by Sandra Brown
“I had. But I might change my mind. This would strengthen the animosity building between Roark and Todd. What if…” he thought it over for a moment before continuing. “What if Todd drops Mary Catherine flat? Avoids her. Even complains to Roark that she’s a pest, a clinging vine, something like that.
“Meanwhile, she pours her heart out to Roark. She admits that it was Todd’s baby she lost, and that she has fallen in love with him, and so forth. Roark likes her as a friend, and he was there that night to clean up Todd’s mess, literally, so he’s really bothered by the way Todd treats her.”
“Does Todd ever know about the baby?” Maris asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Mary Catherine doesn’t want him to know, and Roark won’t betray her confidence by telling him.”
“I told you this guy had honor.”
“Not so fast,” Parker said quietly. “Didn’t it strike you that he protested too much when Todd accused him of being less than honest about Hadley’s critiques?”
Slowly, she nodded. “Now that I think about it… Have they been more favorable than he let on?”
Parker withdrew several sheets of folded paper from the breast pocket of his shirt. “I dashed this off just before I quit for the day.”
She reached for the pages, but Mike suggested that Parker read them out loud.
“Want me to?” Parker asked, addressing Maris.
“By all means. Please.”
Chapter 27
Parker unfolded the sheets of manuscript and held them up to catch the light.
“ ‘Dear Mr. Slade,’ he read, ‘according to your last letter, you wish me to send future pieces of correspondence to your recently acquired post office box instead of to the street address. As it makes no difference to me, I can only assume that the request arises out of an unspecified desire to convenience yourself.’ ”
Parker cringed. “Good God. Verbose old bastard, isn’t he?”
“Well, he does teach creative writing,” Maris said. “One would expect him to be effusive.”
“Effusive is one thing, but that is obnoxious.”
Parker gave his outspoken valet a dirty look. “Thank you, Mike, for that unsolicited and tactless observation.”
“You criticized it first.”
“I’m allowed. I’m the author.”
Maris smothered a laugh. “You might consider trimming some of the fat, Parker. Just a little.”
“Okay. No problem. On the other hand, just for the sake of argument, Hadley’s verbosity is consistent with his character. Remember that he hails from an old and distinguished southern family. They had more stiff-necked pride than money and lived well beyond their means. Confederate sabers on display in the parlor. A matriarch whose ‘headache medicine’ was Tennessee sour mash. A batty maiden aunt—read ‘deflowered, then jilted’—who lived in the attic, smelled of gardenia, and wouldn’t eat uncooked fruit.”
“I remember reading those colorful details,” Maris said.
“My grandparents had friends like Hadley’s family is described,” Parker told her. “I remember their speech being flowery and overblown.”
Maris looked toward Mike for confirmation. “I rely on your superior knowledge of southern culture and heritage. Is it too much?”
“As usual, he’s exaggerating,” the older man replied. “But there’s definitely an element of truth there. If you scratch the surface of just about every multigenerational southern family, you’ll find at least one cleric, one loony, one outlaw, and enough liquor to float an armada.”
Laughing, she turned back to Parker. “Go on with the letter.”
He located the spot where he’d felt off.
“ ‘Once a relationship has been built on a particular foundation, it’s extremely difficult to destroy that foundation and reconstruct it with different specifications, without also destroying the original relationship.’ ”
“You’ve lost me,” Mike said. “What’s he talking about?”
“I agreed to trim the fat, okay?” Parker said, annoyed by the interruption. He ran his finger down several lines of text. “In summary, he’s saying that they began as professor and student. He says it’s hard to break the habit of assuming a professorial role with Roark, hard not to lecture or teach, and instead to address his comments to him as a peer.” He looked over at Mike. “Got that?”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, here… ‘Not that I am your peer, Mr. Slade. Your writing has surpassed my ability to critique it. It deserves an appraisal more distinguished than mine, although you could not solicit one that would be more appreciative of your talent.’
“He goes on for several paragraphs, confessing that he had entertained writing aspirations of his own before being forced to acknowledge that he wasn’t gifted with the talent. He says his role is to teach, instruct, inspire, yaddah-yaddah.”
He flipped to the second page.
“ ‘Rarely does one with my limited ability have the opportunity to work with someone as talented as you. I consider it a privilege to witness the development of a great American novelist, for that’s what I believe you will ultimately become.’ ”
Parker raised his index finger, letting them know that he was getting to the crux of the passage. “ ‘Your writing far surpasses that of any other student, past or present, including your friend Todd Grayson. He has written an engaging story with several interesting characters, specifically his protagonist. However, his writing lacks the emotional depth, the heart, with which yours resonates. I have no doubt that he will publish. He can produce a mechanically correct manuscript, incorporating all the textbook elements of fiction.
“ ‘That does not necessarily mean that he writes well.
“ ‘I can teach students the basics of writing, acquaint them with the rules of fiction, familiarize them with the writers who have mastered these techniques, but only God dispenses talent. That indefinable and elusive quality cannot be taught or otherwise acquired no matter how earnestly one desires and seeks it. I learned this sad truth from my own experience. Were talent attainable, I would be writing my own novels.
“ ‘Thank the god to whom you pray, Mr. Slade, for you were blessed with that magic. You were christened with a rare and wonderful ability. Your friend was not. I fear that eventually this lopsided appropriation of talent will cause a breach between you.
“ ‘During my tenure, I have observed thousands of young men and women. Because of this vast exposure to people from diverse backgrounds, I consider myself a superior judge of character. At the very least, I’m an astute observer of it.
“ ‘Some human characteristics are common to us all. Manifestation of these characteristics is dependent upon circumstance. Everyone has temporary displays of fear, happiness, frustration, and so on.
“ ‘Other traits are unique to certain individuals. They define the person and his character. Among these traits are admirable examples like humility, charity, bravery.
“ ‘Unfortunately these have dark counterparts like jealousy, greed, and envy. Persons governed by one of these traits typically cloak it with charm, and most are very successful at it, because along with the trait invariably comes the cunning to conceal it.
“ ‘Nevertheless, the trait lives and matures inside them as insidiously as an eel inside a cave, waiting, even anticipating, the times when it can strike anything or anyone that threatens.
“ ‘I do not wish to speak ill of your friend. I would like to think that my barometer for integrity has failed me completely, and that I am terribly wrong about the qualities that motivate him.
“ ‘But I remember Mr. Grayson’s machinations which caused you to be late for an important meeting with me. Plainly put, it was a dirty trick with malicious overtones. Frankly, I’m surprised that the friendship survived it. It’s a credit to you that it did. I don’t think Mr. Grayson has it within himself to forgive to that extent, which is yet another notable disparity between your characters.
“ ‘I wouldn’t
presume to choose your friends for you. I wouldn’t want the responsibility even if you were to grant it to me. But I’ll conclude by using an expression I’ve heard around campus. It’s a contemporary idiom which does the English language a grave disservice, but which, in this distance, seems appropriate: Heads-up.
“ ‘I look forward to reading the next draft of your manuscript. In your cover letters, you never fail to apologize for taking up my time, and to thank me for the careful consideration I give your work. Mr. Slade, be clear on this: it is a privilege, not an imposition. Sincerely yours, Professor Hadley.’ ”
Parker refolded the pages and returned them to his shirt pocket. No one spoke for a moment. Maris had been lulled by his words and the cadence with which he’d read them. She shook off the mild daze and gave the swing a gentle push.
“So Todd’s gut instincts were right. Roark’s reviews from Hadley were better than the ones he received.”
Parker nodded. “And Roark was dishonest about it.”
“I don’t think that matters.”
He looked across at her, and the intensity of his stare compelled her to continue the thought.
“Todd wouldn’t have taken it well if Roark had said, ‘You guessed right. Hadley thinks you’re a hack with limited talent, while he believes I have the potential of being the next Steinbeck.’ ”
Mike agreed. “If Roark had told him the truth out there on the beach, Todd would have ended their relationship then and there. Your story would be over. The end.”
Parker grunted a nonresponse.
Reading from the manuscript seemed to have darkened his mood, although Maris couldn’t figure why. The content had obviously captivated her and Mike. The letter had been a clever way to move his story along without relying strictly on narrative. Since she and Mike had approved it, she couldn’t account for his sullenness. “What’s bothering you, Parker?”
“Roark’s supposed to be the good guy, right? He’s the lamb in the goat/lamb comparison.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”
“It doesn’t bother you that he deceived his friend?”
“His motivation wasn’t deception. It was kindness. He was trying to spare Todd from what Hadley referred to as the ‘sad truth,’ because he knew it would be devastating. Todd simply wasn’t as talented as Roark. Roark might have sensed from the beginning that Todd lacked—”
She snapped her fingers. “No, he knew it. Didn’t he? Of course he knew that he was better. He had to know it. Or else why did he get a post office box to prevent his mail from coming to their apartment? He was afraid that Todd would intercept one of his glowing critiques from Hadley.”
“Nothing escapes you,” he said, his mood seeming to lift. “Now forget that you know it.”
“Why?”
“Because it becomes crucial in the next chapter or so.”
“The mention of the post office box was a foreshadowing?”
He smiled enigmatically.
“Todd intercepts one of the letters, right?” she guessed. “Maybe even this letter, because this is the one that could be the most damaging to the friendship. It spells out the differences in their talent and their characters. Todd… uh, let’s see, he borrows a pair of jeans or something, maybe without asking Roark, and he finds the letter in a pocket.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t figured out yet how he was going to get his hands on it. That’s pretty good.”
She beamed. “Todd reads this letter. He can’t believe what he’s reading. His secret fear is realized. Roark is superior to him. That’s why he had tried to sabotage Roark with Professor Hadley. It hadn’t worked. Indeed, it backfired. Hadley saw through him. Furthermore, Roark has won Hadley’s praise. A double whammy for Todd. He reacts by… doing what?”
“You tell me.”
She concentrated hard, unconsciously gnawing on a corner of her lip. “I was going to say that he would be crushed, but, on second thought, that would be out of character.” She shook her head. “No, he’s too egotistical to let a university professor destroy his ambition. I think he would be furious. Livid.” She formed claws with her hands and held them at the sides of her head. “Explosively, volcanically enraged.”
“How does he channel that rage, Maris?”
“He confronts Roark with the letter.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Parker,” Mike cut in softly.
“He’s not honest enough to take that approach. He—”
“Parker,” Mike repeated.
“He waits. He—”
“Parker.”
“He—”
“Parker!”
“Goddammit, Mike! What?”
He rounded on the older man, but Mike didn’t flinch from his hard look. In fact, he returned it. The air was electrically charged, as it had been in the kitchen this morning. In both instances, thoughts were telegraphed that Maris couldn’t interpret.
Parker was the first to relent. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. “I’m sorry, Mike. Forgive me. I was following a train of thought.”
“It’s okay. I know you hate distractions when you’re on a roll.”
“Dinner was great.”
“So you said.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Well, thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Mike stood and picked up the silver serving tray that held the empty carafe and coffee cups. “Before the mosquitoes carry me off, I think I’ll go in.”
“Good idea. Good night.”
“Good night, Mike,” Maris echoed.
At the door Mike turned and addressed Parker. “Do you want me to wait up and help—”
“No, no. I’ll be fine tonight. Go to bed.”
The older man hesitated, glanced at Maris, then nodded and went inside.
Once they were alone, Maris raised her hands in a helpless shrug. “Explain to me what just happened.”
“When?”
“Just now. Between you and Mike.”
“Nothing.”
“Parker,” she cried softly.
He blinked innocently. “Nothing.”
She stared him down, but he didn’t relent. Vexed over being totally shut out, she got up from the swing. “Fine. Play word games. But play them without me. Good night.”
“Don’t go away mad.”
“Then don’t talk down to me. I hate being patronized.”
He dragged his hands down his face. “And you should. I’m sorry.” He sucked in a breath of the sultry air and turned his head away to stare out at the row of live oaks.
“It’s this… this thing between Mike and me. Sometimes he sees a darkness creeping over me. A mean ugliness. Like I was when he found me. It scares him, I guess. He’s afraid I’ll drop back into that abyss. He yanks me out of it before I can sink too far.”
Turning back, he fixed his eyes on her. “Something like that.”
“Thank you.”
They simply looked at one another for several moments, then he smiled crookedly. “It’s been a roller-coaster evening.”
“Yes, it has. But I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.”
He reached out, encircled her wrist with his fingers, and gave it a tug. She moved nearer, but not close enough to suit him. He curved an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Hooking the other hand around the back of her neck, he drew her down for a kiss. She placed her hands on his hard cheeks. Their mouths melded and tongues plundered in a delirium of longing.
When at last they pulled apart, he pressed his face into the softness of her middle. “I’ve been craving this all day.”
“There were times when I thought you’d forgotten about last night.”
He gave a soft, harsh laugh. “Not fucking hardly.”
His head nudged her breasts through the silk cloth of her dress. His humid breath filtered through it to her skin. He cupped her bottom in his hands, buried his face deeper into her.
Threading her fingers throu
gh his hair, she sighed, “Ah, Parker, please.”
“Yes. Anything. Just ask.”
“I… um…”
“What?”
“I can’t do this.”
“You can. You have. You did. Last night. Remember?” One hand found bare skin beneath her skirt, warmth between her thighs.
Her knees went weak, but she pushed his hand down and stepped out of his reach. “I can’t. We can’t.”
He gulped a breath and blinked her into focus. “Why not?”
She licked her lips, tasted him. “I’m worried about my father.”
“Your father?” He seemed to grope for a definition of the word. “Your father? You’re afraid that he wouldn’t approve? That he’d come after me with a shotgun? What?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”
She gave him a quick summary of her attempts. “Finally, just before dinner, I tracked our housekeeper Maxine to her sister’s house. She stays with her when she takes a day off. Which is rarely.
“Anyhow, she told me that Dad had gone to our country house in western Massachusetts for the weekend. He and Noah. They insisted she stay behind. They wanted to go by themselves.”
“So? They’re big boys. What does their leaving New York for the weekend have to do with us necking here on the veranda?”
“Nothing. Directly.”
“Then I don’t get it.”
“Maxine watches Dad like a hawk. Or a mother hen. I wouldn’t be worried if she were with him. I don’t like the idea of his being alone.”
“He’s not.”
No, he was alone with Noah.
What she didn’t tell Parker was that Noah had assured Maxine that Maris was aware of their weekend plans, that she had sanctioned them. The loyal employee had been distraught to learn that Maris had not been consulted. “Why did Mr. Reed mislead me?”
Why indeed?
Maxine had then told her that Daniel had entertained a guest for breakfast.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” She explained about the errand he’d sent her on. “I think Mr. Matherly dreamed up a reason to get me out of the house. When I got back, he was washing dishes.”