Cast a Pale Shadow (19 page)

"I think I'd better go get dressed soon, too," Trissa suggested as Augusta finished the hem and gave her a hand so she could step down off the table. Trissa pulled on her jeans under it then carefully removed the pin-filled skirt. "Nicholas said about five."

"Yes, mustn't keep the groom waiting," Augusta teased. She shook out the cream sweater and handed it to her and folded the skirt to hem later. When she looked up and smiled, it was with such a merry twinkle in her eyes that Trissa felt warmed by it.

"Oh, Augusta, I don't know how to thank you. This has been like Christmas and homecoming and birthday all in one."

"Don't forget honeymoon."

"Yes. I haven't been so happy in... in all my life." Impulsively, she gave Augusta a quick hug, and Augusta responded by wrapping her in her warm embrace and kissing her on the forehead. Like a mother might. When the moment ended, Trissa turned quickly, blinking away tears, and raced up the steps.

She was to wear the cream sweater and a softly pleated chocolate wool skirt. Both Augusta and Beverly pronounced them their favorites of the alterations they had completed that day. Beverly had tightened the pearl buttons down the back of the sweater, and the skirt had required only shortening and a little nip at the waist to fit her perfectly. Augusta loaned her some pearl drop earrings and a pearl and rhinestone clip for her hair.

When Trissa went to the closet to find her shoes, she was astonished to see how they reflected their new shine back at her. She did not remember their gleaming so, even on the day she had bought them.

Nicholas
. Pair by pair, loafers, flats, suede pumps, she brought her shoes out into the light. Each pair was polished and buffed or brushed to perfection. Even the old ankle boots she ratted around in but hadn't worn anyplace beyond the woods in two years shone like brand new. She marveled at the time he must have spent on them. She reassembled them in their straight little row and shut the closet door just as Augusta called her from below.

Nicholas was home. She slipped on her pumps, grabbed her purse and coat, and flew down the stairs.

But it was not Nicholas.

"Dr. Edmonds." Her pace slowed with the shock of seeing him and she was unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Miss Kirk."

The name brought a quick look of puzzlement to Augusta's face. Trissa guessed he had not used it when he gained admittance to the house. "It's my maiden name, Augusta," she said, "I guess Dr. Edmonds forgot that." She cast a chastening look at Edmonds who seemed oblivious to it.

"You may use the front parlor, if you like, Trissa. I will tell Nicholas where you are when he arrives." With a frown of disapproval at Trissa's visitor, she added, "Which should be any moment now."

"Thank you, Augusta."

"And you look lovely, dear." Augusta relieved her of her coat and purse so she could attend to her guest.

"Thank you."

Like someone used to barging in and thus immune from any criticism of it, Dr. Edmonds strode ahead of Trissa into the parlor. He turned to face her as she crossed the threshold. "She's right, you know. You look very nice. Except for the bruises and abrasions, of course."

"And aside from your stubbornness and boorish behavior, you might be very nice as well. I haven't had much chance to judge that yet, Doctor."

"Please call me Bryant." He studied her for a moment with that odd half-smile-half-frown she remembered from the emergency room, then without being asked, he removed his coat and lay it across a chair. "I'm not here as your doctor."

Simmering with irritation, Trissa snatched his coat from the chair, then realized she had no idea where to take it. Rather than stand stupidly holding it, she took it to the hall and yanked open a door she assumed would be a guest closet. It was the stairs to the cellar. She tossed the coat on the top step and returned to the parlor. With his hands clasped behind his back, Edmonds was strolling the room studying the portraits on the wall.

Trissa cleared her throat to get his attention. "Then why are you here, Doctor? "

"Are these supposed to be relatives of his?"

"Whose?"

"Brewer's. I don't see any family resemblance. The line must be wearing thin." He picked up a candlestick from the mantle and turned it over, examining it. "Silver?"

"What's wearing thin is my patience. Why did you come?"

Two wing chairs upholstered in striped blue damask flanked the fireplace. Edmonds stood behind one and motioned for her to sit. Trissa folded her arms and frowned, sticking her lower lip out like a pouting child. "Why are you here?"

"Sit and I'll tell you."

She hesitated for a moment then flounced across the room, perched on the edge of the seat, and glared at him. He took the chair opposite and settled back, crossing his long legs, ankle over thigh, so that an expanse of sock showed between his scuffed black oxfords and his pants legs. It was white, a rather dingy white at that.

"It surprises me, this house," he said finally. "Brewer may not be the low-life I assumed him to be." Anger snapped like a spark in her, and she opened her mouth then clamped it shut when he continued. "But every family has its black sheep, I suppose."

"All the better to make black socks, I'm sure."

His brow wrinkled for a moment at her answer, but he shook off his puzzlement and went on, "Have you known him long?"

"Longer than you. Look, Doctor, I am sitting and I am listening. But I will not do either much longer. My husband, who you insult so casually in his own home, and I have plans for the evening. So come to the point of your visit or go--"

"I went to see your mother."

"--away.
What?
My
mother?
" They were like words from another language to her at first. She shook her head in disbelief until she finally understood what they might mean for her. Then they translated themselves into fury. "Why you arrogant, meddling bastard! How did you even find out where I lived?"

"I copied your address from your suitcase. And I got
this
address from hospital records." He gave her a smug smile.

She lurched out of her seat and flew at him, grabbing him by the shirtsleeves as if to drag him out of his chair. When she couldn't budge him, she kicked his shin. "You've ruined everything, damn you!" She stepped back, straining to keep her tears in check. Anger was all he deserved from her.

"Easy, easy," he said, rubbing his shin, "I didn't tell her anything. I mean, I meant to, but I saw how she was. You were right to run away from her."

"I'm so
grateful
for your approval, Doctor."

"Trissa, please, I've gone about this all wrong. Could we start over?"

"Does that mean I have to sit again,
sir?
"

"It would help me if you would."

Something in his voice, a ragged edge completely foreign to his usually imperious tone, made her do what he asked. She could not erase her indignation for both his rudeness and his interference in her life, but she did sense his discomfort in having to admit he needed her help and it softened her a little.

"I lost a patient last night. A victim of gang violence. She was a bit younger than you and probably a lot tougher. But she fell in with the wrong crowd and she died for it."

"I'm sorry, but--"

"Usually, I can scrub up for the next patient and go on. You have to when you work emergency. You may call it arrogance, but that's what it takes sometimes, a certain godlike disdain for death that allows you to face it down and beat it. She wasn't the first patient I've lost, and she won't be the last. I just -- I just don't want you to be one of them. I don't think I could live with that."

"I don't understand."

"I don't either. No one is more surprised than I that I am here and confessing this -- this weakness to you. But this patient reminded me of you. And well -- all I can say is that something about you has touched me in a way I've never felt before.

"And I don't trust Brewer. I wish you would tell me how you came to be with him. Tell me you grew up with him. Tell me anything I can believe and I'll go away and leave you in peace."

"I trust him. Isn't that enough?"

"No. It's not."

"That's just too damn bad." Nicholas scowled in the parlor doorway.

Edmonds stood to face him, smiling a challenge. "I keep turning up. I warned you that I would, didn't I, Brewer? I'm like a bad penny."

"Or a bad smell."

Trissa slipped between them and took Nicholas' hand. "I missed you."

"It was a long day for me, too."

She kissed him on the cheek wishing she could dare more. "Dr. Edmonds, I'll get your coat. Nicholas will walk you to the door."

Both men obeyed her instructions and by the time she rescued Edmonds' coat from the cellar steps, he already had one foot out the door.

*****

Nicholas took the coat from her and handed it to Edmonds. "I'd ask you to join us for dinner, Edmonds, but we have reservations. For two."

Bryant shoved his arms through his sleeves and stepped out onto the porch. "Goodbye, Trissa," he said, looking past Nicholas to where she stood in the center of the parlor. "May I visit again?"

Trissa shrugged and Nicholas blocked her from view as he joined the doctor on the porch, pulling the door shut behind him. "Come anytime you want. We have nothing to hide."

"Oh? Then tell me one thing, Brewer. Have you consummated the marriage yet?"

In a blind rage, Nicholas took a swing at his nose, poorly aimed, and too clumsily executed. It grazed Edmonds' chin and he caught his wrist and shoved Nicholas back against the door. Nicholas saw the futility of a struggle against this man who outweighed him by a solid fifty pounds, and Bryant held him there at arm's length.

"I see." Edmonds' lips curled in a mocking smile. "If you fuck as well as you fight, she's got nothing to worry about." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and whistled as he strode down the walk.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Nicholas pounded his fist against the bricks when Edmonds' car disappeared around the corner. "
God damn it, where'd you learn to fight, you little piss ant?"
he muttered to himself.
"At the loony bin? Shit!"
He breathed deeply until he felt the heat drain from his face. When he was calm, he straightened his coat and tie and went back into the house to Trissa.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course, I am. Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. That leaving had the look of 'I'll meet you out back, Buddy'."

"Didn't lay a glove on me. What's the matter? Do I look like the loser in some street fight?" He held her chin up and kissed her tenderly on her bruised cheek. "You should see the other guy."

She drew her finger under the lapel of his coat and whispered, "Don't mind him. He wears white socks with black slacks and shoes."

"No competition, huh?"

"Outclassed completely."

"But more than matched by my date for the evening." He twirled her away from him to get a better look. "Where did you get this?"

"Augusta. Wait until you see what else. And all my shiny shoes, Nicholas. I swear it's magic, like the cobbler and the elves."

"No, not magic. Just Kiwi polish and a little spit. I do have reservations at the Chase. I know the wine steward there. He's put in a good word with the
maitre'd
. Where's your coat?"

"Augusta took it. I'll go find it." She took a few steps toward the kitchen then turned and tried the knob of a door under the steps. "The guest closet. I knew there had to be one here somewhere. I threw Dr. Edmonds' coat down the cellar stairs when I couldn't find the closet."

"Next time, do me a favor and do that while he's still in it."

*****

Trissa could not decide what to order from the overwhelming menu. She had peeked over the top as waiters brought steaming orders to nearby tables and tried to match what she saw with what she was reading on the menu. Finally, she gave up and left the decision to Nicholas. He deferred to Maurice, who told them he knew the menu like the back of his hand. As sommelier, it was his job to know all the varied elements of the entrees so that he might suggest the exact wine that would bring the dining experience to the pinnacle of excellence. He said all this with a tone of hauteur that made Trissa giggle when she remembered his antics with the milk the night before. When, at his suggestion, Nicholas ordered the
Coquilles Saint Jacques
, stuffed artichokes, and braised celery, Trissa did not miss the saucy wink Maurice cast her way and suddenly wished she could have a plate of Ruth's pork chops and applesauce.

The meal looked formidable when it lay before her. The artichoke reminded her of a cactus garden she had attempted once with its stuffing looking like desert sand and gravel. Tiny scallops and mushrooms in a pearly sauce were served up in cute little shell dishes that spun around on the plate when she attempted to tackle them with a fork. Glancing enviously at Nicholas' wine that she was not of legal age to order, she sighed and broke a piece off her hard roll and buttered it. At least she knew how to do that. When she reconciled herself to the meager consolation of her water goblet, Nicholas caught her eye and they both started giggling.

"Wait 'till I get Maurice alone in some dark hallway," Nicholas said.

"No, not alone. Let's both gang up on him."

"I've got a better idea. We'll lock him in the attic with Hattie and have her read Chaucer to him. In Middle English."

"On bread and water only," Trissa agreed.

"Uh uh. That's more than he deserves. We'll make it artichokes and ABC fish."

"ABC fish?"

"Already Been Chewed."

They had just managed to quell their giggles when Maurice sidled over to ask how they enjoyed their food. That set Trissa off again and she had to dab the tears away from her eyes with the corner of her napkin.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, Maurice, just send the waiter with our check," Nicholas choked out.

"But you've hardly touched your..." He looked over at Trissa whose face was bright red with her effort to suppress her laughter. Shielding his face from her with the wine list, he whispered to Nicholas, "Oh, dear, maybe I was wrong to suggest so potent an aphrodisiac for one as young and newly wed."