contact information for him and the
Glory
, and a planned schedule for the Greek charter, addressed to James Lockheed. The other message took forty minutes to compose. A few quick words with the concierge, and he headed to the front desk to check out.
The reservations clerk handed him a folded note after he signed the bill.
T,
Evil stepmama in Monte Carlo.
Crisis looming.
Meet you on the
Glory
in the AM.
H.
Su-Lin Taylor eyed the cryptic note penned in black ink.
Su-Lin,
I never meant last night to end the way it did. My abject apologies.
Allow me to make it up to you -- have after-dinner drinks with me in my private suite on the Glory on Friday night? I promise to make it a night you’ll always remember.
E-mail and phone number, including my private line, on the card enclosed.
Terry
Nibbling on her lower lip, she read the note again.
“Mam’selle Taylor,” the concierge said, sotto voce.
A quick check of the front desk showed her aunt and uncle engaged in a gesticulated discussion with the receptionist and the front desk manager. Uncle James’s florid cheeks and downturned lips, together with Aunt Emma’s folded arms and rapid shoe drumming on the lobby’s marble floor, indicated an intense argument.
Shifting so she half faced the hotel employee, she raised an eyebrow and replied, “
Oui
?”
“Monsieur O’Connor also asked me to give you this.” The man held out a cell phone. “It’s a disposable cell phone with one hundred minutes of airtime. The number one is preprogrammed to Monsieur O’Connor’s private line. Do you know how to text?”
She shook her head. “I don’t even know how to use this.” Turning the compact phone over in her hand, Su-Lin lifted a shoulder and shot the concierge an apologetic smile.
“
C’est toute facile
-- it’s very easy, mam’selle. Here, I will show you.”
In a lowered voice, he explained how to charge the phone, and his deft fingers showed her the send, receive, and message functions, and how to retrieve voice mail. Just as the charming concierge embarked on an explanation of texting, Su-Lin heard Uncle James’s booming voice saying, “I don’t expect to see a repeat of these scurrilous charges on the bill when I check out on Friday morning.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t have time for the texting lesson. I have to go.” She opened her purse, then dropped the phone and charger into a zippered compartment. Taking two steps in the direction of the reception desk, she threw a glance over her shoulder and said, “Thank you,
merci beaucoup
.”
At that precise instant Aunt Emma whirled around, right hand on her hip, left rapping her oversize clutch on a thigh. Su-Lin made it halfway to the front desk before her aunt’s beady brown eyes found her.
“Where did you disappear to?” Today Aunt Emma and Uncle James had been at odds with one another. “We’re responsible for your safety. You can’t keep wandering off by yourself all the time.”
“I tried to tell you, but --” Su-Lin protested.
“Harrumph.” Her aunt snorted. “You always have some flimsy excuse.”
“Emma, leave the girl alone,” Uncle James ordered and cupped his wife’s elbow, his fingers pressing the woman’s skin so hard indentations appeared. “We’re all tired and a bit grouchy. Why don’t we have a rest, and we can go for a late dinner around eight thirty?”
“Actually I have a headache, Uncle. Would you mind if I just ordered a bite from room service? Last night we didn’t get in till after midnight, and I’m not used to such late hours.”
No one spoke until Uncle James’s cell phone rang just as he slid the card key into their suite’s slot.
“Yes,” he answered, opened the door, and waved for his niece and wife to precede him.
“I’m going to have a quick shower, eat, and go to sleep.” Su-Lin halted in the penthouse’s sitting area.
Uncle James snapped his phone shut. “Go ahead, love. Turns out we’ll be going out for dinner with our friends from lunch the other day.”
“Good night, Uncle, Aunt.” Su-Lin went to her room, closed the door, and locked the door.
Toeing off her sandals, she took the cell phone out of her purse and set it on the dresser.
Should she call him?
What would she say?
Talk about the weather?
But he
had
given her the phone, and there could be only one reason for that. She debated the issue while toweling off and dressing, half of her wanting to press the number one, the other half more worried about last night.
She grabbed the phone, not allowing herself to think about what she’d say to Terrence O’Connor. Before she could press the number one, the chorus of “I get knocked down” erupted from the receiver. In acute slow motion, she pressed receive and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
Terrence, his Irish brogue curling the
Rs
just so. A low heat started in her belly.
“In the hotel suite,” she muttered, her voice a bare croak, and the heat turned into a dozen buzzing bees warming her insides.
“Are the relatives hovering?”
“Uncle James and Aunt Emma have gone out with their friends for dinner.”
“With the stick woman and her husband from lunch?”
She giggled and cupped a hand over her mouth before replying, “I think so.”
“I missed you today.”
“Oh.” She drew a circle on the carpet with her big toe.
“Did you miss me, darlin’?”
She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her, and blurted, “Yes.”
“Any chance of you playing hooky tomorrow and spending the day with me?”
“We’re going to Cannes.”
“I guess I’ll just have to curb my impatience, darlin’. You will join me for drinks in my cabin on Friday?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice a hint above a murmur.
“Keep the phone on you. I’ll call you again.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me something no one else knows about you. Something just for me.”
His voice had gruffened.
“I dreamed about you,” she whispered, everything solid in her body skittering and sliding into a sort of loose languor, as if a hypnotic paralysis froze her limbs while sparking the veins feeding them.
“Hell, darlin’, I thought I was dreaming when you came into the steam room. I couldn’t believe my luck. And now we have three glorious weeks together. What more could a man ask for?”
What more could she ask for? How to reply to that?
“I have to go, darlin’. Catch you later.”
She did cartwheels around the suite in between a fits of giggling and finished with a double somersault. Energy spent, she curled up on a fat chair in her bedroom, ordered a chocolate mousse and a concoction described as decadent devil’s cake from room service, along with a half carafe of red wine.
All night long, delicious dreams filled her head.
Her lips broke into a broad smile the minute light hit her pupils the following morning. Not wanting to wake her relatives, she brushed her teeth, dressed, then slipped out of the suite.
Hotel guests bustled in the lobby, rolling suitcases to the reception desk or sinking into plush upholstered couches armed with folded newspapers. A colored section of a
Nice-Matin
lay below the top of the concierge’s desk, which stood unmanned at the moment. She studied the folded newspaper, cricking her neck to read the words upside down. Beneath a bold headline, a grainy black-and-white photograph, which looked vaguely familiar, caught her attention. An unfocused uneasiness made her reach over the counter.
“Mam’selle Taylor. What can I do for you this morning?” The young concierge who’d helped her last evening smiled as he asked the question. He leaned forward and she retreated, tucking her hand behind her back.
“Um, is that the paper?”
“Oui, mam’selle. You prefer French or an English version?”
“English, I suppose, although I’ve been trying to practice my high school French.” She accepted the folded newspaper he handed over. “Thank you. I’ll read this while having a cup of coffee.”
Su-Lin read the
Matin
cover to cover but couldn’t find the photograph that had caused the hairs on her forearm to rise. Unsettled, she paged through each section one more time before abandoning her hazy, unprovoked apprehensions. Her stomach growled, and she ordered a raisin muffin to go. Wandering barefoot through lapping waves, face lifted to the sun, she allowed the warm sea wind to disorder her long hair in between bites of the moist muffin.
Terry called around ten.
“Sounds as if you’re outside.”
“I’m walking on the beach,” she answered, enjoying this new intimacy, speaking with him on a cell phone.
“What are the plans for today?”
“Lunch and shopping in Cannes this afternoon. Tonight we have dinner with my uncle’s English friends, some business colleagues of his.” She wanted to ask him what he had planned, but bashfulness made her swallow her words.
“And tomorrow morning, you head my way.” His voice hoarsened, the Irish brogue becoming more pronounced.
Her lungs couldn’t find a regular rhythm, and she held the receiver away from her mouth for a second, searching for a change of subject. All at once, she knew who the photo in the newspaper had reminded her of, and she blurted, “Are you a local celebrity?”
“What a strange question, darlin’.”
“I thought I saw a picture of you in the paper.”
“What newspaper?”
Su-Lin looked at the phone, a bit taken aback by the whipped query.
“The
Matin
. The concierge gave me a copy.”
“I have an incoming call. I’ll talk to you later.”
So much for romance and charm; Terry sounded peeved. Glancing at the pale blue sky, she noticed the sun had ridden high above the horizon. Hurrying back to the hotel, she bumped into her relatives as they stepped out of the elevator.
“There you are,” Uncle James said. “We’re running late, Su-Lin. Run up to the room, grab your pocketbook, and meet us in the hotel’s driveway.”
The day flew by after that, and they never returned to the hotel until well after midnight. Su-Lin hadn’t realized part of the itinerary included a cocktail party at the Cannes Ritz-Carlton. Her uncle presented her to what seemed like scores of portly gray-haired or balding men armed with Chanel-dressed wives wearing diamonds and pearls. After the first twenty-or-so introductions, her brain stopped processing individual names and faces, and every couple blurred into a series of unfocused eyes, noses, and ears.
Terry didn’t call. Tired but restless, Su-Lin tossed and turned, sleeping with the phone under her pillow. Her alarm clock never went off, and she woke to find bright sunlight streaming through her window.
“Jennifer, we’re ready. We’re due to be at the docks before noon.”
Su-Lin cringed. Even after repeated requests, her aunt had never called her anything but Jennifer. “I’m almost ready. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
Another knock on the door.
“We’ll meet you outside the lobby. Uncle James and I will bring the car around.”
No time for a bra and panties, not that she needed the former. When Aunt Emma used that tone, it made her shudder. She threw on one of her new outfits, a floral-patterned white, green, and red silk blouse and skirt, and strapped on low-heeled sandals. The ride to the elevator took forever. She walk-jogged through the lobby and arrived at the hotel’s entrance just as her relatives pulled up, her uncle behind the wheel of a navy Range Rover.
“I lost track of you last night, Su-Lin,” Uncle James said as she closed the door to the backseat. “Got so caught up with my old schoolmates, I almost forgot my two women.”
He flashed an over the shoulder grin at her, and she counted the number of times his chins jiggled, one…two…three. Squaring her shoulders, Su-Lin snapped the seat belt into place.
“I had a nice time.”
“Lots of lords and ladies present, eh?” Uncle James boomed. “Perhaps we can marry you off to one?”
“Don’t be daft, Jimmy. The son of a peer would never consider someone of mixed blood.” Her aunt flicked an imaginary piece of fluff off her knit dress. “The best Jennifer can hope for is someone like that coarse Irishman, O’Connor. He certainly seemed interested.”
Humiliation and embarrassment had Su-Lin flinching into the soft leather seat as if it could swallow her whole. Face flaming, she blurted, “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Aunt Emma.”
“The way that man ogled you? Not a chance. Not that you didn’t invite his attentions with that scandalous dress. Thank goodness, I supervised the new clothes we purchased over the last couple of days.”
Every instinct screamed her suspicions. Had her aunt destroyed her mother’s dress? Was that why the sheath was missing? Anger curled her toes and fingers, and she chanted her mantra praying for tranquility. Desperate rage forced the words out of her mouth. “Do you think we can scatter my mother’s ashes while we’re on this cruise?”
The abrupt topic change provoked a stunned silence.
The back of her uncle’s neck turned a beet red.
Aunt Emma’s mouth tightened into a flat line.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that? We both know how much you loved Annika, and how close the two of you were.”
Su-Lin hit the window switch and fresh air rolled in, cooling her heated flesh. The briny tang in the gusts helped clear her mind. “I’m ready.”
“You don’t want to wait for a bit?” her uncle asked. His azure eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “Have more time to grieve? We saw a grief counselor before coming to the States, and his advice was not to make any drastic changes for at least one year.”
“I’m ready, Uncle James.”
“Okay, love. All we want is for you to be happy.”
She hated his kindness, his understanding, his gentle handling of her. She deserved to be punished for being ashamed of her mother, for hiding her away. Annika Taylor’s mind had fractured after her husband died, and it had been left to Su-Lin to care for her, to keep her from an asylum, to be the parent.
Wretched memories kept her occupied during the long drive, and she jumped when Uncle James proclaimed, “Well, I’ll be. This is some boat.”
Wealth.
The bay teemed with it.
Yachts, luxury sailing ships, ritzy sports cars in colorful hues blurred the sweeping vista facing Su-Lin.
Monte Carlo; she pinched her forearm, overwhelmed by her good fortune.
Today they started a three-week cruise on an actual yacht captained by Terrence O’Connor, her future lover. Staring at the boat, she stepped onto the immaculate cement dock.