by Linda Barlow
Kate nodded, but turned her face away. She bit her lip until it hurt. She understood. Daniel was a sensual man. Sex was important to him. He was possessive, but the foundation of his possessiveness was not love; it was primal male need. She was his woman—for now. So he hated Arthur.
"Why I didn't see it coming, I can't imagine. A widow, a séance. I should have known what would happen. My only excuse is that I couldn't believe your own mother would do such a thing. That she would actually sink to tricking you that way."
"It wasn't a trick."
"Don't say that." With one finger he turned her face back to his, looking angrily down into her eyes. "It was a shock to you, I understand that. But you're much too intelligent to let yourself be sucked into that particular never-never land. Of course it was a trick. When you can think about it rationally, you'll realize."
She shook her head. "No. You're wrong. I know the truth for the first time in my life. Sir Godfrey Vernon is real. He has to be."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"He told me to believe. That was a code word between Arthur and me. We agreed long ago that whichever one of us died first should signal the other, if possible, from the Other Side by using the word 'believe.' Harry Houdini and his wife made the same pact. Like you, Houdini declared that all mediums were fakes, but if there were any way to escape from death with a message, he, the great escape artist, would do it."
"I know the story," Daniel interrupted. "He and his wife devised a private code and defied any medium to crack it. After he died lots of them tried, but they all failed. Nobody ever collected the ten-thousand-dollar reward."
"That's right. The word 'believe' was supposed to have been part of their encoded message. In honor of Houdini, Arthur and I also used it. My mother never knew. You're the first person I've ever told." Her eyes looked into the distance as she added, "So you see, it must be true: It really was Arthur who spoke to me tonight."
There was a chilling silence; then Daniel sat up in bed and switched on the light. Kate was startled by the anger in his eyes.
"Daniel?" she whispered as he rose from the bed, stalked over to the chair on the other side of the room, and grabbed his clothes. She ventured a look at the clock. It was three-thirty in the morning.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving." He was throwing on his clothes, quickly and haphazardly. Her heart twisted inside her. Even if he didn't love her, she needed him beside her. Tonight of all nights, she needed him. "Daniel. Don't go. Please."
Dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, he turned to her, his body moving in jerks. There was a flush of anger on his cheekbones now, and his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"I'm sorry, but everybody has limits, and I've just reached mine. I warned you in the beginning. I told you I wouldn't compete for your attention with a fucking ghost."
"You're not—" she began, then stopped. She wanted to explain, but how could she? The beliefs they held about the world were very different. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter whether or not Arthur had really spoken to her tonight. If anything, Arthur's presence on the Other Side brought it home to her with utter finality that he was dead. He was gone forever, and he would not be coming back. She had known that of course, she had known it. But it hadn't seemed entirely real to her until tonight. It had taken a ghost to make her believe that her husband was gone forever. He had told her goodbye.
But she, Kate, she was still here; she was alive. And she was in love with a vibrant, living, breathing man. She was in love with Daniel.
"I've tried to be patient," he thundered on, oblivious. "I've done my best to be understanding. I've even left your hellcat mother alone."
She could hear the rustle of cloth as he finished dressing. "What happened tonight was fraud, pure and simple and you're a naive little fool to think otherwise. Arthur could have told your mother your precious code word before he died, or you could have told her yourself—after the car accident, perhaps, when you were in shock. Maybe you raved it to some doctor or nurse, for godsake—yes, that's probably exactly what happened. You told somebody in the hospital, and that somebody informed your mother."
"You're wrong. I never told a soul."
"No, Kate, you're the one who's wrong about this. You woke up moaning that word on the first night we were together. Remember? 'Arthur told me to believe,' you announced. Some secret! Your mother's probably known it for years."
Flustered, she realized he was correct. But she still couldn't accept his primary contention. "Even if she knew, my mother would never deliberately hurt me in such a manner. She may not be the most conventional mother in the world, but she loves me. She would never try to trick me."
"No? Parents have been known to do worse things to their kids. She's been tricking people all her life. It's certainly clear where your acting talent comes from. 'Sir Godfrey Vernon' is a masterpiece, I admit. For a few moments there she nearly had me convinced."
He paced once across the room, and then came back to tower over her. "Use your brain, Kate. Your mother's getting old; she's probably afraid her so-called powers might fail her. Her own daughter has never totally believed in her abilities, and now, to make matters worse, you've gotten yourself involved with a professional skeptic—me. She's running scared."
"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. She's not afraid of you. She doesn't have the sense to be afraid of you."
"Absurd, my ass. Look at the results: You're on the hook, now, aren't you? You think she produced Arthur, raised him from the dead. A miracle: Hocus-pocus, you have your husband back."
"No. That's not the way it is."
"I've watched this process, Kate," he said roughly, forcing his hand through her hair and lifting her face up to his. "I saw my mother go through it, and I've researched it in countless other cases. It takes no psychic ability to predict what will happen next: You'll want to talk to Arthur again. You'll want to hear all about how it feels to be dead. You'll turn away from living because you'll be obsessed with the blasted world to come."
"That's not true. You don't understand." Her shoulders shook. His mocking words were hurting her deeply, but he wouldn't stop.
"Don't I? She's got you now. You're her heir." His fingers twisted into her long brown hair as he added, "She's going to take you and turn you into the witch I thought you were the night we met."
Kate felt sudden fury storm through her, and she fought to free herself. "Let go of me."
He released her immediately and bent to put on his shoes. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. At the threshold he stopped. "You're a beautiful, sensual woman, Kate Kingsley. It's criminal that you should choose to wall yourself up in a tomb."
"You don't even know how I really feel, what I'm really thinking—"
"No?" His glare was merciless. "I know you're not ready for a real flesh-and-blood relationship with a living man. Maybe you'll never be ready. Maybe you'll hang on to your dear, precious, perfect King Arthur for the rest of your life."
"Maybe I will," she retorted, goaded.
"Then I'm getting out, now, before I get hurt."
"Before you get hurt?" It was just as she had thought. He desired her, but he didn't love her. He could still turn around and walk out.
"Before I get hurt," he repeated bitterly. "Before you suck my soul out, witch, and bear me down with you to hell."
"That's what you're doing to me!"
But he had already left her, slamming the bedroom door so hard behind him that the house seemed to rock on its foundations. Moments later, she heard the roar of his Porsche as he skidded away into the night.
Chapter 16
Early the next morning, Kate was in the gym at the Cambridge Fitness Center, working out with weights. She counted aloud as she felt her sinews stretch and burn, burn and stretch. She worked steadily, almost grimly, using every variation she knew, until the sweat poured off her and her mind was blank.
Afterward she swam, h
er arms cleanly stroking through the water, her legs kicking hard and rhythmically. Twenty laps, thirty. She pushed herself, not stopping at the turns, not slowing her pace, but her body made no real protest. She was accustomed to the routine.
Since her childhood, Kate had loved to swim. In the pool, she didn't have to think. All she knew was the silky sensation of the water gliding over her slim, fit body and the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her chest.
When she heaved herself out of the pool after forty swift laps, her legs vibrated faintly, making it difficult to walk normally. To this, too, she was accustomed. She ducked into a hot shower, letting the needlelike spray soothe her body. Gradually she felt her heart slow, her muscles unkink, and her brain begin to work again.
Daniel, she thought, as she soaped her naked body. Her hands moved almost roughly over all the places he loved to touch. Daniel, she thought again as she toweled off and dressed, covered the body he desired but did not love in a pair of old jeans and a faded sweatshirt. In front of the full-length locker-room mirror, she dried her thick hair, dragging her brush through it, stroking it until it crackled and shone.
When she finished she automatically applied a little lip-gloss and smoothed her eyebrows into perfect arches, then stood back, almost curiously, to look at herself. Her hair was a rich dark curtain framing her oval face, bouncing and curling luxuriously against her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed with health and exercise, and her green eyes were dark and huge.
Looking farther down, she noted that her body was fit and straight and strong. Despite everything she'd gone through—a dead husband coming back from the grave, a lover abandoning her—she looked as if she were still capable of taking on the world.
On a wild impulse, Kate tossed her head and laughed out loud. The sound rang out, bouncing off the locker-room walls, and she cast a quick look around to see if anyone was there to hear her and wonder if she was nuts. But it was early, and the place was apparently deserted. She giggled again at the thought of whooping it up alone in a locker room. She should be moping around weeping, but instead she was laughing. To hell with Daniel!
Then she was angry, and it felt terrific. She planted her fists on her hips in front of the mirror and stamped her feet. She threw her head back, whipping her hair around her shoulders, and then delivered a few short jabbing punches into the air. She moved across the room, kicking out first with one leg, then the other. She took an imaginary rapier in her hand and fenced with an invisible opponent. This reminded her of Jeff, who was seriously into fencing. It had been too long since she’d spent any quality time with her college friends. Toying with her imaginary opponent for a while, she moved in for the kill with a furious lunge. "Gotcha, you son of a bitch!" she cried. "Take that!"
"Hey, there, you all right?" a voice inquired.
Kate swung around to see a brown-haired woman whom she recognized as one of the other regulars at the gym. She was dressed in sweats and carrying a gym bag. Kate grinned at her, unembarrassed. They had chatted a few times while working out. Her name, if Kate remembered correctly, was Philippa, and she also lived nearby. "Just getting my aggressions out."
The other woman nodded understandingly. "Are you into fencing?"
"Not really. I have a friend who is, though."
"I used to fence," the woman said. "Competitions, even. It’s been awhile since I’ve had time for it. Watching you reminded me that I miss it." Her eyes looked a little dreamy. "You know how it is when you're exercising hard and you go that place where everything's smooth and easy? Out of this world, almost." She shook her head and laughed. "Fencing takes me there, for some reason. No wonder I miss it!"
"I should introduce you to my friend Jeff. He says the same thing, and he’s always complaining about not having a partner to fence with."
Philippa grinned. "As long as he’s not the same guy who’s got you all boiling mad."
"Nah, that’s somebody else. You know the type. He wants my soul, but all he gives in return is his body."
"Isn’t that just like a man."
"So what do I do?"
Philippa tilted her head to one side, considering. "How's this body he's offering? Nice?"
"Mmm. Very."
She looked deep into Kate's eyes, and then shook her head. "Dump him. There're plenty of nice bodies around. It's the beautiful souls that are rare."
Kate pondered Philippa’s advice all the way home, getting angrier with each step she took. It occurred to her that she'd been down on herself since the beginning of her relationship with Daniel, believing herself not sophisticated enough, not passionate enough, not good enough for him. What a crock of bull, she told herself now.
So what if Daniel was attractive and sexy? So was she. So what if he could have any woman he wanted? How many of them were as sexy and smart, as good-natured, and as much fun to be with as she was? How many other women did he know who could come bouncing back after losing a beloved husband at a young age and be willing to give their heart again? It was difficult for him to make a commitment, was it? Well, to hell with him! If it was so damn difficult for him to love her, he was the loser, he the fool.
By the time Kate reached her own street, she had talked herself into a militantly good mood. But when she saw a distant figure sitting on the wicker bench on her front porch, her heart turned over. Had he come back to her?
When she got closer, however, she realized that the person on the porch was not Daniel, but her mother. Oh, heavens, her mother! She'd left her at Graham's last night and forgotten all about her this morning.
As Kate bounded up the porch stairs, Iris rose and opened her arms. "My dear," she said, hugging her. "I heard what happened. I'm so sorry. I knew it was an unstable period for you. I should have thought more carefully before going ahead with the sitting."
"I'm good," Kate assured her. She urged her mother inside and took her coat. "How long have you been waiting? I shouldn't have left you at Graham's. Were you okay there for the night?"
"I just got here a few minutes ago, dear. And Graham and I are old friends. We had a lovely chat over breakfast this morning. He's worried about you, you know."
"I know. Poor Graham."
"I sometimes wondered if he might be the one you would turn to when you finally stopped mourning Arthur. But Daniel is much more suitable. Where is he, anyway?"
"He's gone, Mother. He left me."
"Left you?"
"He walked out." She drew a deep breath. "He doesn't like competing with a ghost."
"Oh, dear," said Iris.
"He wasn't my type anyway. I suspected it from the start. He's a bad-tempered, thick-headed, arrogant know-it-all, and I never want to see him again."
Her mother's pale blue eyes regarded her in silence. Kate sensed immediately that Iris knew every word she'd just uttered was untrue. Oh, Daniel, she thought in misery. Couldn't you have given it just a little more time?
Her mother's fingers gently touched her cheek. "Don't worry. He'll be back."
"Is that a psychic prediction or a fond mother's reassurance?"
Iris smiled faintly. "A little of both, I think. Come into the kitchen, my dear. Let me fix you a nice cup of tea."
"I have only regular tea, you know. No exotic herbs and spices."
"That's quite all right."
A few minutes later, as she poured a cup of strong, scalding tea for Kate, Iris remarked, "We could brew him a love potion, of course, if you could just get him over here..."
"Mother!"
"I'm serious. There are certain herbs, you know, that—"
"I'm not in the mood for any more witchcraft today, please. Last night was bad enough."
There was a short silence. Her mother was absently patting Chester, who had crawled up into her lap and was purring loudly. Chester adored her mother, and missed her, no doubt. "What exactly did Arthur say?" Iris asked.
Kate put her head in her hands. "Daniel is adamant that Arthur said nothing at all. He insists that it was nothing more th
an a trick, and he's appalled that a mother could do something like that to her child."
"Do you believe him?"
"I don't know what to believe." Then, to counter the faintly hurt look that crossed Iris's face, she quickly added, "I know you would never purposely deceive anyone. But I can't help wondering what really happens to you when you go into a trance. Maybe Sir Godfrey Vernon is simply a creation of your unconscious mind. And maybe the things you know come to you telepathically rather than from some mysterious spirit who survives beyond the grave."
"There is uncertainty in all things," her mother said quietly. "I have often doubted the source of my power."
Kate was astonished. "You have?"
"Of course. Do you think I've never read the various scientific 'explanations' of what it is to be a medium? Do you imagine I've always accepted my lot without a murmur of protest? There was a time when I hated and fought my destiny. When I was about your age I wanted nothing more in life than to be normal, ordinary, and as free of psychic power as everybody else." She set Chester down on the floor and took her daughter's hands in hers. "But there are some things you can't change, darling, and it only breaks your heart and health to try. I can't change the fact that I see, hear, and know things that other people cannot see, hear, and know. And you can't change the fact that your husband is dead and that you’re falling in love with another man."
Kate squeezed her mother's hands. "I know," she said softly.
"Nobody can verify what happens after death," her mother added. "Life is the only thing we're sure of. You have to love life, Kate."
"I've always believed that. I'm not mourning Arthur anymore."
"Aren’t you, dear?"
The way her mother asked the question surprised Kate. What did she mean? Hadn’t she proved she was finally over Arthur? She had spent the past few weeks obsessed with Daniel.