Moonshadows (13 page)

As she stalked from the restaurant, Janet was well aware just how unbecoming her behavior was. Her grandmother would have scolded her for being so inconsiderate. She was ashamed of herself and skidded to a halt on the sidewalk.

“Chelsea, I’m sorry. I had no right to act like a raving maniac.”

“You must’ve had a reason.”

Janet nodded and they resumed their walk. She turned up her collar.

“He lied to me,” she said.

“Who?”

“That worm, that detestable grubby slug.”

“Oh, Adam—what other detestable slug do we know?”

“He said he didn’t know Grandmother had died, and I believed him. Oh, how I believed him.” She stopped and took Chelsea’s hand. “He asked me to marry him, you know.”

“I know.”

“And what’s worse, I was considering it. Oh, I don’t think I’d have actually done it, but I was turning over the possibility in my mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Good lord, don’t be. Just think what my life would’ve been like if I had’ve married that big phony.”

“What are you going to say to him?” Chelsea asked as they reached the library.

Janet pulled back the door.

“I don’t know.”

Janet worked the rest of the day in a kind of fog. On more than one occasion she was aware of Sebastian speaking to her repeatedly before getting her full attention. She just wanted the day to pass. Chelsea, with her understanding heart, kept busy and did not fuss over her. Janet was grateful. Finally, five o’clock arrived and the library closed its doors.

Walking to their cars, Chelsea pulled Janet close. “Call me later if you want to talk.”

Janet’s indigo eyes clouded with uncertainty. She nodded.

At long last she was going to give her love for Adam its last rites, a stake through the heart, and then the proper interment it deserved. She dressed in a floor-length black sweater-dress;
funeral weeds
, she thought. Instead of the usual braid, she pulled her hair back into a Roman-styled sweep, spiraling flame-colored curls at the sides of her face and sticking in a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Usually so casual with her makeup, she used her artist hand to sculpt and create an illusion that had been their relationship. She etched the lines and planes of her face in an exaggerated fashion that left her hardly recognizable. And while she might not have rivaled Helen of Troy, she didn’t look half bad. She wanted to make him sorry he was losing her, regret—ten-times over—his deception. He had been sure of himself, sure of his power of persuasion over her. So much for the best-laid plans.

The doorbell rang just as she dabbed a spot of
Sweet Revenge
on the throbbing hollow of her throat. She was anxious to let him in and get the circus underway.

“Hello, baby,” Adam said when Janet opened the door. He stepped into the room, slipped off his khaki topcoat and tossed it across the back of a chair. He reached to pull her close. “You look incredible.”

Janet extracted herself from his arms. “Come over and sit down,” she said, motioning him toward the sofa. “I’ve made coffee and cherry tarts with fresh whipped cream.”

“You remembered they’re my favorite?”

“I remember everything about you, Adam.”

“I’m flattered,” he said and smiled like the conquering hero. “Let’s not waste any more time. Please say you’ll marry me.”

Janet ladled thick, rich cream onto the bed of shiny red cherries. After she handed the plate to him she poured coffee from the china server and laid a small silver spoon on the saucer beside the cup. Then she handed him one of her best linen napkins. She knew he took special notice of the elegance. Adam was easily impressed. She turned to face him.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.”

He beamed like a knight about to rescue a damsel in distress. Janet could see victory—and dollar signs—flash in his green eyes.

“There’s so much to be considered. Since Grandmother died I’ve had nobody but myself. And there’s the estate—a ton of money.”

She lowered her eyes but continued to watch from beneath her lashes. He was beginning to salivate. Greed was eating him alive and she could see him as he mentally spent all those beautiful dollars.

“Baby, the money’s not important.”

“But it’s there. We have to deal with it.” She tucked her legs beneath her body and smoothed down the dress. “The house at the Point. The land holdings and the properties. They’re worth millions. More than one person could spend in a lifetime.”

His hand quivered as he sliced his fork through the flaky crust of the tart and raked an extra portion of frothy cream on the cutaway section. He shoved it into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. Janet hoped he didn’t choke on his eagerness.

“You can count on me, Jan. I’m here for you.”

A speck of crust hung at the corner of his mouth, the same mouth she could never get enough of. Now he just looked ridiculous, as his confidence seemed to expand.

“You need me to look out for your interests.”

As she watched the creature seated beside her on the sofa, revulsion slithered through Janet’s veins like a two-headed viper. How had she ever been in love with such a vile thing? For he surely had always been as he was tonight, she told herself silently. How was it she had not seen it before now?

Janet gave him a sweet smile. “Chelsea and I had lunch at Victoria and Albert’s today.”

“That’s nice.” His internal gyroscope was on automatic pilot—and aimed in one direction. “But, about us.” He slid closer to her, put a hand on her shoulder, and made to draw her near. “Don’t you think it’s time to set a date?”

Janet looked at him with a slight simper and gave him her very best I’ll-leave-everything-up-to-you smile. That was all the encouragement he needed.

“I want you to have a proper wedding, one you’ll be proud of. And a ring. I want to get you the finest diamond available. We’ll fly to New York and get it at Tiffany’s. I know a couple people who are expert at making deals.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Of course, it’s going to cost money. A lot of money. You deserve nothing but the best.”

“While Chelsea and I were at the restaurant,” Janet continued to explain, “we ran into Mr. Chandler.”

But Adam Hastings was way past hearing. “Now, if you could see your way clear to let me have an advancement, just temporarily you understand, until my deal comes thro—” He stopped short. “Chandler?”

Janet smiled. “Ethan Chandler.”

Abruptly the green eyes darkened and an angry flush obscured the deep Caribbean tan. His tongue flicked out and licked across lips that must have suddenly gone dry. The piece of crust was knocked away.

“Did you—did you talk to him?”

“He stopped by our table for a quick chat.” Janet gave a slight laugh. “Actually he seemed more interested in Chelsea than me. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if—”

Adam lurched forward, to the edge of the sofa, his hands gripping the cushions.

“Me, Janet. What about me? Was my name mentioned?”

“Now that you ask, I believe it was. Mr. Chandler said something about running into you at the lake.”

“Okay. Okay. So I already knew.” He ran a desperate hand through the carefully tended sun-bleached hair. “But if I’d told you that I already knew about your grandmother’s death, you’d think I only came back because of the money. And now that’s exactly what you think, isn’t it?” He took a deep breath. “Well, isn’t it?”

Janet pulled her legs from beneath her body and stood up. Her movements were calm and deliberate.

Adam reached to pull her back down beside him.

“Baby, don’t—”

Janet, repulsed by his touch, shook away his grasping hands.

“You have to let me explain. You’re my last hope, and I’m not sure I can live without you.”

“You mean you can’t live without the Lancaster money. That’s what you really mean, isn’t it, Adam?”

“No.” The pupils of his eyes darkened and flashed prisms of greenish ochre and desperation. “I mean it. I can’t live without you.”

Janet hooked one finger beneath the collar of his coat and lifted it from the back of the chair. She handed it to him.

“What are you going to do—kill yourself?”

He took the coat from her outstretched hand. “I might.”

“Well, just don’t do it here. I don’t want to clean up the mess.”

“Don’t do this, baby.”

“Good-bye, Adam.”

She opened the door and stood to one side.

His shoulders slumped and he seemed resigned to the battle being lost.

“Before I go,” he said, stepping through the doorway and standing on the porch, “do you think you could help me out of a slight jam—for old time’s sake?” His laugh was shaky. “I’ve really got myself in a bind with old man Brooks.”

“Hmm, Brooks? Isn’t that the name the waiter called you the other night? He called you ‘Mr. Brooks’ and you said it was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake. I was using his credit card.”

Janet snorted. “Did he happen to
know
that he was being so generous with you?”

Adam stared at the floor, evading the question. “So, do you think you could spot me a few dollars?”

Janet walked to the closet and jerked her wallet from the tote bag hanging inside. She pulled a handful of crumpled bills from a zippered pocket and shoved them into his hands.

“I’ll pay you back—”

“And just what makes you think I might—in my wildest dreams—be remotely interested in getting it back? That would mean that I’d have to see you again, and I wouldn’t want that for a hundred times the amount I just
spotted
you.”

He opened his mouth to reply but Janet slammed the door before he could get the words out.

She leaned against the closed door and tried to steady her racing heart. The pain was gone and so was the anger. She had sent him out of her life for good, and at last she was free. She’d paid him off with a lousy couple hundred bucks, and—being the parasite he was—he took it. So much for perception being reality.

TWELVE

T
wo weeks passed and there was still no sign of Stephen. Funny that he’d just drop out of sight without a word. Janet watched the parking lot and felt a twinge of disappointment when the familiar white Mustang remained missing. At night she caught herself glancing across the courtyard at his apartment, but the windows remained dark and desolate. So a couple of days ago she had finally quit looking.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked herself. “Why am I so restless?”

She flipped through the TV Guide; nothing looked interesting. She paced the room. She glanced at the phone. It hadn’t rung all day. She lifted the receiver and the dial tone told her the line was working. Just as she replaced it on the hook, it jangled against her hand. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
Was she hoping it was him
?

“Janet? It’s Stephen.”

“Stephen who?”

He laughed. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I don’t usually disappear into thin air. Can I come over?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Be right there.”

Okay, so she
had
been hoping it was him. But she still wasn’t sure if she was open enough to allow him a place in her life. Perhaps this interval of his being gone for a couple of weeks had been good for her. If the ordeal with Adam had taught her anything at all, it had been to proceed with caution, a lesson she was not likely to forget. She heard Stephen’s feet hit the small porch outside and then his knock sounded.

“Hi,” he said, shaking water from his hair, and raking it back with his fingers.

His shoulders looked a yard wide in the water-sprinkled windbreaker. His face was dotted with rain. A single drop of water, like a diamond, glistened from the corner of his dark eyelashes. He blinked and it fell away. Janet fought back the urge to reach out and catch it.

“It’s raining?” she asked, and felt foolish at the stupidity of the question.

“And getting colder. I wouldn’t be surprised if this doesn’t turn to snow by morning. I’m glad I got back before the weather really sets in.”

“Back?”

“From New York.” Then he grinned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was gone? Asking you to miss me is a little much, but you could’ve at least noticed I was gone.”

“Well, yeah. I guess I did.”

“I started the book.”

“Did you really? I can’t wait to hear.” She pointed to his jacket. “Let me have that and I’ll hang it across a chair to dry.”

“Thanks.”

“Want a sandwich and a beer?”

“Sounds good.”

She took the jacket and headed for the kitchen. “Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

She returned in a few minutes with a tray loaded with sandwich fixings and chilled mugs for the beer. She set the tray on the coffee table and motioned for Stephen to help himself. He needed no encouragement. Janet made her sandwich, took a bite, and settled back against the sofa pillows.

“So,” she said.

He reached for a Ruben roll. “So?”

“You know what ‘so.’ The book. Did
Heather Down
and the shot tower have anything to do with you getting started?”

He layered the roll with roast beef and honey mustard and forked up a slice of cheese.

“It had everything to do with it,” he said and took a healthy bite.

“Well, are you going to tell me or not?”

He took a long drink then wiped his mouth.

“There I was sleeping peacefully as a baby when it conked me on the noggin—three o’clock in the morning, it was—and going full throttle.”

“What conked you on the noggin?”

He grinned. “My muse.” He shook his head. “Sometimes the darn thing kicks in at the most inconvenient times. Well, I just couldn’t ignore it—that would’ve been stupid—so I let it lead the way, and I tagged along to see what was going to happen.” He stuffed in the remainder of the sandwich and dusted his hands. “A friend of mine has a loft in the Village.”

Janet gave him a puzzled look.

“That’s in New York.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway.” He reached to make another sandwich. “This loft is perfect for stirring the cauldron of creative juices—I’ll have to take you there one day and introduce you to a couple of good friends. Over the years I’ve done some of my best work there.”

“Writing?”

“Writing. Character development.” He gave a slight smirk. “I even took a stab at acting at one time.”

“Acting?”

“Don’t look so surprised; I’ve done lots of things. But writing—creating worlds and then populating them with characters I can control—is in my blood. You’d be surprised how empowering it is to shove people around: move them here and there, kiss this one, kill that one, let these two find each other and fall in love.” He laughed. “Yeah, writing’s cool. Writing’s where the action is.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, that’s where I had to be to get off to a roaring start. So I decided to drive to New York.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It wouldn’t wait.”

“Your muse?”

He nodded and took a drink of beer.

“So, how far along did you get with it?”

“Far enough for me to know that it’s going to be worthy of the nobility of
Heather Down
.” A look of seriousness crossed his face. “That place crawled into my creative bloodstream and I became infected.” He frowned. “I envy you your heritage—I should be so lucky.”

Janet’s response was uncertain.

“I’m glad you were inspired,” she said and was relieved to realize that she meant it.

She met his probing eyes and could feel a kind of gentleness buried beneath a layer of determination. He dropped his gaze as if he was afraid she would see too much. Then, for no explainable reason, the words between them fell away as they sat side by side in silence. Finally Stephen spoke.

“I missed you,” he said.

“Me too.”

“You missed you, too?”

Janet slapped his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Tell me.”

She didn’t reply. It was too soon, too fast. Instead of answering, she jumped to her feet.

“How about another beer?”

“Thanks, but I think all this food has made me sleepy and it’s way past my bedtime.” He got to his feet and Janet noticed the slightest slump in his shoulders and his eyes were beginning to droop. “By the way, I’d like to take you up on your offer to become a library patron and look for more background material.”

“Great.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Fine with me. I’ll see you then.”

Janet walked him to the door. As she smiled up to bid him goodnight, he pulled her into his arms and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was just a whisper. And like a whisper, it could promise comfort and protection; or it could threaten danger.

“Goodnight, Janet,” he said, closing the door softly.

She lingered a moment in the damp wake he left behind. She could still feel the energy of his presence, smell his cologne. Taste his lips.

The next morning, Janet sat with her elbows on her desk and concentrated on the immediate problem of straightening out the research files.

“Janet.” She could feel her name being spoken rather than hear it. “Janet,” Chelsea said again.

Janet looked up.

“Want to take a quick break and get a cup of coffee?”

“Your timing’s perfect.”

“Your timing’s not so bad either,” Chelsea said a moment later when she carried two cups of coffee to the table in the staff lounge and set one down in front of Janet.

“How’s that?”

“The other day at Victoria and Albert’s. Remember.”

Janet laughed. “Yeah, I learned the truth about Adam—my timing
was
perfect. How could I forget?”

“Not that.” Even though the room was empty, Chelsea leaned over and lowered her voice. “He called me.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Chandler.” Chelsea’s chest heaved. “Ethan Chandler called and asked me out.”

“And what did you say?”

Chelsea touched her flushed cheeks and her eyes sparkled.

“Yes. I said ‘yes.’ Can you believe it?”

“Will wonders never cease? He’s quite a catch, you know.”

“And now I’m scared to death. I haven’t dated much. I’m thirty-two years old and never actually learned how.”

Janet smiled. “Just be yourself—your beautiful, sophisticated self—and you’ll knock his socks off.”

Chelsea stared at a spot on the table. “That’s just it, I’m not sophisticated.”

Janet laughed. “Well, you sure as heck put up a good front.”

“I never dated much in high school, and when I did it was always a disaster. I was a mousy little thing, afraid of my shadow.” She glanced up, her soft gray eyes wide with fright. “Oh, I know Ethan Chandler’s an adult and won’t try to stuff his hands down the front of my blouse and get it all wrinkly, or hiss naughty words every chance he gets.”

Janet smirked. “Along with trying to stick his tongue in your ear. It was a plague we all endured.”

“Why do you think the boys in school did that? It was very annoying.”

“Somebody put out the word—no doubt some jock—that sticking your tongue in a girl’s ear was a turn-on. Never mind that it was offensive.”

“No, I know Ethan won’t do any of those things, but what if I do something to offend him? He could fire me, you know.”

“Fire you! Chelsea Parker, of all the numb-skulled things I’ve heard you say, that’s the numb-skullest. He may kill you with kindness and chivalry, but that’ll be your cross to bear.”

Chelsea nodded. “Well, I’ve agreed to go out with him, so I can’t back out now. But it seems like an awfully big responsibility, seeing who he is and all.”

“How about who you are—the kindest, most beautiful person I know and I’m privileged to have you for a friend. Ethan Chandler may be rich and handsome and loaded with class, but even with all that I’m not sure he’s good enough for you.”

Chelsea laughed out loud. “Thanks.”

Amanda Austin stuck her head in the doorway.

“Break’s running a little long today, isn’t it?”

“Sorry,” Chelsea said. “It’s my fault.”

“Yeah,” Janet whispered. “Let’s tell her you have a date with Mr. Chairman of the Board and watch her have a hissy fit.”

As they left the room, they shared a conspiratorial glance and smothered their giggles.

It was nearly closing time when Janet carried a load of books from the back room. Just as she came around the corner, Stephen was moving from behind the counter.

“Hi, there,” she said. “I’d started to think you weren’t going to make it.”

“Had a busy day,” he said, motioning to the heavy-looking shopping bag sagging from his grip. “I didn’t think anybody was here, so I was just looking for a pencil to leave you a note.” He glanced around the empty room. “You alone?”

“Except for Miss Austin.” She pointed to the bag. “Looks like you’ve got a load there.”

Before he could answer, the door to Amanda Austin’s office opened and she stepped out. She glanced from Janet to Stephen.

“Miss Austin,” Janet said. “This is Stephen Prescott.”

The older woman sniffed slightly as if she resented the intrusion of this strange man into her domain.

“Stephen’s a writer,” Janet explained. “He’s working on a historical novel and is using
Heather Down
for inspiration.”

Stephen took a step in her direction. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said. “I hope not to wear out my welcome, but I plan to come in and do some research. Janet tells me the library has lots of material.”

“That’s what libraries are for,” Amanda Austin snapped before whipping around and disappearing back behind her office door.

“Look, I don’t think this is a very good time,” Stephen said. “Can I apply for a card later?”

“Sure,” Janet said. “No hurry. When I get the time I’ll look through the research section and see what I can find and have it when you’re ready.” She glanced toward the closed door. “And don’t let her scare you off. She’s really not so bad.”

He waved as he turned and headed out the door.

“Not so bad, my foot,” Janet muttered to herself and dumped the load of books on the counter. “She’s more than a witch—more like something that rhymes with it.”

On the drive home, Janet wondered about Cousin Etienne and if Ian Newkirk had found out anything. Maybe she’d call up to see if there was any news.

Later she settled in with a cup of tea and reached for the telephone.

“Newkirk residence.” The voice was soft and slightly pitched.

“Mrs. N,” she said. “It’s Janet Lancaster.”