Weekend Agreement

by Barbara Wallace

  “No, that’s the power of positive thinking combined with science. Trust me,” she said, helping herself to a water cracker, “you can’t control everything.”

  “Try me.”

  She laughed. “You would be that arrogant.”

  “A point, I thought, we already established,” Daniel said. He leaned forward, his stomach woozy but better. Proving his point. He could control his body. “Tell you what, I dare you to prove me wrong.”

  Her eyebrows arched, widening her green eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Name something that a person can’t possibly control in some form or fashion.”

  “All right.” She bit into her cracker. “Hunger. You can’t control when you get hungry.”

  “Not true. You can always trick your body into thinking it’s full. Dieters do it all the time.”

  She frowned, her pink lips jutting in a pout. Quite an attractive pout, too. Daniel could almost see the gears turning in her head as she tried to think of a better example. He had no doubt that she’d do her best to stump him. This was an interesting change of pace, having a companion who was mentally stimulating.

  He saw her shoulders square, indicating she’d come up with one. “Emotional reactions.”

  “What about them?”

  “You’re walking along a dark street late at night, and you hear footsteps behind you. You can’t help but feel a little nervous.”

  “Ahh, but you can get calm by taking a closer look at the situation and reminding yourself it’s simply your overactive imagination making you anxious. Face it, Professor, there’s nothing a person can’t control with a little rational thinking.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. In fact, I pride myself on it.”

  “Yet you can’t control your stomach.”

  Thank you for pointing out my one failure. “Give me time; I will.”

  “What happens if you don’t?”

  “Not an option.”

  A grinding noise filled the cabin—the wheels being raised. They’d taken off and his stomach barely noticed. He smiled triumphantly. “We’re in the air. I think that proves my point.”

  “All that proves is you were distracted,” Charlotte countered.

  “That’s not a method of control?” Obviously, she wasn’t ready to admit defeat.

  “No, distraction is distraction.” She swiveled so she could face him, tucking one long leg under her like before. “Okay, here’s one. Desire.”

  Unbidden, Daniel’s gaze darted to her legs, and that bewitching white pendulum of a shoe. “I thought we determined that physical reactions are controllable.” Practicing what he was preaching, he forced his gaze back to her face. “Attraction is definitely physical.” And could be fought.

  “Attraction, yes, but I said desire. Want.” She leaned forward, the emeralds in her eyes sparkling like a victor about to deliver the deciding blow. “Love.”

  A funny ache struck him square in the chest. “Love?” he repeated, just to make sure he heard correctly.

  “Yes. We fall in love when we’re not expecting to; we fall in love with people we shouldn’t. People fall in love with us. All whether we want it to happen or not, making the emotion completely unpredictable and out of our control.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, victorious. “Not even you can control that, Mr. Moretti.”

  Don’t be so sure. A sour taste had risen in his mouth, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t from his stomach. “But you can learn to live without it.”

  Suddenly, their conversation wasn’t so entertaining. Or distracting. He sat back against the sofa, trying hard not to look at the woman sitting next to him. Love was something he’d long ago given up thinking about or expecting. At least unconditional love. That fantasy died a long time ago—if it ever existed.

  He lifted the window shade. In the distance, he saw Plymouth Harbor as they turned to cross the Cape. It was ironic that the topic would turn to love on a trip to Ferncliff Manor. Or was it? The sour taste returned. “Why are you on this trip?” he asked, as much to the window as to her.

  “You know why. You made me.”

  Right—he was the bad guy in this. She was simply preserving her precious family legacy from being razed to the ground. “It’s all because of the farm? There’s no other reason?”

  “Should there be?”

  “You tell me, Professor. You’re jumping through an awful lot of hoops for a piece of land.”

  He heard her sigh. “You sound like Judy. She said the same thing. Problem is, the farm is a lot more than land to me.”

  “It’s part of your family legacy. You told me.”

  “More than that. It’s… Do you remember when I said I believed history gave us context?”

  “Yes.”

  “Craymore Farm is my context. See, it’s just my brother and me now, and as you probably guessed, we’re not very close.”

  So he gathered, from the way he sold the farm out from under her.

  Charlotte was fiddling with the strap of her seat belt. The nervousness of her actions made her seem younger, more innocent, and he felt a pang of empathy he didn’t know he had. “I’m not close to my family either,” he remarked.

  “Really?” She looked up and he saw on her face all the feelings he fought to keep at bay. A strange sense of connection seemed to wind itself around them. He felt understood. It couldn’t be real. No one understood him.

  He searched her face, looking for a sign, any sign, that the soulfulness in her eyes was manufactured. But he only saw a pair of brilliant emeralds and soft pink lips. And skin so smooth it begged to be touched.

  Where was the artifice?

  “You want context?” Talking would keep his mind from jumping to wrong conclusions. See? Mind over matter, Professor.

  She nodded. “Close or not, my family is part of me. I need to keep the past alive.”

  Daniel was about to ask her to explain when the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, tossing them up and down like a ball. Crap. Whatever control he’d mastered over his stomach disappeared as it rose straight up his throat.

  “Dammit, Peter!”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  He rolled forward, leaning on his elbows. Head dipped low, he drew in a long loud breath.

  “So much for my stomach being distracted,” he said sucking in a second breath. He could literally taste the bile threatening to spill over.

  “Here, try this.” Charlotte pressed a water cracker into his palm. “Something solid in your stomach will help keep the acid at bay.”

  Daniel stared at the fingers resting on his hand. Against his clammy skin, her touch felt warm and dry. Comforting. He squeezed his hand around them, crushing the wafer. “Professor,” he whispered, leaning toward her.

  He unhooked his seat belt, and rushed straight out of the cabin.

  Chapter Four

  Charlotte forced herself to stay put at the sounds of retching in the other room. She didn’t think Daniel would want her to bear any more witness to his humiliation than she already had. Instead, she busied herself with the view. They were leaving the Cape behind and crossing Nantucket Sound. Ahead lay Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket Island, the state’s island jewels. She could make out the dots of whitecaps on the ocean’s surface below. The wind must be building if she could see the waves from up here. As if to prove her point, the plane descended slightly, and she realized some of the white dots were sailboats.

  They would be landing soon. Charlotte’s pulse quickened. Like Caesar at the Rubicon, for better or worse, there was no turning back.

  The sound of running water and of a toothbrush being tapped against a basin drew her attention. A few moments later, the drape drew back, and Daniel appeared, his complexion still gray, his body still shaky. She could tell by the way his hand gripped the doorframe. “Not my finest moment,” he muttered.

  “Do you need anything?”

  As he made his way back t
oward the sofa, he shook his head. “Just to lie down for a moment or two. Do you…?” He motioned for her to move.

  Charlotte obliged, thinking the added physical distance was nothing compared with the distance emanating from him. Whatever bond they’d begun to forge seemed to have vanished along with the contents of Daniel’s stomach.

  She watched as Daniel stretched himself across the cushions. His pale skin and under-eye circles made him look almost fragile. Almost. A man like Daniel could never be truly fragile. Still, as she had at takeoff, she found herself wanting to smooth the hair from his forehead. Silly. Men like Daniel also didn’t want comforting. Needing comfort implied loss of control, and as Daniel said, he was always in control.

  They completed the rest of the flight with minimal conversation, Daniel too intent on either controlling his stomach or keeping her at bay to contribute much more than an occasional yes or no answer. The silence grew worse as they landed and loaded their bags into the car. At first she was surprised that Daniel had rented a car for such short distance, but then remembered what he had said about being a passenger. Poor guy really was at the mercy of his stomach, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  As they pulled onto the main road, she checked her watch. “Five o’clock,” she noted.

  “Right on time for cocktails,” was the acerbic response. “Lucky us.”

  “We can always take the long route. Delay our arrival.”

  He glanced over at her. “Nervous, are we, Professor?”

  The crisp businessman had returned. Charlotte flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. “You’re the one who implied he wanted to drag his feet.”

  “On the contrary, I could use a good stiff drink.”

  “Even after—” She left the rest of her words hanging.

  “Especially after.”

  He turned onto a sand-covered access road, surrounded by thick coastal shrubs. The area was so remote, Charlotte at first wondered if he’d changed his mind and they were delaying their arrival. Then, the road curved again and the brush parted to reveal acres of lush green grass. Ahead of them sat a large gray stone-and-shingle house, alone and majestic.

  Another glance toward the driver’s seat revealed that Daniel’s profile was darker than ever. It made his comment about not being close to his family sound like an understatement.

  “Is it that bad? Coming home,” she added, when he looked her way.

  “I can think of better ways to spend my weekend.”

  “No insult intended, I’m sure.”

  “Professor, your presence is the most tolerable of the lot.”

  She tried not to be too flattered by his answer. “Why come then, if being here makes you so miserable?”

  “Because this is a major anniversary and it’s expected.” He parked the car next to a gleaming black Jaguar with the personalized plate “Naut1.” “However painful this weekend may be, it pales compared with the grief I’d get if I failed to attend. Being the wealthier and better-known son, my attendance is not only expected, it’s required.”

  Charlotte was about to question whether that was simply his arrogance talking, when the front door opened and an elegant-looking woman in her early sixties appeared on the front step.

  “Finally!” she sighed with exasperation. “We’re halfway through cocktails.

  Daniel’s mother wore an impeccably pressed linen sundress that made Charlotte wonder if wrinkles had a fear of Daniel’s family. In fact, everything about Daniel’s mother was impeccable, from her chin-length bob to smooth and tanned skin. Charlotte suddenly regretted her decision to go casual.

  “We got hung up on the Tunnel,” Daniel said. Afraid I can’t control rush-hour traffic.” Thinking of their earlier conversation, Charlotte made a note to remind him of that fact.

  “You need to start leaving your office earlier, then.”

  A diamond stud glittered on her earlobe as she held out a cheek for a kiss, which Daniel perfunctorily provided before introducing Charlotte.

  Vivian Ferncliff looked her over with a dismissive flick of her pale blue eyes. “How nice you could join us.” Her smile was broad and brittle. It was obvious she expected someone more glamorous. “The boys are waiting on the veranda.”

  She turned on her heel, her erect posture and precise movements indicating they were to follow. Before stepping into the house, Charlotte reached out and touched Daniel’s arm. “Boys?” It suddenly occurred to her that she knew absolutely nothing about Daniel’s family.

  “My stepfather and stepbrother. Mother always refers to them as her boys.”

  “You too?” It was hard to picture anyone calling him a boy.

  “Hardly.” His eyes fell to the fingers resting on his jacket. Slowly, he lifted her hand free, his thumb grazing across the peaks of her knuckles. Even though she was sure the caress was accidental, Charlotte still felt the touch all the way to her toes.

  Yeah, she thought, eyes rising to meet his, she definitely couldn’t see him as a boy.

  “Daniel,” His mother eyed them from over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  With a roll of his eyes, Daniel dropped Charlotte’s hand. “Her majesty beckons. Shall we?”

  The veranda sat on the east side of the house, overlooking the ocean. While they traveled from one end of the building to the other, Vivian took the opportunity to share with Charlotte some of the family history. Ferncliff family history, that is. William Ferncliff, Vivian’s husband, was a sixth-generation Ferncliff, one of the original residents of the island. It was obvious that fact was a badge of honor for the woman. The house itself, Charlotte had to admit, was amazing. Her inner historian couldn’t help appreciating the reverence with which family heirlooms had been presented. She thought of her own tiny house, overstuffed with heirlooms because no one else wanted them. Here, the antiques were preserved and polished like the pieces of history they were. She stopped more than once to admire a piece that caught her eye.

  “The Ferncliffs were leaders in the whaling industry,” Vivian said when Charlotte paused to admire a seventeenth-century captain’s table. She pointed to a dour-looking portrait on the wall. “This is Captain Zachariah Ferncliff. He built the house. We’ve maintained the room’s nautical décor to pay tribute to the family’s legacy.”

  “My father made his money owning a grocery store,” Daniel remarked from behind. “She keeps the pantry stocked in his honor.”

  The comments earned him a narrow-eyed glower from Vivian as she pointed out a pair of clipper ship lithographs commissioned by one of Zachariah’s offspring.

  When they finally reached the veranda, Charlotte saw two men perched on the far wall. At the sound of Vivian’s voice, they rose.

  “Well, well, well,” said the older of the pair, “we were wondering when you would land that plane of yours.”

  “You know Daniel,” Vivian remarked, “always on his own time schedule.”

  While Daniel was lean and dark, William Ferncliff and his son resembled large, ruddy teddy bears. Their blond hair had been bleached white from the sun, and windburn permanently stained their cheeks. When they smiled, their square jaws revealed rows of perfect white teeth, their gleam made all the whiter by their tanned skin. Good-looking as they were, however, they lacked the complexity that came with Daniel’s dark looks. With Daniel, she immediately sensed layers beneath the surface. With the Ferncliffs, Charlotte suspected that what she saw was what she got.

  In this case, she got surprised looks.

  “Always a pleasure to meet one of Daniel’s friends,” William said, recovering. Charlotte wondered how many “friends” of Daniel’s he’d actually met. “Hope you enjoy your visit.”

  “Your name sounds familiar,” Daniel’s stepbrother, Cole, said. “Are you an actress, too?”

  “Too?” She was confused.

  “Never mind,” Daniel said. “Charlotte is a historian.”

  “You don’t say,” William said. “I’m impressed. We have a scholar in our midst, Viv
ian.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Maybe I should have you study our family history,” William said. “Did Vivian tell you the Ferncliffs were among the original island settlers?”

  “Yes, she did,” Charlotte answered. In grand detail. “When she showed me the house.”

  “Charlotte is an expert on the American Revolution,” Daniel told him.

  “That’s why your name is familiar. I should have realized.” William had crossed the room and was standing behind the bar. “Your book is on my nightstand. One of the guys at the club gave it to me to read. He said it was quite good.”

  “It is,” Daniel said.

  Charlotte stared at him. “You read my book?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “You told me the other day that history books weren’t your style.”

  “That was the other day.” An unreadable glint shone in his dark gaze. Coming on top of the look they shared back in the foyer, Charlotte found herself quivering in places she wished she didn’t. Of course he’d read the book after making their arrangement. A good businessman always made sure he learned all he could about his potential partners.

  “For what it’s worth,” Cole remarked, disrupting the moment, “you could easily be an actress as well. Beauty and brains are an impressive combination. Careful, Danny, or I’m going to have to try and steal her away.” Though said good-naturedly enough, the comment made Charlotte uneasy. She was beginning to see why Daniel didn’t get along with his family. It was like standing in a nest of snakes waiting to see who might strike. So far, only William seemed genuine, and even then, the verdict was somewhat uncertain.

  “I’ve always wanted to write a novel,” Vivian said suddenly. She had settled herself regally on the settee located in the middle of the terrace. Charlotte noticed the chair was the only one in that location, the others having been placed in a revolving pattern around it. “Although I would be more suited to fiction than nonfiction. So much more exciting. I’ve been told I have a very vivid imagination.”