Bougainvillea

by Heather Graham

  “It is her home,” Seamus insisted.

  “Seamus, she’s been gone nearly twenty years.”

  “I want to see her. I need to see her.” He hesitated, aggravated. He spoke more softly. “This is important to me… . And that’s the point. I’ve waited nearly twenty years. Tell me more about the girl.”

  “Woman. She’s all grown up. And she’s going to need time. Mark was her father. Naturally, she’s devastated.”

  The man in the swivel chair waved his hand in the air. “I don’t want to know her current emotional state.”

  David arched a brow. “No, you don’t, do you? Well, all right. But you want to know more about her now? She’s just what you’d expect. You knew her as a child. And you knew Mark. He would have done all the right things, raising a child. His daughter is bright, charming—and incredibly attractive. As charismatic as her comic strip. Independent, capable. Reeling, at the moment. It will take her some time to get back on her feet. She was devoted to her father.” He leaned against the back of Seamus Delaney’s chair. “Devoted, loyal. She adored Mark. Everything about her seemed admirable.”

  Seamus grunted. Then he swung around, his hands folded prayer fashion before him. He tapped his lips thoughtfully with his fingers. “Go back for her. Bring her here.”

  “Bear in mind, Seamus, it’s a free country—”

  “Go get her. Do whatever you have to do. Just go get her, and bring her back here.”

  “She’ll come. When she’s ready.”

  “I don’t want to wait any longer. I’m not sure I can wait any longer.”

  David walked around the chair to the front of the desk, staring the old man in the eyes. “And just what the hell am I supposed to tell her?”

  “Tell her whatever you want. Do whatever you have to do. Just get her here. I need her here. Dammit, you owe me. I don’t care at all how you manage it, just get her here.”

  David straightened, shaking his head. He was about to reply angrily. But Seamus issued one soft, seldom spo-ken word.

  “Please.”

  David threw up his hands.

  “I’ll bring her here. After a few months. You’re just going to have to hang on a while. I mean it, Seamus. I won’t intrude on her right now.”

  “Dammit, David—”

  “I’ll get her here. In a few months. I will do my absolute best,” he promised.

  “There’s a lot at stake. For you as well.”

  “For me?” David challenged, irritated.

  “This is very important to me. I’ve waited. Now, it’s my turn.”

  “I said that I’d do my best,” David repeated.

  Seamus nodded. “Time is at a premium. You must bring her back as soon as you can.”

  “Once again—I’ll do my best.”

  David left the penthouse, angry, frustrated.

  But hell, Seamus was right. He owed him. He’d go for Katherine Delaney.

  And he would bring her back.

  CHAPTER 2

  * * *

  “Oh, my God!”

  Jen Harrison whispered the words while kicking Kit Delaney beneath the table. Kit winced, but didn’t look up. She was sketching in a Valentine’s heart as she autographed a copy of her first book for a young woman with a baby in her arms.

  Jen was not about to be ignored.

  “Oh, my God, will you look at what’s coming next? To die for!” she whispered dramatically.

  Despite her dedication to her task, Kit had to smile.

  Jen was perfectly comfortable here at the New England Booksellers’ convention, a massive trade show for writers and books of all kinds. Jen had been a popular comic strip artist for years; her Down-Under Girl strip had been in syndication for over a decade and the book she was signing today was the fourth she had written and illustrated featuring her main character. Kit, on the other hand, had known but a year’s success in the syndication field and this was her very first book. Though she was determined not to show it, she could definitely describe herself as a nervous wreck. There were hundreds of publishers represented here, as well as hundreds of writers and illustrators—not to mention movie stars or pro athletes who might have written a book in the last year! Right before the show had opened, she’d felt a moment of pure panic—what if no one wanted a copy of her autographed book? The humiliation would kill—especially since the books were being given away at the trade show that also featured such revered comic artists as Jim Davis.

  “And you thought no one would buy your book!” Jen teased, this time elbowing Kit so forcefully she had to look up.

  She’d finished her sketch. Smiling, she handed the book to the waiting young woman, who thanked her in turn. The “to die for” man in line stepped up next.

  She arched a brow, stunned. It was David Moore.

  “Hi!” she exclaimed.

  “Hi?” Jen whispered at her side. “Who is he?”

  Kit ignored her, as David had apparently not heard her.

  “Hey. How’s it going? You managing okay?” he asked.

  “I’m doing fine, thanks,” she said. Then she shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I’m sure you’re not at a trade show just to see how I’m doing, so…just what are you doing here?”

  “I did a photography book—Birds of South Florida. Actually, it’s a few years old, but winter in New England—the publishers thought a trade reprint might be in order, and this was a good place to get some word-of-mouth going.” He lowered his voice, and leaned closer to her. His tone was husky and he smelled subtly of a spicy aftershave.

  “Want to autograph a book for me? It will keep the folks in the line behind me from getting dangerously hostile while I talk to you.”

  “And come on to you?” Jen suggested in an audible whisper.

  David didn’t bat an eye. His small, rueful smile deepened. “And try damned hard to come on to you.”

  “A book—sure. Sure, of course.” She was almost stuttering. Flustered despite herself, she opened a book and started writing in it.

  “Are you free for dinner?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know—” she began.

  Jen kicked her. Hard. She looked at Jen who was staring at her as if she’d completely lost her mind.

  She had to smile. She looked back to David. “I think that my colleague is assuring me I’ve no obligations to my publishers this evening.”

  “Thanks,” he said to Jen, grinning.

  “My pleasure,” Jen responded, still staring at him. “It’s the least I can do for a man honest enough to admit he’s coming on to a woman.”

  “Miss Harrison, would you please do my book?” a fan asked, drawing Jen’s attention back to the task at hand.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jen said, and began writing again.

  “Which hotel are you in?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “My plane was delayed. I don’t have a hotel as yet. I think I’m supposed to be at the Copley.”

  “I’ll pick you up here then. Meet me at the coffee cart after the show. I’ve got a car. What about your bags?”

  “All I have is one overnighter, but a car will be great, thanks. We’ll meet at the coffee cart.”

  His dark eyes were on her. Sensual, amused.

  “I’m sorry. Is there anything else?”

  “My book?” he said.

  “Oh!” She handed it to him, glad that her inscription seemed friendly, but not…fawning. To David, with gratitude to a new friend in the right place at the right time! Kit Delaney.

  He read it in silence, smiled, closed the book.

  “Thanks.” He stepped quickly out of line.

  “You know him!” Jennifer accused her softly, her head lowered as she signed a book.

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really?” Jen demanded.

  “I’ve met him once. Before. Well, supposedly I knew him a long time ago.”

  Jen handed the book to a little girl who wanted to grow up to be an artist. Despite her
conversation with Kit, she managed to tell the little girl to stick to her guns.

  “Kit, this calls for an explanation,” Jen said.

  “We’re only here another fifteen minutes…I’ve kind of told you about it before. We’ll run out for a few minutes when we’re done,” Kit told her.

  Jen didn’t mean to let it slide. When their signing session was finished and the next group of artists came to take their seats, Jen immediately caught Kit’s arm. “There’s an actual sit-down restaurant with booths below. We’re going there and you’re going to give me all the dirt! I’m so, so pleased that it looks as if you’re going to have some excitement in your life.”

  “I told you, I don’t really know him.”

  “Ah, but I think you’re going to,” Jen said sagely.

  Luckily, it was deep into the afternoon, and they only had to wait a few minutes for a table. Jen was anxious, demanding that they order first.

  “We only ate three hours ago, and I’m supposed to be going to dinner,” Kit protested.

  “Eat lettuce, then. Order, or we won’t get to keep the table.”

  Kit ordered a salad. Jen, stating that she didn’t have a hot dinner date that night, ordered a steak. She didn’t intend to wait for their food to arrive, even if she did order her meat “mooing.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “I did. I met him at the hospital, actually, the day my dad died. I know I told you that a friend from the truly distant past had come in.”

  “You certainly didn’t describe him,” Jen said reproachfully.

  Kit shrugged. “It was just so strange. I mean, my dad never, absolutely never, talked about the past. In all the years since we moved to Chicago, it was as if we had never lived anywhere else. He didn’t ignore my mother’s existence or anything. He kept her picture, and he would tell me how kind and lively she was, and that I looked a great deal like her. Oh, and of course, he would tell me that she looked after me from heaven. But then, on that last day, I ran into David Moore, the guy in line, at the hospital. He told me a little bit about the past, and I remembered snatches of Bougainvillea, but not him. Then—”

  “Then,” Jen jumped in, “your father’s last word is spoken, and it’s ‘Bougainvillea’! Man, I see shades of Citizen Kane all over!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. My dad was a scholar, not an entrepreneur, and he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. You know as well as I do that there’s no way my father hurt anyone in his entire life.”

  “Okay, okay, skip the Citizen Kane reference. Still, isn’t it incredibly intriguing? And hey—you said that at the time, this guy, David, said that you should come to Bougainvillea.”

  “Right. And I intend to, of course.”

  Jen stared at her.

  She shrugged. “I needed a little time.”

  “Okay, understandable. But here he is—this mysterious giver of machine-accepting dollar bills, a paragon of studly beauty from your past. And you were hesitating about a dinner invitation!”

  “I really don’t remember the guy.”

  “Who cares?” Jen said with an outraged sigh. “Any sensible, living, breathing, single woman in the world would jump at a chance to have dinner with him. And you hesitate!”

  Kit arched a brow. “I can’t help but wonder…”

  “What?”

  “My mother died at Bougainvillea,” Kit said.

  “Yes, she drowned when you were a little girl. Very tragic. But a very long time ago, as well.”

  Kit leaned forward. “My dad left there, and totally erased the place from his past. Then he dies saying ‘Bougainvillea.’ It makes me wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “Why would he leave like that, and never, never speak of the place—except with his dying word?”

  Jen stared at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No!”

  “Kit, your mother died there. Your father was desperately, madly, in love with her. He never remarried. She was truly the great passion of his life. He left and never returned because he simply couldn’t bear it. Of course he was thinking about her. It’s so, so sad, and tragic, and yet really beautiful.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s maybe about it?”

  “Well, at any rate, I have intended to go there. It didn’t really matter that David showed up here today. Actually, it rather caught me off guard,” Kit said.

  “Because you’ve taken too much time.”

  “Hey, I work for a living, remember? I had a lot to catch up on and we were scheduled for this show, remember?”

  “We still have such things as airplanes, remember?” Jen countered.

  “I’m going to go see it,” Kit assured her. “Now that Dad is gone, I’m really anxious to find out about the past. Truthfully, I hadn’t even thought about Bougainvillea in years. But since I ran into David at the hospital, I’ve been remembering more and more.”

  “It’s an estate, right on the bay, in Miami. Sunshine, sand, warm weather! Hell, I can guarantee you, I’d be remembering it,” Jen said, laughing.

  Kit laughed. “Jen, you’re thirty years old, and totally independent. You could move to Miami if you wanted.”

  “Not on my own! I’d need a friend there. Besides, I’m rather happy with my life, really. I make a good living, and I’m proud of it. I’d like to see you happy, because you’ve gone through so much lately.”

  Their food arrived and they thanked their waitress. When she was gone, Jen said, “I think that everyone else in the entire world has an aunt, an uncle, grandparents, parents, or a sister or brother who has moved to Florida. Not me. But now…I’m going to wait for you to go down to this Eden in the tropics, find out if you move, and then…wow. We could cruise the clubs on South Beach. Dance salsa. I could have a social life,” she said, laughing, “as well as a great career.”

  “Jen, I’m not planning on moving down there. I’m just going to go and visit. If I’m actually invited for a real visit.”

  “If you’re invited for a visit!” Jen repeated incredulously. She wagged a finger at Kit. “You’ve already been invited.”

  “I was told to call if I needed anything.”

  “Honey, you can pack your bags tonight. I saw the way that he was looking at you.”

  “And he may be damned practiced at looking at people that way,” Kit said sagely.

  “Great. Someone gorgeous is looking at you, and you’re going to be skeptical.”

  “You bet.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “No—just wary. But anxious as well, I’ll admit.”

  “So does David own the place now?” Jen asked.

  “No,” Kit assured her.

  “Who does actually own it?”

  “A man—I guess an old, distant cousin named Seamus Delaney. It’s kind of a confused story, and I probably wasn’t paying attention at the time I heard it. I think that my grandfather had an ownership in it, along with David’s grandfather, but they both sold out to my grandfather’s cousin, another Delaney—Seamus. There are other people living there, too—I don’t really know who they were, or their connection to the place because what I remember is more the physical, you know, the little lagoon, the house, stuff like that.”

  “I’d better get an invitation down there,” Jen said firmly.

  “I don’t own the place!”

  “But you’re a long-lost child of Eden!” Jen protested. “So get to work. Learn more from tall, dark, and radiantly studly tonight, get down there, and get me an invitation!”

  “I’ll do my best,” Kit assured her dryly.

  Jen glanced at her watch. “Hey, it’s getting close to show time.”

  “We’re all right.”

  “No, let’s get the check, and head back up. There’s too much confusion when everything closes down. Heck…it’s going to take me forever to get back to my hotel. There are going to be long lines for the buses and at the taxi stands. Hmm.” She looked at Kit pointedly.
r />   “What?”

  “He said he had a car. I’m going to meet him with you—he can drop me off at my hotel, okay? Besides, that way I’ll check him out for you really good, though you know you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “David is a gift horse?”

  “He would be in my life, honey! Seriously,” Jen said, growing serious. “Would you mind asking him to give me a ride? It’s so difficult to get out of here on the buses or in a taxi. And seriously, I will give him a good once-over, make sure you’re not taking off with a homicidal maniac, or anything.”

  “I’ll be happy to see if he can give you a ride,” Kit assured her, smiling. Jen had done a million favors for her. Since they had met at Kit’s first comic convention, Jen had shared her knowledge and experience freely. She was truly a best friend. She liked to tease about her own lack of a real social life, but in truth, she was confident in her abilities, and in herself. And Kit knew that Jen was anxious that she get over the loss of her father, and start to live a full life again.

  It took them a full thirty minutes to get their check, pay it and make their way through the throng of tired and worn people at the convention center to the coffee stand where they were to meet David.

  He wasn’t there. Kit was surprised to feel a tremendous sinking in her heart; she hadn’t realized she was as anxious as she was to spend time with him. No, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t the man who intrigued her so much; it was her own past. She wanted to know more about her mother.

  “He isn’t coming!” Jen said with dismay, looking around. She glanced at her watch again. “We are late,” she murmured disgustedly.

  “Jen, don’t worry, if he doesn’t show, I have his card.”

  Jen grinned at her. “I’m not getting any younger, standing here. I need you to get me to Florida. And when you do, I’m going to meet an incredibly handsome Latin American, marry him and live happily ever after.”

  Kit laughed. “I’m glad you’ve got it all planned out.”

  “There!” Jen said. She lowered her voice. “Here he comes.”

  Since he was tall, they could see David wending his way through the crowd, stopping to say a hello to someone here or there.