A Bridge to Love (16 page)

“Don't
worry. I've learned from hard experience to expect the worst.”

“I'd
like to change that,” Oliver said quietly.

“I
was just being dramatic,” Kate laughed lightly.

Oliver
clearly wanted to say more but he dropped the subject, and they finished with
nothing more than a friendly good-bye.

Kate's
next caller was even more problematic. When she picked up the phone, she was
still mulling over Clay's math problem of the week.

“Hello,
darlin'. How'd you sleep Saturday night?”

It
annoyed Kate that Randall assumed that she would know who he was without
identifying himself on the phone. Not only that, but his question transported
her directly back to a certain dark corner of her yard. “Like a baby,” Kate
said, ignoring the sudden heat that the memory evoked. “And you?”

“My
dreams were X-rated, and you starred in every one of them.”

“I
don't want to hear any more.”

“Don't
worry. I plan to sell the ideas to a pornographic movie producer, so I'm
keeping them confidential. Until I get you up here alone.”

It
was getting harder and harder to pretend that her body wasn't both tightening
and relaxing at every stroke of his voice. Kate closed her eyes to concentrate
on sounding cool, calm and collected.

“I
was in a good mood before you called. Try not to ruin it.”

“Really?
Maybe I'll come visit. I'd like to be there for your good mood.”

“Now
that
would definitely ruin my day.”

Randall
snorted out a laugh. “Any particular reason that you're feeling good?”

“Well,
we submitted our bridge proposal to the Connecticut D.O.T. yesterday, so I'm
riding a wave of accomplishment.” Kate hesitated a second and discovered that
she wanted to share the rest of her good news with him. “And C/R/G may be
getting a nice infusion of capital soon.”

“Congratulations
on both, and good luck with the bridge bid. When do you hear if you've gotten
the job?”

“They're
in a big hurry to get construction going, so I would guess in two to three
weeks, but it could be longer.”

“How
about the C/R/G deal? Should I be investing here?”

Kate
could hear the smile in his voice. “Only if you've run out of airlines to buy.
I haven't heard any details yet. You probably know better than I do how long
these things take.”

“Johnson's
Law states that the length of time from opening negotiations to closing a deal
is directly proportional to the number of lawyers involved.”

Kate
laughed. “One of my best friends is a lawyer.”

“Georgia
Jenson. I believe she introduced us.”

Kate
was astonished that he remembered such a detail.

“We'll
credit the legal profession with one good deed.”

Randall's
voice became more serious. “Kate, Frank Peltier blackmailed me into paying for
a whole table at the Beaux Arts Ball. Since you're acquainted with the
architectural world, I'd like you to come with me.”

A
tidal wave of disappointment almost swamped her.

“Thank
you, but I'm already going. With Oliver Russell. He's one of David's partners
at C/R/G,” she felt compelled to add, quickly. How absurd to have two men
invite her to the same event!

“Save
a dance for me.” Randall knew exactly who Oliver Russell was.

“Of
course.” She was appalled at how much she wanted to go to the ball with
Randall. “What sort of mask are you wearing?”

“I
don't wear masks.”

“Now
why doesn't that surprise me? Come on, Randall, you have to get into the spirit
of the thing! Let's see. I don't think that Old Yeller would be quite right for
you. Nor Balto – too goodie-goodie.” Kate was sure she heard Randall snort
again, so she went on. “How about the Werewolf of London!” This time he
definitely was holding back a laugh. “No, I have it: the Hound of the
Baskervilles!' she said triumphantly.

“Feel
free to amuse yourself at my expense.”

“Actually,
I think something feline fits you far better.”

“An
alley cat, I suppose.”

“That's
tempting, but I was thinking of a much bigger cat. More like a panther.” Kate
could picture his hypnotic eyes focused through the slits of a snarling panther
mask. In a tuxedo, he would look devastating.

“I'll
see if I can arrange a change of theme. What about your mask?”

“I'm
going as Gretchen, of course.”

“Gretchen's
a nice dog, but she doesn't fit you. I'd choose an Irish Setter. It would match
your hair and you'd have a nice long nose to look down.”

“Touché!”
Kate acknowledged with a laugh.

“I'm
sorry you can't come with me. It would make the evening interesting. Good-bye,
Kate.”

“Good-bye.
And thank you for the invitation.” Kate wasn't sure that he had heard the last.
The man ended conversations as abruptly as he began them.

She
frowned as the exhilaration of verbally fencing with Randall Johnson crashed
against the sense of dread over his and Oliver's meeting. She firmly pushed
that problem to the back of her mind. She wanted to savor the pleasure of
knowing that Randall had invited her to the ball. “Just like Cinderella,” Kate
told herself, humming a waltz as she went upstairs to help Clay with his math.

Randall
was not humming when he dropped the phone on his desk.

“Son
of a bitch. There's an insider in this deal.” He tossed the invitation to the
Beaux Arts Ball into the trash can.

Fourteen

“Kate, would you come to the
conference room, please?”

She
had been lost in blueprints and was startled at the buzz of the intercom. Now
she quickly straightened her collar and rolled down her sleeves before heading
down the hall. She couldn't interpret her boss's tone, so she wasn't sure what
to expect when she walked through the conference room door.

Bruce
Adler was holding an unopened bottle of champagne.

Susan
Chen, Jim Mertens, her project partner, and several other senior staff members
were milling around in front of a big oval table covered with catering platters
and plastic champagne glasses.

“Kate!”
Bruce said, waving her over. “Come join the celebration.”

“I'll
be happy to. But what are we celebrating?” she asked as she walked over to her
employer.

“Just
a minute and everyone will know,” Bruce said. “Stand right here.” He raised his
voice above the conversations. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to
make.”

Everyone
fell silent and turned to listen.

“I
just received a telephone call from the lieutenant governor of the fair state
of Connecticut. He has unofficially informed me that we have won the contract
to design and supervise the construction of State Highway Bridge Number 3309.”

Kate
gasped and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. The D.O.T. had moved
incredibly quickly. They hadn't expected to hear the results of their bid for
at least three weeks!

“The
lieutenant governor said that they were bowled over by the brilliance of our
design, the thoroughness of our proposal, and our sterling reputation.”

More
applause greeted Bruce's speech. He held up a hand for quiet.

“I
would like to thank Susan for heading the project up; our newest employee, Kate
Chilton, for her innovative design work; and Jim Mertens for pulling together
the proposal so quickly.”

Kate
smiled and blushed as once again the group applauded.

“And
now, let's celebrate,” Bruce said as he popped the cork from the champagne.
More pops followed as the glasses were filled and refilled. Staff members introduced
themselves and congratulated Kate warmly.

Susan
Chen drew Kate out of the crowd. “The lieutenant governor told Bruce – off the
record, of course – that we were the only firm to come up with a viable idea
for keeping traffic flowing. That's why they made the decision so fast.”

Bruce
walked over and refilled Kate's glass from the bottle he carried. “You do good
work, Kate. Susan will continue to lead the project, but I expect you to be the
on-site supervisor. We want this bridge built fast and well.”

“I'll
be breathing down the construction crew's neck, day and night,” Kate promised.

“Try
to avoid nights – overtime is expensive,” Bruce joked. “Here's to on-time,
under-budget, and still standing in a hundred years.”

Kate
laughed and touched her glass to the one he raised in a toast. “And to the
commuters never noticing that they have a new bridge.”

“Hear,
hear!” Bruce agreed.

Kate
floated back to her desk on a cloud of champagne and success. She was going to
build a bridge! Pylons would be sunk into the riverbed, steel girders would be
bolted and welded together, massive bulldozers, backhoes and dump trucks would
roar and strain, all to turn her drawing into solid reality. She and the
construction foreman would stand shoulder-to-shoulder, creating a structure
that would serve hundreds of thousands of people for decades to come. “You'd
think that I was building the George Washington Bridge itself,” she laughed as
she settled down to work.

“Guess
what, guys. We got the job! We're building Bridge Number 3309!”

She
was putting a thawed tray of lasagna she had made over the weekend into the
oven as they walked through the door.

“Way
to go, Mom!” Patrick shouted.

Clay
gave her a high five. “I knew you'd get the job. Your design was so cool! When
do you start construction?”

“Well,
Connecticut has to hire a construction firm first, so I'm madly developing
drawings for them to put out to bid. But they're in a big rush, so I'm hoping
that it will go in a month or two.”

“That's
really great,” Patrick said, doing a victory dance.

“I
have to warn you both; it means more hours for me at work. I'll try to bring as
much home as I can, but I'll have to be on-site a lot. I miss you, you know.”

“We
miss you, too,” Clay said. “But we know this is important for a lot of reasons.”

“How'd
you get so smart?” Kate asked, rumpling his hair.

“He's
related to me,” Patrick said.

“Why
do we have to be uncomfortable to be beautiful?” Kate asked her reflection.

She
was dressing for the Beaux Arts Ball, struggling with the row of hooks on the
strapless corset bra she had to wear with her gold dress. She smoothed on sheer
stockings and pulled on dyed-to-match sandals.

“At
least I had the sense to keep the heels low on these.”

She
dropped the dress over her head and then zipped it up easily over the tight
undergarment. The satin bodice began at a low square neckline and fit tightly
down to the waist. Three-quarter length sleeves of silky velvet outlined her
shoulders and arms. The full taffeta skirt was gathered slightly in back to
give the illusion of a bustle. The only decoration was a subtle sparkle of gold
beading around the neckline.

She
had to admit that it was a spectacular dress. David had picked it out for her.
He said the shadow of cleavage the neckline revealed gave him something interesting
to think about. Kate grimaced as she wondered when her cleavage had ceased
being exciting to him.

She
left her neck bare, adding only a pair of Victorian earrings made of gold and
set with garnets. She brushed her hair up into a soft twist at the back of her
head, leaving tendrils wisping around her neck and face.

Then
she tied on the mask and looked in the mirror.

The
black mask contrasted dramatically with the gold dress, while the jewels caught
the same light as the beads on the gown's neckline. Even her eyes seemed to
glitter through the slits of the mask. Oliver really had an extraordinary eye.
She untied the mask and walked carefully downstairs, enveloped in a rustle of
taffeta against carpeting.

Brigid
saw her first. “'Tis a vision you are. You look like a princess.”

“Thank
you,” Kate said, twirling around to show the boys her dress. “How about with
this?” she said, raising the mask to her face.

“What
do you think, Gretch?” Clay asked, scratching the dog's head as he gestured
toward his mother. “Maybe you need some diamonds on your collar.”

When
Oliver rang the back doorbell, Clay and Patrick greeted him with compliments on
his workmanship. Oliver thanked them before raising his head to greet Kate. For
a moment, he was still. Then he came forward to kiss her on the cheek. “You
look stunning, literally. I've never seen you more beautiful.”

“Thank
you, kind sir. You look very handsome yourself,” Kate said lightly, as she
moved toward the boys. “But you don't get the full effect without the final
touch of your incredible mask.” She took it from Clay and held it up again.
“The colors complement this dress so perfectly that I'd think you had a picture
of it to work with.”

“In
a way, I did. It was in my mind,” Oliver said, tapping his forehead. “I remember
exactly how you looked at that dinner four years ago.”

The
direction of the conversation was making Kate uncomfortable, so she turned to
pick up her black velvet jacket and her satin purse. “You two listen to
Brigid,” she said, dropping kisses on Clay and Patrick's heads.

“Och,
they're always the best of boys,” Brigid said. “And I've missed them! You've
done a fine job of mothering these two.”

Kate
watched Oliver trade a joke with Clay. Her sons were so at ease with him; why
couldn't she find some passion for him in her own heart?

Randall
Johnson's sardonically smiling face rose in answer to that question. She shook
her head to chase it away. For the past hour, she had been pushing aside the
knowledge that she had carefully arranged the wisps of her hair and added extra
coats of mascara to her lashes knowing that he would be there tonight. She
wanted to dazzle him with her style and beauty.

She
turned her attention instead to Oliver. She had to admit that he looked very
distinguished in his tuxedo. The waves of his hair glinted with golden
highlights in contrast to his dark jacket. His tortoiseshell glasses gave him
an air that was both intellectual and artistic.
Any woman would be proud to enter a ball on Oliver's arm,
she told
herself. She smiled at him when he caught her gaze.

“Shall
we go?” he asked, smiling back and taking her jacket to drape over her
shoulders.

They
talked about the Tower Design offer as they drove into the city. As they
crested a hill, Kate drank in the skyline of Manhattan strung across the
darkening horizon like a brilliantly jeweled necklace.

Oliver
read her thoughts. “That view takes my breath away every time I see it.”

“It's
truly electrifying.”

Oliver
reached over to brush his fingertips across Kate's cheek. “That's how I feel
about you.”

Kate
sighed. Accepting this invitation really was a mistake. She would have to stop
seeing him. Which was a shame. The boys would miss him so much. There was a
small, practical voice in her mind that kept asking her why she couldn't just
make life easy and marry Oliver. He would probably make a perfectly fine
husband if she gave him time.

Kate
glanced at him. He was waiting for her response.

“I'm
still sorting through my feelings about David's infidelity, and I'm not in a
very receptive mood right now.”

“I
just want to be able to treat you as the woman I love.”

Kate
looked down at her hands, clenched around her purse. She straightened her
fingers. “I want to keep your friendship, but if you force this issue, I may
not be able to.” She waited as the silence lengthened.

Finally,
Oliver spoke. “I see. I'll be patient as long as I can.”

“I'm
glad that you understand –”

He
interrupted her. “I don't understand, but I've learned to wait.”

Kate
swallowed. After a few moments, she changed the subject, asking him who was
likely to be at the Beaux Arts Ball. Oliver answered her with ease, and the
conversation remained friendly for the rest of the trip.

As
they walked through the ballroom's double doors, Kate laughed in delight. Some
years the Ball's decorators strove for aesthetic impact, but this time they had
given their sense of humor free rein.

The
columns that supported the balcony running around three sides of the room had
been turned into enormous fire hydrants. The centerpieces on the tables sprouted
from dog bowls and had bones scattered among the flowers. The band was seated
in the entrance of a giant doghouse. Huge, sparkling tennis balls hung from the
ceiling and painted paw prints tracked back and forth across the mostly-empty
dance floor. “Gretchen would love this,” Kate joked.

Oliver
was chuckling too. “Let's see what the silent auction has – that's always
entertaining.”

The
Beaux Arts Ball raised a substantial sum for charity, not just by charging for
places at the dinner tables, but by auctioning donated items that were bid on
by the guests. Kate and Oliver admired the elaborate, handmade dog dishes and
doghouses designed and built by various architectural firms. One could have a
portrait of one's pet painted by a prominent artist or purchase a “Day of
Beauty” for Rover at a fancy grooming parlor. When they came to a diamond “dog
collar”-style necklace, Kate laughed. “I hope that that's meant for a human.”

“I'm
not sure,” Oliver said. “People can be quite crazy about their dogs.”

“Gretchen
would look overdressed in that.”

“But
you would look quite
fetching
.”

Kate
groaned. “What an awful pun.”

Oliver
laughed and guided her toward the table where the place cards were lined up in
alphabetical order. While Oliver searched for theirs, Kate scanned the array,
noting that “Randall Johnson and Guest” were seated at Table 3 and had
presumably not arrived yet, since their card was still waiting for them.

She
found herself torn between envy and curiosity about the “guest.”

“We're
at Table Fifteen,” Oliver said, tucking the card into his breast pocket. “Ted
and Gina should be there, too. And I'm hoping that Paul Desmond and his wife
were able to come.”

The
ballroom began to fill up. Kate and Oliver danced and talked and danced again.
To her surprise, Kate was enjoying catching up with David's former business
associates. After he died, she hadn't had the time or opportunity to socialize
with the architectural crowd.