AFTERGLOW (21 page)

Chelsea
jumped.

She knew David wanted to curse but restrained himself in front of the kids. He smiled, a forced motion of muscles, and said, "Let me go call in. It's probably nothing. I'll be right back."

"This wouldn't happen if he was visiting in
Boston
," Mark said.

"Yeah,"
Taylor
said. "They couldn't beep him that far away."

Both Taylor and Mark were dressed in their casual togs David and Chelsea had bought them in
Sausalito
. Now they both looked utterly disconsolate.

Chelsea
cleared her throat. "Mark, go below and get some bread. We'll feed the gulls until your father gets back."

This occupation hadn't paled by the time David returned, but the look on his face paled everything.

He said tersely, "There's been a huge accident on 101. I've got to go in now."

Actually,
Chelsea
had already made up her mind, given this contingency. "Give me the boat keys, David. I'll take the kids out."

David looked uncertain. Two children who could fall overboard in two seconds and one very small woman whose skill at sailing was undoubtedly excellent, but still
…

"Key, please, David,"
Chelsea
said. "It will be all right."

"Please, Dad!"

"
Chelsea
knows everything, Dad."

"No, she only knows all the yellows and browns in Trivial Pursuit," he said, but he handed her the keys.

"Don't worry,"
Chelsea
said, smiling up at him. She gave him a quick kiss.

As David strode down the dock away from his boat, the
Paramour,
a name chosen by the previous owner, he heard
Chelsea
say, "All right, guys. Sit down and we're going to go over the ground rules."

He smiled.

When he came up for air some five hours later there was a message from
Chelsea
. They'd had a ball, everyone was safe and sound and they were at his place. She would stay with the kids until he got home.

He arrived home at
one o'clock
in the morning, exhausted. He let himself in as quietly as possible.
Chelsea
wasn't in the living room. Despite his weariness, he felt himself smile. He forced himself to check on the kids first, saw that they were soundly sleeping, then went to his bedroom.
Chelsea
was sleeping in the middle of the bed, fully dressed, the comforter over her.

He had a strong feeling of well-being at the sight of her. He supposed it was a throwback to the male coming home to his waiting female. He wanted very much to make love to her, but frankly doubted he could manage it even if the kids weren't down the hall.

He stripped off his clothes and climbed in next to her. Just for a little while, he thought; then he'd move to the living room. She muttered something in her sleep when he cuddled against her bottom. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, still thinking that in just five minutes he'd leave.

He was asleep in two minutes.

And didn't wake up.

"Oh, my God! No, Mark,
Taylor
, go in the living room. Now!"

David forced an eye open to see Margaret, red faced, standing in the bedroom door, hands on hips, with the expression of a hanging judge.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, shaking his head to clear his brain.

"What is
she
doing here?" Out came a pointing finger. "In bed with you, and your children here!"

For a brief moment David didn't know what she was talking about, then he felt
Chelsea
beside him, stirring now, and froze. He cursed.

Chelsea
came awake suddenly, with all her faculties alert, as was her habit. She was first aware of David, beautifully naked, lying beside her, then Margaret standing rigid in the doorway, in a Parent-Catching-Teenagers pose.

This is a farce and therefore funny, she told herself.

"Hello, Margaret," she said, pushing her hair off her forehead. She yawned. "Hello, David. When did you come home?"

He felt like a complete and utter fool. "Late," he said abruptly. He started to jump out of bed, realized he was naked, and said to Margaret, "I'll be out in a few minutes. Kindly remove yourself."

"We had a great time sailing, David,"
Chelsea
said, her eyes on his body as he strode across the bedroom. "Of course, we missed you. David, I hesitate to mention this, but you don't have any clothes on."

"I know," he said, not facing her. He grabbed shorts and jeans, pulling them on as fast as he could.

She saw that he was upset and said reasonably, "David, I'm completely dressed. There is nothing to be perturbed over. Just because Margaret—that was Margaret, wasn't it?"

"Yes, and the bathroom is through there," he said. The rest of his words were muffled as he pulled a turtleneck over his head.

Chelsea frowned. She'd done nothing remotely questionable and neither had David. Why was he acting like this—guilty and angry? Angry at her! "Don't forget your deodorant," she said in the nastiest voice she could dredge up.

"Look, Chels," he said. "Oh, forget it. Stay put, it might be better. I'll handle this."

"There is no
this,"
Chelsea called after him, but he paid no attention. "To handle," she ended on a mumble.

I'm supposed to stay in his bedroom like some sort of paid hooker? You're being redundant, turkey! Of course hookers are paid. Stop laughing at this situation, she told the small interior voice that persisted in seeing the entire morning as a farce.

She threw off the comforter and took herself to the bathroom. When she emerged with clean teeth, clean face and wrinkled clothes some ten minutes later, there were very civilized voices coming from the living room.

A masculine voice that wasn't David's. Aha, she thought, the general.

She strolled in. "Good morning."

"How dare you—" Margaret said in the calmest voice, but her teeth were gritted.

"That's enough!" David roared.

"I agree. Hello, sir. I'm Chelsea Lattimer."

A very straight, slender gentleman with crisp gray hair rose and took her hand. "My name is Nathan Monroe. A pleasure."

Chelsea heard Margaret begin to fuel up again and quickly said, "All right, I think this has gone on long enough. If you're not aware of it, Margaret, your children are standing in the kitchen, all ears. Your attitude is absurd, and I resent you giving David grief for sleeping in his own bed, despite whoever else might be in it. It would have served your nosiness right if we'd been doing all sorts of perverse, kinky things. As it was, if you'd bothered to open your eyes and close your mouth, you would have seen that I was fully dressed. Now I want my morning coffee. A pleasure to meet you, sir."

She made her exit, chin up, back straight.

Mark and Taylor stood like two rigid puppets in the middle of the kitchen. "Hi, guys," Chelsea said, making a straight line toward the coffeepot.

"Mother's angry," Mark said.

"She said you were a loose woman," Taylor said.

"The general told her to be quiet," Mark said.

"And I don't want to hear anymore until I've drunk half a cup. All right?"

Chelsea sat at the kitchen table and drank her coffee. Her mind was in high gear, and she was furious at Margaret for upsetting the children for no reason at all. After all, what had she been doing with the general, anyway? Playing gin rummy?

David came into the kitchen looking utterly distracted.

"Is it safe to come but yet?" Chelsea asked, a grin on her face.

"Is Mother still mad?" Mark asked.

"I'll take you home, Chels," David said wearily.

"Want to escape, huh?"

His eyes narrowed on her face. He was tired, angry at the absurd situation, and here was Chelsea being a pain in the butt along with Margaret.

"Yes, if you wish to be flippant about it."

Chelsea very carefully set down her coffee mug. "David," she said carefully, "I apologize for being flippant, but I simply can't take all this brouhaha seriously. You can't take me home, because if you do, you'll just have to take a taxi back. I drove the kids back here, remember?"

He felt even more like a fool than he had five minutes before.

Chelsea softened a bit. "Why is Margaret back early?"

"We met your parents in Honolulu, Chelsea," said the general from the kitchen door. "They send their love."

The light dawned very clearly. Chelsea threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Oh, dear, you poor man! You look all right. You survived?"

The general smiled, a nice smile, Chelsea noted. "Oh, yes." He gave David a commiserating look. "I'm sorry about this, Dr. Winter. Margaret insisted that we come. She's suffering from jet lag, I think. I'm going to take her back to the hotel now. I think you folks need some peace for a while. Please, Chelsea, don't leave. We will."

He added as he left the kitchen, "I think it would be nice if all of us went to dinner this evening. Can you get a sitter for the children?"

"Yes," Chelsea said. "I'll call George, David. She's bound to know of someone."

"But—" Mark said.

"You need to calm Mother down," Taylor said with appallingly candid insight to her father. "Chelsea's right. This is a brou-ha-ha."

The general laughed.

Chelsea grinned.

David sighed deeply.

The general said, "Incidentally, Chelsea, your folks flew back with us. They're staying at the Fairmont."

"Merciful heavens," Chelsea said.

"Oh, hell," David said.

"Dad!"

"Father!"

"I think I'll take up practice in Little America," David said.

"Where's that, Dad?" Mark said.

"The Antarctic. Trivial Pursuit, blue, geography."

Chelsea sat back in her chair and stretched out her legs in front of her. "Merciful heavens, David, I am impressed. I never would have gotten that one right."

"I looked through some of the questions before we started playing."

"Dad," Taylor said, "you look awful tired."

"I am. I think I'll go back to bed for a while."

"With Chelsea, Dad?" Mark said.

"Look, guys," David began, his brow furrowing, "would you all please just leave dear old Dad alone for awhile?"

Chelsea laughed.

Chapter 13

«
^
»

"
I
will forget this evening eventually, Chelsea thought, trying to concentrate on the delicious
sole meuniere
and parsley potatoes. They were dining at the Carnelian Room high atop the Bank of America. The view was unbelievable, as usual, the service perfection itself, and the conversation, dominated by Margaret, was so civilized that Chelsea thought she would come down with lockjaw from gritting her teeth to keep silent. As for Mark's earlier comment that David needed to calm down Margaret, well, no one could be more calm than Margaret.

Chelsea didn't realize until the end of the meal that the general, bless his socks, had been steering Margaret skillfully into unexceptionable shoals, away from deep water. Then, unfortunately, the general excused himself for a moment. Chelsea looked after him wistfully, even as Margaret's voice, still civilized, but now with a layer of ice, said, "The children, you understand, Miss Lattimer, are terribly impressionable."