by Leona Karr
“Not at all. You’re perfect.”
“And so are you.” His own breath was as heavy as hers as his gaze drew in her loveliness. Her lustrous dark hair fell in a soft waves to her shoulders, making a perfect contrast to her fair skin and the gown’s delicate rose color. A simple strand of pearls and matching tiny earrings were her only jewelry. She looked elegant and yet utterly unpretentious. Certainly, there was nothing about her that resembled the shivering, disheveled foundling that he’d rescued from the beach. He couldn’t believe that this devastating woman was looking at him with such soft, loving eyes.
He stood there, mesmerized by her loveliness, forgetting that he was holding the florist box in his hand.
She smiled and nodded. “Is that for me?”
He came to with a jolt. “Sorry. As you can tell I’m not really hep with this kind of thing. I chose roses because they seemed to be the safest bet.” He didn’t tell her that he’d almost bought an orchid, but decided that might be too ostentatious. He wasn’t even sure a corsage was in order.
“Pink rosebuds are perfect,” she assured him as she took them out of the box. Then she handed him the flowers and the corsage pin, and stood so close to him that she could smell the spicy tonic of his clean-shaven face.
He was surprised that his hands were steady and sure as he fastened the flowers to the bodice of her gown. He hoped she couldn’t tell that he was fighting the urge to draw her into his arms and crush the flowers in a fierce embrace. With the slightest encouragement he would have scuttled the whole darn evening. He knew then what a challenge it was going to be to share her with anyone else even for a brief time.
“I suppose we have to go,” she said softly as if reading his thoughts.
Even though he was tempted to sabotage the welcome back party, he knew that it just might be the impetus for bringing back her memory. He couldn’t be responsible for holding back her recovery.
“Yes, we have to go,” he said firmly, as much for himself as for her.
As they started down in the elevator to the lobby, he wondered if they were taking his car. Surely, she would rather arrive at the club in her Porsche. “Are we taking your car?”
“Darlene said she was sending a limo.”
As they stepped out into the foyer, they met a glowering Curtis face-to-face. Andrew instantly stiffened and shot a questioning glance at Trish.
“I think Janelle is about ready,” she said, giving Curtis a lukewarm smile. “It’s nice of you to escort her.”
“Oh, I’m Mr. Nice Guy,” he said with gravel in his voice. His cutting glance at Andrew spoke volumes. “I don’t see why Darlene had to send two limos. Surely the four of us could have managed in one.”
Trish just shrugged. She could feel Curtis’s eyes biting into her back as they walked out of the building.
Two black limousines were lined up at the curb. A uniformed driver quickly opened the door of the first one, nodding and smiling at them.
Andrew followed Trish into the car, feeling like someone who was there under false pretenses. He’d only been in a chauffeur-driven limousine once before when one of the executives of his company had given a holiday party at his estate and some of his co-workers had shared the cost of arriving in style.
As they drove through Manhattan and headed toward Long Island, Trish could tell that Andrew wasn’t feeling comfortable in this situation. Where was the friendly companionship they had experienced with each other? She feared that the closer she came to finding the real Patricia Radcliffe, the greater the distance would be between them. He already had his guard up against any kind of commitment to a future relationship.
Instead of sitting close to her in the limo, he had left a respectable space between them as if he either didn’t trust himself, or was worried about what the driver might think if he looked back and saw them in an embrace.
She adjusted the lacy shawl she had around her shoulders, more chilled by his remoteness than by the night air. A sense of defeat settled on her. Any attempt at conversation between them was stilted and soon died. By the time they reached the fashionable private club spread out along the water, they emerged from the limo like two people escaping from a stifling situation.
Even before they had taken a dozen steps Trish and Andrew were surrounded by guests emerging from cars that were also being parked by valets.
“Patricia, darling, how wonderful to see you.”
“We were devastated, thinking the worst had happened.”
“But here you are. Looking absolutely divine.”
“Is it really true? You don’t remember anything?”
Trish’s rising panic was communicated to Andrew as her steps faltered, and he felt the muscles of her body stiffen as if ready for flight. Slipping his arm around her waist, he held her firmly against his side as they moved through the gawking crowd into the building.
The large ballroom was brightly lit with shimmering crystal chandeliers. Beautifully set tables surrounded a center dance floor, and a group of musicians occupied a raised platform at the far end of the room.
Darlene squealed with artificial joy when she saw them. She was wearing a strapless, shimmering fuchsia gown that barely covered her full breasts. An array of diamond jewelry flashing on her neck, hands and arms was almost blinding.
“Everyone has been asking about you,” she bubbled. “Your table is right in front, so everyone can see how wonderful you look.” She gave Andrew a quick once-over and then smiled as if he’d passed inspection. “I’ve been telling everyone that Patricia was coming with her very own hero, the gallant man who had rescued her.” She gave Trish a playful shake of her finger. “And you can’t keep him all to yourself. You have to share.”
Andrew tried not to grimace. He’d only been there less than five minutes and he already felt nauseated. Trish looked a little green herself as he held out her chair and they sat down at a round table, center stage, at the edge of the dance floor. Fortunately there were only two chairs at the small table, but people at the other nearby tables were close enough to make a conversational gathering of a dozen or more.
Darlene kept dragging people over to their table. “Surely you remember Beverly Phillips. You went skiing with her in Colorado last winter.”
The young woman had a round face, slightly freckled nose and short carrot-red hair. Trish searched every feature for some mental quiver of recognition. Nothing.
Trish hated the disappointed look on Beverly’s face when she said, “I’m sorry. I truly am.”
Tears welled up in the young woman’s round eyes. Impulsively, she hugged Trish. “Oh, Patricia. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said and then hurried away, gently wiping at her eyes.
Darlene walked away with obvious irritation, and Andrew saw her vigorously talking to someone as she nodded toward their table. Just as he had expected, she was going to keep the pressure on Trish, hoping to show that her amnesia was just a sham.
When other partygoers continued to push themselves at Trish, apparently in the hopes that they would be the ones she would remember, Andrew wondered if Darlene had created some kind of a weird lottery. Even the kindest, most polite friends couldn’t seem to resist the “remember when” questions.
“Surely you remember the fun we had in Las Vegas last year?”
“What about the time we all went skiing in the Rockies, and you decided to try…”
On and on they went as if recounting every detail would suddenly make Trish jump up and say joyfully, “I remember everything. Thank you, thank you!”
They had only been at their table a short time and had ordered drinks when Andrew realized the only private place was going to be the dance floor.
He stood up, offered his hand and said politely, “May I have this dance, Ms. Radcliffe?”
Giving him a grateful smile, she went into his arms, and he deftly guided their steps into the center of a crowd of dancers. Closing her eyes, she let her cheek rest against his. In the cradle of his arms, she n
estled against the graceful length of his body with quiet ease. The nightmare surrounding her dissolved into a momentary peace. She was delighted to find that he was a relaxed dancer, moving gracefully and guiding her with a gentle touch. His love of music was evident in his natural rhythm. They didn’t speak, but let the harmonious movement of their bodies communicate the rising awareness of each other, and a suspended detachment from the gawking crowd around them.
When the song ended, they lingered on the dance floor, and ignoring speculative glances coming their way, they enjoyed several more dances before reluctantly making their way back to the table.
They had just seated themselves when Darlene’s stepson, Gary approached them with a pugnacious set to his chin. His scowl spoiled his young good looks. He put his hands on the table and leaning toward Trish, he demanded, “Aren’t you getting tired of your little game, Patricia? You know exactly what happened. Someone ought to wring the truth out of you. My father’s dead and you’re too chicken to admit it.”
Trish was too taken back by the force of his malevolent behavior to find any words to respond. She couldn’t believe that she’d become a pawn in this destructive tug-of-war. Perry’s wife was doing everything she could to force Trish to admit he was alive, and his son was beside himself wanting Trish to confirm that his father was dead. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Did Gary already know his father was dead because he had a part in it? Maybe she didn’t want to remember the truth of what had really happened to Perry?
“Gary, watch your mouth before I shut it for you,” Andrew threatened.
“Get in line,” Gary snapped, looking like someone on the edge of a precipice, being forced to jump.
At that moment, Curtis and Janelle approached the table, and Gary glared at them with fiery anger. Without even a nod, he deliberately turned his back on them and stalked away.
“What’s the matter with him?” Janelle asked, raising her eyebrows.
Trish just shook her head, painfully aware of curious glances coming from people seated at nearby tables. The buzz of conversation all around them verified that Gary’s outburst had been overheard. She wanted to sink out of sight, right then and there.
“He’s just being Gary,” she managed to say with a false smile.
“Would you like for me to have a talk with him, Patricia?” Curtis asked in his take-charge manner. “You don’t have to put up with any kind of harassment from him. He’s a spoiled brat and everybody knows it.”
“Just let it go, Curtis,” Trish answered with a stern look at him. What she didn’t need at the moment was some self-appointed Galahad creating a bigger scene.
Janelle said smoothly, “I was about to slip away to the ladies’ room. Would you like to join me, Patricia?”
“Yes,” Trish answered readily with a grateful look. As they left, she glanced at Andrew and Curtis, standing beside the table. She wondered if Curtis would stay and talk with Andrew or pointedly return to his table.
As it happened, Andrew was wondering the same thing and decided to force the issue. “Sit down, Curtis. You know how these women are. We could be left hanging for a while.”
“Very well,” Curtis answered stiffly. “We might as well take advantage of their absence and have a frank discussion. I’m not sure you understand how detrimental your continuing presence is to Patricia’s recovery.”
Andrew kept his expression neutral. “Detrimental?”
Curtis nodded, sat down and focused his hard gaze on Andrew. “You must realize that the sooner Patricia is able to function normally in all areas of her life, the greater the chance she has to recover her memory or to move forward in her life in her present state. Holding on to her confusion only delays the inevitable.”
“And what is the inevitable?”
“Accepting the truth about herself and the fulfilling life she deserves.”
Andrew nodded. “I agree with that completely.”
Curtis’s expression hardened. “Then why are you trying to capitalize on ill-fated circumstances for your own selfish benefit? You know as well as I do that Patricia only wants your company because she’s confused. If it’s money you’re after, I’m sure we can come to some acceptable arrangement. I’ve checked into your background, and it’s obvious that you see this relationship with Patricia as a golden opportunity to make up for the obvious depravation of your past life.”
Andrew smiled. “I’ve done a little investigating myself, Curtis. You were a lowly clerk in several investment firms before joining Atlantis Enterprises. You’ve always had richer tastes than your income and it wasn’t until Perry Reynolds moved you into the top strata of the company, and you began dating Patricia Radcliffe that you had money to live in the style you thought you deserved. Let me ask you a question. Is there anything you wouldn’t do to ensure your present lucrative position? Even marrying Patricia to keep it?”
Curtis’s expression hardened with instant fury. “My relationship with her is none of your damn business. And you’d better remember it!” His hands clenched as if he wanted to put them around Andrew’s neck.
“Are you threatening me?” Andrew asked coldly.
“Take the warning as you like. You’re nothing but a small irritation that can be easily eradicated. And don’t you forget it.” He rose to his feet and strode away from the table with his dark head elevated and his back as stiff as a ramrod.
Andrew wondered if Curtis’s uncompromising rage could be the basis of the threatening terror that Trish held deep in her unconsciousness. Was he responsible in some way for what had happened to her?
Trish and Janelle were just leaving the powder room when they met Darlene. “I wondered where you two were. We’re getting ready to acknowledge Patricia’s safe return with a toast and a special dance before we cut the cake.”
“No.” Trish shook her head. “I can’t take that kind of spotlight.”
“Of course you can. Everyone wants to wish you well.” Her tone was so false it turned Trish’s stomach.
“I’ve lost my memory, Darlene, not my mind,” Trish said coldly. “Your guests are here to be entertained by my presence. You know it and I know it. You gave the party in the hopes of catching me off guard, and I agreed to come because I hoped that something or someone would trigger my lost memory. Unfortunately, we’re both doomed to disappointment it seems.”
“You can’t leave now,” Darlene flared, angrily.
“Watch me.” Trish brushed past Darlene before she could protest.
“I guess you told her,” Janelle said as they headed back to the table. “Well, anyway, the evening isn’t a bust. I saw you and Andrew dancing. Wow, the sizzle sparking off you two could start a fire. You must really like the guy. Is this serious?”
“How can I be serious about anyone?” she answered honestly. “Especially someone I don’t want to hurt.”
“Well, Curtis seems willing to pick up where you guys left off.” She eyed Trish. “Maybe you shouldn’t burn all your bridges with him.”
“They’re already burnt,” Trish said flatly, and was relieved to see Andrew sitting alone at the table.
“I guess I’d better go find Curtis. He’s probably at the bar,” said Janelle with a sigh. “Why is it some women have fellows to throw away and the rest of us have to be content with the leavings?” There was bitter edge to her voice that Trish had never heard before.
When Andrew rose to hold Trish’s chair, she shook her head. “Let’s go.”
“Good idea.” He kept a guiding hand on her arm as they began to weave their way out of the crowded room. They were unable to avoid the many guests who tried to stop her for a chat.
“Patricia, how lovely to see you.”
“We must get together soon.”
“It’s a terrible time for you, we know.”
None of the smiling, concerned, or curious faces brought even a flicker of recognition. Trish’s smile was stiff and forced until they finally made their way to the front entrance.
&nb
sp; They hurried outside and were waiting for their limousine when two men in business suits approached them.
Trish instantly recognized one of them. Lieutenant O’Donnel looked out of place in his wrinkled trousers and sports jacket, and the expression on his face was not one of joviality.
When the detective saw Trish, he said something quickly to a younger and taller man who hurried inside the building while O’Donnel came over to Trish and Andrew.
He gave them both a reserved nod. “I understand that there’s a celebration going on, honoring your safe return, Ms. Radcliffe.”
She nodded, puzzled. “Were you invited, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, no, this is official business. We came to talk with Mrs. Perry Reynolds. We have some news about her husband.”
Trish swallowed hard. His expression didn’t indicate anything positive. Her voice was thin and shaky as she asked, “What kind of news?”
He kept his sharp eyes fixed on her face. “It seems that the coast guard found a small cruiser floating aimlessly on the current, several hundred miles out to sea. They towed it back to shore and made a startling discovery.”
As if some awareness deep in her subconscious knew what he was going to say, Trish leaned against Andrew for support.
“The body of Perry Reynolds was found floating in the water-logged cabin. Only he didn’t drown. He was killed by a bullet through the head.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trish stared at Lieutenant O’Donnel like someone suddenly gone deaf and dumb. Her mind denied the relevancy of his words, and something deep and powerful within her refused to relate to their meaning. A protective mental barrier fell into place, separating her from the destructive shock.
Andrew was the one who reacted. “You mean he committed suicide?”
“That seems unlikely, since we didn’t find a gun in the cabin.” His steady eyes never left Trish’s face. “We did find some other things, though. Why don’t we go down to the station and have a little chat, Ms. Radcliffe? I’m sure you’ll want to hear all the particulars.”
She fought to suppress a shiver. Why was he looking at her like that? The reality of the situation suddenly hit her like an Arctic chill. Perry Reynolds was dead and the detective believed she already knew it. With a choked sob, Trish pressed her hands tightly against the side of her head.