Authors: Janet Dailey
A wry smile pulled up the corners of her mouth as she whistled for Shawn. A few seconds later the setter was trotting out of the dark, moonlight shimmering over
his bright coat. He pushed his nose against her hand in greeting, then turned toward the house. As always, he was anxious to get back to John.
In the house, Andrea took the corridor leading to the master bedroom, but the setter didn't follow. She glanced back, surprised. He was looking at her anxiously, then toward the hallway. Andrea frowned, then realized that John had evidently not gone to bed and was somewhere in the house.
"Okay, Shawn," she smiled, retracing her steps. "Where is he?"
With a whine of gladness, the setter whirled quickly around, making straight for the closed study door. Only a flicker of light gleamed beneath it. Andrea tapped once, waiting for John's response before entering.
There were no lights on in the room, but the setter made his way to the wheelchair with unerring accuracy. A fire had been lit in the fireplace some time ago. Red coals were all that remained with an occasional, fired flame springing to life only to fade into the embers.
The faint red glow strangely made the wings of gray in John's hair seem more silvery and white. He was staring into the expiring fire, his strong face heavy with concentration. Andrea walked quietly toward him and stood behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders.
"It's getting late, John," she prodded gently.
He patted one of her hands, then clasped it and drew her around in front of him. "I'll be turning in shortly," he said arid smiled faintly as she settled onto the floor beside him.
"What's wrong?" Andrea asked quietly, her hand still held in his.
"Nothing," he sighed.
"Something is troubling you—I can tell. Now what is it?" Her voice was soft, wanting to reach out to him as he had to her so many times in the past.
"Oh—" he drew his gaze away from the fire with an effort "—I'm afraid I put my foot in it this time."
Her brows drew together curiously. "What do you mean?"
His mouth tightened ruefully. "I finally got up enough nerve this morning to comment to Rosemary on Tell's less than agreeable behavior. She told me about his misfortune with love this year."
Just 'this year'? Andrea wondered. Had Rosemary given him no specific dates and places that might enable John to put two and two together and come up with Andrea and Tell? She held her breath, waiting to see if he was going to ask the crushing question.
"She asked me to talk to him. Everyone else had tried, but no one had got through his armor of bitterness. So I talked to him this afternoon, shortly before he left."
"And?" The darkness of the study hid her tense expression.
"And I'm the one who prompted his sudden departure," John concluded with a heavy sigh. "I shouldn't have interfered."
"Don't say that," Andrea protested.
"Why shouldn't I say it? Tell did," he encountered with rueful lightness.
"What did he say?" She bent her head, apprehension lurking like the darkness of night waiting to rush in when the last glow from the fire died.
"I barely got out what I wanted to talk to him about when he cuttingly informed me that he wasn't about to be lectured by me. I tried to explain, as I did with you, that losing at love should make a person stronger, not harder. That's when he told me that he was leaving and that he doubted he would be back and would I kindly refrain from discussing his personal life in future."
Andrea let out her breath slowly. The last request had been issued as a means to protect both of them from discovery. It was cold comfort.
"You tried, John," Andrea murmured, remembering with an ache the time she had tried to explain to Tell and was turned away. "It isn't your fault he wouldn't listen."
"No, I suppose not. But a person always wonders that if he handled it differently, the end result might have been changed." Regret entered his voice.
"It's late." She struggled to her feet. "It's time we both were in bed. Would you like some help?"
"No, you go on. I'll stir out the fire, then push myself off to bed." He waved her offer aside before reaching for the poker and wheeling his chair to the firescreen.
"Good night,
John."
"Good night, Andie. Thanks for listening. I only wish Tell had."
"Sometimes people feel that they have to find their own way without any help," she suggested, knowing that she had been unable to turn to John this time as she had done in the past.
"You sound very wise," he said as he smiled.
"I learned from you how to stand and walk with my head up," Andrea reminded him. It had been one of the most important lessons she had learned.
"I'm glad. I'd hate to think that I had made a mess of your life."
"You couldn't do that." Wishing him another good night, Andrea opened the study door and walked into the hallway.
The sleeping pills were slow to work their magic that night. Tell was gone. No matter how she tried to push that fact from her mind, it kept slipping back. The first time they had parted, she had cried with heartbreak. This second time, she knew a pain beyond tears. If there had ever been any hope that someday they might meet again and rekindle the love they had shared, it had died with this second meeting.
To live without a dream was a frightening prospect. Andrea wished she could cry for herself and her future. She blinked her dry eyes, but they remained parched.
IT WAS THE HEAVENS that cried for her—slow, steady tears of rain gloomily dampening the earth. Melancholy gray clouds blocked out the sun for two straight days. There was a mourning hush to the world outside. The breeze stopped playing in the trees and the mating calls of the birds were silenced. There was only the rhythmic pitter-patter of the tears falling from the clouds.
Nancy was standing at the window, gazing out at the unchanging scene of steadily drizzling rain. Thrusting her hands in the pockets of her slacks, she turned away.
"I thought the San Francisco fog was depressing sometimes, but it has nothing on this." Her hand made an impatient gesture toward the window.
"Come over here," her mother suggested. "It's much cheerier by the fire."
Obligingly, Nancy walked over to stand in front of the friendly, crackling flames. She stated into them for long minutes, then sighed again.
"I wish Scott would call," she said.
"Nancy, you're becoming as moody as the weather!" Rosemary smiled and shook her head, barely glancing up from the needlepoint in her lap.
"After two days, I'm not surprised that it's rubbed off on to me," she retorted.
"Why don't you find yourself a book in John's study and read? It's a perfect day for it. Mrs. Davison is making some cocoa. It'll be here in a few minutes," Rosemary Collins replied, then glanced at Andrea. "What are you reading, Andrea?"
She had been aware of the conversation between mother and daughter, but she wasn't paying attention. The sound of her name stopped her wandering mind from thinking about Tell and what he might be doing, and forced it to concentrate on the people around her.
"I'm sorry," Andrea murmured self-consciously. "What did you say?"
"That must be a good book." A brow was arched lightly in a teasing look as Rosemary repeated her question. "What are you reading?"
The book had been lying open in her lap at the same page for so long that Andrea couldn't remember which book she had taken from the shelf. Nervously she flipped the pages to the front of the book.
"It's a collection of short stories by Hemingway," she answered.
"I don't think she's been reading at all," Nancy said laughingly as Andrea shifted her position on the seat cushions of the bay window. "I think she's been staring out the window, daydreaming."
"Mostly," Andrea admitted with a slightly red-faced smile.
"I'm not in the mood to read, either," Nancy stated emphatically. "And after playing solitaire nearly all of yesterday afternoon and discovering on the last game that there were only fifty-one cards in the deck, I'm not in the mood to play cards, either. Do you know how impossible it is to win with the ten of spades missing?" she asked with a rueful laugh.
Closing the book in her lap, Andrea sat it on the cushion beside her, swinging her stockinged feet to the floor. Now that she had been drawn into the conversation, it was impossible to ignore her duties as hostess despite the private sorrows of her heart. The rest of her life was ahead of her. There would be more than enough time to remember those precious days with Tell, and to learn how to endure the aching loneliness of trying to live without him.
Mrs. Davison walked into the riving room with a tray. Marshmallows bobbed in the rich, steaming mugs of cacao.
"Would you be wanting any cookies or cake?" she asked as she set the tray on the rectangular marble table in front of the sofa.
"All I've done since it started raining is eat," Nancy sighed. "Please don't bring any food or I'll have to spend the next month dieting to lose the weight I've gained." A mischievous twinkle entered her eyes. "There are only three times
that I overeat, as mother will tell you. One is when it's raining. Two is when I have nothing to do and the last is when I'm missing Scott. So you see, I'm in real trouble."
"Please, Mrs. Davison, no snacks," her mother agreed, "It's bad enough hearing her complain that she has nothing to wear without hearing her moan that her clothes don't fit!"
"Very well, miss," the housekeeper smiled faintly. "The weatherman said there'd be a chance of showers tomorrow, though, so there'll be no immediate hope for two of her problems."
Nancy gave an expressive groan of dismay.
"What about a game of backgammon?" Andrea suggested. "Do you play?"
"Sounds great!" the brunette endorsed the suggestion, pushing the silky fine hair from her face.
"I'll go and get the board." Andrea set her mug of cocoa on a coaster and went in search of the backgammon set.
They were in the thick of the first game, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with the board balanced on their laps, when Andrea spied Shawn out of the corner of her eye as he investigated her mug of cocoa. Quickly she pushed it out of reach of the setter's questing nose.
"Be sure your cup is out of reach," she warned Nancy. "He's crazy about marshmallows, especially if they're half-melted in hot chocolate."
"His one major fault," said John, entering the room after the setter. "He knows he's not supposed to, but he'll knock over a cup of cocoa just to get the marshmallows. Won't you, feller?" he asked the dog, which was gazing adoringly back at him, wagging its tail slightly as if in apology for the weakness in its character.
"Everybody has their faults, even dogs," Nancy observed. "Mine is my inability to beat anyone at backgammon."
John wheeled his chair closer. "Is that what you're playing?"
"Yes, and naturally Andrea is winning." The dice dropped from the girl's hand and rattled across the board.
"I'm not much good at games," he commented after watching them play for a few more minutes. "Andrea has been trying to teach me backgammon ever since she learned it last winter.
"You certainly had a good teacher," Nancy sighed, studying the board with a frown. "Who was it? I'd like to sign up for a few lessons about now."
Swallowing nervously, Andrea smiled and pretended that the question had been asked in jest and didn't require an answer. She couldn't very well tell Nancy that her own half-brother had taught her the game.
"It was somebody you met at Squaw Valley who taught you, wasn't it, Andie?" John asked curiously.
"At Squaw Valley?" Rosemary glanced up from her needlework with a frown. "John, you surely didn't make the trip to Squaw Valley last winter, did you? They have six to eight feet of snow there and more. How could you possibly get around?"
"I didn't go. Andrea went on a skiing holiday," he explained.
"Alone? Without you, John?" The older woman's frown deepened.
The thinly veiled disapproval in her voice brought a hint of embarrassed pink to Andrea's cheeks. She kept her gaze downcast, but she felt Nancy's eyes inspecting her face.
"Heavens, mother," Nancy defended, "there's nothing wrong with wives going somewhere without their husbands. Look at you. Right now you're here without daddy."
"Well, yes…" But the unfinished comment indicated that Rosemary thought the circumstances were entirely different.
"Our whole family used to go quite often." Nancy began to talk lightly to ease the faint tension that had sprung into the air. "Were you there during the Christmas holidays? We spent one Christmas there. It was so crowded that skiers were nearly bumping into each other on the slopes."
"No, I don't like to be away from home on Christmas," Andrea hedged, not admitting when she was there.
"I suggested," John spoke up, "That she go over the New Year's weekend so she could celebrate with some young people instead of staying home with me, but she insisted on taking her trip on the first of December."
"The first of December?" Nancy repeated, astonishment parting her lips. "Andrea, that's when Tell was there!"