by Peggy Webb
Like a starving man suddenly confronted with a banquet, he feasted, letting his eyes roam up and down her delicious curves, curves he had memorized, curves he knew intimately. Careful not to make a sound, he leaned back against the sofa, trying to make himself completely invisible.
She held the heavy draperies back with one hand. Moonlight glimmered over her face, her hair. She had the pure untouched look of an angel.
"I should never have come to New Hampshire."
She sounded the way he felt—morose. And those were his sentiments, exactly. He should never have come to New Hampshire, for he'd known from the beginning where it would lead him.
To Helen.
They could not be in the same town, let alone the same room without coming together—magnets drawn irresistibly toward each other, pressure fronts meeting over the ocean, comets colliding in the sky.
Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, he measured the length to the door. It was too far. He'd never make it without detection. There was nothing to do but wait Helen out.
In the long silence, Brick kept waiting for the crackle and hiss of logs in the fireplace, but it held a gas-burning fire. There would be no noise, only shadows on the wall and heat.
The sliver of moonlight faded as Helen released the drapery. As she walked across the room, firelight reflected off the sheen of her gown. Back and forth she paced.
From his lair of darkness, Brick watched. Should he say something? He was torn between revealing his presence and hiding it. He didn't want to scare her, but at the same time he didn't want to intrude on her solitude.
Finally she stopped pacing and stood with her back to him, facing the fireplace.
"I know this is going to sound funny," she said. One hand came up to brush her long hair back from her face. "Good grief. I sound like a simpleton."
She made a half-turn to the right and held out her right hand, palm up. "I should have said something this afternoon when you told me about Barb… Oh, help. That sounds so… uncertain."
Shivers ran down Brick's spine. Helen was rehearsing a speech to him. Wild elephants couldn't have dragged him from where he sat. He held his breath, afraid even that small sound would give him away.
"What in the world am I going to do?"
Helen walked to the window once more, pulled back the curtain, and stood looking out at the snow. He could hear her sigh, even from the sofa.
She stood there so long that he thought she might have changed her mind about rehearsing whatever it was that she planned to tell him. Finally she was on the move again, this time pacing between the bookshelves and the big square desk that sat in the corner of the room opposite the sofa.
Light from the fire caught the determined lift of her chin as she braced herself against the edge of the desk.
"I should never have come to New Hampshire," she said. "But now that I'm here I might as well tell you that I never stopped loving you, Brick, even when I saw you in the arms of Barb Gladly. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't told me the truth about her. I don't know whether I would have tried to win you back or not."
Her delivery was strong and sure. She was every inch the actress. In her famous gesture of impatience, she shook back her hair.
"In spite of the fact that you told me you would never have come after me—"
"I lied."
Gasping, Helen pressed her hand over her heart.
"Brick. What are you doing?"
Brick rose from the sofa and stood towering in the darkness.
"I couldn't sleep. You were heavy on my mind."
"And you came down here and hid…"
"I wasn't hiding. I was sleeping… until you came into the room."
"Then you hid while I was carrying on like a demented woman."
"I heard everything you said, if that's what you want to know." His footsteps were slow and measured as he made his way across the room. "And I don't think you're demented at all, Helen. I think you are the most wonderful woman in the world."
Only a small distance separated them now. He stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch, close enough to feel her body heat.
She stood tall and regal, her eyes riveted on his. Brick hadn't lived most his life in the theater not to understand when he was in the middle of a climactic moment.
Now was the time to speak the full truth. If he let this moment go by, there might never be another.
"Sooner or later I would have come after you, Helen. You are my heart, my soul, my life. Nothing can keep us apart, not time nor distance nor circumstances."
"I love you, Helen. I never stopped. Not for one moment, not even that horrible moment when I woke up and found you gone. I love you and want you as I've never wanted another woman. You never stopped being my wife, not in my mind."
"And you never stopped being my husband."
He didn't know who reached out first. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were in each other's arms, kissing as if they'd invented it, clinging so close together that it was impossible to tell where one of them left off and the other began.
He wove his hands in her hair and held her face in the glow of firelight.
"You are so beautiful," he said.
"You make me feel beautiful. No man can make me feel as beautiful as you."
"Have there been others, Helen?"
"No."
"I'm glad."
"I'm scared to ask…"
"No. There has been no one since you, Helen. You spoiled me for all other women."
"I'm glad."
"That makes two happy people." Full of joy, Brick held her close and danced her around the room. "Hear the music, Helen?"
"Yes." She cocked her head as if she could hear his imaginary music.
He grinned down at her. "Name that tune."
" 'Amazing Grace'."
" 'Amazing Grace'?" He threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Surely you haven't forgotten?"
"No, Helen. How could I ever forget?"
They had been in her apartment New Year's Day, only one day after they had met. The music had been playing when he'd walked in, a stack of CDs, mostly jazz and blues, dancing music, cuddling music. From the moment he'd started kissing her, both of them knew where it would lead. But they had held off, stretched themselves to the breaking point with anticipation, and when the moment finally came "Amazing Grace" was playing.
When they recognized the song, they'd both laughed.
"It is pretty amazing, isn't it?" she'd said.
And it had been… more than amazing. It had been a miracle, the coming together of two people who were destined from the beginning of time to belong to each other.
Standing in Farnsworth's library with the fire from the gas-burning logs warming their backs and the fire of love warming their hearts, he began to hum—"Amazing Grace."
Helen swayed against him slowly, seductively, her hips moving in hypnotic rhythm with his own.
"Remember the oranges?" she said.
"And the grapes?"
"You brought wine."
"And you already had a bottle chilling."
"Great minds…" she whispered.
"Great bodies."
His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue challenging hers to an erotic duel. She made soft humming sounds of satisfaction, the kind of pleasure sounds that drove him crazy with desire. He slid his mouth down the side of her throat, reeling from the taste of her, the feel of her, the fragrance of her.
He nudged aside her robe. It slid to the floor and lay at their feet. He lowered her onto that shimmering pool of silk, then knelt over her and spread her thick, shining hair around her face, just the way he loved, just the way he remembered.
She shrugged one shoulder, and her gown strap slid downward.
"I'm dying of passion," she said. "Rescue me."
"With pleasure."
To touch her with love was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He couldn't get en
ough of her, couldn't get close enough. He molded her with his hands, taking her gown on the downward journey, pausing to memorize her curves, her hollows, the exact texture of her skin.
She murmured his name, over and over, a litany of praise and joy and thanksgiving. He'd never felt such desire for a woman, such love. The need to possess her fully exploded through him, consuming him.
"I can't stand this any longer," he said. "Are you still on birth control?"
"No. After you… there was no need." She touched his face. "Brick?"
"You think I go prepared for this sort of thing?" He gave her a crooked grin.
"Oh, no…"
Her disappointment made him love her more… if that were possible. He held her close, soothed her with his hands, his mouth.
Relentless passion stalked them, passion that would not be denied. But he could not, would not risk getting her pregnant, especially since that had been the cause of their breakup.
Feeling his need to express his love through giving, he bent over her.
"This is for you, darling."
She spasmed the moment his mouth touched her. Joy rolled over Brick in waves, the joy of loving, the joy of giving, the joy of coming home.
She held on to his shoulders, her fingernails digging in. He'd have scratches. Love wounds. Badges of pride.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "You're magic. A miracle."
Firelight flickered across her skin, shone on the fine sheen of perspiration their lovemaking had raised. Wave after wave of passion shook her, and she cried out her joy.
He silently thanked God for old houses with thick walls, for big mansions with remote rooms.
Maybe the night would never end. Maybe the two of them could go on forever, tangled together on her silk robe in front of the fire, heedless of everything except their own private world, a world of wonder and joy, a world of miracles.
TEN
They crept up the stairs together at three a.m., holding on to each other and giggling.
"Shhh," she said, her finger over his mouth. "You'll wake Matt."
"Good. Maybe he'll have some condoms."
"You're incorrigible."
"You're wonderful."
She reached up for his kiss. They rocked together in the hallway, reluctant to let go.
"There might be an all-night drugstore," he said.
"It's snowing."
"Maybe Farnsworth has some snowshoes."
She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly.
"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked.
"You'll have to tell me every day. I have a short memory."
"You? The man who can quote every line Shakespeare ever wrote?"
" 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways'."
"That's Elizabeth Barrett Browning… as if you didn't know."
He propped her hands on the wall above her head, trapping her.
"I know something else, Helen."
"What?"
"I can't bear to let you out of my sight."
Without a word she took his hand and led him toward her bedroom. Gwenella jumped off the bed and arched her back, then seeing who it was, rubbed herself against his legs, purring. The Abominables merely raised their sleepy heads and yawned.
"Some guard dogs you have there, Helen."
"Do I need to be guarded tonight, Brick?"
"No, my darling. You're perfectly safe with me."
"I don't want to be safe with you. I want to be wild and wicked and…"
"Careful," he added. "There will be no surprises for us, Helen. We've come too far to complicate things."
Helen smoothed back the covers, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
"One hundred percent positive… almost."
They climbed into bed, and he tucked her into the curve of his arm, spoon fashion.
"Hmmm," she said.
"My sentiments exactly."
Sighing, she snuggled closer.
"Better not do that, Helen."
"What?"
"Wiggle your bottom that way."
She chuckled softly, then lay very still. Their desire was a palpable thing. The air around the bed fairly crackled and sizzled.
"Is it all right if I move my foot?" she asked. "I'm getting a cramp."
"A foot is okay. As long as the leg stays still."
"The leg is attached."
"Try using the anklebone. It bends."
She jiggled her foot around. Even that slight movement made him groan.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing a two-hour cold shower wouldn't cure."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. Don't ever be sorry for being the wonderful, desirable woman you are." Brick pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "I love you, Helen Sullivan. And in case I forgot to ask, I want to marry you."
"Again?"
"This time forever."
ELEVEN
"This whole business is madness."
Matt Rider stood in the dressing room backstage feeling like a turkey getting trussed for somebody's Thanksgiving dinner.
"I look like a fool," he added. "Nobody but a wimp or a sissy would wear these things."
Barb giggled, then bent over to run her hands down his legs. Beneath the satin britches he was showing more leg than most because of his height.
"I kinda like 'em myself. Shows off your gams."
"That's not all they show off."
"That too." Grinning, Barb stood up to adjust his sword. "There now, you're absolutely perfect."
"This is a damned crazy idea, if you ask me."
"Brick and Helen did ask you, and you said it was a great idea."
"That's because I didn't want to hurt their feelings."
"You're a sweet man, Matt Rider." Standing on tiptoe, Barb kissed his cheek.
"Don't you go telling anybody. It would ruin my reputation."
"Seal my lips."
He meant to give her a light kiss but once he started, he couldn't stop. If somebody hadn't knocked on the door, he knew what would have happened next.
"Matt… Barb." It was Marsha, taking care of business, ever vigilant. "Are you ready?"
Matt leaned back and wiggled his eyebrows at Barb.
"If only she knew how ready I am," he said.
"Shhh. She'll hear you."
Marsha tapped on the door once more, sharper this time.
"Anybody in there?"
"Yep." Matt wiped lipstick off his chin. "We're here."
"Everybody onstage in five minutes," Marsha called.
"Gotcha." Barb fluffed out her skirts and twirled around for Matt. "How do I look?"
"Good enough to eat."
He took a step toward her, and she shook a finger at him.
"Naughty boy."
"Just going to take your arm."
"Shucks. What a disappointment." Barb laced her arm through his. "Do you think anybody will know what's going on?"
"Nah. This is the world's best kept secret." Matt sneaked one last kiss before escorting his leading lady toward the stage.
Cramer Johnson considered himself damned lucky. He hadn't found out until the last minute, and he'd still managed to snare a good seat. Third row. Center section.
A stream of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He wished he could pull off his coat. Old Farnsworth must have ice in his blood. He kept the theater hot as Hades.
Cramer wiped sweat with his handkerchief and consulted his program. Intermission between acts 2 and 3. That was good. At least he could step outside and cool off. Maybe take a smoke.
He patted the bulge under his coat, grinning. Thank the Lord for blabbermouths. It sure made his job easier Connections did too. If his aunt's cleaning lady hadn't been best friends with the upstairs maid at Farnsworth Manor, he wouldn't be sitting where he was. He'd be off somewhere drinking a beer and shooting pool.
He followed the action onstage. The
Sullivans were good. Better than good. Superb. Cramer was no fan of Shakespeare, but he kept up. In his business, he had to. If he didn't, somebody else got the scoop.
Act 2 ended, and folks began to head for the lobby. He waited until the aisles were clear before making his exit.
It was hampered by two slow-moving little old ladies who had their heads together, more interested in talking to each other than in getting to the lobby for a breather. They were talking in whispers, probably thinking no one could hear, but to Cramer's trained ears it sounded as if they were talking just for his benefit.
"They say this is going to be the night, Maudie." The gray-haired lady who addressed Maudie looked as if she were too fragile to carry the many pounds of sequins on her dress.
"It has to be, Mildred. This is the last performance." The one called Maudie flashed so many diamonds on her fingers that she glittered more than the spotlights.
"How did you hear it?"
"The Bishop's wife heard it from her aunt whose best friend's next-door neighbor knows the upstairs maid."
"Then it must be true."
"Oh, absolutely. I'd put money on it."
"Pshaw, Maudie. You're too tight to put money on anything." Mildred clutched her sequined bag to her sequined breast. "Oh, I do hope it's true. Just think. We'll be witnesses."
Cramer was sweating in earnest by the time he reached the lobby. If those two old ladies knew, how many other people did?
He hurried through the glass double doors into the New Hampshire night. A full moon sparkled on the snow. Winter wonderland.
But not if he didn't get an exclusive. He barely took the time to draw a deep breath before hurrying back inside and hustling down the aisle to his seat. Couldn't take the chance of getting stranded while somebody else got the story.
The curtain came up and act 3 proceeded on schedule.
" 'I must, forsooth, be forc'd to give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure'."
Helen Sullivan had never looked more radiant as she delivered Katharine's prewedding speech.
Cramer felt all his muscles tense.
" 'I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour. And, to be noted for a merry man, he'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, make friends, invite them, and proclaim the banns; yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd'."