Substitute Bride (Special Edition)
Page 14
“I loved her, too,” her father retorted, obviously stung.
“Well, then, don’t say things like that.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he mumbled.
“Maybe not, but it’s hurtful anyway.” It was amazing, but Rachel was feeling better by the minute. These were things she’d wanted to say for years. “You’re right that mother didn’t like confrontations. And Rachel doesn’t, either. But that doesn’t mean either one of them was or is a coward.”
“Well,” Wylie grumbled, “it sure as hell was cowardly of your sister to run off without telling me.”
“Maybe she felt she didn’t have a choice.”
“That’s bull.”
“It’s not bull. We all know how you lose your temper when you’re crossed,” Rachel noted. “Maybe she didn’t want to ruin the wedding with a big blowup.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, she ruined it anyway. Her running off like that was all anyone could talk about at the reception.”
“Is that all you care about? What people are saying about us?”
Wylie looked down at his coffee and avoided her eyes. “No.” When he finally looked up, his expression was bleak. “Do you think Rachel’s ever going to call me?”
The hurt in his eyes shocked Rachel. Could he possibly care more than she’d imagined?
“She’ll call you,” she said softly. “She’s probably just giving you time to cool down.”
“Cool down, huh? I ought to tan her hide a good one,” he said, returning to his normal bluster. Then his voice softened, too. “I just want to talk to her. Make sure she’s all right and that this Carlos is good enough for her.”
“She’s more than all right,” Rachel assured him. “She’s very happy. And Carlos is a good man, Daddy. He’s bright and ambitious and he comes from a very good family. And despite what I know you thought, he didn’t marry her for your money. His family is wealthy.” She told him some of what Roxanne had said.
Her father looked as if he’d like to dispute what she’d said, but he didn’t. “Is she plannin’ to come home before his next assignment?” he asked when she’d finished.
Rachel smiled. “I imagine that’s going to depend on you…and how you act when she does call you.”
They talked a while longer, then her father said, “Why don’t you give me Rachel’s phone number? Maybe I’ll call her.”
Rachel’s heart gave a painful bump. “I, um, don’t have it here.”
“Well, how about callin’ me at the office tomorrow and giving it to me then?”
Since Rachel could do nothing else, she said she would.
He smiled and wadded up his empty paper cup. “Well, guess I’d better go up and see Georgina now, because I have a dinner meeting at six.”
They both stood and hugged goodbye, and Rachel sadly wondered if this might be the last time she would ever hug her father, because despite today’s revelation about his feelings for her, she wasn’t sure how he would handle what had really happened.
Rather than go home to David’s house, after leaving the hospital Rachel headed for her town house. She still hadn’t signed the contract with Blythe Gallery, and she needed to do that immediately. In fact, she could drop it off at the gallery on her way to David’s. She also needed to call Roxanne, and she preferred to do it from the town house.
“Thank God you’re home,” she said when Roxanne answered her call an hour later. “I’ve got a lot to tell you. First of all, David’s grandmother seems to have passed the crisis.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“Yes. And because she has, I’m planning to tell David the truth tonight”
“Good. I’ve been so worried about this.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“I guess that means I can call Daddy tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh. In fact, it would be best if you’d call him first thing, because he’s asked me to give him your number so he can call you himself.” Rachel grimaced. “Of course, he has no idea who he’d really be calling.”
“I can’t call him first thing. Carlos and I are leaving at seven for Mexico City, so it’ll have to wait until we get home tomorrow afternoon. We should be back about six, though.”
Rachel chewed on her lower lip and tried to think what to do.
“Why don’t you tell him I’m going to be away and said I’d call him tomorrow night?” Roxanne suggested.
“I guess that would work.”
“So Daddy knows we’ve talked.”
“Yes. He asked me, so I told him the truth.”
“What did he say?”
“It was a funny thing. He didn’t seem nearly as mad as he had before. In fact, he said he wished you’d call him. Of course, he still thinks you’re me. Oh, God. This is so complicated. Anyway, I assured him that Carlos was a really great guy and he didn’t marry you for your money.”
“Is that what he thought?”
“You know Daddy.”
“Yes,” Roxanne said wryly. “I do.” They were silent for a few moments, then she said, “Good luck tonight, sweetie. I know this is going to be much harder for you than it will be for me.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said.
After they hung up, Rachel sat there thinking about what she would say to David. How she would say it. Even the thought of the upcoming confrontation made her heart beat faster and her throat go dry.
He was going to be so angry.
And so hurt.
She hugged herself.
What would he do? Would he order her out of the house tonight? Tell her he never wanted to see her again? She felt sick to her stomach as she imagined how he would despise her afterward.
Oh, David, my darling, I’m so sorry.
She looked at her watch. Four o’clock. David had said he’d try to get home early. By six, he should be there. So it was only a matter of a couple of hours before the moment of truth.
Please, God, help me.
Fighting tears, she picked up the Blythe Gallery contract. She tried to read through it again, but she couldn’t concentrate. Finally she just signed it. What did it matter if it wasn’t worded exactly right or if she might be able to get better terms by negotiating with Phillip Blythe? What did anything matter next to the loss of the only man she would ever love?
Chapter Eleven
An hour later, calm again, Rachel decided she might as well try to look her best for the coming ordeal, so she showered and washed her hair. She also took special care with her makeup and clothes, putting on a silky blue pants outfit with a long tunic top from Roxanne’s trousseau that David had said he liked.
She wondered if she should cook dinner. Wouldn’t it be more considerate to wait and tell David everything after dinner instead of upsetting him before he’d had a chance to eat? Yes, of course it would be.
She hoped there would be something in the house she could fix. After rummaging through the freezer, she decided that by using the defrost feature on the microwave, she could quick-thaw a couple of the frozen chicken breasts she’d found. And she discovered a box of brown and wild rice in the pantry. The vegetable keeper yielded a tomato and half a cucumber, so she could make a salad, too.
So far, so good.
Bread was a problem, though, but there was enough time to make a fast trip to the bakery at the corner and pick up a loaf of freshly baked olive bread, one of their specialties. And while she was there, she would buy one of their amaretto cheesecakes, too.
Why not? she thought wryly. The dying man deserves a hearty last meal.
Although which one of them—she or David—qualified as the dying man was a debatable question.
At six-thirty everything was ready. The chicken breasts were marinating in a concoction of soy sauce, lemon juice and herbs, ready for broiling as soon as David walked in the door. The rice was cooked and in a serving dish—all she’d have to do was nuke it when they were ready to eat. The salad was made and, along with the cheesecake, waited in the refrigera
tor. The bread, ready for slicing, sat on the cutting board. Wine was chilling in the ice bucket. The table was set, candles ready to be lighted, and Rachel had even bought a bunch of flowers at the open-air flower market in Rice Village.
A perfect setting for murder, she thought, wryly amused by her newly discovered penchant for melodrama.
It is murder! You’ll be murdering every vestige of friendship and respect David ever had for you.
Grimly she pushed the negative thought from her mind and focused on her preparations. Somehow, it seemed very important that everything around her look perfect. So she walked around the house plumping pillows, straightening pictures, sorting through David’s CDs until she found one she liked, picking imaginary lint off the furniture—anything and everything to keep from thinking.
But finally she could find nothing else to do. She looked around desperately. She knew she had to keep busy if she wanted to stay calm. She tried reading the paper, but couldn’t concentrate. She turned off the CD player and turned on the TV set, but she couldn’t sit still.
Turning off the set, she paced back and forth, looking out the front window every few minutes.
Where was he?
Every time she heard a car, her heart lurched. She was terrified, and yet, perversely, now that she knew she could no longer put off telling David the truth, she wanted to get it over with quickly. This waiting was excruciating.
She stared at the empty street.
Come on, David. Come on.
At seven he still hadn’t come home. By now Rachel had worn a path in the carpet, and her stomach felt as if it had been taken over by aliens. If he didn’t come home soon, she might have a nervous breakdown.
At seven-fifteen the phone rang.
Rachel raced to answer it.
“Sweetheart,” David said, “I’m sorry, I know I said I’d be home early, but we’ve got another crisis here. This time it’s on one of the rigs, and I can’t leave.” He sounded exhausted.
“It’s okay, David. Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t okay, but what else could she say? She could tell he felt bad. She certainly didn’t want to add to his problems.
Oh, that’s funny. You don’t want to add to his problems? Like telling him he’s not really married isn’t going to upset him?
“I’ll call you when I have a better idea of how long I’ll be,” he continued wearily.
They said goodbye and Rachel slowly replaced the. receiver in its cradle. She leaned against the kitchen counter and closed her eyes. Why tonight, of all nights, did David have to be detained? She wondered if some mischievous force in the universe was at work. A force that wanted to make her suffer as much as possible.
At eight o’clock David called again. “It’s gonna be another hour at least. Why don’t you go ahead and eat without me?”
“No, David, I’ll wait for you to get here. I don’t mind.” She wasn’t the least bit hungry. This meal had been for him, not her.
Once more she tried to find something to occupy her mind. She thought about her sketchbook. If only she had it here. But she’d been afraid to bring it to David’s house, afraid that even if she hid it, somehow he might see it. She eyed the notepad sitting next to the telephone. That would do.
For the next two hours she sketched remembered scenes from Colombé, losing herself in the work and recapturing her feelings of well-being and happiness. By ten o’clock—with no further word from David— she had sketches for almost a dozen possible new paintings. One in particular really excited her. It was a sketch of a street scene from the main bazaar in Colombé. Rachel had taken a whole roll of film that day, and now she wished she’d gotten the film developed, but in the confusion and turmoil of Georgina’s heart attack, she had completely forgotten about it.
Well, she thought, she could do that tomorrow.
At ten o’clock she tore the sketches from the notepad and stuffed them deep into her purse. She didn’t want David seeing them before she’d had a chance to talk to him. That is, if he ever got home.
Walking to the front window, she peered down the street. Several cars drove by, but none was David’s.
Now that she was no longer busy sketching, her stomach began its nervous fluttering once again. If David didn’t come home soon, she wasn’t sure she would be able to stand it.
Finally, at ten-thirty, David walked in the door. All Rachel had to do was take one look at him to see how completely worn out he was.
“I’m sorry about dinner,” he said, putting his arms around her and hugging her.
“It doesn’t matter.” She gently extricated herself from his embrace, avoiding his eyes and busying herself by walking to the wet bar and pouring him a glass of wine. She handed it to him. “Do you feel like eating now, or should I put the food away?”
He sank onto the couch and closed his eyes. “I’m too tired to eat. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
He opened his eyes and smiled .up at her. “I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I know you went to a lot of trouble getting it all ready.”
“Don’t worry about that. That’s not important.”
He closed his eyes again, laying his head back. “Today was a bitch of a day.”
Rachel wanted to put her arms around him. Kiss him and soothe him. Make the worries of the day fade away. But she didn’t have the right to do that. It would just make her job harder. Besides, to continue to deceive him was cruel. But how could she tell him when he was so tired?
Quit stalling and looking for reasons to put off the inevitable!
Rachel swallowed. Clasping her hands together to still their trembling, she said softly, “David…”
“Hmm?” He didn’t open his eyes.
Her heart wrenched. She had never seen him look so worn-out.
While she hesitated, he opened his eyes again and took a drink of his wine. He sighed heavily. “I really hate my job. I could walk away from there tomorrow and never miss it.”
Rachel could think of nothing worse than hating your job. Well, she could think of one thing worse— David hating her—but that was beside the point. “Why do stay there, then?”
“You know why.”
“David, if you were to leave, your grandmother might be disappointed for a while, but she’d get over it. If I were you, I’d tell her how I feel. She loves you, and if you explained your idea about that boys’ ranch, I think she’d be proud of you.”
At her words, David frowned, and for a moment Rachel wondered if she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“That’s easy for you to say,” he said. “You’re not the one she’s counting on.”
She stiffened, oddly hurt by his reaction. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
But she knew it was what he’d meant. That frown had spoken volumes.
“Sweetheart…” He put his wineglass down, then reached up, drawing her down onto his lap. Rachel knew it was a mistake to let him, but couldn’t summon up enough willpower to resist
“C’mon,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He caressed her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth and smiling down into her eyes. “Anything that concerns me, concerns you. I’m just tired.” He lowered his head to kiss her.
Rachel knew she should pull away. If she let him kiss her, her resolve would weaken, and she had to tell him tonight. But even as she told herself this, her eyelids drifted shut and she lifted her face.
Tunneling his hands through her hair, he kissed her deeply and hungrily.
“David,” she said as one kiss became two, two became three.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said, his voice rough with desire. He stroked her breast.
“David, wait. I—There’s something I have to talk to you about.” She tried to pull away, she really did, but he held her fast.
“Later,” he muttered, kissing her again, letting his mouth trail from her lips to her throat.
He stood, lifting her up with him. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, David, really—”
He silenced her by kissing her again. Then he carried her into the bedroom. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Slowly he set her on her feet.
Pressing her close, his hands cupped her bottom, and she could feel how much he wanted her.
All Rachel’s good intentions evaporated.
She loved him so much.
And this would be the last time she’d be with him like this. The very last time.
What harm could one morenight do?
So she lifted her arms and twined them around his neck. And within moments she was lost in the rosy world where she and David were the only people who existed.
“We find the defendant guilty as charged,” said the jury foreman.
“Poll the jurors,” said the judge, a dark, forbidding man with accusing eyes.
Rachel trembled as, one by one, the jurors stood
“Guilty!” said the first juror.
“Guilty!” said the second juror.
“Guilty!” said the third juror.
Each looked at her as if she were lower than a snake. But she didn’t blame them. She was lower than a snake.
When the twelfth juror had made her pronouncement, David walked to the front of the courtroom. He faced her, his beloved face filled with contempt.
“It’s up to you, Mr. Hanson,” said the judge. “Shall we show her mercy?”
“She deserves no mercy,” David said.
“No mercy!” snarled the prosecutor.
“No mercy!” shouted the jury.
“No mercy!” yelled the spectators.
“Put her in the dungeon and throw away the key,” David continued coldly.
“David,” Rachel pleaded, “I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word love,” David said. His eyes were flat as they met hers. “I never want to see you again.” And then he walked away, out of the courtroom and out of Rachel’s life. She reached toward him, but he didn’t turn around.