The two older women stared at her. Noelia swallowed hard. “You have quite the imagination, dear.”
“Sure, but you know exactly how I feel, right? Wonder who she’s got lined up for you.”
Noelia gave a mock shudder. “Whoever it is, he’ll be leaving alone tonight. I don’t think Mary’s taste in men is the same as mine, with all due respect to Troy.”
• • •
Noelia dashed home to pick up a change of clothes and her makeup before heading out for her late-afternoon volunteer stint at the hospital. Life seemed to be all rush these days, but she’d grown to enjoy the time she spent helping some of the patients at the hospital, and running errands for the nurses. Her favorite patient, of course, was Lydia, the Sleeping Beauty, and she saved that visit until last.
She was immediately on the defensive when she walked into room 307 and discovered a tall, gray-haired man leaning over the young woman on the bed. She gasped as he turned at the sound of her entry. She would have thought a psychologist was the last doctor Lydia would need right now . . .
“Whatever are you doing here, Dr. Westbury?” she asked, edging toward the bed.
He scowled. “I think I could ask you the same question, Mrs. Russo.”
Thrown off balance, Noelia stammered. “I’m a volunteer at the hospital, and Lydia is on my list to visit.”
His frown deepened. “If you’re a volunteer, where’s your badge?” Now his tone was beginning to annoy her.
“I’m standing in for a friend who’s out of town. Now tell me why a psychologist is visiting a coma patient.”
Nate’s face softened. “I think we have a grave misunderstanding here, Mrs. Russo—Lydia is my daughter.”
Her mouth fell open. Oh my goodness, she thought, I should have checked the file for her last name. No wonder he is selling the wedding gown—he doesn’t think Lydia will need it any time soon.
“I feel like a total idiot now,” she admitted. “Everyone called her Sleeping Beauty, and I guess that stuck, and I never did check her full name. I am so sorry. I’ll leave you in peace.”
“No, stay. What would you normally do for Lydia?”
Noelia held up her bag. “I usually brush her hair and put on a little face cream. It’s important for a woman to feel comfortable, and I understand from my reading that she may be able to feel that bit of attention. And it’s possible she can hear us, too, so I talk to her.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Oh, this and that.” Noelia was embarrassed to reveal the simple chit-chat she burbled when alone with Lydia. Especially when, unknown to her, some of that girl-chat had involved Lydia’s own father.
“Well, next time you can check with the nurse’s station to see if she has a visitor,” Nate said.
Before either of them could say another word, there was a commotion out in the hallway.
“Dammit, what’s he doing here?” Nate swore under his breath and pushed past Noelia to the door. She followed, made anxious by his obvious anger.
In the corridor, a young man dressed in stained jeans and a leather jacket was arguing with two of the floor nurses. “I tell you, Lydia is my fiancée, and I need to see her!” he shouted, frustrated by their refusal to let him in.
“You are no longer Lydia’s fiancé or anything else, Daniel. You’ll get to see her over my dead body.” Nate’s face was red with fury.
“All right, then.” The young man stepped forward, his hands fisted, and Noelia thought for an awful moment that he’d carry out the threat. Nate drew himself up and looked ready to plunge his own fists into Daniel’s face.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough? You’ve already ruined her life.”
Just then two security guards showed up, called by the nurse on duty, and grasped the young man’s arms. “Let’s leave, sir. You’re not welcome here,” one of them said, and they escorted Daniel away.
“Who was that boy?” Noelia managed to ask.
“He’s the one who left my daughter to die,” Nate snapped, and strode away.
Noelia stared after him. What was all that about? If the boy had somehow injured Lydia, wouldn’t he have been in jail by now? How she wished she’d investigated a little more about the history of her favorite patient. But there was someone who would know—Mary Atwell knew just about everyone and everything that happened in Marina Grove, and she knew Dr. Nate Westbury.
A glance at her watch told her she didn’t have time to tap Mary for information. She grimaced; maybe she could talk to her at the “casual little soiree” that evening. She’d promised to spend another half hour helping Marco Lombardo, the painter who’d made such a fine job of sprucing up the store, improve his Italian language skills.
Marco was taking his wife on a tour of Italy for their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Noelia sighed. There was just so much romance everywhere she turned these days; it was hard to escape it. Her thoughts quickly slid to Nate Westbury, and she felt that familiar tingle of longing. Come on, girl. It looks like the poor man has enough on his plate without getting into an affair. She winced at her own use of the word affair, with all its innuendo, and quickly pushed the issue out of her mind.
She made a quick stop at Lydia’s bedside and promised the slumbering girl that she would be back the next day for a proper visit with her. Could she even hear what I said? Noelia’s heart went out to the fragile young woman and to the father who obviously adored her. What Nate must be suffering.
Even now the room was so cold, despite her repeated requests that maintenance take a look to see if there was a problem. At the nurses’ station, she stopped to ask if anyone had been up to check the room. The middle-aged nurse gave her a somewhat disapproving look.
“I did pass your message on, Mrs. Russo, and Bob McVitie came up. He said he couldn’t find any problem, either in the room or in any of the mechanical workings or settings. In fact, I think he was a bit annoyed—he didn’t think the room was cold at all. And to be honest, nor do I.” She said firmly. “Maybe you should just wear an extra sweater—or is it that you’re worried the patient is cold? Because I can assure you, she’s not.”
Puzzled and a little embarrassed, Noelia thanked her and moved away.
She headed toward the elevator that would take her to the ground-floor coffee shop where she was to meet Marco. Her cell phone rang, the catchy Rolling Stones number that always amused her, and she fished it out of her pocket, but again the ringing stopped immediately and there was no number or name on her screen. Obviously, a glitch somewhere.
Chapter Seven
Marco was nowhere to be seen when Noelia arrived at the hospital café.
She went up to the coffee machine, and ahead of her in the line was Nate Westbury, his Welsh history book on the rack beside his tray, which was loaded with a salad, light dressing, and a wickedly calorie-packed devil’s food cake.
“Well, we meet again!” Noelia said as she reached for a small bowl of grapefruit.
Nate turned, clearly startled at the sound of Noelia’s voice. The coffee in his hand slopped over the rim and onto the cover of the book.
“Oh, good heavens, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you!” Noelia grabbed a handful of napkins and started to mop up the spilled coffee.
“It’s okay, really, I’ve got it.”
“I just didn’t want your book to get damaged. Are you reading it or just carrying it around to look good?” He seemed so serious that Noelia enjoyed teasing him.
He smiled. “It’s an excellent book. My great-grandparents immigrated here from Wales, and I’ve always wanted to go there to see where they lived and get some idea of the place. I believe it’s very beautiful, and some parts are still quite unspoiled. Listen, if you’re planning to eat that here, why don’t you join me? There’s a free table over there . . . ”
At that moment Marco arrived, grinning happily when he spotted Noelia. He beckoned her toward a table in the corner where they could work without bothering other patrons. “
Good evening, mio caro!”
Darned bad timing, Marco! And did you have to call me “my dear”? A sharp pang of disappointment touched Noelia. “Maybe another time?” she asked Nate, but his frown didn’t give her a lot of hope.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Marco said, noticing Noelia’s glance over at Nate. “Am I interrupting something? I know you have a busy evening, and we can do this another time . . . ”
Noelia sighed. “No, it’s fine. Let’s talk about museums.”
• • •
Nate had suddenly lost his appetite, even for devil’s food cake. You’d have to be a fool to think that a woman like her wouldn’t have a guy in her life! He berated himself, then stopped short, the fork halfway to his lips. What was he thinking? That he wanted to be the guy in Noelia Russo’s life?
He looked over to see Noelia and her companion, heads together, laughing at some private joke. It was too late, anyway, whatever he wanted.
• • •
Noelia’s phone rang as she and Marco were in the middle of a difficult sentence-structuring exercise. She glanced at the screen, happy to see it was Kelly calling and not some unknown hang-up.
“Hey, Noelia, I was wondering if we could get together for a coffee and a chat? Maybe dinner—just so that I can repay you for holding the fort at the store this afternoon.”
A few seconds of silence passed, and then Noelia answered. “You’ve already forgotten, haven’t you?”
“No, I know you’re at the hospital, and I could come over, maybe see what you do, and then we’d go on from there.”
When Noelia answered, her voice was full of laughter. “Tonight is Mary’s dinner party. And she’d kill us if we didn’t turn up, especially with Brett being out of town. Besides, Sasha and I need your support before that woman gets us married off to some guys she thinks are suitable.”
“Oh, my goodness, how could I have forgotten? I do have a few things on my mind, and, to be honest, the last thing I want to do is spend an evening under Aunt Mary’s eagle-eyed gaze.”
“You don’t have to worry, though. You won’t be the center of Mary’s inquisition tonight. To judge by all the hints she’s dropped, Mary is heavily into matchmaking mode. And I am her chief target.”
“I’m pretty sure Mary is no match for you, Noelia Russo.”
Noelia snorted. “You must know how persistent and, yes, invasive, Mary Atwell is. She’s capable of steamrollering over any resistance. And it’s not just me—remember Sasha’s nightmare?”
“Well anyway, why don’t I join you at the hospital? We’ll maybe have a coffee before we face—or rather, you face—Machiavellian Mary.”
Noelia was silent for a few moments. “I’d really like that, Kelly,” she said finally. “But there won’t be time tonight. I’m sure we’d both hate to be late for Mary’s dinner.” Kelly snorted. “Anyhow,” Noelia continued, “why don’t we meet up at the hospital tomorrow for coffee? There’s something I want to show you, something that’s bothering me.”
“Oooh, don’t tell me you’re being stalked by one of those cute doctors. Nate Westbury, for example?”
Noelia’s sigh was a whistle down the line. A quick glance showed that Nate was still eating, his back to her, apparently engrossed in a newspaper. “I know you adore being married to the huggable Brett, and I know Mary is in seventh heaven now that she’s found the man she lost nearly fifty years ago. But please remember it took a restless spirit to set those relationships in motion, and I definitely don’t want to go there again. Not everyone is looking for love, you know.”
“See you tonight, hon.” Kelly was still laughing as Noelia hit the end call button on her phone.
Noelia felt the heat of that lie as she put the phone back into her shoulder bag. Oh, boy, did she ever seem romantically inclined right now. It’s all the fault of Mary and Kelly. Maybe working in a wedding boutique is not the best choice for me!
She straightened her spine, reminding herself that she had promised Marco an hour and needed to keep that promise before she headed out for the drive to Bar Harbor. Time to put all this romance nonsense behind her and get on with her own quiet, contented life.
Once Mary’s matchmaking dinner was over and the older woman’s plans firmly put out of her mind, that is. But for now she would concentrate on her very willing Italian student.
“Buon giorno, thanks for the coffee,” she said, taking a deep and satisfying gulp of the blessed caffeine Marco put before her. “That’s ‘Grazie per il caffè.’”
Marco repeated the phrase a couple of times and finally got the hang of the pronunciations. “Buon giorno! Come sta?”
Noelia reached across the table to shake Marco’s hand. “Molto bene, grazie! Tu parli italiano molto bene, Marco!” she exclaimed, enjoying his huge smile of delight at her praise.
“What the hell is going on here? Why are you holding my husband’s hand, you home-wrecker!”
Noelia and Marco reared back from each other and looked in shock at the petite, dark-haired woman who stood over them, obviously furious.
“Honey, it’s not what you think . . . ” Marco stammered.
“I wasn’t talking to you. You and me will discuss this later. I want to hear what this bitch, has to say.”
“Hey, now, you’ve got the wrong end of everything, and you’ll be very embarrassed when you understand. I mean, Marco would never—”
“Don’t try to tell me what Marco would or wouldn’t do. We’ve been married for almost thirty-five years. Happily until now!” Red-faced with anger, but with tears streaming down her face, the woman who was apparently Marco’s wife picked up a glass of water from a nearby table and emptied it over Noelia’s shocked head.
“Oh, my god, Marianna, what have you done?” Marco jumped to his feet, handing Noelia a bunch of napkins while grasping his wife’s hand to restrain her.
“I think it’s a question of what you’ve done, you jerk,” she snapped, but her lip was quivering, and the tears were coming faster.
“Noelia, I am so very sorry. Marianna, let’s get out of here before you make even bigger fools of us.” Marco grabbed his wife’s hand and turned her toward the exit, giving her a gentle push to start her moving.
Noelia sat in shocked silence, trying to mop the worst of the water from her hair and face. She hardly dared look around, knowing the shock and judgment she’d see on the faces of the other people present.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” One of the café staff handed her a small towel. “Do you want me to call security and have that woman stopped before she leaves the hospital?”
“No, no. Thank you anyway. I’m not really sure what that was about.”
“Well, I think it’s a pretty good guess that lady won’t be inviting you to tea any time soon.” He winked and returned to his post at the counter.
Acutely aware that everyone in the café was staring at her, Noelia sat quietly and tried to calm her nerves by sipping her now cold coffee. Her stomach curdled as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nate Westbury leaving through the cafeteria doors. Just how much had the psychologist seen of her humiliation?
• • •
Nate had had enough of watching Noelia and her companion laugh and chat. A strange feeling ran through him, a kind of heat, which it took moments for him to recognize as jealousy. He wanted to be the man sitting opposite Noelia, putting that bright smile on her face. He headed for the cafeteria exit, disappointment heavy on him, until the sound of a woman shouting made him look back. Like everyone else in the café, he paused to witness the scene.
It seemed that sweet Noelia, the woman who seemed so calm and proper, was having an affair with a married man—and the man’s wife had found out.
He winced when the furious woman tipped a glass of water over Noelia’s head, and started to step forward without thinking to go to her defense. But what could he say? Common sense prevailed over gentlemanly feeling, aware that a number of his colleagues were also watching the scenario, a
nd he took a deep breath to clear his head, shrugged, and turned away. None of his business. Maybe I dodged a bullet with this one. After all, who wants to get involved with a—what did that woman call her? A home-wrecker? Besides, he was pretty sure Noelia wouldn’t want him to see her with water dripping all down her face.
On the drive back to his empty house, Nate couldn’t deny the feelings that roiled inside him. Whatever Noelia had done, he was still attracted to her. Back home he grabbed a quick glass of brandy before heading to the shower. It was Mary Atwell’s “soiree” tonight and try as he might, he hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible excuse for not being there. He knew Mary meant well, he’d known the family for years, and maybe it would be good for him to get out among people other than those who brought their problems to him as a therapist. With a little time to spare he sat at his desk and tried to read through an academic paper on the effects of smoking marijuana on the developing brain, but Noelia’s shocked face, water dripping into her eyes, got between him and the printed words, and he sighed.
Chapter Eight
Try as she might Noelia could not fix her hair into any semblance of style after the unexpected shower delivered by Marco’s wife. She did not have time to pop home and style her graying blond locks, so she put her head under the electric hand dryer in one of the ladies’ bathrooms and contented herself with running a brush through it. Then she changed into her favorite jade-green dress with its matching coat, something she felt was surely good enough for a soiree in a house as grand as the Atwell mansion. Still, she arrived at Mary and Troy’s home feeling more like a bedraggled lost cat than the calm, serene woman she had wanted to portray for protection against Mary’s matchmaking.
No matter how many times she visited, she was always a little awed as she entered the Atwell home. Built many years ago by an ancestor who got rich with multiple income streams from fishing, railways, and other aspects of the area’s plentiful resources, the huge house was designed to radiate power and wealth.
The Sleeping Beauty Bride Page 6