What Matters Most (28 page)

His arms opened as if of their own volition, and when she moved into them, he folded her in an embrace. Not the hot and fast passionate connection that had characterized their loving; he didn’t want that. Their coming together was like a healing potion, taken with hope and faith. Her hands skimmed the stubble on his cheeks and chin, caressing his face in what he knew was her song to him without words, her confession that she adored him.

He gripped her tightly, lowered his head and sipped the sweet nectar from her parted lips. “I’ll drive you home,” he said.

It wasn’t perfect, she hadn’t promised to accompany him to Paris, and the invitation had lost some of its meaning for him, but she was still his, and for that, he was thankful. That night, he sat on the deck off his den until long after midnight. Funny how the night silence brought a man close to nature, reminding him that, in spite of his greatness, he wasn’t God. He could repair arteries, replace a heart valve and even change one heart for a healthier one, but he couldn’t make one tree leaf, one tiny flea or anything that lived and breathed. By morning, he had decided that he didn’t need to go to Paris, that it wasn’t necessary for him to be any more important than he was.

Melanie’s conscience didn’t trouble her that night. After Jack kissed her at her door, she heated a can of soup, ate and sat down to watch television. If she insisted on being candid, she would have to find a way to be so without hurting Jack. She had to remember that, in spite of his prominence and power, Jack hurt easily, and not because he’d been spoiled, but because he had an almost tormenting need to be loved for himself rather than for his accomplishments, status and material worth. She wondered if being a father would change that.

She washed the pot, spoon and bowl, wiped the kitchen counter clean, turned out the light and went to her bedroom with the intention of getting at least nine hours’ sleep. The phone rang, sending her heart into a skid as she anticipated hearing Jack’s beloved voice.

“Hello,” she sang.

“This is your father.” She held the receiver away from her, staring at it as if by doing so she could communicate to it her feelings. “You still there?”

“Hello, Daddy.” She didn’t know what to say to him, for she didn’t know why he’d called. So she waited.

“I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me again after…uh…what happened the other night, but—”

“You mean after you embarrassed me in front of my patients and tried to make Jack Ferguson think I’m a tramp? Frankly, I was sure I wouldn’t hear from you again.”

“I was wrong to do that, and I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t expect to see you looking like a real nurse in a place like that one. Ferguson said I should get you out of the hole you’d dug for yourself, and I assumed you were living with your boss. I—”

“If you went to Montague Ferguson and told him to get his son out of the hole he’d dug for himself, do you believe he’d have gone to his son’s office and embarrassed him? And particularly on the basis of anything you said? Do you? Montague Ferguson respects his son, and that’s more than I can say of your feelings and attitude toward me.”

“I said I was sorry. Seeing you in that uniform was a real shocker. You looked just like my mother, God bless her soul. Well, Baltimore’s getting kinda small, so I’m going to Texas when the company moves the business down there. We’re gonna start building prefab houses. I’ll mail you my address.”

She was leaning forward now, trying to deal with his surprises. “Do you know my address, Daddy?”

“Yeah. I located you the day after you moved in. You could at least have told me where you went.”

“You and I could have done a lot of things differently, Daddy. I hope you’re happy down there in Texas. Good luck.”

“If you marry that doctor, don’t let him make a fool of you. Stand up for yourself. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Daddy.” She consoled herself with the thought that her father probably cared, but had never learned what caring meant. She wished him well, but she wouldn’t miss him.

“What do you mean you aren’t going to Paris?” Montague stormed when Jack visited him several evenings later. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It isn’t a matter of life and death, nor the end all and be all, Dad. I decided not to go. That’s all,” Jack said, kicking at the carpet in his father’s dining room.

“Is anything happening with the clinic? I mean is the construction going the way you wanted?” Montague asked him.

“It’ll be ready to open by Thanksgiving, if Harrington can get all the equipment installed. The building’s almost ready. They had sixteen men working on it, and that’s a comparatively small building. Drake said he’d normally have a maximum of twelve on a building that size, but he increased the work force because I was in a big hurry.”

“Good. Then you’re not hanging around here because of the clinic. If you’re having trouble getting someone to take care of your patients down in South Baltimore, I’ll do it. So what’s your excuse?”

He didn’t like being shoved into a corner, and his father knew that. The problem was that he’d never told himself the truth about his reasons for not accepting the invitation to lecture at the conference. He’d had a couple of days to muse over his decision, and the rationalizations he gave himself didn’t bear close scrutiny. Still, at his age, he refused to be grilled by anyone, including his father.

“Let it rest, Dad. I have to chart my own course, and you know I won’t allow you or anyone else to do that for me. I’d better be getting home. See you at lunch Wednesday.” He hugged his father and ambled down the stairs. He’d lost some points with his dad, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Jack had not fooled Montague Ferguson. “I know my son, and he has an ego and ambition to match it. What he’s doing is tantamount to refusing to be president of the United States without having to win a political campaign. Well, we’ll see about that.”

He phoned the private investigator he’d hired several weeks earlier. “Dodson, I need Melanie Sparks’s address and phone number.”

“It’s on the report I gave you.”

“I have no idea where that report is.” In fact, he’d burned it, because he didn’t want anyone else to read it. The man had recorded more personal information about Melanie and her father than he’d needed. It had pleased him to read that she had moved into her own apartment.

Jack had said she’d be a wonderful daughter to him, but he had to be certain that she wasn’t the reason Jack decided not to go to Paris and capture the prize of a lifetime. He also had to mend some fences with her.

He telephoned her at nine that Saturday morning. “Ms. Sparks, this is Montague Ferguson. If you have time, would you do me the honor of having lunch with me today?”

“Well, Dr. Ferguson, this is a stunning surprise.”

“I know it is, but it’s extremely important. Will you please join me for lunch? There’ll be just the two of us. I don’t think you will regret it.” He wasn’t used to begging, but if he had to, he’d get on his knees to her. “Please.”

“What time and where, sir?”

He released a long breath in relief. “At one o’clock. If that suits you, a car will be at your place at twelve-thirty to take you to the Harvard Club. I’ll meet you in the lobby. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to join me.”

Melanie hung up and sat for a full minute staring into space. Why did he want to talk with her? Well, no matter. She said she’d have lunch with him, and she would take advantage of the opportunity to tell him what she thought of him for sending her father to Jack’s office to embarrass her and his son. She dressed in her softly styled burnt-orange wool suit and added brown boots, gloves and pocketbook, but decided to let her hair hang down. Gold hoops adorned her ears.

The doorman buzzed her at 12:25. “Dr. Ferguson’s driver is here for you, ma’am.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She applied a bit of the perfume Jack had given her, said a prayer and headed downstairs. As she strolled toward the elevator, she wondered why she hadn’t phoned Jack and told him that his father had invited her to lunch. She shrugged. What would be would be.

She entered the Harvard Club thinking that months earlier she would have felt out of place, but she didn’t now, for she had learned that luck, money and opportunity counted for most of the differences she saw in people. As she stepped into the lobby, Montague Ferguson hurried toward her, tall, elegant and still handsome, the man Jack would be years into the future.

He extended his hand, and a charismatic smile covered his face. “Thank you so much for coming, Melanie. I have to ask your forgiveness for more than one thing, but right now, let’s go claim our table.”

He’d just taken the bite out of her animosity toward him, but she still meant to tell him a thing or two. They followed the maître d’ to a table, and Montague told her that he always sat there.

“So you’re a Harvard graduate?”

“Yes, I am, but my only son decided to go to my school’s greatest rival,” he complained, almost like a spoiled child.

“Yale’s good,” she said and laughed at his stern expression of disapproval. Then he laughed, too, breaking the tension.

“First, I want to tell you how deeply I regret interfering in your relationship with Jack. And involving your father in it was a terrible thing to do. Jack let me know what he thought of my doing that, and it wasn’t one bit complimentary.”

“I assure you it was the most embarrassing experience of my life, but our patients stood by me, and if Jack had let them, several would have thrown my father out of there. Why did you want to have lunch with me?”

“I’m going to have my usual,” he told the waiter. “What would you like, Melanie?”

“Crab cakes with asparagus, thank you.”

“Would you like wine? I don’t drink wine at lunch, but you’re welcome.”

She couldn’t help grinning at his facial expression. Take away a few years, and she could be sitting across the table from Jack. “I almost never drink it,” she said. “Never got into the habit. It didn’t belong with corn bread, collards and pork chops.”

An expression of nostalgia flashed across his face. “I haven’t had any good corn bread since Jack’s mother died seventeen years ago. She was a wonderful cook.”

“My corn bread’s to die for. Next time I make it, I’ll send you some.”

His frown was off-putting until he said, “Uh…could you just make some for me? I’ll come get it.”

Like son, like father. Charm personified. “I’ll make you some.”

Their food arrived, and as he began eating, she realized his mood had changed. “Melanie, I need your help. Jack is deeply in love with you, so you’re probably the only person who can change his mind. I want you to talk some sense into him.”

She stiffened, put her fork on the side of her plate and looked at the man in front of her. “What is this about?”

She didn’t like his painful facial expression and braced herself for the worst. “I suppose you know about Jack’s invitation to lecture at that conference in Paris.” She nodded, holding her breath. “He told me last night that he’s not going.”

She grabbed her water glass half a second before she knocked it over. “What? What did you say?”

He repeated it. “Melanie, I would just about die for that kind of recognition, to be invited to lecture on the hottest topic in my field and before the world’s leading experts in it. How can he possibly decline? As far as you know, is he ill?” She shook her head.

“I would have expected him to ask you to go with him. When a man shines like that, he wants his woman to share it with him. I don’t understand this. You’ve got to make him accept it.”

She blew out a long breath. “I thought he had accepted. He asked me to go with him, and I told him I wouldn’t and why. Are you saying he told you that he won’t be attending the conference?”

“Yes. Last night. Mind telling me why you won’t go with him?”

It wasn’t his business, but she knew he wanted the best for his son. “I told Jack that I don’t want to risk becoming a convenience for him, and that upset him. We made up, but our relationship is still a little strained. He tells me that he loves me, but he is not committed to me. As much as I love him, I am not going to let him have his cake and eat it, too.”

Montague stared hard at her. “I see. You remind me so much of my wife, Jack’s mother. Soft and sweet, but strong as iron. She loved me, but she did not let me take advantage of her. I wish you would reconsider though. Jack loves you deeply, and he needs you. I guess he feels he’ll get no joy out of being there alone.”

“He could take you with him,” she said and nearly laughed at the thought.

Montague raised one eyebrow. “Tell me you’re joking.”

They finished lunch with a bowl of mixed fresh fruit. As he drove her home, he talked. “I hope you can bring yourself to reconsider, and please continue to support Jack as you’ve been doing. He’s a different man since meeting you, and he knows it.” He walked with her to her door. “Love him, Melanie. That’s all he needs.”

She looked up at him. He hadn’t been an affectionate father, perhaps, but he loved his son. She opened her arms, hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll let you know when to come for the corn bread,” she told the startled man, put her key in the lock, opened the door and left him.

She went to her closet and checked the clothing that she thought suited travel in the fall of the year. Deciding that she wouldn’t have to shop, she put away the burnt-orange suit and the accessories she wore with it and phoned Jack, hoping that he wasn’t on the golf course.

“Melanie! How are you?”

“I’m fine. Are you…uh…busy for dinner?”

“No. I was planning to sit here on my deck and read a couple of reports. Why?”

“Want to eat dinner at my place? It won’t be very fancy, because I don’t have much time to prepare it, but it will be good.”

“What time? Tell me what you need, and I’ll be right over there with it. I can read these reports while you cook.”

“You can bring whatever kind of wine you like to drink, but not till seven. Okay?”

“Absolutely okay.”

Hmm. He was in a good mood. What had happened to the morose Jack who’d left her at her door the previous Thursday night? She wondered if he’d talked with his father within the last half hour.