Immortal Love (15 page)

I grabbed the original and the copy still warm from the printing and walked back to his desk.

“She was quite pregnant,” Bécquer continued, and when I nodded, he continued, “I thought she would be a good match for you and she agreed. If you want, I’ll give you her phone number so you may contact her at your convenience.”

Once more, I was having trouble concentrating under his stare and, again, I failed to answer.

Bécquer frowned. “Unless you have another agent already, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeated, then, realizing how little sense I was making, I quickly added. “No, I don’t. And thank you for talking to Ms. Lindberg on my behalf.”

Bécquer nodded. “Sarah will be on maternity leave for several months starting soon. If that is a problem I could suggest somebody else.”

I smiled. The idea I could finish another book in a couple of months was quite laughable considering I was still struggling with the sequel I had just agreed to produce for Richard, because my outline kept changing between the happy ending I had planned when I started and a darker apocalyptic one that fit my somber mood of late. As for the hypothetical novel Ms. Lindberg would be representing, I had not even started it.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I can wait.”

I grabbed my purse, readying myself to leave, but Bécquer didn’t move.

“One more thing,” he added, motioning me to sit again. “I would appreciate if you don’t mention to Sarah the real reasons for our parting.”

“Of course. I couldn’t possibly tell her that — ”

“That you mistrust me?”

I flinched at his directness. “Well, yes. No, I mean, what did you tell her?”

“The official story. That I’m retiring.”

“But it’s not true.”

“Actually, it is.”

“But you weren’t, were you, when you signed me?”

“Things have changed since.”

“Because of Beatriz?”

“Among other reasons.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have been an agent for over ten years. Ten great years. Good things are not meant to last forever.”

“What will you do now?”

“Something exciting, I’m sure,” he said lightly. But his eyes avoided mine.

I waited for he hesitated as if he were about to add something. But just then, the phone rang.

Bécquer looked at the number on the caller ID and scowled. “Would you mind?”

He grabbed the phone when I said no, and after the required greeting was over, put the caller on hold. “I apologize but I do have to take this. David will walk you to the door.”

As if on cue, there was a knock and David came in.

“It has been a pleasure working with you, Carla.”

His handshake was firm, his voice professional, and the mind behind his guarded stare already miles away.

“Likewise,” I said and meant it. For meeting him had been a pleasure, before the events that followed turned my life into a nightmare. And now our parting would put an end to the nightmare and things would return to normal. But, although I was perfectly aware that I was the one who had rejected him as my agent, the one who had refused to give him my blood, I didn’t want to leave. Only his casual dismissal, his unconcealed eagerness to return to his call stopped me from asking him to forget everything I had ever told him and begging him to take me back.

Instead, I tore my eyes from his perfect features, lit now by a smile that was not meant for me, and followed David to the hall.

Somehow I managed to stay still while I waited for David to bring me my coat and my umbrella. I even managed to thank him, and not to trip as I climbed down the stairs. and walked back to my car.

The Honda Civic was gone. Which meant it was Rachel’s car, I thought as I ran to mine, the rain pounding on my head because I had not bothered to open my umbrella. After unlocking the car door, I threw my purse and umbrella on the back seat and climbed inside. Finally safe from unwanted stares, I leaned back against my seat and let the sense of loss wash over me.

It was done. I had severed my connection with the immortals. My children were safe, and my life back to where it had been before meeting Bécquer.

Except it wasn’t. For I had met him and fallen for him. And, for all my reassurances that I would soon forget him, leaving still hurt.

A sharp knock startled me. But when I blinked my eyes open, the only sound I heard was that of the water hitting my windshield.

I reached forward to start the car. Again, I heard the sound, a persistent tap coming from my right. And as I turned toward the sound, I saw a face framed in the window. Richard’s face.

I was so surprised to see him there that I just stared. Then, before I could hit the button to lower the window, Richard opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat.

“I hope you don’t mind my intruding,” he said, while my eyes took in his smart trench coat glistening with rain. “But you did say you could drive me to the station. Does your offer still stand?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” He shot a nervous look over his shoulder. “Then let’s get out of here before Bécquer sees us together and calls me back.”

“I was waiting for you in David’s car,” Richard explained as I put the car in reverse.

“Why? Why didn’t you leave with Rachel?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.” His voice sounded tense, and a quick glance at him as I looked over my shoulder to make sure it was safe to back up my car, was met with a cold stare from his pale blue eyes.

My stomach sank with apprehension. Was Richard thinking of breaking his contract with me now that Bécquer didn’t represent me anymore? Despite my previous realization that my interest in Bécquer overruled my desire to get published, the thought hurt more that I cared to admit.

“About our contract?” I asked, glad that the sound of gravel cracking under the tires and the constant pelting of the rain had drowned the quiver in my voice.

Richard snorted. “The contract? Is that all you care about?”

Too shocked by the suppressed anger boiling in his questions, I said nothing.

“Could you at least pretend you care for Bécquer a little after all he has done for you?”

I stopped the car at the end of the driveway, and turned to him. “Would you please explain what this is about? You’re obviously upset with me and I’ve no idea why.”

Richard stared at me for a long time. Finally, he ran his fingers through his blonde curls that, wet with rain fell flat over his forehead, and shook his head. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” I was angry now because something in his expression had scared me, and anger seemed a better option than to follow up in that fear.

“I see you don’t,” Richard said. “Could you please drive on? I’ll tell you what I know, I promise. But I’ve already missed the five-thirty train and I’d like to get home before nine. I have to walk my dogs.”

I hesitated for a moment then nodded my agreement. After taking a deep breath to release the tension building in my muscles, I turned on to the road and headed toward Princeton.

“First, I want to apologize for my harsh words,” Richard started, his voice loud enough to be heard over the grating sound of the windshield wipers. “I assumed Bécquer had shared the news with you, and I was appalled by your lack of concern.”

“News? The only news Bécquer ever shared with me was in regard to my book. Bécquer is my agent, Richard. He does not discuss his personal life with me.”

“You mean, he never told you about his car accident on Halloween night? He did say he had been the only one hurt, but because you two left the party together, I thought you had been involved in the crash.”

A car accident on Halloween night? So that had been Bécquer’s official story. So that was why Richard was worried, because Bécquer had been hurt? He was right to be concerned, for his wounds had been serious, fatal even, had he been human. But Bécquer was immortal, and thus Richard’s concern, unwarranted.

Relieved that a simple misunderstanding was behind Richard’s fears, I loosened my grip on the wheel, and answered him lightly. “No, I wasn’t with him.”

“You don’t seem surprised, though.”

“I wasn’t with him when the accident happened. But I did know about it.”

“You knew?” Anger crawled back into his voice. “You knew and you don’t care? You knew and yet, today, you come to the meeting and act as if nothing has happened and never even ask him how he’s doing?”

“I — ” I started, then stopped, confused. Why was Richard mad at me? Bécquer had told me he was almost healed when we talked the previous Tuesday. And today he had looked perfectly all right.

But when I told Richard this, he was not appeased.

“Bécquer is not all right, Carla. He will never walk again.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, then, when their meaning finally hit me, my mind went blank. My body reacted instinctively and my foot pushed hard on the brakes. The tires skidded on the wet road, causing the car to swerve in and out of the right lane.

Richard yelled and reached for the wheel. I pushed him hard, rejecting his help, rejecting his words. But his scream had broken the standstill in my mind and my brain was once again in charge of my body, and soon I had the car under control. Somehow I steered it into the shoulder and brought it to a halt.

For a moment we just sat there, side by side, the sound of the rain not covering, but underscoring, the silence that had fallen between us.

“What was that about?” Richard said at last, sounding more dazed than scared. “You could have gotten us killed.”

“I’m sorry. But, really, it was your fault. Why did you say that to me? Why did you make up such a horrible lie?”

Richard’s look of shock melted into something else, something like pity, which scared me even further. “So, Bécquer didn’t tell you.”

“No, of course not. Bécquer didn’t tell me because it is not true. You just made it up now to … to … ” But for all I wracked my brain to think of a reason I came up empty.

“I’m afraid I didn’t make it up, Carla. And, again, I apologize for misjudging you. Had I known you do care for him, I would have broken the news to you more gently.”

I braced myself against the wheel. “It’s too late to spare my feelings now. So please, just finish your story.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Drive?” I repeated, then, as I realized we were still on the shoulder when we were supposed to be driving to catch a train, I put the car in gear. But my movements were shaky, my vision blurred. I shifted again into park and nodded to him. “If you don’t mind.”

“Bécquer did not give me all the details,” Richard said after we’d exchanged seats. “All I know is that he was doing better after the accident. Then this past Monday, Rachel found him unconscious in his study. She called 9-1-1 when he didn’t respond to her attempts to revive him, and they rushed him to the hospital. Later that night, he came back to his senses. Apart from not remembering what had happened to bring him to that point, his mind suffered no damage, but his spine had been irreversibly broken. There is no doubt on his prognosis. He will never regain the use of his legs.”

I said nothing for I could not find my voice.

Bécquer is immortal. He’s not paralyzed,
a part of my mind repeated, convinced perhaps that if I said it enough times it would be so. But another part of me was remembering my recent meeting with Bécquer, and, as it did, details I had ignored came to the foreground as if forced from my subconscious by Richard’s words.

Bécquer had been sitting when I came into the study and never got up during the meeting, not even to say goodbye. Conveniently, when I was ready to leave, somebody had called and prevented him from accompanying me.

As for his bizarre claim that he didn’t know how to make a copy, it made perfect sense now. It had been an excuse to avoid getting up. Bécquer was almost 200 years old. He had grown up in a world without technology, but he had learned how to drive, and knew how to use a computer for he had sent me e-mails. How could I have ever believed he was too stupid to know how to work a copy machine?

So, yes, it was possible that Bécquer was paralyzed and had tried to hide it from me. But that didn’t mean his condition was permanent. In fact, it couldn’t be, for Bécquer was immortal.

Then another detail came to my mind. His reaction when his pen rolled out of his reach had been slow. And losing it had been clumsy to start with. Bécquer, the immortal Bécquer I remembered from the party, from our meetings in Café Vienna would not have dropped it. I started to shake.

Richard released a hand from the wheel and touched my arm. “Carla. Are you all right?”

I started at his touch, but didn’t push his hand away. “Yes,” I lied and closed my eyes, overwhelmed by a sense of loss so intense I felt like drowning. Bécquer, the perfect immortal who had so impressed me, was gone, replaced by an injured man forever dependent on others.

No. My mind fought back. Bécquer could not be mortal and paralyzed. Federico would have told me. Federico knew I loved Bécquer. Why had he not contacted me?

According to Richard’s account, only Rachel had been with Bécquer at the time, which meant Federico had left before Bécquer was fully recovered. Did he even know about the accident?

“Who is Federico?” was Richard’s answer when I asked him. “Is he Bécquer’s friend?”

“Yes. They have been friends for many years. Just friends,” I hurried to add to quench the note of hope I had noticed in his voice. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to call him now.”

I was aware I couldn’t talk freely to Federico with Richard sitting next to me. But I needed Federico’s reassurance that Bécquer would be fine.

I reached back for my purse without waiting for Richard’s answer and grabbed the phone and Federico’s card. But when I punched his number on my cell, my call went directly to voice mail.

“Will this Federico come to stay with Bécquer?” Richard asked after I finished recording my message.

“I hope so.”

“Good,” Richard said, sounding relieved. “And until he does, would you agree to check on him?”

“You want me to check on Bécquer?”