A Very Romantic Christmas

by Lorraine Bartlett

  The rest of his list was settled in the same manner, with Elizabeth going into the attributes of the person before deciding on the perfect gift. The only remaining name was his mother′s. He and Elizabeth had traversed the mall twice without finding anything for her.

  ‶So when did the tradition of giving Christmas presents arise?″ she asked as they were jostled about.

  ‶Why would I know that?″ he asked. They had made their way to the center of the four-winged building. A display of Santa in a sleigh with his eight reindeer on a bed of white cotton that imitated snow had been set up in the center. The line of children was miraculously absent. It might be due to the late hour.

  ‶Each time we do anything you tell me the history behind it. So far I′ve learned that winter festivals were designed to entice a fertile spring and developed into a celebration of the birth of Christ, that Christmas trees were brought to the United States by Hessian soldiers keeping their winter traditions, families hung mistletoe and kissed each other under it on Christmas morning, and that greeting cards were a way of saying hello to friends you hadn′t seen in the past year. I thought gift giving was next.″

  ‶I don′t know the history behind gift giving.″

  ‶Good,″ she smiled, taking his arm in intimate-lover fashion. ‶Something I can tell you. It started with the three kings, Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar, who came from the Arabia, Persia and India. They traveled over the desert to present gold, frankincense and myrrh to the Christ child. After that people made gifts and presented them to their family and friends at Christmas time. It wasn′t until the industrial revolution that hand-made gifts gave way to factory produced goods.″

  They stopped, dodging a mother with a stroller. The child slept at an oddly bored angle. Overstuffed bags hung from the twin handles. Every other available space held packages and bags. The woman pushed it hard like a manual lawn mower on an uphill plane. James pulled Elizabeth close and they walked on. ‶Even if they aren′t hand-made, a lot of thought goes into getting the right gift for the right person,″ Elizabeth continued.

  James looked around. Even the harried expressions on some of the faces were tempered by a mask of goodwill.

  ‶That′s the part that makes the shopping fun.″ Elizabeth′s light voice reached him.

  James hoped she was having fun, that their trip was enjoyable and she wasn′t thinking of being alone, with no family at this time of year. She′d only had to shop for one present. He hoped she included his family as hers since the spirit of Christmas was in the giving. Tonight he could see it. Elizabeth sparkled when she was caught in the spirit.

  As they walked Elizabeth suddenly stopped in front a jewelry store. ‶You mother,″ she said. ‶She′d love that.″

  In the window sat a gold spider pin. The body was made of a huge diamond stone.

  ‶A spider!″ James frowned.

  ‶Not that.″ She pointed to a statue in the corner. ‶That.″ It was of a jazz singer from the 20′s. She wore a slick dress of blue that adhered to the curves of her body. Her ceramic skin was a creamed-coffee color. Her head was thrown back and her tight waves and curls cascaded to her shoulders. The details were soft not harsh or straight like other statues he′d seen. this one spoke to him as he knew it would speak to his mother. James felt she′d just finished a song. The statue was wonderful. His mother would love it. Again, Elizabeth had shown her ability to find exactly the right gift.

  Elizabeth studied James as he talked to the clerk. A tall, thin woman of about fifty with soft blonde hair and beautiful hands that set off the store rings she wore. While James paid for the statue, which the clerk called Blues Singer, Elizabeth browsed, looking into the many glass cases. Rows of watches, birth stone rings and gold chains glittered under the display lights. Crystal bowls and clocks set in a glass case shone brightly against one wall. She stopped now and then to take a closer look then went on. Something caught her eye and she gasped.

  The case held wedding bands and engagement rings. The ring she looked at had a set of geometric circles, seemingly designed by a drunk artist. The three levels were similar but unique in design and without end. They were crusted with small baguette-cut diamonds. The crowning stone must be at least six carats, she thought. It stood like a statue on a pedal of gold. Around it the circles were steps leading to an altar. It took her breath away.

  ‶It is beautiful,″ the clerk who′d been helping James spoke to here. Elizabeth′s absorption had been so complete she hadn′t realized James′s transaction had been complete and he was standing behind her. Suddenly she felt embarrassed, caught doing something she shouldn′t. She muttered something to the clerk and turned to him.

  ‶Ready?″ she asked.

  He nodded and they left. On the way out Elizabeth couldn′t help glancing back at the display case. She couldn′t see the ring, but its beauty was embedded in her brain.

  [Dear Reader, this note is to let you know that you can get a link to a special holiday bonus from Shirley if you visit http://storytellers-unlimited.com/shirleys-gift. Now please keep reading to find out what happens with Elizabeth and James!]

  Chapter 7

  The small bell over the door tinkled. The day had been slow and she′d been daydreaming about James. He filled her thoughts all the time these days. She came out of her reverie. Her body froze when she saw the man looking around the small shop. He wasn′t wearing a uniform but with or without it Elizabeth recognized him. Officer Edward Robinson was the policeman who′d come to tell her James was in the hospital and Claire was dead. He was probably a detective by now, she thought. He was dressed in a jacket with the familiar Indian insignia of the Washington Redskins football team. In his hand, he held a baseball cap with the Jordan written on it.

  She stood up straight, forcing a blank expression to her face. ‶Good morning,″ she said. ‶Is there anything I can help you with?″

  He looked her directly in the face, but she saw no sign of recognition. ‶My wife sent me here,″ he paused. ‶We decided to have a little New Year′s Eve Party and she wanted a special invitation.″ He looked a little embarrassed. ‶She said the President comes here.″

  Elizabeth heard that from a lot by people who′d never been to the shop before. ‶He doesn′t come here.″

  ‶But he does get his invitations from you?″ he probed.

  ‶Some of them,″ she hedged. Often she got FBI agents in the shop trying to quietly investigate her. He didn′t look like one of them.

  He smiled as if he′d just made the arrest of the century. ‶Of course, we can′t pay what he does, but we would like them to be special.″

  ‶Is this your first party?″ she asked already knowing the answer. Newlyweds always wanted to have a party and they never planned it far enough in advance. It wasn′t a problem for her. Usually they didn′t want more than thirty invitations and the lettering they chose was simple, but even if she had to create a crest for each invitation the order could be completed in a couple of hours.

  ‶We were married last June and Margaret, that′s my wife, thought it would be fun to have some friends in to celebrate. We′ll need about forty.″

  Elizabeth began her standard speech, pulling out catalogs of samples and inviting him to browse through them until he found something he liked. He took about twenty minutes to decide. As she wrote the order she noticed him studying her. He pick up one of her cards which sat on the counter and glanced from the scripted paper to her.

  ‶You know, every since I came in I′ve been trying to place you.″

  Elizabeth looked up. His eyes were penetrating now as if he′d shed the clothes of the awkward husband and donned the uniform of an officer of the law. He glanced at the card again.

  ‶You′re Claire Gregory′s sister, aren′t you?″

  She completed the order form and tore it from the pad. ‶Yes,″ she said, handing it to him. ‶I′m surprised you remember me. You only saw me once.″ Elizabeth knew her comment told him she recognized him too. The near lif
ting, almost a twitch, of one eyebrow signaled her she was right.

  ‶I′m good with faces.″ He took the paper she offered.

  Elizabeth heard the pride in his voice.

  ‶Even if I wasn′t, I′d remember Claire Gregory.″

  Elizabeth′s chin started to lift. She forced it to stay level. ‶Why is that, Officer?″

  ‶If that little scheme of hers had worked I know one prominent stock broker who′d be doing time.″

  Elizabeth gripped the counter as all the breath in her body threatened to leave it. What scheme? ‶You have it wrong. Claire is the one who′d be in jail.″

  ‶Not the way I see it, ma′am.″ He twirled the black cap in his hands. ‶I′m sorry,″ he turned to leave. At the door, he turned back. ‶Any chance I can pick those up tomorrow? I know it′s a rush.″

  ‶They′ll be ready after twelve,″ she said absently.

  What did he mean James would be in jail? What scheme was he talking about? James had been the one. He was using insider information. Claire found out about it and threatened to take the information to the police. James had been called before the SEC to defend charges. Then he and Claire had been involved in the accident and the case against James had fallen apart.

  Was he guilty? She was so sure when she first heard it, it couldn′t be true. She trusted James. He would never do anything dishonest. Why would he need to? He was a partner in his firm, the youngest man to ever join the elite firm. James was intelligent and good at what he did. His clients had no cause for complaint over his handling of their accounts. How did he handle them, she wondered. Did he use information he had, insider information, illegal information, as Claire had accused? When she thought about it James had risen unusually fast. His partnership and his bank account moved with meteoric speed. Then the accident had killed Claire, while James hadn′t even been admitted to the hospital. He was treated in Emergency and released. She′d been so angry. Vile words she′d flung at him. She called him a thief and a murderer. Later on she′d been sorry. She didn′t mean most of what she said. He hadn′t confirmed or denied anything. Why? What did that officer mean?

  She had to know.

  ***

  The accident had occurred past Embassy Row in the four thousand block of Massachusetts Avenue. It was four o′clock. Elizabeth′s desk clock pinged out the hour. The police station′s reporting office that handled the paper work would close before she could get there. She wasn′t even sure they would have a copy of a three year old accident, but she had to try. Grabbing a directory, she located the number and placed a call. Her suspicions were true. The report had been archived. They could get her a copy in five working days, maybe more depending on the amount of people taking vacation at this time and there was a charge for the report. Elizabeth checked the calendar. Today was Thursday. If she counted today, she couldn′t get it until after Christmas. She wanted it now. Keeping her annoyance out of her voice, she asked the clerk to please request it.

  At four forty-five, she finished Officer Robinson′s invitations and stacked them in a box fitted for their size. When the five o′clock chime sounded she locked the office door and got into her car. Claire had left some papers, files Elizabeth had put in storage. She′d noticed them a few days ago when she pulled the Christmas decorations out. There were two boxes simply labeled Claire′s Files. They arrive the day she buried Claire. Elizabeth hadn′t even looked at them. The doorman informed her of their arrival when she returned home after a soul-draining day. She asked him to have them put in storage and this is where they′d sat for three years. She′d never opened them. She′d told herself she′d open them later, but had never found the time. Tonight she couldn′t put it off any longer. Whatever demons were inside the boxes it was time to face them.

  By seven o′clock Elizabeth′s apartment looked at if an explosion in a paper factory had occurred in her living room. She sat barefoot, still in her business suit, among the manila folders, computer paper and individual sheets of paper. Her mind told her this couldn′t be true, but there it was in black and white. The charges against James for using insider information were false. This didn′t make her feel any better. His crime was worse.

  He had embezzled $650,000 and tried to frame Claire.

  ***

  Where was she? James wondered. She should have been here an hour ago. He lifted his beer from the bar and checked his watch. Something happened. His heartbeat accelerated. Nothing happened. He contradicted himself. She′s fine. Using a cellular phone, he dialed the number for Invitation to Love. On the second ring, the recording clicked in. He hung up. He′d already left two messages there. He dialed her apartment. Again, a machine answered. Draining the glass, he paid the bill and left. Something was definitely wrong.

  His foot laid almost to the floor as the powerful car shot up Connecticut Avenue. He had swung by the shop. Everything was locked and secure and her car was missing from its standard parking place. Where could she be? What could have delayed her and why the hell didn′t she call? Was she sick? Had she been in an accident? His imagination listed excuse after excuse for her standing him up. All the while he fought the thought that something could have happened to her. Not now, he told himself. They were getting close. He knew she was physically attracted to him. Lately he was sure she was beginning to fall in love with him. Nothing could happen to her now.

  James cursed when he found no parking places near her building. Impatient to find her, he pulled in front of the apartment building and threw the car into park.

  ‶Is she in?″ he asked the doorman when he jumped out of the car. His voice held all the force of drill sergeant.

  ‶Miss Gregory came in about five thirty.″

  James′s knees nearly gave out with relief. ‶Did she leave again?″ His tone was softer. He felt bad about barking at the man.

  ‶No, sir.″

  James didn′t wait for anything more. He pulled the glass door toward him and rushed inside.

  ‶Mr. Hill, your car,″ the doorman called.

  James flipped his keys over his shoulder. The man rushed sideways as he went for the outside pass. James continued into the waiting elevator. At Elizabeth′s door, he knocked loudly and called her name. Anger was getting the better of him. She′d stood him up, not answered her phone and caused him undue stress. His heart felt tight in his chest and he was wet with perspiration at the adrenalin high she′d put him through.

  She didn′t reply.

  ‶I know you′re in there.″ He banged again. ‶Open this door.″

  ***

  The banging startled her. Elizabeth sat up, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She lowered her head to her knees and rocked. How could it be true? She′d denied it for three years, told herself the SEC was wrong, that James was the most honest man she′d ever met. He wouldn′t embezzle money. Yet he′d done it. She looked at the damning paper as if it were a snake. It lay at her feet, poised, ready to strike. It was all there. Claire had kept the entire file of transactions he′d done. Then Claire died and James had somehow fudged the records. He′d walked away, his skin intact, absolved of all responsibility, while $650,000 and a woman′s life had been lost.

  ‶Elizabeth, please open this door.″ She heard him. His voice was lower, muffled through the thickness of the barrier between them. It no longer sounded angry. ‶I just want to make sure you′re all right.″

  All right, she thought. That was a laugh. She didn′t think she′d ever be all right again. To think she′d almost fallen in love with him again. After years of trying to forget what he looked like, how his arms felt around her, how good he smelled and tasted. In a week he′d erased all the ground she′d gained and placed her back in that vulnerable position she′d stood in three years ago. She wouldn′t open the door. She didn′t care what the neighbors thought of him banging on the steel door as if it were a barn.

  She rocked back and forth. Tears rolled silently down her face. After twenty minutes he stopped. Th
en the phone began to ring. She knew it was him, knew he had a mobile unit in his car. She refused to answer. She sat rocking, staring into space, around her the floor was cluttered with flat daggers, knives that had stabbed at her sense of euphoria and ripped it to shreds.

  Three years ago he′d sworn it wasn′t true; that what she′d heard, what Claire had said wasn′t the whole truth. Reaching over she picked up the paper. Here was the truth. A listing of funds transfers, dollar amounts, dates, times, and James′s transaction identification code, as unique as a finger print, next to each one. The code was an anagram of their names with their wedding date embedded in it. It could only be James′s. Claire had used the word MAJESTIC as her identification. It was the name of the apartment building where she lived. She said it was easy to remember and no one would guess what it was.

  Elizabeth let the paper go. It floated on the warm air, cutting half moons as it settled at her feet. She stared at the it until it blurred before her eyes. Her head pounded with the beginning of a headache. She didn′t care. Nothing mattered anymore.

  After a while she told herself to think straight. She needed to make decisions, decide what would happened now. She was going to have to break any ties with James. He was a liar, a thief and maybe a killer. She rejected the latter. Claire′s accident had been just that, but the papers before her were another matter. In truth, she should send the files to the SEC. He deserved to go to jail for what he′d done. A fresh batch of tears rushed into her eyes. Elizabeth bowed her head and sobbed. Huge gobs of water ran over her knees, wetting her skirt. She held her head, trying to contain the pounding as more salt water rushed into her eyes.