‘Fine,’ Ginny said, taking cups and saucers from the cupboard and setting them on the old-fashioned oak table. ‘And you know what “look” I’m talking about.’
‘Tea,’ Danielle said briskly. ‘Or coffee. Which?’
‘Whichever. And I wish you’d stop trying to change the subject.’
‘I’m not changing the subject. We are talking about a light supper. And I said—’
‘We were talking about that look you get, the one I never saw on your face until you came back from Nice.’ Ginny sank into a chair. ‘How long have we been friends?’
Danielle smiled as she buttered thin slices of wholewheat bread, then layered on cheese. ‘Long enough to know you’re going to hate this sandwich. I’m sorry, Gin—I’m out of tomatoes. Can you survive?’
Ginny hissed out her breath. ‘Sure,’ she said after a pause. ‘I can survive. Can you?’
There was sudden silence in the room. Then the women’s eyes met.
‘Yes,’ Danielle said evenly. ‘I can. And I will. Satisfied?’
Ginny smiled sadly. ‘Surviving isn’t what it’s all about, my girl. These are the good years—hasn’t anybody told you? We’re young, we have all our own teeth—we’re supposed to be out there, having fun.’
‘Well, I am. I’m busy fixing up my house, I’ve got an honours French class to teach, I’m thinking of visiting Aunt Helen and Uncle John at Easter…’
‘Speaking of the old folks,’ Ginny said, ‘how’s Val?’
Danielle shrugged as she set the timer on the oven toaster. ‘OK. I guess. Aunt Helen says she’s back in LA, trying to break into TV.’
‘You haven’t heard from her since the summer, have you?’
‘No. How do you want your tea? With—?’
‘Danielle.’ Ginny’s voice was soft with concern. ‘What happened in Provence?’
Back to the beginning, Danielle thought. Her hands shook as she poured boiling water into the teapot.
‘I told you what happened. I worked on Val’s film for a while. And then—and then…’ She bit her lip. ‘Would you believe I can’t remember if you take milk or lemon?’
‘And then you set up house with—’
‘I didn’t “set up house”. I told you that.’ The oven buzzed, and Danielle breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Supper,’ she said briskly, ‘such as it is.’
She put the meal on the table. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Ginny cleared her throat. ‘What’s he like, this Lee Bradford? I mean, you can tell me that, can’t you?’
Danielle shrugged. ‘Like—like anybody else.’
‘I saw his picture on the cover of Newsweek,’ Ginny said flatly. ‘He sure didn’t look like anybody else to me.’
‘He—he’s handsome. OK? Is that what you want to hear?’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘No.’ Danielle patted her lips with her napkin, then put it on the table. ‘And I don’t expect to. Now are you satisfied?’
‘Are you?’
Danielle inhaled deeply. ‘Listen,’ she said softly, ‘whatever you’re thinking is way off base. I—I helped Lee Bradford out and he did the same for me. That’s all that happened. Anything else is the product of an overactive imagination.’
‘Really? I was here the other evening, remember? The TV was on, they were doing an interview with this Bradford guy…’
Danielle’s eyes clouded. ‘Yes. He’s racing this week in Buenos Aires.’
‘You had this look on your face that was enough to break my heart,’ Ginny said gently.
‘What look? I didn’t—’
‘The same one you’re wearing now.’
Danielle stared at her friend and then she got to her feet and walked across the kitchen. ‘I forgot the tea,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t that silly?’
‘He wasn’t supposed to race again, was he? That was what Newsweek said.’
‘It was what the doctor said, too. But Lee—Lee wouldn’t let himself believe that. He—he worked hard at building himself up.’ Her voice faded.
‘And?’ her friend prompted gently. ‘What happened?’
‘And it worked. He’s won two Grands Prix since then, in Italy and Canada. The last time out, he broke the record for…’ Danielle fell silent.
‘Amazing,’ Ginny said softly. ‘You seem to have turned into a sports fan. I remember the days when I had to poke you in the ribs to remind you to cheer for the old home team.’
Danielle inhaled sharply. ‘My goodness,’ she said briskly, ‘just look at the time. Ginny, you’re going to have to forgive me. I have papers to grade, and I’ll never get them done if I don’t start now.’
Ginny stared at her friend, and then she sighed. ‘Sure. I have to be running along anyway.’ She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘Dan? If you let that cousin of yours get between you and that guy, if you let her take him away…’
The women’s eyes met. ‘It wasn’t Val’s fault, Ginny. Nobody took Lee away from me. I—I never had him. Nobody has a man like that. He—he belongs to himself. He…’ Danielle put her hand to her mouth. Seconds passed, and then she swallowed. ‘Go home, Ginny,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Moments later, she sank back against the wall as the front door swung shut. She would never let what had just happened happen again. Ginny had suspected something all these months, ever since she’d seen a red-eyed Danielle step off the plane from Nice. But she’d managed to parry her questions—until now.
Danielle sighed wearily as she walked slowly to the kitchen. The interview the other day, the one Ginny had caught her watching, had set her back. She had finally got herself to the point where she could sometimes manage an entire morning or afternoon without thinking about Lee. Never both, she thought with a trembling smile, and never, never a whole night.
But seeing him on the television screen, hearing his familiar voice, had changed all that. She’d lost ground, and she still hadn’t recovered it.
With a sigh, she collected the few supper dishes and piled them in the sink. Was Ginny right? Would it help if she talked about Lee? She turned the spigot and hot water gushed into the sink. Maybe it would. But she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t as if she’d made a conscious decision not to discuss him or what he meant to her; it was something that went far deeper than that.
Memories were fragile things, like tiny figures fashioned of glass. She knew that better than anyone—the wispy images of the mother and father she’d loved and lost had faded over the years until now there were times when the remembered faces were just a little fuzzy in her mind.
Danielle closed her eyes. That wasn’t going to happen this time. Her memories of Lee had to last forever. And they would, if she cherished them and didn’t let them become topics for discussion and debate.
She knew Ginny thought that she’d fallen in love with Lee and lost him to Valerie. Danielle poured herself another cup of tea and carried it into the living room. But it wasn’t true—his liaison with her cousin hadn’t lasted very long. Val had made the most of the chance to boast about it, though. There’d been a postcard soon after she’d arrived home, scrawled in Val’s lazy hand.
‘Lee’s fit as a fiddle,’ Val had written. ‘I bought him a walnut and sterling cane—very classy. On to Italy for the Grand Prix. Wish you were here. Love, love, love—Val.’
Danielle sank into an overstuffed armchair and put her cup on the table beside her. Actually, she’d already known Lee was well. Doctor Bonet had told her. She’d telephoned him after she’d checked into a tiny hotel in Nice.
Sighing deeply, she lay her head back and closed her eyes. Lee had left her so quickly that what had come after was little more than a blur. She remembered going slowly to her room, pulling down her luggage, and tossing her clothing helter-skelter into it. Then she’d hopped into the rental car and ended up in Nice.
It hadn’t been too hard to find a relatively inexpensive hotel. The summer season had just about been over, and tou
rists had been deserting the city in droves. It would fill again in winter, but then accommodation had been readily available.
She’d ended up in a pleasant little place with a view of the water, if you stood on your toes and hung your head far enough out of the window. Once settled into her room, she had stared at the telephone, then snatched it up and put through a call to Dr Bonet.
The surgeon had seemed surprised to hear from her. ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Nichols. I asked after you, but Monsieur Bradford said you were no longer in his employ.’
In his employ. The words had cut like a knife. Somehow, she had drawn herself together and asked the only question that mattered.
‘Did you take the cast off?’
‘Oui. As expected, mademoiselle.’
‘And? How is the leg?’
She’d heard the indrawn sigh of Bonet’s breath. ‘Also as expected.’
‘Then—then there’s permanent damage?’
‘Yes, of course. Did I not say there would be?’ Bonet had hesitated. ‘However—your friend’s recovery seems most remarkable. His legs are stronger than I anticipated.’
Danielle had bowed her head. She’d been relieved, but not really surprised. ‘Yes. Lee said they would be.’
The surgeon had snorted. ‘A dubious medical diagnosis, mademoiselle.’ His voice had softened. ‘But an interesting one. I suspect Monsieur Bradford has much to thank you for.’
Her eyes had brimmed with tears. ‘No,’ she’d said softly, ‘he has nothing to thank me for. He did it all himself.’
Now, remembering, her eyes glistened again. She had not seen Lee again, nor had she spoken to him or Val. She had, instead, spent her last days in Nice walking slowly along the waterfront, waiting only for her return flight home.
She sighed as she opened her eyes. She had hoped home would be a safe harbour. And it was—most of the time. But there were still moments when everything caught up with her, moments when she could think of nothing but Lee—his smile, his laugh, the way he’d held her in his arms all through that last night.
And then she would remember how it had ended, how the morning so full of promise had been turned to ashes by the look in his eyes when he’d accused her of sleeping with him out of some kind of twisted pity. She’d remember the expression of revulsion she’d seen on his face that moment before the crash, when he’d put her out of the car.
Danielle shook her head. There was no sense in giving way to self-pity, and that was what she seemed to be doing lately. She had gone into Lee’s arms with her eyes wide open, and even if the consequences had been more than she’d anticipated, what did it matter? In the end, he would have left her.
She rose slowly, unbuttoning her blouse as she made her way to the bedroom. A warm shower, a hot cup of tea, and then she’d watch the TV until she was glassy-eyed. There were papers in her briefcase, but there was no rush to get to them. Not tonight.
The telephone rang just as she stepped from the shower. Danielle sighed as she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her old flannel robe, then hurried into her bedroom and lifted the receiver.
‘Hello, Ginny,’ she said.
Her friend laughed softly. ‘Are you into mind reading, or was that just a good guess?’
She smiled as she sat down on the side of the bed. ‘I was going to call you,’ she said. ‘I wanted to apologise for—’
‘Hey. If anybody’s gonna do any apologising, it’s gonna be me.’ Ginny paused. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. I was just going to make myself some tea and turn on the magic box.’
The other woman laughed. ‘Sounds like an exciting evening. Susan Miller just called me. She says there’s a good movie down at the Film Forum. How would you like me to pick you up on my way to her place?’
Danielle sighed. ‘I’m OK,’ she said gently. ‘Really.’
‘We could stop for hot fudge sundaes afterwards. Or pizza.’
She smiled. ‘It sounds tempting. But I’ll pass.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. Have a good time. And say hi to Susan for me.’
Ginny’s hesitation was almost palpable. ‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘Talk to you tomorrow.’
Danielle smiled as she hung up the phone and got to her feet. She had the feeling she would hear from Ginny again before the night was over. Another call, just before she left to pick up Susan. Even a quick knock at the door, to see if perhaps Danielle had changed her mind about going with them.
She padded barefoot to the kitchen, switching on the lights as she walked through the dark rooms. Ginny had been more than a good friend these past months, she’d been a kind one. Not too many questions—well, not until today, anyway, she thought as she put the kettle on to boil. And always a smile, or a suggestion of something to do to make the time pass more quickly.
She measured tea into the pot. Still, there were times she simply wanted to be alone. And this was one of them, she thought as she turned off the kettle and poured boiling water into the pot. Sometimes it didn’t pay to try and fight off the memories crowding in, no matter how they saddened you. Sometimes—
The doorbell chimed. Danielle put down the tea, smiled, and shook her head as she padded into the living room.
‘Ginny,’ she said, laughing as she pulled the door open, ‘you’re so predictable. I knew you would—’
She gasped in shock, her words falling away from her like stones. The man in the doorway stared at her, his expression as dark and unreadable as his eyes.
‘Hello, Danielle,’ Lee said. He waited, then took a step forward. ‘Well?’ he said impatiently. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘LEE?’ What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was Lee. What was he doing here? What did he want? A dozen questions whirled inside her head, but in the end all she could manage was to step back and motion him inside.
He moved past her, bringing the cold night air with him. She stared after him, then shut the door and leaned back against it. Lee. Lee, here, in St Louis. It was impossible. He was in—he was in Buenos Aires, getting ready for a race. He…
Say something, she told herself. For heaven’s sake, don’t just stand here.
‘Would you—would you like some tea?’ she asked.
Had she really said that? This man whom she hadn’t seen in five months suddenly turned up in her living room, and here she was, offering him tea as if—
‘Something stronger, if you have it.’ He turned towards her. ‘I’ve been driving for hours—I need something to take the kinks out of my legs.’
Danielle blinked. Driving? From Buenos Aires? Her eyes went to his legs, and she blinked again. No cane. He had no cane. And he was standing and walking and…
She forced her eyes to meet his. ‘I have some sherry. Or brandy, if you prefer.’
He nodded wearily. ‘Brandy’s fine.’ He gestured towards the sofa. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ She hurried ahead of him, pushing aside the little table she’d been trying to refìnish, snatching a magazine out of the way, smoothing down the afghan draped over the back of a wing chair like a nervous housewife. Stop that, she thought, and she straightened and turned towards him, just in time to see him take the last steps towards the sofa.
Her heart turned over. He was limping. She hadn’t seen it at first, she’d been too stunned, but she could see it now. The limp was slight, but it was there. And he looked—he looked terrible. Fatigued. No—exhausted. And thin. And—
His eyes met hers. She felt the quick catch of her breath, and then she turned and walked quickly towards the kitchen.
‘Brandy,’ she said. ‘I’ll just be…’
In the safety of the other room, Danielle slumped back against the wall and drew a shuddering breath deep into her lungs. Was she dreaming? Had her desperate heart and mind conjured up Lee’s image? Maybe—maybe she would awaken in a little while, alone in her bed, with all this an already fading dream
.
She swallowed hard. Whatever Lee was—fantasy or reality—he looked as if he badly needed a drink. And so did she, she thought. Her hands trembled as she poured two generous glasses. Then she took a last steadying breath and stepped into the living room again.
He was sitting on the sofa, his head laid back and his eyes closed. One leg was propped on the coffee table in front of him.
Danielle cleared her throat. ‘Lee?’ she said softly. His eyes opened quickly and his head came up. ‘I brought your brandy.’
Their fingers brushed as he took the glass from her. A tremor went through her, racing like a jolt of electricity from her hand to her heart. Lee’s eyes leaped to hers. Look away, she told herself, look away while you still can.
‘I thought you were in Argentina,’ she said, sitting down carefully in the chair opposite him.
He nodded. ‘I was.’
She waited for him to say something more. She cleared her throat, to break the silence. ‘You’ve had a good season,’ she said. ‘Firsts in two races, and—and…’
Why was he looking at her that way? There was no expression on his face at all, nothing she could read. His eyes were flat, his mouth hard. What did he want? Why was he here?
‘You look like hell,’ he said.
His voice was as flat as his eyes. She looked at him, her mouth twisting a little before she spoke.
‘Thanks,’ she said wryly. She glanced down at her old bathrobe and bare feet. Her hand went to her damp hair, then to the front of the robe. Her fingers dug into the fabric as she tugged the lapels together. ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’
‘I meant you,’ he said, dismissing the robe and all the rest with a wave of his hand. ‘You’ve lost weight. There are circles under your eyes.’
Her chin lifted. ‘You’re not exactly an advertisement for the “beautiful people” yourself.’
That was a lie. He was. He always would be. But now he looked somehow frayed at the edges—worn out. She ached to go to him, to stroke away the grooves on either side of his mouth, to kiss away the furrows that rose between his eyebrows.
The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption Page 16