by Linda Cajio
“Thank you,” Carol said, looking up from her plate.
Ellen smiled genuinely this time. “That’s okay. I’m glad I could help.”
Her words echoed Mario’s, and the two women burst into giggles. After the hostility from Joe’s mother and aunts, it was nice to find a friend in Joe’s sister.
“Mommy, Mommy!”
Ellen whirled around at the familiar, piping voice, expecting to see her son running full tilt toward her as he always did when he was excited. It was a little dark-haired boy running, but it wasn’t Paulo. It would never be Paulo again.
Anguish shot through her, rooting her to the spot. She’d thought she was past this mistake. She’d prayed she was. Somehow she managed to turn, managed to plaster a smile on her face for Carol, who was frowning at her in puzzlement. She realized Carol hadn’t seen her reaction to the child.
She shrugged, as if confused herself. “I thought I heard Joe calling me.”
Carol’s brow cleared, and Ellen knew she had covered her break. But that was all she had covered.
Today held too many sharp reminders of what she had lost.
And of what she couldn’t have again.
“I thought I’d lost you.”
Joe slipped an arm around Ellen’s waist, pleased to find her talking with his sister. She didn’t lean into him, but he didn’t expect her to.
“I’m stealing her away,” he said pointedly to his sister, who smiled at him.
“I’m not surprised,” Carol said. She turned to Ellen and added quietly, “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome again,” Ellen said, clearly understanding what Carol meant. “Good luck to you and the baby.”
Joe steered Ellen into another, quieter part of the house, knowing they’d been at the christening long enough to satisfy familial obligations. Besides, if he didn’t get out of there, his father and uncles would probably tackle him again about some aspect of the business.
“Ellen, you were supposed to be saving my place in the food line—”
“Would you mind taking me home, Joe?” she asked, breaking in.
“What?” he exclaimed, halting.
“Would you take me home, please?”
“But—”
“I have a migraine headache.” Her voice was almost cold.
He stared at her, openmouthed. She did look pale and the lines around her mouth were tight with tension. But he could sense a desperation in her that had nothing to do with a headache. Any expression in her eyes was shuttered tight against him. The walls were back up, and higher than before. She was withdrawing from him, and he had no idea why.
“What’s wrong, Ell?” he asked, putting his hands on her arm.
“I told you.” She stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around her chest. “I have a migraine.”
“You didn’t have one ten minutes ago.”
“I have one now. If you won’t take me home, I’ll call a cab.”
“Ell—”
“Joe, please.”
He set his jaw. “All right. I’ll take you home.”
He’d left her alone for ten lousy minutes, and he’d lost her.
Nine
“I don’t think so, but thank you for asking.”
Joe gripped the telephone receiver tighter at Ellen’s overly polite words. This was the fourth time she had turned down a dinner invitation in as many days.
“Ell, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he snapped, exasperated with her. He’d asked the question every time he’d called, and he felt like a broken record.
“Because nothing is.” Her answer hadn’t changed either.
He clenched his teeth together in an effort to rein in his temper. “All right. Mario is meeting someone again. The man from the rink, I think—”
“I’m sorry, Joe. But I’m afraid I can’t help you any more. I haven’t been much help anyway.”
“Ellen—”
“I have to go. Thank you for calling, Joe.”
“Ell! Don’t hang—”
The click and the dial tone interrupted him as if on cue.
“… up the phone,” he finished. He stared at the telephone, tempted to slam down the receiver. He was really beginning to get aggravated with her. Controlling his temper, he very gently set the receiver into the cradle. He felt as if he were back to square one.
She sounded so blank that it scared him. He knew something had happened at the christening. Nothing else could explain her abruptly cutting him off. He’d talked to Carol, who had assured him that Ellen had been fine with her, right up until the moment he had joined them. In fact, no one else had spoken to Ellen, except Mario. And he hadn’t spoken to her alone.
Restless, Joe stood up and started pacing his office. He couldn’t understand it, yet the fact remained that as soon as Ellen had turned her back on his sister, the facade had crumbled. Who or what had sent her withdrawing into her shell?
“The answer to that question,” he said aloud to the empty office, “is I don’t know.”
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. She had been polite but quiet on the drive home. No amount of questioning or coaxing had budged her then. And it certainly hadn’t worked since. At least her training in good manners was on his side, and she was coming to the telephone. He’d thought that if he didn’t push her, she might thaw enough to talk to him.
At the rate he was going, though, he never would break through that tenacious politeness. Worse, she had refused to help with Mario. She had never refused to help him with the recipe before. Okay, so he had lied, and she might have realized that. He sensed that even if he had needed her help, though, she still would have said no. She was insuring he had no opening anywhere.
He wasn’t giving up. A woman like Ellen came along only once in a lifetime—if a man was lucky. She had been hurt very badly and nobody could blame her for her withdrawal. But she had opened something inside him, and he couldn’t turn it off now. Not and still be whole. He remembered all too well those moments in the car. They had haunted him ever since, and now he wanted to curse himself for being noble. Yet he knew he wouldn’t. He was in love with Ellen Kitteridge. He had to be. No amount of lust would explain this.
He stared at the phone, tempted to call again but knowing it was futile. Maybe the telephone had been a mistake. Maybe he ought to go out there. He knew how to keep six hundred workers from striking, but he had no idea what to do about one tenacious woman.
He needed help.
His secretary opened the office door, and he looked up, annoyed with the interruption.
“You have a meeting in five minutes with advertising,” she said.
“Right,” he muttered in a near growl. His advertising people were pushing for a new outside firm to handle their account. They didn’t like the last campaign that the old firm had conducted. Neither did he. But he was in no mood for a meeting. He was in no mood for business of any kind. Ellen had occupied his thoughts continually until he couldn’t concentrate on Carlini Foods. In fact, he was beginning not to give a damn about the company. That was bad.
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” his secretary said.
Joe chuckled reluctantly, his tension easing slightly. “I’m sorry. Advertising in five.”
She nodded and pulled the door shut, leaving him alone again. He rifled through the papers on his desk, looking for the projection report.
Then his hands stilled. He’d received help before with Ellen from a person who knew her very well.
He picked up the telephone and pressed the button for his secretary. When she answered, he said, “Hold advertising until I’m off my private line.”
He switched to the private line and mentally crossed his fingers as he rang the Kitteridge house again. One thing he’d noticed was that Ellen didn’t answer the phone. Sure enough, the accented voice of the housekeeper announced, “Kitteridge residence.”
“Lettice Kitteridge, please.” He hoped the older woman would talk to h
im. She had before. “This is Joe Carlini.”
There was a pause, then the woman acknowledged him. Poor thing was probably confused as hell, he thought wryly.
Suddenly a voice grated in his ear. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d talk to me, Joseph.”
Joe sighed in relief.
• • •
As Ellen dressed for dinner, she admitted eating was the last thing she felt like doing. But her grandmother had demanded that she “snap out of it” before the Gladwyne Flower Society arrived for their bimonthly dinner meeting. She’d snapped all right, she thought. Snapped into reality.
Looking in the mirror at the dark circles under her eyes, she decided reality was taking its toll. Her days and nights had been a blur of numb memories from the past and the present. They had blended together, confirming her pain and her resolve. In the end, she knew that however much it hurt, she had done the right thing by breaking off her involvement with Joe. She hoped he would understand that. As hard as it was to turn away from him, she had done it. She had done what was best for both of them. The incidents at the christening had reminded her of how people who … cared could be hurt.
She gazed into the mirror one last time, then whirled away from her reflection. She hated to admit that she had taken to watching Bull Durham nightly in a ritual of self-inflicted torture. And she always took Joe’s telephone calls. That was a torture she didn’t need, yet she did it because she told herself the best way to discourage him was for him to hear it from her own lips. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was punishing herself.
“Silly,” she muttered out loud. And stupid, and dumb. No more, she decided, straightening her shoulders. No more movies or telephone calls. Certainly no more spying. Joe was too sexy and exciting. Just being with him had caused her blood to sizzle. More than sizzle. She had burned for him.
No longer would she veer from her quest for peace and quiet. She would go down to her grandmother’s committee dinner and sit through the endless bickering and gossip of the other women with a smile on her face. It was her one last form of self-torment.
As she walked down the back staircase and through the dining room, she decided that she’d go on vacation somewhere, maybe travel from place to place until she found a spot that suited her. Maybe she’d stay for a long time.…
All thoughts fled when she entered the drawing room. Her sight dimmed and her ears buzzed as she saw Joe standing by the mantelpiece.
She blinked, positive she was having a nightmare. She wasn’t. Joe was ensconced in her grandmother’s house as if he lived there. Even as frantic questions ran through her brain, she still couldn’t believe it was real.
“There you are, Ellen.” Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her head. “We were waiting dinner on you. You know everyone, of course.”
She was dimly aware of someone taking her arm. She turned to find her grandmother smiling smugly at her. Lettice’s grip, however, would have cut a steel pipe in half. It forced Ellen to stiffen her spine. She had a pretty good idea of who invited Joe to dinner.
“Yes, I’ve met everyone,” she managed to say.
As she plastered a smile on her face and greeted the others, she remembered the committee consisted of the most influential matrons of Philadelphia society. And they all were the worst gossips on the eastern seaboard. She also realized Lettice must have purposefully arranged for Joe to be at this dinner to insure the best behavior from her granddaughter.
She finally forced her gaze squarely to Joe’s. Her first thought was that he looked powerful among her grandmother’s dainty Chippendale furniture. Not out of place, for he possessed a self-assurance that came from experience, not family connections. She noted he was holding a drink in one hand, and he was relaxed and comfortable with the gaggle of older women in the room. In fact, he seemed to thrive on their attention.
As she was led to his side, she found her tidbit of courage nearly deserting her. His smile was triumphant, and his gaze raked her body as he stepped toward her.
“Hello, Ell,” he said softly.
She was forced to offer her hand. Even though she’d braced herself for the familiar response to his closeness, she was still unprepared for the shock that bolted through her at his touch. It was the other women leaning forward in their seats with great interest that kept her from throwing herself into his arms. She pulled her hand away, and in the crispest tone she could muster she said, “Joe. How nice to see you again. I didn’t know you would be here tonight.”
Her grandmother rushed in with an explanation. “He’s making a wonderful donation to the society’s fund-raiser next week, and we wanted to discuss the presentation with him.”
“How lovely,” Ellen commented. Whispering, she added for her grandmother’s benefit, “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
“In a pig’s eye you won’t,” her grandmother whispered back. Overhearing, Joe grinned at the two of them.
Louder, Lettice said, “We’re having crowned roast of pork for dinner. Your favorite, Ellen. Joseph, will you escort Ellen into the dining room? The rest of us will follow.”
Ellen gritted her teeth and refused to allow any reaction to show. Those old biddies were eyeing her like vultures watching a potential meal stagger along the desert floor, she thought in disgust. Joes presence was enough to send their tongues wagging already, and she was not about to add fuel to the fire.
Dinner was a nightmare of polite conversation and underlying sensuality. Joe was seated across from her. He was charming and attentive to Philadelphia’s most influential matriarchs. And every time he turned to her, she became a gazelle frozen in the sight of a big cat. She couldn’t look away or stop her body from reacting to the proximity of his. Her brain insisted on replaying every intimate moment they’d shared. Her breasts ached and her thighs shifted restlessly of their own accord. She found herself watching his hands … and remembering the magic they created.
Somehow she managed to pick at enough food so that people might think she was dieting rather than suffering a loss of appetite. She doubted, though, that she was fooling anyone, least of all Joe. When the meal had ended and she could gracefully excuse herself, she was determined to escape as quickly as possible. Her grandmother, however, had other ideas.
“Ellen, you and Joseph must be bored to death with all this planning for the festival,” Lettice said in a very innocent tone. “It’s a beautiful night, so why don’t you two take a walk in the back garden.”
“Grandmother—”
“I’m very proud of my garden, Joseph,” Lettice continued, squelching Ellen’s protest before it had begun. “And I know you’re interested in gardens. You were just telling us before dinner about your own grandmother’s garden. I think you’ll enjoy a little tour.”
“I think I would, thank you.” Joe nodded as he captured Ellen’s gaze. The expression on his face was closed, and the lack of visible emotion made Ellen even more nervous.
“Lettice has a wonderful lighting system,” one of the women said.
Another chimed in. “The fountain lights are the centerpiece. You can’t appreciate the entire night display without it.”
“Shall we go?” Joe asked, setting his napkin next to his plate and rising. He gazed at her expectantly.
Ellen sensed her grandmother’s triumphant delight and knew she had been outmaneuvered. She rose from the table. As they left the room, the others launched into a discussion of the garden’s creator.
“Jessica Brannen did a wonderful job for you, Lettice.”
“Mikaris now, Margery. She got married again, remember? She does do wonderful work. Maybe we could get her for the festival.…”
Without a word, Ellen led Joe through the French doors. Once they were outside, she marched down the path toward the fountain. “Don’t dawdle, Joe, if you want to see grandmother’s amazing garden.”
“Ell, we need to talk.”
“No time for it,” she snapped, practically running along the path. She
was angry at being manipulated into seeing him, but she also didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. “You wanted the tour, so here are the azaleas, the mountain laurel, and the rhododendron. There are the yews and the boxwoods and the grass.”
He kept pace with her. “Ellen, hold it—”
“Can’t.” They reached the fountain, and she was gratified to see Joe gape at the floodlit alabaster mermaids rising from the center of the water. The lights sent prisms of rainbows twinkling across the fountain.
Ellen took advantage of his momentary lapse of attention. She slipped across another path and through a planned gap in the bushes, then ran down the short slope of the lawn to the cabana by the swimming pool. Breathless, she took the spare key from under the mat and unlocked the door, determined to get away from Joe.
She had no sooner turned around to shut the cabana door when a hand pushed it wide open. She shrieked and backed away, putting the dust-covered sofa and chairs in the one-room building between her and him.
Joe shut the door behind him, and the click of the lock was a gunshot in the charged silence. He turned on the lights and surveyed the surroundings. “Clever of you to find us a private place to talk, Ell.”
“We talked already. On the telephone, every day,” she reminded him, forcing away her anxiety. “I told you, I’m not interested in having dinner with you, and I can’t help you any longer with Mario.”
“What happened on Sunday to change you?” he asked, coming around the left end of the furniture. “Why won’t you tell me?”
She moved to her left, knowing she had to keep the furniture between them. “I … I realized that I wasn’t interested any longer. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself more clear.”
“You were interested the night I took you back to your car,” he reminded her, circling around the furniture. “Your mouth was interested, and your hands were all over me with interest. You moaned your interest—”
“Stop it!” she exclaimed. Images that matched his words ran through her head.
“You promised to be patient,” he said, his gaze steady on her. “But you ran again. I know something happened at the christening to make you run. Tell me—”