by Nora Roberts
“I can see why you loved it.” Annie walked to the water’s edge and felt the brush of waves against her bare toes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier place.”
“Then I’m glad I brought you.” He walked up beside her and caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. “A pretty woman deserves a pretty place.”
“Such lovely words rolling off that silver tongue of yours, Mr. Carrington.” She was laughing when she looked up into his eyes. But the smoldering look she saw there faded her smile.
“I’ve never said such things before, Annie. I never felt the need. Until now.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her. “Until you,” he whispered against her mouth.
She could have sworn that the sand shifted and her world tilted as he took the kiss deeper.
When he lifted his head he caught her hand. “Come on. I promised to feed you.”
Annie knelt on the blanket and watched as he opened a bottle of champagne. “I’ve never been on a picnic before.”
“Really?” He looked up. “Never?”
She shook her head. “My parents were always working. After they were gone, my grandmother and I never seemed to have time for anything except getting through the next few years.” She looked over as he popped the cork. “Have you been on many picnics?”
“Too many to count. My parents used to take us across the bay in their boat. They always brought along a picnic lunch. We’d walk the shore, searching for driftwood and fancy stones.” He stared into the distance a moment, lost in thought. Then he shook his head. “Funny. I’d forgotten how many wonderful memories we’ve shared here. For too long now I’ve thought only of the reasons why I didn’t want to be here.”
She waited, hoping he would explain. What tragedy had driven this loving family away from White Pines? Why had they allowed it to fall into such disrepair?
Instead, he held his silence as he filled two flutes and handed one to her.
She smiled. “Shall we drink to happy memories?”
He nodded. His eyes were steady on hers. “To happy memories. And to happily-ever-after.”
They sipped in silence, watching each other over the rims of their glasses. Then he turned away and began unwrapping an assortment of foods. Croissants, which had been sealed in foil and warmed on the grill. Several types of cheese—Cheddar, Gouda, Swiss—cut into cubes. Shrimp and lobster still steaming from the barbecue.
Annie burst into laughter. “Who’s supposed to eat all this?”
He looked up. “Aren’t you the one who told me you couldn’t live on love alone?”
She shook her head. “I may have been in need of a little food, but this is a lot more than a little. This is a feast.”
“You’d better enjoy it, then, because I’m not sure how long I can wait to try the love diet again.”
She laughed until she saw the fire in his eyes. She turned serious and touched a hand to her chest.
His tone was rough with passion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She managed a smile. “It’s just my heart. It keeps on turning somersaults whenever you look at me like that.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one suffering like this.” He offered her a bite of cheese.
When she swallowed it, he reached over and took the glass of champagne from her hands, setting it beside his. “Okay. That’s enough food for now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to that other thing we do so well.”
“Ben.” She allowed herself to be drawn into the circle of his arms and shivered slightly as he reached to undo the buttons of her dress.
“What?”
She sighed as his mouth followed his fingers and began to weave that wonderful magic once again. “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I approve of this diet.”
They came together with laughter, which quickly changed to sighs as they lost themselves in the wonder of their newly discovered love.
The sun was at their backs as they made their way back to the house. Annie glanced at their linked fingers and thought how easily she and Ben had slipped into this slower, lazier rhythm.
As they approached the patio, they both began to slow the pace, almost as if they dreaded what they might find.
“Think the power’s back on?” She saw Ben frown before he shrugged.
“We’ll soon see.” He opened the French doors, then reached for a light switch.
When nothing happened, they burst into laughter and realized they’d both been holding their breath.
“Looks like we’re stuck with candles and wood fires for another night.” Relieved, Ben set the basket on the kitchen counter, then turned to Annie. “I think I’ll head out back to the woodpile for a fresh supply.”
“Good idea. I’ll get more candles and bring them to the kitchen.”
She walked to the great room and started toward the fireplace where candles were massed on the mantel.
Seeing a blur of movement outside the window, she hurried over. Win, she thought, smiling. With all that had happened, she’d completely forgotten about him. He must have finished his surprise for his brother and was now planning a visit.
As she walked closer, she could see that it wasn’t Win. This was a stranger, a white-haired man peering in the window. She hurried to the door and stepped out onto the wide front porch.
“Hello.” She watched as the man stepped away from the window and turned to study her.
“I saw the car.” He pointed. “Figured I’d better investigate.”
“My name is Annie Tyler. I drove up from Tranquility, where I have a small real estate office. I’ve been hired by Mrs. Carrington to handle the sale of White Pines.”
“She’s selling it, is she?” He walked closer, wiping his hand on his pant leg before extending it. “Name’s Oscar Gabriel. Used to be the gardener here. My wife and I live just up the highway a few miles. Not surprised they’re not coming back.”
“You aren’t? Why is that?”
He gave her a long look, then shrugged. “Most folks around here know about what happened at White Pines. We figured once the family left, they wouldn’t want to come back to such unsavory memories.”
“Why, Mr. Gabriel? What happened here?”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t abide gossip myself, but I guess it’s old news by now. Win, the younger of the two Carrington sons, was an artist. Wild sort. Not at all like his older brother, Ben. Fine young man, that Ben. Anyway, Win always had an eye for the ladies, and Ben’s wife, Laura, was a real beauty. It started out innocently enough, I heard. She posed for a portrait as a surprise for her husband. One thing led to another. Then one night she and Win left a note saying they were running away together.”
“Win…stole his brother’s wife?”
“That was his intention.” The old man frowned. “Funny the way things happen. It was a rainy night. One of those bad storms we get now and again here on the coast. Their car went off the highway just around the bend there, past the stables.” He shook his head, remembering. “It was the talk of the countryside.”
“Were they…hurt?”
“Hurt?” He peered at her, then tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
For several seconds he stared hard at the ground. It was obvious that it still pained him to talk about the incident.
“There wasn’t much left of either of them by the time they were pried from the wreck. Win and Laura were both killed instantly.”
9
ALL THE COLOR drained from Annie’s face.
Alarmed, the old man touched a hand to her arm. “Here now, miss. You don’t look so good. You’d better sit down a minute.”
“No. I can’t. I have to…” Dazed, she turned away and pulled open the front door. Then she seemed to catch herself. “Will you come inside, Mr. Gabriel?”
“Sorry. Can’t.” He shook his head. “Got to be getting home. My wife will have supper ready.”
“Supper.” She rested her forehead against t
he door, struggling to focus. She couldn’t seem to make her mind function. Then it came to her. “What is she using for power?”
“Electricity. Same as always.” He was watching her warily.
“Didn’t you lose your power in that storm?”
“What storm, miss?”
“The storm Friday night.”
He took a step closer. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. I just…” She turned away, but his voice stopped her.
“Today is Friday, miss.”
“Today?” She turned back. “But it was two days ago that I drove up here. On a Friday evening.”
He was shaking his head again, looking at her as though she’d just lost her mind. “I was here yesterday, miss. I always drop by on Thursdays, just to look over the place and see that nothing’s been vandalized. I guess I’ve always been hoping that the Carringtons might decide to come back and turn this old place into a home again.” He sighed. “Anyway, today’s Friday.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s just a little past seven forty-five.”
She blanched, then began running toward the kitchen.
The old man watched a moment longer. Then, shaking his head in alarm, he turned away.
“Ben.” Seeing him striding along the hallway with an armload of logs, Annie halted.
“Hey.” Noticing her pallor, he dropped the logs and caught her arm. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She shivered. “Mr. Gabriel was here.”
“Old Oscar? He was our gardener for years. Why didn’t he stay? I’d have enjoyed seeing him again.”
“Ben.” She was beginning to tremble in reaction to what she’d just heard. She clutched her arms around herself, wishing there was some way to soften the blow. “Mr. Gabriel told me about your wife and your brother.”
She saw the look that came into his eyes. As though he’d been struck.
“I’m sorry. I suppose I should have told you, Annie. But it’s not something I care to repeat. It’s the reason why we’ve never returned to White Pines. No matter how many good memories we had here, in the end that’s the only one we have left.”
“Ben, you don’t understand.” Though she was trembling, she reached out a hand to him. “Your brother, Win, isn’t dead. I saw him yesterday. At the stables. In his studio apartment.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed on her. For several minutes he couldn’t seem to find his voice. The silence hung between them.
Finally he closed a hand over hers. His tone was as patient as though he were addressing a child. “Look, I know this weekend has been something of a strain.”
“You don’t understand.” She drew away. “I saw him. I talked with him. He was handsome and charming and…he flirted with me.”
“Annie…” He reached out to her.
“No.” She took several steps backward, then suddenly turned toward the door. “I’m not crazy or overwrought. Win is here. He’s living and working in the stable. I’ll prove it.”
She began running.
“Annie! Wait!”
She heard Ben’s voice but she refused to stop or even look over her shoulder to see if he was following.
She was desperate to get to the stables. Ben would see for himself that this had all been some horrible mistake.
Annie pushed open the door to the stables and stepped inside. She looked around at the empty stalls as she made her way across the floor to the stairs, which she took two at a time in her haste.
At the top of the stairs she paused and turned the knob. The door was stuck, and it took several attempts before she managed to nudge it open with her hip. As she did she heard the sound of Ben’s footsteps behind her.
“Win!” she shouted as she stepped into the studio.
In the silence that greeted her, she stared around in absolute astonishment.
“Annie.” She felt Ben’s hand on her arm, but she pulled away and stepped further into the room.
Except for cobwebs that hung everywhere and dust that had settled thickly over the floor, the room was bare. Instead of the strong odor of paint and thinner that had earlier permeated the air, it was now musty and stale.
“His bed was there.” She pointed to a corner where a spider was busy adding to his already giant web. “And over here was a worktable, littered with sketches. There were canvases and easels lining the walls. Those windows were clean.” She noted that they were now streaked with an accumulation of dust and grime.
Her voice took on a note of urgency. “He was here. I didn’t imagine it. We talked. He flirted and said he wanted to paint me. He even offered me a glass of champagne. When I asked him why he hadn’t told you he was here, he said he was planning a surprise for you. He called it a…” She struggled through layers of confusion to recall. “He called it a re-birthday gift.” She turned. “He was really here, Ben. I didn’t imagine it.”
Ben seemed not to hear her. He was staring at a spot in the far corner. A single unframed canvas stood on an easel, turned to the wall.
Without a word he walked over and turned the canvas around. Annie went to stand beside him.
It was a painting of Ben and Annie, dressed as they were now, Ben in his grandfather’s borrowed pants and sweater, Annie in the old-fashioned gown. They were standing together on the sandy beach, looking at each other as they had earlier that day. In their eyes was an unmistakable look of love.
Annie felt the sting of tears and couldn’t stop them from spilling down her cheeks.
Seeing it, Ben drew her close and wiped them with his thumbs. “There’s no need to cry, Annie.”
“But there is. I don’t understand any of this, Ben. But I know I’m not crazy. And I didn’t dream Win. I didn’t.”
“I know.” He shivered and looked around, then he picked up the painting and tucked it under his arm.
He took her hand in his. It was so cold.
In a voice gruff with emotion, he said, “Come on, Annie. Let’s get back to the house.”
They didn’t speak. Not a single word passed between them as they crossed the overgrown orchard and made their way across the patio into the kitchen. As they stepped inside, Ben put the painting on the counter, and the two of them studied it in silence.
It was then that they noticed that the lights were on. The refrigerator was humming. The clock on the wall was ticking.
Annie glanced at it. “Just a little past seven forty-five.” She turned to Ben. “Isn’t that the time the storm struck?”
He nodded.
“Mr. Gabriel told me that today is Friday.”
At his arched brow she nodded. “I thought he was mistaken. But now, after all this, I’m just not sure of anything.”
“There’s one way to find out.” Ben picked up the phone and listened for a dial tone. Hearing it, he punched in a series of numbers. The voice on the other end of the line spoke in a monotone.
When he hung up, he grew thoughtful.
“Well?” Annie waited.
He turned to her. “It’s just as he said. It’s Friday, April twenty-third, seven forty-five. The weather predicted for the weekend is clear and sunny and unseasonably warm.”
Annie had to reach out a hand to the countertop to steady herself. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. She put her hands to her temples, to blot out the nerves that were beginning to take over.
She was suddenly more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. This wasn’t happening. None of it.
With a cry she ran out of the room and raced up the stairs. A short time later she descended the stairs, dressed in her jeans and sweater, which were as dry and untouched by the rain as they’d been when she first hung them in the closet.
In one hand was her purse, in the other the overnight bag. She knew that if she looked in the refrigerator she would find the groceries she’d unpacked earlier. And all of them would be untouched.
Ben was standing where she’d left him, staring at the portrait. His color, she noted, was as pale as h
ers. The look on his face was a mix of anger and puzzlement.
“Good-bye, Ben.”
He looked up and struggled to focus. “Where are you going, Annie?”
“Home. Back to Tranquility. I’ll…phone your mother on Monday with my recommendations.”
He nodded, still too distracted to reply.
She walked to the door and opened it, then turned. He never even seemed to notice her. His attention was riveted on the portrait. His hands, she noted, were clenched at his sides.
She closed the door and made her way to her car. Inside, she turned the key, and the engine hummed. As she drove along the curving ribbon of drive, her eyes filled, and she had to blink furiously before she could continue on to the highway. She wasn’t crying over Ben Carrington, she told herself. She was just crying because…because she’d almost begun to believe in fairy tales, and happily-ever-after. But a ghost? She shook her head. That was asking too much. Unless, of course, she was losing her mind.
What she needed, desperately, was to spend the rest of the weekend back in Tranquility. Back in the land of reality. Doing what she did best. Working.
“Hey, Annie.” Shelly looked up when the office door opened. “I thought you were going to spend the weekend at White Pines.”
“Morning, Shelly.” Annie set her laptop on the desk, carefully avoiding her friend’s eyes, and began removing papers from her attaché case. “I…didn’t stay. Just drove up and took a look at the place, then drove back.”
“Too spooky, huh?” Shelly poured coffee and set it on Annie’s desk, then gave her a good, long look. “You really need to take some time off. I bet you stayed up the whole night working.”
Annie shrugged and was grateful when Shelly was forced to turn away to answer the phone. Minutes later, with her computer calling up her accumulation of E-mail, she tore off a fax and paused to check the number on her pager.
“Annie.” Shelly put a hand over the phone’s speaker. “Melvin Jakes from the camera shop is on the phone. He said that roll of film you left with him is completely blank. He wonders if you want to bring in your camera so he can have a look at it.”