“Damn!” Robert swore energetically. “We’ve lost him. He’s run to earth by now. Had you gone around those cars—”
“Had I gone around those cars we would be dead by now!” The Towncar, which had stopped to allow another car to turn, picked up speed again. I allowed several car lengths to open between us before I moved. We were in Buxton now, and for several minutes we drove around the little side streets, trying to sight our quarry, as Robert put it. Finally I pulled into a handy parking lot and killed the engine of the car.
“Why do you think he’s following us?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Robert said slowly. “I doubt that it has anything to do with me.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Perhaps he admires you.”
I started to argue with him, then reconsidered. “I guess he could be some sort of weird stalker,” I said. “There’re a lot of creepy people in the world. But if he is, Robert, that in itself is pretty frightening.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It worries me.”
“On the other hand, it could be coincidence. There are lots of white cars around, lots of impatient drivers, and anyone would try to speed away from someone who pulled a stunt like we did back there.” I drew a breath and went on rapidly. “The guy in the white car is probably just your average tourist with bad road manners who at this very minute is probably wondering what kind of dangerous people would whip their car around and—”
“You don’t believe that,” Robert cut in.
We looked at each other. Then Robert cleared his throat. “I believe you’ve acquired a troubled and troublesome admirer, Kathleen.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I nodded anyway.
“And there’s every possibility that this is connected to the open door incident the other night, not to mention those, um, hang-ups.”
I stared straight ahead. The same thoughts had occurred to me, too. There are only so many coincidences in life.
“And until we resolve the matter,” Robert pressed on, “you shall not leave the house alone.”
That sounded like such a good idea that I managed to overlook the high-handed and paternalistic overtones of it.
“In fact, this seems like the sort of situation your constables are being paid to handle. Shall we call in the sheriff’s “No. Absolutely not. They’d ask questions about you—”
“Requiring papers of identification that I do not possess. Of course. I quite see your point.” Pause. Then: “You look a little pale. Your hands are shaking.” He reached over and folded my right hand (which was also ice cold) into his left. His hands, long-fingered and almost elegant, were strong and capable, and his warm touch was reassuring. Suddenly I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my face against his shoulder.
“Steady, Kathleen,” he crooned. “Steady, steady.” He stroked my hair and made soft shushing noises in my ear, then took my face between his hands and gently kissed my lips.
“You need some tea,” he said. “You’ve had nothing all day, have you?”
Suddenly, I remembered the point of our drive. “Do we still have the grocery list?” I asked.
“We can do that later, Kitty. Let us have some tea right now.”
I glanced up at the building in front of us into whose parking lot we had stumbled. There was a green striped awning over the door and above it a sign that read Island Eats.
“Well, this is convenient,” I said.
Robert followed my glance. “And to the point, I would add.”
*****
Island Eats was the kind of predictably trendy place that appeals to tourists, the sort of place that local people rarely visit. A hostess seated us at a table in a bay window that was curtained in blue gingham and overhung by a Boston fern, which made our little corner seem snug and private. Service was quick and a few moments later iced tea (for Robert) and latte (for me) appeared before us.
I had just raised my latte to my lips when a man caught my attention.
Robert looked at me over the rim of his glass. “Kitty? You look troubled.” He followed my gaze, then turned back to me and raised an eyebrow.
I scrambled to my feet. “Phillip!” I smiled (feigning as much enthusiasm as possible). “How good to see you.”
While Phillip offered me a quick embrace, Robert stood and smiled politely. Reluctantly, I made introductions, keeping them brief.
The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings. I was relieved to note that Robert remembered not to bow.
“Join us, please,” I encouraged, and Robert offered Phillip a chair.
“For a minute, perhaps,” Phillip acquiesced. “I was just on my way to the Cape with my fishing poles and paints, and stopped in for some coffee. I don’t mean to intrude… ”
Robert and I quickly assured Phillip he was not intruding and that in fact we lived for little surprises like this, and finally, amid the noisy scrape of chair legs on floor tiles, we all sat down. The waitress came over and Phillip asked for coffee. As soon as she disappeared with his order, Phillip turned to Robert and beamed.
“You’re English,” he pointed out merrily.
“Yes, I am,” Robert admitted.
“Where in England are you from?”
“Kent,” Robert told him.
“Oh, Kent is lovely,” Phillip enthused.
“You know it?” Robert asked.
“Not well. Haven’t been in England for years. But I was fond of the area around Dover. Did some nice seascapes there.”
“Yes,” Robert returned, “I enjoyed my time around the coast as well.”
What Robert enjoyed on the Kentish coast was tracking down smugglers with his unit of light dragoons. I really didn’t want to see the conversation make a turn in that direction, so I scrambled to change the subject.
“I hear you’re having dinner with Mother at John and Helen’s later this week.”
Phillip hesitated. “I had hoped to, but … I’ve been painting and fishing when I should have been making repairs at the cottage.”
“You’ve been relaxing,” I told him. “I imagine you’ve needed that.”
“Well, relaxing hasn’t gotten the roof repaired or the deck stained and sealed. And now I’m so tangled up with things here that I may have to reschedule dinner.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
“So will I.” He shook his head a little thoughtfully. “I doubt I can make the Kenmore show this weekend, either.”
“Horse show? Robert asked.
“No, art.”
“Oh, you’re the watercolorist,” Robert replied, as if he was just now making the connection. “The seascape you gave Kathleen is quite fine.”
“She showed you?”
I broke in before this went too far and revealed too much. “Phillip also works in oils,” I told Robert. “Mother has one of his riverscapes over the sideboard in the dining room. I’ve always loved it.”
“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “The one of the Schuylkill.”
I was startled. “The Schuylkill? You mean … in Pennsylvania? I always thought it was of the Rappahannock up near River House.”
“Oh no,” Phillip assured me. “It’s of the Schuylkill where it flows through Whitpain Township. Just a few miles, really, from Skippack Pike. I used to spend a great deal of time exploring its shoreline.” He paused. “Actually, I did that painting for your father. It was … oh, years ago now.”
I stilled. “You knew my father?”
The waitress chose this moment to return with our drinks, distributing coffee, latte and Diet Coke around the table. As soon as she left I turned back to Phillip.
“Yes, of course I knew your father.” Phillip was clearly surprised. “I’ve known him — knew him — since I was a young man — a kid, really — in Pennsylvania.”
I shook my head, astonished. “I didn’t know you were from Pennsylvania.”
“Oh yes. I came down to Virginia because your dad was here. I missed him, you know, after he went back, but I had begun a life o
f my own and decided to stay on.” Abruptly, Phillip cleared his throat. “I‘ve been in Fredericksburg since before you were born, Kathy Lee. I can’t believe you didn’t know this.”
“I knew that you and Mother have been friends for years. But I didn’t realize you knew my dad. You must have known his family, too.”
“I knew them very well, Kathy Lee. The Tiptons were wonderful to me. They took me in when I had nowhere to go and gave me a job and encouraged my art.”
I was curious about this “taking in” business, but I thought it might be rude to ask directly. Maybe he was a runaway, a juvenile delinquent, a drug addict. So instead I said, “A job.”
“Your father was teaching at Penn State and your uncle lived in the city at the time. Someone needed to help your grandfather with the house, the grounds. Your grandmother had passed away and he was there alone.”
“What was he like?” I asked.
“Your grandfather?” Phillip smiled, “He was a stock broker. I guess you knew that. He got me interested in the market. And then—”
“No, I mean, his personality, his interests—”
“Oh! Well … he was gentle, fussy, sometimes mildly cantankerous. Loved to garden. That was my main responsibility — to help him with that.” Phillip paused. “I could go on for hours, Kathy Lee. I wish you knew him. He was a wonderful man.”
My opinion of Phillip was rising by the minute. Unfortunately, I was so busy with family recollections that I let the conversation slip out of my control.
“So…” Phillip looked invitingly at Robert. “How do you and Kathy Lee know each other?” For a moment there was a profound silence. We had not scripted this, and while I should have been cooking up a how-we-met scenario (clearly Phillip would eventually ask), I had gotten sidetracked by old-home-week instead.
I opened my mouth to blurt out something, anything, but Robert beat me to it.
“I teach history,” he said smoothly.
“Yes,” I chimed in. “In fact, we met at a conference on Teaching the Civil War in Secondary Education back was when I was still at James Monroe.” What a consummate liar I was.
Phillip looked at Robert. “Do you teach in Fredericksburg?”
Robert said yes at the exact moment I said no.
“Actually, I was teaching in, um, Charleston,” Robert clarified. “But I’ve accepted a post in Fredericksburg.”
“Coincidentally,” I said a little weakly.
“Oh, I see.” Phillip smiled beatifically. “Are you enjoying the Outer Banks?”
“Very much,” Robert told him.
There was a rather longish pause during which my thoughts scrambled to avoid the question I knew was coming next. But I froze, like a deer in headlights.
“And are you staying in Avon?” Phillip asked pleasantly.
Suddenly, my mind unlocked. “In Rodanthe,” I put in quickly.
“With friends,” Robert added. I noticed his smile was tight.
“We ran into each other just the other day at Food Lion,” I added. “Unexpectedly.”
“What a delightful surprise!” Phillip exclaimed as if he meant it. And looking at his smooth and slightly fleshy face, at his gentle, watery blue eyes, I was pretty sure he did.
We chatted quietly for several more minutes about inconsequential things, and then Phillip stood to leave. He shook Robert’s hand and then pressed mine between both of his. “I would love to tell you all I remember about your grandfather, Kathy Lee. Will you have dinner with me Thursday night? And Robert, too,” he added kindly.
“Yes,” I told him, knowing that I shouldn’t. “I would like that.”
* * * *
No sooner was Phillip out of sight than I snatched the cell phone from my purse and dialed John and Helen’s number. Helen tracked down Lila who was reading reading to Blythe out on the terrace.
“Mother,” I said without preamble. “How come you never told me Phillip knew my father?”
“Well, I never told you water ran downhill, either. I just assumed you knew.”
“Well, I didn’t know. I was flabbergasted when he mentioned it today—”
“Oh,” Lila perked up quickly. “You saw Phillip today?”
“I just said I did. Did you ask him to check up on me?”
“Of course not, Kathy Lee!” Lila tried to sound indignant. “What a question. Although he’s mentioned on the phone that he’s seen you once or twice.”
I could just imagine Lila debriefing him long distance. On the other hand, I understood her concern about me and what with Phillip being so handy and all, I wasn’t sure I could blame her if she asked him to keep an occasional eye on me. And besides, it really didn’t matter now.
“We were talking about painting,” I went on, steering back toward my real point of interest. “And he said he did the oil in the dining room for my father.”
“Yes, he did. And Charles left it behind when he went back. Phillip, you know, was very fond of Charles. The family did a great deal for him when he was young. Took him in and encouraged his interest in art, and he told me your grandfather introduced him to the stock market.”
“He mentioned that to me, too. Why did they ‘take him in’ like that? Phillip said the same thing. In fact, I think he used the exact same words.”
“He was a runaway, as I recall. Something like that. It’s interesting, really, because Phillip doesn’t talk much about his life before he met the Tiptons. I don’t think it was a happy one and, well, he feels he owes your father’s family a great deal.”
Which, I reflected, probably had something to do with his kindness to me — over and beyond the fact that I was Lila’s daughter.
“Incidentally, he told me he may not be able to make dinner this week,” I said, remembering.
“Drats,” Lila replied, not sounding overly heartbroken. “I assume he’ll call and let me know. By the way, you’re not calling from the cell phone, are you?”
I denied that I was but Lila didn’t believe me. She passed me on to Blythe, who was clamoring for my attention, with the caveat that I should not talk long or risk brain cancer. I risked it anyway, hanging on to every word as Blythe told me about kittens and swimming and the events of the day in vivid and prolonged detail. I missed the children dreadfully. When I finally hung up the phone, I sat for a long minute staring at nothing, the cell phone resting in my palm. Finally, I roused myself and tossed the phone into my purse. When I glanced at Robert I saw that he was smiling at me.
“Only a few more days,” he said. “And you shall be with them.”
Chapter 32
Robert was an early riser. Nearly every morning he was up and at work in the schoolroom or walking the beach before I ever made it out of bed. Wednesday morning was no different except that he was so deeply engrossed in the morning paper (his neon yellow highlighter making its way down a column of type in the international news section) that I had descended the stairs and slipped my arms about his neck before he even noticed me.
A fleeting lift of his shoulder told me that I had startled him. Then he took my right hand in his left and pressed my palm to his lips without raising his eyes from the paper. A small thrill shot through me and stole my breath. I waited. A moment later he came to the bottom of the column, leaned his head against the back of the chair and smiled up at me.
“You know, memories are like dominos,” he said without preamble. “You nudge one and the others tumble by the dozens.”
“You’ve recalled dozens of memories this morning?”
“No, just two so far. When you slipped your arms about my neck just now, I remembered Nancy coming up behind me as I sat on a low stool contemplating a trunk I was packing, and wrapping her little arms around me.”
I was quiet, struck by the sweetness of the recollection.
“It was shortly after her mother died,” he went on quietly. “I am not sure what I was packing.”
“Some of Anne’s things?”
“Perhaps. Or preparing for In
dia. I cannot recall which.”
“What is the other memory? You said there were two.”
“The other memory is inconsequential, really. When you came into the room just now, slipping up behind me, you nudged that memory of my charming Nancy, and that in turn nudged the recollection of a detail.”
I sighed, and rested my hip on the arm of his chair. “Well, tell me the detail, then. I am all agog.”
“Agog, are you?” he laughed. “In that case, you shall have your detail, trifling though it is. It is simply that when I was at the inn on Skippack Pike, before I left and tumbled into time, I recollect walking through a passageway.”
“A passageway.”
“Yes. It led from a door at the back of the inn to the common room where we were all gathered.”
“And how does a memory of Nancy lead to a recollection of a passageway?”
“The dimness. The gloom. There was very little light in each place.”
“You are right. It is a trifling recollection. I take back my agog-ness.”
Robert laughed outright at that, and pulled me onto his lap. His hand slid skillfully beneath my shirt while his tongue stroked my lower lip. My arms wound themselves around his neck.
I am so easy.
*****
But his memory led to one of my own, though the connection was rather tenuous. I was in the kitchen later that day when I glimpsed Robert out of the corner of my eye as he poured Diet Coke into glasses filled with ice. All at once I thought of the afternoon we stopped for Cokes and hamburgers before we went to the airfield. The specific recollection that came to me was of the car several slots away from us in the parking lot, the car with its windows rolled up, the air-conditioner on, and the man inside reading a newspaper. And I realized, belatedly, that it was the same car that had been following us the last few days.
It had to be. I wondered how many times he had lurked nearby without our noticing, without our even being aware of his presence. It was a creepy thought, but I knew now to look for him, and not just on the road.
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