Sweet Christmas Kisses (43 page)

“Yes?”

“He wasn't an ordinary entertainer. He had a special wit and irony. He saw through people, saw through pretenses. He made fun of them, and while they were still laughing at his jokes, the laughter got frozen in their mouths, because they suddenly saw that they were the target.”

“How did he manage to become popular?” Joanna asked. “Few people enjoy that feeling.”

Conran smiled. “He chose different topics. Politics, sometimes. Everybody likes jokes about politicians. He was more a cabaret artist than a clown, really.” He turned his hands and looked at them from the other side. “But the most important thing was his attitude. Below that vitriol, he was able to see the good things and to value them. He wasn't bitter.” He looked up and smiled. “That's what I admired most in him. He saw all the negative stuff, and yet, he managed not to become disillusioned.”

“How long had you known him?”

“Not all that long. Three years, I believe. You can't imagine how many times he made me survive some unbearable function, full with people who only wanted to present themselves in their best light, saying one platitude after another.” His face turned pale. “I wanted to give something back to him. I . . . “ he swallowed so hard, she could see his Adam's apple move, “ . . . I wanted to convince him of the beauty of the ocean. I was sure he would love the wide spaces and the clear air as much as I did. And so, one day, I finally persuaded him to take the boat out with me.”

“Did he like it?” She had to clear her throat.

“Kind of. He treated it like a lion – he found it impressive, but preferred to handle it with extreme caution.”

Joanna smiled. “So you started to go out more often?”

Conran shook his head. “No. The accident happened when we returned from our very first tour.”

Joanna closed her eyes.

“I . . . I went berserk. They were so stupid, those fans. Stupid and blind. Pushed him into the water and never even noticed that he was fighting for his life.” His shoulders hunched forward.

Dimitri whined and started to chew Conran's shoe-laces.

“I couldn't save him. And I've been blaming myself ever since. He trusted me, you know.”

Joanna didn't know what to say. It would all be be meaningless, superficial, would hurt him. She moved closer to him, put her arms around him, and held him tight.

He lowered his head on her shoulder.

She leaned her cheek against his and didn't move for a long time. The wind howled around the house, but inside, it was quiet. She could feel his breath on her neck, could feel his heartbeat through the shirt he was wearing.

“I've not written a single song since that day. My agent suggested counseling. I went to a sanatorium for troubled people. It didn't help. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I remembered my aunt and uncle, and the happy times I'd had with them as a kid. I asked them if I could visit. They wanted me to stay with them, but I longed for solitude, so they found me that summer home close by. I brought nothing but my piano and some clothes.”

Joanna didn't move. She just held him.
Continue to talk. Please.

“I haven't told anyone. I feel so ashamed. The guilt . . . it's killing me.”

Joanna straightened. “Conran. Look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, his lips pressed together.

“You're human. Humans make mistakes.” Her voice was low.

He gave a snort. “Quite a spectacular mistake, to kill your best friend.”

Joanna held his gaze. “When I was at the university, our professor told us on the last day that we would in all probability kill at least one animal in our lives – out of sheer stupidity, lack of experience, misjudgment.” She took a deep breath. “He shocked me, but the words he said after that introduction stuck with me and helped me . . . I can't count how many times.” She smiled at him. “He said, “You have to forgive yourself”. If you don't, you'll become useless as a veterinarian. You'll become angst-ridden, perforated by fear and remorse. Always remember – you're only human. You're bound to make mistakes. And if you don't continue, a lot more animals will suffer and die than if you continue and risk a mistake every now and then.”

Conran shrugged. “That may be true for a veterinarian. You hold life and death in your hands . . . virtually every day of your life. It's not the same for me.” He hunched his shoulders. “I'm just a piano player.”

“You're a piano player who has touched the heart of millions. Your songs have given them the courage to continue, have filled them with joy, have carried them through bad phases in their lives. Is that nothing?”

He shook his head. “It's not the same.”

Joanna swallowed.
How can I reach him?

Dimitri butted his head against her leg.

Joanna took a step back and bent down to caress him behind the ears, then she looked up. “Write a song about guilt.”

He lifted both hands. “No way. I don't want the world to know that I killed Dimitri. They'll tear me apart.”

“The self-righteous might.” Joanna met his gaze without giving an inch. “But who cares about them? What about the others, those who are enchained by their own guilt? You have a message for them.”

“No.” The word was wrung from him. He shook his head again. “No way.”

She looked down and continued to caress Dimitri's head.

He wagged his tail until he almost fell from Conran's feet.

Conran bent forward. “Are you angry at me?”

She looked up and smiled. “Not at all.”

His blue eyes gazed into hers. “Disappointed?”

“No.” She straightened and placed her arms around his neck. “I feel . . . honored by your trust.” Somehow, the word seemed too stiff for what she meant, but she could think of no other. Her smile deepened. “Take your time.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then he said, “What about you?”

“Me?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You said you have learned to forgive yourself. How about others?”

She instantly knew what he meant. Shock flared up inside her. “You mean Hugh?”

“Is that the name of your ex-fiancé?”

She twisted from his arms and turned her back on him. “I won't forgive him.”

He didn't say anything.

“Don't tell me you condone cheating!” Still, she didn't turn around to him.

“I don't.” His voice was quiet.

“Did you ever cheat on your wife?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she felt hot blood rising to her face.
Oh, no.
What kind of a question was that?
Have I really asked that?
She lifted both hands to her cheeks and whipped around. “I'm sorry, I . . . “

“No.” He held her gaze. “I didn't.” He smiled at her, tentative, like a friend.

It disarmed her. “I . . . I can't explain it. It's too complicated.” Things had shifted since his arrival, since this evening. She first had to explore her own feelings, had to understand herself, before she could talk about it. It was all too new, this feeling of being herself when he was around . . . and of having been someone else with Hugh.

His smile deepened.

She had to fight the urge to throw herself into his arms.

“You invite strange people into your house in the middle of the night, but deep inside, you're a very private person. It doesn't show at first, you know.” He cocked his head to the side, his slow smile mesmerizing her. “Take your time.”

I

She was in his arms, so close to him, so safe . . . His scent whirled around her, enveloped her, filled her with happiness, until she wanted to laugh out loud with sheer pleasure. 

Conran rubbed his nose against hers, in a move as tender as it was intimate.

Joanna smiled. She rose on tiptoes to kiss him when the alarm clock rang.

She jerked awake.
A dream.
It had been a dream. Disappointment spread through her.

No, it hadn't.
He had kissed her just like that. She stretched until her toes touched they end of the bed. On Friday night, no, Saturday morning, before he had left with the sleepy Dimitri.

Joanna smiled to herself. They had become friends. She thought back to their conversation. Her smile deepened. The things he had shared with her made her feel bound to him, as if a precious but fragile line had been spun between them. It was up to her to keep this line safe, to guard the secret he had entrusted to her.

She stretched again. Today was Sunday. She had forgotten to switch off the alarm, but that didn't matter.

Conran had called later on Saturday. Their conversation had been a bit awkward, but sweet. He
was
sweet. Unfortunately, he had to cut the call short because of some other phone that started to ring. Joanna sighed. Did he have two cell phones? Maybe that was normal for celebrities, one for business, one for private life . . . If so, had he called her on the private phone or on the business phone? The number had been withheld.

She shook her head and laughed at herself. She was wide awake now, ready to take on the world. Joanna looked out of the porthole window Sally had placed right next to her bed. The sun was just rising behind the tall pine tree. A fluffy snow bonnet sat on every branch, and a pink cloud sailed across the pale blue sky.

“I'll surprise him.” Joanna jumped out of bed. “I'll buy Dimitri a treat and for us some cinnamon buns, so we can have breakfast together.”

Fifteen minutes later, she came singing out of the house. She smiled when she saw the boy standing next to her Jeep. “You must live next door.” She grinned at him. “Or you are from another star and can beam yourself to my carport whenever you see me coming. Which is it?”

The boy pulled his lower lip forward. “I'd like to beam myself to places.”

“I'd like that, too.” Joanna sighed and stretched both arms out as if she wanted to hug the world. The cool air felt invigorating. “Though today, I'm quite happy to be right where I am.”

“My Granny lives next door.” He kicked at a snowball in front of his feet.

“Mrs. Hart?” Joanna nodded. “I know her.”

“She says I shouldn't call you Miss Witch.” He looked at her as if he expected her to explode in anger.

Joanna laughed. “You call me Miss Witch? How funny. But my real name is Joanna. What's yours?”

“Tim.”

Apparently Tim belonged to the silent male specimen who did not believe in formulating complicated sentences when a single word would do. Joanna suppressed a smile. “However, I'm not a witch.” She winked.

“I know.” He gave her a lopsided smile that showed a crooked front tooth.

“I'm a veterinarian.” Joanna said. “Do you like animals?”

“Yes.” He nodded so hard, his brown hair fell forward. “I have a hamster. He's called Pumpkin.”

Two sentences in a row. Joanna felt honored. “I like that name. I had a dog who was called Spicy.”

He put his head to the side and nodded, as if approving the name. “You're up early today.”

Joanna lifted her eyebrows. “I see you know my habits already. I'm impressed. Maybe I should call you Mr. Witch because you know so much?”

He shook his head. “I want to be d'tective. That's why I have to know everything.”

“Oh, I see.” Joanna nodded. “So, if I ever need to find out a secret, I'll ask you to uncover it for me.”

Tim nodded, his face serious. “X'actly.”

She opened the door of the Jeep. “It's a deal. And if Pumpkin should ever feel ill, you can bring him to me. Then we'll be even.”

Tim nodded. With both hands hidden deep inside his heavy coat and his feet planted apart, he did indeed look like a mini-investigator. Maybe he had trained the stance in front of the mirror.

Joanna waved at him as she started the motor and turned out of the drive. Fifteen minutes later, she was done with her purchases and hit the road to Conran's house. The yeasty fragrance of the cinnamon buns, studded with pecan nuts and covered with maple syrup and iced sugar, filled the Jeep. She switched on the radio, and when they played a song by Conran Dark, she laughed and sang along as loud as she could. “Dance with me . . .  come on and dance with me.”

She found the way without a hitch and turned with a wide sweep into his drive. Still singing, Joanna cut the motor, grabbed the shopping bags, and went to his door. On the way, she passed the living room. It looked deserted, even the fire place was empty and cold. Was he still asleep? She went around the corner, past the illuminated window of the kitchen. Swinging her bags, Joanna glanced inside . . . and stopped dead.

A woman was standing next to the table. She was petite and slim, and even the crumpled t-shirt and baggy track pants couldn't hide her perfectly shaped body. She looked like a dancer. Her short blond hair was tousled, and she rubbed her eyes and yawned before stretching herself like a cat. Then she pushed two mugs on the table to the side, picked up an over-sized box of cereal, and started to read the inscription on the back.

Joanna's mouth went dry.
It's the wrong house.

The door opened and Conran came in. His hair was still wet from his morning shower, and he grinned at the woman next to him with a familiarity that spoke volumes.

The petite woman placed the cereal box back onto the table and said something.

He laughed, put his arm around her, and kissed her cheek.

Joanna closed her eyes. Something cold seeped into her soul, like liquid ice, creeping in without a sound. She heard his voice again, the words he had said the night of the storm. “There's just one bed in this house.” He had spoken the truth. When she had searched for the phone, she had seen his bed. Just his.

Joanna felt the ice growing inside her.
I bet it's only his sister.
Her inner voice sounded cheery – and fake.

Sure. Or his mother after ten face-lifts.
Her inner voice had turned ironic now. She suppressed the urge to burst into tears and risked another glance.

The woman had her arms around his neck and whispered something into Conran's ear. Conran smiled as if he was told the sweetest secret on earth.

That's how we must have looked two nights ago.
The thought darted into her brain and pierced her.