No Less Than a Lifetime

by Christine Rimmer

  She chuckled, a low, rueful sound. “Oh, Price.”

  He studied her attractive, fine-boned face. She was a good lover. Yet tonight, looking at her, he felt no urge at all to take her in his arms. Her earrings sparkled, white fire in the darkness. Once, she’d left an earring in his bed. One of the maids had found it the next day and given it to Faith, who brought it to him.

  Faith.

  Every time Price thought of Faith lately, he was reminded that he could be losing her.

  But still, things had looked better the past few days. She’d seemed less and less perturbed that no new housekeeper had been chosen. Price had dared to imagine that his scheme to keep her at Montgomery House was working.

  But then, tonight, when his mother called her down to find that bottle of cassis, she’d acted so strangely. She’d seemed withdrawn. He couldn’t help wondering if she was becoming impatient all over again to get away to the mountains and that damn motel of hers.

  Annette was sighing. “I have thoroughly enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, Price.”

  Price put Faith out of his mind and looked at Annette more closely. “Are you telling me goodbye?”

  “Well.” Annette tossed her head; the earrings danced. “You tell me. I saw the way you looked at your housekeeper tonight.”

  Price backed up a little. It was odd that Annette should mention Faith, when he’d just been thinking of her. “What are you saying? You believe that Faith and I—?” He let the thought finish itself.

  Annette smiled knowingly. Price felt a vague stab of irritation at her. Where could she have come up with an idea like that?

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re imagining things. Faith is an invaluable employee, but there’s nothing going on between the two of us.”

  Annette sighed again.

  Price’s annoyance with her increased. “Annette. If you have something to say, then say it.”

  Now she looked a little wistful. “Oh, Price. All I’m telling you is that we’ve shared a mature, responsible—and basically casual—relationship. And now it looks to me as if you’re ready for more than that—with someone else.”

  Price frowned. She was wrong, of course. He had no interest in any relationship beyond the type she’d first described. But he saw nothing to be gained by arguing the point.

  Annette shrugged. “Look. Never mind. I can see you don’t want to talk about it, and I’m not really sure that I want to, either. Let’s just leave it as it is.” She leaned toward him and placed a light kiss on his cheek.

  Relieved that this uncomfortable conversation was over, he murmured a good-night.

  Annette let a beat elapse before she replied, with finality, “Goodbye, Price.”

  The next day was Saturday. Faith found Price in the morning room, where he was lingering over his newspaper. He looked up, smiling, thinking that he’d coax her to sit with him for a while.

  But the second he saw her face, he changed his mind. Her eyes were stormy, and her mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Price, I must speak with you.”

  He heard it all in the tone of her voice; she was stirred up again about leaving. She was going to start nagging him about it, start pushing him to hire her replacement right away.

  He folded his paper and stood. “I can’t talk now. I have some calls to make.”

  “But, Price…”

  “Later, Faith.” He turned and walked away without a backward glance.

  She came at him again the next morning, but he was ready for her. He stood from the table before she reached his side.

  “Price, I—”

  “I’m late, Faith. I’ll be gone all day.” He was out the front door in twenty minutes flat. He spent most of the day at his health club, pumping iron like a man possessed and beating all comers at racquetball. He didn’t return until evening.

  She tried twice on Monday. He put her off both times.

  But then, on Tuesday morning, when he was still locked in the library for the early hours of trading, she materialized from the central hall.

  Price had one phone in each ear. He asked both parties to hold on and pressed the mute buttons on the phones. Then he cast her a frostbitten glare. “Faith. I have work to do. I’m really too busy right now to—”

  She pulled the doors firmly closed behind her, then turned and cut him off. “It’s been two weeks and a day since I gave my notice, Price. I told you from the first that I wouldn’t be willing to let this drag on too long.”

  Price stared at her. Her soft oval face was flushed, and her eyes were bright. She was leaning back against the doors, as if she’d keep him there bodily if he tried to escape her again.

  She went on, “I’ll be leaving this house in just under two weeks from now, on the third of February—whether I’ve found a replacement that satisfies you and your parents or not.”

  Without saying a word to either of his callers, Price quietly hung up both phones.

  “The third of February. Do you understand?”

  His gaze wandered downward. She was wearing a fuzzy little sweater with a lace collar. The sweater was buttoned all the way up the front. Beneath the sweater, her soft breasts rose and fell with each agitated breath she took. From what he could see of them, they appeared to be very nice, round, high breasts.

  Faith licked her lips, leaving them shiny and full-looking. “Price?”

  Outside, it was raining. Far off, Price heard the rumble of thunder. The air seemed electric. Was it just from the storm?

  “Did you hear me?”

  He had, of course. He was just having trouble processing incoming information at the moment. Both the phones he’d just hung up started ringing. He felt around the sides of them until he found the ringer switches and turned them off. The third phone, the fold-up one that he carried around the house with him when he was waiting for a call, bleated like a lost lamb. He silenced it, too. Now the only sound was the rain outside.

  And Faith’s voice. “Price, are you listening to me?”

  I saw the way you looked at your housekeeper, Annette had said.

  He’d told her she was wrong, that she was imagining things.

  But Annette was a bright woman.

  Faith’s smooth brows had drawn together. “Price. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He stood. He wanted to get a little closer to her. Had he ever really let himself get a good look at her?

  Well, it was damn sure time he did. He came around the desk toward her, his mind spinning. Outside, the gray sky lightened, and then thunder boomed and rolled away.

  “Price. Will you please talk to me about this?”

  “Of course.” He took another step toward her.

  She blinked and seemed to press herself back against the tall doors, as if she didn’t want him to come closer.

  He stopped where he was and gestured toward the chair she’d taken that day two weeks ago, when she first told him she was leaving. “Have a seat.”

  She turned her head, eyeing him sideways, a portrait of suspicion. One of those silky tendrils of hair that was always getting out of the plain bun she wore kissed her cheek. He wanted to rub that wisp of hair between his thumb and forefinger. He wanted to caress that cheek; it looked so soft and white.

  She would not come away from the door. The rain drummed harder against the windows.

  “Come on, Faith. Sit down.”

  “I don’t—”

  “What’s the matter? I won’t bite you, I promise.”

  She stood taller then. “Well, of course you won’t.”

  “Then sit down.”

  She peeled herself off the door and approached him. Just as she reached the chair, he slipped around behind her and held it for her. Her head whipped around. “What are you doing?”

  Sweet Lord, he could smell her. A fresh scent. Like tea roses and morning mist.

  “Price?”

  “What?”

  “You’re acting so strangely.” />
  “No, I’m not. I’m holding the chair for you.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t ask, all right? Just please sit down.”

  Slowly, she did. Once she was seated, he knew he should move out from behind her. But he didn’t. She bowed her head a little, as if displaying for him the nape of her neck, so pale and vulnerable. He wanted to put his hand there, on that softness.

  He wanted…By God. He wanted her. He wanted Faith. Imagine. Faith. After all these years.

  She coughed; it was a frightened, nervous sound.

  He realized that he couldn’t stand behind her forever. He came around and swung a leg up on the outer edge of his desk, as he’d done that other time.

  “All right.” He thought he sounded pretty damn casual, considering that for him the world seemed to have suddenly stopped on its axis and started spinning the other way. “What can I do for you?”

  Her lips became a thin line. “You know what. You and your parents are going to have to settle on someone, or you’ll be stuck without anyone to take care of this house.”

  He realized she had a slight overbite. He found it adorable.

  “I said you need to hire someone to take care of your house, Price.”

  “And us,” he said softly. He felt himself smiling. He felt so damn alive all of a sudden.

  She swallowed. “Excuse me?”

  He leaned forward and rested a forearm on his knee. “I was only pointing out that it’s not just the house you take care of. You take care of us, too.” He spoke even more softly. “Who’s going to take care of us, when you’re gone?”

  She pressed herself back into the chair, the way she’d done at the door, as if she were trying to squeeze every last centimeter out of the distance between them. “Urn. I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t be responsible for—”

  He leaned even closer, got another whiff of her captivating scent. “No, I mean it, Faith. You really have become almost like one of the family over the years. And the brutal truth is that I’m having a hell of a time imagining how we’re going to get along without you.”

  She was blushing, the color creeping up from underneath her prim little collar, turning her pale cheeks an enchanting pink.

  “Price.” She was trying to look stern. “I am not a part of your family. The truth is, I’m the housekeeper, and only the housekeeper. And if you will only allow me to find you someone effective to replace me, you will manage just fine when I’m gone.” She stood then, swiftly, and slid around behind the chair, as if she needed the reassurance of a solid object between herself and him.

  He said, very reasonably, “See, there? You called me Price. You always call me Price. No one else on the staff calls me by my first name.”

  She gripped the back of the chair. “Whether I call you by your first name or not, I am a paid employee. And nothing more.”

  Her breathing, he noticed, was even more ragged than before. And he could see the little pulse beating in her white throat. “I am leaving for North Magdalene on the third of February,” she insisted in a shaky voice. “You and your parents had better choose one of the applicants I keep proposing, or I will have no time to train my replacement before I go.”

  Price stood, though it caused him some discomfort to do it. He found he was thoroughly aroused right then—in that hot, intense, overwhelming way he hadn’t been since he was very young.

  Every cell in his body screamed at him to get closer to her.

  It was insane.

  He had to be careful here.

  The logical part of his mind started shouting demands of its own: Get rid of her. Now. Before you do something totally unacceptable.

  He made himself turn away from her and retrace his steps to the other side of his desk. He looked toward the window for a moment, where the rain beat hard on the glass. Then he turned and sat in his big chair. Once settled, he tried to tell himself that he had the distance he needed now. He had put his desk and a mountain of electronic equipment between them. She had contributed her chair. He leaned back, trying to look as if he had everything under control.

  She started in on him again. “Price. I mean this. I have three people for you to see tomorrow. Choose one. For your own good, and the good of your family.” He watched her mouth, wondered what her lips would taste like…

  “Price. What is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.” With a massive effort of will, he managed to stop looking at her mouth. “Is that all?”

  She regarded him apprehensively. “Will you choose someone? Please?”

  For some reason, that please almost undid him. He swallowed. “I suppose I’d better, hadn’t I?”

  She lifted her chin high. “Yes.”

  For a moment, there was silence. They watched each other. The rain outside seemed to beat harder than ever against the windowpanes. To Price, the air literally vibrated with sexual tension.

  “Is there anything else?” He sounded harsh as hell, and didn’t care one bit.

  “I…No. That’s all.”

  “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

  With a tight little nod, she turned and left.

  When she was gone, Price sat at his desk for a long time, staring blankly at one of his computer screens, paying no attention to his frantically blinking phones. The rain outside kept drumming like impatient fingers against the glass.

  He was appalled at himself. He’d come very damn close to making a move on Faith. It was inexcusable. She was an employee, for God’s sake. He had responsibilities toward her.

  And beyond his responsibilities toward her, there was an…innocence about her. She wasn’t the type of woman for him at all. Faith was the kind of woman a man married, settled down with, had kids with.

  Kids. The word got stuck in his head.

  And it happened. He thought of Danny.

  As clearly as if it were yesterday, he saw Danny as he’d been not long before his death.

  Danny at three, with his plump face and pug nose. Danny laughing, holding up his chubby arms.

  “Hold me, Daddy. Hug me tight…”

  Price closed his eyes. He pressed his temples between his thumb and his middle finger. He willed the image of his lost son away.

  The memory faded. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

  His mind turned to Faith again. To what he had almost done.

  He wondered if he was suffering from some sort of chemical imbalance. He was only forty, but maybe he’d been struck by some early midlife crisis. A few days ago, he’d turned down Annette’s invitation to spend the night with her. The thought of making love with her had left him cold.

  But then, today with Faith, he’d been like some hormone-crazed teenager. All he could think of was the shape of her breasts beneath that fuzzy little sweater, how pink her tongue looked when she nervously licked her lips, the wisps of hair that kept coming out of her bun.

  He could imagine in detail the act of seducing her, could see it in his mind’s eye, as if it were happening.

  Instead of coaxing her away from the library doors, he’d back her up against them. Her eyes would be so wide—a little fearful, but soft, full of a longing she didn’t understand. One by one, he’d unbutton those little pink buttons. Taking forever, he’d peel the sweater open.

  Did she wear a slip? Surely there would be a bra. A white bra. With a back clasp. He would pull the straps of the slip down her soft, slender arms. He would reach behind her and undo the clasp of the bra.

  And her breasts would fill his hands…

  Price groaned at his computer screens.

  He had to stop thinking about her.

  It was crazy. And disorienting. And it had come on him so suddenly.

  Or had it?

  That thought stopped him. He swiveled his chair away from his desk and looked out the streaming window at a sky full of roiling clouds. The wind whipped the fronds of the palms around as Price took slow, deep breaths and ac
cepted the fact that Faith really did have to go.

  They would just have to choose one of the applicants who would be showing up tomorrow. Faith would train the person. And Price would stay away from Faith until the third of February, when she’d leave for her precious motel in the Sierra foothills and he would never have to see her again.

  Price met with his parents that evening.

  “She’s determined to go,” he told them. “It’s what she really wants. So the game’s over. We’re going to have to choose someone to take her place.”

  Regis and Ariel tried to argue with him, but he kept reminding them that Faith was sure about the move and wanted to be on her way.

  They gave in soon enough. They were crazy about Faith and didn’t want to see her unhappy. Also, neither of them had ever been a match for Price once he made up his mind.

  And Price had made up his mind.

  Faith was going—the sooner the better. And he would stay clear of her until then.

  Chapter Four

  Justine Clary was the last to be interviewed the following day. She had excellent references. She’d started out in food service and spent the past four years as a housekeeper in a fine old house in San Rafael whose aged owner had recently died. She asked intelligent questions about Montgomery House, about the size of the staff, the daily routines, the special requirements of the individual members of the family.

  And, more important than that, Justine Clary chuckled when Sir Winston whistled at her. She was fascinated by Regis’s work in the basement and seemed to understand what he meant when he said she was never to touch anything down there—but that he liked a clean shop, which would be her responsibility. Justine also told Ariel that she was an admirer of her work. She’d actually been to the local gallery where Ariel showed her watercolors. And she seemed neither judgmental nor put off when they explained about Parker, only eager to understand how he wished to be treated.

  Faith sat at the far end of the table—today, there had been no urging that she sit close to the others—and grew more certain by the moment that her replacement had been found. There was real warmth in Ariel’s voice as she and Justine chatted about local artists. Regis was leaning forward in his chair, listening attentively to the talk between his wife and this particular applicant.