Her Foreign Affair (30 page)

Still, with all those balls in the air, away from town like this, there was too much time left to think about Randi and far too few stolen moments to do anything about it. Small chunks of time, just long enough to seduce him into calling Randi only to say hello before someone else knocked on his door. Quick e-mails dashed off from his new phone saying nothing more than,
I miss you
, before an urgent message of one sort or another made it through. On the whole, he’d probably sent four messages total that contained more than three words, and not by much. Messages which prompted only terse answers, none explaining her abrupt departure. Three weeks of near silence from the one person he wanted to talk to more than anyone else in the world were about to drive him mad.

The latest problem gnawing at him had to do with Randi, of course, and the significance of Doyle answering her phone night before last. The one time he had hours stretching ahead of him, alone in the house with no possible way he could be interrupted—short of a natural disaster—it had never occurred to him she might not be available to talk. So he’d stayed up to the wee hours, settled in with a whisky and a fully charged phone, intending to not let her off until they’d talked everything out. Taken aback by the vicious stab of jealousy, so painful it had nearly doubled him over, he’d taken the coward’s way out and hung up the phone, and spent the rest of the night staring into the fire while downing the entire bottle.

All he wanted—now the hangover had gone—was to be alone to meditate on the problem before calling again.

Instead, the house positively seethed with holiday preparations. Extra staff hired for the holidays moved about the house, decorating for Christmas, the sound of their chatter drifting through the library door. Martin, his household manager—heaven forbid anyone call the man a butler these days—stood at the entrance.

“Sir?” Martin said again.

Without turning from the window, Court responded to the summons. “Yes?”

“There’s a young lady to see you.”

“I’m not interested in company, Martin. Get her card, or name, or whatever, find out what she wants, and tell her I’ll call week after next.” Or not. The last thing he needed so close to Christmas was one more person needing something from him. Unless Randi had knocked wanting admittance, which didn’t seem likely considering her lack of response. She’d been casual on the phone, pleading pressing business to ring off almost as soon as she’d picked up. The long e-mail he was still trying to write hadn’t made it to her yet, mainly because nothing he wrote sounded right.

“I don’t think that will work for her, sir. She has a suitcase with her and says her name is—”

“Courtney Robin Ferguson.” The clear American accent was recognizable, the sharp tone was not. Court turned from the window, and had he not been startled he might have laughed when she glared up at his nonplussed butler and snapped, “How can it take you so long to deliver a message?”

His daughter pushed past the gaping Martin and strode into the library.

Stupefied, Court found himself blinking, his heart slamming in his chest. “Birdie?” What was she doing here?

“Sorry to be rude, but I’m cold. Lord, your country is damp.” She met him by the fireplace where a sturdy log burned, and dropped her shoulder bag beside one of the chairs. Ruddy patches on her pale face stood out like red flags as she held her hands to the blaze.

Court cupped her cold cheek, their gazes meeting and holding. So very beautiful, his daughter, defiant and lost-looking at the same time. “Do I get to hug you?”

Her shrug may have been careless, but her eyes took on a suddenly shy cast. He interpreted the look as a yes and pulled her into his arms, holding her chilled head to his shoulder, breathing in the scent of cold air mixed with airplane antiseptic on her hair.

“Does your mother know you’re here? Nobody said anything about you coming.”

Birdie pulled away and grimaced. “I’m not twelve, you know. I’m twenty-one and able to travel without my mommy.”

A shake of the head only slightly cleared his mind. “Forgive me. I’m still adjusting to the idea of having a daughter, much less realizing she’s a full grown, independent woman.” Court dropped his hands and turned his head toward his man. “Tea please, and whatever snack Cook has handy.”

“Yes, sir.” Aloof demeanor somewhat restored, Martin backed through the door and quietly pulled it shut.

Feeling somewhat nonplussed himself, Court found refuge in the tradition of hospitality. “You look all done in.”

He gestured toward a wing chair next to the fire. A glance at the mantel clock and a quick calculation to adjust for California time, and he guessed it was about two in the morning. Or was it three? No, about two. Randi was probably still awake in any event. According to Drew, there should have been a party to celebrate the completion of Birdie’s degree. He’d stayed on an extra couple of days for the party, otherwise it would have been him coming through the door. If Birdie hadn’t showed, Randi was likely going mad with worry. Why hadn’t he heard from Drew who was there, surely providing moral support for Randi? Or would it be the opportunist Doyle, holding her hand? He’d have to have a chat with Drew and get the story. If Drew were at Randi’s, he’d know the details. Why hadn’t Randi said something? Unless the party hadn’t yet happened and Birdie hadn’t yet been missed, and wouldn’t be for hours.

“What are you doing here? I figured you’d be sleeping off the effects of your final exams and getting ready for your surprise party. Or was that supposed to have been last night?”

What he took to be a guilty flush stained her cheeks before Birdie thrust her stubborn chin in the air with a mutinous set to her jaw. “I decided to skip the party.”

“So it was to have been last night?”

Birdie leaned forward and held her hands to the flames. “Do you know how rotten it is trying to get here by cab from Heathrow? Nearly two hours, and that was after an hour in customs. Cab driver said the snow made it take twice as long. I’m sure it’s all old hat to you,” she grumbled.

“I usually opt to stay in the London flat most of the time and especially when traveling. I save coming out here for long weekends and special business events.” And unavoidable family emergencies.

“Well, after flying all night, I’m beat.”

Deep circles darkened the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and the outer rim of her lips looked pinched and white. Drew had come home with a similar look last spring at the end of his first degree. Too easy a guess that she probably hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in the last week or more.

“Martin said you came with a suitcase. I assume that means you’d like to stay for bit?”

“I know it’s rude to show up unannounced, but you did say you’d be here through Christmas. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay at least a week. I’m sure your open invitation didn’t include showing up out of the blue, right in the middle of the holidays, but I’d appreciate it if you forgave me this once.” The smile she gave him was small and a bit unsure. If nothing else, he could relieve that worry right away.

Court smiled. She may not have called him, but she had turned to him, just as he’d said she could. What other answer could he give? “While an announcement with at least a few hours notice allows time to get a room ready, you’re welcome at any of my homes, any day, any time. And had you sent your arrival information, I would have either come to get you myself or had a car waiting.”

As if relieved of a great burden, Birdie slumped back in her chair. “Thank you. And yes, my mother taught me better manners than I’ve shown so far. It’s just…”

“We threw you for a loop?” If she felt anything like he did, her world hung upside down with a few pockets turned inside out.

Familiar blue eyes stared up at him, wide with astonishment. “You understand…”

“I understand a great many things, Birdie.”

Of course, there were also a great many more he didn’t. However, the e-mails he’d exchanged with Birdie over the last few weeks had let him get to know her a tiny bit.

Clearing her throat, she straightened and assumed a position of extremely proper, and stiff, posture. “Courtney. I wish to be called by my real name. No more false life or false names for me.”

“Courtney.” Funny, but she didn’t seem like a Courtney, not that he had any idea how a girl—woman—named Courtney should act any different from one named Birdie. “It will take some getting used to. I’ve had a hard enough time getting used to your mother’s real name. Nor am I used to the feminine form of my name. I’m not sure it fits your personality.”

“It feels funny to me too, but it also feels more grown up. Birdie is such a silly, little girl name.”

Keeping a straight face took more concentration than he would have expected. “And you are not a silly, little girl, are you?”

She shook her head, and Court was hard pressed to name the sad feeling deep inside. Something precious had been lost, or had it been stolen? To him, she seemed so very young, far younger than her nearly twenty-two years.

“So, I ask again, does your mother know where you are?”

Bird—Courtney—stared back at him, as if her tired brain worked through a set of gears. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Depends if she’s called out the FBI or CIA to search for me yet. Drew was in cahoots with her over the party, so he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

First things first, to put Randi’s mind at ease, he reached for the cordless handset and punched in the number he’d dialed a hundred times since returning from the states. Dread clawed at his gut as he pushed the buttons.
Don’t let Doyle answer the phone. Not tonight. Not at this hour
. It rang just once before Randi’s ragged voice came through the receiver, as clear as if she stood in the next room. He breathed a sigh of relief. Doyle hadn’t answered this time, and his heart skipped a beat just for the joy of hearing her voice again. Even more so when Court didn’t hear anything resembling a male voice in the background.

“Randi, it’s Court. I thought you might like to speak with someone who’s just showed up on my doorstep.” Without waiting for a response, he handed the phone to his daughter.

“Hi, Mom.”

He didn’t have to hear Randi’s voice to know what she said. The exact words weren’t necessary, for Courtney’s face conveyed the gist of the message. Guilt clearly filled his daughter from head to toe as she swallowed deeply, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Mom, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you through so much worry, but honestly, it’s time to cut the apron strings.” Though Birdie rushed on, Court could feel Randi’s shock and heartbreak half way around the world. “I’m an adult now, and I wanted to spend time with my father. I know about the party, and I’m sorry I messed up your plans, but when I called the airport it was catch the next flight out or wait nearly a week. Everything was booked. As it was, I just barely made the flight. I had no time to call.”

Sure she could have, there was always time, especially for someone carrying a cell phone, but for some reason, this woman-child had chosen to ignore the worry her mother surely suffered. Other than punishment, what reason did Courtney have for tormenting her mother?

“No, I’m going to stay here for part of my break. It’s the only time in the foreseeable future I’ll have to get acquainted, and he said I was welcome. Yes, I know you taught me better, but I don’t recall you acting any better.”

Contrition immediately filled the girl’s face, but she kept her lips clamped shut. Ah, the folly of youthful pride.

Truly, were he and Randi any better? Could three weeks of agonizing loneliness have been avoided if they’d stopped long enough to really talk to each other? Randi had yet to explain why she’d climbed into the hotel car with Doyle. Even after he’d explained his mother’s emergency, Randi hadn’t fully relaxed. The IT department was still trying to break Martha’s password on the laptop he’d made her leave behind. Court suspected he’d find a few answers about whatever miscommunication had occurred once he had access to her files.

“Mom, I’ll be home in time to start my master’s program spring semester. I promise. Yes, I’ll let you know when I’m coming in.” Slumped in defeat under the relentless worry of a mother, Courtney sighed. “I took a cab to the airport. Yes, I brought my computer. Mom, this call is probably costing a fortune. I’ll e-mail, I swear.” Courtney rubbed her face with a weary hand. “Yes, I love you too. I will. Bye.”

Martin opened the door and wheeled in the tea trolley. The scent of warm pastries was followed by evergreen from the wreaths and boughs being hung about the hall of the old manor house. Court took the phone from his daughter and placed it on his desk while she gathered herself and Martin fussed with the late morning tea.

“Lunch will be served in an hour,” the butler said.

“Thank you, Martin. Will you put Miss Courtney’s things in the front guest room?”

“Sir?”

“She’ll be with us at least a week, possibly two. Should give you about two hours to get the back guestroom ready for my sister.”

“Yes, sir.” Martin poured the hot tea into a delicate china cup. “Cream or sugar, miss?”

Courtney roused herself from staring at the fire to ask, “What flavor tea is it?”

“Earl Grey, miss.”

“I’ll take it straight up.”

“Yes, miss.” Martin handed over the cup and saucer as if presenting the Queen’s jewels.

A smile more like the Birdie from Thanksgiving graced her lips as she looked up at the manservant. “Thank you,” she said without a hint of the anger that had propelled her through the door.

For the second time in the space of a few minutes, Court felt like laughing in a way he hadn’t since New York. Without ceremony, Martin figuratively fell at her feet right then. Had life been a cartoon, Court knew he’d have seen stars bug out from Martin’s eyes as the goofy grin spread across his face.

“In case you haven’t figured it out, Martin, this is my daughter. Courtney, my butler—excuse me—household manager, John Martin.”

Watching a man a good ten years her senior kiss her hand with all the intimacy of a lover gave Court pause. He cleared his throat and scowled as Martin recalled himself and rushed off.