Serena's Magic (16 page)

She stood and began pacing the room. “I do not believe in … in what? Reincarnation? I don’t! Coincidence, I believe in coincidence … and even coincidence isn’t that strong. I’m a widow, not a poor adulteress seeking affection in the midst of a pathetic life. And Justin … is the farthest thing from a sea captain. …”

Despite all her logic, she was still shivering. “Why am I shaking? It is interesting, nothing more.”

Serena closed her eyes for a second, then carefully picked up the book and the papers and set them on her dresser. I am going to go to sleep, she told herself, and tomorrow, I will read this with Justin, and we will laugh.

But when she was lying in bed with the covers drawn about her, she couldn’t get her eyes to close. She kept remembering Eleanora’s description of her lover’s eyes.

“The hell with this!” she suddenly shouted aloud. She jumped from the bed and crept quietly downstairs to the liquor cabinet in the parlor and poured herself a double shot of whiskey, which she downed in a gulp, flinching as the liquor burned her throat. She closed her eyes with the sensation, then reopened them to see Eleanora, staring down at her in the dim light.

Serena poured another double shot of whiskey. “Susan’s right about you!” she told the painting. “Tomorrow—you go!”

With her hands finally steady, Serena started to close the whiskey bottle. She glanced at the painting again, then tucked the bottle under her arm. “Think I’m not going to sleep, eh? Well you’re wrong! I am definitely going to sleep!”

In her room she had one more drink and finally began to laugh at her fears. It became easy to convince herself that they were unwarranted. The words in the diary began to fade as she ran her hand over the bed and the spot that had been Justin’s last night. “I am so in love with him. …” she thought incredulously. The depth of that love and the beauty of it were still amazing.

She finally yawned and closed her eyes. She had much more pressing problems than a spooky feeling created by similarities in a diary to her own life. She would be seeing Marc in the morning, and then Justin would be back, and then she would have to start praying that her love and faith were justified, that the man she had given herself to so completely did love her with the inexplicable fervor with which she loved him.

She had a crippling headache in the morning. Getting out of bed was sheer torture, and hearing Marc’s voice as she approached the dining room was agony on top of agony. She paused for a moment in the kitchen, taking a deep breath. This was it; she braced herself and moved through to the dining room.

“Good morning, Serena,” Martha began, pouring her a cup of coffee. “You were out a little late—I do appreciate your not minding dinner out—so I didn’t want to wake you.” Although Serena was the one addressed, the last Martha said with an evil eye on Marc.

He stood from his seat at the table, laughing undaunted. “I wanted to wake you, darling! What did you think? Isn’t the diary incredible? Oh, Serena, do you realize what a find it is?”

Serena tried to smile. She picked up her coffee cup without sitting down. “Yes, Marc,” she murmured, then took a long, stabilizing sip of the black coffee. “It’s a wonderful find. It will surely make you famous in the annals of the state!”

“Not me, sweetheart—us!”

Serena swallowed more coffee with a wince. “Marc, take a walk with me outside, will you? I—we have to talk.”

“Serena,” Martha interrupted. “You should have something to eat first.”

Oh, God, Serena thought, if I eat I’ll throw up.

“I’m really not hungry,” she said firmly. “Marc?”

A few seconds later they were walking beside the oak trees. Serena waited until they reached a little alcove with high, smooth-topped rocks. Then she sat and nervously stared at her fingers for several seconds.

“Serena—what is it?”

“I can’t see you anymore, Marc,” she blurted.

“What?”

“I—I’m breaking off with you, Marc.”

“Why, Serena?” he stared at her, bewildered and obviously very hurt. Then he slammed his palm to his forehead. “I know, I’ve been neglecting you terribly—the book. Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I’ll make it all up to you, I promise.”

Tears started to fill her eyes, and she shook her head. “No, Marc, it’s not the book. It’s not you at all. It’s me.”

His tone changed. “I don’t get it,” he grated.

“Oh, Marc,” Serena murmured miserably. “I’m sorry, really so sorry. I—there’s really nothing to get—”

“I want to know why.”

Serena lowered her eyes and swallowed. “I’m in love with another man, Marc.”

“Who?” the demand was belligerent.

“Justin O’Neill.”

“O’Neill!” Marc shouted incredulously. “I don’t believe you! You barely know the man—”

“I do know him,” Serena interrupted very quietly.

Suddenly Marc was kneeling before her, his eyes dark and earnest. “You may think you know him, honey, but you don’t. It’s impossible! Look, Serena, I can see where he interests you—he’s like Einstein and Tarzan all rolled into one. But you can’t trust a man like that, Serena. He probably has a girl in every state. He’s probably been saying all kinds of things to you, Serena, but mark my words, honey, he’s a man with one object in mind. You’re a beautiful woman, Serena, and you’re mature enough to know it. What he wants to do is get you in bed.”

“Oh, Marc,” Serena wailed, gritting her teeth with the frustration of making him understand. “I’ve already been in bed with him.”

“What?”

He turned red with fury, and then white. And then his anger spewed from him. “You little bitch! You keep me at a ten-foot distance with your lily-white morality and then you hop into the sack with Mr. Virility without a qualm! O’Neill looked like a better time, eh?”

“No, Marc, you don’t understand—”

“You’re damned right, I don’t understand, you …”

He proceeded to label her a number of names, each less complimentary than the other. For a second Serena sat white-faced, shrinking back from the abuse which she felt part her due. Then she could take no more.

“Marc—”

“Where, Serena, where?” At her refusal to answer, the anger in his features drew into a snarl. “While I was running around trusting you and believing you belonged on a pedestal, you were kissing me good-bye and jumping into his bed
in your own room
! A room you kept me out of. …”

He kept going. Serena had expected the reaction from him; she knew how hurt he was. But she hadn’t expected his words to wound her as they were doing. Her headache compounded as he spoke. Each of the crude epithets he labeled upon her seemed in essence to be true. She had wanted to speak with him so rationally, to try to make Marc understand without bursting into tears which would appear ludicrous, but suddenly the tears were just streaming down her face. Guilt tore away at her. Justin … Marc … the diary. It was suddenly all too much
. …

She stood, placing a hand before her as if she could ward off the lash of Marc’s tongue.

“Stop it, Marc, please … stop it. …”

To her surprise, he went silent, staring at her.

“Serena?” She was chalk-white. He took a step toward her.

Inadvertently, Serena took a step backwards. Her foot hit the rock and she lost her balance and then stumbled against it, slamming the side of her face against it. Physical pain overrode that in her heart.

“Serena!” Marc was kneeling beside her, taking her into his arms, studying her face. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, Serena … I’m sorry … I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean what I said, oh my God, look what you’ve done. …”

Her head was reeling, but she heard the tears in his voice. “It’s … I’m okay, Marc.” His concern suddenly hurt more than anything.

“You’re not okay. …”

Well, she wasn’t okay; the entire side of her head throbbed, and she could taste blood in her mouth, but what could she say to a spurned suitor who was crying beside her?

“It was all my fault—”

“It wasn’t your fault!”

“We’ve got to get back to the house, honey—sorry, Serena. Your cheek is swelling terribly, and my God, I think you’re going to have a black eye. We’ve got to get some ice. Maybe I should take you to the hospital. Oh, God, am I sorry. It’s just that I was jealous of O’Neill from the first time I saw him, I guess. … I didn’t mean to upset you, oh, God, you’re hurt and it’s my fault. …”

Marc kept trailing on, helping her to her feet, but suddenly she was struck with a fear more terrible than the haunting terror that had struck her last night.

O’Neill. Justin … he was due back any time. Dear God, when Justin saw her face, he would be ready to commit murder. He knew she planned on talking to Marc, and would never believe that what had happened had been an accident. And pitting Justin against Marc, it would be murder.

“Marc!” She exclaimed suddenly. “Please—do me a big favor. Just leave. I’ll get some ice, I’ll take care of myself, I promise.”

Marc looked at her knowingly. “Serena, you’re afraid that O’Neill is going to show up and think something worse happened. I’m not leaving. Not when you need help. I’ll talk to him. I’m not a coward, Serena.”

“Oh, Marc, I know that, but please! Marc, I want to let the entire thing become an incident that never happened. I’ll—I’ll drive out to the Cape for a day and see Tom. I want to see Tom, really, everything has been such a mess. … Oh, Marc, please, I very much want us to stay friends—I know what I’m doing, really.”

“Oh, Serena, don’t be so nice to me after the terrible things I said. This was my fault,” he protested miserably.

“It wasn’t your fault! I tripped. And God, Marc, I understand what you said … how you feel … the whole thing has been … unbelievable. But, please, Marc, forgive me, and let us all be friends. You’re writing a book. You have to finish that book. We all
have
to be able to stay friends!”

“I can’t run out when you’re hurt—”

“Marc, please! Do it for me. I—I don’t want to see Justin. I feel too terrible about everything. I want to see Tom. I’ll be fine. Please, go!”

He stared at her with abject misery lacing his eyes, then leaned to gently touch her swollen cheek with his lips. “I’m going, Serena,” he said quietly. Then he turned away from the alcove. Serena listened as his footsteps crunched through the trees.

Then she breathed a long sigh of relief and waited to hear his car start up. She was desperately longing for an aspirin. Between her self-induced hangover and the ringing in her head, she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t rather be shot than anything else.

Finally she moved from the rock and slipped quietly across the lawn and into the house. Without realizing it, she studiously avoided the portrait of Eleanora as she silently trod her way up the stairs and into her own room, locking her door behind her. She gazed into the mirror above the dresser and drew back at what she saw.

The entire left side of her face appeared larger than the right. Dried blood drew a macabre line down her chin. As Marc had noted, the area around her eye was turning an ugly blue.

“Damn,” she moaned, “how on earth did I manage that?”

She walked into the bathroom and took two aspirin and tried to bathe her face with a washcloth. Nothing was going to help. She would be lucky if the swelling went down by the morning. But at least by then she could think of some kind of excuse.

And she knew she had to have an excuse. There would be no way that Justin would believe what had really happened. She was so afraid he would act first and listen later, and the thought of Justin retaliating was more than chilling.

She was going to have to go to Tom’s and
stay
a few days.

Susan would be ready to kill her, but Sue would just have to handle Monday and Tuesday by herself. “I’ll be back by Wednesday morning, Sue, I promise!” she whispered, turning from her reflection. Back in her bedroom she threw a few things into an overnight bag. She hoped Tom hadn’t planned a romantic weekend, because she was going to have to ruin it. It would be good for her to see her brother anyway. She could tell him all about Justin and see if he thought she had gone insane. And she could tell him about the diary, and he would make her laugh at the coincidences in life.

Justin was going to be furious to find her gone, but then he had stayed away a night, so he might as well learn it would be an equal partnership. He might want to strangle her, but it would be far better than his wanting to strangle Marc.

Serena opened the door to her room to shout her plans down to Martha, then ducked back into the room in panic as she heard Justin’s voice. Dear God, he was back ahead of schedule.

Serena leaned against her closed door and drew the bolt. Damn! Her gaze flew across the room to the panel, and she gripped her purse and bag and impulsively stuffed the diary and papers into the bag. Then she hit the panel with an experienced hand.

But she was carrying too much. In her attempt to reclose the panel, she jammed it. “Damn!” she muttered, throwing her weight against it. It slid into place, but she heard something snap. “How on earth did I ever let things become such a mess!” she moaned. She had forgotten a flashlight, and with the panel closed, she couldn’t see a thing. “I’m going to have lights put in first thing I get back,” she muttered, slipping her purse and bag over her shoulder so that she could feel the walls. She knew the steps well, so going down was not a tremendous difficulty.

Except that when she got to the bottom, the lower panel refused to give. Frowning, she set her paraphernalia down at her feet. Very carefully she ran her hands over the boards.

Something simply wasn’t giving.

She was more puzzled than frightened at first; the staircase had been used by the family through the entire four centuries during which the house had stood. The original Hawk had built a sturdy home; Serena had repaired the roof, and plastered and painted, but the Golden Hawk had never needed much else. It was unthinkable to her that the panel shouldn’t slide quietly as always.

Minutes later she was sweating profusely; the hands that stupidly continued to run over the boards were clammy. This is ridiculous, she thought. In a second it will give, I will be standing in the secret entry, and then I will be outside in the breeze.