Not Quite an Angel (6 page)

“I've kept a dream diary for years now. I'm sure you do as well, don't you, Sameh?” Delilah was still beautiful, with the proud, slightly blurred facial lines and honest wrinkles of a woman who'd stubbornly refused cosmetic surgery in a city and an industry where youth and beauty were everything.

“I pay attention to my dreams, certainly.” Dream study was a required course in Sameh's time. All awareness students had a simple device that clipped to their pillows, recorded their dreams and helped with their interpretation.

Delilah would be fascinated by that. Sameh decided that this was the right moment to begin telling her employer where she was really from and what she was doing in the twentieth century working as her secretary. She was trying to figure out how best to begin when Violet Temple knocked and then bustled into the room.

“Tyrone's waiting for you in the dining room, Delilah. I'll have lunch ready in fifteen minutes.” She spoke to Delilah as if Sameh wasn't there.

Sameh felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she erected an invisible shield around herself and moved a few feet away from the other woman's field. From the first moment she'd met Violet, she'd known that the older woman disliked her. Actually it went further than dislike; Sameh knew that, given an opportunity, Violet would actually harm her. It was the first time she'd ever encountered that type
of hatred, and worst of all, Sameh had no idea why Violet felt the way she did.

Delilah, too, was well aware of Violet's antagonism. Sameh knew that Violet told lies about her to Delilah, that she'd done her best to make Delilah distrust her. When the other woman shot Sameh a nasty look before she hurried out again, Delilah shook her head and rolled her eyes at her employee's rudeness. “We'll just have to give her some time, Sameh. Violet's still feeling a bit jealous because you and I hit it off so well. She'll get over it, I'm sure. We'll both just send her loving thoughts.”

Sameh had a lot of faith in love, but she didn't think it was going to be the ticket in this particular case. She didn't say so, though.

Delilah patted Sameh's arm. “By the way, how did your dinner go Saturday night?” Sameh had of course told Delilah about Bernie and Adam's visit. Delilah knew both men, and she'd been intrigued by Bernie's invitation.

“It was a wonderful dinner. Bernie's wife, Frances, is warm and interesting. She's an artist—she paints very colorful, dramatic canvases.”

“Do they have children?” A shadow crossed Delilah's eyes and was gone again. When Maggie died, Delilah's fond dreams of grandchildren had perished as well. Delilah moved to a mirrored dressing table and swiftly began repairing her makeup as they talked. The large, sunny, multipurpose office had been designed by Delilah and contained yoga mats, portable computer, juice bar and the elaborate makeup table.

“Two kids, Kate and Corey.” Sameh described the children, going into detail about Corey's condition.

Delilah's hands became still and her eyes filled with tears. “Such a difficult little body to choose to live in,” she remarked softly.

Sameh nodded heartfelt agreement. More than ever before, she wished she had mastered the healing arts; if she had, she might be able to help Corey, perhaps even to cure him. She'd pondered the situation all day Sunday, wondering if there were ways in which she could help the little boy, worrying because she didn't think she had the expertise or the courage to do much for him.

“And were there other guests?”

Sameh felt the heat rise to her face. “Only one. Bernie's partner, Adam Hawkins.”

“Ahh.” Delilah gave Sameh a knowing look in the mirror. “I know Mr. Hawkins quite well. Handsome devil, isn't he? Their company's done some security work for me, and Adam Hawkins attracts women like honey draws flies.” She snapped her mascara shut and picked up an eyeliner pencil. “Is he the one who drove you home Saturday night in that flashy little red sports car?” Before Sameh could answer, Delilah whipped around and held up a restraining hand. “Sorry, my dear. Of course you don't have to answer that.” She turned again to the mirror. “I'm not prying into your private life. It's just that I was reading late and happened to glance out the window.”

Sameh grinned. In so many ways, Delilah reminded her of Great-Grandmother Kendra. Both of them were the most intelligent of women, and both were adorably clumsy when it came to snooping. “I kissed him good-night.” She'd already thought-read Delilah's knowledge of that occurrence.

It was Delilah's turn to grin, albeit a trifle shamefacedly. “I thought perhaps you might have. I'd have been sorely tempted to do the same in your shoes.”

“He's invited me to dinner tonight.” Sameh had mixed feelings about keeping the appointment—no, date. They still called them dates in the nineties, she reminded herself. It
was proving difficult to keep up with all the current terminology, despite the programming she'd had.

It was even more difficult to remain objective when she was with Adam Hawkins, despite his shocking lack of development in some areas. She remembered the gentle kiss she'd impetuously given him. It had stirred the strangest reactions in her. Even now, warmth rushed through her as she remembered the feel of her lips on his.

“A dinner date,” Delilah crowed. “What fun! Have you decided what to wear? Did he say where he was taking you?” She could shift in an instant from being a metaphysical expert to a woman with nothing but clothes on her mind. “If you need to borrow a dress, just say the word. I'm sure I'd have something that would look wonderful on you—in fact, I can see you in that little blue number I bought for that dismal party last month.”

“Thank you.” Delilah paid her a generous salary, but so far Sameh hadn't had any need to shop for fancy clothing. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to borrow a dress.”

Delilah fluffed her gleaming copper hair and gave herself one last critical stare. “We'll go try on possibilities right after luncheon.” She sprayed a cloud of her favorite scent over herself, wrapped a long lilac chiffon skirt around her yellow leotard, added a matching loose blouse, and headed for the door with Sameh following close behind.

“You need friends your own age, Sameh. I'm delighted you've met some.” She stopped, and Sameh bumped into her. Delilah grinned. She seemed to find Sameh's clumsiness endearing. “Remember, Sameh, we attract people into our lives for very definite reasons. It's usually because they represent something we need to learn.”

She started off again in the direction of the dining room, skirt billowing and floating around her still shapely legs. She paused again a moment later, hand on the stained-glass door.
“Mr. Hawkins strikes me as a man who would give fascinating lessons.” She turned and winked at Sameh. “Enjoy, but just don't get hurt in the process, will you? I'm very fond of you, my dear.” With that, she tilted her head back at an imperial angle and swept into the dining room, making an entrance worthy of Delilah McDonell, Oscar-winning actress, bestselling writer, lecturer extraordinaire and femme fatale.

Besides Sameh, she had an appreciative audience of only one. Tyrone Wallace sat at the head of the long oak table, and he rose to his feet when Delilah entered, taking her hand in his and then pressing his lips to her fingers in a courtly gesture.

His thick shock of well-cut white hair set off his deeply bronzed face with its aristocratic nose and deep-set dark eyes. He had a neatly trimmed mustache, and a habit of smoothing it down with his fingers, bringing deliberate attention to his full lips. His distinguished looks and perfect diction had won him minor roles in movies, usually as a bank manager, but Sameh was aware that his acting talent hadn't matched his appearance. He hadn't acted for some years—except with Delilah.

“Lilah, you look stunning, as usual,” he purred, holding out a chair so she could sit down and allowing his hand to trail across her shoulders and neck in a provocative gesture,

Delilah looked up at him with adoration plain on her face. Some years older than Tyrone, she made no secret of her devotion to him. Sameh knew he'd lived with Delilah for four years now, accepting the gifts she showered on him with magnanimous grace. Outsiders might think Tyrone dependent on Delilah, but Sameh understood all too well that it was the other way around.

She knew that Tyrone's show of love for her employer was just that—show. She almost felt as if she should be the
one offering Delilah romantic advice. She hoped at least that Tyrone wouldn't break her employer's heart.

Sameh sat in her accustomed place at the far side of the table, and Tyrone nodded to her as he took his seat again, his smile warm and his eyes cold. They'd come to an understanding the first week she'd worked for Delilah.

He'd put his hand on Sameh's thigh at the dinner table one evening, stroking her under cover of the tablecloth. Already aware of Delilah's blind devotion to Tyrone, Sameh couldn't bring herself to create the scene Tyrone's actions deserved. Instead she'd moved his hand, aimed a bolt that gave him a cramp in his leg and told him later that if he ever tried anything like that again, she'd be forced to tell Delilah.

Since then, he'd been carefully cordial to her when Delilah was present, but Sameh understood well that Tyrone's massive ego made him think he was irresistible, and that because she'd rejected him, he despised her.

On the surface, Tyrone was a charming man—but in his colors Sameh had no trouble detecting a very different person from the one he chose to expose to the world. She only wished she could read more of his innermost thoughts, but her own negative feelings for the man seemed to block thought reading most of the time with him. She got enough bits and scraps, however, to make her avoid him whenever possible.

“Is Violet coming?” Delilah looked at her watch. “She was the one who said luncheon was ready.” Delilah viewed her employees as friends. She'd made it plain from the first day that she expected Sameh to share lunch with her and Tyrone and Violet on weekdays. Breakfast and dinner were often eaten at different times, in different places, but these luncheons were something of a ritual for Delilah, an attempt to create the family she didn't have.

After the first few days, Sameh found herself wishing that she could just make herself a sandwich and eat it in the kitchen. The clouds of conflicting energies that swirled around the dining table each noon didn't exactly make for easy digestion, and today was no exception.

“What have you been doing all morning, Ty?” Delilah gave him her full attention.

“I was looking at cars—there's a new Cadillac out that's a real beauty.” Tyrone buttered a bun and bit off half of it. “You really should take one out for a spin, Lilah. It's a car that would suit you.”

Delilah laughed. “We already have four cars sitting in the garage, Ty. We can only use one at a time, and since I hate driving, that's more than one for each of us.”

Tyrone nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I was thinking perhaps we should trade in the Lincoln.”

“The Lincoln? But it's hardly six months old.” There was a faint note of exasperation in Delilah's tone. “It seems so materialistic, so unnecessary, changing cars every few months this way.”

“You're right, it's a foolish idea. It's a weakness in me, this passion for cars.” Tyrone put his bun down and sat back in his chair, fixing his gaze on a painting on the far wall. “I suppose it goes back to when I was a boy,” he mused. “My poor father never owned a car, did I ever tell you that, Lilah?” He gave a deprecating laugh. “He hardly had money to feed us, much less buy a car.”

Sameh knew he was lying. She had a vivid mental picture of Tyrone, growing up in a nice, middle-class neighborhood somewhere in Washington state. She studied him, not for the first time amazed and shocked at his ability to mislead Delilah.

“Being dirt poor's tough. A person never really gets over it,” Violet said in her little-girl voice as she set a tray of
sandwiches down and slid into her chair, giving Delilah an ingratiating smile and, as usual, ignoring Sameh.

Violet was at least telling the truth, Sameh concluded, getting an unexpected glimpse into a rush of ugly memories that flooded into the other woman's mind. She'd been poor, all right. She'd also been abused, both physically and sexually. Sameh shuddered as snippets of the woman's past unrolled before her inner eye. She could see Violet's father, drinking away the family's money, lashing out viciously at his wife and laughing as he hurt his daughter.

Childhoods like Violet's should never happen—and wouldn't a hundred years or so after the millenium, Sameh reminded herself. That didn't erase what Violet had already endured, however. A wave of compassion rolled over Sameh, and she ventured a tentative smile in Violet's direction, but the skinny woman's eyes filled with burning animosity when she caught Sameh's glance.

“Well, I guess I was lucky,” Delilah remarked. “We weren't rich, but Mom and Dad were able to give me everything I needed and a lot that I just wanted. I'm afraid I was a spoiled child. How about you, Sameh? What was your childhood like?”

For a moment, Sameh let herself remember the peaceful agrofarm and the enchanted years of her childhood. By the time she was born, children were considered a rare and treasured gift, to be nurtured and loved without restraint by everyone. “I was most fortunate. I had a wonderful growing-up time,” she responded. There wasn't any common ground to compare with the others, so she didn't elaborate.

Violet sniffed. “Some are born with a silver spoon, and some are born to shine it,” she said with sanctimonious venom.

“That's very true,” Tyrone added with a heartfelt sigh.
“I remember wishing I had even a bicycle when I was a boy.”

By the time lunch was over, Delilah was urging Tyrone to buy the new Cadillac. It was a scene that had been repeated in various guises during the weeks Sameh had lived there. It hadn't taken her long to realize that Delilah, successful and outwardly confident, was actually a lonely and insecure woman, emotionally dependent on Tyrone, who took full advantage of both Delilah's generous nature and her healthy bank accounts.