Sweet Christmas Kisses (47 page)

“Come on.” He took her arm. “Let's get out of here before another ill animal turns up.”

II

The rolling waves of the ocean crashed onto the beach. White foam flocked over the sand. It looked as if the wind was playing soccer with woolly balls. Joanna snuggled closer against Conran's side. He had put his arm around her shoulder, and a happiness too deep for words bubbled up inside her. Dimitri had skipped ahead of them and hunted the salty foam balls. The surface of the sand was frozen and cracked beneath their every step. “This feels like crème brûlée,” she said.

His eyebrow lifted. “What does?”

“The sand. When you walk on frozen sand, it's exactly the same feeling as if you put a spoon into crème brûlée. The surface is hard, then it cracks, and underneath, it's totally soft.”

He laughed. “What a funny comparison. Must be because your father owns a restaurant.”

She joined in his laughter. “Maybe. It just came to my mind the other day, and now I always have to think of it when I walk over frozen sand.”

“I saw your father this morning.”

“You did?” Joanna lifted her head and stared at him. “Why?”

“He told me to cut off my pony-tail.”

“What?” She shook her head. “I don't believe this! Next, he'll tell you what to wear.”

“Oh, he did.”

Joanna stared at him in horror. “He didn't.”

“Well, he just mentioned that my shoes aren't adequate.”

“Your shoes?” Joanna looked at his feet. He wore thick boots that had seen better days. “What is wrong with your shoes?”

“Apparently he believes that every man who earns a bit of money should have hand-made leather shoes.”

She snorted. “Yeah, sure, particularly if you want to walk by the ocean in the middle of winter. Besides, every man should eat self-made pasta every single day of his life. Did he tell you that, too?”

He grinned. “Not yet. But he gave me a long lecture about unbalanced nutrition. He kept mentioning carrots.”

Joanna couldn't suppress a chuckle.

He gave her a quick glance. “So it was you! You told him I only eat carrots! Why?”

“Well. I had to distract him, so . . . .”

“. . . so you invented something that would keep him busy.” He shook his head.

“Em. Yes.”

“I can't believe this. And to imagine that I had no clue what he was driving at . . . At first, I thought I had misunderstood him.“

She gave him a worried look. “He's a bit eccentric, but underneath, he's a dear.” She bit her lip in indecision. Had her delusional father asked Conran to sing at the Christmas dinner? She opened her mouth to ask, but at the same instance, he started to speak.

“I think with time, we can get used to each other.”

He gave her a smile that stopped any normal brain function. “Oh? Yes?” She swallowed. “Good.” Had she heard him correctly? She gave him a searching glance, but then her courage left her. She concentrated on Dimitri again, who had started to bark at the white foam balls. His funny ears made him look like a monkey.

“Jo?”

She loved it when he called her like that. “Yes?”

“While I wrote that song, I . . . “ his voice petered out, and he looked across the ocean.

“Yes?”

“I had a breakdown. It was like a torrent, sweeping everything away.”

Joanna held her breath.
Go on. Please.

“When the song was done, I fell into bed, and this morning, for the first time ever since Dimitri's . . . Dimitri's death, I felt free.”

Relief made her knees weak. “Good.”

“But the whole time, I thought I had to get a sort of revenge.”

“A revenge?”

“Yes. An eye for an eye, that sort of thing. Very old testament-like, I know.”

Joanna frowned. “I don't know what you mean. Do you want to go and drown yourself?”

“No.” He turned to her. “I feel I could forgive myself if only I saved someone else's life. To atone for what I had done.”

Joanna swallowed. “Isn't that a bit . . . overdone?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “You mean I'm being melodramatic?”

Joanna returned his smile. “Something like that, yes.” She looked at him with a worried frown. “I don't think the world works like that. It's too unfair to begin with.”

“You know,” he pulled her close, “I like the way you see things, so sober. Very un-hollywood-like.”

She grinned. “Must be the veterinarian in me. With scared people around me all the time, I have to keep my calm. I only once fell into a real panic . . . “ her voice petered out as she remembered the night of the storm.

“When?” He looked down at her.

She stopped dead. “You already HAVE saved a life!”

“What? How come I didn't notice?”

She grinned. “You were too busy at the time feeling put-upon, but you did save my life nevertheless. Don't you remember? If you had not opened that door to me, I would have frozen on your threshold.”

He gave her a measuring glance. “Sure?”

She remembered the fear, the panic, and the feeling of having lost. “Positive.” Her voice was rough. “For me, it was pure luck that you happened to be on the spot. Or maybe it was fate.”

He looked like a man struck by a novel idea. “Fate. I never believed in fate.” He shrugged. “It always sounded like an excuse for a great many mistakes to me.”

Joanna smiled. “Some things you can control. Others, you can't. There's an old blessing. “May God give you the strength to fight the things you can change, and may he give you the patience to accept the things you can't change. Above all, may he give you the wisdom to distinguish between the two.” ” She frowned. “I believe I misquoted it somehow.”

“Never mind.” He looked at her, his eyes warm with laughter. “I get the point.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. You're amazing.”

Something warm spread through her whole body until she could feel her fingertips tingling. “So are you.”

He stopped and turned her around, so they faced each other. “Jo, I . . . “

“Yes?”

“I won't return to LA.”

Her chin dropped. “What?”

“I thought about my life, about my choices. I told you I feel most alive when I compose songs. When I came here, and you foisted that furry monster onto me, and behaved as if I was just another normal man . . . “

“Did I?” She grinned. “I didn't notice.”

“Oh, come on.” He took her face in both his hands. “You enjoyed it.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“Maybe a lot.” His smile deepened. “I realized I was happy here, with you. I love you.”

Her heart missed a beat. “Conran . . . “ Then she was in his arms, and his mouth on hers became the center of the universe. She felt a quiver of happiness deep inside her and had to hold onto him not to fall.

“You're trembling.” His voice was low.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Joanna put her head onto his shoulder. How well she fit into his arms. “Because happiness is so fragile, so easy to smash.”

“It is.” He placed his cheek on her head. “But you taught me something.”

“What?”

“You can build it up again. And now, we'll keep it safe together.”

I

The door to room one flew open and banged against the wall. 

Joanna jumped and lost her grip on the canary she held in her hand.

It flew up with a scared twitter and landed on the utmost shelf of the cupboard.

The owner, ten-year-old Natasha, stared at the door with wide open eyes.

Conran charged in and threw a newspaper onto the table. His face was white. “Thank you.” His voice froze her to the marrow. “Thank you for misusing my trust, thank you for using me.” His eyes were narrow and cold. “I hope every single dollar you got for this will make you unhappy. I hope I'll never see you again.”

Joanna stared at him with her mouth wide open. “Conran. What in God's name . . . ?”

But she spoke into space. He had already left room one.

The canary followed him. As it flew through the open door, Natasha started to scream and ran after it. “Lolita!”

Joanna hurried after her. The bird had followed Conran straight through to the waiting room. With a second to spare, the outer door closed before the canary could escape for good.

Two dogs in the waiting room started to bark hysterically. A man lifted a hamster with both hands as if he wanted to show him all the excitement going on, and Trudie the parrot cawed “Here comes the Queen!”

Joanna looked at the crowd gone wild. “Please be quiet,” she said. Her voice shook.

“Wasn't that Conran Dark, the singer?” Mr. Brown's nose quivered. “I thought you were friends.”

I thought so, too.
Joanna swallowed.
Ignore him.
“Natasha, do you think you can convince Lolita to come down, maybe with a special treat?”

Natasha shook her head. “She'll never come down.” She burst into tears. “Never.”

It took a solid hour before they had the canary back in its cage. Joanna was out-of-breath and hot and felt torn between her embarrassment and the urge to read the paper Conran had left on the table. What on earth had he meant?

As soon as the door had closed behind Natasha, she grabbed up the paper and opened it. The headline screamed at her.

DID SUPERSTAR CONRAN DARK KILL HIS BEST FRIEND?

“Oh, my God.” Her hand crept up to her cheek. She sank onto a chair and read the article under her breath. WHEN SUPERSTAR CONRAN DARK WENT INTO HIDING AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS BEST FRIEND DIMITRI WASRANOWITCH, THE WHOLE NATION SUFFERED WITH HIM. BUT MAYBE THE REASON FOR HIS BREAKDOWN HAS MORE SINISTER ROOTS? DID CONRAN DARK IN FACT PLAN THE DEATH OF HIS FRIEND IN THE MOST FIENDISH MANNER? OUR SECRET CORRESPONDENT UNEARTHED BRAND-NEW LYRICS, WRITTEN BY THE MR. DARK HIMSELF. CAN A MAN BE INNOCENT IF HE WRITES A SONG LIKE THAT?

Underneath the article, a snapshot showed Conran's handwriting on a crumpled piece of paper. The chorus jumped at Joanna like a living thing.

WHERE DO I TAKE MY GUILT?

WHO CAN FORGIVE ME NOW?

WHAT CAN I USE AS SHIELD?

HOW DO I LIVE, OH HOW?

“Oh, no.” Joanna could feel cold dread seeping into her like poison. With pent-up breath, she read on. A picture of Conran's kitchen followed the lyrics, tinted in a sepia color to make it look even more decrepit than it was. THE CELEBRITY HAS BOLTED TO A RUN-DOWN SUMMER HOUSE ON LONG ISLAND, BUT HE CAN'T RUN AWAY FROM HIS CONSCIENCE. Below it was a picture of Conran, looking grim and exhausted, with deep lines on his face. THIS PICTURE WAS TAKEN AT THE FUNERAL OF HIS BEST FRIEND. DID MR. DARK ALREADY FEEL THE PANGS OF CONSCIENCE?

Joanna's head whirled. Conran had been right. They were tearing him to pieces. But who had given them the lyrics and the pictures? How could he believe even for one second that she would betray him like that? How could . . . ?

Beatrice put her head through the door. “Joanna, where are you? Mr. Brown is waiting.” She frowned. “Gosh, you look like my menthol toothpaste, white mixed with green. What on earth happened?” She rushed up to Joanna. Her gaze fell onto the screaming headline, and with one fluid move, she snatched the newspaper away from her. In two seconds, she had gobbled up the whole article. Her eyes became round with shock. “Oh, my God, is it true? I'd never have believed he would do such a thing. He seemed such a lovely man! It just goes to show that . . . ”

Joanna jumped up. “Of course he didn't kill him! How can you believe one word of that . . . that filth?”

Bernice took a step back. “Hey, don't bite off my head.” She turned back to the paper in her hand and frowned. “But there's no smoke without fire, they say. And you have to admit that he has been behaving in a strange way. I mean, isn't it fishy, him staying at Stony Brook?” She studied the pictures. “That kitchen looks dreadful.”

Joanna covered her ears with her hands. “I don't want to hear this! Stop it right now!”

Bernice reared back. “Calm down, Joanna. I know you're . . .” she stopped mid-sentence, and her chin dropped. “I say . . . did YOU put that into the newspaper?”

“No.” Joanna's voice shook. “Of course I didn't!” A wave of tiredness assaulted her, engulfed her. ”But I don't know who'll believe me.”

II

Sally thrust a mug with hot chocolate into Joanna's hands. “Sit on the sofa. Don't talk. Here's the throw. Take it and cover your feet with it. There, that's it. Now drink up before you say anything.”

It all reminded Joanna of the night Conran had saved her. Tears welled up in her eyes and ran over her face.

“Hey, no need to cry.” Sally bent forward. “Here, blow your nose.” She stuffed a handkerchief into Joanna's hand.

“You'll be a good mother.” Joanna blew her nose with more noise than elegance.

“I know.” Sally sat on the low table in front of the sofa and put both hands onto her knees. “Or a general. Drink up now.”

Obedient, Joanna took a sip of the hot chocolate. “Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for breaking down on the phone.”

“That's what friends are for.” Sally watched her with a worried expression. “Better now?”

“Yes.” Joanna gulped. “Have you . . . heard?”

“I've heard nothing. I spent the whole day with a client, and when you called, all sobs and nothing else, I came immediately.”

Joanna gestured at the table where the newspaper was lying, folded up. “Read this.”

Sally picked up the paper. As she started to read, her eyes grew large. Then her hands sank into her lap. “Wow.”

“He didn't kill Dimitri.” Joanna's voice sounded fierce.

“So it's all plucked from the sky?” Sally shrugged. “Then he can deny the whole thing.”

Joanna hesitated.

“What is it?”

“He did write that song.” Admitting it felt as if each word had to be plugged out of her throat with a hook.

“But why?” Sally shook her head. “It doesn't make sense.”

“He felt morally responsible. You see, his friend couldn't swim and was afraid of water, but Conran convinced him to join him on the boat one day.”

“And then a storm came up?”

“No.” Joanna sighed. “A bus-load of fans accosted them on the pier and pushed Dimitri into the water. He drowned.”