by Janet Dailey
There was no conversation between them when they reached shore. Rachel offered to help carry one of his suitcases, but Gard refused and signaled to a hotel employee when they reached the large, landscaped pool area with its bars and dining terraces.
At the hotel lobby Gard finally stopped his hurried pace and turned to her. “I’ll catch a cab to the airport from here. There’s no need for you to make that ride.”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted, because it was just that many more minutes to spend with him.
“But I do. We’ll say good-bye here so I won’t have to think about you making the ride back from the airport alone,” he stated.
“Okay.” She lowered her gaze and tried to keep her composure under control.
“I’ve got your address and phone number, don’t I?” There was an uncertain frown on his forehead as he began to feel in his pockets.
“It’s in your shirt pocket,” she assured him.
“It’ll probably be the middle of the week before things settle back to normal ... if they ever will.” It was an almost cynically bitter phrase he threw on at the last, showing how deeply this loss was cutting into his life.
“I understand,” she murmured, but she wanted to be with him.
“Rachel.” His hand moved roughly into her hair, cupping her head and holding it while he crushed her lips under his mouth. She slid her hands around his middle, spreading them across his back and pressing herself against the hard outline of his thighs and hips. The ache inside was a raw and painful thing, an emotional tearing that ripped at her heart.
The tears were very close when Gard dragged his mouth from hers. Rachel rested her head against his shoulder and blinked to keep them at bay. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She had never considered herself to be a weak and clinging female, but she didn’t want to let him go.
It didn’t seem to matter how much she tried to rationalize away this vague fear. Gard wasn’t leaving her because it was what he wanted to do. There was an emergency. He had to go. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she felt the light pressure of his mouth moving over her hair.
“This is a helluva way to end our cruise,” Gard sighed heavily and lifted his head, taking her by the shoulders and setting her a few inches away from him. For a moment she was the focus of his thoughts, and she could see the darkness of regret in his eyes. “We were running out of time and didn’t know it.”
“There will be other times,” Rachel said because she needed a reassurance of that from him. There was a pooling darkness to her gray eyes, but she managed to keep back the tears and show him a calmly composed expression.
“Yes.” The reassurance was absently made as Gard glanced over his shoulder to see the bellman loading his luggage into a taxi. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I have to catch that plane.”
“I know.” She walked with him out to the taxi, parked under the hotel’s covered entrance.
There was one very brief, last kiss, a hard pressure making a fleeting impact on her lips, then Gard was striding to the open door of the taxi, passing a tip to the bellman before folding his long frame into the rear seat of the taxi.
“I’ll call you,” he said with a hurried wave of his hand as he shut the door.
The promise was too indefinite. She wanted to demand something more precise, a fixed time and place when he would call. Instead Rachel nodded and called, “Have a good flight!”
As the cab pulled away Gard leaned forward to say something to the driver. Rachel watched the taxi until it disappeared. If Gard looked back, she didn’t see him. She had the feeling that he’d already forgotten her, his thoughts overtaken by the problems and sorrows awaiting him when he reached Los Angeles.
She turned slowly, walked back through the lobby, and descended to a dining terrace on the lower level. Out in the bay the Pacific Princess sat at anchor, sleek and impressive in size even at this distance. With the reflection of sun and water, the ship gleamed blue-white.
For the last six days that ship had been home to her. Its world seemed more real to her than the one in Los Angeles. The emptiness swelled within her because she was here in this world and Gard was flying to the other. But he’d call her.
Aboard ship again, Rachel was surprised to discover how many passengers knew her until she had to begin to field their inquiries about Gard. Their comments and questions varied, some expressing genuine concern and some merely being nosy.
“Where’s your husband? We haven’t seen him this evening,” was the most common in the beginning. Then it became, “We heard there was a family emergency and your husband had to fly home. We hope it isn’t serious.” Only rarely was Rachel queried about her continued presence on the ship. “How come you didn’t leave with him? Couldn’t you get a seat on the flight?”
But there was an end to them the next day when the ship reached its destination port of Acapulco and Rachel was able to change her reservations and fly home sooner than she had originally planned.
Chapter Ten
The buzz of the intercom phone on her desk snapped Rachel sharply out of her absent reverie. She was supposed to be reading through the stack of letters in front of her and affixing her signature to them, but the pile had only been depleted by three. Instead of reading the rest, she had been staring off into space.
Nothing seemed to receive her undivided attention anymore except the ring of the telephone. Each time it rang, at home or at the office, her heart would give a little leap, and every time she answered it, she thought this time it would be Gard.
For the last two weeks she’d lived on that hope and little else. She couldn’t eat; she couldn’t sleep; she was a basket case of emotions, ready to cry at the drop of a hat. Rachel was beginning to realize that this state of affairs couldn’t continue. She had to resolve the matter once and for all and stop living on the edge of her nerves.
There was another impatient buzz of the intercom. No light was blinking to indicate that a phone call was being held on the line for her. Rachel picked up the receiver.
“Yes, Sally, what is it?” she asked her secretary with grudging patience.
“Fan Kemper is here to see you,” came the answer. “She says she’s taking you to lunch.”
After a second’s hesitation Rachel simply replied, “Send her in.”
Before she had returned the receiver to its cradle, the door to her private office was opened and Fan came sweeping in, exuding energy and bright efficiency. A smile beamed from her friend’s face, but there was a critical look in her assessing glance.
“Sorry, Fan, but I can’t have lunch with you today,” Rachel said and began to write her signature on the letters she should have already signed.
“I know I’m not down on your appointment book, but I thought I’d steal you away from the office.” Fan crossed to the desk, undeterred by the refusal. “I’ve only seen you once since you came back from the cruise—and every time I phone you, we never talk more than five minutes because you’re expecting some ‘important call.’”
“I had a lot of catching up to do when I came back.” It was a vague explanation, accompanied by an equally vague smile in her friend’s direction.
“You look awful,” Fan announced.
“Thanks.” Rachel laughed without amusement.
“You’re lucky you got some sun on that cruise.
Without the tan those circles under your eyes would really be noticeable.” Fan pulled a side chair closer to the desk and sat in it, leaning forward in an attitude that invited confidence. “You might as well tell me, Rachel. Hasn’t he called?”
The “he” was Gard, of course. When she had returned from vacation and seen the Kempers, Rachel had mentioned him. Fan, being Fan, had read through the lines and knew instinctively that the relationship hadn’t been as casual as Rachel had tried to imply.
“No, he hasn’t called,” she admitted, grimly concealing the hurt.
“It’s possible he lost your number,” Fan reasoned. “And unless he knows you
r company is called the Country House, he won’t be able to find you, since your home number is unlisted.”
“I know.”
During the last two weeks she’d had countless arguments with herself. She’d come up with all sorts of reasons to explain why Gard hadn’t called her as he’d promised, but she could never forget the possibility that he wasn’t interested in seeing her again.
True, he’d said a lot of things to lead her to believe otherwise. But men often said things in the heat of passion that meant nothing on reexamination. Pride insisted it had just been a holiday affair, intense while it lasted, but best forgotten by her.
“Rachel, how long are you going to eat your heart out over him before you do something about it?” Fan wanted to know.
“About twenty more minutes,” Rachel replied calmly with a glance at her watch.
“What?” Fan sat up straight and blinked at her.
There was a dry curve to Rachel’s mouth as she met her friend’s puzzled gaze. “That’s why I can’t go to lunch with you. I’m going to his office this afternoon.” She had looked up his name in the telephone directory so many times that she knew his address and phone number by heart. “I have to know where I stand once and for all.”
Fan leaned back in her chair and released a sighing breath of satisfaction. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Would you like me to come with you and lend a little moral support?”
“No. I have to do this on my own,” Rachel stated.
“Have you called?” Fan wondered. “Did you make an appointment to see him?”
“No. I thought about it,” she admitted. “But if he doesn’t want to see me anymore, I didn’t want to be pawned off by his secretary or have some impersonal conversation with him on the phone. When I talk to him, I want to be able to see his face.” She slashed her name across the last letter. “So I’m just going over to his office and take the chance that he’ll be in.”
“If he isn’t?” Fan studied her with gentle sympathy.
“I don’t know.” Rachel sighed heavily. “Then I guess it’s back to square one.”
“John knows him—or at least they’ve met before,” Fan reminded her. “I could always have him come up with some excuse to call him and mention in passing that you are one of John’s clients—use the name coincidence that started this whole thing. At least John could find out what his reaction is.”
“Thanks.” She appreciated her friend’s offer to help, but she didn’t feel it was right to have them solve her problems. “I’d rather do this without involving you and John.”
“If you change your mind, just tell me,” Fan insisted, standing up to leave. “And you’d better call me later, because I’ll be the one sitting by the phone on pins and needles.”
“I will,” Rachel promised with a more natural smile curving her mouth and watched her friend leave, spending an idle minute reminding herself how lucky she was to have a friend like Fan Kemper.
At half past one that afternoon Rachel stood outside the entrance to the suite of offices in the posh Wilshire Boulevard address and had cause to wish for the moral support Fan had offered. Her knees felt shaky and her stomach was emptily churning.
The elaborately carved set of double doors presented a formidable barrier to be breached. On the wall beside them there was a rich-looking plaque with brass letters spelling out MACKINLEY, BROWN & THOMPSON, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW.
A cowardly part of her wanted to turn and walk away, so she could believe a little longer in the variety of excuses she had made to herself on Gard’s behalf. Squaring her shoulders, Rachel breathed a deep, steadying breath and reached for a tall brass doorgrip. The door swung silently open under the pull of her hand and she stepped onto the plush pile carpeting of the reception area.
The young girl at the switchboard looked up when she entered and smiled politely. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see Mr. MacKinley—Mr. Gardner MacKinley,” Rachel clarified her answer in case there was more than one MacKinley in the firm.
“Is he expecting you?” the girl inquired.
“No, he isn’t, but I need to see him.” Which was the truth.
As she punched a set of interoffice numbers, she asked, “What name shall I give him?”
Rachel hesitated, then replied, using her maiden name, “Miss Hendrix.” She’d rather he didn’t know who she was until he saw her.
She listened while the girl relayed the information. “Yes, Mr. MacKinley, this is Cindy at the reception desk. There’s a Miss Hendrix here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment but she says she needs to speak with you.” Rachel held her breath during the pause. “I’ll tell her. Thank you.” The girl pushed another button to end the connection and looked at Rachel with another polite smile. “He’s tied up at the moment, but he expects to be free shortly. If you’d care to have a seat, you’re welcome to wait.”
“Thank you.” It was one more hurdle cleared, but the tension increased as Rachel walked over to sit in one of the leather-covered armchairs against a paneled wall.
Three wide hallways led in separate directions from the reception area. Rachel had no idea which one led to Gard’s office. Her chair was positioned beside the opening to one of them and provided her a view of the other two. Her heart was thumping in her chest, louder than the clock ticking on the wall. She watched the clicking rotation of the second hand, then realized that would not make the time pass more quickly. She picked up a magazine lying on a walnut table and nervously began to flip through it.
The cords in her neck were knotted with tension and her nerves were stretched raw. Tremors of apprehension were attacking her insides, adding to the overall strain. From the hallway behind her she caught the sound of a woman’s low voice, indifferent to the words until a man’s voice responded and the man was Gard. Recognition of his voice splintered through her, nearly driving her out of the chair so she could face the sound of his approaching voice.
Through sheer self-control Rachel forced herself to remain seated. The instant he appeared in her side vision, her gaze slid to his familiar form. His mahogany dark hair and muscularly tapered build were exactly the same as she remembered.
She hardly paid any attention at all to the woman he was walking to the door with until she noticed that Gard had his arm around her. Rachel took another look at the woman, feeling her heart being squeezed by jealous pain, and saw how young and wholesomely attractive she was with her gleaming chestnut hair and adoring brown eyes.
Gard’s back was to her when he stopped by the door, giving Rachel a clearer view of the woman who had his hand on her waist. In her numbed state it took her a minute to realize the pair were talking. She wanted to cry out when she heard what Gard was saying.
“I’ll come over to your place for dinner tonight, then afterward I’m taking you to the Schubert Theater. I pulled some strings and got tickets for tonight’s performance. I know you’ve been wanting to see the play.”
“I have,” the woman admitted, then bit at her lip and frowned. “What do you think I should wear?”
Gard had taken hold of the woman’s hand and was now raising it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss on the top of it while he eyed her. “A smile,” he suggested.
“And nothing else, I suppose.” The woman laughed. “Advice like that could get a girl in trouble.” She leaned up and kissed him lightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll come early, so pour me a scotch about six o’clock.” He pushed open the door and held it for her while she walked through.
Pain was shattering Rachel’s heart into a thousand pieces, immobolizing her. Raw anguish clouded her gray eyes, which couldn’t tear their gaze from him. When Gard turned away from the door, his idle glance encountered that look.
His dark eyes narrowed in frowning astonishment before a smile began to spread across his features. “Rachel.” There was rough warmth in the way he said her name, then he took a step toward her.
It was too much to see
that light darkening his eyes when not a moment before he had been flirting with another woman. Rage followed hot on the heels of her pain. She had wanted to know where she stood with him and now she knew—in line!
Rachel pushed out of the chair and aimed for the door, intent on only one thing—leaving before she made a complete fool of herself. But Gard moved quickly into her path and caught hold of her shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” He held on when she tried to twist out of his grasp, pushing at his arms with her hands.
“I came to find out why you hadn’t called,” she admitted with bitter anger that slid into sarcasm. “I saw the reason.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded, giving her a hard shake when she continued to struggle.
A glaze of tears was stinging her eyes. She glared through it at the angry and impatient expression chiseled on his features.
“I don’t care to take up any more of your valuable time,” she flashed bitterly. “I’m sure you have a lot to do before you can keep your dinner engagement tonight.”
As understanding dawned in his eyes; they darkened with exasperation. “It isn’t what you’re thinking. Brenda is Bud’s wife, the partner I just lost. She’s lonely and needs company.”
“Especially at night,” Rachel suggested, un-touched by his explanation. “Consoling widows must be your specialty.”
She nearly succeeded in wrenching free of his hands, but he caught her again and turned her around, half pushing and half carrying her along with him as he headed for the hallway by her chair. The receptionist was watching them with wide-eyed wonder, a silent and curious observer of the virulent scene being played out before her.
“You are going to listen to my explanation whether you like it or not,” Gard informed her in an angrily low voice as he marched her past a secretarial pool and a short row of offices.
“Well, I don’t like it, and I’m not interested in hearing anything you have to say!” she hissed, conscious of the curious looks they were receiving. She stopped resisting him rather than draw more attention.