Wherever Lynn Goes (3 page)

Stepping over to the icebox, she pulled out a tall, slender bottle with gold foil around the cap and then fetched two mismatched glasses from the cabinet over the sink.

“
Where
did you get that champagne?”

“Stevie brought it along last night, the lamb. I knew it would come in handy. Let's celebrate the contract, luv. In fact, let's get gloriously plastered!”

CHAPTER TWO

The restaurant was charming. Sitting at a table on the patio, we could look beyond the graceful stone balustrade at the park, trees in full leaf now, in early April. Daffodils bloomed riotously in untidy beds, and farther away, through a partial screen of clipped yews, part of the pond was revealed. Noisy little boys sailed toy boats along the edge of the water. A week had passed, and, as he would be unable to see me tonight, Lloyd had arranged to meet me here for lunch. Rays of sunlight spilled down, gleaming on silver and china, making bright yellow pools all around us. Waiters moved around with hushed efficiency, discreet and rather formidable.

“More coffee?” Lloyd asked in his deep, quiet voice.

I shook my head, watching a group of young people who were sitting on blankets spread over a sloping bank. One of them was playing a guitar, and the music wafted toward us with gentle melancholy. I was in a pensive mood, satisfied with life, enjoying the fresh air, the music, a sense of well-being. Lloyd was preoccupied, a serious look on his stern, handsome face. Behind the heavy black glasses, his eyes looked grave.

“Dessert?” he said.

“I dare not. Thank you for a marvelous lunch, Lloyd.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

“Do you have to get back to the office soon?”

“Not immediately. I have another thirty minutes or so.”

“Let's walk in the park. It's such a glorious day …”

Lloyd signaled for our waiter, scrutinized the bill closely, and then placed several bills on the tray. As he stood up, I marveled again at his tall, muscular frame. Today he wore a leaf-brown suit, spotless white shirt, and carefully knotted rust-colored tie. He looked the successful young lawyer, all right, needing only a black leather briefcase to complete the picture. Several women at nearby tables turned to glance at him. They always did, for Lloyd had that subtle magnetism that is far more interesting than overt sexiness. I felt a glow of pleasure as he took my arm, leading me down the low white marble steps and into the park.

Although far more conventionally dressed than most of the other people sauntering through the park, we must have made an attractive pair nevertheless. I wore a white cotton dress printed with tiny brown and green leaves. While not beautiful, I was at least arresting, with high, sculptured cheekbones, dark blue eyes, and long brown hair gleaming with chestnut highlights. Men looked twice, had done so for several years now, and Lloyd seemed pleased to have me walking beside him. I held on to his arm, matching my stride to his.

“How's the book coming along?” he inquired.

“Creaking. I spent the whole afternoon in the library yesterday, hunting down an obscure reference to Scarron, Madame de Maintenon's bizarre invalid husband. I'm doing a chapter on their marriage, including a bit about their rather unusual sex life.”

“I can hardly feature you writing about sex,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because, luv, you're so defiantly virginal.”

“Is that bad?”

“It's bad for me,” he remarked.

“You could easily find another girl. I can think of several who—”

“So can I, but I happen to want you.”

“You've got quite a problem.”

“How well I know. I'm happy about the book, luv. I'm glad you have something to amuse yourself with.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing,
amusing
myself?”

Lloyd smiled, the corners of his wide mouth turning up. “No need to take offense,” he said. “I didn't mean it that way. I'm glad you've got brains.”

“But you'd rather I be a clinging vine.”

“Not especially,” he drawled.

“I'll never be that way, Lloyd.”

“I know, luv. You're a fiercely independent, thoroughly liberated woman, sharp, shrewd, and, incidentally, gorgeous in that dress. Do you want to argue about equal rights or would you rather neck?”

“Neither,” I said irritably.

Lloyd chuckled, dropping his arm around my shoulder. We walked to the pond and stopped beside a mound of huge gray boulders at the edge of the water. Sunlight danced in shimmering silver threads over the surface. Above thick green treetops, we could see brown and gray buildings rising, pigeons fluttering about window ledges. London was touched with a springtime magic today, as charming and exhilarating as the poets claimed. Watching the pond's waves lapping, I felt Lloyd beside me, strong and silent and very male.

“Angry?” he said.

“Why should I be angry?” I snapped.

“No reason.”

“It's just that—you refuse to take me seriously.”

“You're wrong about that. I take you very seriously.”

“You think—”

“I think you're delightful.”

Pulling me into his arms, Lloyd kissed me for a long time, his mouth caressing mine with expert skill. Then, arms resting heavily on my shoulders, he stared down at me, a faint smile curling on his lips and a touch of amusement in his dark brown eyes. He was in an unusually affable mood, I thought, some of his earlier preoccupation gone. I studied his clean-cut, chiseled features, his face so close that I could see the tiny pink scar at the corner of his mouth where he had cut himself shaving. The heavy black-rimmed glasses set off his good looks, I thought, adding character and maturity and saving him from being merely conventionally handsome. I touched his lean cheek, mollified. He kissed me again, lightly this time.

“You're an enchanting creature, Lynn, far too enchanting to be turned loose on mankind. What am I going to do with you?”

“I know what you're
not
going to do.”

He grinned. “So liberated in some ways, so old-fashioned in others.”

“I'm not old-fashioned,” I protested. “I just happen to believe—”

“I know what you believe. But you can't blame a chap for trying.”

“Keep trying, by all means. It gives a girl confidence.”

“That's one thing you don't need any more of. I'm sorry about tonight, Lynn. I know we'd planned to go to the new Tom Stoppard play, but something came up—”

“You don't have to apologize, Lloyd. I understand.”

“You always understand. That's another thing I like about you. I've exchanged the tickets. We're scheduled to see it next Thursday night. That all right with you?”

“Fine,” I said.

“After the play, we'll go to the Garden for dining. I've made reservations. Then I thought we'd pop over to Sybilla's for a couple of drinks. Everything's set.”

Everything was set. Everything was neatly arranged, down to the last detail. It always was. Lloyd sighed, stepping back and staring across the pond. He was preoccupied again. Having filed me away in a neat little compartment, he was thinking of something else—some lawsuit, perhaps, or some new will he had to draft. I stared at his handsome profile. Lloyd was so thoroughly in control of every situation. I often wished he weren't quite so efficient and predictable. Life with Lloyd would be very stable, very well-organized, even the lovemaking. There would be no crises, but neither would there be any surprises. Perhaps I was being too hard on him, I thought, rather ashamed of myself. Dashing, mercurial heroes are all very well in books, but I imagined they would be extremely taxing in real life. Lloyd Raymond was everything a woman could hope for, and it was a wonder some predatory female hadn't snapped him up already.

“Lynn,” he said abruptly, turning to me. “Have there been any more phone calls?”

“Why—” The question took me by surprise. “Yes. There was one last week, the day I got my contract, and another one on Wednesday. Why do you ask?”

“It's been on my mind. I worry about you.”

“There's no reason to. It's just some crank—”

“I'm not so sure,” he said grimly. “There're a lot of freaks running loose in this city. Those calls have bothered me from the very first, particularly after you changed your number and he kept right on calling. Have you any idea who it could be?”

“Not the foggiest. It's really not worth discussing, Lloyd.
I'm
not worried. I don't see why you and Mandy should—”

“Tell me about your father,” he interrupted. “What kind of man was he?”

“Lloyd, I'd really rather not.”

“I think this is important, Lynn.”

His voice was firm, his tone clearly indicating that he intended to brook no argument. I sighed, accepting the inevitable. When Lloyd wanted to discuss something, it was discussed.

“I don't remember very much about him,” I said, trying to recall that vague presence who had been there in the early years of my life. “We moved to Devon when I was five, and he left just a few months later. I couldn't have been more than six years old. He was a large man, and gruff, with dark black hair and a flushed face. He loved me dearly. I was heartbroken when he went away—”

“He went to Australia, you say?”

“Yes. I have no idea why he left England. Daphne never told me. He sent me a letter once a month, regular as clockwork, and then he died. I was thirteen at the time.”

“Do you still have the letters?”

“I have no idea what happened to them.”

Lloyd frowned, thrusting his square jaw out. He looked very much the lawyer on a case. We might have been in a courtroom instead of in the park. I resented his attitude. I wasn't on trial, and I had already told him everything I knew about my father a long time ago, after the first call. He folded his arms across his chest, head tilted to one side.

“Can you remember what was in any of those letters?”

“Of course not. It was years ago.”

“Look, Lynn, I know you think I'm being unreasonable, and maybe I am, but I want to get to the bottom of this thing. The phone calls could be the work of a prankster, as you say. They very likely are, but if there's the least possibility …” He hesitated, his brown eyes grave. “It's just that I'm concerned about your welfare,” he added.

“I appreciate that, Lloyd, but I can assure you it's entirely unnecessary. You and Mandy have blown this thing all out of proportion.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “You're probably right. Nevertheless, if you remember anything pertaining to your father, anything at all, I want you to tell me about it.”

As he peered at me through the glasses, I realized that his concern was genuine. I should have been flattered. Lloyd did mean well, even if his manner was sometimes overbearing. Standing there with his arms folded, his hair a sleek copper-red cap, he looked like a stern parent, all sober dignity. I found that suddenly humorous and utterly endearing. That lighthearted glow came back, and I smiled, touching his jaw with my fingertips.

“I will,” I said. “I promise.”

“I guess we'd better start back. I have an appointment at two. Sorry if I was rough on you, luv. I guess I spend too much time in the courtroom. Am I forgiven?”

“There's nothing to forgive.”

“You mean a lot to me, Lynn, a hell of a lot.”

He took my hand, and we followed one of the shady walkways that led to the street.

“I wish you didn't have to go back,” I said wistfully.

“I wish so, too, luv. There's nothing I'd like better than to spend the whole afternoon with you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do. I'm not the most gallant suitor on earth, but that doesn't mean … I'm no good at romantic dialogue, Lynn. Let's just say meeting you is about the best thing that ever happened to me. Will that do?”

“It'll do nicely for starters.”

We were standing on the busy pavement now, the park behind us. Across the street, ponderous gray stone buildings rose up, seeped in age and tradition, their white marble porticos streaked with soot. Secretaries on their way back from lunch bustled through the doors, and serious-looking men with briefcases moved along briskly, causing the sidewalk pigeons to scatter. I sighed, holding on to Lloyd's arm, reluctant to have him join the ranks. He glanced at his watch, mentally already among them, my presence a mere hindrance now.

“What'll you do for the rest of the day?” he asked.

“I'm going to the library. I have my notebooks here in my purse, and I intend to—”

“Well, luv, it's getting on. I've got to dash. I'll try to call you tonight if I get a chance.”

He pulled his arm free, gave me a quick, perfunctory kiss, and hurried across the street. He moved vigorously down a side street and disappeared into one of the buildings. I stood there for a moment, wishing he were a carefree bohemian in sweater and jeans who had nothing better to do than shower me with attention. Then, realizing the absurdity of the thought, I laughed aloud and dashed to board the bus that would take me to the library.

I spent several hours in those solemn, vaulted rooms, prowling among the dusty stacks, tracking down elusive volumes. Notebooks spread out over an ancient wooden table with peeling varnish, I forgot all about Lloyd, completely caught up in that glittering world of rakish courtiers, vindictive courtesans, and gossipy old men. I was doing the chapter on Madame de Thianges, Montespan's sister, a frivolous, amoral creature who bounced on satin sofas with the Sun King, kept her friends up all night with vivacious chatter and, when they deserted, brought in her servants for rowdy card games and snacks. I filled several pages with cramped handwriting, quite pleased with my progress. The book was going to be much longer than I had originally planned, but it would be a labor of love.