Intimate Strangers (12 page)

Martha remained silent throughout Sara's recollection, but the expression on her face alarmed Sara. "What's the matter, Martha, why do you look so disturbed? Have I said something to upset you? What is it?" Sara touched Martha's cheek with the palm of her hand.

Martha took Sara's hand and pressed it warmly between hers. "I'm upset because it makes my heart break that in order for you to become a whole person again, you have to remember the tragedies of your life along with the happy things. What a shame that you can't be allowed to remember only the good."

Sara smiled poignantly and her heart lurched. She realized how much Martha did love her. It was as though she were Martha's own daughter.

Martha sighed. "The dream you had really happened. The older woman who held your hand so lovingly was your grandmother. Your parents were both killed in a horrible head-on collision one night on their way home from a party. A drunk driver who was passing a truck… they were killed instantly." Martha broke off with a shake of her head.

Sara was trembling, partly from the horror of her parents' untimely and horrible deaths and partly from the excitement of her remembering something of the past, even if it were in a dream. "Do we have any photographs of my parents or grandmother?" she asked breathlessly, hoping against hope that the answer would be yes. She was elated when Martha told her there was an album upstairs and could hardly contain herself until they got to her room and Martha brought the album to her.

The woman in her dream and in her sketch was indeed her grandmother. The pictures of her parents saddened her but brought no memory other than the feeling of sorrow. But Sara was more optimistic than she had been in the last several weeks. If she could remember the funeral and her grandmother, maybe soon she'd remember the rest.

Martha's voice invaded Sara's thoughts. "Miss Sara, do you want some lunch now? I have to get started on dinner soon. Why don't you come back downstairs and eat it in the kitchen and we'll talk while you eat." She clapped her hands together and a smile split her face. "I know, why don't you and Mr. Roarke eat in the dining room tonight? We'll celebrate your first day out of your room and Mr. Roarke's homecoming!"

"Two celebration dinners in one week?" Sara laughed. "It sounds to me that you look for any excuse to cook a big meal and fuss over us."

Sara spent a great deal of time on herself in anticipation of dinner with Roarke. After her shower she brushed her hair till it shone like golden silk around her face and shoulders. She chose a pastel pink, full-length dress and pink shoes to match. The dress flowed against her body, molding her lovely, lithe form, the bodice draped over her breasts, clinging softly to the round firmness underneath. She wore very little makeup, but her eyes glowed and her cheeks flushed with expectation.

"Sara, you never looked lovelier," a deep voice sounded from the open doorway. Roarke leaned against the door frame, his suit jacket flung casually over his shoulder and his hair a trifle rumpled.

Sara hadn't heard her door open but was pleased when she turned and saw him. "Thank you, kind sir," she quipped with a slight dip of her head in a mock curtsy.

"You're dazzling and Martha is bustling around the kitchen and Bradley is hovering near the dining room. Is this all for me?" He smiled as he took her hands in his, his blue eyes filled with sparks of light.

"Yes, it's our way of saying welcome home to you. We missed you." Sara smiled into his eyes. "And we're eating dinner in the dining room tonight. We're also celebrating my first evening downstairs."

"Well, maybe I should go away more often. It's quite clear that absence does make the heart grow fonder," he teased.

"How did your trip go? Is everything taken care of?" Sara frowned. She wanted to share in his life, but she didn't know enough about his business to ask intelligent questions.

"It went really well. Not only will we make a considerable profit, but there are some long-range benefits, including more prestige for the firm. I'd better go shower and change clothes before Martha skins me alive for being late and ruining her dinner. If you wait for me, I'll walk you downstairs," he offered. "It will only take me a few minutes."

"I'll wait for you. I still have a few things to do myself." She smiled.

"Okay, I'll be back to get you in less than fifteen minutes."

Sara watched him until he was in his room and behind the closed door. She clasped her hands across her stomach. It was churning from the excitement of having him home again, from having him close. She yearned to tell him about her discovery of her love for him, but knew she couldn't. She hoped that soon she could tell him how much she cared.

Twenty minutes later they were seated in the dining room with Bradley serving them. He poured their wine and Sara proposed a toast. "Here's to the success you've had with this contract, may you have much more success in the future." She held her glass in mid-air, waiting for Roarke to tap his against it.

"Here's to you, Sara. A beautiful woman who is once again stealing her husband's heart!" Roarke looked tenderly into her eyes as he touched his glass to hers.

Sara wanted to run over and throw herself into his arms and entice him upstairs to her bedroom. But she knew she had to move slowly. There was a lot of hurt in both of them to overcome.

Throughout dinner Roarke regaled her with stories of when their house was new, how they scoured the countryside for a particular piece of furniture that Sara wanted.

In Roarke's study after dinner they drank coffee and continued their light conversation. Roarke was charming and amusing and Sara was entranced. She watched his blue eyes change color as he would swing emotionally from telling her something funny to something poignant. His face dropped the mask of guarded defensiveness, and the play of reactions that softened his features was fascinating.

Contemplating his magnificent handsomeness, Sara thought to herself,
Wouldn't we make beautiful children
? Without thinking she blurted out, "Roarke, why didn't we have any children?" With a gasp Sara put her hand over her mouth, regretting the impulsively asked question. The shuttered look that came over Roarke's face told her she had ventured too far too fast.

Deciding since she had gone this far she might as well pursue the subject despite Roarke's change of mood, she added, "You said you'd be honest with me and answer my questions. Don't shut me out, Roarke, please."

Roarke stood up and walked over to the bar, his shoulders slumped. He poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter and kept his face averted. Finally, in a toneless voice, he answered, "We had wanted children. We wanted to start a family right away, but after the honeymoon we decided we should wait for a year or two and have some time to ourselves. I thought it was a good idea. You were very young and I was young enough where a little time wouldn't hurt. Later you decided that one more year wouldn't hurt, and it just went on that way until we separated. I never questioned our decision because I felt you needed time to mature. In later years I realized our marriage was in trouble and to bring a child into a marriage that was going bad wasn't fair to the child." He pulled out a cigarette and after lighting it poured himself another drink.

Sara stared at her hands, deep in thought. This other woman Roarke talked about seemed totally disassociated from her. It was as though there were two Saras, and the more Sara heard about the other one, the less she liked her. She cringed inwardly when she saw the hurt in Roarke's eyes and the tension in his body over the havoc the other Sara had created in his life. When he spoke of the other one, she winced with shame, embarrassment, and deep hurt that she really was the person who could cause this change in him. She felt like a mirror, with the horrible Sara on one side of the mirror constantly reflecting through to the side Sara was on now.

"I don't… I don't have any defense or explanation because I don't know this person you're talking about. It's like we're talking about a stranger, a stranger who haunts this house," Sara said regretfully. She got up to leave the room, feeling she had spoiled their wonderful evening, but until her memory returned, she knew this would happen often.

"Sara, please don't leave. I didn't mean to be so short with you. You're right when you say ghosts haunt this house. But I think they're ghosts we can put to rest. Come over here and let's sit down a minute."

If only they could put the ghosts to rest, but how? She sat down beside him and he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Roarke, I'm sorry if I upset you," Sara said quietly, "but regardless of what you think, there are many things I need to know. Do you realize how alone and frightened I am? My nightmares are becoming more frequent. The horrible part is that even when I dream of the past, I really don't remember it. One thing I do know though—I don't like the other Sara. She's the ghost who haunts this house." Sara felt her agitation increasing, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm so afraid that when I do get my memory back, I'll be the old Sara, and I don't want to be her! The more I hear of her, the less I like her. I have such a helpless feeling. I'm afraid that I can't stop her from coming back."

Roarke's forehead was creased with worry. "Sara, try not to be so frightened. That's not going to help. Listen"—he smiled and chucked her under the chin with his fingertips—"you weren't all bad. My God, if you would have been, I wouldn't have married you. We had a lot of good times together."

"But I couldn't defend myself even if you did tell me now what had gone wrong or some of the things I did to you. I don't remember what I did or why I did them."

"I wouldn't tell you anyway, Sara," Roarke interjected. "There would be no use in going over who is to blame. I told you before, we're both at fault. What is past is past and what matters is right now. We're both different people, so we'll take each day as it happens and each other as we are now." Roarke smiled again, his face relaxing, and he reached over and took her hands that she was twisting together in her lap, held them in his, and rubbed them. "I am beginning to believe that you're not the same woman who haunts us from the past. I'm almost positive that woman no longer exists." He kissed the wrists of both her hands. "I want to know the new you. We'll find a way to bridge the gap between our past and the present."

The contact of Roarke's lips on the thin flesh of her wrists was like an electrical shock. Sitting very still, she tried to keep her voice low and even. "Roarke, I honestly don't know what to say. Starting a new beginning is very easy for me because this is my beginning. But this can't be easy for you, I know that. I can't even begin to imagine all the hurt we've been through, but I sometimes can see the pain in your eyes. Are you sure this is what you want to do and not something you feel obligated to do?" She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. His flesh under his silky shirt was warm and firm beneath her hand.

"Sara, if I weren't sure, I wouldn't be sitting here now. Of course I'm sure. You are fascinating, warm, and understanding, and I want to know you better." Roarke reached up and took her hand from his shoulder and kissed the palm. "And you aren't alone. You have Martha, Bradley, and me. We all care about you."

Sara blinked back tears that were forming in her eyes. "I know that, but what about my friends, our friends? We do have some friends, don't we? No one has called or come to visit me. Are they afraid of me? Do they think amnesia is a contagious disease or a form of insanity?"

Roarke put his fingers over her lips to stop the words. "I thought we settled that a good while ago. You're not crazy. I don't want to hear another word about that! Our friends have called, and I asked them all to have patience until you're well. We thought you had enough to contend with in getting over your accident. And Ted said with your amnesia you could do without a lot of confusing people hanging around."

Leaning her head back against the sofa, Sara sighed audibly and closed her eyes. Roarke squeezed her hands and she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

"Listen, Sara, we can't keep dwelling on this. We've sat here most of the evening talking about a new beginning, but we can't start if we keep rehashing the past. This started out as an evening we both looked forward to. We've had our serious talk. Now let's get on with the fun part."

Sara also desperately wanted to recapture the gay mood of earlier in the evening. She had looked forward to Roarke's homecoming with such anticipation and apparently so had he. His charming conversation at dinner and his concern for her well being made her feel so wanted. She didn't want to constantly be complaining or worrying. He certainly wouldn't look forward to coming home if she were that kind of woman.

"But, Roarke"—Sara looked up at him mischievously—"I—I don't remember how to have fun either!" Mirth bubbled up inside her and she couldn't contain it. Her eyes were shining and the sound of her giggling filled the room.

Roarke threw his head back and laughed. It was the first time Sara had heard him laugh aloud in the weeks that she had been with him. His laughter was deep and filled with vibrant warmth. This is how she wanted to see him all the time—his eyes twinkling, a smile lighting up his face, and his deep laughter warming the room.

"You're a nut, a cute one, but still a nut." He tweaked the end of her nose with his fingers. "Well, as I recall, you used to be a fanatical gin player. Would you like to play cards?"

"I guess, but you'll…" Sara chuckled.

"What's so funny?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

"I was about to say again, you'll have to refresh my memory—" Sara's words caught on a sob that suddenly came out of nowhere.

Roarke was beside her instantly. "Don't cry, Sara!" he said, taking her into his arms and caressing her back. He looked at her with a strange glint in his eye. "You weren't that bad at playing gin." He gasped as Sara grinned and pretended to hit him.

Sara grabbed one of the throw pillows she had been leaning against and hit him on the head with it. "So, I'm a bad gin player, huh? Get out the cards and let's see who's a bad gin player."