Whispers of the Heart

by Stephanie Wilson

  Anger and rage and yes, unbelievable disappointment, tore through T.J.’s soul as if the emotions had unleashed a whipping stick, scarring his heart forever. He couldn’t believe what an idiot he had been to allow someone like Erika Crawford inside. Her lies and deceptions were unforgivable but the way she had made him love her, the way she had maneuvered herself to the center of his life, his thoughts were embittering T.J. more sharply than he could have ever thought possible. That he knew the unlikely possibility their lives could ever join did little to alleviate his raw pain.

  T.J. had intended to leave the building, returning only briefly tomorrow to update Bancroft on his meeting with Caslin. But as the elevator slowly descended the skyscraper, stopping at nearly every floor to admit passengers, T.J.’s pent up emotions couldn’t handle anymore idle conversation and pleasantries that were plaguing him from Crawford employees. Checking the floors, he realized that the next stop would be on the floor where the Crawford gym was located. T.J. hurriedly crowded through the people to get off on that floor. What he needed was an intense workout and he had read that Crawford had employed one of the best trainers in the nation. Angrily, T.J. knew he would make the guy prove it today.

  As he wrapped a luxurious towel around his dripping form, T.J. felt the tension flow out of his body. The pent-up emotion had been spent first in the weight facilities and then in the sparring room. He had to grudgingly admit that Crawford’s fitness director had truly given him one of the best workouts he could remember. And that was no easy task, for T.J. kept himself in excellent physical shape. Rolling his muscles back and forth in his shoulders and rotating his neck first to the left and then to the right gave T.J. time to think again of his encounter with Erika. This time … a little more rationally.

  Grudgingly, he admitted that she had perhaps not been entirely in the wrong. He had to recognize that he had contributed to their mutual deception. That he had wanted to share the truth with her was of little consequence. That she had felt, something, for him was also evident. His anger had hardened, but it wasn’t fair to place entire blame on Erika.

  Taking his time to adjust his silken tie to perfection, T.J. realized that he and Erika needed to end things on a different note. He couldn’t just leave town and never see her again or speak to her again. In fact, T.J. would drop by her office and make an appointment with her secretary for tomorrow. After the deed with Caslin was done. He couldn’t risk her knowing anything until the charade was all over. Then, he could be completely honest with her and be done with the whole disaster.

  T.J. was entering Erika’s suite when he heard British accented voices coming from inside the plushy appointed office. He had meant to call Ellie later when he heard a gentleman describing a yellow rose soup tureen that she had contacted the Royal Academy about several weeks earlier. At first, it meant nothing, but as the gentlemen continued their description in avid detail, something clicked in T.J.’s memory, and within seconds, he realized these gentlemen were describing Maime’s beloved china.

  His eyes narrowed as T.J. considered what relevance that soup tureen could mean to Erika. And because his emotions were still raw from her deception and that he knew her capable of duplicity he became alarmed for the woman who had been such an important part of his life. That Erika could have deceived him was one thing but that her conscience would allow this was unthinkable.

  Without further thought, T.J. made his presence known.

  The hair on the back of Erika’s nape bristled. Before she even heard T.J. approach, she knew he was there. How could this be happening? Knowing that he would most likely be aware of Maime’s cherished soup tureen she had little doubt that he would accuse her of stealing or something equally distasteful all meant, of course, to harm Maime. He would never believe the real motive behind her inquiry.

  It wasn’t hard to guess T.J.’s thought pattern after taking just one glimpse at his expression. That was how well Erika knew him. She could decipher his every thought because of her weeks studying his chiseled profile. It was uncanny how things could turn out like this … and then there was Ellie. Once again, witnessing her humiliation and perhaps contributing to it. Erika’s world was falling apart and if she weren’t really, really careful, it would tear her apart with it.

  Carefully schooling her screaming emotions, Erika turned to T.J.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked distantly.

  “No, I think there is something I can do for you,” he replied sharply. “I’m going to help you not make the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “Excuse me,” Ellie interrupted. Near panic-stricken she asked, “you two know each other?”

  T.J. replied. “Not in the least … except on paper, that is. I know everything about Erika Crawford on paper.”

  Erika briefly closed her eyes trying to garner a thread of strength and to offer a quick prayer begging for help in this most uncomfortable situation. Knowing T.J. as she did, it was unlikely he would just leave without having satisfaction of her motives concerning Maime’s prized possession. And not wanting Ellie to be party to any more private business than she had already been, Erika quickly asked T.J. and the two guests from London to reconvene in her office.

  After the gentlemen had been ushered into her office, Erika turned a sharp eye toward Ellie. “I mean it this time,” she said somewhat harshly, “absolutely no phone calls unless it is from my uncle. Do I make myself understood this time?” she asked unnecessarily.

  Ellie’s contrite face creased with concern the minute the door was closed. Waiting for the briefest of seconds to be sure the meeting had started without hesitation; she quickly dialed Steve’s cell phone and explained the strange scene that had unfolded in the office minutes prior. Steve was unconcerned; however, having been assured by Morgan himself that he had never met Erika Crawford.

  “It’s just a guise, Ellie,” he crooned. “It’s probably a method to distract Erika from finding out what his true motives are. Your paranoia is starting to get on my nerves, Ellie. Don’t call me unless it is extremely important. I have a lot to prepare for this evening.”

  Ellie gently returned the receiver to its base. Steve, of course, was right. She, however, was beginning to tire of his attitude all together. If it hadn’t been for her, Caslin would never be in the position he was and he would never enjoy the fruits of her labor.

  “Gentlemen,” Erika began after slipping silently behind her desk. “I want to introduce you to T.J. Morgan…”

  “Oh, very nice to meet you,” Lord Winston responded. “Would you be from the Morgan family of your East Coast?” he politely inquired.

  “The very same,” T.J. quipped in a manner that told everyone in the room that he was in no mood for pleasantries.

  “As I was saying gentlemen,” Erika gently reminded, “T.J. Morgan is a very close friend to the woman who owns the soup tureen in question. He, however, was not aware of my inquiry so if you will permit me, I will apprise him of the situation before we begin.”

  Erika took the next ten minutes describing in as much detail as she thought T.J. might allow as to what her motives were behind the inquiry. Miraculously, she recognized a slight softening in his eyes as her story concluded.

  “So, you see,” she said somewhat embarrassed that the two gentlemen from the museum had to be privy to a very private and intimate moment in her life, “my only motive was to see if I could not add to Maime’s collection as I knew how much she prized the tureen. I was not aware of its value to these gentlemen until a few days ago.”

  At T.J.’s nod, the gentlemen cleared their throats. Lord Winston began.

  “May we ask a couple of questions about the piece?” he inquired demurely.

  “Actually,” Erika said, “I may have a photo of the piece in question. I had taken it at the lake because I thought if I ever ran across something that belonged to that set … I am an avid collector … I would send it to her.” Erika rifled through her briefcase as she continued to speak to the me
n.

  “Yes, here it is,” she said proudly.

  Immediately the two gentlemen retired to the conference table at the other side of Erika’s office, whispering to themselves as they poured over the detailed photos Erika had taken. The awkward silence made the tension between T.J.’s and Erika grow. She couldn’t look at him so she nervously shifted papers from one side of her desk to the other. T.J., on the other hand, had no such inhibitions and found himself having nothing better to do than stare at Erika and wonder how he could have been so fooled. He looked forward to his meeting with Caslin that evening. Not only to catch the fool red-handed, but to put the entire mess behind him. And watching Erika, he realized the sooner he left L.A., the better.

  Minutes ticked by before the two gentlemen returned to Erika’s desk. It didn’t take a genius to decipher their carefully guarded expressions. They looked as though they had discovered a hidden treasure.

  “Without seeing the piece in question,” Lord Winston said modestly, “it is impossible to make an accurate authentication. However, from these detailed photographs, we can be quite certain that this is the missing piece,” he pronounced grandly.

  “And that means,” T.J. replied caustically.

  “It means, Mr. Morgan, that we simply must find out how and why your friend came into ownership of the piece. It means that there is a great deal of money at stake, not to mention a missing title and lands.”

  “Wait a minute,” Erika said waving her hands. “I feel very uncomfortable in giving you any of this information, even if we knew how the piece had fallen into her hands, unless we know a little more detail.”

  “In that we know of the Morgan family and their vast holdings in Britain,” Winston began as Erika rolled her eyes behind surreptitious eyelashes, “and because of its national importance, I think it would be all right to divulge some of the reasons behind our search for the tureen’s history.”

  Fifteen minutes later, one of the most fantastic and tragic stories Erika had ever heard unfolded. It was right out of the pages of a novel, only it was real. Her only thought was of Maime and how she would take the news. Though it was exciting to have intimate knowledge of a national treasure, Erika couldn’t help but wonder if opening Pandora’s Box would be worth it in the end.

  “Gentlemen,” T.J. interrupted the excited chatter. “I happen to know a great deal about the piece in question and how and why it came into the hands of my friend. But I don’t think it would be my right to share its history. At this point, I need to speak with Maime and see if she wants to proceed with this discussion. If she does not, gentlemen,” he said very sternly, “the matter will be dropped and you will return to Britain unsatisfied in your search for the original piece, at which time the Morgan family will make a substantial donation to the Museum. Do I make myself understood?”

  “But Mr. Morgan,” Lord Winston whined, “don’t you see how important…”

  “Winston,” T.J. returned sharply. “As you say, the Morgan family has vast holdings in Britain. Don’t push me too far. You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult I can make things for you.”

  “As you wish,” Winston replied, somewhat subdued. “Here is a card of the hotel where we are staying. We will be here for two more days. I would really like to hear from you,” he said pointedly.

  The two gentlemen stood and shook hands with T.J. and nodded politely to Erika.

  T.J. stood and made a move to exit Erika’s office behind the gentlemen.

  “Are you just going to leave?” Erika queried. “I suppose I shouldn’t even ask that question, should I? After all, you are a master of leaving without saying goodbye, aren’t you?”

  T.J. stood with his back to Erika for several seconds before slowly turning toward her.

  “I suppose you are speaking of the time when you were…ill,” he said doubtfully.

  “You question whether I was…ill?” she questioned with shock.

  “No, no I don’t,” he replied wearily. “That I know was the truth. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “You were there?” she questioned surprised?

  “I was there for many hours, praying that you would somehow make it. Asking you for forgiveness in driving you to that. And then, I had a call from your uncle. I had given my word to help him with a little project and Maime said you were coming through. So, I left.”

  Tears gathered in the corner of Erika’s eyes. She had desperately needed to hear him say those things. Not that it would in any way change their relationship. But it somehow validated her love for him. Hearing him speak of his evident concern, seeing it in his eyes, healed a deep part of Erika. She knew they would never rekindle what had once been theirs, knew T.J. would never even want to because the two people at Priest Lake were just figments of their imagination. Two actors on a stage. It had been a fairy tale. It had been perfect … except that they would never live happily ever after.

  Erika knew that T.J. would go his own way and find someone else to share his life with. Men were like that. Their emotions were all compartmentalized. She was different. There would never be someone else. Even before his bedside confession, she would have loved him. Now, she could love him and know he had been worthy.

  “Thank you for telling me that.”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” he responded sharply. “You still deceived me and I can never forgive that.”

  “I know. I did deceive you. I was afraid that if you knew who I really was, you could never love me. You could never accept my lifestyle.”

  “You were right. I could never accept your lifestyle,” he said derisively. “But,” he paused, “I wasn’t exactly upfront with you either,” he finished with bitter irony. “For similar reasons, I wanted to make sure you could live with my lifestyle. It doesn’t matter anymore, Erika. What happened … up there… wasn’t real life. This is real life. This is the cold hard truth of life. Here we live with our mistakes, our lies, and our deceits. And somehow, our secrets have a way of coming out … and then we have to live with the consequences.”

  And he left.

  Erika sat and contemplated his monologue. Her emotions were shredded. As she inhaled a shuttered breath meant to bring composure … control … she realized how futile the attempt when very quickly she stifled a sob threatening to shred any dignity left.

  Minutes later, Erika successfully regained control.

  Stiffly she sat behind her desk. Her eyes stung, her shoulders ached, her heart was in shreds. In the space of a few days she had found herself … and lost herself again. The familiar buoyancy that always surfaced in difficult times was peculiarly absent.

  She had so many pressing matters to attend, namely Ellie … but she just couldn’t bring herself to task. Willing her stinging eyes to dry once again, Erika grabbed her handbag and headed for the door. Not one more minute, the pain was too excruciating … and there were too many watchful eyes.

  Ellie’s eyes focused on the handbag over Erika’s shoulder. A sly smile lifted the corners of her red lips. Vengeance was so utterly rewarding. For years, she had secretly hated Erika. However, years spent in pretend friendship and pretend loyalty were not to be wasted. Victory would be very sweet.

  Erika was petite and soft-spoken, enchanting all she met. Ellie was at best … cute, bubbly. Erika was born with a silver spoon, Ellie with a bottle of rum from a drunken father who never could remember her name. Erika’s business success was a sham, according to Ellie, for without Ellie’s prowess, Erika would be relegated to Public Relations, not on the brink of becoming President of a vast textile empire. But, that was all part of the plan. For at the pinnacle of Erika’s success, Ellie would be positioned to topple her carefully contrived house of cards. Erika’s trusting nature would make it child’s play.

  Ellie knew her thoughts were only fanning the flames of her own hatred and jealousy and could in fact skew her thinking. But there was only such a short time left to relish and anticipate the implosion of Erika’s life. It was such sweet a
nticipation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Erika blinked at the bright noontime sun. It was certainly weaker than before her trip but was warm and therapeutic all the same. She glanced across the street to the country club with its Tudor like mullioned windows gleaming in the sun. Usually a welcoming sight … today it was stifling. She quickly turned and walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

  The park was just up ahead. Funny that she had never even stepped foot in the lush garden like setting before. She had personally donated money for its creation. It was brilliantly designed and lavishly landscaped. No expense was ever spared in Beverly Hills. Erika found a hand-carved bench next to a spectacular array of scarlet bougainvillaea. The sweet scent wafted over Erika’s senses poignantly reminding her of sweet childhood memories. Her mind’s journey, however, quickly traveled through time to the present.

  Physically wincing at the Priest Lake memories so close at hand, Erika slowly closed her eyes and pictured the brilliant diamond-like sparkles of the deep blue lake, even smelled the woodsy aroma of pine mixed with wood smoke. And then … Tim. With his dark wavy locks snapping in the wind behind his cherished Chris-Craft wooden boat. The heart-stopping smile and glistening white teeth. Erika felt the pain and suffering lift as she gave permission to indulge one more time … one more moment.

  And then as cruel as a horrible nightmare come to life, the handsome and beautiful face of Priest Lake became the hard and angry face of the real T.J. Morgan. Eyes once filled with love … were now filled with hatred. In her mind’s eye, she relived that explosive moment in her uncle’s office. And only then did Erika allow silent tears to spill down her face unheeded. She thanked God for her private sanctuary, almost an inner sanctum … a secret garden. Hers alone. It was like an Eden of her very own. No prying eyes.

  As the hurt and pain and remorse slowly drained through her body, a tentative peace took its place. It was like a salve on an open wound. It was always like that when she talked to God.