Summer on the Cape (13 page)

“No, Allie. I’m not explaining anything. And this,”—his hand imitated her gesture, taking in the room around them—“has nothing to do with it. But I’ll tell you this much. You’re dead wrong about this project. You and Adam and the whole Matsuhara bunch. The whole scheme is a rotten idea. It’s nothing but trouble, and I’m going to stop it!”

He paused, but not long enough. He was so angry, he couldn’t think clearly and the next words just fell from his lips.

“And the truth is, Allie,”—he was glaring fiercely at her now—“whatever I’m doing about it, you’re the last person I’d tell. I figure anything you heard from me would go right back to Adam!”

She felt as though he’d smacked her hard, and she reacted instantly. She wouldn’t let him talk to her this way! And she certainly wasn’t going to sit there quietly and just take it. Now she really was ready to leave the club. She began to get up from her seat.

“Sit down, Allie!” he ordered. His commanding tone plopped her right back into the chair. “I have one last question.”

Through clenched teeth, barely audible, Allie said, “Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

He sat way back in his chair, his eyes narrowing, trying to look beyond the fury that had tightened her lovely mouth and made her eyes turn steely gray. In his rage and frustration, Zach’s real question finally spilled helplessly out of him.

“I want to know if there’s something between you two. You know what I mean.” He was sorry already, but he couldn’t stop himself. His words were beyond his control and his question was completely explicit. “Are you sleeping with Adam?”

He wasn’t surprised by her outraged reaction. He’d have been surprised by anything else. The lightning that flashed from those brilliant eyes could have lit a fire at twenty paces.

“Well, maybe,” she announced, loudly enough to startle the waiters who had been standing, motionless, near the kitchen door, “maybe that’s just confidential too!”

What incredible, awful nerve he has! How does he dare to speak to me that way! Well
—her fighting spirit was really up now—
let him think whatever he wants!

She stood up and slapped the linen napkin down on the tablecloth. A corner of it landed in the soup, unheeded.

“Listen, Zach. I just want to get out of here. I’ve had enough of this!”

“You haven’t had any of this lunch.” He stood up, too. But as angry as he was, he couldn’t help smiling. He reached across the table to brush those irresistible bangs away from her eyes. He knew the gesture would enrage her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was not prepared for her actual response, pulling her head back from his hand abruptly, as though he’d frightened her.

My God
, he thought, still more dismayed.
Did she think I was going to hit her?

“All right,” he snapped at her. “All right. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a plane to catch and you’ve got a show tonight.”

Allie tried to stalk out ahead of him, but his stride was too long for her, and she couldn’t stop him from reaching the door to the street a step ahead and holding it open for her. She stormed out and headed for the subway, without saying good-bye and without looking back, her sandaled feet smacking the pavement, her honey-gold hair flashing under the dappling trees.

Zach didn’t say good-bye either. He just watched her silently, as she disappeared around the corner. Finally he hailed a cab that was cruising west on 69th Street.

“Take me to LaGuardia!”

Chapter Nine

T
he show that night was going extremely well. The interest in Allie’s work had been growing steadily, thanks to Allie’s talent and Adam’s skill in promoting her, so all the important critics were there. Adam kept a sharp eye on them, noting every twitch of interest in their professionally impassive faces. He wooed potential buyers in his graceful, smooth way, without forgetting to take a moment, in the press and chatter of the crowd, to work his way to Allie’s side whenever she seemed about to be overwhelmed by gushing fans, either to reassure her or to divert the attention of a too-eager admirer in some other, less clinging direction.

At one end of the room, a long table had been set up, covered by a great white table cloth, and little sandwiches and cheeses and coffee and cookies were laid out for the crowd. Nearby, at a second table, a bartender was pouring white wine.

Allie broke away from one particularly encroaching cluster of well-wishers and made a desperate dash for the wine table where, by some miracle, Adam was standing alone, waiting for a glass to be filled. They were both thankful to have a brief moment of quiet to talk, out of the earshot of all others.

“It’s going beautifully,” Adam said. “I’ve already had some very serious inquiries. And the watercolors are stirring up a lot of interest.” He took the glass that was handed to him by the bartender and turned around to survey the room. “I think we’re going to get some good sales out of this show.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Allie picked an olive from the bartender’s tray and sucked on it thoughtfully. “These things are always a kind of nightmare for me, but you seem to do really well with them.”

“It’s the tinkle of the cash register that spurs me on. The thought of all the lovely money these people will spend puts the sparkle in my eye and the bounce in my feet.”

Allie was amused by the image of Adam Talmadge tap-dancing to the clink of coins bouncing around his nimble feet. It was the first cheery thought she’d had in hours. Her battle with Zach earlier in the day had left her confused and angry, and she was still struggling to sort out her feelings. His final question about Adam had completely enraged her. The nerve of the man! Daring to question her like that, demanding to know things about her private life, as though he had a right to ask! Suggesting that she and Adam were romantically involved. The idea!

And where did he come off calling her an “outsider,” as though she wasn’t entitled to an opinion, and didn’t have a right to an interest in the development in his precious little corner of the world, as though it belonged only to the locals.

Abstractedly, she said, “I’ve been thinking, Adam. About that painting Zach Eliot bought. I know you got a good price. You always do. But I hadn’t realized that Zach could afford to buy one of my paintings.”

Adam’s response caught her completely off guard as he almost choked on his drink. He sputtered, splashing some of his wine, his usual composure momentarily disrupted.

“Are you kidding?” he finally said, laughing, dabbing at his shirtfront with his handkerchief. “Allie, you hadn’t realized? Why, you sweet, innocent girl. Someone should have told you. Maybe I should have told you.”

“Told me what?”

She had to wait as Adam attended to his handkerchief, getting it refolded and tucked back into his pocket.

“My dear girl,” he said. “Yes, I should have told you. Zach Eliot is a very wealthy man. It’s not something I like to admit, Allie, but the Eliots could buy the Talmadges ten times over. Easily ten times over.”

“But I don’t understand. I seem to have gotten it all mixed up about him. Hadn’t you told me he was the caretaker at your place on the Cape?”

“I never told you that,” Adam said. “Zach Eliot is no caretaker, Allie. Zach owns the place. Fact is, he owns most of the property up by that part of the beach. Hell, Allie, that’s the whole point of his fight with me! Where did you get the idea that he was the caretaker?”

“I don’t know.” She was trying to remember. “It must have been something that was said when I first went there.”

“You must have misunderstood. Zach keeps an eye on the place, of course. My family started renting that house from his family when I was a kid. When I go up there, I always give him a call first and he sees to it that the water’s turned on and that sort of thing. That’s just part of the old rental agreement.”

Adam picked another olive off the tray and put it into Allie’s astonished mouth.

“No, Allie. Zach Eliot can easily afford to buy your painting. In fact, now that I think of it, it might be a good idea for you to cultivate him a little bit while you’re up there. He seems to like your work, and he’d be a good buyer.” He paused, and his eyes became thoughtful. What he had just said had planted an interesting notion in his ever-busy mind. Before Allie could voice any reaction to the new information he’d dropped into her lap, Adam said, “You know, Allie, that gives me an idea. I’d like to talk to you about it, but not here, not now. When the show is over, we’ll go somewhere and sit down for a few minutes. There’s a quiet little place around the corner where we can get a drink and have a nice little talk.”

“That’s fine, Adam.” Allie was now preoccupied with her own thoughts.

Adam put his glass down on the table behind him.

“Well,” he said, “that’s enough of a break for us, my girl. Time to get back to work.” With a smile for Allie and a wave to someone across the room, he walked away, leaving Allie alone as she tried to rearrange the pieces of the infuriating puzzle that was Zachariah Eliot.

* * *

Marcus eased the car slowly along 73rd Street, staying close behind Adam and Allie as they strolled along the tree-lined street to Adam’s “quiet little place around the corner.” When they disappeared through the dark green doors of the Georgian Room, down a couple of steps from the street level, Marcus pulled into an empty space at the curb. He turned off the motor and then slipped down comfortably in his seat behind the wheel. He put his head back against the rest behind him, tipped his hat low over his eyes and settled down to wait.

Inside the quiet bar, the atmosphere was quiet, muted. Adam steered Allie, his hand at her elbow, to a booth near the back of the room. A deliberately dark ambiance had been created; small lamps, mounted low on the wood paneled walls, lighted the room only dimly. The tables and the bar were also of dark woods, and candles, set inside small glass globes at each table, cast a soft glow upward onto the faces of the few patrons. Nearby, a piano player was making soft music, and occasionally, through the quiet buzz of nearby conversations, a laugh would sparkle briefly.

The show at the Whiscombe had been noisy and brilliantly lit, bursting with the loud chatter of brittle, demanding egos. Now, at last, Allie was glad to sink into the comfortable booth where she could enjoy the dark and the quiet. With a delicious easing of the day’s tensions, she found herself almost mesmerized by the music, the soft candle glow, the buzz of nearby voices, the clink of glasses.

An unobtrusive waitress took their orders—vodka and tonic for Allie and a Glenlivet and water for Adam—and then slipped silently away. Adam leaned back comfortably into the soft leather seat. He looked fondly at Allie, evaluating her mood carefully.

“You look bushed,” he said. “Did the show wear you out?”

“It’s been a hard day, Adam.” In her fatigued state, many images merged in a creamy confusion. Leslie Smucker’s condescending manner and Zach’s hostile confrontation combined with the afternoon’s sunlight on Madison Avenue, the frantic crush of the gallery show this evening and Adam’s surprising revelations about Zach. “I really need a rest,” she said wearily.

“Of course you do, my dear.” Adam’s voice was solicitous. “Of course you do.” He took some smoked almonds from a bowl on the table and ate them one at a time as he talked. “It’s a good thing you’ll be going back to the Cape this weekend. The atmosphere up there seems to agree with you. You can get some rest and spend some time in the sun. Best thing in the world for you.”

While the waitress put their drinks on the little table, Allie sat silently, thinking that right now she could hardly share Adam’s enthusiasm for a return to the Cape. Maybe, if she could just concentrate on her work, everything would be okay. But if she ran into Zach again—

She waited until the waitress left them, and then she sipped at her vodka and tonic. “Do you know what kinds of pictures the Matsuhara people are looking for? I want to be ready with a portfolio of ideas, some sample sketches and some finished pieces for them to look at.”

Adam was delighted with her question. It fit right in with his own plans. “What you’ve been doing is just right. Those seascapes will please them, I’m sure.” Then, as though the notion were entirely new, just popped into his head that very minute, he added, “You know what might be a nice idea, Allie? You’ve got such great portrait skill, you might just make some quick sketches of the local people. Really capture the spirit of the folks who live up there. Descendants of the original settlers, fishermen, that sort of thing. What do you think?”

She was feeling very sleepy.

“Sounds like a nice idea, Adam. I could just walk around the town with my sketchbook. I’ve been doing that for years and I’m pretty good at being unobtrusive. People don’t usually mind.”

“That’s fine, Allie. Really fine. With a package combining portrait sketches and seascapes, I’m pretty sure I can sell the group on you as the project artist.” Adam waited for a moment to let that sink into Allie’s tired head. Then he added, “Come to think of it, I have another idea you might find useful. There’s a town meeting scheduled for next Tuesday, and practically all the people in the area will be there. The selectmen will be presenting reports on the Mayflower project from the planning board and the advisory council and all those committees, and the townspeople will be debating issues that have been raised by the project. It would be a great opportunity for you to watch the local people in action, hear what their arguments are, see who’s for and who’s against. You know, you could get a really solid feel for the way that community works. With your fine eye for human interest, you’d be able to pick up on who carries the weight in that community, who the people listen to, who swings the votes. It would be a natural for some portrait sketches.”

In the dimly lit room, Adam’s voice came to Allie softly, backed up by some quiet jazz music from the piano. It seemed to her, as she drank her vodka, that his suggestion was a good one. What better place to observe the people of the community than when they were engaged in that time-honored New England tradition, the town meeting.