Honeymoon Hotel

by Bretton, Barbara

  All she had to do was sit back, put her feet up, and relax until the Summit was over.

  In fact, most of her relaxing would be done on the deck of Alistair's yacht, La Jolie, which she would be joining in Bermuda the day before the Summit began.

  No worries.

  No cares.

  No more sloppy joes to dish up.

  And, if she was true to the letter of the agreement, no more John Adams Tyler . . . for now.

  It was a small price to pay for all the wonders promised her.

  Wasn't it?

  Suddenly Maggie wasn't so sure. Rachel was a shrewd woman, and she had zeroed in on Maggie's heart with the same precision as one of PAX's laser beam weapons.

  What John made her feel was something brand new. Something she'd never known in the arms of her husband.

  Face facts, Douglass. Everyone knew it before you did.

  Even Sarah.

  #

  Then

  Sarah Chambers wasn't well.

  Maggie Stewart had been denying it for a long time, but she could deny it no longer. Her aunt's usual brisk stride had slowed to a cautious walk that was painful to see. Hair that had once been glossy and black as ebony was now flat and laced with streaks of grey darker than a stormy sky. Her high, elegant cheekbones were angry slashes in a face that grew thinner every day.

  Maggie rose from her easy chair and enfolded her aunt's spare frame in an embrace. "You didn't have to come downstairs, Sarah," she said, taking Sarah's arm and helping her to the chair by the window. "We could have chatted up in your bedroom."

  "You young people," Sarah said fondly as she settled herself in her chair. "No respect for the proprieties. How can I serve you tea in my bedroom?"

  "Uh-oh." Maggie sat down opposite her aunt. "That means I'm in for a serious conversation, doesn't it?"

  Sarah poured for each of them. "Yes, it does, Maggie. Marriage is a serious topic." Her eyes, green as the Irish countryside beyond the window, were filled with love and concern.

  When Maggie had announced she would be leaving PAX, there had been the expected uproar from Alistair. "Do you understand what you're doing, Magdalena?" he had demanded. "In your lifetime, you'll never have an opportunity such as PAX again."

  She had just laughed and kissed his cheek. While the work was fun, it wasn't her life. She wanted to go to sleep in the same place night after night. She wanted a home and a husband and a family and everything that went with it.

  And more than anything, she had wanted her aunt and uncle to share her happiness.

  Until this moment, she thought they did.

  "I don't understand. I thought you liked Rick and his family."

  "We like them very much. The Douglasses are wonderful people. We couldn't have asked for a better family to join ours."

  "Then what's the problem?" Maggie, at twenty-three, wasn't known for patience or subtlety. "The wedding is next month. This is a heck of a time to tell me you disapprove."

  Sarah's laugh was sweet and clear. "How impatient you are, my girl! How very like your mother."

  Maggie smiled despite herself. "You have me on pins and needles, Sarah." Suddenly her smile froze. "Don't tell me you won't be able to make it to Pennsylvania for the wedding!" She'd have to be blind to not see that Sarah's illness was rapidly progressing.

  Sarah reached for her hand and squeezed. "I'll be there if I have to charter my own plane to get me there."

  "You and Alistair are like parents to me. I couldn't imagine getting married without you two there with me."

  Sarah passed a hand over her eyes. "I don't know how to begin this, Maggie."

  "Is something wrong? Are you . . .?" Her words drifted away. The thought of Sarah leaving her one day was more than Maggie could handle.

  "Don't worry, darling. I'll be around a long time yet."

  "Then what is it? Why do you look so serious? Weddings are wonderful! You should be happy for me."

  Sarah's green eyes never left Maggie's. "Are you?"

  "Am I what?" She tugged at her plaid skirt and tried to settle back in the chair.

  "Are you happy?"

  Maggie waved her left hand, the one with the beautiful engagement ring sparkling on it. "Of course, I'm happy. I'm engaged to be married to a wonderful man."

  "Rick is a wonderful man," Sarah agreed, "but I'm concerned."

  Maggie threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, don't worry about The White Elephant, Sarah. I know it looks a disaster now, but you should see the plans Rick has for it. In a few years we'll be the biggest and best hotel in the Poconos. Rick says we'll give Cove Haven a run for its money." And until then he had an independent income that, while not huge, was substantial enough to keep them this side of the poverty line.

  "I'm sure you have some marvelous plans, darling, but that's not what concerns me." Sarah leaned forward, her eyes still focused intently upon her niece. "Do you love him?"

  Blood rushed to Maggie's cheeks, and she could feel the heat as her face flushed bright red. "What kind of question is that?"

  "Just answer me. Do you love him, Maggie?"

  "Why else would I be marrying him?"

  "There are many reasons for marriage besides love. I'd like to hear yours."

  "Why did you marry Uncle Alistair?" Maggie countered indignantly.

  "Because I couldn't imagine living my life without him," Sarah said, not missing a beat. "Because he was the kindest, most fascinatingly brilliant man I'd ever met." She paused and skewered Maggie with a look. "Because he made my blood run hot."

  Maggie giggled nervously. "I don't know what to say," she murmured.

  "And that is what I feared most." Sarah sat back in her chair. "The sun streaming through the leaded panes highlighted the shadows beneath her eyes, the fragile contour of her shoulders. "Do you love him, Maggie?" she repeated quietly. "Truly love him?"

  "Yes," said Maggie, looking way for a moment. "I love him very much." He was a good and true friend to her, and she found it easy to imagine them thirty years down the road, still together, still working on his plans for The White Elephant. "He needs me, Sarah. That's no small thing."

  Even then, Maggie had a history of going where she was needed.

  Her first job as a teenager had been baby-sitting for a young widow with two baby girls.

  Her second had been with a cousin who owned a record store and couldn't afford to pay for non-family help.

  And, of course, there was PAX. She had the McBride gift. They needed it. Add a pinch of family history and a lot of gratitude and voila! Maggie became a spy.

  "There's more to marriage than that, Maggie. There's passion to be considered."

  "Sarah, really. I don't think we should be talking about this."

  Sarah, however, was not to be deterred. "Work isn't what kept Alistair and me together all these years."

  "I really wish you wouldn't –"

  "Passion, Maggie. When the sun goes down, it's passion that keeps a man and a woman together. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

  "That's absurd." Sex was only part of a relationship. Everyone knew that. "Rick and I are a team, a unit. We think alike; we want the same things."

  "And how does he make you feel, Maggie love, when he holds you, when he kisses you?" Sarah's eyes glittered with an intensity that made Maggie swallow hard. "You're so young, darling, way too young to compromise on something as important as the rest of your life."

  "He makes me feel needed," Maggie said softly. "That's enough.

  #

  But, of course, it wasn't.

  Sarah had known that even then.

  For Maggie and Rick the realization came later on.

  When they'd filed for divorce, it was more an act of friendship than anger.

  Her marriage had been companionable, but that deeper commitment, the passion she'd seen at work in the best of marriages, just wasn't there.

  Rachel knew that, just as Maggie and Rick had known it before his cancer was diagnosed.
>
  Rachel was one of the lucky ones. You had only to look at Rachel and George, see the fire in their eyes, to know that sometimes you really could have it all.

  She thought of how she'd felt in John's arms.

  Maybe it was the real thing, maybe it wasn't.

  But one thing was certain: she'd never know without a fight.

  Maggie marched into her office. Groucho was shrieking on his perch. She climbed over the boxes of cocktail napkins and funny money, fed him a peanut, and reached for the telephone.

  "Seven-fifty-four. Chambers," he answered.

  "I want to see John Tyler, Ally," she said.

  Her uncle's sigh was loud and theatrical. "Identify yourself, please, caller."

  She rummaged for the index card with her number scribbled on it. "Eight—no, make than a six. Six-seven-nine."

  "Go ahead."

  "Oh, come on, Ally. Don't make me repeat myself. You heard every word I said the first time."

  "I rest easier each night knowing you are safely back in civilian life, my girl. Your respect for protocol leaves much to be desired."

  "Protocol's a pain in the –"

  "Control your temper. Our words have a habit of traveling farther afield than we might think. What is it you want?"

  She took a deep breath. "I want to know if John Tyler is a spy."

  "And may I ask why you want to know?"

  "I know what you said about security and secrecy and everything else, Alistair, but I want to see him." Think of something, you fool! Think of a good reason other than the truth. "I understand how important the Summit –"

  "Magdalena!"

  She flinched at the tone of his voice. "Sorry. I understand how important your plans are, but it seems to me, Tyler will get very suspicious if I just drop out of sight." She switched the phone to her other ear. "I mean, he might even decide to come by and . . . " Her voice trailed off ominously. "Who knows what he might see if he did."

  "A valid point, Maggie."

  A valid point. She stared at the phone in shock. That was Alistair's equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize.

  "Yes," she said coolly. "I thought so, too." She swallowed hard. "Has he been checked out yet, Alistair?" He couldn't be a spy. The Fates wouldn't be that cruel to me.

  "He checked out fine, Maggie."

  Her relief was so intense that she sank down into her chair. "You're sure about that?"

  "We have a dossier on Tyler, and he's on the up and up."

  "You have a dossier on him?"

  "Naturally, my girl. We have dossiers on all of your peers in the files I left behind with you."

  She glanced down at the black leather pouch next to her calculator. "Full dossiers?"

  "Naturally. You, of all people, should know we never employ halfway measures." He chuckled, sounding more like the Alistair she knew and loved. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Tell you what?"

  "Your Mr. Tyler is descended from American royalty."

  "I don't know how to break it to you, Ally, but we have no royalty. That's why we fought that war in the first place. Taxation without representation. Fat George and his princes. Sound familiar?"

  "Vaguely. Be that as it may, John and Abigail are the closest you've come to it.

  "Will I be breaking the contract if I continue to see John?"

  "That's a grey area, my girl."

  "You've already said he's the corporate equivalent to a Boy Scout."

  "I don't recall those exact words."

  "Then if I keep him away from The White Elephant, is there a problem?"

  "Technically, no."

  She held back a whoop of triumph. "I have your blessing?"

  "You have my permission. We'll leave blessings for those more qualified."

  With those cryptic words he hung up, leaving Maggie alone with temptation.

  The briefcase filled with dossiers beckoned to her.

  She reached for it, then hesitated.

  It seemed a gross invasion of his privacy.

  It's PAX property, an inner voice whispered. And you're back on the PAX payroll.

  Temptation won.

  She tossed aside the files on Margo and Ernie and her other competitors even though she would have given her eyeteeth to know their fiscal forecasts.

  There was only one file she wanted to see.

  NAME: John Adams Tyler

  PLACE OF BIRTH: Brooklyn, New York - Flatbush section

  Sophisticated, elegant John Adams Tyler was from Flatbush?

  Incredible.

  She would have guessed Park Avenue or Palm Beach.

  But Brooklyn?

  At least that explained those three Hell's Angels and how they figured in John's life.

  She'd spent much of last night trying to figure out the connection, and the explanations she'd come up with were inventive but inaccurate.

  The real truth was even better.

  Hidden beneath that perfect three-piece suit of John's was a leather jacket.

  Hidden behind that corporate smile was a motorcycle freak.

  Who would have guessed he was just her type?

  MARITAL STATUS: single, never married. Subject had one serious relationship between with Laura Willis then abruptly severed the connection. Willis subsequently married and had four children. Subject continued to --

  Maggie tossed the papers face-down on her desk.

  "Some spy I am," she said to Groucho who was watching her intently.

  Here she had all Tyler's deep dark secrets right there at her fingertips, and she was giving up before she even made it to the juicy part.

  Oh, she'd watched Oprah and Phil often enough to know that there were women who snooped through address books and men who peeked in diaries, and that the best-kept secret of all was that there were no secrets anymore.

  Government was expected to operate in the glare of the media spotlight.

  Celebrities had reporters waiting at the front door of the Betty Ford Clinic for the story behind the story.

  Housewives and salesmen, ex-cops and mothers of three, all vied for spots on Good Morning, America and The Today Show for the chance to spill the intimate details of marriages and mastectomies, plastic surgery and plastic credit.

  It was the age of information, and she had more information in front of her right now at that moment than most libraries could amass in a lifetime.

  And all of that information as about John.

  Two weeks ago she would have gleefully read each and every line, praying the secrets to his success were hidden somewhere between Height, Weight, and Religious Preference.

  She still wanted to know the secrets of his success.

  That hadn't changed.

  What had changed was the fact that John was more to her now than the owner of half the Poconos.

  He was the man she was falling in love with.

  Chapter Thirteen

  PAX swooped down on The White Elephant the next morning like an avenging angel, creating order where none had ever been before.

  Carpets were pulled up and whisked away to the big factory outlet in the sky. Faded wallpaper was stripped, and elegant silk patterns waited to take its place. The cottages were all treated to brand-new mattresses and bed linens of six-hundred count percale. Windows sparkled and moldings gleamed.

  And Maggie relaxed.

  Well, at least she was trying to relax, but it was difficult to do much of anything with scores of workmen swarming everywhere.

  She'd never seen so many drop cloths and buckets and trowels and brushes in her entire life. The inn reeked of paint and turpentine and hard work, and finally around lunchtime she retreated to the backyard to see if siestas were all they were cracked up to be.

  Maybe a life of leisure wasn't that difficult, after all. Stretched out beneath a weeping willow tree with a pitcher of lemonade, Maggie had nothing on her schedule except a long bath later and dinner with John.

  She closed her eyes, letting the sultry summer breeze drift across
her body, and was about to drift off into sleep when she heard her name. These people were professionals. Why were they asking her opinion? She just owned the place.

  "Whatever you want," she mumbled. "Whatever you do will be all right with me."

  "Terrific," came a deep male voice. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  Before she could react, she found herself kissed -- and soundly.

  Her eyes flew open. "John!" She forced her voice down into its normal register. "What are you doing here?" Didn't successful businessmen have more important things to do than pay unexpected visits?

  He glanced toward the house as the sound of hammering floated across the yard to them. "I was on my way to a meeting, and I happened to be going past here." His gaze strayed toward the mob in the parking lot. "Quite a crowd you've got, Maggie."

  She smiled blandly and said nothing. What she wanted to do was blindfold him and lead him back to his Jaguar, but the man was curious enough already.

  "Is something wrong?" he persisted.

  "Of course not," she said, her throat dry. One day into the preparations for the Summit Meeting, and already she'd been found out. Alistair would kill her. "Why on earth would you think that?"

  Two electricians and a trio of plumbers strolled past then, lugging masses of equipment.

  "Hell, I don't know," John said, scraping his hair off his forehead. "Call it my keen business intuition."

  "I'm having some repairs done."

  "Repairs? Did a bomb drop on this place?"

  He was right. She had enough workmen there to rebuild half of Philadelphia. "If you must know, I'm renovating."

  He laughed. "That's a joke, right?"

  His words made her hackles rise. "No, it's not a joke." And, thanks to careful wording, she wasn't lying either "It's something I've planned for a long time."

  His golden eyes were sharp as he watched her rise from the chaise. "I thought you had some financial difficulties."

  "You think entirely too much, John." She grabbed his hand and marched him back toward the parking lot. "It's very nice of you to drop by, but I'd hate to see you miss your appointment."