Love and Dreams: The Coltrane Saga, Book 6

by Patricia Hagan

  The reception room was beautifully furnished with bright floral sofas, pedestal tables with huge vases of fresh-cut roses, and tasteful paintings on the walls. Soft white drapes hung at the window, and the overall atmosphere was pleasing, not stuffy or crowded as were so many offices.

  A young woman with bright blue eyes and a broad smile of greeting sat at a large receptionist’s desk. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  “I’d like to see Mr. Coltrane, please. I don’t have an appointment, but—”

  “Oh, Mr. Coltrane isn’t in,” the receptionist chirpily informed her. “Can someone else help you?”

  Jade’s sharp “No!” provoked raised eyebrows.

  The girl’s gaze flicked over Jade curiously. “Mr. Coltrane’s never in. He stops by once in a while, but I don’t make appointments for him. He’s never officially come to work here yet, and…” Her voice ebbed as her curiosity increased; then she sharply probed, “Just what is the nature of your business with Vanderbilt Enterprises?”

  Jade had sensed her growing hostility, knew she had to tread softly or it would be a wasted trip. Pasting the same artificial smile on her face that the receptionist had at first presented, she glibly began, “Oh, I’m not here on any business. You see, I used to know Mr. Coltrane in Europe. I’m a friend of his parents and I was visiting here and they told me to be sure and look him up.”

  The receptionist seemed relieved at such a simple explanation.

  “Oh, I see. Well, no doubt you heard about the accident?” she asked, suddenly all compassion and sympathy.

  Jade struggled for composure. “Yes, but I thought he was all right now.”

  Glancing around anxiously as though someone might overhear, the young woman seemed enthused to be able to share thoughts she’d had to keep to herself. “Well, don’t say I’m the one who told you,” she said in a hushed tone, “but I don’t think he’s all right, and neither do the Vanderbilts. That’s why they keep telling him to just take more time off. He has these headaches, you see—”

  “Headaches?” Jade repeated.

  “Yes, because the way I heard it, he got quite a blow on the head. They thought for a while he wasn’t going to make it, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Jade shook her head, feeding the girl’s desire to gossip. “I guess they kept the full story from his parents because they’re getting on in years. His father hasn’t been well. I had no idea it was so serious.”

  “Oh, yes, it was,” the girl breathed excitedly, eyes glowing with the excitement of being the one to tell her. “He got hurt on the ship on the way over here, they say, got hit on the head real hard, and for a long time he was unconscious. But he still has headaches, like I said, and the Vanderbilts just prefer he keep on resting till he’s completely okay. Besides, he just became a father for the first time, so he doesn’t even stop by anymore to see if they do want him to start work. He doesn’t need the money, anyway.”

  Jade stared at her, not sure of what to say next.

  “Didn’t you know about the baby?” the receptionist gloated.

  “No,” she lied. “I haven’t been in contact with the Coltranes in a while. I’ve only been here a few weeks…just got around to looking up their son…” She then quickly decided to take advantage of the girl’s pride in giving out firsthand information. “Why don’t I go to his house, take a gift for the baby, and meet the whole family,” she said brightly. “Just give me his address, and I’ll be on my way.”

  The girl did not hesitate, for she felt important having a hand in setting up a reunion of friends. She scribbled the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Jade. “Be sure to give Mr. Coltrane my regards. He’s such a nice man.”

  Jade stared down at the exclusive Central Park address. “Yes,” she said evenly, a chill of loathing moving up and down her spine. “Yes, such a nice man…”

  Jade made her way across town once more, oblivious to everything but the fact that she would soon be face-to-face with the wretched bastard who’d made a fool of her.

  As she approached the house she sought, situated back from the street and surrounded by an ornate wrought-iron fence, Jade shuddered with ironic bitterness to think how many times she’d passed by this very home, going to and from teas in other houses, never knowing that Colt lived here. There should have been some kind of vibration, she thought angrily; a sudden roll of thunder or an earthquake, something to warn her such a treacherous soul was nearby.

  Leaning her bicycle against the fence, she retied the ribbons of her flower-bedecked straw bonnet. She stared up at the regal white house with its wide front porch, the columns devoured by the remains of summer morning-glory vines, stained-glass windows in the austere turrets of each corner of the second floor. She knew she would probably encounter the new Mrs. Coltrane, but so what? Let her know the truth. Let her suffer as Bryan had suffered. Why should she be so gently padded from the realities of life? Why should she live happily ever after, with her adoring child and wonderfully loving husband—while Jade was relegated to being treated like a stranger by the man who’d once held her body and soul in the palm of his hand!

  With a deep sigh of resolution, she walked purposefully up the brick sidewalk, up the narrow wooden steps, then lifted the brass ring of the door knocker and let it clang loudly.

  As she waited, she glanced about at the pretty, cast-iron porch furniture, the potted palms, the carved wooden swing. In the yard, beneath the shading arms of a spreading oak, there were more of the popular cast-iron pieces, these painted white—a round table, four chairs, several benches.

  Finally, from inside the house, she heard footsteps clattering, a breathless voice tinged with annoyance calling, “Yes, yes, I’m coming. I’m coming…”

  The door opened and a plump, middle-aged woman in a long white muslin dress and apron peered out, obviously annoyed at the unexpected intrusion upon the household.

  “You want something, ma’am?” the maid asked.

  “Mr. Coltrane,” Jade said in a squeaky tone that sounded alien. “I’d like to see Mr. Coltrane.”

  “He isn’t here,” the woman told her. “You can leave your card.” She made ready to close the door.

  Jade put her hand against it. “When will he be back?”

  “I don’t know.” The maid stared at her hand, frowned. “If you don’t want to leave your card–”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “He’s up in the Valley, visiting. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got a new baby in the house, and we’re terribly busy around here, and I—”

  “But I must see him!” Jade did not move her hand on the door, also wedged her foot between. “Just tell me where he’s visiting, and I’ll go there.” I’ve come this far, she silently, furiously screamed, and I’m not turning back till I find him…

  The maid’s eyes narrowed. “How about seeing Mrs. Coltrane instead? I can tell her you’re here, if you’ll give me your card,” she added pointedly, hinting Jade was being socially ignorant.

  “No, I don’t want to see her.”

  Suddenly a curious and irritable voice rang out from somewhere within the house. “Annabelle! What’s going on down there? Who is it? You’re letting in flies, keeping the door open that way!”

  Abruptly, the door flew wide open, and Jade found herself staring into the face of Triesta Vordane!

  “What…what are you doing here?” Triesta gasped.

  Jade was equally astonished. Had she been given the wrong address? No. Surely not. The maid had just asked if she cared to see Mrs. Coltrane. So why was Triesta Vordane there, seemingly right at home? Jade stiffened, felt anger, suspicion clutch her throat, her neck, move on down her spine to hold her up against the impulse to turn and run away. “What are you doing here?” she heard herself challenge.

  Annabelle’s eyes suddenly bulged angrily. “Well, just who do you think you are, asking a question like that?” she snapped. “She happens to live here, and I think you’re rude, and you’d bes
t leave before we call the police.”

  “Enough, Annabelle.” Triesta, pale, mouth a grim, set line, put a slightly trembling hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “Back to the kitchen. I’ll handle this.”

  Like the rapidly turning pages of a novel caught in the wind, Jade was reading the plot fast and furiously. Colt had married Triesta’s daughter! Lorena Vordane had wasted no time in preying on Colt’s vulnerable condition due to his physical injury and his mental grief. She had snared him like the steel jaws of a bear trap, quickly becoming pregnant, trapping him with responsibility.

  Jade and Triesta locked eyes, both angry, both icy with defiance.

  “How did you find me?” Triesta demanded when the maid reluctantly retreated and had moved out of hearing range.

  “I wasn’t looking for you,” Jade retorted hotly. “I was looking for Colt. I saw him this weekend, at a party, and he pretended not to know me. I wanted to find out why, and now I know—he was ashamed!”

  “Go away!” Triesta hissed menacingly. “You get out of here, and don’t you come back. You dare come around here again trying to make trouble and you’ll be sorry.”

  Jade lifted her chin, blinked back tears of fury. God, she’d expected anything but this!

  “I didn’t come to make trouble,” she frostily informed her. “I came to talk to Colt, to ask some questions, but now I don’t have to, because I’ve got the answers.” She took a step backward, preparing to leave.

  “You sure do,” Triesta snapped, lips working furiously as her eyes squinted to menacing slits. “Now I’m telling you to get out of here, and I mean it. Keep your mouth shut, and no one will be hurt. Bryan Stevens is a fine man, and Colt is happy, so you’ve got no reason to try to come nosing around here.”

  Jade turned away. Now she knew why Colt had pretended not to know her. It was his way of letting her know that that was the only way it could be. No matter that she was really alive. No matter that they once had loved each other, had been man and wife. Each had a new life now, a new future, and the only way to accept what fate had dealt them was to pretend they’d never known each other at all. Perhaps, she decided with a sinking feeling of resolution, it was best that way.

  “Mother, what’s going on?”

  Jade had reached the bottom step, but at the sound of the other voice, she whirled about to see the pale, startled face of Lorena Vordane staring down at her. “Oh, God, it’s her…” she whispered. “Oh, no…no, it can’t be. She’s dead—”

  Jade watched, astonished, as Triesta Vordane grabbed her daughter by the throat and violently pushed her back into the house. Before the door slammed, Jade heard her cry, “Keep your mouth shut! Just keep your mouth shut, you hear me—”

  Several moments passed as Jade stared in muted wonder at the closed door. Dimly, she was aware that a woman next door had heard the commotion, walked onto her front porch, and pretended to be watering her geraniums. Slowly, woodenly, Jade finally turned, stumbled on down the sidewalk to where she’d left her bicycle. So, she dazedly mused, Lorena had not known she was alive. Her mother hadn’t told her. Neither had Colt.

  But why Lorena?

  Why had Colt married her? He hadn’t been attracted to her in the least, had listened with quiet amusement as Jade recounted the girl’s confession of running away to Europe with a young man, brokenhearted to have been forced to return home with her mother.

  Why, then, would he have turned to Lorena Vordane in his grief? What was also astounding was how he could ever have consented to live in the house with Triesta Vordane when he had found her as unpleasant as Jade had.

  Jade mounted her bicycle, started to ride away, then noticed that the curious neighbor had slowly made her way down her steps, pretending to pull stray weeds as she moved up the sidewalk, no doubt just trying to get closer.

  “Hello,” Jade called, managing to sound cheery and bright despite the misery within. “Your yard is lovely.”

  The woman, elderly, probably in her late sixties or go, looked at her suspiciously as she walked to her gate. “Thank you,” she responded slowly, then bluntly asked, “What was Triesta screaming about this time?”

  Jade shrugged, not about to appear offended by her nosiness, for she was going to use it to her advantage. “I don’t know. I was just asking directions. I’m looking for…“ She paused, groping for a name the old woman wouldn’t recognize, then cried, “Miss Lita Tulane. Do you know the family?”

  The woman shook her head. “’Tweren’t nothing for Triesta to yell at you about. Guess she don’t get much sleep with the new baby and all.” She turned to go back, disappointed there was nothing more spectacular to hear about.

  “Does she always get upset so easily?” Jade innocently called.

  The old woman turned, nodded knowingly. “Oh, yes. She’s a mean one. Nobody likes her. She hasn’t spoke to me in ten years, but I don’t care. I’m just happy for that daughter of hers. Lorena always was a sweet thing, and I’m glad she finally got herself a decent husband. Seems like a nice man. I see him out in the yard once in a while, and he always smiles and waves. It’d be best for him and her both, though, if he’d get ’em a place of their own. Livin’ with Triesta Vordane has got to be miserable.” With a disgusted shake of her head, she padded up the steps and disappeared inside her house.

  Jade thoughtfully registered the information. Why? Oh, dammit, why a lot of things? she silently cried, feeling sick to her stomach.

  Furiously, she began to pedal away, wanting to get as far from the house as possible.

  What difference did it make who he’d married, she asked herself, or how it had come about? The point was—he belonged to someone else, and so did she, and he had a baby, and she had a husband who adored her, and if Colt could look her straight in the eye and pretend not to know her, then fine. She could live with that.

  Or could she? her heart coolly taunted.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Despite her resolve that life had to go on, Jade continued to be plagued by unanswered questions. Yet with each passing day it became easier to look forward, not back, and each time thoughts of Colt came to mind, it became easier and easier to push them aside. After all, she had a life—a good life—and she was also moving full steam ahead with the studio and the dancing she’d loved as long as she could remember.

  Bryan still found it difficult to hide his deep resentment over the studio opening. He felt Jade was neglecting their social life, and in some ways, their marriage. “You’re never home when I get here,” he complained the third night she was late. “And you never want to have people over, to entertain. When’s the last time you called on anyone for tea, or had anyone call on you?”

  She could not remember, didn’t care, and said so, much to Bryan’s distress.

  He delivered his discourse with barely concealed anger. “I know you love to dance, darling. I know you want to open a studio to teach. But you also have to remember that you’re a married woman now, and you’ve got obligations, not only to me and our marriage but to our friends and society in general. I’m told you leave here every morning right after I do, and you’re gone all day—supposedly at that infernal studio.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s got to stop. You’ve got to put yourself on a schedule and make time for other things, Jade. You’re really making me unhappy.”

  “I don’t mean to,” she assured him with all honesty, “but you have to understand I’m my own person, Bryan, and there are other things important to me besides teas and parties. I don’t think you’re being fair by saying I’m neglecting you or our marriage. I may be a bit late for dinner, but that’s not going to last much longer—just until the recital. We’ve got our evenings together after dinner, but you seem to waste the time nagging at me,” she added caustically.

  Bryan continued to be annoyed, but Jade was not about to have this particular dream thwarted. He’d see, she told him wearily each time he complained; it would all work out once she opened the studio and did maint
ain a schedule.

  At last, the studio was ready. The mirrors were in place, as were the polished barres. The floors were in prime condition. Dressing rooms were painted and papered, with privacy drapes. Tall, gleaming windows were cleaned to afford as much sunlight as possible. The walls were painted a light peach, trimmed in pale green. Jade’s office was an alcove hidden behind a privacy screen and many potted plants. After addressing nearly fifty invitations herself, Jade handed the very first she’d done to Bryan, with a personal plea to attend. “It’s to be a tea dance,” she explained. “At two in the afternoon Wednesday. Refreshments will be served, and I’ve got a violinist to play for me to dance. I’m showing off the studio as well as the dances I plan to teach, but mostly I’ll be dancing ballet,” she stated proudly. “You’ve never seen me perform, Bryan, and I’d like you to be there.”

  As much as Bryan loved Jade, her dancing was a part of her life he could not share, a part he knew he could never possess. Call it jealousy, pride, resentment, whatever, he’d have no part of being a spectator to the one thorn in his rose of happiness.

  “I’ve got a business meeting,” he declined curtly, waspishly.

  Jade was hurt but didn’t say anything. It was a lie, she knew, but so be it. Sooner or later he’d realize that dancing and her studio held no threat, that it was just an extension of her that she needed in order to have an identity of her own.

  On the morning of the tea dance, Jade did not go down to have breakfast with Bryan. She’d pretended to be asleep when he’d awakened. She was afraid she might break down and ask him one more time to attend, and that would be begging—something she wasn’t prone to do. She’d invited him. He’d declined. No need in chewing an old bone.

  She had designed her own costume of pink satin and lace, with a knee-length tutu skirt. She also adorned herself with jewels, as was the fashion of ballerinas. She swept her long red hair back from her face in a sleek chignon, then settled a wreath of tiny silk rosettes and pressed lace and ribbons as a kind of crown. The tights she’d ordered from Paris had finally arrived, as well as the precious points shoes with their wide span of satin ribbons which she expertly wrapped about her ankles to mid-calf.