by Janet Dailey
“No, I don’t object.” But Blake bristled at her cutting sarcasm. As she turned on her heel to leave, he covered the distance between them with long strides, grabbing at her elbow to spin her around. “What do you expect me to do?” His eyes were a blaze of anger.
“I don’t know —”
He cut across her words. “Do you want me to offer you a position in the administration? Is that it?”
Excited hope leaped into her expression. After Blake had put it into words, she realized that that was exactly what she wanted — to still have a part in running the company, to be involved in its operation.
“Dammit, I can’t do it, Dina!” Blake snapped.
Crushed, she demanded in a thin voice, “Why?”
“I can’t go around sweeping people out of office so you can take their place. Disregarding the fact that it smacks of nepotism, it implies that I don’t approve of the people you hired to fill key positions. The logical deduction from that would be that I believed you’d done an inadequate job of running the company in my absence.” His expression was hard and grim. “It’s going to be several years before I can make any changes without them reflecting badly on you.”
“That settles it, then, doesn’t it?” Her chin quivered, belying the challenge in her voice.
His teeth were gritted, a muscle leaping along his jaw. “If you weren’t my wife…” he began, about to offer another explanation of why his hands were tied in this matter.
“That’s easily remedied, Blake,” Dina flashed, and pulled her arm free before his grip could tighten. She didn’t expect it to last long, but he made no attempt to recapture her.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He clipped out the words with biting precision.
Inwardly quaking under his piercing look, Dina turned away rather than admit his power to intimidate her. “It’s immaterial anyway,” she said with a small degree of composure. “My resignation will be on your desk within an hour.” She walked to the door.
“Dina.” The stern command of his voice stopped her from leaving.
She didn’t remove her hand from the doorknob or turn to face him. “What?”
“Maybe I can keep you on in an advisory capacity.” The stiffness of his words took away from the conciliatory gesture.
“I don’t want any favors! And certainly not from the great Blake Chandler!” Dina flared, and yanked open the door.
It closed on a savage rush of expletives. When Dina turned away from the door, she looked into the curious and widened gaze of the secretary, Amy Wentworth. Dina silently acknowledged that the walls of the private office were thick, but she doubted if they were thick enough to deafen the sound of voices raised in argument. She wondered how much of the aftereffect of her quarrel with Blake was apparent in her face. She strained to appear composed and in command of herself as she walked to Amy’s desk.
“Put aside whatever you’re doing, Amy,” she ordered, trying to ignore the widening look she received.
“But…” The young secretary glanced hesitantly toward the inner office Dina had just left, as if uncertain whether she was to obey Dina or Blake.
Dina didn’t give her a chance to put her thoughts into words. “I want you to type a letter of resignation — for me. You know the standard form of these things. Just keep it simple and direct. Effective immediately.”
“Yes, Mrs. Chandler,” Amy murmured, and immediately removed the dustcover from her electric typewriter.
The connecting office door was pulled open and Dina glanced over her shoulder to see Blake stride through. She could tell he had himself under rigid control, but it was like seeing a predatory animal restrained in chains. The minute the shackles were removed, he would pounce on his prey and tear it apart. And she was his prey.
Yet, even knowing she was being stalked, she was mesmerized by the dangerous look in his gaze. She waited motionless as he walked toward her, the force of his dark vitality vibrating over her nerve ends, making them tingle in sharp awareness.
“Dina, I…” Blake never got the rest of his sentence out.
Chet entered the room through the door to the outer corridor. “Oh, I see you’re on your way,” he concluded at the sight of Blake. “I was just coming to see how much longer you’d be.” His gaze switched its attention to Dina and became a troubled blue as he noticed the white lines of stress on her face.
“Yes, I’m on my way,” Blake agreed crisply, and looked back at Dina. “I want you to attend the meeting, Dina.” The veiled harshness in his gaze dared her to defy him.
But Dina felt safe in the company of others. “No. It’s better for everyone to realize that you’re in charge now and not confuse them by having a former head of the company present.” She saw his mouth thin at her response and turned away in a gesture of dismissal.
“Dina has a good point,” Chet offered in agreement, but a darting look from Blake made him vacillate. “Of course, unless you think it’s wiser to —”
“Let’s go,” Blake snapped.
In a silent storm, he swept from the room, drawing Chet into his wake and leaving Dina feeling drained and colorless. Her nerves seemed to be delicate filaments, capable of snapping at the slightest pressure. When the letter of resignation was typed, her hand trembled as she affixed her signature to it.
“Put it on Mr. Chandler’s desk,” she ordered, and returned it to Amy.
“It was nice working for you, Mrs. Chandler,” the young secretary offered as Dina turned to go, the words spoken in all sincerity.
“Thank you, Amy.” Dina smiled mistily, then hurried from the room.
Leaving the building, she walked to her car. She knew there was no way she could return to the house and listen to Mother Chandler’s happy conversation about Blake’s return. With the top down on the white sports car, she removed the scarf from her hair and tucked it in the glove compartment.
With no destination in mind, she climbed into the car and drove, the wind whipping at her hair, which glittered like liquid sunlight in the morning air. Around and through the back streets, the main streets, the side streets of the city of Newport she went.
Half the time she was too blinded by tears to know where she was. She didn’t notice the row of palatial mansions on Bellevue Avenue, or the crowds gathered on the wharf for the trial of the America Cup races.
She didn’t know who she was, what she was, or why she was. Since Blake’s return, she was no longer Dina Chandler. She was once again Mrs. Blake Chandler, lost in her husband’s identity. She was no longer a businesswoman, nor did she feel like a housewife, since she had no home and a stranger for a husband. As to the reason why, she was in total confusion.
It was sheer luck that she glanced at the dashboard and noticed the gasoline gauge was hovering at the empty mark. Practicality forced her out of the bewildering whirlpool of questions. They stayed away until she was parked in a gas station and waiting in the building where her tank was being filled.
Then they returned with pounding force and Dina reeled under the power of them. Her restlessly searching gaze accidentally spied the telephone inside the building. She walked blindly to the phone and, from long habit, dialed the number of the one person who had already seen her through so much emotional turmoil.
The impersonal voice of an operator answered and Dina requested in an unsteady voice, “Chet Stanton, please.”
“Who is calling, please?”
Dina hesitated a fraction of a second before answering, “A friend.”
There was a moment when Dina thought the operator was going to demand a more specific answer than that, then she heard the call being put through. “Chet Stanton speaking,” his familiar voice came on the line.
“Chet, this is Dina,” she rushed.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised and guarded. “Hello.”
She guessed at the cause for the way he responded. “Are you alone?”
“No.”
Which meant that Blake must be in his office. Dina wasn’t
certain how she knew it was Blake and not someone else, but she was positive of it.
“Chet, I have to talk to you. I have to see you,” she declared in a burst of despair. Glancing at her wristwatch, she didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Can you meet me for lunch?”
She heard the deep breath he took before he answered, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve already made plans for lunch.”
“I have to see you,” she repeated. “What about later?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.” Chet began to enter into the spirit of the thing, however uncertainly. “Why don’t we get together for a drink? Say, around five-thirty?”
It was so long to wait, she thought desperately, but realized it was the best he could offer. “Very well,” she agreed, and named the first cocktail lounge that came to mind.
“I’ll meet you there,” Chet promised.
“And, Chet —” Dina hesitated “— please don’t say anything to Blake about meeting me. I don’t want him to know. He wouldn’t understand?”
There was a long pause before he finally said, “No, I won’t. See you then.”
After hanging up the receiver, Dina turned and saw the gas station attendant eyeing her curiously, yet with a measure of concern. She opened the pocketbook slung over her shoulder and started to pay for the gasoline.
“Are you all right, miss?” he questioned.
She glimpsed her faded reflection in the large plate-glass window of the station and understood his reason for asking. Her hair was windblown, and in riotous disorder. Tears had streaked the mascara from her lashes to make smutty lines around her eyes. She looked like a lost and wayward urchin despite the expensive clothes she wore.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
In the car, she took a tissue from her bag and wiped the dark smudges from beneath her eyes. A brush put her tangled mass of silky gold hair into a semblance of order before it was covered by the scarf she had discarded.
“You have to get hold of yourself,” she scolded her reflection in the rearview mirror.
Turning the key in the ignition, she started the powerful motor of the little car and drove away, wondering what she was going to do with herself for the rest of the day.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Chapter Six
TYPICALLY, THE LOUNGE was dimly lit. Overhead lighting was practically nonexistent and the miniature mock lanterns with their small candle flames flickering inside the glass chimneys provided little more. The dark wood paneling of the walls offered no relief, nor did the heavily beamed low ceiling.
Tucked away in an obscure corner of the lounge, Dina had a total view of the room and the entrance door. A drink was in front of her, untouched, the ice melting. Five more minutes, her watch indicated, but it already seemed an interminable wait.
An hour earlier she had phoned Mother Chandler to tell her she would be late without explaining why or where she was. Blake would be angry, she realized. Let him, was her inward response. The consequences of her meeting with Chet she would think about later.
Brilliant sunlight flashed into the room as the door was opened. Dina glanced up, holding her breath and hoping that this time it might be Chet. But a glimpse of the tall figure that entered the lounge paralyzed her lungs. Her heart stopped beating, then skyrocketed in alarm.
Just inside the lounge, Blake paused, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. There was nowhere Dina could run without drawing his attention. She tried to make herself small, hoping he wouldn’t see her in this dim corner of the room. Dina felt rather than saw his gaze fasten on her seconds before his purposeful strides carried him to her table.
When he stopped beside her, Dina couldn’t look up. Her teeth were so tightly clenched they hurt. She curled her hands around the drink she hadn’t touched since it had been set before her. Despite the simmering resentment she felt, there was a sense of inevitability, too. Blake didn’t speak, waiting for Dina to acknowledge him first.
“Imagine meeting you here,” she offered in a bitter tone of mock surprise, not letting her gaze lift from the glass cupped in her hands. “Small world, isn’t it?”
“It’s quite a coincidence,” he agreed.
There was a bright glitter in her blue eyes when she finally looked at him. His craggy features were in the shadows, making his expression impossible to see. The disturbing male vitality of his presence began to make itself felt despite her attempt to ignore it.
“How did you know I was here?” she demanded, knowing there was only one answer he could give.
And Blake gave it. “Chet told me.”
“Why?” The broken word came out unknowingly, directed at the absent friend who had betrayed her trust.
“Because I asked him.”
“He promised he wouldn’t tell you!” Her voice was choked, overcome by the discovery that she was lost and completely alone in her confusion.
“So I gathered,” Blake offered dryly.
Dina averted her gaze to breathe shakily. “Why did he have to tell you?”
“I am your husband, Dina, despite the way you try to forget it. That gives me the right to at least know where you are.”
His voice was as smooth as polished steel, outwardly calm and firm. Her gaze noticed his large hands clenched into fists at his side, revealing the control he was exercising over his anger. He was filled with a white rage that his wife should arrange to meet another man. Dina was frightened, but it was fear that prompted the bravado to challenge him.
“You were in Chet’s office when I called, weren’t you?” she said accusingly.
“Yes, and I could tell by the guilty look on his face that he was talking to you. After that, it didn’t take much to find out what was going on.”
“Who did you think I would turn to? I needed him.” Dina changed it to present tense. “I need Chet.”
Like the sudden uncoiling of a spring, Blake leaned down, spreading his hands across the tabletop, arms rigid. In the flickering candlelight his features resembled a carved teakwood mask of some pagan god, harsh and ruthless and dangerously compelling.
“When are you going to get it through that blind little brain of yours that you’ve never needed him?” he demanded.
Her heart was pounding out a message of fear. “I don’t know you,” she breathed in panic. “You’re a stranger. You frighten me, Blake.”
“That makes two of us, because I’m scared as hell of myself!” He straightened abruptly, issuing an impatient, “Let’s get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”
Throwing caution away, Dina protested, “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”
“I’m aware of that!” His hand clamped a hold on her arm to haul her to her feet, overpowering her weak resistance. Once she was upright, his fingers remained clamped around her arm to keep her pressed to his side. “Is the drink paid for?” Blake reminded her of the untouched contents of the glass on the table.
As always when she came in physical contact with him, she seemed to lose the ability to think coherently. His muscular body was like living steel and the softness of her shape had to yield. Everything was suddenly reduced to an elemental level. Not until Blake had put the question to her a second time did Dina take in what he had asked.
She managed a trembling, “No, it isn’t.”
Releasing her, Blake took a money clip from his pocket and peeled off a bill, tossing it on the table. Then the steel band of his arm circled her waist to guide her out of the lounge, oblivious to the curious stares.
In towering silence he walked her to the white Porsche, its top still down. He opened the door and pushed her behind the wheel. Then, slamming the door shut, he leaned on the frame, an unrelenting grimness to his mouth.
“My car is going to be glued to your bumper, following you every inch of the way. So don’t take any detours on the route home, Dina,” he warned.
Before Dina could make any kind of retort, he walked to his car parked in the next row of t
he lot. Starting the car, she gunned the motor as if she were accelerating for a race, a puny gesture of impotent defiance.
True to his word, his car was a large shadow behind hers every block of the way, an ominous presence she couldn’t shake even if she had tried — which she didn’t. Stopping in the driveway of his mother’s house — their house — Dina hurried from her car, anxious to get inside where the other inhabitants could offer her a degree of safety from him.
Halfway to the door Blake caught up with her, a hand firmly clasping her elbow to slow her down.
“This little episode isn’t over yet,” he stated in an undertone. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Dina swallowed the impulse to challenge him. It was better to keep silent with safety so near. Together they entered the house, both concealing the state of war between them.
Mother Chandler appeared in the living-room doorway, wearing an attractive black chiffon dress. Her elegantly coiffed silver hair was freshly styled, thanks to an afternoon’s appointment at her favorite salon. She smiled brightly at the pair of them, unaware of the tension crackling between them.
“You’re both home — how wonderful!” she exclaimed, assuming her cultured tone. “I was about to suggest to Deirdre that perhaps she should delay dinner for an hour. I’m so glad it won’t be necessary. I know how much you detest overcooked meat, Blake.”
“You always did like your beef very rare, didn’t you, Blake?” Dina followed up on the comment, her gaze glittering at his face with diamond sharpness. “I have always considered your desire for raw flesh as a barbaric tendency.”
“It seems you were right, doesn’t it?” he countered.
Mother Chandler seemed impervious to the barbed exchange as she waved them imperiously into the living room. “Come along. Let’s have a sherry and you can tell me about your first day back at the office, Blake.” She rattled on, covering their tight-lipped silence.