Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) (30 page)

“You found me out. I moonlight as a pizza delivery man and the people who called the order in weren’t home, so here.” He held the pizza aloft.

Joshua made his way to the tiny kitchen table and placed the large box down. Shaking the sting from his fingers, he turned to the girl who was opening the box eagerly. “You must be Jocelyn.”

“Yes.”

“I’m Joshua MacKenzie. Most people call me Mac.”

“My mother calls you Joshua.”

“Your mother isn’t like most people,” he said with a grin.

“Is that a criticism?” Johanna asked.

“That is an observation. Hungry?”

“The word starving comes more to mind.” She looked around. “Plates?”

“Right over here.” He led the way to an overhead cabinet and took out three plates, two small, one large. None matching. “Like I said, Elton doesn’t care much for details.”

She glanced at the sparse, mismatched furniture in the open area. “So I see.”

“I thought this might do until you found something better.”

Johanna shook her head as she pulled the pizza pieces apart. A streamer of mozzarella cheese followed the piece she gave Joshua.

“This apartment is terrific, Joshua. I’m more than grateful.”

Jocelyn mumbled something into her piece as she chewed.

Johanna gave her a sharp look. “So is Jocelyn.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he laughed.

Chapter Thirty-one

Joshua checked his watch. If Bruce didn’t hurry, he was going to be late for his own show. It wouldn’t be the first time an artist had succumbed to a case of devastating nerves.

He glanced over to where Johanna was fussing over a table that held a crystal punch bowl, a collection of tiny crystal cups and appetizers from a catering service that Veronica had recommended. A cousin in the business as it turned out. But his thoughts weren’t on Veronica or the caterers. Or even on Bruce and the show any more. They all centered on Johanna. She was wearing a simple blue sheath that matched her eyes, hinted at the allure of her body and stirred feelings within him that made him wish they were alone in his apartment instead of inside the gallery, waiting for a crowd of people to arrive.

Because all the details pertaining to the show and the anticipated patrons had been taken care of hours ago, Joshua allowed himself the luxury of just drinking in her presence for a few moments. He crossed the highly polished oak floor and placed his hand over hers.

“You fuss anymore over that setting and you’ll be worn out before anyone shows up to use it. Hey.” He glanced down at their joined hands in surprise. “Your hands are like ice, Johanna.”

She turned and offered him a quick, nervous smile. “I know.”

“Nervous?” He couldn’t believe it.

She nodded. “Maybe just a little.”

“Why? This is just a little show in a tiny gallery tucked in between a foreign bookstore and a French restaurant that hasn’t replaced its tablecloths in three years. It’s really no big deal. You’ve been photographed going to premiers in Paris and Rome, dancing with celebrities from all four corners of the world at those parties Harry was so fond of taking you to.”

Johanna raised a brow in surprise. He was rather well-informed on the details of her past life. “What makes you think I wasn’t nervous then?”

Her response intrigued him. “Were you?”

“I never felt really comfortable there. I always thought of myself as Johanna Lindsey from Sunrise Falls, Connecticut.”

He was tempted to push a curl from her cheek, but didn’t. It would only make him want to touch her even more. “Apparently no one else did.”

“How would you know?” Her tension was dissipating, as it always had whenever she talked to Joshua. He had that sort of calming effect on her and she blessed him for it now.

“I followed your life in photographic spreads, magazine stories, lines in gossip columns in the leading newspapers. Every one I could get my hands on.”

“What, no grocery store tabloids?” She grinned, wondering if he was teasing her.

“I wanted news, Johanna, not trash.”

He was serious. Her smile faded and the lines about her mouth tightened slightly. It would have made a difference in her life, knowing he cared what happened to her. Knowing there was someone from the past she could touch base with. “If you were that curious, why didn’t you answer my letters, Joshua? Why didn’t you ever write?”

And say what? That I missed you more than I thought possible? That I wanted you to leave that son-of-a-bitch and come live with me?

It had taken Joshua a long time to work her out of his system. Now, looking down into her face, it was as if that time had never been, as if he had never succeeded, not even for a moment. He had only fooled himself, masked his need so effectively from himself that he thought he had succeeded. But only thought. Writing to her would have prolonged the pain, the loss.

He shrugged. “I’m not much on letter writing, Johanna. One of my many faults.”

She laughed just as the bell on the door sounded. Bruce came in, moving disjointedly with long, looping strides. Johanna thought that he looked as if his knees wouldn’t support him. He was wearing a new shirt, just as Joshua had requested. It was a deep purple that made both of them wince a little.

“Artistic license,” Johanna whispered.

“Should be revoked,” Joshua commented. Then he glanced toward the rear of the gallery and its private stairway. “Want to look in on Jocelyn one last time before the fun starts?”

Jocelyn was safely tucked away in the apartment that Joshua maintained above the gallery. Mary had been unavailable for the evening and Joshua had been quick to ease Johanna’s concern about leaving Jocelyn alone at night. His apartment was only a shout away from the gallery, he told her. That had won her over and pleased Jocelyn as well. She was too old for something so demeaning as a “babysitter” to look after her.

Johanna was tempted, but refrained from going upstairs. Jocelyn wanted desperately to savor a measure of independence. Having a mother look in on her every ten minutes didn’t mesh with that desire. Johanna shook her head. “I left her watching her favorite movie, surrounded with three kinds of junk food. She’ll be fine.”

“Then I’d better see to our vividly attired artist.” He began to cross to Bruce who was crushing out a cigarette with one hand as he felt his pocket for his pack with the other.

“Joshua.”

She sounded so serious that for just a moment he hoped she would say something he wanted to hear.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Her smile hit him like a fist to his stomach. Fine way for a grown man to react, he upbraided himself. It didn’t ease the pain. Or the want. “Nothing to thank me for.”

“You don’t even know why.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He winked and held her hand a little too long. He could only mask his intensity just so far.

He always made her feel so good, she thought, so safe, so secure. Why hadn’t she come here sooner? She could have spared herself so much pain. She could have resumed her career and —

No, there was no use in feeling regrets for what should have been. It hadn’t been then, but it could be. She was lucky to be here at the gallery now.

The front door bell sent a melodic chime through the gallery, heralding the first wave of patrons.

“Time to be professional,” Joshua said, letting go of her hand.

She let go of his reluctantly. Holding it had made her feel more confident, gave her strength. She had forgotten how much she had depended on Joshua’s friendship to see her through back in the old days.

“See if you can keep Bruce propped up for at least part of the evening, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

She watched Joshua walk over to the door and greet a party of four people with the warmth that meant they were old friends or at least patrons of long standing. With her eye for fashion, she assessed the outfit that Joshua was wearing. Neatly pressed gray slacks, a blue shirt opened at the throat and a blue blazer. Black loafers finished the outfit. Harry would have never dressed so casually at a function. He believed in appearances. Joshua, she thought, believed in substance.

She realized how much she had missed the world of art. How much she had missed Joshua and his friendship.

“Got a cigarette?”

She turned to look up into Bruce’s eyes. He looked like a man who was struggling to stay inside his skin. Flight looked like a very viable option.

“No, how about an hors d’oeuvre?”

“Only if I can smoke it.”

“I like your paintings,” she said easily.

Bruce forgot how uncomfortable the new shirt felt. “You do?”

Easily, Johanna linked her arm through Bruce’s and led him over to one of the paintings that was prominently displayed. “Oh yes. Now this one over here, I’m afraid I have to admit, has me a little confused. Maybe you could explain it to me.” Bruce walked off with her like a mouse following the Pied Piper.

Johanna smiled to herself. Nothing set an artist at ease as much as talking about his own work. She ought to know.

Joshua watched Johanna out of the corner of his eye as he spoke amiably to the people milling around the gallery. A smile of admiration was on his lips. He wondered if she knew just how charming she was, or how stunning. The gallery was quickly filling with an impressive crowd of people who had come by invitation only. Mrs. Regis’s friends, socialites and people of prominence whom he had come to know. There were women wearing jewels that could have bought and sold the entire gallery with change to spare. None could compare to the simple elegance that Johanna possessed. She would have radiated it had she entered the gallery barefoot, wearing rags.

No doubt about it, Joshua thought as someone tapped his shoulder. He had it bad. And this time, he intended on doing something about it.

She took to it like a duck to water. It wasn’t until that moment, as she stood talking to the Peruvian couple who had admired the almost savage pathos in Bruce’s New York at Sunrise, in which he depicted a child of the streets staring with rounded eyes at the opulence of the city’s skyscrapers as they stretched upward before him that, she realized just how much she missed all this. Looking at the painting, she could almost feel the hunger, the hopelessness depicted in the old eyes set in a young face. It was with feeling and verve that she praised Bruce’s talents and discreetly encouraged the couple to purchase the painting now, while they still could.

“He’s going to be an important artist,” she assured them.

It was enough. They went to find Joshua to make arrangements for its sale.

“I should have answered one of your letters a long time ago and offered you a job then,” Joshua said to her two hours later. “You’re a regular whirlwind.” Of the thirty paintings on display, twenty-one had been sold and another three had options on them. “I thought Califomians were supposed to be laid-back.”

She grinned. “I’ve always been a misplaced New Yorker at heart, I guess. This was fun.”

And it was. It was the first such party that she had enjoyed in she couldn’t remember how long.

“Hey, you were right,” Bruce declared, carrying over a bottle of champagne and three glasses. “They really liked them.”

Johanna saw the relief in the man’s eyes. Pride was a horrible thing to put on the line. She had experience in that.

Joshua took two of the glasses and handed one to Johanna. He waited for Bruce to pour. “I told you you were good.”

“I knew I was good and you knew I was good, but they didn’t.” He gestured out toward the front of the gallery. The large bay window looked out on the darkened streets and the populace that lived just beyond.

“Apparently,” Johanna said, taking a sip, her eyes on his face, “now they do.”

Bruce beamed at her, literally beamed. “I like your lady,” he told Joshua, raising his glass high to toast Johanna.

The smile on Johanna’s lips tightened. The quick, minute movement was not lost on Joshua. He didn’t dwell on the hurt.

“Johanna is her own lady.” Joshua raised his glass to her as well. “A shining free spirit whom I had the good fortune of going to school with.”

“No shi—“ Bruce coughed. “No foolin’?”

Johanna nearly choked on her champagne trying to stifle her laughter. It had been a long time since anyone tried to amend their language on her account. Harry’s crowd spoke in only expletives, using them to fill in any temporary verbal void that came their way. “No, no fooling,” she answered.

“Well,” Joshua looked at his watch, “1 think we should call it a night.”

“Hey, I feel like really celebrating.” With the show finally over, Bruce had gotten his second wind, a far more invigorating wind than the one he had when he first walked in the door tonight. “How about going out and painting the town?”

Joshua put his arm around Johanna’s shoulders. “Nope. I’m afraid you have to count me out this time, Bruce. Some of us get up early to work.”

“And I have a daughter to bring home,” Johanna suddenly remembered. “Do you mind?” she asked Joshua as she started toward the back of the gallery.

“I’ll go with you.” He looked over his shoulder at the artist. “Bruce, just pull the door shut when you leave. The lock’s already set.”

Bruce merely nodded, tucking an unopened bottle of champagne under his arm. He stuffed a few remaining hors d’oeuvres into his pocket before he made his way to the front door.

Jocelyn had fallen asleep on the couch.
 

“I’ll drive you two home,” Joshua offered.

“It’s only three blocks.” She protested only for form’s sake, then reminded herself that this was Joshua and no formality was necessary.

He nodded toward Jocelyn. “She doesn’t look up to walking. And you must be exhausted.”

He was right, as usual. “Yes, I am, just a little. But happy. Very, very happy.”

Like a man on a very restricted diet, he allowed himself only one touch as he slid the back of his knuckles along her cheek. He saw a slight flicker in her eyes that he thought she was unaware of. Fear. He tightened his control, his need to ask why, why she should be afraid of him. “I’m glad. You deserve to be.”

Johanna shut off the television set. “We’d better get her home,” she murmured.