Housebound (17 page)

“Sister, eh? I'd forgotten she had one. I thought there was just her and Ashley. What does the sister do? Is she as talented as her siblings?”

Noah considered it objectively, allowing a tiny shaft of pain in on a purely experimental basis. “ I couldn't say. She does everything, and she does everything well.” He glanced at the damning file beneath Wendell's blunt fingers. “She's the fourth owner.”

“The recalcitrant one, eh?” Wendell knew his man far too well. His eyes had caught the shift in Noah's expression, his ear the nuance in Noah's voice. “Well, she'll recover. She's pretty?”

“Pretty enough,” he said in a noncommittal voice, giving nothing away. But a cagey old fox like Wendell James had already gleaned the information he wanted.

“I need you to do me one last favor, my boy,” he said slowly. “Sort of a last hurrah. Would you do it?”

Noah was wary. He had a great deal of affection for his father-in-law but not much trust. “What?” he said bluntly.

Wendell was unabashed. “See this thing through. The papers will be ready to sign by next weekend, and the whole family will be down in Philadelphia for Ashley's opening. I want you to go along and get the papers signed.”

“No.”

“Don't be stuffy, my boy. Everyone knows you've been seeing Holly—no one will think twice about your showing up. It'll take five minutes, the job will be done, and there won't be any great fuss with the sister.”

“No.”

“If I go down, or send someone in my place, there's a
good chance that things will be a lot worse,” Wendell warned. “I'm afraid the rest of us look like lawyers—the sister would smell a rat. There's nothing she can do at this late date, but if you handled it I'm sure you could make it easier on her.”

“You're the prince of darkness, you know that?” Noah snapped.

Wendell smiled his satisfaction. “You'll drive down with Holly Kirkland. She's arranged for hotel rooms for you both.”

“You have this all arranged, don't you?”

“I try to be thorough,” he said modestly.

Noah sat there, knowing he shouldn't give in. The chance that he could spare Anne pain was minor—he'd be far more likely to make things worse. And he knew in the long run that wouldn't matter. “I'll go. But that's it, Wendell. That's the end of it.”

Wendell smiled his beatific smile that had fooled more than one opposing attorney into thinking he was a benevolent old man. “That will be enough,” he approved. “That should do very well.”

 

I
T WAS A HELLISH TWO
weeks that followed for Anne. Everywhere she turned the answer was the same—no one was willing to lend her the estimated twenty thousand dollars needed to put the house back in passable shape. She went through her savings in a matter of days, just getting the broken windows boarded up and the hole in the slate roof covered with plywood and plastic. The majority of the damage was in the seldom-used east section of the house. With a stretch of good weather the damage might remain at a manageable level, but of course it rained every day, and Anne spent most of her time emptying buckets of leaking rainwater.

She managed to borrow anther couple of thousand to supplement her small savings, but there the credit ended. The banks were blandly adamant, Edmund Jolles had just plowed his profits back into the business, including her cursed word processor, and Wilson was smugly indifferent to her pleas.

“Of course I have twenty thousand dollars, Anne. All wisely invested in blue-chip stocks and municipal funds. I am certainly not about to cash it in to lend it to you when I'll never be repaid. I simply can't afford to make that kind of gesture, much as I'd like to.”

“But Wilson…”

“The answer, my dear, is no. It's time you faced the facts of life. I've been thinking that we might be better off building our own house. The upkeep on that old mausoleum must be incredible.”

Anne had glared at him. “Holly and Ashley will have to help me then,” she said stubbornly. “It's time they took some responsibility for the house, too.”

“You've never let them before, Anne.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Of course I have!” she protested, incensed. “I've asked for their help time and time again.”

“Yes, but on your terms. It's always been your house, not theirs. It's little wonder Holly hasn't wanted to get involved in the whole mess.”

Anne had simply stared at him, stricken. “You don't really mean that.”

“I'm afraid I do. Holly and I have had long talks on the subject. You're obsessed with that house, Anne, and the sooner you leave it behind the better.” Much as she wanted to, Anne couldn't ignore the real concern in his brown eyes, or the unpleasant grain of truth in his allegations.

“All right, Wilson,” she said finally, subdued but still determined. “I'll just have to do it without your help.”

“I wish you luck,” he said, and she believed him. Wilson was nothing if not scrupulously fair. And not for the first time Anne found herself trying to regret that one glorious night with Noah, a night that had left her with far too many lonely nights and the uncomfortable sensation of having betrayed the ever-patient if unimaginative Wilson. Tried to regret it, and failed. Better to have risked everything, rather than take the usual safe path. Even if it had all exploded in her face, leaving her curiously numb, it had been worth the chance.

It was only fortunate that Anne and Wilson's relationship had never been an intensely physical one. For the most part they contented themselves with light kisses on proffered cheeks or a gentle pat on the hand. The few occasions they had actually made it into bed had been more in the nature of marriage insurance, to make certain they didn't find each other repulsive. Overwhelming physical need had been noticeably absent from those few civilized couplings.

If Wilson's brown eyes had ever heated up with the warmth they showered on Holly, if his perfectly manicured hands ever reached for her with anything approaching yearning, she would have to tell him about Noah. At the moment she was too caught up with trying to save her house to deal with severing their long-term agreement. Time enough for that after Ashley's opening that weekend.

It was his first major showing in almost eighteen months, and the family was planning to turn out in full force. Ashley had reserved a block of hotel rooms for them, a major party was planned, and even Wilson, disapproving as he was of Ashley's life-style, was going to join them. Anne had little
doubt that the show would be another huge success, and in the flush of praise and certain money, Ashley would doubtless prove to be a little more openhanded than usual. Holly would have some handsome man in tow, either the short Tom Selleck type or someone even more luscious. Couple that with the provocative dress Anne was fashioning for her, and her mood should be equally sanguine. She, also, could be persuaded to be more generous if approached in just the right way. Especially once she realized that Wilson would soon be available.

By the time Anne arrived in Philadelphia that weekend she was in a reasonably optimistic mood. Ashley had chosen the Elgin Hotel for his celebratory party. Apart from its proximity to his huge old town house, it had a certain seedy charm entirely in keeping with Ashley's somewhat raffish life-style. To Anne's surprise the place was packed—a new showing by Ashley Kirkland was a major event in the art world, and representatives from all over the world seemed to have congregated on the small, turn-of-the-century hotel, making it resemble nothing so much as a convention of Hollywood character actors. It took her only a short while to get settled into the double room she would be sharing with Letitia Morgan, the Merry Widow herself.

As Anne hung the two dresses in the small, compact closet with the gently peeling paint, she cast a last admiring glance over them. Even with her usual modesty she knew she'd outdone herself.

For years Holly had counted on Anne to create beautiful, unusual clothes for her performances, clothes combining grace with the airy quality and the touch of sensuality that was her onstage persona. The shimmering emerald green would set off her delicate blond charms to perfection, not to mention
that the lines of the dress, seemingly demure in front, plunged to a point well below the small of her back, exposing all the creamy skin. Holly would love it, and look absolutely glorious in it besides, securing all the attention she so needed.

For herself, Anne had fashioned something much more subdued. The purple silk had been rejected by Holly. “I don't know why I bought it—purple makes me pale and uninteresting,” she'd complained. But no one could have looked pale and uninteresting in the finished creation. The scooped neckline was much higher than Holly usually preferred, but it suited Anne perfectly, and the long sleeves were gathered at the shoulders and the wrists to give a full, flowing effect. Anne knew with a certain bleak satisfaction that she would look elegant, sleek and almost beautiful in that dress. It was only a shame that the one person she'd had in mind when she'd made it wouldn't be there to see her in it.

No sooner was she settled into the small, stuffy room than she went in search of Ashley. It was a little past five—the rest of her family would arrive at any moment, and she wanted time to put her plea to Ashley before Proffy could influence him. In her gray wool slacks and heavy sweater she looked out of place in a hotel full of peacocks, and the suite of rooms belonging to her brother was empty to her knock. It was probably not an auspicious time to be asking him for money, anyway. Once the show was the huge success she knew it would be, Ashley would doubtless be more mellow. Unless his intake of alcohol contributed to that mellowness, she thought with an added trace of worry.

She turned down her own corridor, lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the lean figure that headed toward her from the other end. That figure hesitated for a moment, then continued onward, and his warm, deep voice broke through her oblivion.

“Hello, Annie.”

At the sound of Noah's voice she stopped still, her face pale and stricken, the look in her eyes as they met his vulnerable before she managed to shutter them. He cursed softly under his breath at the pain he saw still lurking there.

“Noah.” Her voice was cool and composed, neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I didn't expect to be here. There was…er, some last-minute business I had to take care of in Philadelphia this weekend, so I offered to drive Holly down.”

“Business?” she echoed, keeping her voice light and impersonal.

To her surprise, that innocuous topic of conversation seemed to make him even more uncomfortable, and he ran a hand through his tangle of black curls with unaccustomed nervousness. “It's something I'm doing for a friend, so to speak.” His blue, blue eyes stared down at her intently from out of his Gypsy face, and it was all she could do to keep from squirming. She couldn't read anything in those eyes—not longing, or regret, or even indifference. “Are you all right?” he said finally.

“Of course I am. Did you think I'd be pining away for you?” she demanded caustically, ignoring the fact that that was exactly what she'd been doing, and that the raw pain in her voice told him so.

“Of course not. I've been worried about you, Annie. I'm sorry I took off without saying goodbye that morning. And I'm sorry I haven't called. Given the circumstances, I thought it would be better if it was a clean break.”

“It would be better,” she said firmly, resisting the impulse to reach up and run her hands through those tangled black
curls, to throw herself against his chest, to thrust her hands up inside his sweater and run them along the smoothly muscled torso that she remembered far too well. “However, I suppose this can't be helped. You haven't seen Ashley, have you?”

“Not recently.”

“Damn. I needed to talk to him.” She managed a wry smile. “I don't suppose you happen to have twenty thousand dollars you can lend me? The house needs a new roof.”

She was completely unprepared for his reaction, the cold light of anger that filled his eyes and the curl of disgust at his mobile mouth. “I don't feel that guilty,” he snapped, turning on his heel and stalking back down the corridor.

She stared after him, openmouthed. “Apparently you do,” she told herself softly. “How very interesting.” She was about to follow him down the corridor, determined to do battle, when Holly's light tones assailed her from behind.

“There you are, darling. I've been looking everywhere for you.” Dutifully they brushed cheeks. “I love my dress.”

“You've seen it already?” Half of Anne's mind was following Noah down the corridor, and it was with an effort that she turned her attention back to her sister.

“We arrived at the same time Proffy did with the Merry Widow in tow. She was only too happy to let me in your room to get the dress, but I warn you, she wants the bed you chose,” Holly giggled. “It's nearer the bathroom, you know.”

“Tough.”

“Don't be so hardhearted, darling. She's going to take Proffy off our hands, unless I miss my guess. Have you seen Noah?” Holly's voice was determinedly cool, but Anne wasn't fooled for a minute.