Season of Secrets (10 page)

“I never realized what the quarrel was about. I just knew things weren't right between you. Was that why she wanted me to stay that summer?”

He met her gaze, startled. “I don't know. I never thought of that.”

“She may have thought I'd be a distraction. Or a buffer.” Her face clouded with sorrow. “I wish I'd been able to give her what she wanted.”

He tightened his grip, wanting to reassure her. “That wasn't your job. You were just a kid. It was my job.” His throat tightened with the words he didn't want to say. “I hated the quarrels, so I stayed away from the house more than I had to.”

“Marc, don't.” She turned toward him, violet eyes bright with unshed tears. “You can't blame yourself.”

“If I had been here, it wouldn't have happened.” He said out loud the words that had festered in his soul for ten years. “I know that, Dinah. I failed her.”

“No. No, you didn't.” In her eagerness to comfort him, she took his hand between both of hers. It seemed he could feel all that was good and true in Dinah
through the pressure of her fingers. “That's survivor guilt. All of us have felt that, but it's not true.”

“Not for you. But it is for me.”

A tear spilled over onto her cheek and glistened there. He touched it to wipe it away. Somehow it seemed very important that Dinah not cry over him.

Her skin was warm and smooth against his fingertips, and her eyes shone with caring. For him. All that warmth and caring and honesty that was Dinah drew him toward her until it took all his strength not to pull her against him and cover her soft lips with his.

He couldn't. He shot to his feet and covered the space to the fireplace in a few short strides. The room wasn't big enough. He needed to be farther away from her than this.

The mirror above the fireplace reflected the cozy room—the furniture Annabel had chosen, the Christmas tree that Court and Dinah had trimmed. And Dinah, sitting where he'd left her, a lost look in her eyes.

Feeling anything but a cousinly fondness for Dinah would be a recipe for disaster. A relationship between them in the shadow of Annabel's death would be enough fodder for the gossip mills to last a lifetime. Aunt Kate would die of the shame of it.

Dinah wasn't a child any longer, but she wasn't the tower of strength she'd like to think she was. He'd brought her enough grief already. He couldn't bring her any more.

A
unt Kate's Christmas tea was in full swing, the hum of conversation rivaling a swarm of bees. Dinah pinned a smile to her face and carried a fresh tray of ham-asparagus rolls to the light buffet that had been set out on the dining-room table. She'd almost persuaded Aunt Kate to use a caterer, but Alice had taken great offense at the idea of someone else preparing food to be served in this house.

Several traumatic discussions later, Dinah had accepted defeat. She had finally convinced them to let her bring in some cream puffs and a few savories from a bakery they trusted. Everything else Alice had made, with the help of a niece to do the prep work.

Dinah scanned the table to see if anything else needed replenishing. The cheese bennes were going quickly, of course. No one had the light touch Alice did with the delicate cheese and sesame wafers. She'd been begging Alice for years to let her help make them, but Alice insisted no one else could slice them to the exact thickness of a dime. She'd probably carry her secret recipe to the grave.

She switched the tray for one she had waiting on the sideboard. One good thing about being this busy—she had a reason not to go anywhere near Marc.

He'd barely spoken to her for the past few days. Ever since that night when they'd been so close, to be exact. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of those moments. He'd nearly kissed her, before he'd jumped up and practically run away.

Had he seen something in her eyes that precipitated it? That idea was too humiliating even to consider.

He'd opened up to her, showing her his pain, and she'd responded. That was all. That had to be all. He would never look at her as anything but Annabel's little cousin.

She couldn't think about that now. She had to keep smiling, keep being the perfect hostess. No one must see anything in her face when she looked at Marc.

The pleasant hum of conversation as guests eddied between the parlor and the dining room assured her that everything was going as it should. People had turned out in force this afternoon, a testament to the power the Westlake name still had in Charleston society.

Court, in a navy blazer and gray slacks, hovered next to Aunt Kate's armchair, ready to fetch anything she needed. She was introducing him to everyone, her tone calm and commanding.

“Say hello to my great-grandnephew, Courtney. Annabel's son.”

Aunt Kate's words put Court securely in his proper place in Charleston's social strata, and people re
sponded to that. She'd already overhead several invitations to Court to meet this young person or that, participate in one event or another.

As for Marc, well, people were at least being civil to Marc. Etiquette demanded that. She let herself glance at him. He was standing by the bay window, a cup of fruit punch in one hand. Phillips stood next to him, looking as relaxed as she'd seen him lately.

She began to weave her way through the crowd, offering a tray of sweets—tiny cream puffs and éclairs, Alice's rich triple chocolate brownies, pecan tassies. Phillips swerved away from Marc and stopped her, picking up two of the brownies.

“Margo's not here to chastise me, so I'm going to eat what I want.”

Dinah raised her brows. “Does she really have a sick headache?”

“Now, sugar, you know better than to ask a man to tell on his wife. Your aunt accepted her excuse.”

“My aunt would never let you know if she didn't.”

But Dinah had read behind Aunt Kate's smile. Sooner or later, Margo would regret this affront to Westlake family pride. Aunt Kate might no longer take an active role in the complex web of Charleston's social structure, but she still had power. A telephone call, a word dropped in someone's ear, and some committee appointment or invitation that Margo coveted would be inexplicably out of her reach.

“I just wanted to thank you, Dinah.” Phillips's gray eyes warmed behind his glasses. “Without you, I
probably never would have renewed my friendship with Marc, and I'd have been the poorer for it.”

“I'm not sure I had anything to do with it, but I'm glad, for both your sakes. Have you been reminiscing about your Citadel days?”

“We surely have. I tell you the truth, I'd never have gotten through those first weeks without Marc and James. The two of them dragged me bodily through more than one obstacle course. Seems a long time ago, I'm afraid. I couldn't even walk an obstacle course now.” He shook his head, smiling. “Maybe I'll get some coffee to go with this brownie.”

He headed toward the silver coffee urn on the sideboard, and she smiled after him. It was good to see that relationship mended, if nothing else could be.

“Old friends getting back together, I see.”

She turned. James stood behind her, balancing one of Aunt Kate's bone-china cups in his hand. His smooth, polished air was perfectly intact, but there'd been something a little off-key in his words, hadn't there?

“It's nice to see you, James.” She hesitated, then spoke impulsively. “Why don't you go and join them? It's not the three musketeers without you.”

His cool blue eyes studied her face for a moment before he gave a chilly smile. “What a nice child. You want everyone to shake hands and be friends.”

“I'm not a child.” Although denying it probably sounded childish. People who had been Annabel's friends would always think of her that way. Including
Marc. Something seemed to squeeze her heart. “I just think it's past time for people to move on.”

“Can you forget that easily? I can't.”

Shaking him was not an option at Aunt Kate's Christmas tea. “I'll never forget Annabel, if that's what you mean.” She kept her voice low, although no one seemed close enough to hear. “But Marc is innocent.”

“We're none of us as innocent as all that, Dinah.” His blue eyes, intent on her face, were like shiny marbles, giving away nothing of his feelings. “Are we?”

“I don't know what you mean.” Had she been guilty, with her teenage crush on her cousin's husband?

He shrugged, looking away from her as if losing interest. Or as if disappointed in her. “Some things can't be forgiven, you know. They're too deep a betrayal for that.”

“James—”

He thrust the cup and saucer into her hands. “Please make my excuses to your aunt. I'm afraid I'm due at another engagement.”

He worked his way through the crowd so quickly he might be escaping, without a single glance in Marc's direction.

Well. She deposited the cup and saucer on a side table. That was odd. Was James talking about himself? Or Marc?

Betrayal. It was an ugly word for an ugly deed. But who had been betrayed, and why?

She found herself moving through the crowd toward
Marc without having made a conscious decision to do so. She was a few steps away when he saw her.

His eyes warmed for an instant. Then, very deliberately, his expression changed to something else. Friendly but distant, as if she were a waitress descending on him with her tray of desserts.

“You're not going to offer those to me, are you? Phillips is the one with the sweet tooth.”

“And I've had my share,” Phillips said quickly. “Dinah, don't you get to sit down and enjoy the party?”

“When it's over.” She forced a smile. “Then I'll relax.” And then she'd let herself listen to what her heart was telling her.

That she was only kidding herself when she insisted she didn't have feelings for Marc. And that he saw, and knew, and was warning her off.

 

Whatever impulse had made her decide to brave King Street traffic to get some Christmas shopping done had definitely led her astray. Dinah sat at the light, drumming her fingers on the wheel as pedestrians, laden with far more packages than she'd managed to purchase, made their way across the street.

King Street was dressed in its finest for the holiday season, with lights everywhere and Christmas trees in every window. She should be enjoying this outing, instead of fretting.

Truth was, she'd thought to distract herself from her feelings about the situation with Marc. Unfortunately, she wasn't succeeding.

She should have talked to him about that odd conversation with James Harcourt. But he had made it all but impossible, managing never to be alone with her even when he and Court had stayed to help clean up after the guests had left. She'd thought about going to the house this morning, but turned coward at the thought. So she'd gone shopping instead.

The cell phone interrupted the thoughts that didn't seem to be going anywhere. She checked the number before answering. Tracey. “Hey, Tracey. What's up?”

“Not much.” But she sounded harried. “You remember that information you asked me to get for you?”

Her heart beat a little faster. Information on Jasper Carr, the elusive gardener. “Did you find anything?”

A long pause. “Listen, this information isn't going out to any unauthorized person, is it? Because that could bring me grief.”

To Marc, in other words. Naturally Tracey would feel that way. “No, it's just for me. I promise.”

“Okay, then. He doesn't seem to be at the address that's listed for him, but he's working out at Magnolia Gardens. It's a temp job, just for the Christmas season. You can probably find him there.”

“Thanks, Tracey. I appreciate the help.”

“What are you up to, girl? Something I should know about?”

“Nothing that has anything to do with the police. I just want to talk to him, that's all.”

“Well, you be careful.” Her voice was concerned. “Don't do anything stupid.”

“I won't.”

She hung up, elated. Something, at last, was breaking her way.

Marc would say she should come straight to him with this information. He was the one who needed to talk to Carr. But she'd promised Tracey, and she couldn't go back on that.

So the obvious course was to drive out to Magnolia Gardens and talk to the man herself. She'd been caught by surprise the last time, and she hadn't said the right things to him. This time he would be the one to be surprised, and she'd persuade him, somehow, that he had to talk to Marc.

The light went green. She flicked on her turn signal and made an abrupt right turn, leading to annoyed drivers venting their feelings with their horns. She'd take the expressway over the Ashley River and head up 61.

She had no idea what time gardeners left for the day, but Magnolia Gardens should be open until five. She'd be in time.

Or not. She hadn't thought about how crowded the commercial strip on the west side of the river was this time of day. At least it was moving faster than downtown traffic. Strip malls gradually gave way to housing developments, and the road became what Aunt Kate reminisced that it used to be—oak-lined, moss-draped, low country. The Ashley River gleamed through the trees off to her right now and then.

Once this road had been lined with plantations, their
mansions facing the river, until Union troops marched down the road toward Charleston, burning as they went. Now only three were left—Drayton Hall, Middleton Place and Magnolia. They'd all been familiar to her since childhood, but Magnolia was her favorite. Carr had been lucky to find work there.

She took the turning toward the river at the Magnolia Gardens sign. Aunt Kate used to bring her every year to see the camellias at Christmastime, and again in the spring to see the azaleas.

She parked the car. The lot was nearly deserted, probably too late in the day for most visitors. She hurried to the ticket booth. Only one other car pulled in behind her.

“Just an hour till closing, miss,” the woman warned as she took the bill she held out.

“That doesn't matter. I just need to locate one of your employees. Jasper Carr. Do you know where he might be working?”

She consulted a clipboard. “Should be down by the Biblical Garden, if he's doing what he's supposed to.” She sounded doubtful.

“I'll find him. Thank you.” She hurried down the path, buttoning her jacket. The wind was chilly, and she hadn't dressed for this. She could only hope that, for once, Carr would indeed be where he was supposed to be.

The White Bridge over the lake was strung with evergreen swags and wreaths along its railing, and in the distance, she could see the glow of the camellias. She
really should try to bring Aunt Kate out while the camellias were blooming.

She went quickly down the path toward the Biblical Garden. It was a favorite spot of Aunt Kate's. She'd been there so often that she no longer needed to walk around and read the signs that described the plants, but simply sat, drinking in the still atmosphere.

Well, Dinah would do no sitting today, at least not if she could help it. Find Jasper, persuade him to cooperate. Maybe she should hint that Marc would be willing to pay for information. Marc had certainly given her the impression that he might.

Hurrying her steps, she rounded the hedge into the Biblical Garden, rehearsing the words she'd say. She stopped abruptly. A long-handled rake leaned against an empty red wheelbarrow. No one was there.