“Synnamon? Are you all right?”
She cleared her throat. “Just jolly. What did you expect?”
“I’m sorry.”
His voice was husky, and Synnamon regretted her sharp tone. “I’ll be all right. I’ll need to go to Phoenix, though. She wanted me to take her ashes out to the desert, to a special place she always loved.”
“Of course,” Conner said. “I’ll have Carol get the tickets right away. When shall we go?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Conner must have taken her startled silence for assent, for the next thing Synnamon heard was the rustle of pages in his desktop appointment calendar. “It looks to me as if this weekend will work,” he said. “I’ll have to check with Carol, though, to be sure she hasn’t scheduled anything.”
Synnamon shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “Conner,” she began carefully. “I certainly didn’t expect—”
“That I’d let you go alone on such a sad errand,” he finished. “Besides, I’d like to pay my final respects, too. I wouldn’t feel right, somehow, if I didn’t. If I wasn’t there, it would seem as if I’d violated the code of ethics that was so important to the Contessa.”
Synnamon was left speechless. How could she possibly counter that argument? Of course, the Contessa could probably have punctured his reasoning with her typical good humor. The very thought made Synnamon’s eyes sting with tears.
“I’ll ask Carol to call you later with the flight details,” Conner finished briskly. “And I’ll see you this evening. Unless you’re planning to come into the office today?”
“I wasn’t, but—”
“It’s probably as well. Giving Annie a hand is one thing, but she shouldn’t start relying on you being here to rescue her every day.”
“I’m not rescuing her,” Synnamon said crisply. “I’m only lending a hand till she finds her way. And if what you’re really saying is that you’ve already decided she isn’t up to the job—”
“Not at all. She seems to be doing fine, with your guidance.”
Synnamon didn’t answer. While that actually sounded like a compliment, she couldn’t quite keep from looking for hidden meanings.
“Sorry,” Conner went on. “It was a poor choice of words.”
Synnamon sighed. She wondered if her moodiness was because of the pressures of the situation or the raging hormones of early pregnancy. Did she really want to know? One would be over in a few months. The other— if Conner had his way—would go on forever.
“I was a little too sensitive,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone line before Conner said, “Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?”
The invitation startled her, and before she stopped to think Synnamon had answered. “No!” Her tone was harsh, and she hastily tried to soften the refusal. “I mean, thank you—but I don’t feel like being in public, exactly.”
“I understand. Sometimes in the midst of grief it feels good to have something else to concentrate on, and sometimes it’s more comfortable to be alone.”
He could say that again, Synnamon thought. Except she was morally certain Conner’s definition of alone didn’t mean solitary, just private. If he had the vaguest understanding of her desire to be completely by herself, he wouldn’t insist on going to Phoenix, would he? And he’d know that her wish to stay at home tonight instead of going out wasn’t entirely on the Contessa’s account, but was partly because she didn’t feel up to explaining to every friend they ran into that yes, they had reconciled…
She growled as she put the phone down. She’d just have to make it clear over dinner that he wasn’t invited to Phoenix, that was all, without letting him realize that she was desperate for a couple of days alone. Though exactly how she was going to convince him…
You might as well argue with an influenza germ, Morea had said.
Hoping that Morea might have some wisdom, Synnamon called the law office to leave a message. “You’re actually in?” she said when Morea’s secretary put her straight through. “And not busy?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Morea said. “You got through because you’re on the list of people I need to call today, anyway. I’m doing my part for the Have a Heart Club, working on the Valentine’s Ball. So if you want to buy tickets—”
“Not particularly.”
“It’s all in a good cause. Of course, I’m sort of glad you put off the purchase till now.”
“Why?”
“Because last week you could have gotten by with one ticket, and this week you’ll have to buy two. Which makes a cool thousand bucks for the organ transplant program.”
Synnamon groaned. “So send me two tickets and I’ll write a check. Just don’t expect me to show up for the dance.”
“Why on earth not? Valentine’s Day is for lovers, and—”
“Make that one ticket. Conner can buy his own.”
Morea made a sympathetic clucking noise. “But now that you’re back together and acting like a pair of cooing doves—”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“Overheard it at the Pinnacle last night.”
“Since when did the grapevine work that fast?”
“Apparently the diner in question was coming through the hotel lobby downstairs on his way to the restaurant just as Conner was checking out, overheard the address where his luggage was being sent and assumed the rest. Unless you have been acting like doves?”
“Certainly not in public. Maybe I won’t buy any tickets at all.”
“Be a sport, Synnamon. Have a heart, as the organizers would say. At least one ticket—”
“All right, one. No, on second thought, send me two.”
“Will you make up your mind?”
“Definitely two,” Synnamon said. “That way I can bury them in my lingerie drawer and forget all about the ball. If I don’t buy two, you’ll call Conner, and he’d not only spring for a pair of tickets, he’d want to go.”
“Maybe I should call him anyway,” Morea mused. “I might end up with another thousand for the cause.”
“And one less friend and client.”
“You mean you are still my client? In that case, it’s a good thing I haven’t obeyed Conner’s orders to send a bill for my services and cancel you out of my computer.”
“A very good thing. I’m trying my best to apply your advice, Morea—”
“Now that’s a first,” Morea muttered.
Synnamon ignored her. “And be the most flexible and cooperative of wives, so Conner will get tired of the whole thing.”
“And how’s it working out?”
“It’s driving me crazy, and he hasn’t even noticed.”
“Are you sure he hasn’t noticed? Maybe he’s trying to be the most flexible and cooperative of husbands with the specific intention of driving you crazy.”
“If that’s what he’s doing,” Synnamon said glumly, “it’s working. And if that’s the best suggestion you can give me—”
She heard the door bell chime, and Mrs. Ogden’s footsteps faded away down the hall toward the foyer.
“At the moment it is,” Morea said. “Frankly, darling, in my experience, you two are breaking virgin ground where divorce is concerned.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.”
“But if you decide to give up the making nice, I can always file an injunction to get him thrown out of the apartment.”
“And wouldn’t that look great in court?” Synnamon muttered. “He hasn’t laid a hand on me. No verbal assaults, not even an implied insult.”
“Mental cruelty,” Morea said helpfully. “Playing games with your mind.”
Mrs. Ogden cleared her throat, and Synnamon turned to face her. The housekeeper was standing in the doorway, a long florist’s box in her arms. “Excuse me, but you’ve got a visitor, Mrs. Welles.”
“All right, thanks.” The housekeeper went into the kitchen, and Synnamon uncupped her hand fr
om the telephone. “Morea, this effort to be cheerful and cooperative is wearing on me. I don’t know if it’s the stress of having Conner around all the time or my howling hormones, but—”
“Personally, I’d bet on the stress. But then,” Morea mused, “I don’t know anything about the other, so—”
“But if it keeps up, I’m going to have to check myself into a clinic. That, or just turn into a roaring werewolf.”
“Well, maybe that’s the answer. Give Conner one long look at the real, honest you, and he might take to his heels.”
“Screaming all the way? I couldn’t be so lucky. Stick to the law, Morea. Your psychological advice seems to lack a little reality, somehow.”
“You asked,” Morea said cheerfully. “I’ll send the tickets over this morning by special messenger.”
“Just in case I’m in the asylum by afternoon?”
“Well, when there’s a thousand dollars at stake, it does pay to be careful of these things. Not that I have any real doubts about your sanity, of course.”
“That,” Synnamon said wryly, “makes one of us. While you’re at it, send an extra book of tickets. I’ll make a few phone calls myself and see if I can sell them.”
“Thanks, darling. It is a good cause, after all.”
“Besides, misery loves company,” Synnamon finished. “If I have to go to this dance, maybe I can at least cajole all my friends into going, too.”
Mrs. Ogden had gone to the kitchen, so Synnamon couldn’t ask who her visitor was. She was startled, therefore, when she looked into the big living room and saw Nicole Fox seated on the edge of a chair.
Nicole jumped up the instant she saw Synnamon. “I didn’t mean to intrude this morning,” she said hastily. “I just brought some flowers by as a thank-you gift for last night, and when I asked about you—”
“Mrs. Ogden practically dragged you in,” Synnamon added, “and abandoned you before you could say you were only asking in order to be polite.”
Nicole nodded. “Something like that,” she admitted. “She took the flowers and went that way before I could tell her…” She took a deep breath. “It’s not that I didn’t want to see you, but I didn’t intend to barge in like this.” She looked unusually pale, Synnamon thought. She was a little surprised at the sympathy that trickled through her. The young woman was courageous, that was sure. Nicole could have had the florist make a delivery. What had made her brave the personal contact? Nicole took two steps toward the door.
It would have been very easy for Synnamon to stand still and do nothing, and in a couple of minutes the woman would be gone. But she couldn’t help feeling curious.
“Then you did want to see me?” Synnamon asked. Did Nicole intend to ask for Conner’s freedom, perhaps? Well, if it was anything like that, they might as well get it out in the open. “Sit down, please. I’ll ask Mrs. Ogden to make coffee.”
“Oh, no—don’t bother with coffee. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Nicole perched on the edge of a chair. “I hope you’ll like the flowers as much as I enjoyed myself last night.”
“It’s very kind of you to bring them yourself,” Synnamon said.
“You know, you’re not at all…” Nicole’s voice trailed off, and a tinge of color crept into her cheeks.
“What you expected,” Synnamon said flatly.
“Well, no. Conner told me, you see—”
Synnamon could almost imagine that conversation. Didn’t a wandering husband always have a tale of woe about his wife, a tale guaranteed to win sympathy from the other woman? Surely Nicole wasn’t naive enough to repeat it to her. And why had she been dim-witted enough to invite Nicole to sit down and discuss it, anyway?
“He said that you were practically raised by somebody who was even more a stickler on good behavior than Emily Post,” Nicole said. “So of course I thought—”
“That I’d be overbearing and rude to anyone who might not be as knowledgeable?” But Synnamon’s mind was only half on the question. That was unusual, for Conner to be talking to Nicole about the Contessa. Of course, he’d cared for her, too. Perhaps, in his grief, he’d turned to Nicole for comfort. “I think Conner overstated the case, however. The Contessa was certainly concerned about proper behavior, but she never criticized anyone else’s manners. It’s extremely impolite to notice anyone else’s bad behavior, she always said.”
Nicole considered that and smiled. “It does make sense, doesn’t it? But Conner didn’t ever say anything negative about her. I’m sorry if I made it sound as if he had. He obviously respected her very much.”
Synnamon looked straight at her. “And you’re very fond of him, aren’t you, to defend him like that to me?”
“Oh, yes.” Nicole toyed with the cording on the wing chair she sat in and sighed. “He’s—wonderful, that’s all. I wish…”
Her eyes were so dilated and full of tears that Synnamon was sure Nicole could no longer see her. And there was a tremor in the woman’s voice that expressed her feelings for Conner more convincingly than actual words of love could. The combination left Synnamon feeling as if there was a boulder lodged at the base of her throat.
“You’re a very lucky woman,” Nicole went on, in a low voice that was next door to tears, “to have him. And now your baby, too.”
And how, Synnamon thought helplessly, would the Contessa have answered that! “Thank you,” she said crisply.
Nicole stood up. “I must go. I’m due at work soon— we’re doing some around-the-clock tests, and I’m taking the late shift so I can spend some time at Sherwood, as well. And since I’m sort of leaving the company in the lurch by changing jobs in a busy season—” She paused. “But I’m babbling, and you don’t want to hear the details. Thanks again for having me over last night. It really opened my eyes…” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, so soft that Synnamon wondered if she knew she was speaking aloud. “About everything I’m missing.”
Synnamon showed her out, then closed the door and leaned against it.
So, in Nicole’s opinion, she was a lucky woman. The very thought made her feel hollow.
She wondered what Nicole would have said if she’d announced she’d happily give Conner back to her, wrapped up in hearts-and-flowers gift paper… if only she could.
Conner came home on the dot of six, and a little later, over Mrs. Ogden’s chicken Angelique, Synnamon braced herself to bring up the Phoenix trip. She’d rehearsed her little speech in front of her mirror off and on all afternoon, and she was as ready as she could ever be.
The Contessa had asked her to go alone, she’d tell him, so the secluded spot she’d chosen would always remain secret.
The question was whether Conner would fall for the excuse. Or if, at least, he’d pretend to agree, and let her go to Phoenix by herself. She had to admit to having her doubts. Morea might well have a point. If Synnamon could think up this game, so could Conner—and they could no doubt play it with equal facility.
She couldn’t quite see what Conner had to gain from the stunt, though, unless he was hoping to make her so tired of him that she’d give up their child into his care and disappear. But of course he needn’t have any such elaborate plan as that in mind. It was nothing new, Morea said, for a divorcing couple to try to wear on each others’ nerves, for no other reason than just to prove they could.
Synnamon only hoped she was being half as successful at driving Conner nuts as he was at making her feel crazy.
She raised a forkful of chicken Angelique to her lips and said, “Conner—”
At the same moment, he said, “I talked to Luigi today.”
She was interested despite herself. And also, she admitted, just a little glad for the excuse to put off broaching what was likely to be an uncomfortable discussion. “Did you get him soothed down?”
Conner shook his head. “Not as well as I’d hoped.”
“What’s the problem?”
“He seems to be convinced I’m going to run the company into the ground w
ithout you there to oversee my actions.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Synnamon’s voice was full of disgust. “I’ve never heard anything so silly.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and intense in the dancing light of the candle flames.
Synnamon felt as if he was staring straight through her, and her hands began to shake.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he said softly. Her trembling fingers steadied, and embarrassed warmth rose from the pit of her stomach and suffused her entire body. She hadn’t intended to flatter him— she’d only been telling the truth. But it was an odd, uncomfortable feeling to find praise for him rising so automatically to her tongue—without even considering what she wanted to say or the effect it might have.
“At any rate,” Conner went on, “I think I need to see him in person.”
“And as soon as possible,” Synnamon agreed. “Where Luigi is concerned, it’s important to control the damage before it gets worse.”
“Exactly. I’m glad your assessment of the situation agrees with mine. I’ve made arrangements to visit him this weekend.”
Instead of going to Phoenix. Now Synnamon was glad she hadn’t rushed into the discussion. He’d handed her a trump card, and if she played it carefully… “I understand,” she said quickly. “Sherwood’s concerns come first, and you must do whatever you feel is necessary for the business.” She looked at her plate and then gave him the most sincerely troubled look she could manage. “I do want to go to Phoenix, though, Conner. I don’t want to put the trip off any longer. So if you don’t mind, while you’re off seeing Luigi—”
“Of course,” Conner said. “Carol already has tickets for us both on the Friday afternoon Denver to Phoenix flight.”
Us? “But…” She stopped and tried again. “I thought you said you need to see Luigi right away.”
The Perfect Divorce! Page 11