by Janet Dailey
When Bay stopped in front of another shop window, she emitted a defeated sigh. ‘I’m really out of guesses. Please, no more.’
‘No, no more,’ he agreed absently. ‘It’s a dressmaker’s shop, more specifically labelled as Original Fashions by Jacobina. There’s a dress in the window, and I’d swear it was made for you. Come on.’ His arm tightened suddenly around her waist. ‘We’ll go in so you can see it.’
Instantly Sabrina strained against his arm. ‘You’re overlooking one pertinent detail. I’m blind. I cannot “see” the dress,’ she reminded him sharply.
‘I’ve overlooked nothing, my blind queen,’ he replied patiently. ‘So you can wipe that look of indignation from your face. Where’s all that creative imagination you were bragging about the other day? I’m taking you into the shop and you’re going to see this dress with your hands.’
Feeling roundly chastised, Sabrina mutely allowed herself to be escorted into the shop. A tiny bell sounded above their heads as they walked in. Immediately footsteps approached from the rear of the store.
‘May I help you?’ a woman’s voice inquired.
‘Yes,’ Bay answered. ‘We’d like to look at the dress in the window.’
‘We don’t sell ready-made dresses here, sir,’ the woman replied politely. ‘It’s a model from which we make another using the precise measurements of our customer.’
‘Let me explain what I meant.’ The velvet charm was very pronounced in his voice. ‘Miss Lane is blind. I admired the dress in the window and wanted her to see it. In order for her to do that, she must touch it. Would that be possible?’
‘Of course, I’m sorry. It will take me only a few minutes to remove it from the model,’ the woman offered quickly and warmly.
Her words were followed by a rustle of motion and material. Sabrina shifted uncomfortably and felt the pressure of Bay’s hand on her waist increase in reassurance. Short minutes later there was a silky swish of material in front of her.
‘Here you are, Miss Lane,’ the clerk said.
‘Would you describe it for her?’ Bay requested.
‘Of course,’ the woman agreed. ‘Miss Jacobina calls this dress “Flame.” Its ever-changing colors of red, gold, orange and yellow in irregular layered vees of chiffon curl at the ends like tongued flames.’ Sabrina’s sensitive fingers lightly traced the edges of the many layers. ‘The neckline is vee-shaped but not plunging by any means. The illusion of sleeves is created by the cutaway vees of chiffon from the neckline, draping over the shoulders and the bodice.’
As the exploring tips of her fingers went over more of the dress Sabrina’s mind began to form a picture with the help of the clerk’s description.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Sabrina murmured finally.
‘What size is the model?’ Bay asked. The woman told him. ‘Would that fit you, Sabrina?’
‘I think so,’ she nodded.
‘Can you stretch the rules to allow her to try it on?’ he asked the clerk, again in that persuasive tone that Sabrina was certain no one could resist.
The woman took a deep breath, then laughed. ‘I don’t know why not. We have a changing room in the back. Miss Lane, if you’d like to come with me.’
Sabrina hesitated and Bay gave her a little push forward. ‘Go on. Let’s see what it looks like on,’ he prompted.
‘Why do I let you talk me into these situations?’ she sighed.
‘Because deep down, you enjoy it,’ he teased. ‘Besides, I bet you haven’t bought any new clothes since the accident.’
‘I haven’t needed anything,’ Sabrina protested weakly.
‘When has that ever been a valid excuse for a woman?’ Bay mocked. ‘Now, go try that dress on. That’s an order!’
‘Yes, sir.’ She didn’t really have to have her arm twisted. The vision in her mind and the touch of the expensive material already had her excited about wearing it, even if she couldn’t see the end result.
Changing swiftly out of her sports clothes into the dress, she only required the assistance of the clerk with the zipper. With her hand resting lightly on the clerk’s arm, she moved nervously to the front of the store where Bay waited.
‘Well?’ Sabrina asked breathlessly when the silence stretched to an unbearable length. Her head was tilted to one side in a listening attitude.
‘You look beautiful, Sabrina,’ Bay said simply.
‘That’s an understatement,’ the clerk inserted. ‘You’re stunning, and I’m not saying that because I work here. The dress might have been made for you. The style, the color suits you perfectly. It’s amazing, but you must have the same measurements as the girl who models it.’
Her fingers ran down the neckline of the dress, trailing off with a draping fold of the filmy chiffon. ‘Could you — would you sell this one?’ Sabrina asked.
‘It’s not customary,’ the woman hesitated, then added with a resigned smile in her voice. ‘Let me check.’
When the woman had left, Sabrina turned again to Bay. ‘Are you very sure it looks right?’ she questioned anxiously.
There was a click, then cigarette smoke wafted through the air to her nose. ‘Are you seeking more compliments?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she denied, nervously running her hand along the waist and glancing sightlessly at the floating vees of material cascading over her arm. ‘It’s just that I can’t be positive — ’
‘Be positive.’ With cat-soft footsteps he was at her side, lifting her chin with his finger. ‘I told you the truth. You look beautiful in the dress.’
She wished she could see his expression. The sincerity in his voice she didn’t doubt, but there was an illusive sensation that he was aloof, withdrawn. The fringe of dark hair hid the tiny frown that knitted her forehead.
‘Now what’s troubling you?’ Bay mocked.
‘I — ’ Her chin was released as he stepped away. ‘I was just wondering when I would ever wear this,’ Sabrina hedged at the truth.
‘Sometime there’ll be an occasion when the dress will be just right for it. Then you’ll be glad you bought it,’ he replied in an indulgent tone.
‘I never asked how much it is,’ she murmured. Then an accompanying thought dropped her shoulders. ‘I have hardly any money with me. Do you suppose I could give them some money to hold it and Daddy and I could come down later with the rest?’
‘I could pay for it,’ Bay suggested guardedly.
Sabrina bit into her lower lip, eager to possess the dress she wore but unwilling to obligate herself to a man who was neither friend nor stranger.
‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,’ her acceptance was hesitant, ‘you could write down your address and the amount. I’ll have Dad mail you a check tonight.’
‘You wouldn’t consider accepting the dress as a gift?’
Sabrina drew back. ‘No.’ She shook her head firmly, ready to argue the point further if he should attempt to bully her into accepting it.
‘I didn’t think you would.’ A rush of smoke was exhaled in her direction. He sounded vaguely angry. ‘All right, I’ll loan you the money for the dress.’
‘Thank you,’ breathed Sabrina, relieved the episode was not going to end on a quarrelsome note.
‘Instead of your father mailing me a check, why don’t I stop by your house Friday afternoon?’ he suggested.
‘If you like,’ she frowned.
‘I would like.’ The smile was back in his voice and she gave him an answering one.
The sales clerk returned with the information that they would sell the dress model to Sabrina. The price of the garment was not as high as she had expected. While she changed into her denim slacks and top, Bay took care of the purchase.
Outside the store he gave her the unwelcome news that they had used up the two hours and it was time for him to take her back to the house. He suggested that instead of taking the cable car, then walking the several blocks to her house, that they take a taxi. At this point, Sabrina would have preferred to prolong the
outing, but there had been a subtle change in his attitude, so she agreed to his suggestion.
‘I’ll see you Friday afternoon around two,’ Bay repeated, stopping inside the iron gate but not following her into the stairwell.
‘Would y-you like to come in for coffee?’ she offered.
‘I’ll take a raincheck on that for Friday,’ he refused.
‘All right. Till Friday, then,’ Sabrina agreed with a faint smile of regret.
Four
* * *
Sabrina touched the face of her watch. Two o’clock. She reached to be certain the check was still on the coffee table where her father had put it this morning. It was. She leaned against the cushion of the couch, rubbing the back of her neck to try to relax the tense muscles. It was crazy to be so on edge because Bay Cameron was coming over, she told herself.
The front buzzer sounded and she hurried to the intercom, answering it with an eager ‘Yes?’
‘Bay Cameron.’
‘I’ll be right down.’
Recklessly Sabrina nearly flew down the stairs. A smile wreathed her face as she opened the door and walked to the gate.
‘You’re right on time,’ she said.
‘I try to be punctual.’ The warm huskiness of his voice swept over her as she unlocked the gate, swinging the iron grille open to admit him.
‘I have the coffee all ready if you have time to stay,’ she offered.
‘I have time,’ Bay answered.
Leading the way up the stairs to the second floor living area, Sabrina motioned toward the living room. ‘Have a seat while I get the coffee tray. The check for the dress is on the table in front of the sofa.’
Bay made no offer to help pour the coffee when she returned, letting her take the time to do it herself. He took the cup she held out to him, the almost silent swish of the cushions indicating that he had leaned back against the chair next to the sofa.
‘You have a very nice home. The paintings on the wall, are they yours?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged, carefully balancing a cup in her lap. ‘My father likes landscapes, so he chose those for the house. Because of his love for the sea, they are actually ocean scenes.’
‘Are these the only paintings of your own that you have left?’
Sabrina bent her head. ‘No.’ Her jaw tightened.
‘May I see them later?’ Bay requested with watching softness.
‘I’d really rather not show them to you.’ She swallowed, lifting her chin defiantly.
‘If you’d rather not, I won’t insist,’ he shrugged. ‘But I won’t pretend that I’m not curious why. I’ve already seen several examples of your work. Why wouldn’t you want to show me the rest?’
Sabrina fidgeted nervously with the handle of her cup. Trying to adopt an uncaring attitude, she set the cup on the table.
‘I’ll show them to you.’ Not certain whether her change of mind had been prompted by the patiently humorous tone of his voice or an application of common sense. ‘They’re in the studio upstairs.’ She rose to her feet, pausing to turn her head in the direction of his chair.
‘Lead the way,’ Bay agreed, now on his feet, too.
Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, Sabrina trailed her hand along the wall until she came to the second door. The knob was cold beneath her fingers as she swung the door open. The lingering scent of oil paints whirled around her.
‘The room isn’t used — any more, so it might be a bit stuffy,’ Sabrina explained self-consciously, halting against the wall just inside the door.
Bay didn’t comment. It wasn’t really necessary. She listened to the quiet sounds as he wandered about the room, pausing sometimes to take a closer look at something that had caught his eye. Other times she could hear him moving canvases to see the paintings behind them. A tightness gripped her chest with a painful hold.
‘They’re very good, Sabrina,’ he said at last. Her head turned in the direction of his voice only a few feet from where she was standing near the door. ‘It’s a pity to keep them hidden in this room.’
’dad and I have talked about selling them. We will some day.’ Sabrina swallowed to ease the constriction in her throat.
’did you ever do any modeling?’
‘Modeling? No,’ she replied, striving for a lightness even though she knew neither of them would be fooled by it. ‘I was always the one painting the person who was posing.’
‘I meant modeling in clay,’ Bay explained. Quiet, unhurried footsteps brought him to her side. A hand lightly touched her arm to turn her toward the open door.
‘Yes, when I was studying the different mediums of art,’ Sabrina acknowledged with a slight frown. ‘Why?’
‘Have you ever considered taking it up now that you’re blind?’
‘No.’ She shook her head.
Unconsciously she had allowed him to lead her into the hallway. His inquiry had been unexpected and it set off a chain of thoughts. The closing of the studio door brought her back to their surroundings.
The subject was not explored further as Bay let her descend the stairs ahead of him, deliberately allowing her to mull the idea over in her own mind without any attempt to influence her. In spite of an ego-born desire to reject the idea to do anything but her chosen field of painting, the seed had been planted in fertile ground.
The coffee Sabrina poured had grown cold. While she emptied the cups, there was more time to contemplate his indirect suggestion. She marveled that none of her art friends had mentioned it before. Perhaps the objectivity of a relative stranger had been needed.
‘I meant to ask,’ Bay said as Sabrina handed him his cup refilled with hot coffee, ‘whether you and your father had any plans for tomorrow evening.’
Her own cup was half-filled, the coffee pot poised above it for a startled split second. ‘No,’ Sabrina answered in a curious tone. ‘Saturday afternoon and evening Dad spends with Deborah. Why?’
‘I thought we could have dinner somewhere. It would give you an excuse to wear your new dress,’ Bay answered smoothly.
‘No, thank you,’ she refused with cutting abruptness.
’do you have other plans?’
‘No.’
‘Then may I ask why you don’t want to have dinner with me?’ he asked, completely unruffled by her cold rejection.
‘You may.’ With a proud set to her head, Sabrina replaced the coffeepot on the tray and leaned against the sofa, protectively cradling the cup in her hands. ‘I simply don’t eat at public restaurants. I have a habit of knocking over glasses and dropping food on the floor. It’s embarrassing,’ she concluded self-consciously.
‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ Bay returned.
‘Well, I’m not.’ Impatiently she took a sip of the hot liquid, nearly scalding her tongue in the process.
‘If this is not a refusal of my company,’ there was a hint of amusement in his voice, ‘then would you consider a less formal suggestion? For instance, we could buy some shrimp and crab at the Wharf, sourdough bread and a salad of sorts, then have an impromptu picnic somewhere along the shore line of the Golden Gate Promenade.’
Sabrina hesitated. It sounded like fun, but she wasn’t certain she should accept his invitation. In between the moments when she was angered by his arrogance, she had discovered she liked him. Yet she doubted if any enduring friendship would ever develop between them.
‘Is it such a difficult invitation to accept?’ Bay taunted.
His gentle mockery made her feel foolish. She was magnifying the importance of the invitation out of all proportion. A faint pink tinted her prominent cheekbones.
‘It isn’t difficult,’ she murmured, bending her head toward the cup in her lap to hide the flush of embarrassment. ‘I do accept.’
‘Would six o’clock be all right, or would you rather have me come earlier?’
‘Six is fine.’ There was a thump from something falling to the floor. Her head jerked up with a start. ‘What was that?’
> ‘It’s a little something I bought for you as a present,’ Bay replied with studied casualness. ‘I meant to give it to you earlier, but I got sidetracked. I had it propped against my chair and I accidentally knocked it over. Here you are.’
A long, narrow box was placed on her lap after Sabrina had set her coffee cup on the table. Her hands rested motionless on the cardboard lid.
‘Why did you buy me a present?’ she asked warily.
‘Because I wanted to — and please don’t ask me to take it back, because I wouldn’t have any use for it and neither would anyone else I know. I doubt if I can have it returned either,’ he stated.
‘What is it?’ Sabrina tilted her head curiously to the side.
‘You’ll have to open it and find out for yourself,’ Bay answered noncommittally.
With a trace of nervous excitement hampering her movements, Sabrina eased the lid off the box and set it on the sofa. She could feel his alert gaze watching her. Her pulse accelerated slightly. Hesitantly exploring fingertips encountered tissue paper. It rustled softly as she pushed it aside to find what it protected.
The object in the box was round and hard. Initially the cylindrical object was unidentifiable until Sabrina felt along its length. Her hand had barely curled around it to lift it out of the box and she replaced it, folding her hands tightly in her lap. A sickening sensation curled her stomach.
‘It’s a white cane, isn’t it?’ she accused tightly, a bad taste bitterly coating her tongue as she uttered the words.
‘Yes,’ Bay admitted without any trace of remorse. ‘But I like to think it isn’t an ordinary white cane.’
The box was removed from her lap. The action was followed almost instantly by the rustling of tissue paper, then the sound of the box being set aside. Her lips were compressed tightly shut in an uncompromising line while her hands maintained their death grip on each other. Bay’s fingers closed over her wrist and firmly pulled her hands apart, ignoring the resistance she offered.