Love by Proxy

by Diana Palmer

  “I’ll want cost estimates, too,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll send Reynolds out here with the blueprints.”

  “Cost estimates?”

  He looked down at her. “I have to know everything when I start a project. Right down to the cost of each nail I’m going to use.”

  “How do you do that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “If you’re really interested, I’ll tell you over lunch.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She expected him to drive her back to the house, but he took her instead to the very elegant French restaurant where she’d been arrested. Chez Pierre.

  “No,” she pleaded as he opened the door for her at the entrance and handed the keys to a parking valet.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Come on. They’ll never recognize you.”

  They didn’t, either. Not even the hostess who’d been so startled. They were shown to a cozy table for two by a window overlooking a flowery courtyard.

  “Lovely!” she exclaimed, sighing over the profusion of flowers. “I love flowers!”

  “Yes, I puzzled that out.”

  She looked across the table at him, eyes wide and curious.

  “It was the way you spoke about your grandmother’s flowers,” he explained.

  “I like growing things,” she confessed with a sigh. “Except that I’ve got no place to do it. My apartment is surrounded by green hedges and lush grass, and the Kennedys have terrible hay fever. I wouldn’t dream of inflicting pollen on them. They’ve been good to me.”

  “Your landlords, I gather?”

  She nodded. “They were trying to live on their retirement pension, without much success, so they gave in to necessity and rented their garage apartment. I applied, and I guess they thought I was harmless. I’ve lived there ever since I’ve been in Chicago.”

  “It’s tidy,” he said.

  “It’s tiny,” she corrected, laughing. “But I can walk to the beach on weekends.”

  “I imagine you miss the coast?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I miss shelling and sitting on the beach and watching the Atlantic in full storm,” she said softly, her eyes brimming with excitement. “You can see whitecaps to the horizon. It’s noisy and wet, and the wind rips into your hair like a comb, stinging your eyes.” She drew in a breath. “I miss it.”

  He was watching her, toying with his silverware. “Yes,” he said absently, “you do seem the kind of woman who’d risk a hurricane to stand on a deserted beach. I imagine you like to stand out in electrical storms as well.”

  She laughed self-consciously. “Granddad says I’m an elemental person. So is he. Not foolhardy, exactly, just adventurous.”

  “And passionate,” he added, holding her eyes. “Ten to one you’re a fire sign.”

  “If you mean astrology, I’m Capricorn.”

  He laughed softly. “Freedom-loving, adventurous, outdoorsy, passionate.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’m Capricorn myself.”

  “I’d have guessed Leo.”

  He shook his head. “I was a Christmas child. My birthday is Christmas eve. When’s yours?”

  “The day after yours. I was a Christmas present.”

  He laughed. “Ironic.”

  “I’d rather be a May baby,” she said with a sigh. “I like emeralds.”

  “But turquoise would suit you better,” he remarked. “It’s the old December birthstone. I prefer it.”

  She glanced at his hands. They were big and darkly tanned, and rippling with strength. He wore only one ring—a huge silver one with a square turquoise setting—on the little finger of his right hand.

  “I hadn’t noticed before,” she said.

  He glanced at her own hands. “You don’t wear jewelry at all,” he said, and seemed surprised.

  “I have a class ring, but I never wear it. I’m too careless. I lose things.”

  The waiter came with menus, and Amelia chose a steak and salad. So did he.

  “Protein,” he said. “I like red meat.”

  “Raw red meat, judging by the way you’re having it cooked,” she laughed.

  He leaned forward. “It’s hard to get a tough rare steak, didn’t you know? Some of the better-cooked cuts bounce.”

  So he wasn’t such a stuffed shirt as she’d thought. All through the meal, he was courteous, attentive and interesting to talk to. He explained the notes he’d had her take, and the preliminary steps that construction required. He answered her questions and satisfied her curiosity. And she was reluctant to see their excursion end. It had been unexpectedly pleasant.

  His grandmother was waiting in the living room when they got back.

  “So there you are.” She glared at Wentworth from the sofa, where she was lounging in a breezy pantsuit. “Absconding with my new companion on her first day, working her to death so she’ll quit!”

  “We agreed,” he reminded her with a grin and a quick kiss on her smooth forehead. “She’s all yours now.” He glanced at Amelia, who had collapsed into a big armchair and was debating whether or not she could get away with taking off her shoes. “I’ll need those notes tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh! Your trustees’ meeting!” she exclaimed suddenly.

  “Damn!” he burst out. “I forgot all about it. I’d better call.”

  He left the room and Jeanette Carson laughed delightfully. “That’s a first,” she told Amelia in a conspiratorial whisper. “He never forgets meetings. What did you do to him?”

  “I asked him how to build things,” she said simply. “It was really interesting.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” Jeanette sighed. She leaned back. “Well, dear, what shall we do today? I thought we might sunbathe and listen to the radio.”

  “I don’t have a bathing suit, but I’d like to sit in the sun,” Amelia said. She gave her employer a wry glance, remembering what Worth had told her. “What kind of music do you like.”

  “I like Bruce Springsteen and Lionel Ritchie and Michael Jackson and Prince,” she said.

  “Thank God,” Amelia said with a sigh. “My favorites.”

  Jeanette laughed delightedly. “My dear, you and I are going to be great friends. Here, help me up, and let’s escape before Worth comes back and captures you. You can work up those notes before dinner.”

  “I really need to leave about six,” Amelia ventured.

  “Whenever. I’ll make sure you have time to do what you need to do for Worth. Come.”

  Amelia wondered if she should mention that she’d promised Worth that she’d start looking for another job tomorrow. With a heartfelt sigh she went out after the elderly lady. It was going to be harder to quit this job than she’d expected. Even though she’d only known the Carsons for a couple of days, it would be like giving up family. How odd, she told herself, that she should think of them that way.

  Five

  The next morning Worth was gone when Amelia got to the house. While she was waiting for Mrs. Carson to wake up, she began to run through the Help Wanted columns, as she’d promised Worth she would. He’d made it patently obvious that he didn’t want her around, despite his grandmother’s wishes. And Amelia didn’t really have the stomach to make a cat-and-dog fight of it. That wouldn’t do anybody any good, especially Jeanette Carson.

  She found two promising offers and quietly dialed the numbers. The first job had already been filled, she was told, and someone had forgotten to cancel the ad. But the second was still available, and she was given an appointment to apply for it the next day. She hung up, feeling hopeful. It was secretarial work in a law office, and she thought she might like it.

  Worth had rushed off to his trustees’ meeting the previous afternoon and had still been gone when she left that night. Mrs. Carson had coaxed her to leave the transcribing of her notes for this morning. Now she went to work on them. She finished and put them on Worth’s desk, just as Mrs. Carson came easing in on her walker. The old lady was dressed in Bermuda sho
rts and a loose top with a trendy red scarf around her silver curls.

  “There you are.” She laughed. “Well, I’m finally awake. There was this great murder mystery on cable early this morning, and I just had to watch it.”

  “You don’t get enough rest,” Amelia teased gently.

  “Rest!” Mrs. Carson scoffed. “I’m seventy-five years old. Who wants to rest at my age? I’m headed for the Big Sleep, you know, Amy. I’ll get my rest then. For now, I’m going to do everything I always shied away from when I was younger. I’m going to live my last years.”

  Amelia smiled warmly. “Tough, aren’t you?” she said with a grin.

  “Tough as old combat boots,” came the laughing reply. “I was a police reporter, my dear. That is not a job for a cream puff.”

  “Amen.” Amelia went forward to open the door out onto the patio.

  “Why don’t you dress comfortably?” Jeanette asked gently, eyeing her young companion’s neat green dress, high heels and businesslike hairstyle. “You make me feel like a corporate executive. Wear slacks tomorrow and let your hair down, Amy.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?” Amelia asked. “But Worth…”

  “Worth is not your boss, I am. Besides, he’ll be out of our hair for a couple of weeks. He’s going to build me a condo,” she said, chuckling as they sat down on loungers and waited among the blooming flowers for lunch to be served at a neat little white table with a glass top.

  “Is it yours?” she asked.

  “No.” Jeanette sighed. “But I’d love to have one of the units, really I would. Then maybe I could do as I please without having Worth watch me like a hawk. Jackie was so different,” she murmured, deep in thought. “A free spirit, like me.”

  “Your other grandson?”

  Jeanette’s pale eyes stabbed at her. “How did you know?”

  “Worth told me.”

  She relaxed against the lounger. “Yes, Jackie was a wild boy. But Worth is kind and considerate, and when he forgets to be the boss, he’s good company. We have our spats. He’s hot tempered like me, and he likes his own way. I just wish he took more time for himself. That company will kill him some day.”

  “I suppose it takes the place of wife and children,” Amelia thought aloud.

  “Yes, it does.” Jeanette sighed again. “I tried matchmaking for a while, you know, after Connie left him. But he hasn’t wanted any kind of commitment. I feel responsible for that.”

  Amelia wanted desperately to ask, but she hesitated, not wanting to pry either.

  Jeanette saw the question in her eyes. “Connie was a secretary. Years younger than Worth. He had money, and she wanted to live in luxury. He bought her diamonds and furs, he gave her a car. But I saw through her, and I made the mistake of saying so. She turned on me like a tigress,” she added on a bitter laugh, “and figured she was going to have to get me out of the way before she had a clear field with Worth.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Amelia said quickly.

  “Don’t I?” Jeanette said. She studied the frank shock on the younger woman’s face. “No, she hadn’t planned to murder me. But she spent every available moment when we were alone, telling me how much she wanted me out of the house. She did everything, in fact, except take an ad in the Times. Worth didn’t know. He loved her, you see, and despite my own feelings, I didn’t want to hurt him.” The old eyes clouded with memory. “When I wouldn’t be budged, she found more subtle ways of tormenting me. Breaking my little treasures. Making remarks about how sickly I looked. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I had to speak to Worth.” She took a slow breath. “And he didn’t believe me, Amy. He knew I didn’t like Connie, so he thought it was jealousy.”

  “He must have loved her very much,” Amelia said gently. She could imagine how it would have been. Worth was the kind of man who gave everything, not just pieces, of himself.

  “He worshiped her, child,” Jeanette said. “I was hurt, but I understood. I told him I’d move out when they were married.” Her eyes fell. “The wedding date was finalized. The invitations went out. She bought the wedding dress.”

  Amelia was sitting on the very edge of her seat. “And then?”

  “And then Connie came to see me, the week before the wedding. She didn’t know Worth was in the house. She wanted to gloat, to show me that she’d won. She laid it on so thick and upset me so much that I had a heart attack. I’ll never forget the way she looked when Worth came in the open door. She tried to justify herself, but he never saw her. He got an ambulance. I came to in the hospital.” She stared at her wrinkled hands. “I don’t know what was said between them, but the wedding was quietly canceled. Worth has never gotten over the fact that he didn’t believe me. I’ve spent months trying to convince him that it doesn’t matter anymore, but he hasn’t brought a woman here since. He hasn’t gotten involved since. I feel guilty about it and responsible for it, but there’s nothing I can do. He can’t get past his guilt to another relationship.”

  “What happened to the woman?” Amelia asked.

  “I don’t even know,” Jeanette said. “I like to think she was eaten by sharks, but we never get exactly what we want, you know. It amazes me how blind men are about women, even the most intelligent men. They can never see through the glitter to the ugliness beneath.”

  “We’re all guilty of not wanting to see ugliness,” Amelia reminded her.

  Jeanette smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “I suppose so. Perhaps I’ve been bitter about it, too. Connie might have been my last hope for great-grandchildren. I’m afraid Worth will never risk his heart again.”

  Amelia leaned forward. “You could adopt,” she whispered.

  The older woman started to laugh, the sound rich and soft and delightful in the sunny garden. “You’re good for me, child. Don’t leave.”

  Amelia averted her eyes. If everything went according to plan, she would be leaving Jeanette. Fortunately the arrival of their tray in Baxter’s immaculate hands saved her from having to admit the truth, that her time here was already ending.

  It was after eight o’clock and Amelia was just ready to leave when Worth came in the front door. He looked weary. He was carrying the blue blazer. His shirt was open at the throat, and so thin that Amelia could see his broad chest and the shadow of thick hair over it through the fabric. His slacks were close fitting, emphasizing the powerful muscles of his thighs. In the light of the chandelier, he looked bigger and darker than ever, and his black hair glowed with bluish highlights. He glanced up from a sheet of paper in his hand, noticing her poised in the hall with her light cotton jacket in her hand.

  “Did you transcribe my notes?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s my grandmother?”

  “On the phone,” she faltered. “She had a light supper and went to her room, to talk to one of her friends on the phone.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, and looked for all the world like Clark Gable in It Happened One Night. He needed a shave, and he was clearly dragging.

  “I…what you asked me to do, I did,” she said, moving closer so that she couldn’t be overheard.

  He stared down into her wide blue eyes for a long moment. “What?”

  “I think I’ve found another job,” she said, and tried her best to look happy about it. “It’s a secretarial position in a law office. I have an interview in the morning.”

  “Are you bored already?” he shot at her.

  “You told me to look for something else,” she said indignantly.

  He sighed angrily. “She’s gotten used to you,” he said. “I’d have hell for a month if I let you go now.”

  She couldn’t seem to find the right words. She searched his weary face and wanted so much to touch him, to soothe him. He looked as if someone had already given him hell.

  “Such expressive eyes,” he murmured. He moved nearer, a giant close up, and reached down with his free hand to cup her chin. “Feeling sorry for me, Amy?” he asked with a tired smile
.

  “You look as if you’ve been run over,” she said, and her voice was softer than she meant it to be.

  “I feel it. I’ve been meeting with city officials. Try that on an empty stomach.”

  “There are some cold cuts in the kitchen, left over from supper.”

  He searched her eyes quietly. “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  She had to swallow down a denial, because she wanted to stay with him. “Yes,” she said, and wondered if you could call the tiny salad she’d shared with her employer a meal. “I have to get home. I’m expecting a phone call.”

  “All right.” He released her and watched as she walked to the door.

  She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and glanced worriedly over her shoulder. He looked so alone.

  His eyes went dark even at the distance, holding her to the spot. “Baxter quits at eight,” he said. “So does the maid and the yardman. Nobody lives in.” It was eight-thirty now; Amy had gotten into a long conversation with Jeanette and hadn’t been able to find a graceful way to leave.

  Worth dropped his jacket and tie into an elegant wing chair in the hall and flicked open his shirt, as if the heat bothered him. In the opening, she could see a thick shock of black hair, a blatantly masculine sight that made her heart run away. “I suppose I can do without dinner,” he murmured, glancing at her.

  As if he knew, she thought, turning back from the door, that her soft heart couldn’t let him go without eating.

  “I can fix you something,” she said.

  “What about the phone call you’re expecting?” he asked with narrowed eyes and a faint smile.

  Her eyes lowered to his chest. “I didn’t want to impose.”

  “You won’t be. I hate eating alone.”

  He turned and she followed him into the spacious kitchen, which was done in white and pale yellow with old-fashioned overhead fans. She opened the refrigerator and took out cold cuts, quickly fashioning a meal from salad and ham and sliced bread.

  She made coffee and had a ham sandwich of her own while it perked. She poured the steaming coffee into delicate rose-patterned china and watched his big fingers try to manage the dainty thing.