Hideaway (15 page)

As the daughter of a wealthy cigar manufacturer, M.J.’s classical features and dimpled smile was renown during pre-revolutionary Cuban society.

“Yes, I’m back, M.J.” Parris confirmed, smiling confidently.

M.J. arched a curving eyebrow, stepping into the bedroom. “For how long, Parris? Have you come back to make my son’s life a living hell again before you disappear for another ten years? I heard about how you married that wonderful police officer but left him after a month. Then you latched on to my son and left him. What kind of a woman are you anyway?”

Parris felt M.J.’s equal for the first time. “I’m a woman who happens to love Martin,” she confessed to M.J.

“Mom—my.”

M.J.’s gaze went to the bed for the first time and she recoiled as if she’d been slapped as Regina sat up, rubbing her eyes. Parris almost felt sorry for the woman.

Parris sat on the bed, pulling Regina to her side. “I suppose it’s as good a time as any for you to meet your granddaughter. This is Regina.” She had no way of knowing that Martin had not told his parents about Regina. The natural color drained from M.J.’s face as she moved slowly toward the bed, staring mutely.

“Madre de Dios,”
M.J. whispered, reverting to her native tongue. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” she mumbled over and over, staring at the child who had gone back to sleep.

Parris left the bed, moving quickly and holding the older woman as M.J. groped for a nearby chair. “M.J., are you all right?”

M.J. nodded, tears streaking her face. “Yes-s.”

She stepped back when M.J. blotted her cheeks with a delicate linen handkerchief. Her display of concern was the closest Parris had ever come to sharing any emotion with Martin’s mother.

“I’m sorry I fell apart.” A squaring of the shoulders indicated M.J. was back in control. She stole a quick glance at Regina. “Seeing the child came as somewhat of a shock. She’s so much like Martin.”

“That she is, Mother.” Martin walked into the bedroom, flashing a dimpled smile. His right arm curved around Parris’s waist.

M.J. raised her chin. “Why didn’t you tell us about the child?”

Martin released Parris. His gaze met hers as she gave him a questioning look. “You and Dad were too busy badmouthing Parris, and telling me why I shouldn’t marry her.” M.J. flushed and stared down at the toe of her expensive shoe before she rose to her feet.

She walked toward Martin who took her arm gently. They stepped outside of the bedroom. “I’m going to say this only once, Mother,” he began softly. “Parris is to be treated with respect for as long as she resides under this roof. I will not tolerate anything less from you or from the people you employ. Do I have your word on this?”

M.J. looked every inch a queen as she responded, “You have my word.” Smoothing down the slim black silk dress over her flat middle, she arched a curving eyebrow. “Dinner will be served promptly at eight.”

Parris waited until Martin returned to the bedroom, saying, “You can’t intimidate her into respecting me.” She had overheard their conversation.

“I’m not asking her to love you or even to like you, Parris,” he countered, his voice laced with annoyance. “I simply will not tolerate the hostility I know she’s capable of exhibiting toward you. And she has to get used to you because you and Regina are a part of my life, and I don’t want to let either of you go.”

She turned her back, her gaze fixed on Regina. The child was curled in a fetal position, snoring lightly. Could she take the chance? Could she trust Martin? Trust him enough to protect her from Owen?

“If I come back to you, Martin, would you be able to protect me from whatever is out there that frightens me? Do you possess the power to make me feel safe?”

Martin moved behind her, his arms going around her waist and holding her protectively. “I would give up my life for you,” he whispered fervently in her ear.

And I’ve given up ten years of my life for you
, Parris told herself.

She loved Martin but she couldn’t tell him she loved him. Not yet.

D
ivine intervention had forced her back to Florida. The winter storm sweeping the Atlantic coastline pushed winds to hurricane proportions and all airports from Georgia and northward to Maine were closed because of highs winds or snow drifts.

She hadn’t had time to ponder her fate once the small jet touched down at the West Palm Beach airport. A driver waited for their arrival and within half an hour they arrived at the Cole residence.

She had swallowed back her fear because of Regina. Parris knew she could not project her fear on to the child. When, she thought, would she ever stop being the sacrificial lamb for those she loved?

Martin held Parris, his arms offering protection and comfort. It had happened so easily. She had come to him without his coaxing or seduction. A power beyond his control, beyond the control of any mortal—the weather—had forced Parris back to Florida and back into his life.

“You’re going to have to wake Regina up within the hour to get her ready for dinner,” he informed Parris. “Christmas Eve dinner is usually a festive affair when everyone comes together to eat and exchange gifts.”

Closing her eyes, Parris nodded. “We’ll be ready,” she replied, shivering slightly as Martin pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have someone unpack for you and iron whatever it is you want to wear for dinner.”

“Thank you, Martin.” Her voice was low, her tone resigned. It was as if her destiny had been determined for her. She was back in Florida and a part of Martin’s life whether she wanted it or not. She was scheduled to share her first Christmas Eve dinner with the Coles while introducing her daughter to the family Regina never knew she had.

She had extracted Martin’s promise of protection, and a sense of strength came to her as her fear lessened. She loved, Martin and had always trusted him, hoping that would be enough, enough to allay her fears so that she could remain in Florida.

Parris stepped into the drawing room on Martin’s arm, her gaze sweeping around the lavish space filled with a pair of exquisite Louis XV fauteuil chairs, upholstered with a pale blue, cream and peach tapestry. The chairs framed an eighteenth-century French bouillotte table. The tapestry pattern was repeated on a luxurious sofa and love seat filled with dark-haired Coles whose ages ranged from toddlers to middle-age adults. The bouillotte table cradled several family photographs in leaded crystal frames and a priceless collection of Russian icons.

The soft murmur of voices stopped the moment gazes were directed at Parris. The tight smile on her lips relaxed when David Cole, Martin’s younger brother, crossed the room, arms outstretched. She offered her cheek for a kiss as he gathered her tightly to his chest.

“Welcome back, Parris.”

She smiled up into a pair of jet-black eyes in the devilishly handsome face of David Cole. “Thank you, David.”

David released her, reaching for Regina. “Is this the beautiful princess my brother has been bragging about?” He ignored Regina’s frown, picking her up. His lopsided dimpled grin revealed large white teeth as he pulled at the profusion of a long curling ponytail flowing from a dark green satin ribbon. “In ten years you’re going to be a real heartbreaker, Regina.”

Regina held herself stiffly in her uncle’s embrace, her dark eyes examining his long waving hair secured with an elastic band at the nape of his neck and the twinkling diamond stud in his left earlobe.

Of all the Coles, David had been the only one to befriend Parris. At seventeen he had been too enamored with the opposite sex to view her as an enemy. Parris noticed that the ten years had added fifteen pounds to his lanky frame. David Cole had become a devastatingly attractive man.

“Which one of these dark-haired beauties belong to you?” she asked David.

David shook his head, his black eyes sweeping over his many nieces and nephews. “Not a one. I’m not married, and I have no desire to get married and have children at this time in my life.”

“Uncle David, you didn’t tell me whether you’ll be my show and tell when I go back to school,” whined a young girl with a distressed expression marring her lovely face. She stood at his side, glaring up at Regina. David lowered Regina to the floor and the two girls stared at each other.

“I can’t be your show and tell, Evelyn, because I’m not a rock star,” he said gently. “There’s a big difference between being a rocker and a jazz musician.”

“But you play music, Uncle David,” the girl insisted.

David hunkered down to her level and held her hand. “I play jazz, honey, not grunge or anything that resembles the heavy, driving guitar-playing rhythms you’re talking about.”

“Can you play that?” Evelyn questioned.

“I suppose I could if had the music.”

“Then you can be my show and tell,” Evelyn stated smugly, kissing her uncle’s cheek.

David groaned under his breath, rising to his feet. “I’ve been had,” he murmured softly to Parris. She smiled at him and he returned her smile.

Her smile faded as she stared at Martin’s two sisters, Juliana and Nancy, making no attempt to approach them. The two women had always been fiercely protective of Martin, expressing
openly that they had never met a woman whom they felt was worthy of their brother.

“Hello, Parris,” Juliana forced a smile, her facial expression and body language an exact replica of M.J.’s.

“Juliana,” Parris returned, with a slight nod of her head.

Nancy held back, staring coldly at Parris and Regina.

“Let Regina meet her cousins, David,” Juliana urged. She held her arms out to Regina and she went into her aunt’s embrace. Soon Regina was surrounded by her aunts and her many cousins.

Parris hung back as Martin urged her forward. They had not accepted her, and would never accept her. Regina was a Cole because she was Martin’s child, and with the Coles blood ties were viewed almost fanatically.

She noted the children who had been preschoolers were now young teens, and were quick to chastise younger siblings and cousins. Juliana and Nancy had given their parents nine grandchildren between them. Regina had become the tenth grandchild.

Martin and Parris approached Samuel and M.J. at the same time a uniformed household employee walked into the room and nodded to M.J.

“Dinner is ready,” M.J. announced softly. Samuel put down his drink, taking his wife’s arm. He escorted her to the dining room, everyone following their lead.

“Loosen up, love,” Martin whispered over Parris’s head, seating her.

Her eyes flashed him a look which he interpreted immediately.
Not until I’m out of this house
.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, David?” Samuel bellowed across the room.

“Sammy, please,” M.J. admonished. “Not only do your children swear like riffraff, but the grandchildren are beginning to use your foul language.”

Samuel Cole refused to let his wife’s admonition ruin his enthusiasm. “Not another word, M.J., or I’ll really let loose.” He motioned to Regina. “You sit here.” He patted an empty chair to his left where he sat at the head of the table. “Next to your grandfather.”

Regina looked at David who winked and nodded his approval. She gave him a smile and circled the long table to sit beside her grandfather.

Samuel’s booming voice matched his large body. Even his approach to life was pompous. If Samuel Cole couldn’t do it big he didn’t attempt it; his showy style had turned the money his father gave him into a figure many hundred times that amount; and the wealth M.J. brought to her marriage ballooned his worth to enormous proportions.

Martin had inherited his father’s expertise for making money, but by more unobtrusive means. Whereas Samuel Cole had been the plodding elephant Martin was the sleek, cunning panther. Business rivals became unsuspecting prey until Martin dealt the last card.

Parris glanced down the table at David. His long hair and pierced ear solidified his image as a popular jazz musician. His obsession with music had earned him a degree in music instead of the business and finance his father had insisted upon. As the youngest of the Coles, David had always been fiercely independent and followed the beat of a different drummer.

She remembered Martin encouraging his younger brother to control his own destiny and would occasionally fill in for a missing member of his brother’s fledgling group whenever they needed a keyboard player. Samuel would explode with a stream of colorful expletives when he reminded M.J. of her insistence to expose her children to music. Neither had expected the works of Mozart or Brahms to lead to all-night jazz sessions.

Parris silently admired the formal dining room as she barely tasted the fragrant white wine in a fragile glass. Twenty Regency-style chairs, upholstered in silk, surrounded a Louis XV Bodart pearwood dining table set with what she recognized as Bloor Period, Royal Crown Derby plates and doré candlesticks festooned with red tapers.

The aroma of fresh pine cones and tree boughs on a side table wafted above a roast turkey stuffed with cornbread dressing, candied sweet potatoes, a glazed Smithfield ham, mixed greens,
okra succotash, sweet pickles and fluffy parkerhouse rolls. Pecan pies, spiced peaches in brandy and praline awaited those who saved room for dessert.

Everyone was casually dressed, the men foregoing jackets and ties and the women choosing tailored blouses with their slacks or skirts. Parris wore a white silk blouse with a pair of gabardine slacks in a rich burgundy red with a pair of matching burgundy patent leather low-heel shoes. She had washed, blown-out her hair and pinned it into an elaborate chignon on the nape of her neck.

She listened to the sounds of the soft drawling Southern speech patterns as she filled her plate with turkey, okra succotash and candied sweet potatoes. She had missed so much: the tradition of eating fried fish and grits on Sunday morning, the few friends she had made, her position with Chadwick, Ferguson and Solis, and the mild winters and sultry summers. She had missed her home.

Smiling at Martin when he covered her hand with his, Parris willed her mind to relax, admiring Sammy’s and M.J.’s tolerance of the younger children spilling gravies and sauces on the heirloom lace tablecloth while waving forkfuls of food in the air. Regina, caught up in the festive atmosphere joined her cousins in their childish antics, exhibiting the outgoing charm Parris observed in Martin.

She felt a measure of pride as she witnessed her daughter’s interaction with the Coles, laughing and talking easily. No, Parris thought. I cannot take her away from this. She may have been Regina’s mother but the Coles were her family.

It was after midnight by the time the entire household settled down to sleep, and Parris was exhausted by all that had happened that day.

She sat in the middle of the king-size bed in Martin’s bedroom, staring down at his Christmas gift to her. A small white velvet box contained a pair of earrings with round emeralds surrounded by three rows of brilliant diamonds.

“They’re beautiful, Martin.”

Her low breathless voice swept over Martin and he smiled. “I’ve been waiting a long time to give you those,” he admitted.

Her head came up and her gaze met his. “What are you talking about?”

“I bought those earrings ten years ago, Parris. They were to be your gift for our first Christmas together. I sold or gave away everything I owned after you left me except for the earrings, the tapestry we bought at that auction, the Saarinen table you selected and the Steinway.”

She was unable to respond. Martin had hung onto her. Even though she had disappeared without a trace, he continued to hang on to her memory.

“And I’d like to thank you for your gift, Parris. It’s the most appropriate gift I’ve ever received.”

She smiled at him. “You’re welcome.” She had purchased an elegant black Montblanc Meisterstuck fountain pen and inkwell at a boutique in Montego Bay. She had had both the pen and inkwell engraved with Martin’s full name. The accompanying gift card read, ‘For Your
Signature
.’

Martin knew the
signature
to be his influence on any business transaction, not his handwriting.

He rose from a plush pale gray chair and walked over to the bed. Staring down at Parris, he said, “We’re going to have to sleep together tonight.” Her head snapped up. “Every room and every bed has someone in it,” he explained. “I’ll be back in half an hour.” Turning on his heel, he walked out of the bedroom, closing the door.

Three minutes later, Parris still saw his collarless white silk shirt and black slacks when she finally propelled her body off the bed. The day had begun with her preparing to leave Jamaica to return to New York, and would end with her back in Florida, at the Cole residence, in Martin’s bedroom and in Martin’s bed.

She brushed her teeth, showered and covered her body with the most modest nightgown she could find. It was sleeveless, reaching her ankles, the bodice made entirely of lace and embroidered with tiny pink French knots. Staring at her reflection in the mirrored wall in the bedroom’s adjoining bath, she concluded the white
cotton garment was not conducive to seduction. Unpinning her hair and braiding it in a single braid, she returned to the bedroom and slipped under the crisp sheet. Minutes later, she fell asleep.

Martin returned to his bedroom and saw the outline of Parris’s body on the bed in the soft glow of a table lamp. His attempt to share a bed with her on Jamaica had been thwarted. Having her that close and not being able to touch her had been torture. He had kissed her once, the first day on the beach, and any opportunity he may have had after that vanished when they were forced to remain in the house because of the torrential rains sweeping the island.

Let everything unfold naturally
, a little voice taunted him. All he had to be was patient. He headed to the bathroom and prepared to go to bed.