Tender Deception: A Novel of Romance

by Beckman, Patti

  His voice sounded gray with fatigue when he finished talking.

  He fell into a brooding silence. Lilly was struggling with thoughts and emotions that cascaded through her being like a thundering waterfall.

  Was Kirk telling the truth? Had Lilly been that mistaken all along? Had his affair with Marie Algretto really been over before he married Lilly? Was the opera singer’s visit to their San Francisco home completely innocent?

  He must be telling the truth, she thought with stunning force. He might lie to Lilly Parker. But there was no reason to lie to Billie Smith, a stranger!

  “It—it wasn’t very smart of you to invite an old girlfriend into your home,” Lilly exclaimed.

  “No it wasn’t,” he admitted. “I really didn’t think much about it at the time. I was embroiled in some complex business matters at the office that day Miss Algretto phoned me. She sounded desolate. She was exhausted and had a splitting headache and was facing an important performance that night. She really needed a place to relax for a few hours. It seemed the only hospitable thing I could do was offer my home. It was an impulse I later regretted. But you see, if there had been the kind of trust that should exist between a man and wife, the situation wouldn’t have caused Lilly to rush off blindly into the night. Our marriage just wasn’t on sound footing. She believed I was still carrying on an affair with Miss Algretto. I had reason to believe she was still in love with my younger brother. I suppose the marriage was doomed from the beginning. A marriage without mutual love and trust can’t endure.”

  He suddenly sighed and sat erect, looking at her with a different expression. “Billie, I don’t know what to say to you. First I get half drunk at the piano bar where you’re playing and cry on your shoulder. Then, after you’re gracious enough to go on this picnic with me, I sit here spilling my guts and using up the afternoon talking about my deceased wife. You must think I am the most outrageous boor on the face of the earth.”

  She touched her tongue to her lips, unable to meet his eyes. She was sitting on the grass, her chin resting on her knees. Fighting back her own tears, she said, “I don’t mind. I—I had the feeling you needed to talk with someone.”

  “I did, very much. It might make you feel better to know that you’re the first person I’ve met in months I’ve been able to talk with like this. Now, why don’t we get off this morbid subject and talk about you for a change. I’d really like to know you better.”

  “Oh, there isn’t anything to tell. I’m a very ordinary person,” she said. She made a desperate effort to gather her confused thoughts, to put together some kind of believable story about herself. “I grew up in Albuquerque, went to school, took some music lessons, and started playing professionally. Nothing very exciting.”

  “Any men in your life?”

  Again, she quickly thumbed through her mental files to come up with material for the fictional life she was leading. “Only one,” she murmured, thinking of Jimmy.

  “Is it serious?”

  She shrugged. “I...doubt anything will come of it.”

  He was looking directly at her. “For selfish reasons, I’m glad to hear that. I’ll be frank, Billie. And I hope this won’t frighten you off. But since meeting you, for the first time since my wife’s death, I think I could become involved with a woman again.”

  Panic flashed red lights in her mind. She suddenly jumped to her feet, brushing leaves from her shorts and legs. “Why don’t we take a hike through the woods while there’s still light?”

  “All right.”

  There were six miles of trails they could follow to explore the woods. Bridges over Redwood Creek in the heart of the forest provided loops in the paths.

  As they walked, Lilly contemplated all Kirk had revealed about his love for her. She held the words close to her heart, reaching out to understand the relationship of her life to this new development.

  In this setting of tranquility and quiet dignity, with the stately trees soaring as much as two hundred forty feet into the sky above her, Lilly felt she had been transported to a remote existence. She was aware of the tall, strong man beside her in a totally new context. She sensed a kind of shimmering about her, the pulse of the universe, and she realized with a sense of awe that they were very close to the heartbeat of creation.

  Kirk talked about the woods as they explored the paths. It was a community of plants: red alder, western azaleas and tan oak, all dominated by the redwoods. California laurels were bent and curved in graceful forms as they grew from shade to sunlight. Ferns were thick in the rich, humus soil. The most common fern was the evergreen sword fern. The lady fern grew along the banks of the stream while western bracken thrived in the dark shadows of the dense forest. Western gray squirrels and Sonoma chipmunks scurried across clearings. Birds fluttered through the branches.

  Lilly became aware of holding hands with Kirk as they strolled along the forest trail.

  At one point in the deep and secluded area, Kirk paused. Lilly turned and gazed up at him. Nothing was said. They simply stood looking at one another, seeing the forest reflected in each other’s eyes, sensing the depth and awareness of life surrounding them like an aura. Lilly felt no conscious thought, only a deep sense of truth and life flowing through her like a river that spread out into the vast ocean of the universe. The life in her flowed through her fingers to Kirk, and his life’s essence flowed back. They were both touched by the pulse of creation deep within them.

  The understanding that flowed between them reached beyond the limitation of verbal communication.

  Silently, they returned to the car. Night was falling when they crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. The lights of San Francisco sparkled in a gathering mist. A penetrating chill reminded Lilly that she was not dressed for a San Francisco evening. But the strange mood that gripped her separated her sense of identity from her physical being.

  She saw the outlines of a familiar structure and realized that Kirk had brought her home to the Victorian mansion where she had lived with him as his wife when she had been Lilly Remington.

  In the house, he placed logs in a fireplace. Soon a crackling blaze was sending its dancing glow across the room.

  Kirk brought snifters of Napoleon brandy. He touched his glass to hers, his dark eyes searching hers with the smoldering fever she remembered when he was physically aroused.

  Lilly sipped the liquid, relishing the warmth it spread through her body.

  Idly, she wandered through a doorway into the next room—the music room where she had played the grand piano so often. She gazed through the French doors at the lights of the city, the hazy shape of the Golden Gate Bridge that was rapidly being swallowed by the fog.

  She sensed Kirk behind her, felt the warmth of his body.

  He suddenly turned her to face him. He uttered a choked exclamation and his mouth found hers.

  Flames exploded inside her. Trembling, she responded. Her lips parted. She drank deeply of the kiss, letting herself go with the moment. Life flowed through her veins.

  His fingers, trembling with passion, opened her blouse, cupped her quivering breasts. Her flesh burned under his touch.

  He opened the buttons on her shorts. His palms slid along soft, yielding curves.

  It was a sudden, overwhelming eruption of passion between them. In another moment, she knew she would be on the thick carpet, naked, a willing partner locked in his embrace.

  But with the same suddenness that he had kissed her, he thrust her away from him. He buried his face in his hands and sank into a chair, sobbing.

  Lilly closed her blouse, staring at him, more shocked by his emotional breakdown than anything she had before experienced with him. The strong, ruthless, cold Kirk Remington, shedding tears? She must be dreaming!

  Then her dazed ears heard him say in a choked voice, “How can you ever forgive me, Billie? I was about to use you. I haven’t had a woman since my wife died. I haven’t had the desire. To be frank, I doubted if I could function as a man if I were to be wi
th another woman. But I suppose the physical need has been stored up in me even though my mind rejected it. When you came along, resembling my wife so much, I thought I could close my eyes and make love to you, pretending you were Lilly. But I can’t do it. It’s a rotten thing to do to you. And I am still not capable of being intimate with another woman while the memory of Lilly is so strong. I can’t shake the feeling that I’d be unfaithful to her. It’s irrational, I know—but it’s true....”

  Lilly didn’t know what to say. She was close to tears, herself.

  Then, quietly, she picked up her handbag and turned to the French doors. She opened them and stepped out onto the balcony. She welcomed the damp chill. It cooled her feverish body and cleared her mind.

  She opened her handbag and groped in it. Her fingers touched the gold locket Jimmy had given her. She thought that it was not easy to give up a dream that had lived in her heart for so many years. But at last she had outgrown the dream. She knew that she had fallen in love with Jimmy when she was a young girl. There is nothing quite so precious as a first love. She had clung to that first love through the years, refusing to see reality for the dream. A dream is often more beautiful than real life. But one cannot dream forever. The dream had already begun to fade when she came back as a different person and had gone out with Jimmy. She had dreamed so long of the moment when he would kiss her, but when that moment came, something was missing. She had dreamed of giving herself to Jimmy, of sleeping in his arms, but when the opportunity came, she had backed away from it because she was still too much in love with Kirk.

  As the dream faded, her vision of Jimmy had cleared, and now she must accept the truth about him. He was a wonderfully talented boy who would never grow up. He would forever be riding down Main Street with a convertible full of pretty girls. He would never make a lasting commitment to anyone. He had been her hero for so long, it hurt to admit the truth—that Jimmy LaCross had no real substance. He was the football hero, the cowboy, the band leader in every girl’s dream life. He was born to laugh his way through life, playing his horn. Life would ask no more of him, for the world needed people like Jimmy to remind them of their dreams.

  “Play it pretty for the people, Jimmy,” Lilly whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Blow your horn for the angels to hear, and love all the pretty girls, for that’s what you were meant to do. I’ll always keep a special, private place in my heart for you, because you were my first love. But now it’s time for me to grow up.”

  She held the locket clasped tightly in her fingers for a moment, then she threw it into the night.

  She groped in her bag again and found the simple gold wedding band that she had kept when she sold her other jewelry in Albuquerque. She slipped it on her ring finger, then she turned and went back into the house.

  Kirk was still sitting slumped in the chair. She gazed at him, knowing she loved him as an adult. She knew how very much she had loved him from the very beginning or she could never have surrendered herself to his lovemaking with such passion. Now she knew beyond a doubt that he loved her. There was no longer anything to keep them apart except her masquerade. And she was ready to take off her mask.

  “Kirk,” she said softly, “please brace yourself. I am about to tell you something astounding. And when you get over the shock, we will love each other forever.”

  She squeezed his hand and sat at the piano. Her fingers moved over the keys as she began to play the Moonlight Sonata.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PATTI BECKMAN’s interesting locales and spirited characters thoroughly delight her reading audience. She lives with her husband and writing partner, Charles, in South Texas. The couple has traveled extensively to gather background information for their many novels. Both have written fiction as well as non-fiction. They have also partnered in making music together in South Texas with a band that has performed for many years.

  Charles’ writing career began the 1940s with the pulps, and spanned the rest of the twentieth century and is still flourishing. Patti has divided her time between teaching and writing. One of her latest non-fiction books is Pain Banishment, which deals with an effective, revolutionary treatment for chronic pain.

  The couple has enjoyed writing romances because they say their own love story is just like a classical romance novel. They met and fell in love, but she didn’t want to get married at the time, so couldn’t admit, even to herself, that he was the man for her. She had plans to travel around the world teaching, and then, maybe, think about marriage a few years down the road. But they continued dating. Then came the dark moment, when all seemed hopeless as the deadline for her commitment to teach in Japan loomed a few days away. Charles, sure that she was flying off to another part of the globe, regretfully gave up on the girl of his dreams, and told her he was moving to San Antonio to start his life over. Just like in a story book, a sudden reversal changed everything. And after more than forty-five years of marriage, they still feel like Cinderella and Prince Charming. They have toyed with the idea of writing their own true love story, to show readers that romances as depicted in novels can actually happen. Two people meet, an obstacle keeps them apart, they struggle with that conflict, eventually there is the dark moment when all looks lost, and then, suddenly, everything changes, and all turns out well. That is Patti and Charles’s true love story all tied up with a pink ribbon.

  Table of Contents

  BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY PATTI BECKMAN

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR