She raised her head when she heard a car pull into the driveway. It was Joan Halloran, the Realtor.
“Oh,” she called, waving when she saw Lauren. “You’re still here. Where’s your car?”
Lauren stood up. “It gave out last night. I’m waiting to have it fixed. It’s at Rick’s Garage.”
Joan didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, well, then you can help me write up a brochure for the house while you wait. It’s kind of a fixer-up, but I think we can take some good pictures, and with a good description, we’ll get it sold. I’m so glad you had the lawn mowed. It looks great.” Joan headed up the porch steps. “Uh-oh, we’ll have to get rid of these beer bottles.”
Lauren hastily scooped up the empty bottles, “Oh, I had a couple of beers last night. It was such a pleasant evening. I just sat out here until late.”
“Really?” Joan looked at her skeptically. “You drank a whole six-pack?”
Lauren let out a nervous laugh. “There were only two left in the pack.”
“I see,” said Joan, looking at her closely. “Okay, then, let’s get to work on this.”
Lauren followed Joan around while she took notes and pictures. After half an hour, they sat down together at the kitchen table. “Read this back to me,” said Joan. “Let’s see how it sounds.”
Lauren cleared her throat and read out loud, “Charming country farmhouse, circa late 1800s. Four bedrooms, two baths. Center hall. Eat-in kitchen. Two fireplaces and wood stove. Needs some work, but this home is a real find with sixty acres, serviceable outbuildings, ample private water supply, and beautiful southwesterly views. Many perennial beds and borders as well as mature trees, stone walls, picket fence. Priced to sell.” She looked up at Joan.
“That sounds good, then, don’t you think?” asked the agent, although she made it sound more like a statement than a question.
Lauren ignored her and slowly gazed around the kitchen. “You know, I’ve only been here for the last two days, and before that, it must have been nearly twenty years ago that I spent any time here, but the more I look around, well, I guess it reminds me of when I was a little girl. My parents used to leave me here with my grandmother when they went to protests and hearings and activist events. I always had such a peaceful time here.”
“Maybe you should keep it as a country place,” said Joan slyly.
“Hmm,” Lauren mused, “I don’t think so. I don’t think that would work. I — I’d never get up here anyway. I could barely spare the time to get this stuff done.”
“Well, I was only suggesting.”
Lauren’s phone rang. “Hello?… Oh, yes. Thank you. Just a minute, please. Joan?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Could you give me a ride down to pick up my car?”
“Why sure.”
It was nearly noon by the time Lauren got on the road. She had planned to start the four and a half hour drive at eight in the morning.
Oh well,
she thought,
only four hours late. I should get to the city just in time for rush hour.
Lauren proved herself right. At six o’clock that evening, she dragged herself into the lobby of the building on Central Park West. She felt tired and grimy from the long drive and slightly nauseous from getting stuck in traffic twice. The doorman smiled at her as she walked in. “Evening, Miss Smith,” he said.
“Oh, Albert, good evening. Is Charles home yet?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve been here since two this afternoon. Tina’s been in and out a couple of times, but that’s all. You look tired, miss.”
“I am, Albert, I am. I just drove down from New England after a couple of irritating days up there on family business. I’m just glad to get home.”
“Well,” said the doorman, smiling and pushing the elevator buttons for her, “You just get in a hot tub and relax for a while. I’ll give Dennis the heads-up.”
“Thank you, Albert,” Lauren said as the elevator door closed. Up, up, up she felt the elevator go, and with each floor, she felt a little better. This was where she belonged. She would find out from Dennis whether Charles was coming home tonight or whether he had already left for Singapore. At any rate, she was glad her fiancé was not at home. She would have time to shower and change before greeting him. She would have time to leave Caleb Cochran behind, once and for all.
Dennis met her at the door in the private entrance. “Good evening, Lauren,” he said. Impeccably dressed as ever in a dark suit, he reached out and took Lauren’s laundry and overnight bags from her.
“Thanks, Dennis,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”
“Traffic bad?”
“Yes. Is Charles at home?”
“He’s not here, no, miss.”
“Did he leave for Singapore?”
“Ah, that’s the good news, miss. He told me to tell you he would be in a meeting this evening until about eight, but that he wouldn’t be leaving for Singapore until day after tomorrow. So, yes, he will be home later this evening.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news, Dennis. Thanks. I’ll have time to get cleaned up.”
“You run along and freshen up. I’ll take these things into Tina. She’ll make short work of them.”
Lauren smiled and went on her way to the master bedroom.
The penthouse really was spectacular. It had been featured in
Architectural Digest
and
The
New York Times
’ style section. Every time she entered it, Lauren felt awe. The foyer was a dimly lit hall with hidden closet doors. The walls were lined with lighted niches housing Charles’s porcelain collection. Charles had worked the Pacific Rim for years and had collected some priceless pieces. Lauren, with her museum experience, had helped him design the display. She was very proud of the way it had turned out. The foyer led to the formal living room, a massive room with a great stone-faced fireplace and four floor-to-ceiling French windows that opened onto a generous rooftop garden planted with pots of colorful flowers. A gardening service came once a week from April to October to care for them. To the right of the living room were the dining room, kitchen, butler’s pantry, and staff quarters. To the left was a wide hallway hung with some of Charles’s extensive art collection. The hallway led to the master bedroom suite and two guest suites.
Lauren wandered down the hallway and opened the door to the master suite. The bedroom was a large, square room with French windows opening onto a small balcony. The king-sized bed was against the wall facing the balcony. A huge mirror hung over the head of the bed, and there were built-in bookcases and shelving on either side. The room was sleek and contemporary. An original custom-made chandelier hung over the bed. It was designed to look like a meteor shower, and the shiny metal arced out asymmetrically. Reading lights swung out from the cabinetry next to each side of the bed, and at its foot was a red leather bench, upon which Lauren plunked her purse.
For a moment, Lauren perched on the edge of the bed. She stared at the wall where a collection of eighteenth century landscapes hung over a Duncan Phyfe writing desk flanked by two deep wing chairs. Usually, the old landscapes with their sweeping vistas of the English countryside soothed her, but this evening they had no effect. If anything, their portrayal of stone walls and meadows reminded her of what she had left in Vermont.
The opposite richly paneled wall was hung with a large contemporary storm scape. On each side of the painting was a doorway. The doorway to the right was Charles’s dressing room, and beyond that, his private bath. The doorway on the other side led to the dressing room that housed Lauren’s wardrobe, her vanity, and her accessories closet. Her private bath, a mirror image of Charles’s, lay just beyond the upholstered chaise at the back of the dressing room.
Lauren walked into her dressing room, set her purse on the chaise, and went into the white marble bathroom. She sighed. This would be hers for real, she thought, in just a few short weeks. She started the water flowing into the deep marble tub and shed her clothing. One wall of the bathroom was mirrored, and she stared at herself as if she expected to see something different. She was not tall, but her waist and neck were long, and she curved in all the right places. She looked the same, but Lauren did not feel the same at all. She ran her hands over her breasts and down over her hips, turning her thoughts inward trying to relive the fleeting rapture of the night before. She could feel Caleb’s touch on her bare skin. Her thighs tingled with the memory of his caresses, and her face flushed.
Lauren turned away from the mirror and stepped into the warm tub, submersing herself in the water. She took the soap and lathered herself, but try as she might, she could not wash away the memory of her stay in New England. Those tactile feelings remained…his hands, his mouth, his skin. They were imbedded in her body, into her very soul. She had never been touched like that, either physically or emotionally. Consciously, she sought to bury the train of thought.
I will just have to live with it,
she thought.
I will just have to learn to live with it. I can’t risk all this. I’ve worked hard, and I can’t risk what I’ve accomplished.
Lauren stepped out of the tub and toweled off, then wrapped her fluffy white robe around her. She went into her dressing room, rummaging through her clothes, trying to find something pretty, yet comfortable, in which to greet Charles. Suddenly she felt as though she had been away for a lifetime, but it had only been two nights. She finally decided on wide-legged, black silk pants and a simple white top, cut low over the bosom. She scuffed her feet into black silk slippers and wandered out to the study.
The study was Lauren’s favorite room. Unlike the other rooms, it was small and paneled with dark wood. Three walls were bookcases, ceiling to floor, even around the window, which had diamond shaped leaded panes. A small Japanese screen, decorated with a geisha scene, hung over the fireplace. The mantel was deep and held a beautiful old porcelain clock and a bronze statue of two lovers caught in an amorous embrace. A full bar was hidden behind a sliding panel near the fireplace. Lauren walked across the deep, soft Oriental rug to help herself to a gin and tonic.
“I would have gotten that for you,” said Dennis from the doorway. He carried in a small silver tray of different hors d’oeuvres and set them down on the butler’s table by the sofa.
“Oh, Dennis,” said Lauren, “thank you so much. Those look heavenly.”
“I think Tina is trying some new things,” he said. “I hope you like them. Dinner will be at eight, when Charles gets home. Is there anything you need, Lauren? Are you feeling well? You don’t seem quite yourself.”
“Oh, I’m fine, Dennis.” Lauren forced a smile. He was always so solicitous of her, she thought gratefully, as if he knew, as if he knew her vulnerabilities. “I think I’m just tired. You know, dealing with those people up there in the countryside. It’s so frustrating. I guess they don’t care about what goes on anywhere else. It took me so long to get things done, and then, well, it just tired me out.”
“I understand,” said Dennis, smiling. “You just relax for a while. Charles will be home soon. Tina is making something new for dinner, too. I’m going into the kitchen now to sample it.” He smiled broadly and left the room.
And it started again. The minute she was alone, visions of Caleb started flirting through her mind. She found herself reliving their tryst, there at the house.
Naked in the grass.
It was unthinkable. How could she have succumbed to that pure animal lust? And yet she had. And now the memory of it would not leave her. Well, she would just have to bear it. She would have to learn to compartmentalize things more efficiently.
Steeling herself, she took a gulp of her gin and tonic. It was then she heard the front door open and Dennis saying, “Good evening, Charles. Let me take that for you. You’ll be pleased to know Lauren’s in the study, waiting for you.”
Lauren heaved a sigh of relief, set her drink down, and stood up to meet her fiancé. Being with him would banish all this nonsense and make her forget her transgression. It would fade into the background of her life, like the memories of those soft summers so long ago. Yes, her guilty secret would evaporate into the foggy past. No one would be the wiser. All the plumbers, fragrant old gardens, and seductive summer nights would go the way of a momentary daydream, and she would be back in her reality, both feet on the ground, her arm through Charles’s, protected on all sides by tall skyscrapers, designer clothing, and money in the bank.
She heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall, and Charles came into the room. Even at that hour of the evening, he was immaculate, unwrinkled, the perfect business man. He held out his arms to her as he said, “Darling! How wonderful to have you back!”
Lauren ran to him. She kissed his mouth. His lips were cool, his face smooth. Lauren wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling the crisp, cool fabric on her cheek. “Oh, Charles, I’m so glad to be home!”
He laughed, and taking her arms in his hands, held her out from him and searched her face. “I would have been home sooner, but the delegate from Singapore was here. I escorted her out to the plane. Certainly the countryside couldn’t have been that bad. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” said Lauren, hugging him again. She tried to clasp him closer. A renegade thought rose up in her mind.
Where was the heat?
She released him. “Can I pour you a drink?”