Her Foreign Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  “Before you make any rash decisions, perhaps you should give Mr. Robinson a call?”

  Warmth from the man’s concern filled her, and she smiled at him. “I was just coming to that very conclusion.”

  “Might I get you a pot of tea?”

  “Yes. I’d love one.”

  “Earl Grey?” He gave her a fond smile.

  So he had been watching while Court tried to test her tea knowledge and get her to confess to a favorite. The tea she’d learned to love with Court so long ago had become her favorite again. Each time she drank it with him, a new memory joined the best of the old ones.

  Randi laughed. “Found me out did you? Yes, Earl Grey, please.”

  “I won’t give you away.” Fiske resumed his dignified butler manner and spun on his heel.

  The first call to Court’s phone rolled over to voicemail. Thinking he might temporarily be in a dead zone, she hung up. Two more tries had the same result.

  Fiske set down the tea tray beside her at the table and poured out a cup. “No luck yet?”

  Randi shook her head.

  “Try one more time,” he urged her.

  Wondering how much Fiske had observed of the meetings this week, she did as he suggested. Cup lifted to her lips, she inhaled the distinct aroma of the tea as the phone began to ring. She smiled at the butler and took a tiny sip. Court answered his phone as the tea slid down her throat.

  “Randi?” The connection was full of static, and for a moment she wondered if it had cut out.

  “Court?” She carefully set the delicate bone china cup on its saucer.

  “Can’t talk…Marth…arrangements…all made. I…call…soon…as…can.”

  “Court, what arrangements?” Closing off one ear with a finger, she listened hard, her small phone pressed tightly against her ear, hoping for some word that didn’t sound exasperated and impatient.

  “Talk to Martha,” he repeated sharply. “…has…all details…can’t…helped…” Static burst in her ear a moment before his voice returned. “…go home…talk…soon—”

  “Oh, okay.” She bit her lip, not quite believing what she’d heard. “If you say so.” A hint of doubt slipped through, but had he heard it?

  “Stiff…lip—” The connection died, along with her hopes and dreams.

  So. Martha had instructions to make all the arrangements, and Randi had her orders to go home. Just like that.

  Reflexively, she set down her phone and reached for the tea cup, more to pass herself off as the mistress of cool than a need for tea. Didn’t want Fiske to see her crumble to bits right here. However, after a brief sip, her stomach clenched, and the tea turned bitter in her mouth. With a shaking hand, she lowered the cup, which rattled into place on the saucer. So much for handling herself unemotionally.

  “I don’t think I want it after all, Mr. Fiske.” Once more the essence of bergamot became poison, and it took all she had to not run to the bathroom and purge.

  She would not do this, this falling apart thing. Once was enough for any lifetime, and she never needed to do it again. She was a big girl now and hadn’t expected anything other than a pleasant affair with an old lover. Too easy, she’d once told herself, yet she’d gone and done it. And what did it prove? Only what she’d suspected from the beginning. Taking the easy path had certainly cost her—again. This time the heartache was on her for being seduced into dreaming of more. Well that was that. She’d had her fun, now it was time to go home and leave the past exactly where it belonged. In the past. She had a life, a perfectly good one, and the time had come for her to return to it.

  “Ma’am, it was a bad connection…” It had also plainly been loud enough Fiske had overheard every word. “I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding, so many words cut out….”

  “No. It was clear enough. The Indispensable Martha has indeed been instructed to make arrangements, apparently for my departure. The words ‘go home’ were quite understandable.”

  Ice filled her veins, despite her self-talk, which was ridiculous, because this was exactly what she should have expected all along. Disposable women. Like the socialite downstairs. Well, her own exit would be more dignified. This all made sense in a very twisted way, even if the puzzle pieces didn’t fit exactly at the moment. If she thought about it long enough, the pattern would sort itself into place. Eventually. Maybe.

  Court was a powerful, driven man. His marriage had been hellish, it made sense he would turn to women he could spend some time with, then walk away from with no regrets. Hadn’t scientists spent years proving the point that males, particularly the strongest ones, were naturally inclined to propagate the species, making them not naturally monogamous? Hadn’t she personally seen many marriages fall apart because of a husband with wandering ways? Granted, she also knew just as many men who did remain monogamous and faithful. Her neighbors, the Tuckers, were just one such example. Her own marriage to Wyatt, though he’d been into his late thirties when they married. Presumably, he’d worked off his need to sow wild oats by then. Funny, she’d never asked about his previous love affairs.

  But with Court, something didn’t entirely add up. He’d come to California and hired a P.I. to find her. Had told Birdie she could contact him at any time. Why would he do any of those things if he were just looking for a loop to close? Those seemed like extreme actions merely for a short affair with a flame from long ago. He’d then arranged a week for time alone for just the two of them. Well, not exactly time alone, though he had been up front about the business involved. Yet, he’d just confirmed Martha had the arrangements, whatever they were, under control, which meant Randi’s orders were to pack up and go home without a fuss. With the earrings and the credit cards as payoff?

  Like hell.

  Well, lesson learned. Men from the past brought too much baggage with them. Better to be done with it now. At least she’d taken the first crucial inertia-ending step into the dating game again. It should be easier to take the second step as soon as she got home. The next man to offer her a drink would get a smile and a thank you instead of a brush off. Correction, the next attractive man. She wasn’t so desperate after all. She still had her standards and some pride. Even if she had just proved to everyone she could be bought off with a trip and some jewelry. Well, the jewelry she could still give back.

  “Mr. Fiske, as soon as I get my flight rescheduled, I’ll need a ride to the airport.” She stood and straightened the jacket of her new burgundy suit, which she’d bought with her credit card, not Court’s. His card had never left her purse. At least she’d retained that much of her pride. No more gifts from him, she decided.

  Standing straight, eyes forward, the perfect picture of butler efficiency, Fiske answered crisply. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Heart firmly wrapped in a bandage of resolutions, she turned toward the stairs.

  By quarter to two, her packed bags stood near the suite door. In her purse, she carried the paperwork for a flight out at seven. The credit cards from Court she’d left in an envelope on the dresser with a note thanking him for the lovely time. Not a lie. She’d had fun. A bit lonely, but then again, the museums she’d visited were better experienced without someone impatiently hovering, wanting to rush on when she wanted to sit and absorb. Next to the note, a wrapped tin of an exotic tea she’d found. With his connections and knowledge, it was one he probably already knew about, but it was new to her. The tea had been horribly expensive, but she’d been assured it was precious and worth the exorbitant price. Since she’d already purchased it for him, she saw no point in not giving it to him. In exchange for her keeping the earrings, although the prices paid weren’t comparable.

  In her purse she had small gifts for Birdie and her father. Nothing significant, just mementoes of her trip. Jewelry and cigar scissors, though she really shouldn’t encourage Dad’s bad habit. She hoped Birdie would like the diamond earrings as a graduation gift, and they’d laugh over a few of the tourist items in her suitca
se.

  After leaving a chaste kiss on Fiske’s cheek, she’d left the hotel without a look back. Now she merely had to drink in the atmosphere of the café not far from the hotel. A place she’d discovered had excellent mochas and acceptable WiFi service, it was a busy, chaotic atmosphere in direct contrast to the quiet elegance of the hotel. The car would pick her up in an hour, more or less. Fiske had promised to call her cell phone when it was ready. She didn’t want to miss her plane due to rush hour traffic.

  “Randi?”

  Deep in an e-mail from a friend, she didn’t register the male voice directed at her until the chair opposite her moved and Jordan sat down. She glanced at the clock and saw thirty minutes had passed. Not long now until she had to go.

  “It is you,” he said and flashed a wide smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Oh, hi.” She gave him what felt like a very weak smile in return. She hadn’t expected Jordan to be the next man to turn up in her life. So be it. She let her smile grow and warm, earning a surprised blink from him and a relaxing of his seemingly forced grin. A date with him would just be the second step easing her back into the singles market. If he came out to California again, she’d find a way to go out with him. Possibly fix him dinner as he’d enjoyed her cooking at Thanksgiving. “No, I don’t suppose you would expect to find me here when I belong on the other coast.”

  “What are you doing here? When did you decide to come, where are you staying, and how long are you staying?”

  In an effort to enforce her resolve to be friendly, Randi began the shutdown sequence of her computer. Other than Kelly’s groveling over the incident on the steps on Thanksgiving, there were no interesting e-mails anyway. Birdie hadn’t answered, and Dad had declared business dead, as usual, between the holidays.

  “I made a snap decision to come right after Thanksgiving. I’ve been staying over there,” she said and vaguely waved toward the tall hotel. “I’m heading home in just a bit. I need to walk back there to catch my ride in about thirty minutes.”

  “That’s the Brit hotel.”

  It was almost more than she could do to not pat his hand and reward his brilliant deduction with a smile. Instead, she merely nodded.

  “You came with Robinson?” Jordan pinned her to the chair with his gaze. “Where is he?”

  “In meetings. He really should have headed back to London.” She shrugged. “I’m shopped out, so I’m heading home.”

  “No,” Jordan protested. “You just got here. If you’ve only seen Fifth Avenue, then you haven’t seen the best parts of New York. You must stay and let me play tour guide.”

  Tempting, but she really did long for home. New York was cold and expensive. Never mind she had no real interest in Jordan—well, that could change, if given a chance. A girl always needed friends, didn’t she?—and she didn’t want to run into Court. It would probably be a repeat of seeing him with his arm around some taller, younger, prettier woman who dressed better than she did.

  And didn’t that thought feel like a knife between her ribs. With supreme effort she blinked back the threatening tears.

  For the first time, she truly understood Dorothy’s desire to get herself and Toto home to Kansas, and had to remind herself she’d chosen to go home and really was fine with ending her affair with Court. “Thanks, but I want to be there for Birdie as she finishes up the semester. I shouldn’t have left her at this time.”

  Jordan stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered how much Dad had told him. Who ever said men didn’t gossip? “You really want to go?”

  “Yes, I really want to go.” No doubts there. Home was exactly where she wanted to be.

  “He treated you so poorly?”

  Randi forced her laugh. “No, not at all. I’ve had run of the city. I’m just pining for sunshine.” She pulled the collar of her new leather coat up around her ears. The faux fur collar was soft and helped minimize the chill blasting into the café each time someone opened the door.

  “You’ve been abandoned to your own devices by a man too callous to realize how lonely you are.”

  Who knew the man she’d considered self-absorbed could be so perceptive? So, she wouldn’t go out with him after all. She just needed to date, not see an analyst. “Jordan, it’s not your concern. There are times when business simply must come first. Timing was off, that’s all.” Randi shrugged and looked out the window as a sleek town car in the hotel’s signature silver and blue pulled up in front of the hotel across the street. “And there’s my ride.” She slipped her laptop into its case as her phone began to ring. She grabbed it and made note of Fiske’s number. Since she’d seen the car, she felt no compunction to answer and slipped it into her purse.

  Jordan stood and took the computer bag from her. “Let me walk you out and try to convince you to change your mind.”

  The warm smile he gave her conveyed appreciation. Randi slung her purse strap over her shoulder and slipped her arm through his. “You can try.”

  * * * *

  “Larry, if you do this to me next year, I’ll never do business with you again.” Court tapped on the window separating them from the cab driver. Still a full block and a half from the hotel, traffic stood still, and he was restless anyway. “We’ll climb out here. How much?” He peeled off some bills, probably over-tipping by two hundred percent.

  Brisk air slapped him in the face as Larry followed him onto the curb.

  “Are you crazy? I swear it’s cold enough to drop a foot of snow.”

  Court didn’t care if Larry froze solid. All he wanted was Randi in his arms, and if it meant trekking through six feet of snow, it didn’t matter. The next three days, and nights—especially the nights—were hers, and he’d tag along wherever she wanted to go. He’d promised her shopping, dining, and touring. The business demands of this week had been unusually cruel, and he’d felt like a cad sending her out the door each day with only cold plastic and a driver for company. So much for seducing her into his plan to never be apart. Falling asleep during the first half of the boisterous musical hadn’t been especially swift, either. Or in the bath afterward. Instead of clocking him, she’d been sweet, making him feel all the more guilty for not living up to the promises he’d made. But enough of that. He’d work double time to make it up to her.

  “Not a cloud in the sky, Larry. Anyhow, as I was saying, you get your Christmas orders in by the end of October next year. September would be better, but I know you too well for that. I won’t do business this way again when it can be handled in a reasonable manner long before the holidays hit. Now, I promised Randi that I’d ordered you and Martha to go home and I mean it. I want you two out of our hair.”

  People carrying bags and packages jostled for space on the sidewalk. In the distance, under the hotel portico, a stray beam of sunlight hit the hair of a woman. Red hair. Sparkling golden auburn. Court stretched to see if it was Randi. More than half a block away, there were enough people in the way he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like her new coat. The woman stood beside a much taller man and hotel staff loaded luggage into a car just like the one he and Randi had used all week, with the exception of the cabs today.

  He hadn’t wanted to tie up their car and driver, and had left them for Randi to use. Though he wasn’t sure why, as she hadn’t stumbled through the door with armloads of bags each day. He’d seen a few, but if she’d bought more than three outfits and a few pieces of lingerie, he’d be surprised. Frowning over the thought—he should check the cards to see what she’d spent, if she’d used his cards at all—he kept his eye on the woman. The man turned just enough for Court to recognize him as soon as the bellman’s cart shuttled away.

  Doyle? What the hell was he doing at the hotel? The woman next to him stood about shoulder high, like Randi. She turned to face the car, her profile clear for an instant as she bent to climb in. It was Randi, he was sure…and Doyle followed? What the hell?

  He tried to speed up, but th
e crowds on the sidewalks closed in, hampering his progress, earning him more than a few curses.

  “Court, what’s going on? Slow down,” Larry complained.

  Ignoring his friend, Court reached for his phone as it started to vibrate with an incoming call.

  “Randi?” he answered without looking at the ID.

  “Sir? Is this Courtland Robinson?”

  It sure didn’t sound like Randi, and it took a moment to place the accented male voice as belonging to his butler. The one in England. “Martin? Is that you?” From clear across the ocean. “Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but I don’t have time—”

  “Thank God I’ve reached you, sir. I’m sorry to call like this, but your mother took a fall and broke her hip.” The urgency in Martin’s voice began to catch Court’s attention. “She’s asking for you and refuses to have surgery until she talks to you. Your sister can’t get her to see reason. They say she needs a hip replacement, and only you can reassure her on this point.”

  Court stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Still twenty yards away, a doorman closed the door, and the car pulled away from the curb into traffic. Even if he had a clear shot and could break into a run, he’d never catch her. “Martin, can this wait? I’ve got—”

  “Court!” Martin shouted, shocking him into listening, really listening. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? Your sixty eight-year-old mother fell down and broke her hip! She’s in pain and needs surgery.”

  “Surgery?” The word broke through the last of his distraction, and Court shook his head to clear it. “New hip?”

  “Yes,” Martin said in obvious relief. “You were listening. I’ve contacted Martha, and she’s getting you a plane home. I’ll meet you at the airport as soon as you arrive.”

  “Right.” Court closed his eyes and felt Larry’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, offering silent support. “Home. Hip surgery. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which hospital? I’ll get the number as soon as I make it back to the suite.”