Gift of Fire (4 page)

“I’m not sure how long the Warwicks will wait around for him,” Laura said dubiously.

“If the Warwicks have a legitimate job for Jonas, I don’t want to put them off by telling them I don’t know when he’ll be back. If the deal looks good, I’ll have to find a way to keep them here. Why don’t you send them over at lunchtime tomorrow, Laura. Tell them I’m in charge of booking Jones’s business arrangements or something.”

Laura tilted her head. “Are you in charge of booking Jones’s business arrangements?”

Verity brightened. “As
a matter of fact, I just appointed myself his business manager. Don’t look at me like that, Laura. Nobody else is stepping forward to handle the job, least of all Jonas. Looks like it’s up to me.” She frowned intently, thinking quickly. “You know, with a little publicity work, this sort of thing could turn into a very lucrative sideline for Jonas. I know I’ll never persuade him to go back to the academic world, but he could still use his abilities as a consultant for people like the Warwicks. Hey, that’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“We’ll call Jonas a consultant. An historical consultant. How does that sound?”

“I can see the wheels turning in your head.” Laura stood up. “Okay, I’ll send ‘em over tomorrow for lunch. I just hope Jonas doesn’t have any objections when he gets home and finds out you’ve been booking ‘consulting’ assignments for him.”

“I’ll handle Jonas,” Verity said with more assurance than she felt. “He’ll just have to understand that I’m doing this for his own good. He’s got far too fine a mind to be a dishwasher all his life. One day he’ll thank me for this.”

“If I were you, I’d think twice about forcing upward mobility on a perfectly good dishwasher-waiter-handyperson. It’s hard to find reliable help these days. But far be it from me to spoil your fun.”

“Fun?”

Laura grinned. “Don’t play innocent with me. You and Jonas seem to understand each other perfectly. You give orders, lecture him on self-improvement, and generally bully him until he’s had enough. Then he puts his foot down and carries you off to bed just like he did last week. Clement, the bartender, and everyone else had a good laugh after you two left. Your father howled.”

Verity’s cheeks turned bright pink. She remembered the incident clearly. “That was so embarrassing. I
could have killed Jonas.”

It had all started when she had begun to nag Jonas about doing another journal article. Having just received the twenty copies she had ordered of the
Journal of Renaissance Studies,
Verity had decided she was on a roll. Convinced that important doors were opening for Jonas, she had pushed her luck—and Jonas—one step too far.

Jonas had tolerated her enthusiastic lectures all afternoon and into the evening. It wasn’t until late that night, when they were having a nightcap with Laura and Rick in the resort’s cocktail lounge, that he had finally lost his patience.

He’d listened to one more tirade on the importance of writing another article while he was still a hot literary property. Then he had taken Verity’s glass of juice out of her hand, picked her up, and carried her all the way back to the cabin in that humiliating position. Then he’d made love to her until Verity had temporarily forgotten all about journal articles and self-improvement.

“It might have been embarrassing for you,” Laura said, smiling, “but it certainly provided memorable entertainment for everyone in the lounge. Quite a show.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Verity glowered at her.

The amusement faded from Laura’s eyes. “I’m on your side,” she said with unexpected seriousness. “You know that, don’t you? We’re friends.”

Verity smiled ruefully. “I know that.”

“And speaking as your friend…”

Verity tilted her head. “Yeah, friend?”

“I’m not sure how to ask this, so I’ll come right out with it. Is anything wrong, Verity?”

Verity stiffened. “Wrong?”

“You know. As in ‘not quite right’? There’s something a little different about you lately. As if you’ve got something on your mind. I just wondered if you’ve got problems. If so, you know you can tell sister Laura all about them.”

Verity swept her hands back and forth just under the surface of the crystal-clear water. Small waves rippled out to the sides of the pool. “I know, Laura. And thanks. But nothing’s wrong. Really. I’ve just been doing some thinking lately, that’s all.”

“Thinking about Jonas and the future?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, it’s about time. When are you going to marry the man, Verity?”

Verity’s head came up with a snap. “I haven’t been asked,” she replied tartly.

“Since when does Verity Ames wait around for someone else, least of all a man, to make a major decision in her life?” Laura’s mouth curved upward. “You don’t fool me one bit. If you wanted to marry Jonas, you’d find a way to nag him into it.”

“As you yourself have pointed out, Jonas can only be nagged so far,” Verity retorted dryly.

“Maybe. But somehow I don’t think he’d fight too hard if you tied him up and dragged him to the altar.”

“Not exactly a romantic image.”

“No smart woman lets romantic illusions get in the way once she’s decided what she wants. And you’re one smart woman, Verity. Ergo, I have to assume you haven’t made up your mind about Jonas Quarrel. So we’re back to my original question. What’s wrong, pal?”

Verity thought about the pregnancy-test kit she had surreptitiously examined and then put back on the shelf at the local pharmacy that afternoon. Then she remembered how casually Jonas had left for Mexico, carrying only a few changes of underwear and a wicked-looking knife that he knew how to use quite well.

“Nothing’s wrong, Laura. I’ve just been feeling a little depressed lately. I think I need a vacation.” She took one hand out of the water and picked up a glossy brochure. Water dripped on the photograph of the beachfront hotel. “Hawaii sounds nice.”

“A vacation, hm? You know something? I think that might be a good idea.”

Doug and Elyssa Warwick walked into the No Bull Cafe at two o’clock the following day. Verity saw at once that Laura’s brief descriptions had been right on target. Doug

Warwick was a good-looking young professional, with expensively trimmed sandy brown hair and a salon tan. His shirt was Ralph Lauren’s version of outdoor wear, and his khaki slacks had pleats in them.

Verity was impressed with the pleats. She had tried to persuade Jonas to buy a pair of pleated trousers the last time they had gone to San Francisco. It had turned into one of those all-too-frequent occasions when Jonas had, as Laura bluntly put it, put his foot down. They had come home with a new pair of Levi’s that hadn’t even been prewashed for the fashionable broken-in look. Clothes were not one of Jonas’s passions.

Elyssa Warwick was a surprise. Thanks to Laura’s description, Verity had been prepared for the wide, luminous eyes and serene smile. What she hadn’t expected were the undeniably attractive face, the lushly rounded figure, and the silvery blond hair worn in a sleek, shoulder-length bob.

Elyssa was dressed all in white—a white silk shirt that was open one button lower than necessary for fashion, a white wool trumpet skirt, and white ballet shoes.

The unrelieved white made a perfect backdrop for the glittering jewelry that adorned every limb, finger, and ear. Huge, sculpted pieces of metal hung from her ears; several rows of colorful necklaces swung over her full breasts; her bracelets were wide cuffs that extended almost to her elbows; bands of gold adorned with small bells circled her ankles. She tinkled and chimed whenever she moved.

“You must be Verity,” Elyssa said warmly as she extended an elegantly shaped hand. Each graceful finger wore a ring, and her long nails were painted in a variety of glittering colors. “Laura Griswald told us all about you. She said we mustn’t miss your cooking while we’re here in Sequence Springs.”

Verity escorted her guests to a table. “Please sit down. I’ll be able to talk to you in a few minutes. I just have to finish up some things in the kitchen. Did you want something to eat?”

Doug Warwick spied the gleaming copper espresso machine in the corner and smiled. “Maybe a cup of espresso, or a café au lait. We ate lunch in the spa dining room.”

Verity nodded. She’d had an espresso machine installed two months earlier. Actually, Jonas had installed it. He’d had the huge, complex machine up and running within two hours of its arrival. He really was quite handy to have around.

Verity made two small cups of potent espresso and carried them to the Warwicks’ table. Doug and Elyssa smiled gratefully. A few minutes later the last lunch customer left, and Verity made herself a cup of tea.

“I understand you’re looking for Jonas,” she said as she sat down at the Warwicks’ table. “I’m afraid he’s out of town at the moment. Business, you know. He’s doing some consulting work for a client in Mexico.”

Elyssa stirred her espresso and looked seriously impressed. “I imagine his work takes him all over the world.”

Verity coughed slightly. “His sort of work is international in scope, naturally. He certainly has done a great deal of traveling. I’m expecting him back any day now, however. In his absence I handle certain business matters for him. May I inquire how you heard about him? For the past few years he’s been working out of the country a great deal. He’s only recently made Sequence Springs his business headquarters.” She wondered if she was laying it on too heavily. If Jonas could hear her he would be looking around for something to clean his boots.

But if Doug and Elyssa were concerned by the fact that the “consultant” they wanted to hire had based his worldwide headquarters in a small-town vegetarian restaurant, they were too polite to show it.

“Jonas was recommended to us by a friend,” Elyssa said. “A close acquaintance of mine who has the most extraordinary intuition. I explained to him the sort of expert we needed, and he asked around for us. Preston has a wide variety of contacts.”

“Preston Yarwood,” Doug Warwick put in dryly, “makes a hell of a good living running psychic self-development seminars in the Bay Area. Elyssa’s been a faithful student for the past six months. He’s into crap like channeling and metaphysical massage. He also drives a Porsche and wears hand-tailored suits. I suppose the guy must be doing something right.”

“Now, Doug, this is no time to make fun of Preston,” Elyssa scolded in a gentle, sisterly tone. “He’s a very talented, highly intuitive man. A wonderful teacher. He’s actually got precognitive abilities, although he’s too modest to admit it.”

“Bull,” Doug said cheerfully. “He never loses an opportunity to remind people of his so-called visions.”

“You can’t deny that he found Mr. Quarrel for us.” Verity eyed the Warwicks closely. “Just how did this Preston locate Jonas?”

Elyssa’s smile was radiant. “He contacted the editor of a small journal that specializes in Renaissance studies. You see, we need an expert in that particular era of history. The journal editor said he’d just published an article by a Mr. Quarrel, who was quite knowledgeable about the Renaissance and might be just the man we needed.
He told Preston that Jonas Quarrel once had quite a reputation for being able to authenticate almost anything. Apparently Mr. Quarrel did an article on fencing techniques for the journal?”

Verity smiled complacently. “You’ve read it?”

“I’m afraid not, although I’d certainly like to,” Elyssa said with great charm.

“I just happen to have an extra copy,” Verity told her smoothly “I’ll let you have it. I’m sure you’ll find it very interesting. It’s a brilliant piece.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“What exactly did you want Jonas to authenticate?” Verity looked at Doug Warwick.

“A sixteenth-century villa,” he replied promptly.

Verity stared at him. “A villa? In Italy?” Visions of a vacation in the Italian countryside danced through her head. This might be even better than a trip to Hawaii.

Doug gave her a level look over the rim of his tiny espresso cup. “I wish it were that simple. If Hazelhurst’s Horror were in Italy, I
wouldn’t have the problem of trying to assure my buyers that it’s genuine. But since it’s located on an island up in the Pacific Northwest, things get complicated.”

“Good grief,” Verity exclaimed. “How did a sixteenth-century Renaissance villa get to an island in the Northwest?”

“It was taken apart in Italy before the turn of the century, shipped here to the States, and reconstructed by an eccentric relative of our late uncle, Eustis Hazelhurst. Our uncle Digby, who was just as nutty as his relative, inherited the place when Eustis died. Then, two years ago, our uncle died and I inherited the monstrosity.”

“Doug put it up for sale immediately,” Elyssa explained. “Who can afford the taxes and upkeep on a thing like Hazelhurst’s Horror? It costs a fortune to maintain. A group of businessmen want to turn it into a resort. They’re very interested in the place, but they want proof that the villa is authentic before they pay what Doug is asking. So, Doug has decided to hire someone with a respectable academic reputation to look the place over and write a report for the buyers.”

Doug set down his empty espresso cup. “In all fairness, you should know at the outset, Verity, that my sister has ulterior motives. She wants Mr. Quarrel to do a little treasure hunting while he’s checking out the villa.”

“Buried treasure?” Verity was enthralled.

Doug shrugged expressively. “Probably just a wild goose chase, but my uncle left enough evidence to whet the appetite. The treasure is supposedly buried somewhere in the villa.”

“And I definitely think we should look for it before we sell the place,” Elyssa declared stoutly.

Verity frowned. “If there was any treasure, wouldn’t it have been discovered when the place was taken apart for shipping?”

It was Doug who answered. “That was my first thought, too. But apparently the villa was not literally taken apart stone by stone. Huge chunks of it were left intact. The workmen simply built a protective crate around the big pieces and put them on the boat. A lot of furniture and some artwork were also shipped over, but almost all of that is gone now. Poor Uncle Digby had to sell it off in order to keep the place going.”