Intimate Strangers (18 page)

"What did you say?" Roarke's gruff voice halted the hope that had been blossoming.

Sara looked back up into his eyes and winced at the frigid gaze that iced her heart. "Do you allow him in the house now?" she asked softly, Stroking the silky head once more.

"Yes, but he's kept either in my study or in the kitchen. He's gotten used to having his movements restricted. Are you ready to go home?" He stood up, brushed off his trousers, and waited for her to answer.

Sara stood up and walked beside Roarke in silence. At the house Roarke left Sara standing in the hall and went into his study without a word to her. Zoe followed his master, but Sara saw the dog turn around and look at her with his soft brown eyes and a slight movement of his tail.

Slowly she climbed the stairs, deep in thought, went to her room, and walked out onto the balcony. Sitting back in the chaise longue, she let the tumultuous thoughts flow freely. She could not go on like this. Whether her memory returned or not, she'd have to leave this house. Whether she loved Roarke or not was immaterial now. Her flashbacks of memories, the story in the magazine, and the pendulum of Roarke's moods swinging her from anger to love and back again made her realize they couldn't build any kind of life together. The past would always stand between them.

The thought cut through her like a knife. Roarke's laughing face floated in front of her eyes. She ached with her love for him.
If only I could bring laughter to his face. But instead I fill him with anger and bitterness. I have to find some other place to go. Maybe without my presence here he could start rebuilding his life and I could find mine
. She hit her fist on the arm of the longue. She'd give him a divorce! She wouldn't play games with him anymore as she apparently had done in the past.

Sara stood and leaned against the railing that edged the balcony.
I love him so much
, she cried to herself.
Why does it have to be this way? Why can we find happiness only with other people
? She knew then that they could never be anything more than intimate strangers.

Pulling back the heavy damask drape, Sara looked out at the vast dark sky sprinkled with stars. The glow from the city lit up the horizon, fringing the distant low hills. She opened the sliding window and stepped out onto the balcony.

Roarke wasn't home. He left when they got back to the house. She wondered if he was going to stay out all night. His absence aroused her curiosity. But his not being here gave her some time to think about what she was going to do and how she was going to accomplish it. The hardest decision had been made earlier; she would divorce him. Now she needed to decide how to eliminate herself from his life.

A mockingbird trilled, echoing through the quiet night. Its mimicry of another's love call struck a poignant chord in Sara. She shivered at the melancholy sound. Nostalgia filled Sara's heart, a nostalgia she didn't understand. She pictured long lazy summer evenings sitting on a veranda, sipping a cooling drink; walking through lush woods filled with wild flowers; feeding a horse sugar lumps taken from her pocket and the horse nuzzling her neck. Sweet fragrant nights, listening to the crickets and cicada chirping their summer serenade in the dusk, fireflies flitting in and out of the lilac bushes, lighting pathways for others.

This nostalgia made Sara ache with wistful longings. She couldn't remember actually doing or seeing these things and wanted desperately to be able to remember. Somewhere she must have experienced all of this, otherwise why would she have such a longing?

All these feelings made her more resolute in her decision to find somewhere else to go. She needed to belong somewhere. She didn't belong here! The pressure in this house was intolerable. It was like living with a time bomb. Roarke's indifference to her pleas for understanding was worse than his accusing her of betraying his trust. It was a wall she couldn't break through.

She didn't know where to go. She couldn't ask Martha too many questions because she didn't want anyone to know she was planning to leave. She'd have to think of a good excuse to leave the house, one that didn't raise any suspicions with anyone.

A restlessness suddenly seized her. She had made a decision and the futility of not being able to carry it through right this . minute frustrated her. She went back into her room and saw the crumpled magazine laying on the table. Picking it up, forced to punish herself, Sara reread the article about Roarke and Suzanne. It was self-inflicted torture, but each time she read through it and remembered the scene with Roarke on their way home from Ted's office, her determination to leave became stronger. Suddenly one line from the story swam in front of her eyes. "Sara Alexander had taken up residence in the couple's Washington apartment."

Sara knew where she would go! She'd find out where the apartment was, get the keys, and stay there until she could figure out her next move. There must be some way for her to get the information without anyone questioning her motives.

Sara sat for hours, plotting ideas, then quickly rejecting the plots. The agitation of wanting to do something positive, immediately, and knowing she'd have to wait until tomorrow made her pace the room. She had to forcibly subdue the impulse to run, run away from the house, run away from Roarke, run away from herself.

Spotting headlights coming up the driveway, she hastily moved away from the window. She didn't want Roarke to know she was still awake. The thought of facing his cold insensibility or his self-righteous condemnation left her shaking and sick to her stomach.

Turning out all the lights, she listened for the sounds of Roarke's presence in the house. Sitting on the edge of the bed for what seemed an eternity, she heard nothing. After a while her curiosity overcame her reticence to confront Roarke and she tiptoed out of her room and silently trod down the stairs.

There was no one in the hall, but a lighted sconce cast her dancing shadow on the walls, giving her an eerie feeling of not really being alone. Sara proceeded stealthily to Roarke's study and stood at the door listening for any sounds that might emanate from inside the room. She heard nothing.

Very cautiously turning the knob, inching the door open, she prayed Roarke wasn't in the study. If he were in there, she'd have to think of a good reason for her intrusion into his private sanctum. Peering around the edge of the door, she saw that the only light in the room came from a small desk lamp someone had left on. It shed its light grudgingly over the top of the desk, but the glow dissipated as it vied with the darkness in the rest of the room, and in the corners, darkness took over. She looked around, and as far as she could tell the study was empty. Feeling some of the tension leave her tightened muscles, Sara moved into the room then gasped as a shadow moved from behind the desk. She laughed in relief to see Zoe, the huge great Dane, standing before her, his tail wagging in excited recognition. Bending down and stroking him lovingly, she suddenly became aware of just how lonely she was.

"Well, old boy, you've won me over. I abjectly apologize for my past mistakes," Sara whispered to the prancing dog. "Come on, Zoe, tonight you share my room." Sara encouraged the dog with a low whistle and after quietly closing the study door, they went silently up the stairs.

The strain of the day caught up with her, and after a few comforting words to the confused but excited dog, Sara went to bed. Zoe put a cautious paw on the footboard of her bed and she pretended not to notice when the dog climbed up onto the bed and lay down. She chuckled at how the huge animal seemed to control his movements in slow motion as he maneuvered his gigantic body until he was comfortable.

Later, when Roarke couldn't find the dog, he slowly opened Sara's door and heard the rumble of Zoe's protective growl. Roarke entered the room and reassured him that he meant her no harm. As he left the room, Roarke stood in the doorway staring at the woman lying in the bed, her hair spraying over the pillow like golden strands of silk in the light from the hallway. "Please don't remember yet, Sara," he whispered. Shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, he quietly closed the door behind him.

"Miss Sara, what is that beast doing up here?" Martha's voice filtered through Sara's deep sleep. Blinking her eyes, Sara sat up and laughed at the expression of horror on Martha's face.

"Zoe and I are friends and I invited him up here." Sara looked lovingly at the dog who was standing across the doorway barring Martha's entry into the room.

"Please tell your friend to let me come in," Martha protested. "I want to set this tray down before I drop it on the floor."

"Good boy, Zoe. Now go downstairs and get your breakfast." Sara threw her head back and laughed as the dog pranced from the room but not without a triumphant look at Martha.

"Why anyone would want a beast like that! It's not a dog, it's as big as a pony." Martha set the tray down and poured Sara a cup of coffee. Sara knotted her robe as she sat down at the table.

Sara decided now was as good a time as any to try out the plan she had formulated the evening before. She just hoped she could fool Martha and get the information she needed. Martha must not get too suspicious. This was Sara's only chance, and if Martha would get suspicious, Sara probably would never get away. Martha would tell Roarke and he would probably stop her.

"Martha, do you know where the keys to the apartment in Washington are kept?" she asked with what she hoped was a light curiosity in her voice.

"Why would you want the keys to the apartment?" Martha questioned with one eyebrow raised.

Sara took a deep breath and put her shaking hands in her lap, hoping she could stay calm. "Well, Roarke told me that's where I had been staying while we were separated. I'm curious about the place." Sara propped her chin in her hand, trying to maintain her casual pose.

"So you found out! How?"

"Roarke told me, Martha."

"Oh, Miss Sara." Martha shook her head. "At first I felt guilty about not telling you. But when Mr. Roarke explained to us what the doctor told him, that you should remember by yourself, I went along with it. I hope you're not mad at me."

Sara went over to the older woman and put her arm around her shoulder. "Don't look so sad, Martha. I'm not mad at you. I know you did what you felt was right."

"Right or wrong, only time will tell, Miss Sara."

"Yes, time… so much time," Sara murmured. "Well, maybe we can help time along. Do we have keys? It might help me to remember something if I saw the apartment."

"You're right, it might do you good to go there." Martha brightened considerably. "I have extra sets to all the keys downstairs. Mr. Roarke keeps extra keys here and at his office. When would you want to go into town?" Martha asked.

"I was wondering if Bradley would mind running me in today? I'd kind of like to spend the day rummaging through things. I'll phone Roarke at the office and ride back home with him." Sara was relaxing and her hands stopped trembling. She felt triumphant. Despite her twinge of guilt at having to deceive Martha, she succeeded in waylaying her curiosity.