The Mistress Deal

by Sandra Field

  “I wasn’t going to give you a sculpture, it seemed like cheating. But somehow I knew this one belonged to you.” She added impetuously, “You see, what happened at the yacht club is forgotten. Behind us. You’ve more than made amends.”

  For a moment the leaping whales blurred in his vision. The words forced from him, he muttered, “You’ve forgiven me.”

  “Of course I have.”

  “I only wish I could forgive myself as easily—for Clea, I mean.”

  “Oh, Reece…” Lauren put her arms around him in a whisper of silk, feeling the tension knotting his shoulder muscles. “I went to the library and read about it in the newspapers…it was such a terrible tragedy. But it wasn’t your fault. It could just as easily have been you who died, or anyone else. There’s no defense against that kind of random violence.”

  He let out his breath in a long sigh. “You’re right, I know. Or at least, my head knows. But if only I hadn’t left her alone on the sidewalk.”

  In a sudden flash of insight, Lauren said, “That’s why you had to go to Ecuador, wasn’t it? To be as close as you could to the men who’d been kidnapped because you felt responsible for them. You were trying to make reparation for Clea.”

  “I suppose you’re right—I hadn’t thought of it that way. I did feel responsible for them, yes.”

  She said unsteadily, “You’re a good man, Reece.” And for once saw that she’d rendered him speechless. If only she could heal him as simply as he had healed her. But his wounds were deeper, she thought with painful accuracy. Deeper and more lasting.

  He said roughly, “I’ll always cherish your present, Lauren, it’s beautiful.”

  “We were on the same wavelength—or rather, the same beach,” she teased, wanting only to erase the strain from his face.

  He got to his feet. “How about some champagne, along with smoked trout?”

  “Just as long as we go for a walk before dinner.”

  “I’ll drag you up hill and down dale and across a couple of English stiles.”

  So there was to be no more talk of Clea. “I saw some gloriously mouldy Stilton in the door of the fridge,” she added. “The kind with big globs of green all through it.”

  He laughed. “I’ll eat some, too. That way we can still kiss each other.”

  They kissed each other a great many times over the next three days. Kissed, made love, laughed, washed dishes, walked and talked. Twice they wandered over to the Queen Anne house, where Lauren was transported by Reece’s collection of art; and where she met the housekeeper, Hazel, whose initial scrutiny of her amused her and whose subsequent friendliness was, she realized, in some way earned.

  Lauren didn’t think she’d ever felt so carefree, so happy and cherished. She loved being with Reece. And he, unless she was badly mistaken, felt the same way about her. He even looked younger, lighthearted in a way that touched her.

  Except every now and then, when she’d catch him simply staring at her, his face unreadable, his eyes shuttered in a way she remembered all too well and thoroughly disliked. The next time she saw him doing that, she must ask him what he was thinking about. Even though she was afraid she wouldn’t like the reply.

  It couldn’t be anything serious, she thought in a rush of confidence. Nothing could disrupt the wondrous happiness that enveloped her, day and night.

  Enveloped her like Reece’s embrace.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THREE days after Christmas, a driving rain kept Reece and Lauren indoors in front of the fire. Lauren was reading a novel she’d chosen from the eclectic array on the bookshelves, while Reece was trying to catch up on the newspapers that had been accumulating since they’d arrived. Turning a page of the financial section, he said lazily, “Have you invested the money from the house in Maine, Lauren? There are some good tips here.”

  She hesitated briefly. Then she said in a level voice, “I sent the entire amount to an organization in Chicago that looks after street kids.”

  He lowered the paper, his face inimical. “You what?”

  “You heard. I did a lot of research first, and picked a very reputable group.”

  “You just couldn’t accept that money from me, could you?”

  “I couldn’t keep money that had been stolen—tainted with fraud. It was really nothing to do with you.”

  “You’re splitting hairs.”

  “Reece, we’re arguing again. Let’s not, please—not over money.”

  “You’re so—”

  The telephone rang in the hallway. He surged to his feet, the newspaper sliding to the carpet. “I’ll get it.”

  Heartsick, she watched him leave the room. They hadn’t had a single disagreement since she’d arrived; in fact, they’d been so perfectly attuned to each other that she’d let down all her guards.

  She couldn’t have kept Wallace’s money. She couldn’t.

  Reece came back in, his face still closed against her. “It’s for you. Your agent.”

  “Beth? I didn’t give her your number, how did she track me down?” Quickly Lauren went out into the hall. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Lauren, thank goodness I’ve reached you. I got your number from your landlord after swearing on a stack of Bibles that you wouldn’t mind. Listen, the curator of the new art museum—you know who I mean, the one and only Maxwell Galway—is very interested in your latest sculpture, the one you finished just before you left. Unfortunately, he’s leaving for Japan the day after tomorrow. Can you fly home? Right away?”

  Her brain whirling, Lauren stared at the delicate grain in the oak paneling. This was the breakthrough that could launch her career; it was a huge honor to have one of her works even considered by the museum, let alone purchased. But how could she leave here? Leave Reece?

  “Lauren? Are you there?”

  “Yes…you’ve taken me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “This is a chance in a lifetime, I don’t need to tell you that. I’m sure you can get a flight tonight. Or tomorrow morning.”

  A sale like this would be a huge feather in Beth’s cap, too, of course. “Can I call you back? In half an hour?”

  “You’re not thinking of turning this down? Maxwell Galway could make or break your career.”

  Suddenly angry, Lauren said, “Beth, I’m staying here with a friend, so there’s that to consider, and I have no idea about seat availability. I’ll call you back.”

  “Fine,” said Beth, not sounding as though it was fine at all. “You know my number.”

  Lauren plunked the receiver down and stood very still in the pine-fragrant hallway. Beth was right. She, Lauren, couldn’t afford to turn this down. She really had no choice; she had to go back to New York.

  Maybe Reece would go with her.

  She hurried back into the living room and quickly explained the gist of the conversation. “I have to go. Maxwell Galway is one of the biggest names in Manhattan, I’d be a fool to pass this up no matter how it turns out. But I don’t—”

  “So you want me to pull strings for your flight?”

  Reece looked frankly hostile. Lauren said strongly, “The last thing I want to do is leave here. But I can’t afford not to go, don’t you see?”

  “I see that your art comes first. That’s what I see.”

  In a flare of temper, she said, “So you can leave me to go to Ecuador but I can’t leave you to go to New York?”

  “Ecuador was a one-off thing. But you’ll always be an artist, Lauren. And I’ll always be second to that, won’t I?”

  “Always?” she repeated uncertainly.

  Ignoring her question, Reece said in a hard voice, “I don’t like coming second.”

  “Why does it have to be a choice? I’m a woman and a sculptor, both at the same time. You can’t have one without the other, they come as a package.”

  “I’ll call up and get you a flight.”

  Jettisoning any thoughts she might have had about inviting him to come with her, Lauren said, “So men can have a relations
hip and a career but women can’t? I thought you and I were past that stage.”

  “I don’t like being dropped the minute someone in the art world beckons.”

  “But this is important!”

  “And I’m not.”

  “You’re twisting everything I say. I really hate this,” she said wildly and watched him stride out of the room.

  From the hall she could pick up snatches of conversation interspersed with long pauses; ten minutes later, Reece walked back in the living room. “The only seat I could get you is tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. We’re booked into a hotel near the airport for the night, so we’d better leave within the hour.”

  She looked around at the peaceful, firelit room where she’d spent so many happy hours. “I don’t want to leave.”

  Reece said flatly, “I want you here for the next five days—not in Manhattan.”

  “Then come with me,” she begged.

  “I’ve got some clout—but I can’t manufacture extra seats on a jet. Unfortunately, both my company planes are out of the country so that employees of mine could go home for Christmas. Besides, if I go anywhere, I should go to Cairo.”

  Her disappointment was so bitter that she felt a stab of terror. The one word that hadn’t been mentioned in the last few days was love. Reece didn’t love her and was completely averse to falling in love; so she’d better not get too dependent on him. Yet at some level wasn’t she craving him to tell her he loved her? She heard herself whisper, “I’ll miss you.”

  “We can keep in touch by phone. And we’ve got tonight. We should leave, Lauren, it’s pouring rain and it’ll be a slow drive into the city.”

  She said defiantly, “I want a kiss first.”

  “Do you?” he said softly, padding over to her.

  His kiss was voracious, a blend of fury and desire that left her weak-kneed and trembling. Determined to hide this, she said lightly, “I’ll go and pack. Or else we’ll be making love on the carpet.”

  It took her less than ten minutes to throw everything into her suitcase; she wrapped Reece’s gift separately, to carry onto the plane. Then she gave one last glance around the bedroom in which she’d found such felicity. Would she ever be back? Or was this the end?

  Feeling as though her heart was being torn in two, she walked downstairs and found her cape and boots in the hall cupboard. Reece was talking to Hazel on the phone, explaining the change of plan. Then he ran upstairs, coming down a few minutes later in a business suit, carrying a leather overnight bag. He looked like a stranger, Lauren thought, a formidable stranger; and for the first time in her life wished she earned her living in some more ordinary way.

  He took a black umbrella from the stand by the door. “Ready? We’ll have to run for it.”

  “Reece—”

  Something in her voice made him stop in his tracks. He said roughly, “Don’t look like that, Lauren—”

  “We’ll see each other again, won’t we?”

  “Of course. We’re not through with each other yet, you know that as well as I do.”

  It wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for; but it was all she was going to get. “Let’s go,” she said with assumed calm, and reached for the door handle.

  Although Reece was an excellent driver, the heavy rain took his total attention. Lauren sat quietly all the way to the hotel, trying to sort out the jumble of emotions that seethed in her chest. Always, Reece had said. And then, later, We’re not through with each other yet. Yet. A small word with ugly implications. What exactly had he meant? Was she to become a long-term part of his future? Or was she to be discarded when he grew tired of her?

  Had these few days of happiness been simply an interlude for him, rather than a building block to something more lasting?

  There was another question, one her brain shied away from and to which she had no reply. Was she in love with him? Perhaps, she thought, gazing down at her linked hands in her lap, she was afraid of the answer.

  The hotel enveloped her in the kind of luxury she’d read about but never experienced. Reece disappeared into the bathroom to have a shower before dinner; he didn’t invite her to join him. She hung up her cream silk shirt, then discovered she must have left her toothbrush at the lodge. Grabbing her raincoat and purse, she wrote a quick note for Reece and took the elevator downstairs; she’d noticed a drugstore just down the road.

  Somehow Lauren was glad to get outdoors and be alone, even if only for a few minutes. She hurried along the sidewalk, putting up Reece’s umbrella, the raindrops rattling against the fabric like fire from a machine gun. The drugstore was almost empty. She chose a toothbrush, paid for it and pushed open the glass door. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t even notice the young man who followed her into the rainswept darkness.

  She and Reece would make love tonight, she thought, smiling to herself; they’d heal this rift that had opened so suddenly and unexpectedly. She couldn’t bear to leave tomorrow with even a shadow of dissension between them. And she was being silly to doubt that she had a future with him; surely his sensitivity and care of her the last few days made that a certainty.

  Out of the darkness a numbing blow struck her right arm. Lauren gave a startled cry, her purse dropping from her fingers to the ground. As she staggered, another blow grazed her cheek, landing on her shoulder, so that she was thrust against the wall that edged the pavement. The ribs of the umbrella scraped along the brick. For the moment there was absolutely no pain; as though it were all happening to someone else, she watched a thin young man with his hood pulled over his face grab her purse, run across the road, and vanish into the curtain of rain.

  Her knees didn’t want to hold her up. She found herself crumpled on the sidewalk, the skirt of her raincoat soaking up a puddle. Then, slowly at first, pain blossomed in her forearm and spread into her shoulder, throbbing with an insistence that made her grit her teeth. She lifted her other hand to her cheek, and saw with horror that there was blood on her fingers.

  “Miss? What happened? You okay?”

  The next few minutes were always confused in her mind when she looked back. Her rescuer, a brawny man in an old leather jacket, sheltered her from the rain and took a quick look at her cheek. “Nothin’ to worry about,” he said in rough comfort. “My buddy’ll stay with you while I go call the police, won’t take a minute.”

  Her weak, “Oh, please, no police,” was lost in the beat of rain. His buddy, as skinny as he was brawny, said, “Lost yer purse, eh? Happens all the time, just be glad he didn’t have a gun.”

  A gun. Clea. With sick horror, Lauren tried to gather her wits. She couldn’t go back to Reece with blood all over her face, she must wipe it off. As she tried to reach in her pocket for a tissue, the pain in her arm made her whimper, and her hand wouldn’t obey her. The skinny man said, “Here’s the police. Don’t you fuss now, they’ll look after you.”

  In a blur of flashing lights, a police car drew up to the curb. A uniformed officer knelt beside her, rapping out a series of questions she did her best to answer; after which he helped her to her feet. And then a man in a raincoat, a man she recognized all too well, thrust himself through the small crowd of onlookers. “Lauren—what in God’s name happened? Are you all right?”

  “Do you know the young woman, sir?” the policeman asked.

  “Lauren, answer me!”

  She said weakly, “I’m fine. I was m-mugged, that’s all.”

  Reece said rapidly to the policeman, “I’ll get a doctor to take a look at her at the hotel. Do you have all the information you need?”

  “Give me the name of your hotel, please, sir. Although I have to tell you there’s not much chance we’ll get our hands on the thief.”

  Reece rattled off his own name and the hotel’s; then he put his arm around Lauren. “Let’s go.”

  She said to her two rescuers, “Thanks so much for your help, it was very kind of you… Reece, you’ll have to go on my other side, this one’s sore.”

  As he to
ok her left arm, she leaned on him heavily and walked the short distance back to the hotel. Their passage across the lobby was highly embarrassing: she did her best to ignore the discreet stares and whispered comments. Finally they reached Reece’s suite. He closed the door and went straight to the phone. She said forcefully, “I don’t need a doctor. I need to wash my face and lie down with two ice packs.”

  “You’re going to see a doctor.”

  She bit back her retort and slid out of her wet raincoat. As Reece put down the receiver, she said, “The toothbrush is in my pocket, can you take it out?”

  He bent to pick up her coat, taking out the small plastic bag. “The hotel would have given you ten toothbrushes—didn’t that occur to you?”

  So this was all her fault? “I didn’t think of asking them.”

  “You didn’t think at all.”

  “If we’re going to have a fight, I have to sit down,” she said, and lowered herself gingerly onto the king-size bed. “I’m truly sorry you had to see me with blood all over my—”

  “How do you think I felt when I came out of the bathroom and saw your note, and then you didn’t come back?” he said in a voice like ice. “The five minutes I waited felt like forever. And then when I went outside and saw the lights on the police car, I thought it was game over.”

  Her shoulder felt as though it was on fire and all she wanted to do was lie down and close her eyes; but she was too proud to plead weakness. “Well, it wasn’t.”

  “No thanks to you. Why in hell didn’t you wait for me if you had to go tearing around the streets at night?”

  Lauren said overloudly, “I know this must be reminding you of Clea and that’s why you’re so angry. But give me a break, Reece—I didn’t do it on purpose. I have no idea what the odds are of being mugged on a London street, but it was just plain bad luck, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Reece said in a staccato voice, “it reminds me of Clea. It reminds me of everything I learned that day on that sidewalk in Chicago. Not to let anyone else close to me ever again. Because it hurts too much when things go wrong. I was in danger of forgetting that. But not anymore. It’s just as well you’re going back to New York tomorrow—past time.”