Justin leaned closer. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you,” he whispered.
She knew he meant to make her feel better. But if only she didn’t feel the flutter of his breath on the sensitive skin of her neck. She closed her eyes a moment to regroup, and out of nowhere, the mental image appeared of him placing his lips right where the molecules of air tickled her epidermis.
Her eyes flashed open. Just in time to see a moderately tall woman in a very expensive-looking suit—Lilah didn’t know designers, but she figured it was one of the best, given the way it hugged her form—and a humongous strand of pearls, immediately descended on her. She had her hand outstretched. A hand with a giant diamond ring, Lilah noticed.
“Vivian Pierpoint,” she announced, her first and last names coming out in a rapid staccato. She took an equally swift gulp from her champagne glass. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you won the alumni award instead of some banker from Biloxi.” She punctuated her words with a ringing laugh and an insider’s wink.
Lilah put out her hand, but found herself leaning forward in order to catch every syllable.
“Vivian is the CEO of eSales, the successful online auction company, and member of the class of ’82,” Justin said by way of identification. He held out his hand as well, introducing himself.
Vivian smiled, her lips close to the rim of her glass. “That’s right. You were the genius who nominated Lilah.”
“I like to think I was merely recognizing Lilah’s genius,” he said diplomatically.
Vivian waggled her perfectly arched eyebrows. “How delightful.”
Lilah was ready for them to exchange phone numbers. “He always was a charmer.”
Justin looked at her. “When you have limited capabilities—”
“Here we go again. I know, I know. You work with what you have.” She finished his sentence.
Vivian glanced from one to the other. “So you two are…ah…close?”
Lilah cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”
“We just go back a ways,” Justin explained.
“Classmates,” Lilah said.
“Friends,” Justin added.
“More, friends of friends.”
“More friend of a friend,” Justin specified.
Vivian opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.
At least Lilah didn’t think she said anything, but it was quite possibly because a waiter strolled by with drinks, distracting her for a few moments. Lilah took the sparkling water. She had to drive to the airport to pick up her dad later in the afternoon, and she wanted to be clearheaded.
“Do you still keep up with any of your classmates from Grantham, besides Justin here?” Vivian deposited her empty flute on the tray and took a full one.
“I really don’t keep up with Justin.”
“It’s more an accident of circumstances,” Justin explained.
“Just my kind of accident.” Vivian smiled. “Any other college friends then—accidental or otherwise?”
“I guess the only person I see on a regular basis is Mimi Lodge, my old roommate. The television news correspondent?”
“Certainly. I remember the piece she did on your organization. I can’t tell you how inspiring it was. But then if you’re friends with Mimi, you obviously know Noreen Lodge then, too,” she added without missing a beat.
Lilah processed her rapid speech as best as possible. “Mimi’s stepmother, you mean? Actually, I just met her. You know her through Mimi’s dad, Conrad, her husband, then? The Grantham University connection?”
“Not through Conrad, though I have met him. Business at certain levels is a fairly small world, if you know what I mean.”
Lilah was beginning to realize this more and more.
“Noreen and I met at Trinity College in Dublin,” Vivian explained. “I spent my junior year abroad there.”
“Really? That must have been a wonderful experience.” In hindsight, Lilah wished she had done something similar, but at the time she would never have considered being away from Stephen for so long. What an idiot.
“Yes, it opened my eyes to art and architecture, not to mention Irish whiskey.” Vivian cleared her throat. “But of course what you really remember from experiences like that is the people you meet.”
“I know what you mean. My friend Esther in Congo has completely revolutionized the way I look at that country,” Lilah said. She turned to Justin, who she realized was being left out. “Wouldn’t you agree about the importance of people connections?”
“Totally. I wouldn’t be in early education if I didn’t value the importance of socializing. But I don’t want to interrupt Vivian while she was telling us about Noreen.”
Vivian mugged to Lilah. “He’s so sweet, and indulgent,” she said. “Now, where was I? Oh, right.” She happily rattled on. “Noreen. An interesting person—far more so than meets the eye. Back in university she had a double degree—economics and public health. Got a first, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Lilah figured Vivian was referring to a degree with top honors. “I just know she was the Lodge’s nanny—not that there’s anything wrong with that—before she married Mimi’s father. And she definitely has a certain fashion sense that I envy but could never personally carry off.”
Vivian threw back her head in laughter. “I know what you mean. Noreen has this compulsive-perfectionist side to her that comes out in whatever she’s doing—whether it’s being the perfectly groomed trophy wife or the most organized mother in a child-centric privileged community like Grantham. To me, her current phase, while genuine, is also a sign of boredom. No, let me tell you more about the Noreen I know.”
Vivian sat back in her chair. “Just before Noreen was supposed to graduate, her father died suddenly. He’d been a source of inspiration her whole life. A poor boy from a coal mining town made good—scholarship to university, medical degree, the whole bit. Yet despite the fact that he could have had a much more affluent lifestyle, he insisted on going back to his childhood home in the poorer neighborhoods of Belfast and caring for the locals. As if that wasn’t enough of a sacrifice, he packed up the family one month a year to go to Africa, where he volunteered at a clinic in Zimbabwe. Noreen always claimed the experience was transformative. So it wasn’t any surprise, given her sterling academic record and her personal connection, that she was considering various offers from places like the World Health Organization for work when she graduated—not to mention various financial institutions with interests in development in Africa.”
Lilah shook her head. “I don’t understand. If that was the case, how on earth did she become a nanny in the U.S.?”
“Actually, the whole nanny thing was my idea,” Vivian confessed. “Her father’s death devastated her—totally. Still, after graduation, she started working for the International Monetary Fund on their African desk, but after a little more than a year, she decided to take a leave of absence. It was all too much. Well-meaning but interfering friend that I am, that’s when I convinced her that what she needed was a complete change of scenery—to regroup and stop punishing herself for not somehow living up to the memory of her sainted father.”
She lowered her chin. “Naturally, I didn’t use those exact words. Anyway, I encouraged her to come to the States since she’d never traveled here before. I told her that the easiest kind of job to get was as a nanny—that an agency could work out her visa status. I thought it would be perfect—no confining office, no frantic deadlines. Although, neither she nor I ever counted on it being more than a year’s break before she went back to Ireland or points beyond. Let me tell you, the jobs were still waiting for her. But—” Vivian held up her hands “—the rest, in particular her marriage to Conrad, is, as they say, history.”
“Well, after
all that, I hope she’s happy,” Lilah responded. “And now that I know more about her, I’m less—how can I put this—confused. I mean, I understand there’s more to her than meets the eye…”
“Excuse me, there may be more to her, but as tacky as this sounds, most men would say that Noreen more than fulfills all the necessary requirements in the meets-the-eye department.” Justin jerked his head back and forth. “What? I’ve met her at parent-teacher conferences, okay?” he said.
Lilah slanted him a frown. He shrugged.
Vivian accepted his comment, though, with a sly laugh. “You’re right. Conrad, the old coot, is very lucky to have her. That’s all I can say. And between you and me—” she leaned forward “—he’ll be lucky to keep her.”
As opposed to the usual turn of events with Mimi’s dad, Lilah thought, but she kept this evaluation to herself.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I insisted that we sit together for lunch. I wanted to hear more about your plans,” Vivian went on, changing the subject swiftly. She waved behind her at the cluster of round tables laden with silverware and draped in white damask. “Naturally, I couldn’t shake President Forsgate. But he’s not a bad sort really. Who would have thought astrophysicists could be so charming?”
“They must be somewhat romantic if they spend their days looking at the stars,” Justin observed. “At least he doesn’t pretend to be a longtime fan of Grantham football.”
Vivian laughed and studied him slyly. “Like someone we could mention from our days. I like that. Anyway, you know what they say about choosing an Ivy League president?”
“No, I can’t say it comes up in conversation on a regular basis,” Lilah admitted. She let her eyes wander to the intricately braided frog closures on Vivian’s suit, and silently wondered how many months’ rent it would take to buy the outfit.
Vivian looked at Justin. “Any thoughts?”
“This sounds suspiciously like a question that requires a drink first. Are you sure I can’t get you something stronger?” he asked Lilah, and when she shook her head, he headed off to corral the strolling waiter.
Lilah watched him from behind, admired, really. She couldn’t help it.
Vivian did, too. “This is a terribly sexist thing to say and probably very inappropriate, but just between you and me—beneath that ill-fitting blazer, he does appear to have a very nice butt, don’t you think?” She sighed and turned to Lilah. “Now, where were we?”
“Ivy League presidents?” Lilah prompted. Was that a pang of jealousy she felt?
“Yes, well, here’s someone who can answer the question, I have no doubt.” She hooked one of her long arms into the elbow of a passing gentleman who was slightly bent over, either from the first signs of osteoporosis or from sitting at a desk all day.
“Professor,” Vivian chirped, and after pinning him to her side, planted a large kiss on his sallow cheek. “I’m so happy you could make it. I insisted that you be at my table.”
She turned to Lilah. “The professor here was my advisor on my senior paper. Who knew a thesis on Helen of Troy would be such good training for business leadership? But tell me. I’m sure you know the answer to my riddle. What should an Ivy League president always be?” she asked.
“The person needs to be an alumnus or alumna of that particular institution. Otherwise they just don’t understand the ethos. They are doomed to feel inferior, hence the need to overcompensate,” he said with the unquestioned wisdom of the Oracle of Delphi.
“You see.” Vivian pointed a finger and her by-now empty glass at Lilah. “The classics, and a classic professor, are always relevant.”
“The classics are timeless, regardless of funding and the dwindling number of majors,” he agreed with the utmost sincerity. “As I keep trying to tell our new president,” he added with a hint of criticism. He straightened his wire-rimmed glasses, the smudged lenses only partially concealing a pair of watery blue eyes.
There was something strangely familiar about the man that Lilah couldn’t put her finger on. Maybe a ten-year-old memory of him, a distant figure traipsing across the campus, books and notes under one arm, head bent, mouth moving in silent, scholastic muttering?
“But surely Ted understands that? He did get a degree from Grantham after all. He understands the value of a liberal-arts education—there’s no question about that.”
“His PhD is from Grantham. His undergraduate degree is from Dartmouth.” The pronouncement seemed to say it all as far as the professor was concerned.
“But everyone seems so enthusiastic about his appointment, myself included,” Vivian countered.
“Don’t be won over by the lure of large government grants for scientific research. Cave pecuniam,” he added knowingly.
“Beware of money?” Lilah asked, frowning.
“Exactly. You studied Latin, young lady?” The professor peered at Lilah with sudden interest.
“Unfortunately, no. I just know some French,” she said modestly.
Vivian put a hand on Lilah’s shoulder. “How rude of me. Lilah Evans, our alumna of the year, may I introduce you to a fellow Granthamite, class of ’68, and the Vivian Pierpont Distinguished Professor of Classics—Stanfield Bigelow.”
“Bigelow?” Lilah asked.
Justin skirted in behind her. “Did I hear someone page me?”
Lilah stared at him and then rotated toward the older man to her right. “Actually, I was just being introduced to—”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “Hello, Father. Fancy meeting you here.”
CHAPTER TEN
JUSTIN SAT AT THE SMALL TABLE silently nodding and smiling only when necessary. Inside, he was having a regular hissy fit. But immature anger wasn’t the only emotion. Insecurity. Inferiority. All those lovely juvenile neuroses that you were supposed to grow out of sometime after the advent of facial hair.
Justin stared at the tiramisu parfait confronting him and decided to pass in favor of two cups of tepid black coffee.
After his phone conversation with Roberta, he had actually been feeling pretty good about himself. Convinced that the run-in with his principal was nothing to stew about. He reminded himself that, after all, he was free for a few days, free to forget about work and teaching. He could concentrate on what had been his plan all along—to rekindle…no, that was the wrong word…kindle was more accurate—yes, kindle a relationship of some sort with the engaging and enthusiastic woman he had remembered so clearly. In fact, he could have described her in detail with his eyes shut.
Now his eyes were open. And even though Lilah sat across from him at the round table, she wasn’t the woman of his memories. The politely attentive Lilah that he now saw sat ramrod-straight in a charcoal-gray suit and had both feet, shod in leather flats, firmly on the floor. He could overhear as she forcefully articulated stories about her work, but gone were the wild hand motions of her younger, more passionately involved days, replaced instead by the occasional open palm a discreet inch away from her water glass.
Still, he couldn’t let go of that memory. Surely it was buried beneath the professional demeanor just waiting to burst forth. Maybe if she could loosen up? He could tell she was under a lot of pressure to make things happen for her foundation. She had already made it clear that that was the only reason she’d come back to Grantham. And coming back, well, it probably brought back her own memories of Stephen. What a shnook. Didn’t he know that in Lilah he’d lost the best thing to ever happen to him?
Well, if there was one thing Justin knew, it was how to make a woman relax and enjoy herself. Sure, he was a bit rusty. But how different could it be from getting five-year-olds to stand in line without kicking each other or fighting over exchanging the latest Silly Bandz? Reaching for his water glass gave him an excuse to lean forward to try to catch what Lilah was saying to Vivian
and the university president so that he might enter the conversation with some witty rejoinder.
That’s when he noticed that he still had a few of the brightly colored rubber bracelets, or Silly Bandz, stretched around one wrist. His usual solution to fighting over “nonsharing” as he euphemistically called it, was to temporarily confiscate the materials until both parties apologized. As surreptitiously as possible he slipped them off.
“Part of your new fashion statement?” the critical-sounding voice to his left asked him.
Justin looked across to his father as he stuffed the bracelets in his jacket pocket. “Just something left over from school,” he said. There was no point in trying to explain about the latest children’s fad because his father’s idea of fun was limited to memorizing reams of ancient texts.
“Frankly, I’m surprised to find you here at lunch,” his father said.
“Almost as surprised as I was to see you, too,” Justin replied. “I thought you and Mother were on sabbatical in Rome now that the Vatican Library had reopened after renovations. And I was working under that miconception when the alumni office told me that Lilah’s parents were planning on coming to the ceremonies, but that there were no more hotel rooms available. Given the desperate circumstances, I volunteered to let them stay at your house—my place is so small. But now that you’re back, I can change the arrangements.”
They shared a silence while the chatter went on at the other side of the table.
“Don’t be silly. I am only back for a few days at the invitation of Vivian. The development office is anticipating a large donation on her part, and they wanted a show of hands, so to speak. In any case, we will return in late July after a small side trip to Oxford. At that time, I’m sure your mother would love to see you for dinner,” Stanfield said. He dug his spoon into the Italian dessert, spearing a large piece of ladyfinger and a mound of cocoa and creamy pudding center. Swallowing with relish, he dug in for another bite. Dinners at the Bigelow manse were never a relaxed occasion.
On Common Ground (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 7