Summer on the Cape

by J. M. Bronston

  “We don’t need you here at all, dear. We’ll get it ready just fine without your help.”

  As far as Leslie Smucker was concerned, artists were an unavoidable hazard that went along with running a gallery. They got underfoot and had temper tantrums and interfered with business negotiations with clients. And she certainly didn’t need this little protégée of Adam Talmadge’s around, getting in her way, having opinions about the lighting of pictures and the placing of this or that on the walls.

  “You just run along, dear. Go home. Take a bath. Rest up for the opening tonight.”

  Allie knew that the Whiscombe staff really did know what they were doing and she could safely leave the few remaining details in their very competent hands. As it was, openings frazzled her nerves enough without taking on the formidable Leslie Smucker as well, so Allie accepted the invitation to disappear. She gathered up her shoulder bag and some samples of the brochures that had been printed for the show, planning to review them on her way home in the subway. As she headed for the big plate glass doors that fronted on Madison Avenue, Ms. Smucker called after her.

  “We’ve put one of your watercolors in the display window out front. You might want to take a look at it on your way out.”

  Muttering to herself about “that old buzzard,” Allie went through the doors and turned south on Madison toward the big brass-framed windows where the Whiscombe Gallery displayed selected items from its current showings.

  She was surprised and delighted to see that it was her painting of Sea Smoke that had been selected for the display window, and she paused for a minute to stand there in the bright sunshine and examine her watercolor. She could not help feeling a special attachment to the painting of the beautiful boat, gleaming in the sunlight. Despite the fact that Zach had practically chased her off the boat that day, the memory of her visit on board stirred something in her that she could not identify, something elusive and mysterious.

  Behind her, a voice.

  “It’s a damned good painting, Allie.”

  She practically jumped out of her skin.

  The voice was, of course, unmistakable. And so were the blue eyes, squinting against the sun, and the wavy black hair with the gray strands glinting silver in the brilliant light. There he was, Zach Eliot, looking perfectly at home on Madison Avenue, in light gray flannel slacks and a navy blue blazer. He wore no tie, the button-down collar of his oxford-cloth shirt was open at the throat, and the pale blue of the fabric made a soft contrast against his deeply tanned skin. Surprised, she realized that Zach fitted in smoothly on this busy city street with its stream of people flowing past them, his manner comfortably urban, totally at ease in the crowd. He came around next to her and peered into the window, studying the painting, which had been beautifully framed and placed on a display easel in the Whiscombe’s show window.

  Allie needed a moment to adjust to his being there, so unexpectedly, his sudden closeness bringing with it an acutely sharp memory of their last meeting. It had been almost two weeks ago that she had made her high speed “escape” from his house on the hill, but her sense of embarrassment and the fear of his anger were as strong here in the bright sunshine on Madison Avenue as they had been that morning in his kitchen. With an effort, she kept her voice steady.

  “I’m glad you like the painting. Adam told me you might want to buy it.”

  She spoke with some trepidation. She had learned that the mere mention of Adam Talmadge’s name raised Zach’s hackles, and she braced herself for his reaction. She was not surprised to see his black brows draw together angrily and his lips tighten against his teeth. He didn’t take his eyes off the painting and she knew he was working hard to keep a lid on his temper.

  “I already have bought it,” he said very evenly. “I’ve just come from Adam’s office. We had a number of things to talk about. One of them was your picture.”

  “What else did you and Adam talk about?”

  “Business, mostly.” He barely got the words out through clenched teeth. Obviously Zach was not going to disclose any real information to her.

  “Did you get things settled between you?”

  “Not at all.” Zach snorted in disgust. Then he turned toward her, his face hard, his eyes slightly narrowed, boring into her. “And you can stop quizzing me, Allie. Adam assured me he’s told you what you need to know. And if he was lying to me, I think I’ll know it soon enough.”

  “Oh?” It seemed to Allie these men were pretty high-handed about what she should and shouldn’t know. “And just how are you going to find out what I know? Are you planning to hang me by my wrists until I confess?”

  A short laugh burst from Zach’s lips. “I guess that would be one way.” His eyes ran over her as though he were giving the idea serious consideration. “But I had something a little less violent in mind.” Abruptly, he took her arm, turning her away from the display window. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “Let’s take a little walk. I want to talk to you.” He started down Madison Avenue, drawing Allie roughly along with him.

  Outraged, Allie yanked her arm out of his grip, coming to a quick stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Stop hauling me around!” she snapped angrily. “Just who do you think you are?” Passersby turned their heads briefly to note the commotion and then continued to walk on.

  Zach faced her squarely, his eyes flashing.

  “Hell, I’m the guy who just paid twelve thousand dollars for an Allie Randall watercolor. Maybe that entitles me to ask a few questions.”

  “Like hell it does! Twelve thousand dollars entitles you to take that picture home and hang it on your wall, and that’s all it entitles you to!” Allie yanked the strap of her bag into place on her shoulder and turned away from him sharply, stalking angrily down Madison. “For the price of the painting,” she added, as he caught up with her, his long stride easily overtaking her, “you sure don’t get to drag the artist around the streets of New York!”

  “Hold on a minute, Allie!” Again he grabbed her, stopping her in her tracks, his strong hands gripping her arms, turning her to face him. For a long minute, he glared into her eyes while his brain raced to catch up with his impulsive moves.

  I’m doing it again, he thought. Why does my mind come unhinged when I’m around this woman? Damn it, Eliot, just slow down. Stop pushing her around.

  He realized she was struggling to pull out of his grip and he lifted his hands away from her.

  “All right,” he said, trying to calm himself down, trying to calm her down. “All right. Fair enough, Allie. Let me try again.” He took a deep breath. “Let me invite you to take a walk with me, so we can talk for a while.” He saw that she was at least listening. “Does my twelve thousand dollars at least allow me to invite the artist to lunch?”

  She was in no mood to give him even an inch of leeway, but the invitation surprised her. And the commanding power of his probing gaze, searching her face, and the hard set of his mouth, carried a force of their own. It wasn’t the first time she felt shakiness at the back of her knees when she looked into Zach’s eyes.

  “Well—”

  “Come on, Allie. I have a couple of hours before I have to catch my plane back to the Cape. And they probably don’t need you back at the gallery.”

  “That’s certainly the truth,” she confessed drily. “They’ve been trying to get rid of me all morning.”

  “Good. Then that’s settled. There’s a place just a couple of blocks from here, on Sixty-ninth Street,” he said, pointing downtown, “where we can get lunch and talk quietly, without being disturbed.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to stop shoving me around long enough for a walk in the sunshine and a quick lunch?”

  “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He was still glaring but she could see that he’d gotten himself under control.

  “Well, I shouldn’t say yes, Zach, but the truth is, I have some questions of my own.” She started to walk down Madison Avenue with Zach striding along besid
e her.

  “Okay,” he said. “You go first. What’s your question?”

  “Well, Zach, I was surprised when Adam told me you wanted to buy that particular painting. Just why did you want it?”

  He looked sideways at her, but her head was turned forward and she didn’t see his glance. He paused first to enjoy the sunlight’s glow in her hair, then he did a slow scan, from the thin shoulder straps of her white cotton dress, bright with yellow flowers, down the fitted top and on to the little flared skirt, not stopping till he reached her feet, bare as usual, in fragile sandals, taking quick steps along the pavement. Despite himself, despite his firm resolve to keep himself at a safe emotional distance from her, Zach couldn’t stop his imagination from running a stroking finger along those naked toes.

  “Let’s just say,” he said as they reached the corner of 69th Street and turned into the quiet side street, “I bought it because I think it’s going to turn out to be a good investment.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, of course.” She couldn’t help being pleased by the vote of confidence. “I guess the next question is yours.”

  He was momentarily distracted by the irregular pattern of sunlight and shadow passing over her face and through her golden hair as they walked beneath the trees. It was hard enough, keeping his mind on his reason for coming down to the gallery to see her today. His real questions couldn’t be asked anyway and the look of her in the sunlight of this beautiful day was driving him crazy, sending his mind off in fourteen directions at once.

  Ah, hell, he thought. There’s no way I can ask her if she’s really just a client of Adam’s, or is there something more personal between them? If she were my client, I wouldn’t be able to leave it at that. Damn it!

  With an effort, he managed to control his tongue, but not the anger that lay buried in his words. His question lashed at Allie.

  “I want to know what Adam’s told you. I want you to tell me how much you know about this project of his.”

  “First of all”—Allie resented his demanding tone, and she snapped back at him—“I know that what he told me is confidential. I don’t see why I’m supposed to talk to you about it.”

  She was about to turn on her heel and leave him flat, standing there on the street, but at that moment, Zach stopped in front of an ornately carved door, painted black, with a monogram logo engraved on a brass plaque near the top.

  “We’re here,” he said. As he opened the door and motioned her inside, he added, “Don’t get so mad, Allie. Let’s have a nice lunch and try to behave like grown-ups.”

  She hesitated on the threshold. Other than the plaque, there was nothing outside to indicate what lay behind the door.

  “What is this place?” She thought she’d already scouted out most of the city’s interesting locations. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

  “It’s the Rensselaer Yacht Club. I’m not surprised you never noticed it. It’s well over a hundred years old, but no one seems to pay much attention to it. I think that’s the way the members want it.”

  The prospect of entering this very exclusive bastion of wealth and privilege put her instantly on her guard, fearful of its rejecting cold shoulder. A chill blew over her, like ghosts of childhood cruelties never really buried, of wounds never really healed, of hardship and loneliness, all left over from those early years.

  “But don’t you have to be a member to have lunch here?”

  He could not be aware of her uneasiness. “Of course,” he said, leading her through the door. “That’s why I picked it. The food’s not so great, but it’s never crowded and we’ll have a chance to talk.” They had passed into a tiny vestibule and climbed the few steps to the main floor.

  At a desk near the front, an elderly gentleman looked up from a register in front of him. He was obviously surprised to see them. “Mr. Eliot! It’s so good to see you here. It’s been quite a long time.”

  “Thank you, Max. Yes, it has been a while.” Zach leaned over to sign the register. “We’ll be having lunch today.”

  “Of course, Mr. Eliot.” He paused as his quick eye took in Allie’s slim form and her youthful good looks. With a gracious smile that clearly included Allie, he repeated, “It really is good to see you here again.” Allie noted a particular sincerity in his words as he emphasized his pleasure in seeing Zach. There was also kindliness to his tone that took the edge off Allie’s wariness and made her feel that perhaps she wasn’t really risking a social snub.

  Zach nodded to Max and then led Allie through a large, comfortable, wood-paneled club room. There were leather chairs and couches and big tables with magazines and newspapers on them and in one of the chairs, near a tall window, an elderly man was reading a newspaper. On the wall there were photographs and paintings of sailing ships, and a display case against the wall held trophy cups and platters.

  As they passed through the club room, Allie’s eye was caught by the pictures on the wall.

  When this lunch is over, Zach and I will probably no longer be speaking to each other.

  She decided not to lose this opportunity she’d likely never have again.

  “Do you mind, Zach, if we take just a minute in here? I’d like to look at some of these old paintings.”

  Zach’s gesture was a bit impatient, but he understood her interest and he indicated that he was willing to wait while she looked around. She moved from picture to picture, as though at a gallery, but Zach had something on his mind besides the yacht club’s history, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

  “We could while away an afternoon and I could tell you the history of some of the boats in these pictures and the races they won. But we have things to discuss now, so I think we’d better go on into the dining room.”

  She turned to follow him through a short hallway when her eye was caught by another set of pictures, a group of photographs. At their very center, there was a photo of a handsome young man, his black hair wavy and thick, disheveled by the wind, the rigging of his sailboat forming a background behind him, a big smile creasing his rugged young face. He was holding up, for the camera, a silver trophy. Allie put her hand on Zach’s arm to stop him.

  “Why, Zach! That’s you!”

  Zach turned back to the picture and stood in front of it, staring at it for a while. The sadness that came into his face was unmistakable.

  “I was a lot younger, then.”

  He seemed lost, for a moment, and then, remembering where he was, he turned abruptly and walked into the dining room.

  * * *

  He selected a table next to a window through which the afternoon sunlight was streaming. The white linen cloth gleamed brightly and the silver and the china, created with the club’s logo, were all invitingly in place. They were each handed a menu, and an order card was placed in front of Zach.

  Allie glanced around her at the quiet, rather stodgy room. She and Zach were its only occupants, and again she could feel her old defensiveness rising up around her in the atmosphere of this very exclusive place. She remembered, with embarrassment, how she had originally thought Zach was a kind of town handyman, employed by Adam as a caretaker. She had certainly been wrong about that! She recognized her own bit of unconscious snobbery and was sorry for it.

  “I had no idea,” she said, with all the poise she could muster, “that I was going to be having lunch in such exclusive company. You keep surprising me, Zach.”

  And that, she thought, is the understatement of the year.

  “Oh,” his gesture was casual, “this club is a hereditary thing. The Eliots have been members here for generations.” He didn’t realize that he was only intensifying Allie’s unhappy “outsider” anxiety. While she struggled to get her self-esteem back in place, Zach picked up the menu and glanced at it briefly.

  “I suggest the soup, to start,” he said. “They do the soups well here. Will that be all right?”

  Allie, as usual, didn’t care what she ate.

  “That’s fine.” She was more concern
ed with bracing herself for the battle that was about to break between them. How had she let herself get into this? She should have just left him outside the door to this place. She had a show tonight and resting up for that was much more important than slugging it out with Zach Eliot. What did she care about defending Adam’s development project? If Adam thought it was a good idea, it probably was. He hadn’t called a single shot wrong since she’d known him.

  “Would you like a drink?” Zack asked.

  “Something light, I think. White wine.”

  She wondered if a glass of wine would steady her nerves or muddle her head. She glanced at Zach across the table, trying to reconcile her confusion of feelings about him, her anger and awkwardness with her irrationally helpless response to his raw, animal energy and his smoothly masculine style.

  “This place is not famous for its wine cellar,” Zach said, without any trace of an apology. “Will the ordinary house white be okay?”

  “Of course.” She took a couple of deep breaths. Her natural good sense and her obstinate self-protectiveness were coming to her rescue. “That’ll be fine.”

  Zach filled in the order card and told the waiter to bring Allie a glass of white wine and a Jack Daniels for him.

  “Now, Allie,” he said, sitting back in his seat and absentmindedly tapping the waiter’s pencil on the arm of the chair, “let’s get back to where we were.” He fixed his intense gaze on her from beneath those black brows. “I want to know if Adam has kept his promise. Has he told you what he’s been up to?”

  “Well, maybe you remember, Zach, I told you only a few minutes ago that Adam said it was all confidential.”

  “I’ll bet he did.” He didn’t move a muscle and his expression was pure, cold cynicism. “Well, then, Allie, let me just whisper a couple of names in your ear. Let’s try ‘Matsuhara Group,’ for one.” He waited a minute to gauge her reaction. He saw, by the slightest widening of her eyes that he had registered. “And for another, how about ‘Pilgrims’ Landing’? How do those two grab you?”