Fire and Ice (The Americana Series Book 5)

by Janet Dailey

  Christine clapped her hands together in delight, her happiness too important to Alisa for her to dampen it so soon.

  "Where are we going now?" Christine asked. Her brown eyes, still lit with the lamp of joy, gazed out the car window at the whirl of traffic around them.

  "To our home in Napa Valley," Zachary told her.

  "Where's that?" she persisted.

  "About an hour and a half's drive from San Francisco." He smiled gently at the soft brown, inquiring eyes.

  Satisfied, Christine settled down in the seat between Alisa and Zachary, contentment etched on her face, in the pertness of her nose and the elfin glow on her face.

  The car turned off the Silverado Trail between two winged brick pillars connected by a wrought iron arch enscrolled with the name Stuart Vineyards. A cordon of massive oak trees hovered protectively over the narrow lane. Their trunks and limbs were gnarled and weathered by the years they had stood as sentinels over the gravelled road. Gaping holes studded with grave-like stumps marked the places where age had thinned their ranks. Beyond the thick foliage of their branches lay the vineyards where the dark green leaves of the vines were like the waves of the sea rolling over the sloping hills.

  Alisa shielded her eyes from the heavy midday sun when Zachary slowed the car down, approaching a yawning split in the lane. The corridor of trees fell away to reveal a circular drive. Nestled on the far side of the circle amidst more stands of giant oak trees was a two-and-a-half-storey brick home, its turrets and cupolas and gables daring an ordinary roof to compete with its uniqueness. Around the arched, white-trimmed windows and doors clung tenacious Boston ivy, its green leaves hiding the dark red brick exterior. Another narrow lane branched off the circular drive and led towards the rear of the house before breaking away to go up the hill behind it to another set of buildings. Alisa was stunned by the magnificence of the estate. She had fully expected to be taken to a modest winery with one of those common little houses that always seemed dwarfed by the winery buildings themselves. The lawns were immaculate. There was a small flower garden on the south side of the house. A small patio was on the same side, with plushly cushioned white rattan lawn furniture.

  Christine was chattering at Zachary, who had stopped the car and was already opening the door on Alisa's side. His dark eyes mocked her quickly moving gaze as she tried to take in the old-world elegance of his home. A horrible nagging thought struck her. This didn't look like the home of a poor man!

  "The plumbing is a bit temperamental, but I think you'll find everything else to your satisfaction, Mrs. Stuart," Zachary said solemnly while taking her hand as she stepped out of the car.

  "It's very impressive." Although she attempted to put an air of nonchalance in her voice, it mixed rather falsely with genuine wonder. "Hardly what I was led to believe."

  "But then you never asked me to substantiate any of your information." Apprehension crept into her eyes as he forced her to meet his compelling look. "What I needed money for was the expansion of my winery."

  Alisa breathed a silent sigh of relief. For a moment there, she had thought he was going to drop some bombshell of information on her. She glanced around for Christine, who was already racing towards the steps of the house, calling them to hurry so that she could explore her new home. With a sardonically amused smile, Zachary took Alisa's arm and led her to the big white door with its large brass knocker where Christine stood impatiently hopping from one foot to the other.

  "I want to see you carry Alisa through the door!" she cried, a wide smile beaming expectantly to each as they reached her side.

  "That's a silly superstition," Alisa admonished, "and you know I don't believe in that kind of thing, Christine."

  "Well, your husband does," Zachary laughed, sweeping her up easily in his arms and nodding to Chris to open the door.

  "Put me down!" Alisa whispered sharply, her fists pushing stiffly at his broad chest.

  "Why don't you relax and enjoy it?" A lazy twisted smile laughed at her meagre protests.

  "I don't see any enjoyment in a man's arms," Alisa answered. Her voice was still lowered, yet implicitly expressing her distaste of his touch.

  "I could teach you a lot," he murmured, one eyebrow arching to disappear in his dark hair while he crushed her tighter against him.

  Giggling, Christine called from inside the door, "Aren't you going to come in?"

  Ignoring the rigidity with which Alisa tried to hold herself away from him, Zachary carried her over the threshold and into the foyer of the house. Once inside, he stopped, but still didn't put her down, smiling with amusement at the cold contempt in her face. At the sound of footsteps approaching from another room, he turned, letting her down only when a woman came into view. As the woman drew nearer, Christine hurried to Alisa, taking her hand for comfort. Zachary's arm was still around her waist, and with the approach of the woman, Alisa knew she must suffer it for a few minutes longer.

  "Zach!" The grey-haired woman reached out to clasp his hand with both of hers, her pale blue eyes beaming up at him in happiness before she glanced curiously at Alisa and Christine. "We didn't expect you back for another two days."

  "You know I couldn't stay away from my second best girl for a whole week," Zachary teased, touching his lips to her cheek in an affectionate kiss.

  At his use of the term "second best", the woman looked again at Alisa. Her eyes anxiously surveyed the coolness in Alisa's gaze as well as the pale gold coiffure and the perfection of her beauty.

  "Nora, I want you to meet my wife, Mrs. Alisa Franklin Stuart." There was the barest trace of mockery in his eyes as he gently nudged Alisa closer. "And her sister Christine Patterson. Alisa, Chris, this is my housekeeper, Nora Castillo."

  Both Alisa and Nora glanced at Zachary in surprise. Alisa because she had never known a servant to be greeted with such welcome and affection. It was something that had never been done, not even by her romantic-minded mother. And Nora because of Zachary's announcement of his marriage. Alisa didn't care for the way the housekeeper studied her now that she knew Alisa was Mrs. Zachary Stuart. She had the peculiar feeling that she was a pound of meat in a butcher's shop that had been weighed and come up short. The woman was very evidently unaware of her place. Their mutual exchange of greetings was cool, each in their own silent way showing the other their disapproval.

  "Just a light lunch will do us, Nora." Zachary broke into the hostile silence. "We'll take it on the patio in about an hour. In the meantime, I'm going to check in with George. I'm sure Alisa would like to freshen up and Christine needs it." He ruffled the brown head on the other side of Alisa briskly. "Take Mrs. Stuart up to the Lavender Room."

  "The Lavender Room?" Nora repeated, a sharp glance cast accusingly at Alisa.

  "Yes." His tone definitely dismissed any further questioning. "Is there anything you need from the car?"

  Alisa shook her head negatively. "I'll bring the case up later, then," Zachary finished.

  His hand as it left the encirclement of her waist came up to brush her cheek in a feathery caress before he walked away. It had been all Alisa could do not to flinch away from his touch. His mocking glance had told her he knew it and so did the sharp eyes of the housekeeper.

  "Where am I going to stay?" Christine pulled impatiently on Alisa's hand.

  "Is there a room near mine?" asked Alisa, staring aloofly at the disapproving eyes of the grey-haired woman.

  "Yes, down the hall is the Green Room. If you will follow me?" The heels of the housekeeper's shoes clicked across the marble tiled floor of the foyer as she led them towards the ornately carved open staircase.

  The pale yellow walls blended smoothly with the oak woodwork and the traces of gold in the marbled floor. The steps of the staircase were overlaid with matching marble tiles, their width adding to the aura of wealth and elegance. At the top of the stairs, there was a rich carpet of gold to silence the sound of their feet. The wide hallway with its high ceiling and pale walls consisted of two branches f
rom the stair landing, one leading to the left and the other to the right. Nora Castillo led Alisa and Christine to the right, where she paused at the first door on the left side.

  "This is the room we call the Green Room," she announced, opening the door and stepping inside.

  Alisa walked on past the housekeeper into the room, with Christine following shyly behind her. The walls were a cool spring green with the woodwork painted white to match the gilded white French Provincial bedroom set. The single bed had a gay canopy with a myriad of floral bouquets printed on the white chintz cloth, which matched the bedspread and curtains.

  "It's like a bed for a Princess!" Christine stared at the canopy, her eyes filled with the magic of the thought. She turned to Alisa. "Is it really my room?"

  Alisa nodded, her face glowing with the happiness reflected in her little sister's eyes.

  "The bath is through this door," Nora stated as she opened a white-enamelled door, "with a connecting door to your room, Mrs. Stuart."

  Instantly at the sound of the housekeeper's voice, the smile on Alisa's face faded. The icy aloofness returned as she ordered Mrs. Castillo to show her her room. Again Alisa was met by superb decorating taste as she stepped into the Lavender Room behind the housekeeper. As before there were pale walls and white woodwork, except the accent was elegance as echoed by the Italian Provincial furniture and the deep purple velvet bedspread and curtains with an inset of the palest lavender sheets. Underfoot was a plush ivory carpet.

  "The master bedroom where Zach sleeps is in the next room." Nora Castillo clearly stated her displeasure in the separate bedroom arrangement.

  "Is there a connecting door?" Alisa asked quickly, glancing at the wall that separated them.

  "No." The pale blue eyes of the housekeeper blinked challengingly at Alisa. "Would you care to see the master bedroom?"

  "No, I do not. I don't believe I'll need you for anything else." Alisa dismissed her sharply, not liking the woman's familiar attitude.

  For a moment Alisa stared at the door that had closed behind the retreating woman before Christine came bursting through the connecting bathroom door.

  "Isn't it wonderful? Your room is pretty like mine, too. Oh, can I go exploring I've washed my hands and got cleaned up."

  Alisa smiled broadly and hugged the dancing girl to her. The warmth of her love for her sister brought a faint misting of tears to Alisa's eyes as she released her. She shooed Christine out of the room, reminding her of lunch in a little less than an hour and for her not to stray out of the garden. When silence once more permeated the room, Alisa sank into the velvet-cushioned chair in front of the dressing-table, her fingers reaching up to rub her temples.

  The woman looking back at her from the mirror looked strangely alien with her smooth skin, pale gold hair, and her clear, untroubled eyes. No matter how many times Alisa looked in the mirror and no matter how pleased she was with the attractive girl who stared back, she was always a bit surprised by what she saw. She wanted to see someone as free and as happy as Christine, as full of life and love, but always the same cool eyes stared back at her, reminding her that she was much too vulnerable and that she had gone through a great deal of pain to acquire this total composure.

  Life was not the wildly happy thing that the fairy tales had once led her to believe. She was better off knowing the truth of the reality and not wrapped up in rose-coloured spectacles, she told herself. All those romantic stories were a farce designed to lead one on in false hope. The love of a child, of Christine, was the only safe thing she could cling to, the only thing she could trust.

  Alisa rose abruptly, removed the beige plaid jacket, tossed it on the bed, and hugged her arms about the beige shell as she walked to the window. She knew what kind of a woman the housekeeper was, one that believed in the age-old place of a woman in marriage, the traditional wife subservient to her husband, willing to be mistress, mother, and maid to him.

  "Isn't the room to your taste?" Zachary stood inside the doorway, her suitcase at his feet.

  "It's a very lovely room. Who wouldn't be satisfied with it?" Alisa answered indifferently. The startled light at his unexpected appearance now gone from her eyes.

  "You." His dark eyes studied her thoroughly from the tips of her sporty ivory heels to the top of her ivory blonde hair. "I should have thought by this time that you would have found something about my home you don't like."

  "I'll only be living here one year," rising to his sarcasm. "It would hardly be worthwhile to do any redecorating for that short time."

  "And Nora? What do you think of her?"

  "I think she's much too familiar for a servant, regardless of how good she might be." Alisa met his intense, questioning gaze, bolstered by her own bitterness at any supposed depth of feeling between two adults.

  "What would you suggest? That I get rid of her … for the duration?" Zachary seemed to bristle in anger, although his voice was calm, almost amused.

  "I think it's an excellent suggestion," Alisa returned, "but rather a drastic one. The best thing to do is to have a talk with her and make sure she knows that she's a servant."

  "You're a snob as well as a bitch! There'll be no talk with Nora." His eyes gleamed with a satanic fire while the breadth of his chest dwarfed her as he stepped closer. "If anyone goes, it will be you, Mrs. Stuart." Zachary laughed shortly with amusement and contempt at the frustration in her face. "But then you can't leave, can you? and still keep Christine."

  "I think you're an insufferable, dominating boor, Mr. Stuart!" Alisa refused to display the anger that was raging inside. To do so would be a show of weakness that she couldn't allow to happen. Instead she spoke with a steady, analytical voice. "I think I've made you feel insecure. Although you demanded a high price to marry me, the fact that I was able to pay galls you. Now you feel you must reassert your ego by obtaining the upper hand with me through blackmail. You won't succeed, my dear husband," with cool sarcasm, "because I have what I want and you can't make me give up."

  Her head turned so her eyes could meet his gaze, their haughty coolness emphasizing the conviction of her voice. But Zachary was unmoved by it. He studied her with mocking interest as he slowly brought the flame of his lighter closer to the cigarette in his mouth.

  "You're right–I am interested in making you give up." Through the thin veil of exhaled smoke, Alisa could see him laughing at her, jeering at her words. "But I don't think we're talking about the same thing."

  "Well, I don't propose to have any cryptic conversation with you," she retorted sharply. "You did say lunch was to be ready in an hour. Let's go down now."

  "Is that an invitation or an order?" Zachary asked as Alisa walked past him to the door. She stopped at the door, her head turning slightly back towards him at the almost ominous softness of his voice.

  "Whichever you please."

  "I don't take orders, especially from my wife." A slow lazy smile played about the hard lines of his mouth as she turned sharply at his reply.

  "How quaint!" Her voice was deliberately edged with sarcasm. "Perhaps you could learn."

  "If there's any learning to be done, it will be by you and I will be the teacher." His gaze locked challengingly with hers.

  Alisa read the powerful intimidation in his eyes, the dare to continue trying to dispute him. Unwillingly she remembered Michael's statement that Zachary Stuart could be ruthless and unrelenting. But then he'd never met anyone like her before.

  "Frankly, you couldn't teach me anything. And furthermore, I don't care if you have lunch with me or not. I have no desire to sit at a table with you. As far as I'm concerned you can crawl back under the woodwork where you came from!" With complete poise, Alisa stepped out of the room into the hallway.

  "You really would like me to vanish into thin air." His mocking voice told her Zachary was only a step behind her as she walked to the stair landing. "You can't walk through me as if I weren't here. And I'll never allow you to walk over me."

  "Then, Mr. Stuart," sh
e smiled back at him with brittle sweetness, "I will walk around you."

  His left eyebrows lifted in amused disbelief while his calloused hand gripped her elbow as they started down the marble inlaid stairs. "If you can," he replied.

  Christine's slight shyness of her strange new home had disappeared by lunch. And it was her chattering that had covered the frosty silence of her older sister. Zachary had been indulgent with Christine, but totally indifferent to Alisa. He had seemed to expect her silence with an attitude that said "go ahead and isolate yourself, it doesn't hurt me in the slightest". That had angered Alisa. By the time the dessert of fresh fruit had been eaten, she was seething with rage at his lack of interest. She had expected that he wouldn't attempt to coax her into the conversation, but she had thought he would at least make some pointed remark about her continuing silence. He hadn't. Zachary had excused himself from the table to Christine, saying that he had work to do at the vineyard office on the hill.

  The black German police dog who had been waiting patiently at the edge of the patio had padded over to Zachary's side and followed him as Zachary had made his way through the trees towards the building further up the hill from the house. Alisa suffered Christine's exclamations about the dog, named Baron, with whom Christine had made friends before lunch. At last Alisa broke through the outpourings of her sister to announce that they would unpack their clothes and then tour the house and grounds the rest of the afternoon.

  Since most of their clothes had not arrived yet, it took very little time to unpack and put away their things. Christine immediately insisted on being Alisa's guide, taking her by the hand as they stepped out of Alisa's bedroom into the hall and motioning that the rooms on the opposite end of the hall were only bedrooms for guests. Chris skipped down the stairs ahead of her sister, opened the double doors on the left, and in her most authoritative voice announced that this was the formal living-room. Alisa had a brief moment to admire the comfortable traditional furniture in the airy room of creamy white softness before she was whisked into the dining-room. Again, allowed only the shortest pause, Alisa could see that the large yet intimate room would easily transform itself from the needs of a small group to a very large one with no difficulty. Another set of double doors were opened.