by Kay Hooper
“Is there a blonde in it?” he asked gravely.
Alex sat back and smiled easily at him, her muddled emotions held strictly under control. “If there is, she didn’t announce herself.”
“Some fortune-teller you are,” he complained.
The thud of footsteps on the stairs outside the loft caught their attention, and Alex glanced at a nearby clock. “Lunchtime; the painters are leaving. I wonder if they’ve finished with your loft.”
“I’ll take a look while I change,” he said, getting up and reaching for his robe. “If so, and your loft is next, we can put Caliban in one of the other lofts until they’re finished. That okay with you?”
“Fine,” Alex replied casually.
“How d’you feel about hamburgers for lunch?” he asked, shrugging into the robe. “I have a grill. Somewhere.”
“Mine’s unpacked, and I feel just fine about hamburgers. Go change.”
Noah smiled at her, a new and disturbing intensity in his eyes, then cheerfully left her loft.
After a long moment Alex slowly lifted her right hand and stared at the palm. Then she got to her feet and headed for her bedroom. “I am going round the bend,” she told Caliban as she passed him, her voice definite. “The man’s driven me crazy; that’s the only answer.” Leaving her pet alone while she went to change, Alex wished she believed her own words.
Because she didn’t believe in fate.
FOUR
“YOUR BROTHERS WOULD kill me if they found us here.”
She laughed and tossed her head, black curls falling down her back and green eyes brilliant with the half-wild spirit he loved. “They don’t trust you,” she confirmed merrily. “They say the son of an earl would never wed a Gypsy girl.”
“They’re wrong,” he said huskily, pulling her down beside him on a bed of green moss. “You’re mine, Tina. You’ll always be mine.”
She laughed again softly, exultant because he would always be hers….
Alex came awake with a start, her heart pounding erratically. Sleeping in the middle of the day? But she never napped and—Lord!—what dreams!
“You were smiling in your sleep,” Noah said softly. “What were you dreaming about?”
She sat up on the lounge and self-consciously tugged the slipping neckline of her peasant blouse up over a bare shoulder. “Oh, nothing important,” she said evasively.
They had grilled hamburgers outside and then hidden Cal in one of the empty lofts before the painters returned from their own lunch. The paint smell still remained in Noah’s loft, and since the painters were now in Alex’s loft, they could hardly remain there. Shaded by a makeshift awning beside the pool, they’d elected to stay outside.
Noah, raised on an elbow in his own lounge chair, was smiling at her. “You look very young when you sleep. Very innocent.”
Alex wanted to avoid the warmth in his vivid blue eyes, but found herself unable to look away. Disturbed by the thought of him watching her sleep, she changed the subject. “You never told me what kind of photographic work you do.”
“Didn’t I?” He was still smiling, but allowed the change of subject. “Basically I photograph whatever I’m asked to. Hotels and resorts for their postcards and brochures. Buildings for advertisements. People, of course: family groups, publicity stills and the like. Even animals.”
“I’ll have to see how you do with Cal as a subject.”
“He’s probably a ham.”
Alex laughed. “As a matter of fact, he is.”
“I’d like to photograph you,” Noah said.
A shout from her loft saved Alex the necessity of responding, and she was soon busy inside the building. The painters were working quickly to get the first two lofts finished, and a crew of carpenters had started the finish work on two of the other lofts. The foreman of the crew had to consult both Alex and Noah on the placement of walls and doorways since Noah had discovered that his architect had taken liberties with the plans, rendering them almost useless.
Decisions made, the crew got down to work. Alex was kept busy between the painters and carpenters, especially since Noah had approved several inexpensive additions she had suggested to individualize each loft. She spent an hour dashing up and down the stairs with the sketches she’d drawn up for the workers’ benefit, busy out of habit, interest in the subject, and a desire to avoid thinking about anything else.
As usual, she did more than her own work. Union representatives would most likely have been appalled, but not a single member of either crew objected.
In the middle of everything Noah went upstairs, unpacked and loaded one of his cameras, and then came back down to literally blend in with the woodwork until no one noticed him. It was innate, that ability, but also one he had worked to perfect; both people and animals, he’d found, responded much better to a camera they weren’t aware of.
So Noah made himself virtually invisible, the soft sounds his camera made undetectable in the general melée. And at several points during the afternoon he wished he had a tape recorder as well, because the process whereby Alex turned herself into both a painter and a carpenter boasted sound effects and dialogue every bit as amusing and fascinating as the images he was steadily capturing on film.
“Who told Alex she could use pliers to get nails out of the walls?”
“She didn’t ask, boss, or I would’ve—”
“Never mind. Here, Alex, take this hammer. No! Don’t—It’s all right, Alex, I’m sure you didn’t break Willie’s toe. No, he’s always that color. Aren’t you, Willie?”
“You said green for this room, Alex. What? That is green! Well, maybe not green green, but—All right, all right. Just get off the ladder, please.”
“Here, Alex, wear these coveralls. Because I’m paying my men to work, not look at your legs, that’s why.”
“Boss, we’d never—”
“Shut up, Willie. You were looking harder than anybody. See, Alex, I told you he was always that color.”
“Sam? Sam? Alex, what’d you do with Sam? Well, what’s he doing in the closet? Hiding from you? Nonsense. Sam, come out of there. Where’d you get the shiner? Oh. Well, it isn’t Alex’s fault you ran into her elbow; you shouldn’t have been in her way.”
“Alex! Where’d you learn words like that? Wipe that grin off your face, Willie!”
“The wallpaper isn’t upside down, Alex, I promise. I’m sure. I’m positive. Do the flowers in my garden do what? Oh. No, I guess they don’t grow upside down at that. Fix the wallpaper, Sam.”
“Get off the ladder, Alex. Because my insurance doesn’t cover you, that’s why. Look, I don’t care if you did trapeze work in a circus—What? You did? Well … there’s no net. Get down from there.”
By the end of the afternoon Noah had used several rolls of film. He had also come to a better understanding of the bewildered expressions two of Alex’s former clients had worn. Throughout the day he had watched her win the exasperated affection of a dozen working men, had heard her tiny voice swearing with the cheerful fluency of a sailor, and had seen her throw herself into the work with enthusiasm—never mind that she didn’t know what she was doing half the time.
Any of these workmen, Noah thought in amusement, would have been happy to go out and slay dragons for her. But after a day in her company, each would have made certain she was locked in the castle before they sallied forth to do battle for her.
Otherwise there would have been a few roasted knights.
Alex had always had the capacity to focus all her attention on whatever she was doing at the moment, particularly if it was something she was interested in, or something new to her experience. Because of that, she was aware of Noah’s activities with his camera only at the end of the day when—she strongly suspected—he decided to let her know what he was doing.
The painters and carpenters were packing up for the day, and Alex returned the coveralls loaned to her before turning to find Noah leaning against a wall with his camera hanging around his neck
.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” he reminded her, grinning.
“How long have you been taking pictures?” she asked uneasily.
“All afternoon. Got some dandy shots too.”
They were in her loft, which was cluttered again since all the furniture had been pushed into the middle of the large room and covered with huge sheets of canvas. Alex wandered over to her couch and lifted a corner of the canvas. She picked up one of the colorful pillows and held it in both hands as she gazed at Noah consideringly.
“That,” she told him, “was not nice.”
Noah found himself instinctively looking around for something to hide behind, and had to grin again. “Are you going to throw the pillow at me?” he asked politely.
With a sigh Alex dropped the pillow and sank down on the couch. “When I decide to start throwing pillows, you won’t have any warning. You won’t even have time to duck.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Alex gave him a rueful look, then frowned as her eyes turned to the couch.
“What is it?” Noah asked, coming forward.
She was watching the canvas covering the couch. Or, more correctly, she was watching something underneath the canvas. “We’ve got company,” she observed thoughtfully.
Noah watched a small lump move erratically beneath the canvas beside Alex. Before he could suggest she move in case it was a snake or something, she swept back the canvas to reveal their “company.” It was a tiny white kitten with a smudge of black on his nose and brilliant green eyes. With a squeak the kitten lurched the remaining few inches to Alex, climbed fiercely into her lap, and began to purr with astonishing volume.
“Where’d he come from?” Noah asked.
“Beats me.” Alex got up, holding the kitten securely in one hand, and went into the kitchen to find food. “The doors have been open all day; I suppose he just wandered in.” She watched the thin little creature hungrily lapping milk after nearly falling headfirst into the bowl, then lifted her gaze to Noah. “If I can’t find out who he belongs to, I’ll have to keep him.”
“I had a feeling,” Noah murmured. “You aren’t the type to cart him off to the animal shelter. How will Cal react?”
“Oh, he loves babies,” Alex answered, looking back down at the kitten. “He’ll probably try to wash the fur right off this one.”
Noah turned and headed purposefully for the door.
“Was it something I said?” Alex asked, half-laughing.
“I’m out of film,” Noah said over his shoulder. “And I have to have photos of this meeting!”
Noah got some wonderful shots of the tiny white kitten, back arched and tail bristling, meeting a distant cousin many times his size. Photos of the cautious, gentle advances of Cal. And finally, within an hour or so, he got photos of a tiny purring bundle of white fur curled trustingly between the tremendous paws of an adoring lion.
Noah spent half the night setting up his darkroom.
“I love this one.”
Alex reached for the picture that had collected four wolf whistles as it was passed from hand to hand among the carpenters. She had been gone all morning running errands in town, arriving back home only seconds before to find all the men gathered in the hallway grinning over a stack of eight-by-ten photographs. For a fearful instant Alex thought that Noah might have forgotten himself and handed over the pictures of Cal and the kitten. But she immediately saw that all these photos were of people.
Mostly her. The picture that all the men were admiring was of her. She was halfway up a ladder, bent forward over the top and waving a sheaf of papers in the patient face of the foreman. He had his hands on his hips, his face nearly level with hers in spite of her added height, and Noah had snapped the photo at the exact instant the foreman had cast a wary glance at the hammer Alex held in her free hand.
What the men had whistled at, she realized, was the part of the picture showing long golden legs exposed by a pair of just barely decent shorts. She leafed through the remaining pictures, finding herself the focus of each one. And she realized that either Noah was a very good photographer or else had been awfully lucky, because every shot was a beauty. The one she stared at the longest was of herself. Noah had captured something she’d never even seen in a mirror.
In the photo she was leaning back against a door jamb and glancing up as a shaft of bright sunlight fell on her from one of the high windows. Alex couldn’t remember the moment, but she realized that she must have been deep in thought, her mind caught up with plans. Her eyes were wide, her face dreamy and wearing a wistful half smile. She looked more beautiful than she knew herself to be, curiously softened and elusive. But there was something in her eyes, a glint of something that was more than mischief or spirit.
Or maybe that was just a trick of light.
Alex gazed at the picture for long moments, feeling a peculiar sense of seeing someone else instead of herself. Then she shook the feeling away and looked up to discover that she was alone in the hallway; the crews had returned to work.
Leaving her various parcels where she’d dropped them, Alex headed up the stairs. She checked in on Cal and the as-yet-unnamed kitten, making certain they were still safe and safely locked in one of the lofts. They were fine, both sound asleep and the kitten curled up in Cal’s mane as he sprawled on his side. She went on up and finally tracked Noah down in his darkroom; his front door was open and paperhangers were busy in the bathroom. The door to the darkroom was closed, a sign hand-lettered on a piece of cardboard and thumbtacked to the door announcing merely: KEEP OUT!
Alex knocked. “It’s me, Noah.”
“Out in a second,” he called.
She leaned against the wall, still holding the photos and glancing around the loft. Noah’s loft was double the size of the others, running the entire length of the building. It was divided in half, the hallway door opening into the living area. Where the rest of the building had solid brick walls dividing two lofts on each floor, Noah’s was divided by a plasterboard wall and an arched entrance into his work area.
Alex was in the work area; the darkroom had been converted from what would have been a bedroom. The second bathroom on this floor had remained, Noah said, because he sometimes used models in his work and a room for them to change or apply makeup was necessary. The raised platform along the street side was cluttered with large filing cabinets, various bits of furniture and other props, but the remainder of the large room was mostly bare. There was no kitchen on this side, which added to the floor space.
Alex was gazing around and thinking vaguely of white walls to increase available light and large screens of various colors that Noah could use as backgrounds if he chose. The painters had already finished with the living area of this loft, but had yet to reach the work area.
She jumped in surprise when arms surrounded her from behind and a kiss landed just beneath her right ear.
“Hello,” Noah said gaily. “Errands finished?”
Alex silently ordered her heart to quit pounding. It didn’t work. “Um … yes. I’ve got more swatches and wallpaper samples for you to look at.”
“Later,” Noah suggested.
She turned to face him, managing to step back and wave the photos in his face to distract him. “You wasted film.”
“I don’t consider it a waste.” He looked suddenly hurt. “You don’t like the pictures?”
“I didn’t say that. I said you wasted film. Do all photographers take so many shots of one subject?”
Noah crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “They do,” he said, “if one subject wears many faces.”
She frowned at him.
“That’s one face,” he noted consideringly, a gleam of laughter in his almost-silver eyes. Then he laughed aloud. “Sprite, you wear more faces than a gallery of paintings.”
Alex managed to hold on to the frown. “Sprite?”
He nodded. “An elf or pixie. ’Course, it also means a ghost, and
you do have a—haunting way about you.”
She chose to take him literally. “I don’t rattle chains in the night.”
“No, but you haunt my dreams.”
Alex cleared her throat strongly and looked down at the pictures she still held. “This one’s very good,” she murmured.
“It’s my favorite,” he agreed. “Five parts wistful innocence, three parts elusiveness, and two parts evil.”
“Evil?” Alex stared down at the picture of herself, then looked at him. “I don’t see any evil.”
“You wouldn’t.” Before she could respond, he was going on judiciously. “Just a touch, mind you, a certain look in the eyes. It’s no easier to define than Mona Lisa’s smile, but any man would call it evil. If I could photograph a siren, she’d have that look.”
Alex had the feeling it was a compliment, but wasn’t at all sure. And she didn’t want to ask. “Oh.”
“I like it,” he told her in a consoling tone.
She was trying hard to define the look in his eyes. It was, she thought dimly, rather like the way a hurricane would look trapped in a silver-blue bottle; a tremendous force of nature caged. It made her nervous.
Noah smiled slowly. “You’ve picked up your whip and chair again,” he said.
“You were roaring.” Alex knew it was a ridiculous comment to make, but Noah was laughing.
“Was I? Funny, I didn’t hear anything.”
She swallowed a laugh of her own. “You saw my whip and chair; I heard your roar.”
“What is this, Wild Kingdom?” asked a bewildered voice from the archway leading to the living area.
Alex and Noah turned hastily, both momentarily uncomfortable because their imagery was definitely private and not for outsiders. They found themselves confronting a petite young woman walking toward them. She was dressed as casually as they in jeans and a light sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her bright hair was so red it looked unreal, and overlarge horn-rimmed glasses framed big, spaniellike brown eyes.