Harte's Desire

by Cambria Smyth

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Libby read the carefully penned words. Usually barely intelligible, Chris's handwriting was crisp, clear, decisive. She scanned the note again, then struggled not to cry.

  I've made a terrible mistake.

  We need to talk.

  I'll call from London.

  They were the oldest lines in the book. He hadn't even bothered to sign his name.

  Libby didn't expect a declaration of love, because she knew he didn't love her. Yet after last night, she was sure there was more between them than the undeniable physical attraction they felt for each other. Obviously, now that he'd had his curiosity--and sexual appetite--satisfied, he was moving on.

  One night of ecstasy in his arms and she was ready to declare her love to the heavens. One night of wild, passionate sex and he was out the door with a damning farewell.

  Libby felt like screaming, crying, or throwing a temper tantrum. Anything to release the anguish tearing at her soul.

  She made her way over to the coffeemaker. Definitely a day for the strong, straight caffeine stuff she concluded, adding water and measuring the black grounds into the filter basket. She flicked the switch and stood there silently as feelings of humiliation and anger washed over her in relentless waves. She'd been used. And she didn't like it. Not one bit.

  As the coffee maker hissed and sputtered, a plan for retaliation slowly germinated. It took root, grew, and blossomed as Libby examined and refined her next course of action.

  She would tell Chris of her real identity, but this time it would be done as an act of revenge, rather than the act of love it would have been last night. As Libby mulled the plan over, she realized the possibilities were endless for using the confession to hurt him.

  How would he react to learn he'd given his nemesis permission to use Harte's Desire? Better yet, what would he say knowing he'd spent the night, seduced, in his enemy's arms?

  She would have the last laugh.

  But she didn't want to confront him over the phone. Meeting him face to face, one-on-one, was the only way. She needed to see Edwina, to find out when Chris was due back from London. Libby poured the freshly-brewed coffee into a mug, took a long swallow, and reviewed her agenda for the day. She'd told Connie to go home after turning the report over to Edwina, since they'd worked so hard getting it ready. Then Libby remembered she was scheduled to inspect a historic train station in north Jersey, close to the New York border, and that she wouldn't be back until late in the afternoon.

  Her visit to Harte's Desire would have to wait until Monday she realized with anxious regret. Since Chris was to be gone all week, a day didn't matter one way or the other. Besides, she wasn't quite ready to step back inside Harte's Desire again.

  Given a choice, never again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Libby turned the embossed brass knob on the front door and was surprised to find it didn't click open with its usual reluctance. Thinking it might be stuck or broken like so many things at Harte's Desire, Libby tried harder a second time but still couldn't get it to budge.

  "Must be locked," she muttered, turning to walk around the house to the kitchen door. She'd seen Edwina's car in the driveway, so she knew someone was there.

  Finding the back door off the kitchen open, Libby rushed in and hurried to Edwina's office in the butler's pantry. Edwina was busily typing at her computer, but looked up as Libby entered the room.

  "Hi, honey," she called affectionately to Libby. "Was wondering if I was going to see you again."

  Libby's heart lurched. Did Chris say something to Edwina? If so, what?

  "Wh-why?" she stammered.

  "To ask you if Mr. D. remembered to bring you the roses I cut the other night!"

  Relief flooded through Libby in a cascade. She laughed at the reprieve.

  "He sure did, Edwina. It was so sweet of you to do that. I thought I'd pick some more while I'm here today."

  "You can pick anything you want to, honey. Why Mr. D. is so hell-bent on destroying this place, I don't know," she snorted. "But until he does, you help yourself to whatever you fancy in that ragtag garden out there. Me? I'm going to miss this old mansion, but don't you tell him or I may never work another day for Darnell Development."

  "I'll miss it, too, Edwina, so don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

  "Have you been away for the last couple of days?"

  "I was in and out. You know, to the health club, shopping, that kind of thing. Why?"

  "I talked with Mr. D. from London today and he said he'd been trying to reach you all weekend. Said all he got was your answering machine and that he left several messages for you to call him, but you never did." Edwina eyed Libby thoughtfully.

  She'd gotten his messages alright, Libby thought angrily. Did he have a change of heart or did he want to confirm just how badly he'd broken hers?

  Thank heaven she'd missed the first one, so she escaped talking with him. Instead she'd had to listen to his message on her answering machine. Just hearing his voice brought an unwanted rush of memories, all tender and sweet until she recalled the damning words of his note. After that, she screened her calls the rest of the weekend and would continue doing so until she could meet with him in person.

  Edwina looked at Libby expectantly, awaiting a reply.

  "Oh, yes," Libby finally answered. "By the time I got home I figured it was too late to call London, what with the time difference."

  Libby hated lying to Edwina, who'd been so nice to her, but she feared if she took Edwina into her confidence, Edwina might say something to Chris. And Libby wanted to catch Chris totally off guard, just like his note had done to her.

  "Which reminds me," she continued, "When is he due back? I need to talk with him personally about another, uh, matter of mutual concern."

  If Edwina believed Libby's feeble explanation or not, she didn't show it. For a moment it looked as though she was going to ask what "the matter" was all about. Instead, she reached for her appointment calendar and flipped through the pages.

  "He'll be back a week from tomorrow, Libby. Do you want me to see if he's got any free time to see you that Tuesday? I'll have to call the Philadelphia office since he's going to be working there now."

  "Yes, please, Edwina." Libby's stomach fluttered at the painful reminder that Chris wouldn't be at Harte's Desire anymore.

  Edwina placed the call. "How's two in the afternoon next Tuesday for you?" she asked, holding her hand over the mouthpiece.

  "That's fine," Libby replied, knowing she'd gladly reschedule any conflicting appointments to see him as soon as possible.

  "You're all set," she confirmed, hanging up the phone and giving Libby a worried look. "Is everything OK with you, honey? You know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope you feel you can trust me."

  "Thanks for the offer, Edwina, but this is nothing I can’t handle myself." Libby tried hard to inject confidence into her voice, but felt she'd failed miserably. Being in Harte's Desire again was slowly eroding her ability to think clearly.

  "Well, I'll only be here another couple of weeks helping Mr. Fulbright, the new supervisor, get adjusted. But you can always call me in Philadelphia if you need me."

  Edwina leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I know Mr. D. can be difficult at times, honey, but he's got a caring streak in him a mile wide. He has a hard time trusting people, but once he does there's not a thing he wouldn't do to help them. I'm not so old I can't see the sparks that fly between the two of you. You both light up like the sky on the Fourth of July. Believe me, Libby. I know he feels something for you."

  That was then and this is now, Libby thought ruefully. And Chris would never trust her again after she confronted him with the truth. She wanted him out of her life, and thoughts, once and for all.

  "I'll keep that in mind," was all Libby could answer.

  "If Mr. Fulbright was around, I'd introduce you, but he's not in today. Next time you're here, remind me, OK? I know you'll be ma
king the final preparations for the big event. If you need my help, just let me know."

  Edwina paused. "Oh, yes, Chris wanted me to tell you the entrance hall will be off limits for the next few weeks. The ceiling by the staircase finally came down over the weekend. You remember, that area where the bathroom above it was leaking? Well thank goodness no one was here when it fell. Made quite a mess, too. Mr. D. had me block it off until it could be patched up. He knew you'd want to use the hall for the fundraiser."

  "No wonder I couldn't get in the front door," Libby chuckled. "I'm sure the last thing he wanted was to spend money on a place he's going to tear down weeks later."

  "I can tell you he was very concerned about it, but he said the repairs should be finished in time."

  "That's kind of him, isn't it?" Libby said, relieved to know she wouldn't have to scramble to rearrange the circulation plans. "Can I take a peek at the damage?"

  "Sorry, but I've got strict orders not to let anyone near there. Insurance and liability reasons, Mr. D. says. He even had me board up all the doorways in case more plaster comes down before it can be fixed. You'll just have to settle for using the kitchen door like the rest of us 'servants'!" Edwina laughed at her own joke.

  "I get the hint," Libby replied, then added, "I meant to tell you that the historical society wants to invite you and your husband to the dinner dance as our guests. We'll also be sending Chris two tickets and I'd better include two for Mr. Fulbright as well. Just a small token of our appreciation for all the trouble we've caused."

  "No trouble at all, Libby, and you don't have to mail a thing. Mr. D. already bought a table of ten tickets so I'm definitely coming."

  Libby looked at Edwina incredulously. "He bought ten tickets?"

  "Sure did. Told me I had to come. Of course, I was coming even if I had to pay my own way, but I didn't tell him that!"

  Libby swallowed hard. "D-do you think he plans on attending?"

  "I can't say for sure. Why don't you ask him when you see him next week?"

  "Yes, I'll do that." And Libby would, because if Chris was going to be there, she'd much rather stay home and read a good book. The thought of seeing him with a date, or even without one, made her blood boil. Maybe she'd even go away for the weekend. Anything so she wouldn't have to be in Harte's Desire with him again.

  "Well, I'm going to go cut some roses and head back to my office," Libby stated. "Do you think Chris would mind if I dug up a few of the bushes to put in my own garden? I'd hate to see all of them get bulldozed."

  "I'll ask him next time he calls, but I doubt he'll object." Edwina looked at Libby warily. "What do you want me to tell him when he asks why you're not returning his calls?"

  "You can tell him the truth," Libby countered as she prepared to leave. "Tell him I don't have anything to say to him until next Tuesday."

  She watched Edwina digest the meaning of her tersely delivered message, sorry that the kindly woman had to be caught in the middle of their personal warfare.

  "OK, Elizabeth, I'll take care of it," Edwina offered, turning back to her keyboard. "Remember, I'm here if you need me," she called to Libby's departing figure.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Libby squinted under the harsh glare of light reflected by the mirrored windows of the skyscraper in front of her. She gazed up at the ultra-modern, forty-story structure of polished metal and glass, noting dryly how much it looked like every other building Christopher Darnell erected.

  As the revolving door spit out an interesting variety of secretaries, business men and women, and delivery personnel, she gathered the courage to go inside. Although she'd been busy the past week, the days had ticked by too slowly to suit her. But now that she was literally at his doorstep, she wanted another week--no, another month--to prepare for their confrontation.

  Libby took a deep breath then resolved it was best for all concerned to get this over with today. Here. Now. So she could get on with her life. A life without Christopher Darnell.

  The revolving door whooshed behind Libby as she stepped into a three-story lobby drenched in bright sun streaming from several skylights overhead, giving the large space the feel of an atrium. The lobby's stark angles and lines were softened by potted plants, comfortable-looking upholstered chairs and sofas, and plush area rugs. A uniformed doorman directed her to the elevators and instructed her to get off at the top floor.

  Two minutes later, Libby emerged from the elevator and found herself in the corporate offices of Darnell Development. Directly in front of her was a bank of floor to ceiling windows which overlooked picturesque Rittenhouse Square and a good portion of downtown Philadelphia including the wharves along Dock Street. The waiting area was businesslike but surprisingly cozy, with red leather wing chairs grouped around a rich navy and red Persian rug.

  Libby approached a pretty, young receptionist who was beautifully dressed in a tailored suit and announced herself. The receptionist led Libby down a long hallway to what had to be Chris's office located at its far end. His secretary sat at an expensive-looking cherry desk which matched the cherry paneled walls of a waiting area decorated in the same navy and red as the other outside the elevator. A massive, raised panel door bore a brass plaque handsomely engraved with "Christopher Darnell, President."

  Libby's imagination, and heartbeat, shifted into high gear as she pictured Chris behind the tightly closed door, seated at a massive desk, radiating confidence and strength. Restraining herself from barging into his office to be done with the unpleasantness ahead, Libby pasted a bright smile on her face and approached the secretary.

  "Hello," she said, with all the self-assurance she could muster. "I have a two o'clock appointment with Mr. Darnell. Would you please announce me as 'Libby Chatham' ? I'm afraid when Mrs. McElroy made the appointment she got me confused with someone else."

  The secretary, who until now had barely acknowledged Libby's presence, glanced up sharply. The shock of recognizing Libby's name was clearly conveyed by the startled look on her face.

  "You're Libby Chatham?" she asked, her eyes widening.

  Libby merely nodded in assent.

  "Are you sure you want to meet with Mr. Darnell?" the secretary confirmed with disbelief.

  Libby suddenly had the sinking realization that her reputation within Darnell Development was much worse than she'd ever suspected. So much the better she decided with renewed determination.

  "I'm positive." She wasn't going to back down now.

  "I'll tell him you're here. Why don't you wait over there," she directed, pointing to an overstuffed chair near a glass-topped coffee table covered with neatly arranged magazines.

  Too nervous to read, Libby sat down as instructed and watched the steady stream of employees who dropped off stacks of papers and blueprints with Chris's secretary. They spoke in hushed tones, acting as though the boss was having a bad day and they had no desire to further add to his troubles.

  After ten minutes, the door to Chris's office opened and a very frazzled-looking young executive stepped out, closing the door so quickly behind him that Libby never got a glimpse inside. Pulling a wrinkled handkerchief from his pants pocket, he nervously mopped his sweat-beaded brow.

  "The boss is sure loaded for bear today, Cheryl," he complained to Chris's secretary, his voice loud enough for Libby to hear every word. "I feel glad to be alive after that meeting."

  "Yeah, he's in rare form, alright," Cheryl agreed. "I'm not sure why, though. He told me his London deal went off without a hitch."

  "Well, you wouldn't know it by the black mood he's in," he said, shaking his head.

  Cheryl's voice dropped a full octave, so Libby couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, but as the young man kept repeatedly glancing back at Libby with undisguised curiosity, Libby decided they were talking about her. She was about to escape their attention by walking over to the windows when the man strode purposely toward her.

  "Ms. Chatham?" he addressed her tentatively.

  "Yes?" Libby
replied, wondering what he could possibly want with her.

  "Hello. I'm Henry Tremont," he said, extending his right hand.

  Libby endured his vigorous handshake while questioning his intentions.

  "I had to come over and introduce myself. You're a legend around here and I just had to meet the woman who's brought the boss down, so to speak, so many times." Henry continued to pump Libby's hand excitedly until she finally broke free from his grip.

  "I'm, ah,...it's, ah, nice to meet you Mr. Tremont," Libby managed to utter, not knowing what else to say.

  "Likewise," Henry replied. "You know, we had an office pool going a few months ago to see how long it would take you to get wind of the boss' purchase of that old mansion in New Jersey. We were sure you'd fight him over that one, too. In fact, a couple of us were so convinced that we bet $100 each you'd win again. Why did we lose, Miss Chatham? What happened to you?" He looked at Libby apprehensively, waiting her reply.

  "It's a long story, Henry." Libby's throat constricted and tears pricked her eyes as memories of her mother rushed in. "But I'm flattered to know that I have a small, but loyal, band of followers in the enemy's camp," she said, regaining a tight grip on her emotions.

  "Henry! Didn't I just assign enough work to keep you busy from now until Christmas? Or do I need to double your load?" Chris's deep voice boomed from the doorway to his office. He glared at Henry, who stared down at the floor sheepishly, acting very much like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  "Yes sir, Mr. Darnell. I'm going back to my desk now," Henry said apologetically, still avoiding Chris's eyes. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Chatham," he called out as he scurried down the hallway.

  "Why don't you come in, Ms. Chatham?" Chris suggested politely, placing a not-so-subtle emphasis on her last name as he held the door open for her.

  Libby glanced down the hall after Henry's retreating figure only to see several employees cautiously poking their heads out of their offices, apparently curious about the activity in front of Chris's office. Knowing she was providing fodder for a whole week's worth of gossip, Libby straightened her shoulders and marched past Chris through the open doorway.