Authors: Janet Dailey
"Other than a case of supreme stubbornness, Andrea is very well," Tell answered.
"I'm sorry," Nancy entered the room behind her mother, apology clouding her sad eyes as she sought Andrea's forgiveness. "I wanted to explain to mother in advance so it wouldn't be such a shock to her, but she didn't give me a chance."
"It's all right, Nancy," Tell assured her instead, releasing one of Andrea's hands and turning slightly on the bed to be more in line with his mother. "Come here, mother. I want you to meet Andrea Grant, who just happens to be the woman I love," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"But she's John's wife," Rosemary protested as if for a moment she believed that Tell might have forgotten that fact.
"Mrs. Collins," Andrea's voice was as icy cold as her heart had become at Tell's attempt to use his mother to trap her, "would you please ask your son to leave my bedroom? I've asked him to go, but he just ignores me."
A frown of confusion drew Rosemary Collins's eyebrows together as she glanced bewilderedly at her son.
"Andrea, don't do this," Nancy pleaded. "The things I said last night were wrong—I didn't know it then but I realize that now."
"It's all right, Nancy," said Tell, waylaying his sister's protest in his behalf. "It's all out in the open now. I'll leave the room if that's what you want, Andrea, but I have no intention of getting out of your life. I think you should understand that."
"Come on, mother." Nancy quietly guided the still dazed Mrs. Collins from the room.
Tell released Andrea's hand and walked as far as the door before turning around, a hard glint of ruthlessness in his eyes. She knew by the look on his face that the battle of wills wasn't over.
"Are you coming down for breakfast, or should I explain to John why you're hiding in your room?" A dark brow was arched arrogantly in her direction.
"No," she answered swiftly. "I'll be down, Tell, in a little while."
The grooves near his mouth deepened with complacency. He knew, as Andrea did, that she wanted to be the one to explain the situation to John, to try to make him see just what had happened.
There was a brief nod of his head. "I'll see you downstairs."
Was it a warning or a threat? Andrea couldn't decide as Tell closed the door behind him and she heard his footsteps receding along the outer corridor. Perhaps it was both.
Andrea took her time dressing, not just to prolong the moment when she had to go down. She remembered the male vigor that had surrounded Tell, the vitally refreshed air. Only a feminine version of the same could hope to stand up under the incredible onslaught of his masculinity.
The mirror's reflection was satisfying when she was through. The simply styled linen shift with its scalloped neckline and its color like a milky sky pointed out the golden highlights in her dark blond hair and the jade green flecks in her hazel eyes. These same eyes also held a troubled glow. They, and her heart, were the weakness in her armor.
After slowly descending the stairs, she walked to the breakfast room, taking deep steadying breaths to control the nervous fluctuation of her stomach. All three—Tell, Nancy and their mother—were seated around the table. Tell was calmly sipping a cup of coffee, not even glancing up when Andrea appeared in the doorway. Nancy's troubled expression seemed to echo her own feelings. Mrs. Collins appeared composed until Andrea noticed the nervous way her hands were picking at her napkin.
"Hasn't John come in yet?" Andrea murmured.
"Not yet," Nancy answered, glancing anxiously at her half-brother, who had leveled his gaze at Andrea but hadn't bothered to respond to her question. "Mrs. Davison said he would be here in a few minutes."
Reluctantly, Andrea came the rest of the way into the room. There was a chair vacant next to Nancy on the opposite end of the table from Tell. Ignoring the warming dishes that contained eggs and meat, Andrea poured a glass of orange juice and selected a sweet roll. Her rolling stomach didn't really want anything to eat, but she felt that she had to make the pretense if only for pride's sake.
"I'm sorry about last night," Nancy offered hesitantly in a low voice.
"I understand," Andrea answered self-consciously. "I don't blame you for jumping to conclusions after the way I deceived all of you."
"If you feel that way," Nancy began earnestly, still keeping her voice lowered in an attempt at privacy, "then why can't you understand what Tell is going through? He really loves you, Andie."
"Nancy, let her be for now," Tell broke in.
Andrea stiffened, her gaze bouncing away from the directness of his. "Are you letting the condemned eat a hearty meal?" There was a strange and haunting bitterness in her question.
"Condemned?" he challenged. "Is that the word you would use to describe a life with me?"
"Of course not," she murmured with a despairing sigh. In her nervousness the butter knife clattered against the saucer.
"Thank you." There was a mocking inclination of his dark head. "May I pour you a cup of coffee?"
"Please."
The whirr of the wheelchair sounded in the hallway outside the breakfast room. Tell held Andrea's gaze for a long moment, letting her break free when the flame-colored dog appeared in the doorway. The setter made an inspecting glance of the room, wagging his tail briefly at Andrea before looking back at his master.
"Good morning, everyone." John's cheerful voice sounded out of place in the room that had become permeated with tension.
There were stilted echoes of his greeting by all except Tell, who responded naturally. After a few inquiries about their night's rest, John positioned his chair at the head of the table. Andrea quickly offered to dish his breakfast.
"I must admit, Tell," John said after Andrea had set his plate in front of him, "I was a little surprised when Mrs. Davison told me you'd returned."
"I don't know why you should be," Tell responded easily. "I did say I would be back if I could straighten out the few difficulties that had arisen."
"You did say that," John agreed as he spooned honey on his biscuit, "but I had the impression that maybe you didn't want to come back, from the last of the talks that we had."
"Where would you get an idea like that?" Despite his relaxed pose, Andrea noticed the watchful sharpening of his dark eyes as he returned John's glance.
"As I said, it was just an impression," John said shrugging. "Impressions can be misleading, but perhaps you've discovered that." Andrea's gaze darted quickly to John. Had there been a hidden meaning to his statement? "We're all certainly glad you were able to come back, Tell. Isn't that right, Andie?" His warm gray eyes, innocently clear and without any perceptive sharpness, met her troubled look.
The taut muscles around her mouth could only manage a fleeting and somewhat tense smile. "Of course," she agreed quickly.
An uneasy silence followed. While John ate, the others displayed an unnatural interest in their coffee, staring at the dark liquid as if it were a crystal ball that could predict the future. As the silence stretched out, Andrea felt her nerves being drawn out by the heavy stillness.
"It was certainly thoughtful of you, Tell, to bring some of that California sunshine back with you," John said, glancing out the window where the sun was trying to peek through the broken cloud cover. "It's been rainy and gloomy around here for the past few days—ever since you left."
"I don't think I can take the credit for the sunshine," Tell replied, draining his cup and placing it on the saucer. "There was only fog and gloom in San Francisco while I was there."
"Andrea," John sighed, pushing his partially clean plate away from him, "I think you were too generous with your portions." A strip of bacon remained on the plate. He took it and gave it to the dog lying beside his chair, unaware of any tension in the room.
"Mr. Grant," the housekeeper's disapproving voice came from the doorway into the kitchen, "how many times have I told you that you shouldn't be feeding that dog at the table? He gets crumbs all over the floor and grease, too. Do you have any idea how hard that is to clean up?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Davison," John smiled broadly, a mischievous light sparkling in his eyes. "I'll remember the next time. I think we're all finished." He glanced around the table to see if there were any objections to his statement. There were none. "Why don't you bring us some coffee in the living room?" Wiping his hands on the napkin and setting it on the table, he turned the chair away from the table. The dog immediately rose to his feet. "Shall we?"
John looked back at the others around the table, plainly indicating that he expected them to follow.
Reluctantly, Andrea became a part of the general exodus from the room. She wanted to ask to see John alone, but she was too self-conscious about her reason to make the request in front of the others. Absently, she chose a chair in the living room that set her apart from the others, an unconscious wish to be left out of the conversation so she could have time to straighten out her thoughts.
"I have a little story I'd like to tell you," John announced when everyone was settled—as comfortably as the hovering tension would permit—and the housekeeper had brought in the coffee tray. "Andrea knows it. Perhaps some of you know part of it, but I think that all of you will probably find the whole story interesting and enlightening."
Idly, Andrea wondered which of the stories John intended to relate of the bygone days he had compiled for his book. He and Rosemary had reminisced so often in the past few days that she thought nothing of his statement.
"It concerns a friend of mine," John began. "We went to school together, but as often happens, life led us down separate paths once we graduated. We did keep in touch, though, and I was best man at his wedding. After I became confined to this—" he patted the arm of his wheelchair "—we didn't see each other quite so often. He and his wife had a little girl, a charming, beautiful creature with her mother's looks and her father's remarkable gift of giving unselfishly."
Captured by a frozen disbelief, Andrea slowly raised her eyes to John's face, unable to accept that he was actually talking about her. His eyes were gentle as they met her wary look.
"Several years ago," John went on quietly, "my friend discovered that his wife had cancer. I saw him often during that time, but never once did he ask for pity or exhibit any. I won't bore you by relating the whole tragedy of that time. It'll suffice to say that even though my friend spent every cent he had, sold everything he owned, borrowed against his insurance, and took advantage of every bit of medical knowledge and personnel that was available, in the end, cancer won. When he lost his wife, my friend seemed to lose his own battle with life. One morning he simply didn't wake up. You can imagine the grief his daughter must have felt at losing both her beloved parents within the span of a few short and disastrous months."
Andrea bowed her head, aware of Mrs. Collins's shifting uncomfortably on the sofa and Nancy's commiserating look directed toward her. Through the screen of her lashes, she saw Tell intently studying John through the drifting smoke of his cigarette.
"At the time of her father's death, the girl was engaged, to a rather feckless young man as it turned out. After the funeral, I invited her to spend a few weeks here. It wasn't too great a distance for her fiancé to drive and she had no place to live. I didn't think she'd recovered sufficiently to get on with the business of making a living. Unfortunately, the separation from her boyfriend was not a case of absence making the heart grow fonder. He found someone else more available and more eager to have a good time, so he broke off their engagement less than a month after the funeral." John paused, quietly inspecting his audience. "I don't imagine you can appreciate how traumatic such a series of experiences can be, followed one after the other, unless you'd lived through it yourself."
"Please, John," Andrea whispered, not wanting him to continue.
"This isn't necessary," Tell added curtly.
"Oh, I believe it's very necessary," John disagreed with a wry twist of his mouth, and continued. "After her boyfriend's desertion. I invited her to stay as long as she wanted. At that point, I don't think she cared very much where she was. Unfortunately, the fact began to circulate that there was a beautiful young woman staying in my house and a lot of tawdry rumors began to circulate about her presence. I never exactly understood what they thought I was doing, maybe chasing her around the couch in my wheelchair. I expected the gossip to die, but strangely, it flourished even though it had nothing to feed on. She never said one word about it to me, but I began to feel responsible
for adding needlessly to her suffering."
"Is that why you married her, John?" Rosemary inquired with a proud and disapproving tilt of her aristocratic chin.
"Not responsibility alone, Rosemary," he corrected. "There was concern for the daughter of an old friend, a fatherly affection for the girl herself, an anxiety about her future, and the very selfish discovery that someone needed me. Plus—" he breathed in deeply and scowled "—I was swayed by her assertion that she would never love anyone again; that she had lost the only man she could ever love, the fiancé who had left her for someone else.
"I, too, had known such a love and, even though she was very young, I felt I had to consider the possibility that what she said was true. Under the combination of circumstances, I suggested that we be married. She didn't accept immediately, but I managed to persuade her of the practicality of my offer."