Judith Stacy (3 page)

Brandon frowned. “I have no intention of changing my mind.”

“Fourteen months have passed,” Jana said. “You might realize too much is different now.”

“Nothing’s different,” he insisted.

“It was your idea that we try again,” Jana said. “If you
find that it’s a mistake, I won’t hold you to the agreement. I think that’s only fair.”

“Fine, then.” Brandon went to the door, called for Charles, then instructed him to have Jana’s trunk taken to her room.

When he turned to Jana again, his expression changed. It was subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know him well. Darker eyes, deeper breathing.

She knew what it meant.

“Shall we go…upstairs?” he asked, his voice low.

Jana didn’t answer. He walked beside her through the hallway, up the wide curving staircase, down the carpeted corridor to the suite of rooms they’d occupied as husband and wife.

Jana opened her door and walked inside, feeling the heat of Brandon’s body behind her. She hadn’t delivered all her conditions for staying yet. She’d saved the last one for now because she intended to deliver it at this time and at this place, so as to leave no question in Brandon’s mind.

She swung around to face him. “Where are you going?”

Brandon stopped short in the doorway. His gaze darted past her, then landed on her again, looking slightly confused.

“Your room is next door, if I recall,” she said.

He frowned, as if still not understanding. “But this is your room, and here is where we always used to…you know.”

“Well, there will be no ‘you knowing’ between us,” Jana informed him.

Color drained from his face. “But…”

“Not for thirty days, anyway.”

“Thirty days?”

“It’s the trial period you agreed to,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you meant we couldn’t—”

“Our lives are too unsettled,” Jana said. “We wouldn’t want to complicate them further.”

“But—I—”

“Good night, Brandon.”

“But—”

She closed the door in his face.

A
brisk knock and the door easing open brought Jana fully awake. She pushed herself up, holding the bedcovers over her breasts, and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder.

Brandon? Her heart thumped harder, jolting her. Was Brandon entering her room? Last night she’d forbidden him to enter and he’d respected her wishes. But now at dawn, had he changed his mind?

Jana squinted across the room and blinked the sleep from her eyes, bringing into focus the figure of a young woman, not her husband, entering her bedchamber.

“Abbie? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sayer. Good morning,” the maid replied crossing to the bed.

Jana sat up, genuinely pleased by something in this house for the first time since her arrival.

“Good gracious,” Jana said, “I can’t believe it’s really you. You’re still here?”

Abbie smiled, a warm familiar smile, looking equally pleased. “Yes, ma’am. I’m still here. After all this time.”

“But—how? Why? I thought you’d be long gone.”

The young woman—not much older than Jana—had been her maid when she’d first arrived here as Brandon’s new wife. Abbie didn’t look any different, dark curls barely contained in her white cap, gray uniform with crisp apron, a pleasant smile on her face. Abbie had been Jana’s lifeline, at times, during that tumultuous period.

“I thought I’d be let go for sure, after you left,” Abbie confided. “But Mr. Sayer wouldn’t have no part of it. He said I was to stay. For when you got back.”

Jana’s stomach twisted into a knot. “When I…got back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie assured her, bustling about the room, picking up the clothing Jana had left on a chair last night. “I’m truly sorry, ma’am, that I wasn’t here when you arrived. My aunt, she was feeling a bit under the weather, so I was visiting with her. Charles, he sent for me, told me to get back here straightaway.”

“It’s all right, Abbie,” Jana said. “I managed well enough for myself last night.”

Abbie turned to her, Jana’s dress folded across her arm. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Sayer. Truly, it is.”

“Thank you, Abbie,” she replied, climbing out of the bed.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” she asked. “This time?”

Jana could have been insulted by Abbie’s question, offended by her impertinence. But Jana liked her. They’d become more than employer and maid in the past. Jana could use Abbie’s allegiance—and confidence—this time, as well.

“I wanted a divorce, but Brandon insisted we give our marriage another chance,” Jana told her. “I decided we should do just that…and see what happens.”

Abbie cast a pointed glance at the bed, the covers still tucked in neatly at the bottom, barely disturbed. But she said nothing as she headed for the large redwood closet.

With the first rays of morning sunlight beaming in through the heavy drapes, Jana’s room brightened slowly, giving her a good look at the things she’d barely noticed last night in her haste to get into bed.

She turned in a slow circle, and stopped still in the center of the room.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All stood exactly as she’d left it fourteen months ago.

The bed with the pink-and-white coverlet. The cherry furniture. Her dressing table with the carved ivory brush set, the ostrich feather perfume bottles, jars of lotion, powder and creams—all exactly where she left them.

“Mr. Sayer wouldn’t let us change nothing.”

Jana turned at the sound of Abbie’s voice. “What?”

“Not one thing was to be moved. Everything was to
be left exactly as it was.” Abbie rolled her eyes. “And when one of the girls—you remember Rita, don’t you?—when she suggested everything ought to be packed away, Mr. Sayer hit the ceiling.”

“Brandon became angry?” Jana asked, trying to picture it in her mind. In all their time together, courting and during the three months of their marriage, Jana had seldom heard Brandon raise his voice. She couldn’t ever remember him becoming truly angry.

“Yes,” Abbie declared, nodding her head. She leaned a little closer. “He fired Rita on the spot.”

Jana gasped. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” Abbie nodded once more. “And he wouldn’t let your bed linens be washed, either. Not for the longest time.”

Jana hardly knew what to make of this. But then, she reminded herself, much about her husband always had been a mystery.

“I’m glad you’re still here, Abbie,” Jana said, picking up her handbag from the bureau.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Abbie said, then seeming to sense a change in Jana, stopped her work.

“You, of all people, understand the reasons I left,” Jana said.

Abbie nodded. “I do. Yes.”

“You were a great comfort to me during that time,” Jana said. “I appreciated that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abbie replied, frowning slightly, obviously wondering where this conversation was going.

“You’re employed by Brandon. Everyone here is,” Jana said, waving her hand to indicate the entire house. “But I want to hire you away. I want you to work for me.”

“But Mrs. Sayer, I do work for you. I’m your personal maid. Everything I do is—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jana said. “You’re a good person, Abbie, so I don’t want you to feel your loyalties are divided. I’ll pay your salary myself—confidentially, of course—to you personally. You can have it in addition to whatever Brandon pays you.”

Jana pulled a wad of money from her handbag and thrust it at Abbie. The maid’s eyes bulged and her mouth sagged open.

“Take it,” Jana said. “Go on, take it.”

“But…” Abbie accepted the bills, holding them at arm’s length. “This is too much. Much too much. Mr. Sayer doesn’t pay me near this amount. It’s not right—”

“Yes, it is,” Jana told her. “You work for me now. All I ask is that you keep this arrangement to yourself. No one is to know, not your family, friends, and certainly not the other servants.”

“Yes, ma’am, if that’s what you want—”

“And,” Jana told her, “you are to speak to no one about what you might hear…or see…here in my room.”

Abbie’s expression darkened. But she nodded in agreement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jana sighed with relief. “Thank you, Abbie. Now, I need to dress so I can join Brandon for breakfast.”

Abbie’s brows rose. “You do?”

She nodded briskly. “I do.”

The maid shrugged as if she didn’t understand that either, and set about laying out Jana’s clothes.

Brandon was already seated at the table, when Jana arrived in the breakfast room. The small, oval room was painted pale yellow and featured windows on two sides to let in the morning sun. The gardens just outside offered a view of blooming flowers and climbing roses.

Jana paused in the doorway, her breath suddenly catching. The view of her husband was nothing to be ignored either.

Brandon sat at the table turned out quite nicely in a dark blue suit, snowy shirt and deep red necktie. His wide shoulders and broad chest couldn’t be hidden beneath the cut of the cloth. His big hand and long fingers grasped a fork as his attention shifted back and forth between the two newspapers laid out on the table beside his plate.

And why had she denied him entrance to her bedchamber last night…?

Jana quickly banished the thought and entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning,” she said, a little surprised to hear the effortless cheer that lightened her voice.

Brandon’s gaze jumped to her and quickly ran the length of her, head to toe. He flushed slightly, making her more than pleased with the forest-green dress she’d selected for the morning.

He rose from his chair, catching the linen napkin in his lap before it fell.

Was he glad to see her? Jana couldn’t tell.

“Good morning,” Brandon said, watching her carefully, cautiously almost.

A moment passed and finally Jana said, “I thought I’d join you for breakfast.”

“Well…” Brandon glanced at the two newspapers on the table. “You know I always eat breakfast alone, but well, if you’d like to it’s fine…this time.”

He rounded the table and pulled out a chair for her at the opposite end. For a few seconds she thought he was staring at her backside as she lowered herself into the seat, then dismissed the idea. Her imagination, surely.

A maid entered the room, greeted her and poured coffee as Brandon resumed his chair and his reading.

Another long moment passed in silence after the maid disappeared. The clock in the hallway ticked.

“I see you’re reading two newspapers?” Jana ventured.

Brandon looked up. “The
Times
and the
Messenger
,” he said and turned back to his reading.

Jana fiddled with her spoon. “I thought it would be nice if we hosted an informal supper.”

Brandon looked up again, a frown on his face. “A supper?”

“Yes, so that I can get reaquainted with—”

“You know I like the house quiet.”

Jana shifted in her chair. “Yes, but since I’ve been away, I thought a small supper would be a good way—”

Brandon pushed out of his chair, then folded and
tucked both newspapers under his arm. “When I come home in the evenings after a busy, sometimes difficult day, I want things quiet. I don’t like suppers and that sort of thing, and you know it. I don’t know why you’d even suggest it.”

“But—”

“I’m going to the office.” Brandon stopped in the doorway. “I notified that decorator, the one who was here before, what’s-his-name, that you’re ready to resume work on the house.”

Jana’s eyes widened. “Mr. McDowell?”

“Whatever.” Brandon dismissed the name with a wave of his hand. “He’ll be here today.”

“But—”

Brandon walked away without another word, without listening, leaving Jana with a familiar knot of dismay coiling in her stomach.

After a moment, she went up to her room, fetched her hat and handbag, and left the house. At the corner of West Adams Boulevard and St. James Place, she boarded the trolley, paid her nickel fare and spent the day with her aunt.

She was at the house again that evening, well before the designated six o’clock hour. Not that it mattered. Jana passed the time in the one and only decent sitting room until shortly after seven when she ate supper alone, her only company an occasional servant and the ticking of the hallway clock. When Brandon arrived home just after eight, Jana was on her way upstairs.

She turned on the bottom step, watching as he gave
Charles his bowler and satchel. After what must have been a long, trying day for him, Brandon still looked fresh…handsome.

Jana silently reprimanded herself for having the thought.

“I received a telephone call from Mr. McDowell today,” Brandon said to her.

“And good evening to you, too,” she countered.

He didn’t notice. “McDowell told me he came by the house but you weren’t here.”

“That’s correct.”

“I told you he was coming by.”

“I’m aware of that,” Jana said. “But, Brandon, I don’t like—”

“I expect things to get back to normal.”

“Back to the way they were?”

“Certainly,” Brandon told her.

Jana stood on the step a moment longer, gazing at him, fighting off a dozen storming emotions.

“You really have no idea at all why I left, do you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, because she knew without a doubt that he was completely ignorant on the subject.

Brandon just stood there, staring, looking confused, as if trying to understand where her comment had come from, why she’d said it.

When he came up with no response, Jana knew she’d gotten her answer after all.

She turned her back on him and climbed the stairs.

B
randon slapped the papers down on his office desk. “Unacceptable.”

In the chair across from him, Noah Carmichael raised an eyebrow. “Frankly, Brandon, I thought you’d be in a little better mood, now that your wife is back.”

Brandon’s already grumpy disposition grew more foul. He glared at Noah and sat back in his chair. Outside the open window, noise from the traffic on Third and Broadway drifted in, a low hum that was at times soothing, other times irritating.

Today it was irritating. Like everything else in Brandon’s life.

“I take it your reunion isn’t going exactly as you’d planned,” Noah ventured.

“That’s for damn sure,” he grumbled. He sat up straighter in the chair. “Last night she accused me of having no idea why she left.”

“And do you?”

“Of course,” Brandon declared.

“You know because you asked her?”

“Well, no.” Brandon shoved out of his chair. “I don’t need to ask her. I already know.”

Noah eased back and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re even more brilliant than I suspected, Brandon, if you can know what’s in a woman’s mind.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Brandon insisted, striding toward the window.

“Did you talk to her about it?”

He glanced back. “Talk to her?”

“Yes, talk. Women like to talk.”

“Oh, hell…” Brandon stopped and huffed. “Since when did your six-month marriage make you an expert on women?”

“My wife is still in town,” Noah pointed out gently. “And still warming my bed.”

Heat slashed through Brandon at the thought—the very thought—of having Jana in bed again. Her warm, supple body. Her arms cradling him. Her legs entwined with his.

During their three months together, Jana had been receptive to their lovemaking, anxious, he’d thought, to share her bed with him. He couldn’t remember one single time—not once—that she’d not happily welcomed him.

And now, after fourteen very long months of separation, she insisted that they wait
another
month? Brandon didn’t understand it. Nor did he know how he’d endure it.

“You should talk to her,” Noah said.

A new flash of irritation came over Brandon as he realized he was once more standing at the window, staring out. He turned away quickly, shoving away the realization and the old feelings that came with it.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Noah offered, rising from his chair.

He didn’t disagree. Noah’s wife was, indeed, still home.

Brandon sighed heavily. “You’re probably right. I’ll talk to her.”

“Things will work out,” Noah said. “The important thing is that she’s home.”

Brandon’s belly clenched. No, the important thing was that she stayed.

Muffled voices greeted Jana as she descended the curving staircase, piquing her curiosity. She’d just returned home from another day with her aunt, the clock was about to strike six and someone had come to visit? Calling hours ended at five. A tremor of unease swept through her. Had something happened at Aunt Maureen’s after she left?

Or had Brandon actually come home on time?

At the foot of the stairs Jana saw Charles in the foyer talking with a tall, slender man, not much older than herself, respectably dressed in a decent, though not expensive, suit. The men quieted as Jana approached.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sayer,” Charles intoned. “This gentleman has come to call on Mr. Sayer.”

The man pulled off his bowler and pressed it
against his chest, holding the brim with both hands. Small, round eyeglasses reflected the glow of the wall sconces.

“Please forgive my intrusion, Mrs. Sayer,” he said, changing the grip on his bowler. “My name is Fisk. Oliver Fisk.”

“I explained to Mr. Fisk,” Charles said, “that Mr. Sayer isn’t home.”

“How is it you know my husband?” Jana asked, walking closer.

“I’m a business associate. Well, actually, I’m an employee,” he said. “I’m the editor of the
Los Angeles Messenger
. The newspaper.”

With his slender frame and bookish appearance Jana thought he looked more like an accountant or librarian.

Fisk fidgeted with his hat. “Mr. Sayer owns the paper, as you know…or perhaps don’t know, since I’m sure you’re much too busy to concern yourself with matters of business. That’s not to imply that you’re flighty or ignorant, but rather—”

“Mr. Fisk,” Jana said, taking pity on him. “Would you care to come in and wait for my husband?”

Rather than looking relieved, Oliver’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. He drew in a breath, seemingly searching for, and finding, a dose of courage.

“Yes,” he proclaimed. “Yes, I’d like to do just that. I’d like to wait for him.”

“Charles, would you be kind enough to have some refreshment sent to the sitting room?” Jana asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and relieved Oliver of his bowler.

“Please come this way, Mr. Fisk.”

She led him down the hallway to the sitting room she liked and seated herself on the settee. Oliver folded his long, ungainly arms and legs into the chair across from her with little grace.

“I can’t promise when…my husband…will arrive,” Jana said, the term odd on her tongue. It wasn’t pleasant admitting, even to this stranger, that she had no idea what Brandon’s schedule was.

“I don’t mean to cause trouble,” Oliver fretted, though he’d done nothing that required an apology. “I’ve tried numerous times to see Mr. Sayer at his office, but I’ve been unsuccessful. And I must speak with him right away. That’s why I took this chance of coming here, to his home, even without an invitation, this late in the day.”

Something about Oliver Fisk touched Jana’s heart. “Is there a problem at the newspaper?”

“Yes, there’s a problem. Very much so.” He nodded his head vigorously. “Mr. Sayer is closing it.”

Jana’s eyes widened. “The newspaper? Brandon is closing the newspaper?”

“It hasn’t been as prosperous as any of us would have liked,” Oliver admitted. “But I can turn things around. I know I can. If Mr. Sayer would just give me a little more time I could make the
Messenger
the premier newspaper in the city.”

Jana suddenly understood why she’d seen Brandon reading two newspapers at breakfast. Comparing the
Messenger
to the very popular
Times
, no doubt.

“I’ll be the first to say that I lack a great deal of experience in the newspaper game,” Oliver said, lacing and unlacing his long fingers. “But when the editor position fell to me, I was confident I could make a go of it. I still am. All I need is more time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Jana agreed. “In fact, it seems to me that—”

Brandon strode into the room as if he were a force of nature, bringing both Jana and Oliver Fisk to their feet, commanding their attention with his very presence. He wasn’t happy. Jana wasn’t sure who Brandon was more annoyed to find in his sitting room: the newspaper editor—or her.

A tense silence froze the room as Brandon glared at them both, then settled his gaze on Jana.

“Would you excuse us?” he asked, though it was a command not a request.

“But Charles is bringing us refreshment—”

“No, he’s not.” Brandon’s gaze drilled into her. “Would you
please
excuse us?”

The unreasonable fear that had tickled her stomach hardened into a knot of anger. Jana felt her shoulders square and her chin go up a notch. Yet she didn’t want to make a scene in front of Oliver Fisk.

“Good evening, Mr. Fisk,” she said, managing to sound pleasant as her temper simmered, and left the
sitting room feeling as if she’d abandoned the gentle editor.

In the foyer she saw Charles lingering. He didn’t make eye contact with her—he never did—but at least he had the good grace to look uncomfortable that he’d ignored her request for refreshments on Brandon’s orders.

Jana pounded up the staircase, resisting the urge to work off her anger by taking the steps two at a time, and fetched the small book she’d brought with her from Aunt Maureen’s hotel suite today. She took the back stairs down to the kitchen, her footsteps echoing on the bare, wooden risers.

The cook, Mrs. Boone, was busy at the stove while her two assistants chopped vegetables at one of the worktables. The kitchen, equipped to prepare everything from intimate family meals to elegant affairs for hundreds of guests, dwarfed the three women. The aroma of the soon-to-be-served supper mingled with the steam rising from the pots.

Mrs. Boone’s eyes narrowed as Jana approached. Of all the servants still in the household, Jana was sorry to see that Mrs. Boone was among them. A gray-haired, sturdy woman, Mrs. Boone ruled her kitchen with an iron hand. She had no use for suggestions from anyone, including Jana.

But that was fourteen months ago, Jana reminded herself.

“Good evening, Mrs. Boone,” she said.

The woman gave her a curt nod. “Evening, Mrs. Sayer.”

“I wanted to speak with you about the menus,” Jana began and held up the book. “I have some new recipes here that I’d like you to incorporate into the meal.”

“As it should be obvious to almost anyone,” Mrs. Boone said, and jerked her thumb toward the stove, “supper is fully underway, requiring my whole attention. I don’t have time to be discussing things at the moment.”

From the corner of her eye, Jana saw the two assistants glance at her, then turn away quickly.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Jana told her, placing the book on the sideboard beside the stove. “These are the recipes. Include them in this week’s meals.”

Mrs. Boone shook her head. “Mr. Sayer likes his meals just so…in case you don’t know. He doesn’t cater to fancy food or newfangled dishes. Did he tell you to make these changes?”

Jana pressed her lips together. “No,” she admitted.

Mrs. Boone picked up the recipe book, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Jana. “When Mr. Sayer says it’s all right to change something, then I’ll change it.”

The cook turned back to the stove, ending their conversation.

Jana’s cheeks warmed, and not from the heat of the cookstove. She turned sharply and left the kitchen.

Fourteen months had passed…and nothing had changed.

As Jana passed Brandon’s study, she spotted him at his desk, flipping through papers. He had, apparently, already dispatched Oliver Fisk. And that didn’t suit Jana.

She walked into the study, Brandon’s earlier dismissal and the cook’s blatant disregard for her instructions still stinging.

“Why are you shutting down the
Messenger
?” she asked.

Brandon looked up. “You needn’t concern yourself with business matters.”

She stood in front of his desk. “I want to know.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m certain I can follow.”

He studied her for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I purchased the newspaper two years ago. It was a strong rival for the
Times
. A few months later, the editor died. The paper floundered. A succession of editors couldn’t revive it. Oliver Fisk is the latest to try.”

“But you won’t give him the time he needs?” Jana asked, hearing the edge on her voice.

Brandon heard it too, obviously, because he sat forward again and began rummaging through the desk. “I gave him six months to show an improvement. That hasn’t happened.”

“Then give him more time.”

“I did.” Brandon opened a lower drawer. “I gave him two additional months—three times.”

“But if even more time is needed—”

“No more time.” Brandon closed the drawer with a thud and looked up at Jana. “The
Messenger
is losing money every minute of every day. I won’t toler
ate that sort of loss any longer. Fisk has another six weeks to turn the paper around, or it will be closed. Permanently.”

“But what about all the employees?” Jana asked. “You can’t put those people out of work.”

“Most of them will find jobs at the
Times
. The others might find work at one of my other businesses,” Brandon said.

“And you won’t even consider giving Mr. Fisk another extension?”

“It won’t matter,” Brandon said. “If that newspaper could have been saved, it would have happened already. It’s a lost cause. Besides, I already have another project in the works for the Jennings Building. It’s coming along nicely. Once the newspaper is closed and moves out, I can go forward with it.”

“But that’s hardly a reason—”

“It’s the only reason I need.” Brandon came to his feet, the tone of his words and the look on his face ending their conversation. “And in the future, when someone such as Oliver Fisk shows up here, you are not to offer them any hospitality whatsoever.”

Jana’s simmering anger flared. “Are you telling me I cannot be civil to whomever comes to the house?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.” Brandon softened his voice. “It’s all right…this time. You didn’t know.”

Jana just looked at him, too stunned to speak.

Brandon came around the desk. “There’s something
else I want to talk to you about. Last night you said I had no idea about why you left. I thought about that today.”

“You did?” Now she was truly stunned.

“Yes. I thought about it and I want you to know that I’m fully aware of why you left.”

A different sort of unease came over Jana. “You are?”

Brandon straightened his shoulders. “It was my fault, really. I didn’t give you enough guidance. You were young and somewhat pampered, and I should have provided more direction, made you more aware of your duties and responsibilities.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, it was really my fault. It was my duty as your husband to provide those things. I was remiss in not doing so.”

Her expression soured. “How generous of you to admit it.”

“Yes. Well, I want to assure you the situation will be corrected. So,” he said, drawing in a breath, “with your—and my—new commitment to our marital responsibilties, I’m sure everything will be fine. This time.”

A thousand retorts jetted through Jana’s mind, itching to be spoken, hurled at him like spiked daggers.