Not Even for Love (13 page)

He listened while he stared at Jordan, where she stood im-mobile at the window. “That sounds great. Where should I meet you?… All right…an hour is fine…Yes. See you then.”

Long after Helmut had broken the connection, Reeves held the telephone to his ear, piercing Jordan with his implacable stare. Then he juggled the receiver from one hand to the other and replaced it.

He leaned down and scooped her jacket from the floor, then stood up and went to the door. He stood there with one hand on his hip, the other extended, holding her jacket toward her.

She took the less-than-subtle hint. With false bravado, she lifted her chin and stalked toward him. When she was within a few feet of the door, he threw the jacket toward her so forcefully that her hands had to come up quickly and grasp it.

“Your fiancé,” he said slurringly, “wants to go hiking on the mountain today. I suggest that you scuttle home like a good little girl and await his call, which will come in about twenty minutes. Always a true gentleman, he is allowing you an extra few minutes of sleep.”

The mockery in his voice was wounding, and reflexively, she flinched under it. He wasn’t finished yet.

“I’ll see you in about an hour. We’re to converge here on the porch of the hotel.” She walked past him. When her hand was on the door knob, he added, “Remember to sound sleepy and surprised when he calls.”

She shot him a withering look and then flung the door open. She almost made it into the hall before he grabbed her elbow and swung her around. “As for waking me up, you beat a cup of coffee all to hell, Jordan.” The scathing insult dripped with disdain. Before she could respond to it, he shoved her through the door and slammed it behind her.

She didn’t waste any time returning home. The obliging concierge was busy with a guest who was checking out, so he didn’t see her as she skirted past his desk and out of the hotel.

Breathless and humiliated, she reached home just as the telephone started ringing. Reeves’s words came back to haunt her as she picked up the phone and answered brightly, “Good morning.”

“Darling, are you up and about?” Helmut asked.

It gave her a sense of relief and salved her conscience to answer truthfully rather than to lie to him. “Yes, I’ve been up for a long while. Bill called this morning,” she added.

“I have an idea,” Helmut said, and invited her on the hiking expedition.

“That sounds great,” she enthused.

“That’s exactly what Reeves said.”

Oh, God. Had it been? Yes. He had said those exact words.

“Can you be ready by nine?” Helmut asked. “I told Reeves we would all meet at the Europa. Do you mind too terribly going there alone?”

In light of the fact that she had already walked through the gray shadows of predawn to the hotel, she almost succumbed to the hysterical laughter she felt building in her chest. “No, not at all,” she answered with amazing calm.

“I’ll see you then, darling.” He hung up with his usual abruptness.

Mechanically, she dressed. She kept on the jeans she was already wearing, but tucked them into the hiking boots she had purchased soon after coming to Lucerne. Hiking in the foothills was a popular pastime.

She went into the bathroom and whipped the ski sweater over her head. Her breasts were chafed in spots where Reeves’s whisker stubble had abraded her. At seeing them she tried to conjure up angry resentment. Instead, to her shame, her insides melted and liquified at the recollection of his kisses. Actually she thrilled to this raw evidence of his masculine aggression.

Her face bore further traces of his lovemaking. Her lips had that full, pouting, well-kissed look. What small amount of makeup she had applied to her eyes earlier had been smudged by their turbulent kisses. Hastily she cleaned her face and began again.

When she was done, she swept her hair into a ponytail. Determinedly she put on a bra, a shirt with a button-down collar, and a V-necked navy-blue sweater. Nothing about her attire connoted femininity. That was paramount in her choice of wardrobe.

Since the day promised to be clear and warm, she left her fur parka behind and took a flannel-lined khaki poplin jacket. After stuffing some grooming articles in a backpack, she was ready.

Traffic had picked up on the streets now as she walked to the hotel. Helmut and Reeves were waiting for her on the porch, sitting in the comfortable chairs and sipping coffee.

Warily her eyes sifted over Reeves as Helmut embraced her with conditioned familiarity. She mumbled a good morning and skittishly stepped away from him.

“You’re angry with me.” Helmut’s unexpected sentence wasn’t a question.

“What?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Our engagement. The secret is out, my darling. It’s in newspapers all over the Continent, maybe America, too. I’m sorry. Apparently one of my guests couldn’t keep a secret.” He took her hand conciliatorily.

She risked looking at Reeves, but he was engrossed in cleaning one of his lenses with more thoroughness than it warranted. “I—”

“I hope you aren’t too angry,” Helmut interrupted her. “For myself, I’m delighted that the world knows you belong to me.”

His chauvinistic declaration of possession rankled, but she didn’t want to cause a scene with Reeves sitting right there, so she said, “Well, anyway, the damage is done.”

Helmut turned her hand over and kissed the palm. When he straightened he asked, “Would you like some breakfast, my dear? You have plenty of time. The hotel’s kitchen is packing us a picnic lunch.”

“Just some chocolate and a croissant, please,” she said as she stowed her backpack in the chair next to Reeves and settled herself in another.

While she nibbled at her breakfast, the two men ignored her and debated the pros and cons of OPEC’s latest oil price increase. She took the unguarded opportunity to look at Reeves. He was wearing a pair of lederhosen. Over the gray suede shorts, he had on a white cable-knit sweater. He even wore dark green knee socks that matched the leather trim on the shorts and brown suede hiking boots with red laces. A bright yellow wind breaker lay across his camera case. He was ruggedly handsome. The morning breeze off the lake stirred the dark hair with its russet highlights shining in the sunlight. He squinted against the shimmering water of the lake and his eyes were screened by thick, curled lashes.

Absently he tugged on his earlobe as he listened carefully to what Helmut was saying. It came to her quite unexpectedly then that she loved him.

It wasn’t possible, of course. Men as vital and attractive as Reeves existed only in the movies. They didn’t stumble into the lives of shopkeepers. But he had. Only he hadn’t stumbled. He had been thrust into her life with the impetus of a thunderstorm. She realized now as she continued watching him that she had loved him from the first moment she had seen him. Otherwise she couldn’t have done what she had that night.

Sleeping with him was no casual thing for her. She had done it out of an emotion she now recognized as love. Had Helmut not called this morning, she might very well be in Reeves’s bed this minute.

But for Reeves it was different. He was motivated by no such emotion. He found her attractive, yes. And he wanted to make love to her, yes. But when he left Lucerne for his next project, she would soon be replaced by another woman in another town, another country, another continent.

Jordan wasn’t disillusioned. Balloons, beautiful as they were, burst easily. Sand castles were swept away with the tide. Reeves would leave her and then where would she be? Without Helmut, for she must tell him soon that she wouldn’t marry him. Without a job. Bill, as much as he liked her, would look after his own security in Mr. Bauerman’s favor.

Without Reeves.

Hot, prickly tears stung her eyes and she turned her head toward the lake, where the bright sunlight reflecting on the water would provide an excuse for her streaming eyes should anyone notice them. She couldn’t let Reeves know. Steeling herself against him would be difficult if not impossible, but she must do it. He couldn’t ever guess how she felt. In reminiscence, he could tell his buddies that she had been attractive, that she had been “easy,” but he would never be able to tell them that she had been a fool.

She jumped guiltily when Helmut spoke her name. “Are you finished?” he asked, indicating the now cold roll and chocolate.

“Y … yes. I guess I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Then let’s be off.” Helmut picked up the basket that one of the hotel’s staff had brought out to him and led them down the steep steps toward the waiting limousine.

“Jordan, you haven’t commented on Reeves’s costume. He looks like one of us natives, doesn’t he?” Helmut asked.

She looked at Reeves as if noticing him for the first time. “Yes, he does,” she said brightly.

Reeves grinned. “I went shopping yesterday and came away with these.” He indicated the lederhosen. “I only hope my knees don’t get cold.” His smile was so boyish that Jordan’s heart swelled and she forgot the resolution she had so recently made.

She looked down at the long, lean legs with their rock-hard muscles. His knees were sprinkled with dark, springy hair. She remembered kissing them on that rain-drenched night they had spent together. She had been kneeling beside him, leaning over. Her hair had swept across his thighs. He had caught the silky skein in his hand and told her how good it felt against his skin. Her cheek had rested on his thigh.

Unbearable heat bathed her body as she raised her eyes to Reeves’s face. He must have been remembering the same incident, for his eyes fairly smoldered with green fire. The hostility of that morning dissolved and they smiled at each other with recollection of a shared secret.

Then, as Reeves watched, the radiant glow in Jordan’s eyes dimmed. Her smile diminished to a sad grimace, then vanished altogether. She turned away quickly.

His camera case, her backpack, and the picnic basket were placed in the trunk of the car and they got into the back seat. Henri let them out at a convenient spot where there was a gradual grassy incline into the foothills. “It’s not too arduous,” Helmut said, smiling genially.

Indeed it wasn’t, even loaded down as they were with their cargo. Families with small children trooped up the hill, enjoying the Sunday outing. Sweethearts, more interested in each other than in vigorous exercise, strolled with arms around each other’s waists up the hill. A group of adolescent boys was playing with a soccer ball. One would kick it up the incline several yards. When it rolled back down, another would kick it, and so on. It looked like an exhausting effort and Helmut said as much.

They climbed, resting periodically, for about two hours until they reached a plateau at the timberline and decided that it was an ideal place to spread their lunch. Helmut had brought a blanket from the trunk of his car and now spread it out on the grass that was already losing some of its verdure due to the lateness of the season.

Jordan eased off her backpack and set it on the ground. Reeves deposited his camera case nearby after first taking out the Nikon. He plopped down on the blanket, but not in a relaxing posture. Instead he began snapping pictures of Jordan and Helmut with the mountain scenery in the background.

They rested for a while, chatting and teasing each other about their lack of physical prowess and stamina, before Jordan began unloading the picnic basket. She was swatting away two pairs of impatient hands that pilfered the dishes as soon as she uncovered them when two young men raced up toward them. They were both dressed in jogging shorts and tank tops. They were wearing hiking boots, which seemed incongruous to their runner’s garb.

One of them heaved a deep breath and asked Helmut in German, “Are you Mr. Eckherdt?”

Helmut sat up from his half-reclining position and answered affirmatively. The young man reached into the waistband of his shorts and extracted an envelope that was now somewhat soggy with healthy perspiration.

At Helmut’s quizzical expression the young man rushed to explain. “Your chauffeur gave me this to bring to you. I’m a marathon runner in training. When he saw I was going to run up here, he asked me to find you and give you this message.” He looked toward his companion, who nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Helmut said, and dug in the pocket of his pants. As he shook hands with the young men, he pressed a bank note into each of their palms.

“
Danke schön
,” they chorused before starting off again.

Helmut opened the envelope and read the brief message. He cursed under his breath. “Forgive me, both of you, but I must return to town. One of our company airplanes is missing somewhere over Canada. I must be on hand when word comes in.”

“Of course,” Jordan said, and hastily began placing the food back into the basket.

Helmut grabbed both her hands and stayed them. “No, Jordan. I feel badly enough as it is. I won’t spoil your day, too. You and Reeves stay and enjoy the picnic.”

“But, Helmut—” She started to object.

“There’s nothing either of you can do, darling. Nor can I, really. But I must be there in case the worst conjecture proves to be correct.”

“But—”

“I insist. Reeves, enjoy the day. I wish I didn’t have to desert you this way. Damn.”

“Don’t apologize, Helmut. I only hope that your airplane and its crew are found to be safe.”

“As do I,” Jordan murmured.

Helmut kissed her softly on the mouth and said, “I’ll try to call you later this evening, darling, if I can.”

“I’ll see that the basket is returned to the Europa and that Jordan gets home,” Reeves said.

“Thank you, my friend.” Helmut, thinking of business now, turned and jogged down the hill, then disappeared behind some towering pines.

Jordan stared after the retreating figure, aware that she was once again alone with Reeves on what should be an idyllic outing. Reeves was aware of their isolation, too. The tension between them was palpable. She was afraid to meet his eyes, not able to guess what his mood might be. He ended the suspense.

“Well, get busy, woman. I’m starving,” he said, and flipped back the cover of the basket again.

“Haven’t you heard of women’s liberation?” she snapped.