A Lonely Sky

by Linda Schmalz

Deirdre laughed, but it seemed stilted and unnatural. “Please tell me you’ve asked me to lunch with a purpose other than to irritate me?”

  “Of course.” Sam shifted in his seat, but before he could utter a word the waiter returned with Deirdre’s drink and offered to take their order. Sam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or irritated by the intrusion. What he had to say couldn’t wait, yet he dreaded having to tell it. He ordered a beer, and waited while Deirdre ordered a watercress salad with dressing on the side.

  Deirdre took a sip of her drink as the waiter departed. “On a diet, Sam? You didn’t order lunch.”

  “I’ve got to keep this short.” Sam glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get out to the country for a shoot by three.”

  “Oh.” Deirdre pouted. “And here I thought we’d have a leisurely little lunch, followed by a lazy afternoon. Perhaps we might stroll along the Thames?”

  “I told you, my time is limited.” It took huge effort not to sound irritated. The last thing he needed was Deirdre suspecting his desperation. She could not know she was his last hope.

  He forced a smile. He needed to stay in her good graces, at least through lunch. After that, he didn’t care.

  “You asked me to lunch, Sammy.” Her blue eyes flashed, but her honeyed speech belied any malice. “You must have missed me while in Australia.”

  Sam ignored her remark and bit the bullet. “I need money.”

  A long silence followed, as Deirdre sat motionless, her hand molded to her wine glass.

  “Did you hear me, Deirdre?”

  Her eyes turned to stone. She spoke between clenched teeth. “I heard you. You need money.”

  “Yes, and a rather lot of it, I’m afraid.”

  Deirdre threw back head and laughed. “But of course you do. Don’t you always?”

  “What’s so blasted funny?” Sam stubbed his barely smoked cigarette and leaned towards her. “I hardly think my financial problem warrants a laugh. This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

  Deirdre touched her napkin to her lips and wiped the smile off her face. “Well, silly me, Sam. I should have known. Here I thought we were on a date, but all you want is money.”

  “It’s not for me. As you know, Polly died.”

  “Oh yes,” Deirdre said, but her eyes remained void of sympathy.

  “I need to pay off Polly’s debts or the McTeel name will be disgraced and the manor will go to auction.” Sam folded his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on the table. “I need to borrow money right away, Deirdre. And you’re the only one-”

  “No.”

  “No?” He stared in disbelief. “Just like that? No?”

  “You heard me.” Her face remained expressionless. “No money for you, Sammy boy.”

  Sam clenched his teeth as he felt his blood boil at her mocking tone. He would not let her get to him. He took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “How can you deny me this?”

  “Simple. I say no.” Deirdre’s composure remained as rigid as Sam’s jaw set.

  “You know that money should be mine.”

  “But, it’s not.” Deirdre offered a triumphant little smile. “It’s mine as documented in black and white in my dearly departed Daddy’s will.”

  It took all his mental and physical strength not to reach across the table and strangle her. Instead, he reminded himself he could trap this fly with a sweeter brand of honey. He forced himself to relax and smile. “Now darling Deirdre, you can’t sport an old friend even the teensiest loan?”

  She shot him a smile as fake as his own. “No loan.”

  He remained pleasant with every fiber of his being. “Why not? Have I ever asked anything of you? Have I ever mentioned this money before? Have I ever contested that the money should be mine because my father, in a fit of anger, rewrote his will? No. I’ve never bothered you, never asked anything of you.”

  “Yes, and that’s just it, isn’t it, Sam?” Deirdre’s eyes bore into his as she spoke in a clipped whisper. “You never needed or wanted anything from me until now. You left me standing alone at our engagement party. I don’t owe you one red cent. If anything, you owe me.”

  Sam sat silent and stunned. Why had he thought this might actually be easy? The waiter arrived with Sam’s draft and Deirdre’s salad.

  Sam waited for the waiter to leave before speaking. “Deirdre, you and I don’t mix. We’d never work. We’re too different. I’m sorry about everything before, but honestly, it’s for the best.”

  She lifted her fork and picked at her salad. “And nothing will change your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Deirdre looked up from her plate. “I was just thinking that one way for you to get a hold of money quickly might be to marry into it.”

  He held back a nervous laugh. “Oh, really now. And let me guess who you might suggest?”

  She finished chewing a small bite of salad. “One of the most sought after, exquisitely rich, and may I say, most stunning women in all society.”

  “I have no bloody idea who you could be thinking of.” Sam smirked, sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Two could play this game.

  “Then order yourself a stiff one, darling, because you’re buying her lunch.”

  Sam laughed quietly. “I see, I see.”

  Deirdre put down her fork. “You were going to marry me before. What changed?”

  Julia’s blue eyes and bright smile flashed before his eyes. He pushed away the image and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand.

  “I just am not ready to marry.” No sense adding insult to injury by telling her the truth, that he was only marrying her for the money the first time. He never loved her. He never said he did, but yet, she just assumed everyone did.

  “But Sammy, if we marry you’d get the money, no questions asked.” Her tone had changed. She nearly sounded like a little girl. This new vulnerability unnerved him.

  “And what would you get? What makes you think I wouldn’t take the money and leave you?” The possibility crossed his mind. He brushed it away. Could he ever be that lousy of a rake?

  “You won’t.”

  “You’re so sure about that?”

  Deirdre reached for her wine. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “Why?” He found the idea preposterous. “I don’t understand what you want out of this.”

  Deirdre looked out the window. Her face seemed to soften in the sunlight and for a moment, Sam thought her eyes misted over. But, as she turned back to Sam, her eyes turned as cold as before. “I have my reasons. That’s my offer, take it or leave it.”

  “You’re telling me the only way you’ll help me out is if I marry you?”

  Deirdre sighed, stood and picked up her purse. “Thank you for lunch, Sam. It was rather enlightening.” She opened her purse and placed some money down. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay.”

  “Don’t be insulting.” Sam handed the bills back to her. “I can afford lunch.”

  “How gallant.” She started to leave, but turned back. “Sam, I’m giving you a chance to get out of the hole you’ve dug yourself into. Think about it. Continue as you are, a struggling actor with an enormous debt to pay and no way to pay it, or think about what you could be, fabulously wealthy and in with the right social crowd. I know people who could further your career.”

  “I don’t need you to get my career on track.” She had to be joking. Not only was he to marry her for money, but to help his career? Who did she think she was? He didn’t need her and he now would surely never ask her for money again.

  “Yes, well Sam, just see how eager the studios are to hire you when you can’t arrive for your shoots on time because you’re too busy digging a demented lady’s name out of the red. See what they think of you when you explain that you let your senile aunt squander away her money while you worried only about yourself. Believe me Sam, I can whisper that little morsel of information to the press in no time.”

  “You’re resorti
ng to blackmail now? Is that fair?”

  “Life isn’t fair, Sammy. Get used to it.” Deirdre snapped her purse closed. “You know my number. If you don’t want things to get worse, accept my proposal. And soon.”

  Deirdre left the restaurant. Sam contemplated hurling an ashtray after her. Instead he lit another cigarette.

  “It’ll be a bloody cold day in hell before I marry that woman.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  An unseasonably cold rain fell on London’s streets as Sam hurried up the steps of the familiar brownstone. He rang the bell, and pounded on the door. “Spencer! Hurry up and let me out of this blasted rain!”

  Sam assaulted the buzzer several more times before the door finally opened. Spencer stood there, half-awake, clad only in long-legged striped pajama bottoms, his blonde hair tousled from sleep. He could barely keep his eyes open as Sam pushed past him into the hallway.

  “Do come in.” Spencer stifled a yawn as he shut the door against the pounding rain. “Bloody hell, Sam, what time is it?”

  “Nearly two a.m.” Sam removed his jacket, and threw it over the banister. “Sorry about the time, old chap, but my shoot ran late and I really need to talk to you.”

  Spencer scratched his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “And this couldn’t wait for five or six more hours, when I might actually be awake?”

  “No.” Sam headed down the hall into the kitchen. “Got any whiskey? I’ve caught a chill.”

  Spencer padded dutifully after his friend and opened a kitchen cabinet. He produced the requested bottle and a glass, and handed them to Sam. “Okay, shoot. Make it quick though, heh? I like my sleep.”

  Sam poured the drink and downed it. “Okay, here’s the situation,” he said, as he pulled up a chair to the counter. He reiterated Polly’s debts, his financial straits, and his conversation with Deirdre.

  Spencer seemed ready to fall back asleep, until Sam mentioned Deirdre’s blackmail scheme and marriage proposal. He bolted upright from his tired stance against the refrigerator. His eyes opened wide.

  “She still wants to bloody marry you?” Spencer shook his head. “After the engagement fiasco, I thought she might give that idea up.”

  Sam poured himself another drink. “I walked right into her little blackmail scheme. I just asked to borrow money and the next thing I know she’s threatening to tell the press that Polly’s financial misfortune is my fault. Unless I marry her of course.”

  Spencer shook his head. “Did you remind her that some of her money is your family’s fortune? I can’t believe Deirdre can’t see it that way and just give you the money.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Ah, but you see, Deirdre gets nothing out of helping a friend for the sake of helping. Being nice doesn’t benefit her enough.” Sam slammed his hand on the counter. “But damn it Spencer! I never asked her for a morsel of the money, and the one time I really need it, she forces this ridiculous condition. Marry her! Why the hell would I do that when I love Julia?”

  “You do love Julia, then? Did you tell Deirdre that?”

  “No.” Sam reached for the bottle again. “All I know is that whatever was missing in my relationships before, I’ve found it with Julia. I’ve only known her a short time, but every minute I’m with her, she becomes more a part of me. I can’t get her out of my head, Spence. I feel connected to her, and it’s nothing I’ve felt before with anyone else. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. I know what you mean,” Spencer turned away and reached for a nearby coffee pot. “Looks like we’ll be up awhile.”

  “I need that money, Spencer. But, I how can I marry Deirdre when I love Julia?”

  “You’re actually considering Deirdre’s offer?”

  “Deirdre’s bribe and blackmail, you mean.”

  “Bribe, blackmail, whatever.” Spencer busied himself with the coffee making.

  “Well, I’ve been giving this some thought. What if I quickly married Deirdre, got my money, paid off the debts and then filed for divorce?”

  Spencer dropped the canister of coffee, grounds scattering across the floor. “You’d do that to Deirdre? And what would you tell Julia?”

  “Deirdre knows I don’t love her. She has to know that I’d only be marrying her for the money. The divorce shouldn’t come as much of a shock.”

  Spencer rubbed his temple and stared at Sam. “She won’t want a divorce. Jesus, Sam.”

  Sam continued on. “And Julia will understand. I think. She knows I don’t love Deirdre, so she’d have to believe I’m marrying only for my money and to help Polly. As soon as I file for divorce, she can come to England.”

  Spencer shook his head. “You’ve lost you’re bloody mind. That’s the most preposterous plan I’ve ever heard. I’d think I was dreaming if I didn’t know better.”

  “Then give me a better idea.” He had hoped Spencer would talk him into this plan, not out of it.

  Spencer pulled up a chair beside Sam. “I know you want to help Polly, but I think you have to throw in the towel on this one, old friend. You’re going to end up hurting Julia, Deirdre and yourself.”

  “What do you suggest I do?”

  “I’ll marry Deirdre and then loan you the money.”

  Sam laughed, but noticed his friend seemed serious. “She won’t marry you.”

  Spencer looked at the mess of coffee grounds still on the floor. “Yes, I know.”

  The two men sat in silence. Finally, Spencer rose and retrieved another glass. He poured himself a whiskey. He tossed it back and spoke. “I have to tell you Sam. It just seems so wrong, all of it. Marrying Deirdre under false pretenses-”

  “But in the end I’d save Polly’s name, and still get my girl.” Sam contemplated the scenario again. “It’s very far-fetched, I know, but I can’t think of any other way, can you?”

  Spencer looked away as he spoke. “Deirdre would have to marry you rather soon.”

  “She knows the creditors are banging down my door so I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  “I suppose.” Spencer returned his gaze to the whiskey bottle. “And she’ll probably want to go on a honeymoon.”

  “Oh God.” Sam hung his head in his hands. “She’ll want sex.”

  Spencer sighed. “As if that’s a problem. My God, the woman is a total knockout. Any guy would jump at the chance to be with her.”

  “Lucky me.” Sam sipped his drink.

  Spencer walked to the closet, and retrieved a broom and shovel. “What a mess.” He began to sweep the coffee grounds.

  Sam sighed and looked wearily at his friend. “Looks like Deirdre finally has me where she wants me.”

  “I suppose.” Spencer threw the coffee grounds into a nearby garbage pail. “Poor Sam.” He turned back, but Sam found no pity in Spencer’s eyes. Instead his friend appeared angry or sad. Sam couldn’t place his finger on it. Maybe Spence was just plain tired and thought his problem didn’t warrant a middle-of-the-night visit?

  “I’m going to bed. See yourself out?” Spencer headed to the hall, but suddenly turned back. “If you go through with this, don’t expect me to be your best man.”

  A wave of confusion shook Sam. Spencer had been his best friend for years. “Well, all right then.”

  Spencer walked down the hallway and up the stairs.

  “Now what the bloody hell is wrong with him?” Sam finished off his whiskey and headed home.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Oh for pity’s sake! What are you doing here, Spencer?”

  “And I’m happy to see you again, too, Deirdre.” He found her on the garden patio of her home, as she perused through several huge floral arrangements.

  “I have no time for you today,” she said, not bothering to look away from the bouquets. “I’m picking out flowers for my wedding.”

  “I’ll wait.” Spencer looked around the decorative yard for a chair, but found none. Deirdre continued to examine the arrangements. She offered nods of approval or looks of utter disgust at the flor
ist, a short, balding man with glasses who hung on her every word.

  “That one gets my vote,” Spencer chimed in as Deirdre walked past a five-foot high tree sprouting pretty pink and carmine petals.

  Deirdre scowled and rolled her eyes. “That’s my mother’s attempt at growing a peach tree.”

  “Pretty flowers, though,” Spencer offered.

  “Oh, no, good heaven’s no!” the florist said, frantically waving his hands, a horrified look on his face. “You don’t want peach blossoms at your wedding, Miss Lamont. The peach blossom flower symbolizes captivity.”

  “Then Sam should wear them in his lapel.” Spencer said, his eyes fixed on Deirdre.

  She ignored him, and turned back to the florist. “Would you please excuse me for just a teensy-weensy moment? I need to have a chat with this fellow or he’ll never leave.”

  “Certainly.” The man returned to primping a bouquet while Deirdre hurried Spencer into the sunny conservatory. She slid the glass doors closed.

  She spoke in hushed voice. “What on earth do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I just wanted to wish you congratulations on snaring Sam,” Spencer said, fidgeting with a nearby fern.

  “Don’t touch that.” She slapped his hand away from the plant. “It’s fragile.”

  “Sorry.”

  Deirdre sighed and glanced out the window. “Look, I’m in an awful hurry. Too much to do. Congratulate me at the wedding, all right then?”

  “Actually, I’m leaving town that day.” He searched her face for reaction. He found none.

  “Well then.” She continued to look to the patio. “Not to worry. Mother will be sure to have the press in attendance, so you can catch clips of the wedding on the television. It’s just an utter shame Prince Charles and Lady Diana married this summer. Otherwise, my wedding would be the social event of the season.”

  Spencer tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Yes, if only.”

  She extended her left hand to him. “Look at the diamond Sam gave me.”

  “Lovely.” He looked at her instead. She couldn’t be more beautiful. Her silver blonde hair fell softly about her shoulders in waves that reflected the sun. Her body seemed perfect, tall and lean and seductive under a sheer, linen short set. He ran his eyes down her long, tan legs and tried not to imagine…