Tempestuous Eden (35 page)

“Oh, Lorna, yes! How are you?” Blair asked, remembering the pleasant, quiet woman. Her tone was polite and sincere, but inwardly she was wincing. She felt as if she suddenly announced herself to the world, and, ridiculously, she hadn’t wanted her call known.

“Very good, thank you.” There was a silence for a second. “Would you like George to return your call?”

“Ah, no, that won’t be necessary,” Blair murmured. She shouldn’t have called in the first place. “I’ll catch him later.”

“Blair?”

“Yes?” Curiously there had been a hesitance in Lorna’s voice, and now, again, there was a silence. Then suddenly Lorna rushed into speech.

“This is none of my business, I know. But I don’t know where Craig Taylor is, and I don’t know when he’ll be back, but”—again there was a slight hesitance and another rush of words, as if they had to come out quickly or not at all—“but I do know that he loves you very much, and he’s trying, he’s really trying.”

It was Blair’s turn for a stunned silence. She was sure Craig never confided in people, and that Lorna’s statement had been intuitive. She also knew that the woman must care very much to have spoken as blindly as she did.

Blair finally spoke. “Thank you,” she said softly. She returned the receiver to the hook of the pay phone and sagged against the glass booth.
But that’s not the problem, Lorna, I do believe that he loves me.

That was smart, Blair, real smart,
she chastised herself as she left the phone booth. She was now more plagued by misery than ever.

Tiring of walking the streets, she decided to drive around and kill the remaining two hours before the time would arrive when she had promised Kate to return. Without really knowing on a conscious level what she was doing, she found herself approaching Arlington. Once there, she was walking the velvet grass to the ridiculously simple plaque that announced unpretentiously the remains that were once the wonderfully complex Ray Teile.

What is the matter with me?
she wondered.
What am I doing here, dwelling on the past?
She wasn’t intentionally being morose.

No, she wasn’t. She curled her legs beneath her and sat on the grass. Kate had been right; no matter how bad the outcome had been, she couldn’t begrudge the beauty of her time with Ray. She was a far better person for having known him, for having loved him. It was all sweet memory; it would always be with her. But it was faint and dim; her mind and memory had been overwhelmed by another man. Strangely she knew that Ray would be pleased, that he would understand.

“But I still don’t think I can do it again, Ray,” she whispered aloud, and then ruefully smiled to herself despite the mist of tears that veiled her.
Wonderful. I’m cracking up. I’m talking to a headstone.

But she wasn’t talking to the headstone, she was talking to the memory of a wonderful friend; she was searching for an answer from his always judicial viewpoint.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, Ray. Maybe he’ll believe that I never want to see him again and leave me alone.”

That, she finally decided with a painful tug of the heart, was the case. She glanced at her watch. It was time to return to Kate. And she would smile and be light; she would keep Kate from worrying, she would keep her from the misery that belonged to a bride of just hours who would spend her first night sleeping alone.

She was cheerful when she met Kate. If nothing else, the women could return to join the crew together. They could support each other; they could move back into the spare, rough way of life that was so important to others and themselves.

Three days later, the women were saying good-bye to Andrew Huntington and boarding a special transport plane. Kate said an affectionate and bright good-bye to Huntington, then discreetly disappeared into the plane, leaving Blair alone.

She clung tightly to her father. “I love you, Dad.”

He ruffled her hair, so like that of the wife he had lost long ago but never ceased to mourn, and hugged her close. “I love you, Blair.” He held her a little away to smile into her eyes. “I’m going to miss you, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to miss you, Dad.”

He pulled her back into his embrace again and they held tight for a minute. Then Huntington sighed softly. “Be happy, Blair. That’s what I want more for you than anything in the world.”

“I am happy,” she protested.

With a sad little smile he shook his head. “You’re afraid to be happy,” he said sagely, then took a deep breath. “I don’t like to meddle, Blair, so I’ve never said anything. But I know you’re pining for Taylor. I’m going to give you a word of advice—and warning. He never gives up. I think he loves you, and I think you should enter into honest negotiation.”

“Dad!” Blair exclaimed. “I can’t enter into anything! I have no idea of where the man is. And besides”—she bit her lip—“I’m not terribly sure he’s going to love me anymore. I think I made my decision rather clear. It’s unlikely we’ll cross paths again.” She paused for a minute. “Dad, do you know where he is? Do you know if … if he’s okay.”

Huntington looked acutely uncomfortable for a moment. “Taylor is fine,” he said cryptically. Then, unhappily meeting the puzzle in his daughter’s eyes he added, “He’s back in Washington. He came in yesterday morning.”

Why she should be stunned and agonized by the news, she didn’t know. She had done all she could to purposely assure them both that he would never call again.

But he should have called, he should have tried to see her. If only to let her know he was alive.

Don’t be ridiculous.
What was the matter with her? She did want him, she didn’t want him. But in this case, absence had made the heart go crazy. And she couldn’t forget the things Kate had made her accept. If you love someone, time—any amount of time—with that person was important.

“Oh,” she said aloud to her father. “Well, I’m glad to hear that he returned.”

“Blair—”

“Please, Dad,” she protested, fighting back an absurd urge to cry over milk long ago intentionally spilled. “Kiss me good- bye, Dad,” she said, managing a rueful smile. “I’ve got to go.”

He brushed her forehead tenderly. “Things will work out, Blair, they have a way of doing so.”

“Yes,” She couldn’t leave him worrying, and she managed a truly brilliant smile. “Things do work out. Now, you take care of yourself, okay?” The typical daughter, she straightened a perfectly straight collar for him.

“I will,” her father promised. “Go on before that plane leaves without you.”

Grimacing, Blair waved and moved away. She stopped just before the ramp, unable to prevent herself from asking a final question. “Dad … did Craig know I’d be leaving today?”

Huntington wasn’t much of a liar. His face gave him away even before his simple, “Yes.”

Blair grimaced, hiding the hurt. She began to mount the ramp backward. “I’ll drop you a line as soon as we get there!” she called cheerfully. “Of course, you know how long our mail takes!”

He grimaced in return and waved, and then Blair was seated in the transport plane, next to Kate. She no longer had to keep smiling, but she did. She was afraid if she let her mask crack, it would be all over.

Craig knew she would be gone and he hadn’t bothered to try to get to her. Well, that had been what she wanted. She hated people who said no to be encouraged into saying yes. And that wasn’t what she meant.

But I would have seen you again,
she mouthed miserably to herself. For what? Another parting? How stupid. They were neither one a masochist.

But it hurt to believe his feeling for her was fading. Had, perhaps, already faded completely. Because her father was right. If Craig really wanted something, he went after it until he got it.

“Oh, Blair!” Kate suddenly gasped.

Blair glanced to her friend; Kate’s face was going chalky white. Her nails were gripping into the serviceable fabric of the armrests.

Blair had forgotten about Kate’s terror of flying. It was always worse at first, when the jets raced down the strip, shuddering for power to rise into the vastness of the sky.

“Close your eyes, Kate,” Blair advised, glad to keep herself occupied trying to ease her friend’s mind. She began to make crazy, ludicrous comments, designed to make Kate laugh. She eventually succeeded. Her psychology training did sometimes pay off. Once in the air, she ordered her friend a large scotch. Kate would be okay until landing

Some psychologist, though!
she told herself with disgust.
I know the whys of the human mind; I know a million patterns of thinking, of feeling.

But I can never use a damn thing I know to help myself! Logic is just fine, beautiful. But it doesn’t do a damn thing to help the hurting.

C
RAIG HADN’T PLANNED ON
running into Huntington at the airport. His time was tight. If he missed his flight, there wouldn’t be another one for days—and he couldn’t wait days.

He was dressed similarly to that day almost five months ago when he had first been sent after his princess.

Only now he was eager; he moved on his own. He was finally a free man. Or as free as a man of conscience and responsibility would ever be.

He literally ran into Huntington. Collided would be a better description.

And he was stunned by the depth of anger in the eyes of the usually cool and guarded administrator.

“Huntington!”

“Taylor.”

They eyed each other for a moment. It was Craig who broke the silence. “Did Blair catch the first plane out?”

“She did.” A heavy silence reigned again, then Huntington puffed out his cheeks with indignity. “You knew she was leaving?”

“Yes, sir, I did—”

“Then would you mind telling me just why you’ve decided to come rushing out here? You had plenty of time …”

“Sir—”

“I would like to know just what your intentions are!”

Craig couldn’t prevent a rueful smile. “Very honorable, I assure you. I keep trying to marry Blair, but she keeps giving me trouble. I couldn’t call her until my own future was set.”

Huntington raised quizzical brows. “And?”

“Sorry,” Craig replied with a look of guileless regret, “the information is classified.” A grin slowly filtered its way across his features and Huntington couldn’t prevent his own rueful grin in return. Huntington had been aware, of course, that Craig had requested a transfer. The brass, however, had been a bit concerned. Craig was known for being intelligent and quick as a whip, but he was also known for making his opinions starkly evident. There had been fear in high places that he might make his astute observations a little too apparent.

“I can tell you this,” Craig continued, pleased that Huntington had taken his statement with such good grace. “They seem to have decided I might just be right for the tact department—if I’ve reached a point of settling down. I must have mellowed.”

Huntington laughed out loud. “Congratulations!”

Craig shrugged. “I still have to reason with your daughter. Any advice?”

Huntington grimaced; his lips continued to twitch. “Yes, I guess I do have some. Employ any means. And quit chattering here with me. That second transport is supposed to leave right behind the first.”

Taylor stuck out his hand. Huntington accepted it.

“Good luck, Taylor.”

But Craig was already moving down the concourse, his duffel bag tossed over his shoulder. “I want to know about that wedding!” Huntington called after his retreating form. “I’m her father, you know. If I’m losing her, I might as well get to give her away!”

Huntington watched the tall, dominating figure of the man he was sure would shortly be his son-in-law slowly disappear from view. It was a long time that he stood there. Craig’s tawny head was visible high above all others.

“Taylor,” Huntington murmured to himself, shaking his head a bit as if he didn’t quite believe the turn of events. Then he was smiling again. After all, he had chosen the man himself. He scowled after his smile. “I’ll bet I don’t make the damn wedding,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head once more as he slowly returned to his car.

On second thought, maybe it would be best if he didn’t make the wedding.

He was a father, and no matter how cool and up-to-date he was capable of being, he wanted the pair married quickly.

The two of them were powerful characters. Headstrong, determined, a remarkable match.

Huntington wanted a grandchild, but it would nice if the birth would be conventional, with both parents sharing a name. And it was hard to forget the picture of his blushing daughter arriving home in nothing but an oversized trench coat.

T
HE LINES TO THE SOUP
cauldron were growing very short, Blair noted at the end of her second day back as she ladled out her final tin cup for the evening. The sturdy peasants, proud and tenacious, were getting back on their feet. With human perseverance they were putting the terror and upheaval of the fighting that had ravaged their land and the natural disasters that plagued it behind them.

She was glad to be back. Very glad. At the end of a long day here, she was tired, but also filled with a certain satisfaction. She enjoyed seeing the victory of the people, the triumph as they rose on the wings of willpower like a phoenix from ashes to become strong again.

The crew would be moving on shortly.

“Señora! Señora!”

Blair wiped a shirt sleeve across her damp brow and squinted against the glare of the dying sun to glance across the compound. Miguelito, whom she had not seen in the soup line, was racing to her pell-mell on sturdy bare brown feet. She smiled as he stopped breathlessly before her.

“Miguelito!
Como estas?”

“Muy bien, señora!”
he said proudly, shuffling his feet and sheepishly dropping his eyes to the ground. He raised them again, a shy smile on his lips. His hands were locked together behind in back, but suddenly he pulled an arm forward—producing a slightly wilted purple orchid, “Welcome, back,
señora,
we have missed you,
mucho!”

Having uttered his words, his shyness overwhelmed him and he raced back across the compound toward the village.