Season of Strangers (12 page)

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Before his stroke, my father used to take you out to dinner every year.” He smiled. “Since he isn't well enough to do it this year, why don't I fill in for him?”

She shook her head, nervously chewing her lip. “I appreciate the offer, Patrick, I really do, but I'm afraid I can't accept. I'm having a few people over. Babs and Laura, Owen Mallory has promised to stop by.”

He frowned. “You're not involved with Mallory, are you…on a personal level, I mean? I know he's always had an eye for you, but I never thought you were—”

“Owen is one of my most valuable clients. Beyond that he's a friend, nothing more.”

Relief swept through him. A different sort than he had expected. It bothered him and suddenly he felt uneasy. He forced himself to smile. “Then you won't mind if I stop by too? I promise to bring a bottle of good champagne.”

“I-I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea.”

He arched a brow. “Why not?”

“Why not?”

“That's what I said.”

“Because…because…” Her chin went up. “You know very well why not. Because you're you and I'm me. Because you're my employer. Because we work together, that's why not.”

“We're also friends, aren't we?”

“Of course, but—”

He closed the door to her little Mercedes, cocooning her inside. “I'll see you tomorrow night,” he said loud enough to be heard through the glass. “Lock your doors,” he called over his shoulder as she rolled the window down, but he kept on walking away.

Tomorrow night he would see her again, watch her actions within the familiar setting of her home. So far he hadn't a clue as to why she had reacted so differently to the study probe than her sister. Perhaps if he saw them together…

But as he climbed into his car, it wasn't studying Julie's behavior that occupied his thoughts. It was the way her jacket had pressed against the fullness of her breasts, the compelling pink shade of her lips. Just sitting at the table, he had been hard off and on all evening. Thinking about it now made him hard again.

Val used one of Patrick's favorite swearwords. By now his benefactor would have assuaged his sexual needs with one or more of his numerous women—a fact verified by any number of incredibly graphic memories. Recalling them, Val knew what to do and exactly how to go about getting it done. Every day since he'd left the hospital, women had been calling him, offering their condolences and a whole lot more. But unlike Patrick, Val was interested in only one woman. He wondered what it would be like to take Julie Ferris to bed.

J
ulie woke up Saturday morning feeling a little out of sorts. She was twenty-nine today. A year away from thirty. The big three-0. It didn't make a woman feel good.

Which was one of the reasons she had given herself the day off. A birthday came just once a year. She deserved a little present to herself, and time off to do whatever she pleased was what she wanted most.

The last thing she wanted was to work.

Chances were slim, but she might run into Patrick at the office.

Julie felt a tightening in her chest just to think of the supper she had shared with Patrick last night. God, those eyes. A bright cornflower blue. Beautiful eyes that had seduced dozens of women. For years she had taught herself to ignore them. But then not once in the last eight years had he looked at her the way he did last night—as if there was no one else in the room. Maybe not anywhere else on the planet.

He seemed so different since his heart attack, so much…stronger. That was the word.

He had always been physically attractive, but the attraction went only surface deep. Beneath the chiseled face and athletic body was a self-centered, hedonistic, hopelessly destructive individual. The Patrick Donovan of last night was not the spoiled little boy he had always appeared. He was a man, and Julie found herself helplessly drawn to him.

It was dangerous. Almost as frightening as Laura's terrifying delusions. Patrick hadn't really changed. Not deep down inside. Sobered for a while, perhaps, been forced to face the consequences of his self-destructive ways.

But under it all, he was still Patrick. Nothing on Earth was going to make him change.

Determined to forget about Patrick at least for a while, she spent the morning in a lounge chair out on the deck, soaking up sunshine, listening to the pounding surf, and reading a spicy romance. It was set in England, a love story so poignant it brought tears to her eyes. It was pure fantasy, she knew. She would never meet a man like Ethan Sharpe, the tall dark hero in
The Devil's Necklace
, but she was a sucker for happy endings, and even after the bad luck she'd had with the opposite sex, she was still optimistic that for some women, that kind of love really existed.

Which brought her back to thoughts of Patrick. Julie set the book aside.

For the next few hours she worked in the kitchen, getting ready for the intimate dinner she planned. She liked to cook on occasion, and when she did, she was better than passably good. With her father gone from home and her mother busy working, she'd made dinner for their small family every night, though most of the time her mother's meal went into the oven to be reheated later on.

Julie was lifting the lid on a pot of boiling water, ready to add the seasoning to a batch of wild rice when she heard the doorbell ring. Wiping her hands on the apron tied over her strapless black cocktail dress she opened the door to find Laura standing on the porch.

Babs had just pulled her yellow Cadillac STS into the driveway. The table in the dining room glittered with her best Lennox china and Waterford crystal, stuff she had purchased for herself when she'd finally accepted the fact she might have to wait a long while to fill out her hope chest with a wedding.

“Happy birthday!” Laura gave her a hug and Julie hugged her back, perhaps a little harder than she usually did. She hadn't seen Laura since her meeting with Dr. Heraldson. Seeing her now, she could almost hear her sister's anguished words as her frightened voice came over the tape recorder.

Julie forced herself to smile. “I'm another year older but somehow I don't feel any wiser.”

“Never fear,” said Babs when she reached them, “I'm worldly-wise enough for all three of us.” She leaned over and hugged Julie. “Happy birthday, honey.” She was dressed in a black St. John knit, the color and simple rhinestone trim complementing the onyx shade of her straight-cut shoulder-length hair.

Julie smiled. “Let's go in. It's great to have both of you here.” They walked together into the kitchen, where Julie opened a bottle of Far Niente chardonnay. “I thought we'd drink the good stuff tonight.”

“Might as well,” Babs said, “you only live once.”

“If you don't mind, Julie, I'd rather have white zin. I know where it is.” Laura opened the refrigerator, knowing Julie always kept a bottle of the sweet blush wine just for her.

Babs just grinned. “Good idea, honey. Nothing worse than wasting good wine on a Boone's Farm drinker.”

Laura laughed. “Come on, Babs, I'm not that bad.”

“No you aren't. Besides, if you're smart, you'll never develop a taste for expensive wine. Once you do, it's impossible to go back to the cheap stuff.”

Julie said a silent amen to that. She had learned to appreciate fine wine when she had been dating Jeffrey Muller. During their two-year affair, she and Jeff, head of the L.A. division of Panasonic, had made half a dozen trips to the Napa Valley to replenish his extensive wine cellar.

Like most of their trips, they usually ended up with Julie in tears.

She shook off the notion. She never thought of Jeffrey anymore. He had stolen the last of her innocent dreams, thoughts of a husband and family, but three years had passed since then. She was successful in business and even if she didn't feel completely fulfilled, she was satisfied with the independent life she now lived.

She glanced at Laura, wishing her sister was as capable of coping with her problems as Julie had taught herself to be.

“All right,” Babs said, “I know you're Miss Efficient, but there must be something we can do to help.”

Babs was right, there wasn't much to do. Julie set them to work at a couple of minor last-minute tasks, but for the most part the meal was ready. Chicken dijon, wild rice, broccoli hollandaise, salad with an herb-balsamic dressing, fresh strawberries drizzled with Grand Marnier for dessert. Nothing fancy, just good healthy, relatively low-cal food.

“What time is Owen coming?” Laura asked, drawing Julie's gaze, which darkened with concern at the sight of her sister's drawn expression. In her simple blue silk dress, her hair pulled into a tight chignon, on the surface, Laura seemed calm enough. But Julie couldn't stop thinking of the tape Dr. Heraldson had played.

“Owen promised he'd be here by seven,” Julie said. “He ought to be arriving any minute.” She studied Laura more closely and as the minutes slipped past, began to notice a slight restlessness, a subtle tension about her. What was she thinking? Julie wondered. Why was she so afraid?

The doorbell rang a few minutes later. “That's probably Owen now.”

It was. Silver-streaked light-brown hair, darkly tanned and athletically built, at forty-five Owen Mallory looked thirty. He was English, wealthier than Donald Trump, but the Earl of Finance, as the press often called him, wasn't nearly so flashy.

“Good evening, Julie. Felicitations on your birthday.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Owen, it's so good to see you.”

“Bit of a jam on the freeway. Poor Arthur was in a tither.” Arthur was Owen's chauffeur, an aging black man who lived in one of the cottages on his employer's huge estate.

“I'm just glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn't have missed it, dear girl. As a matter of fact, I'm planning to spend a bit more time at Oceanside.” The name he had given the palatial manor next door. “Perhaps we'll finally have a chance to see a bit more of each other.”

Julie smiled. “That would be wonderful.” She had always liked Owen Mallory. He'd been a pleasure to work with and even taught her a thing or two about investing. “At any rate, it's always good to see you.”

“What about me?” Patrick asked from the doorway, poking his dark head inside. “Aren't you glad to see me, too?”

“Patrick…” A flush rose into her cheeks. “Yes…of course I am.”

He handed her a bottle of Dom Perignon and a small bouquet of red roses. “Happy birthday.” But instead of a kiss on the cheek, he bent forward and softly kissed her on the mouth.

Julie's stomach fluttered then dipped like a roller coaster. It was a short kiss, hardly immodest. Dear God, she couldn't believe it affected her the way it did.

“Y-you two know each other, of course.”

“Of course,” Owen said, glaring at Patrick. She wondered why he was frowning, then remembered the men had once had real estate dealings. From Owen's obvious dislike, it was apparent it hadn't worked out.

“Why don't you both come in?”

Owen walked past her into the living room, but Patrick lingered a moment. He was staring at her lips, his skin a little flushed as if he was slightly unsettled himself. Then he smiled. “What can I do to help?”

“Everything is pretty much under control. There's wine in the kitchen. Liquor in the bar if you prefer. I know you're usually a Chivas drinker.”

“A glass of club soda would be fine.”

She arched a brow. “You aren't drinking?”

“You weren't surprised the other night.”

“That was different. We were eating Japanese. I just figured tea went better with sushi than scotch…although I guess you could have ordered sake.”

“Club soda. That's what I'm drinking these days. It's not as good as Dom Perignon, but it's not all that bad either.”

She smiled brightly. “That's terrific, Patrick. I'm really proud of you.”

The five of them talked for a while, sipped wine and ate hors d'oeuvres, then went into the dining room and sat down at the long, glass-topped, bleached pine table. Owen poured the Dom Perignon, filling everyone's glass but Patrick's. Patrick filled his with soda and lifted it in a toast along with everyone else.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” Owen said. “May you have many, many more.”

Soft notes of Brubeck jazz floated in from the CD player in the living room. As they began to eat, darkness settled in. Tall white candles in cut-crystal holders flickered in the breeze blowing in through the windows, bathing the room in soft yellow tones. Outside the ocean rolled onto the beach.

They finished the meal in warm conversation, then Babs helped Julie clear away the plates and they returned to the table to linger over dessert. All but Patrick sipped a cup of dark French roast coffee, Laura's heavily laced with cream. Outside the window, the rhythmic pounding of waves against sand set up a soothing lull that contributed to the pleasant atmosphere.

Pleasant, it seemed, for all of them but Laura.

So far only Julie had noticed her sister's furtive glances toward the thickening darkness outside, the way she had begun to shift uneasily in her chair. Laura let her coffee grow cold and started drinking more wine, filling her glass to the rim with the last of a bottle of chardonnay that sat open in the middle of the table.

Seated in a chair beside her, Julie reached over and clasped the hand Laura unconsciously fisted in her lap. It felt cold and clammy, damp with perspiration.

“Laura, honey, are you all right?”

Patrick had noticed Laura, too. He was watching with an odd intensity and more than a little concern.

“I'm fine, Julie. I guess I'm a little stressed out is all.”

“Hard day at work?”

“Yeah…I guess so.” She glanced toward the windows and nervously bit her lip. “I've decided to go home after supper. I've got some things to do in the morning. You understand, don't you? You aren't upset?”

“You brought an overnight bag. I thought you were going to stay.”

Laura glanced toward the doors leading out onto the deck. “I've got to go.”

Julie forced herself to smile. “It's all right. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, and of course I'm not upset.” She squeezed Laura's hand, let go and rejoined the table conversation, not wanting to draw any more undue attention to her sister. But from the corner of her eye, she watched the way Laura crimped her napkin, picked at a loose thread in the hem. Every few seconds her eyes darted to the blackness outside.

Someone laughed, but Laura's face went rigid. “What's that?” she said, breaking into Owen's tale of a chaotic week he had just spent in London. “Wh-what's that funny sound?”

Everyone paused to listen. “I don't hear anything,” Babs said. “Wait a minute…now I do.”

It was a thick, dull humming, a sound in the distance that seemed to be moving toward them. As it neared, it grew louder, making a buzzing sound above them, compressing the air and reminding Julie of something…something…but she couldn't quite think what it was.

“It's them! They're coming!” Laura jumped up from the table, jerking backward so fast she knocked over her chair. It landed with a clatter against the wooden floors.

Julie stood up, too. “It's all right, Laura. There's nothing to be afraid of. We'll just go out and see what it is.”

Laura just stood frozen, her face drained of color as the heavy dull buzzing drew nearer. Then a bright white light filled the room, illuminating everyone at the table, throwing their features into shadowy contrasts of light and dark.