Truth (22 page)

'Charm' - which means the
power to affect work without employing brute force,
is indispensable to women. Charm is a woman's strength
just as strength is a man's charm.
-
Henry Ellis

Chapter
13

The final slam of the cottage door muffled
Sophia’s sigh. On the other side of the wooden barrier was their
home, life, and private haven. With a turn of the bolt and the
closing of heavy shutters on creaky hinges, she’d successfully
closed it tight --storing everything away for a season.

Sophia’s mind swirled with memories of their
first home: late nights slipping out of bed, making her way
upstairs to her studio, while Derek slept -- light brown hair
disheveled, mouth slightly open. She relished the security of
knowing when sleepiness overtook her creativity; she could crawl
back into their bed and be enveloped by his warmth. Leaning against
the door, she remembered the first time Derek made a fire in their
fireplace but forgot to open the flue. Once the smoke cleared, they
laughed until they cried. And the way the golden sunshine streamed
into her studio in the late morning. It was her favorite time to
paint; the colors looked so real. These recollections made her
smile despite her heavy heart.

Begrudgingly, she allowed
herself a window of self-pity. That being said, as soon as she was
once again face-to-face with her husband, she vowed to keep her
true feelings hidden. After all, this was Derek’s big break. Sophia
wanted to be the supportive wife. She kept telling herself,
if the roles were reversed, he’d support
me.

Undoubtedly, the uncertainty added to her
unease. They didn’t know when they’d be back to Provincetown or
who’d be returning. It could be both of them or only Sophia. It all
depended on Shedis-tics.

Since graduating high
school, Sophia controlled her life. Having the people of
Shedis-tics dictate her living arrangements, travel plans, and
everything else, made her anxious. Yes, she’d submitted to the
occasional investor, agreed to show her work, or attended a private
wine-and-dine session; but, all at her discretion. She’d always had
the option to say
no
.

Sophia knew marriage meant
collaboration, a partnership. She’d watched her parents
successfully share a similar arrangement her entire life. When she
said
I do
, Sophia
willingly accepted her role as half of a whole. However, now she
questioned her percentage. Was she in fact half? Or was she less?
Was Derek still half? Or was he more? Perhaps Shedis-tics was now
part of the equation?

Originally his new job was
scheduled to begin May 1
^st
. Nevertheless, they called
him out to Santa Clara only two days after her father’s accident,
over four weeks early.

Little did Sophia realize,
when Derek said he couldn’t take more than two nights in her
childhood bedroom, he’d meant it literally. Truthfully, Derek
hadn’t known either. As he explained, when the company president
calls and invites you to meet with parent company executives, you
don’t say,
No Thank you
.

Lingering on the stoop of their cottage, she
looked toward the Harbor, inhaled the salt air, and listened to the
soft din of the sea. The sound of the surf created a continual
soundtrack for life in Provincetown. While something she rarely
thought about, she knew she’d miss it terribly.

Yesterday, she closed her
studio on Commercial Street. The sign in the window read:
Closed for an Undetermined Amount of Time.
The neighboring businesses promised to keep a
watchful eye on everything. Sophia knew nothing would physically
happen to her personal slice of cramped heaven. It was the
emotional toll that concerned her.

On her way to the airport, Sophia took a
detour and found herself at the shore enjoying the calm water
rippling beneath the crystal clear blue sky. Tears streaked her
cheeks as she bid ado to Provincetown Harbor. Through her blurred
vision she saw the Cape across the sea. Sophia absorbed the scene,
savoring it -- preserving it. If she kept it safely sealed within
the recesses of her mind, it would never completely be gone. In
times of need, she’d will it forward, out of the depths of her
memories, and into her thoughts.

Recognizing the inevitable, she made her way
to the small Provincetown airport. From there she’d fly to Boston.
In Boston she had tickets for a first class flight to San Jose, the
closest airport to Santa Clara.

Even with a short layover in Denver, she
anticipated feeling Derek’s strong arms by four o’clock, Pacific
Time. When she did, she planned to melt into his embrace and show
him why they should never be apart again. Then, she reasoned, the
world would once again be right.

*****

When the elevator doors opened Phillip just
about lost it! She entered almost sixty seconds earlier and should
have been to her floor, not still within the golden mirrored
cubical. Practicing his covert skills, Phil Roach assumed a calm
passive persona and spoke casually to his number one assignment,
Claire Nichols. This hadn’t been his plan. Nevertheless, now that
they’d conversed and she hadn’t recognized him, she might be his
lifesaver.

Anthony Rawlings was suspicious and becoming
increasingly untrusting. Phil did a good job for a few days giving
generic reports and letting Mr. Rawlings assume his ex-wife was
vacationing alone in San Antonio. However, the lack of specifics
and pictures were beginning to spark too many questions.

The per diem and generous
expense account made it difficult for Phillip Roach to confess
he’d
lost
his
assignment. Claire Nichols flew to San Antonio with Phil on the
same flight. He knew of her hotel reservation and followed her to
the Hotel Valencia. It was late; he assumed she was sleeping safely
within her room until the next day. However, when he returned to
the Riverwalk later the same night, Ms. Nichols was AWOL. Her car
was gone, she was gone, and her cell phone continued to send
signals from her suite. Phil panicked knowing he’d been
duped!

He also knew Claire’s reservations at the
Hotel Valencia extended until Sunday morning. Having no idea where
to look, he continued his surveillance of the hotel on the famous
Riverwalk. When he saw Ms. Nichols enter the lobby Saturday
afternoon, it took all of his self-control to not hug her. Thank
God she was alive and safe – if something had happened to her in a
place he hadn’t reported her being. Phil didn’t even want to
consider the consequences. It didn’t matter; she was all right.

She wasn’t just all right.
She was relaxed, tan, and happy. He was sure she’d been with a man,
but who? He’d confirmed Harrison Baldwin’s presence in Palo Alto
during the last four days. There was no doubt Mr. Rawlings would
want answers. Phil’s exuberance at her presence could be blamed for
the unplanned meeting in the elevator. However, as he reviewed the
encounter, he assured himself
no harm no
foul!

Currently, she was settled into her room,
presumably for the night. Phil had watched her for almost three
weeks. She wasn’t the wild and crazy kind. Room service was a 99.9%
assured outcome. Rarely was Phillip Roach wrong.

The electronic sensor startled him back to
reality. It was a non-conspicuous devise attached to her suite
door. As long as the door remained closed the devise remained
silent. When the door opened and separated the connection, an alarm
sounded in his room. Immediately, Phil jumped to the peep hole,
expecting to see a waiter delivering room service.

Instead, stepping from her
suite, dressed to
kill
was Claire Nichols.
No wonder Mr.
Rawlings was so interested in this women, she’s frig’n hot!
Phil thought as he watched the petite frame in
the flowing white sundress and high heels. Although his view was
somewhat distorted due to the domed glass peep hole, the woman he
saw looked more like the woman in the pictures. She looked like
Mrs. Rawlings.

Phil grabbed his sport coat, combed back his
hair and splashed his face with water. 57 seconds after Claire left
her room, Phil double stepped it down the stairs to the lobby, only
eleven floors down.

The firm soles of his shoes hit the marble
floor of the main lobby. Phil inhaled and exhaled, regulating his
breathing as he walked toward the large glass entry. Being Saturday
night, the hotel as well as Riverwalk bustled with people, most
paired and appropriately adorned for evening revelries. It was
after all, a five star establishment. The magnitude of private
conversations created a dim drone as Phil scanned the open foyer.
The ceiling towered many stories above, the enormous fireplace
blazed, and the tile floor echoed with the clicks of stiletto
heels. An occasional whiff of food cooking in the distance reminded
Phil that Citrus, the hotel’s finer restaurant, was nearby.

His tenacity was rewarded as Phil passed the
glistening, metal, beaded, chain curtain separating the ultra-sleek
Vbar from the Hotel Valencia. Just beyond the semi translucent
drape, he saw the beautiful outline of Claire Nichols. Her white
dress shone like a beacon within the dimly lit tavern.

Phil followed the piano music and entered
the posh lounge. The low lights, red carpet, and intimate
groupings, created a chic romantic atmosphere. He watched from afar
as her face, illuminated by a flickering red candle, smiled and
spoke to the attentive waiter. Using his phone he casually snaped a
few photos. Walking nonchalantly through the busy lounge Phil
positioned himself on a leather stool at the shiny black bar. Each
time he raised his head Ms. Nichols sat directly in his field of
vision. He ordered a Blue Moon and waited.

Fifteen minutes passed; no
one joined his assignment. She didn’t seem worried, wasn’t
fidgeting with her phone; yet, her attire screamed
date
. He waited, but no
one joined her, perhaps no one was coming. Phil contemplated the
woman he’d spent the last three weeks getting to know. Many women
sitting alone in a bar would be self-conscious. Ms. Nichols looked
completely content, composed, and confident. She sipped a glass of
red wine and gazed around the room. Suddenly, their eyes met. Phil
fought the urge to look away. He reminded himself, they’d met on
the elevator. His mind wheeled as she smiled and tipped her glass
his direction.
Could this be an
invitation? Perhaps if I talk to her, maybe I can learn where she’s
been?

Phil smiled and raised his mug in response.
The bartender broke their trance, “Sir, would you like another
beer?”

Phil became aware of his near empty mug.
Maybe the stress of the last four days had gotten to him. “Yes. And
could you please send the lovely lady in the white dress another
glass of wine, with my compliments.”

“
Certainly,
sir.”

He covertly watched as the
waiter gallantly delivered the wine to her table. He couldn’t hear
their conversation but read her body language: surprised, pleased,
and appreciative. When she turned toward him, she lifted the new
goblet and mouthed
thank
you
. Phil bowed his head. When he looked
up, her gaze was no longer his. Had he expected an invitation?
Fifteen more minutes, she remained alone. Phil puffed his chest,
exhaled, and eased himself from the tall leather stool.

Lost in thoughts she
didn’t acknowledge him until he was directly in front of her.
“Thank you, for the wine.” If he’d startled her, there was no
reflection in her voice. He assessed,
she
is either considerably calm or an ice princess
. Her vitality penetrated the calm veneer. Energy sparkled in
her emerald eyes. Phil became consumed by the fire he observed in
those amazing eyes. An
ice princess
would never be able to conceal that kind of heat.
She’d surely melt.

“
You’re welcome.” He
remained standing while she lounged gracefully in the soft high
backed chair.

“
I suppose I should’ve
been the one to buy you a drink.”

He smiled, “And why would that be?”

“
Well, you’re the
gentleman who saved me from remaining within the confines of the
elevator, forever.”

“
I do believe you would’ve
rescued yourself. After all, didn’t you find your key as we began
to ascend?”

Claire smiled acknowledging his affability.
“Thank you, again.”

Phil gestured toward the empty chair in Ms.
Nichols’ grouping. “Would you mind if I sat and joined you for a
while?”

Abashed, “Oh, of course, I’m sorry I didn’t
offer sooner. Please, help yourself.”

Phil lowered himself onto the plush cushion
and pursued their conversation. “Hello, I’m Phil.” He extended his
right hand.

Accepting his hand Claire responded, “Hello,
my name is Claire.”

He couldn’t help notice how her green eyes
glistened in the candle light. If only he could take her picture
now. It would make Mr. Rawlings forget the absence of information
during the last four days. “I couldn’t help notice your tan. Did
you get that here at the pool?”

“
Texas sun is quite
intense.”

“
I’ve been here since
Tuesday. I find it hard to believe I’ve not seen you during the
last four days…” He continued to fish for information.
Unfortunately, Ms. Nichols stayed true to her story. She’d been
here at the Hotel Valencia for the last four days enjoying the
local sights including the Alamo and a boat ride on the river. It
was a well-deserved retreat which included sleeping late, bedding
early, and the completion of two novels. They’d been talking and
laughing for about thirty minutes when Claire received a text
message.