“I want to explore what we feel here, Mandy. I want to take you places and show you things.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m hoping that you’ll stay on here for a long, long time.”
She smiled, but it felt faint. “I do intend to stay. I’ve told you so. But it seems only fair to admit that I am really confused right now. About a lot of things.”
“That’s okay. I’m torn between pomposity and terror myself on a daily basis.”
“I suppose that can’t be helped, you being worshiped at work, then worked over on the home front.”
He laughed out loud. “My hours of terror are restricted to the middle of the night, when I can’t sleep.”
“Maybe you should try sleeping in this regal lab of yours. As a matter of fact, I can just imagine you in nothing but the lab coat.”
He reared in feigned shock. “Enough of that. Eat your lunch.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Amanda meekly sank her teeth into a sandwich piled high with chicken and lettuce. “Hmm, another Della triumph.”
“You haven’t even tried her coleslaw yet. It’s famous.”
“How famous?”
“Very. Clear out to the county line.”
As they enjoyed their meal, Mandy mulled Brett’s wish for her to stay on indefinitely. Could she possibly find contentment here in this slow and simple setting? A hectic life in the fast lane hadn’t brought her any lasting happiness. Nor had the fruitless chase for her father’s love. It was high time she explore her own heart and desires, away from the pressures of wealth and family. Discover if this detour was meant to be a permanent stop.
Chapter Eight
Near the end of the day, Ivy Waterman appeared at the clinic.
Charlotte made a show of checking her appointment book, flipping a day ahead and back. “I don’t see you in here, Ivy. You still having trouble with your sinuses?”
“No, Charlotte—”
“Drop-ins are frowned upon, you know.”
“I am here to see Mandy, of course!”
Charlotte plainly hadn’t seen that coming. And being trumped on her turf was something she never took graciously. “For her, you most certainly don’t need an appointment.” With that, she shuffled off.
Hearing the welcome voice, Amanda had rolled her stool to the file room doorway in time to catch the whole scene. Now she stood with arms spread wide. “Tell me you’ve come to take me away from this filing cell!”
“That’s what they have you doing?” Ivy glanced around the empty waiting room. “At least it must be quitting time.”
Brett appeared then. Ivy wiggled her fingers at him. “Hi, Mr. Polka-Dot Shorts.”
Brett smiled thinly. “The painting was very amusing.”
“Tess has an active muse. It’s only my job to encourage it.”
“So, do you have an appointment?”
“You people are appointment crazy! I’m here to whisk your file clerk away for some fun, unless you intend to keep her trapped here all night.”
He appeared offended. “No. I intended to take her over to the Frock Shop and have her measured for some uniforms.”
Ivy glanced at Amanda. “Do you think you’ll need them? That you’ll be staying that long?”
“She will!” Brett blurted with unusual passion. When the pair stared him down, he added, “The office can use the extra uniforms in any case. And they should be ordered today, so they arrive by week’s end.”
“I’ll take Mandy to the shop myself,” Ivy said, moving behind the counter to retrieve the crutches leaning against the wall.
Brett frowned. “When will you bring her home?”
“Does she have a curfew?”
He reddened. “I mean for Della’s sake. With dinner and things.”
Ivy looked unconvinced. “Well, you can tell Della not to wait dinner for her, because I’m taking her back to my place for something.”
Wistfully, Brett watched them leave.
Ivy settled Amanda into the front passenger seat of her white Saturn and was soon steering them out of the parking lot.
Amanda could not suppress an impish grin. “Brett has gotta be the cutest guy alive. Not just hot, but genuinely adorable. The way he’s so confident one minute, then all fumbling the next.”
Ivy’s expression grew wary as she braked for a stoplight. “You break his heart and Della will track you down and break your back.”
“I can’t help it if we have something between us. I didn’t invent chemistry.”
“No, but you’ve always been very good at shaking the average test tube full of hormones until it’s frothing with love potion number nine.”
Five minutes later they were rolling along Main Street. Ivy took a right down a narrow opening and a left into an alley behind the quaint storefronts. She pulled into the space allotted for the Frock Shop. She removed Amanda’s crutches from the back seat and, with care, assisted her passenger.
Laughter greeted them as they eased through the back service door.
The shop was rather narrow and jammed with racks of clothing and the occasional shelf of accessories. Back To School banners hung in the front windows facing the sidewalk.
A woman in her early thirties was at the cash register, speaking on the telephone. She was trim and petite, dressed in a navy dress with white piping.
“That’s the owner, Natalie Quincy,” Ivy murmured.
“Yes, I understand,” Natalie was telling her caller. “The usual baggy medium-priced range are—Okay, leave it to me.” Natalie hung up and gave the pair her full attention. “Hello, Ivy. And you must be Mandy.”
Ivy nodded. “Why do I believe that was Charlotte on the phone?”
“No, it was Doc Hanson.”
Ivy placed a hand on her hip. “Wanted to enforce Charlotte’s archaic policy, I suppose.”
Natalie looked bewildered. “No, just the opposite. He wants Mandy to have the updated cotton style being worn over at the dental office. I’ll just go into my storage room and get some samples and a tape measure. Feel free to have a look around.”
“Woo, somebody’s acting wild and crazy,” Amanda gloated.
Ivy frowned. “Remember your promise not to shake things up?”
“Hey, blame the doc for this one.”
“Well, he’s acting weird because of you.”
The prospect didn’t trouble Amanda in the least. She hobbled over to a circular rack, checking garments and prices. “This blouse is only twenty dollars, this one seventeen!”
“Would you want to pay more for either one?” Ivy whispered.
“I wouldn’t buy them at all,” Amanda muttered. Then she took a look at Ivy’s pale blue shift with regret. “Oh, gee, you shop here now, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Ivy admitted defensively. “The clothes are comfortable, fit into my budget. I can hardly teach at the school wearing gold lamé, can I?”
Natalie reappeared. She held up two white uniforms made of crisp fabric and styled in flattering lines.
Amanda inspected them with approval. “These are a cut above the clinic uniform. Way above.”
Natalie looked rueful. “Rumor has it Charlotte’s had that place locked into white polyester blends since the Nixon administration.”
“This sort of change will make her flip.”
Natalie ignored the disgruntled Ivy in favor of the customer. “Both styles come with pastel collar and pocket accents.”
“How about in green?”
“Hmm, Doc Hanson’s favorite color.” Natalie beamed. “I think you’re going to bring some fresh air to that office, Mandy.”
“Oh, sure,” Ivy retorted. “We’ll just see what explodes when fresh air collides with one hot windbag from the Nixon administration.”
Trips to the drugstore and supermarket followed, where Amanda stocked up on cosmetics and energy bars respectively. Then it was on to the Blink and Click Photography Studio building where Ivy rented her second-floor apartment.
It was with a weary ey
e that Amanda stood in the alcove that gave access to the building’s second level. The staircase was mighty steep.
“I’ll understand if you want to come back when you’re better,” Ivy said.
“No way. We need to scream and laugh and I’m totally convinced the only truly private place for it is up those steps.”
“Good.” Ivy looked pleased. “Start whenever you’re ready. I’ll be right behind you.”
Amanda took the narrow steps slowly, with a thump of crutch and a slide of shoe. Out of the corner of her eye she knew a solicitous Ivy was grasping the rail with one hand, keeping the other in midair for a catch.
They were halfway up when they were startled by a sudden flash from below.
They froze and turned to discover a man with a camera standing in the small foyer below. He was short and lean, and sported a brown goatee. “Splendid shot, ladies! Thank you so very much.”
Ivy stomped a foot. “Dammit, Oliver! We might have been frightened enough to lose our balance.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist the setting. The two of you grappling with those stairs. You represent friendship in all its guts and glory. Trust, weariness, tension. A perfect reflection of life’s dim and drab overall struggle. Rest assured, I used black-and-white film for the necessary noir.”
A most reluctant Ivy made introductions. “Oliver Pratt, this is my college friend Mandy Smythe.”
“I went to Berkeley myself, Mandy Smythe, for about a month back in 1993. A little before your time, I know.”
“If you don’t mind, Oliver, we’ll continue our struggle.”
“I might have bent my rules to allow her to stay here,” Oliver remarked. “But it would have been tough for her to navigate with crutches.”
“She wouldn’t be on crutches if I’d been able to bring her directly here,” Ivy countered. “Wouldn’t have even laid eyes on that junky motel bike.”
Oliver swiftly grew incensed. “You should have asked me before you told her no.”
“You’ve always made your ‘no guest’ policy more than clear, Oliver.”
“Don’t mind her, Mandy,” he said with a self-righteous sniff. “She’s been cranky ever since I asked her to pose nude. Don’t see what all the fuss was about.”
“That is because you’ve never seen me nude,” Ivy shot back slyly. The women laughed gleefully and a trumped Oliver disappeared through the door of his studio.
Ivy’s apartment reminded Amanda of their Berkeley digs. Neat square rooms furnished with a mishmash of furniture, offering front views of Main Street and back views of an alley. With a sigh she parked on a worn floral sofa. “Drink! Drink! Please, Ivy.”
“How about some iced tea?”
“Perfect. Make the first one a virgin. Then maybe we can work our way into adding jiggers of vodka.”
“Not a chance. You still have to climb back down the stairs tonight.”
Amanda accepted the tall, cool glass Ivy offered her and took a long sip. “Mmm, just the way your mother’s personal chef used to brew it.”
“It’s the same tea from that little shop in Chinatown. There are some luxuries I still can’t resist.” Ivy settled back in a nearby armchair.
“So, Ivy, it’s time to explain yourself. How on earth did you end up at the ends of the earth?”
“Where to begin?” she asked airily, kicking off her shoes. “After I went to Europe and got my degree, I eventually moved back to Boston. For a time I worked for Cornerstone Jewelers in customer service. It was difficult, dealing with the complaints of the rich and spoiled all day. But my folks were so happy to have me neatly placed in the fold, set to climb the Cornerstone ladder to an executive position. Like you, I was accepted for a change and sort of liked the feeling.”
“So what went wrong?”
“Family tranquillity never lasts, does it? Trouble began to brew when I hooked up with an artist named Nathan.”
“Your family loves art.”
“Not the kind of mass-produced watercolors sold at art fairs. That’s Nathan’s specialty. Anyway, he brought me here once on a short getaway. For several days I scouted things out while he painted the local scenery. Then we returned to Boston and I put Fairlane out of my mind. Our relationship began to wind down after that and, three months later, Nathan disappeared. I was disappointed when he just vanished, but I knew all along that he was unpredictable and moody. Certainly not husband material. Unfortunately his disappearance was in sync with that of a few Waterman jewelry pieces, heirlooms given me by Grandma Ruth herself. My family blamed me for the losses, said some terrible things about my life choices and about me personally.”
Her lovely face pinched, Ivy continued. “It was clear they cared more about the missing heirlooms than my feelings. I had a mini breakdown over it. My shrink suggested I take a time-out in a new environment to try and discover exactly who I was beyond the Waterman legacy. I remembered Fairlane and decided to give it a try. Drove into town one day about eighteen months ago with a car full of belongings and a vague story about needing a fresh start away from the bustle. Spent the summer getting acquainted with the citizens by working at the public library with Beatrice Flaherty. By the time autumn rolled around, I was rested and confident and hooked on Fairlane. I applied for a teaching job at the school and got it.”
“You’re really happy here?” Amanda pressed.
“Very much so. I feel safe, cared about. And I’m doing a job that brings me complete satisfaction.”
“But everything is so quiet, so small.”
“I do dash into Portland a couple of times a month to shop well, eat exotic and take in a show. But after a day or two of it, my heart and my wallet are ready to return home. I am living on my teaching salary these days.”
“So you’re completely cut off from your inheritance?”
“Well, if Dad died, I imagine I’d get my share. But my allowance was cut off the minute that jewelry vanished. Shortly thereafter, my little branch was chopped from the family tree.”
“I can see why you haven’t been anxious to spill that story to your friends here in Fairlane. You’d have people stirring up old pain.”
“And bartering for a few of the watercolors that Nathan sold locally. All in all, I suspect it would spoil my schoolteacher image for good. Not that I’ve ever lied about anything, but I’ve kept my story simple. Gave my name, place of birth and college credentials. Hinted that I’m estranged from my relatives and don’t care to discuss them. I’ve never gotten close enough to anyone to suffer the third degree. And I quickly learned that most people would rather talk about themselves given the chance. It’s simply a matter of turning the conversation in their direction.”
“With Brett an exception to that rule.”
“He’s a model of restraint.”
“I find Brett’s restraint very sexy.”
“You’d find his reading of a thermometer very sexy!”
Amanda tipped her head back on the sofa cushions. “Yeah…But he’s wonderful in so many ways that have nothing to do with sex.”
“And you’ve noticed?”
“I have,” she insisted. “For instance, he’s marvelous with Tess. He never uses his career as an excuse to short-change her the way Lowell has with me. And he makes it his business to look out for everyone in his range. His moves are so matter-of-fact, too, like he knows the proper thing to do and just does it without fanfare. It’s all so gallant.”
“Now there’s a word we’ve never used before.”
“Never knew the meaning of it before. Doubt I was ever ready to appreciate it before. Before Trevor, I mean. This relationship we’re building seems so remarkably real and honest.”
“Not totally honest. Brett needs to be told exactly who you are and what you are running from. To decide if he wants to love an heiress.”
“I know. But telling him now would spoil everything. Other people would find out, then the press would get wind of it and my father would swoop in for the kill. I’m not ready fo
r that, Ivy. I can’t fight Lowell, yet. And I’m not sure I want to risk losing my whole legacy until I know exactly what I want.”
“Understandable, as you have just been burned very badly. But in the meantime, Brett sinks deeper and deeper into your quicksand.”
She made a half attempt to look meek. “I’ll be as gentle with him as I can.”
BRETT’S PULSE JUMPED at the thump of crutches along the upstairs hall of the boarding house. Finally, Mandy was home. He was cuddled with Tess on her pink gingham comforter, reading bedtime stories. Casting an eye at the Mother Goose clock on the night-stand, he realized it was almost nine o’clock. Tess had taken full advantage of his distracted state, pulling out book after book for perusal.
“So, Daddy,” the child prodded.
“Huh?”
“What happened to the frog stuck under the lily pad?” She jabbed the open book. “Here in the story.”
“You know, I think I hear Mandy right outside.”
“She’s home?” Tess squealed. “Mandy! Come here!”
That was exactly what Brett had hoped for. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to call out. Visions of her kisses, her lingerie and her big-city savvy were bound to be enough to crack his voice in need and desperation.
“Hey, you two.”
She stood in the doorway, leaning hard on her crutches. Brett recalled how good her hair smelled back at the office, how much he enjoyed kissing her.
“So I finally get a look at your bedroom, Tess. Seems only fair, as you’ve gotten such a good look at mine.”
Brett watched her scan the pale pink walls, the white dressers, the huge yellow toy chest. Her eyes eventually rested on Tess’s dollhouse.
She touched it delicately. Did she have any clue as to its value? That it was a Leon Hecker original? Next to his Corvette, it was the most pricy thing the Hansons owned.
“You like my dollhouse, Mandy?” Tess asked.
“Yes. I—I have one just like it.”
Flirting With Trouble Page 10