The Doll Brokers (41 page)

Ann wondered if she'd ever draw another breath without something breaking inside her. She had been too weak to tell Mattie no. If she had acted sooner, he would be alive now, married to someone who suited him.

She stole another look at Jonathan. Suddenly, Felicia's voice snaked in on her, as clear and as close as though the woman had materialized out of the blue.
You can trust that man with anything, Ann. Anything at all.

“No,” she whispered aloud.

He has protected you from the truth all this time.

“That's not why he did it. Go away.”

The frigid wind whipped at her. She almost—
almost
—smiled. “Stop that.” It hit her harder, dragging at her coat, catching the hem, flapping it open, trying to snag her hair down from its clip. “You're not done yet, are you, Felicia? Not until you have your own way.”

Where do you think Jonathan got it?

Ann laughed aloud at the thought, a hoarse, short sound. Well, that made sense, she decided.

He wasn't just protecting you.

Okay, Ann thought, she'd had enough of these mind games. That was all they were—a physical yearning for Felicia so strong, so deep, that she was hearing her voice in her head. Ann finally moved toward the crowd of people at the tent.

Jonathan looked up and stared at her.

She didn't mean to, but she stopped walking. The impact of his gaze almost knocked her legs out from under her. This, she realized, was why she hadn't been able to face him. Because of what she knew she'd find on his face, what she'd see in his eyes. Regret. Torment. The knowledge that she was lost to him because of lies he had told trying to save them all.

Ann pressed her hand to her mouth. She forced herself to move again and finally stepped beneath the green awning. Somehow, she found herself beside him.

Her neck hurt. Her stomach burned. Just to the right of the pastor was Matthew's plot, and that of Jonathan's father. Ann dragged her gaze away from both.

The service was coming to an end. The pastor quoted the Bible, repeating words Felicia had mentioned so many times. “If you're not ready to die, then you're not ready to live.”

Ann felt her breath stall. She had refused to die at Mad Dog's hands, and yet had walked away after Felicia's revelation, afraid to live.

She rubbed the back of her neck and felt Jonathan take over. His familiar fingers found the tight spot. She let his touch linger while people shook hands, hugged, then finally moved on.

She turned to him. “Thanks for that.”

He didn't respond. The quiet between them forced her to look up and find his eyes.

“How are you?” he asked.

Too many things came to mind. Broken, she thought. Lost. Alone. “I'm kicking.”

“Ann, with you that's never been an answer.”

He was right. She often kicked when she had no business even standing. So she told him the truth. “I don't know how to do this,” she said helplessly.

“You don't know how to talk to me?”

“I don't know how to live without her.”

Grief creased his expression. Maybe that was why she let him pull her close and hold her. She told herself she was providing comfort to him.

“I know,” he said.

“She was so meddlesome.”

“Circumstances always had a habit of saluting her.”

Ann sighed. “Nobody ever could tell her that something wasn't possible, or none of her business.” She pulled away from him. “I have to go.”

“Where?”

“Back to the airport.”

“You're not staying overnight?” Jonathan began walking and Ann fell into step beside him. “No possible good could come from the truth,” he said finally. “It only hurt everyone.”

She almost stumbled. How many times had she had that same thought? That she wished Felicia had never told her? And then held it against this man that he hadn't?

“Ann, a big part of me wishes, just this once, that my mother had kept her mouth shut,” he said. “But another part of me says there can't be a future until people know how they got to the present.”

“You're an artist. Not a philosopher.”

“I'm just saying that I won't hold it against her memory, even if she was responsible for my losing you.”

Her bad leg cramped up. Ann stopped trying to make it move and covered her face with her hands.

Okay, she thought, the truth. It was all Felicia had wanted. She'd put it out there, to make sure everyone knew how—as Jonathan had said—they'd gotten to the present. It was her parting legacy.

She could honor that.

“You didn't lose me because of Felicia, Jonathan, because of Matt. I don't know if it would have worked out long-term, anyway.”

He shrugged. “Because you're too pretty?”

She literally felt something seize inside. She stared at him.
He knew.
How could he know? Then she answered herself.
Felicia.

“She told me about that, too,” he said.

Ann waited for anger to fill her, for the ultimate sense of betrayal. Nothing happened. She only felt dazed. “Why? When? How long have you known?”

“She wanted me to know that you'd survive Vincent. It was while he had you. She wanted me to understand what you're made of. I couldn't have gotten through it otherwise, Ann.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. Things were spinning inside her head.

“Years ago, Pat and I hounded her about where you came from for the longest time—but she never told us anything because she didn't want you undermined in our eyes,” Jonathan went on. “She said if you wanted us to know, you'd tell us yourself.”

Yes, Ann thought, that was Felicia. She shuddered. “That's that, then. No more secrets.”

He took her hand like he had some kind of right to and started out of the cemetery. “Wait and fly home with me tomorrow.”

Ann hesitated. Even after what he knew, he wanted to be with her? “Why?”

“I want to go back to the beginning and start over again.”

She let go of his hand. “I'm not going to end up in Toronto with you, just to humor one of your whims.”

“I meant further back, to the beach. Fifteen years ago.”

The air went out of her. She remembered that night so well. She remembered the hem of her dress getting soaked, and the way he had looked at her. Suddenly, she felt tired.

Felicia's voice popped back into her ears, encouraging her, warning that there might not be another chance.
Tell him
, she said.

Ann cleared her throat. “I haven't told you, but … it wasn't just the thought of Felicia that kept me alive through the pain of that beating I took … it was you, too, the fact that I knew you were out there somewhere, trying to find me.”

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise. He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I love you, Ann. I have for a very long time. I even told you that, while you were lying half-dead in Greenspan's storage facility. I was hoping my words would get through somehow.”

Something clicked in her subconscious. His expression of love was there. She had sensed it, felt it, but pushed it aside as a fantasy not to be explored. And now it was out in the open. She did not need Felicia to tell her what to say or do next. She took his hand back in hers, squeezed it. “C'mon,” she said. “I'm not making any promises. But, for now, I just want you to take me home …”

A
nn looked at her watch at twenty past four and shot up from her desk. She reached for the mouse and turned off the computer. It was Christmas Eve and there wasn't an employee left on the floor. She'd let them go at noon.

She put on her coat and was halfway to the door when her telephone rang. She went back to her desk to answer it. Her breath was a little short. She was impatient.

It was Charles Ling. “Am I catching you at a bad time?” he asked. “This is your holiday.”

“It's okay.” She wasn't supposed to meet Jonathan for another ten minutes. “Are you in New York?”

“No. We stayed in Ontario after Mrs. Morhardt's funeral. I wanted to show my wife and children Niagara Falls.”

“Oh? How was it?”

“Lovely. Better than we expected.”

His English was still fractured so once more Ann had to concentrate on what he was actually trying to say.

“Look—” he told her now, “—I have something new for you.”

Her heart clubbed a little. “It's legitimately yours to sell?”

He laughed. “Yes, of course. This doll can carry on an intelligent conversation, can acknowledge whomever she's speaking to.”

Ann sat down at her desk again. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Lip synchronization makes her very lifelike,” he went on. “Electronics and a memory chip give her an encyclopedic mind. And I think I know a way to keep this project in the popular price range.”

Ann tucked the phone against her shoulder. Could she do it all again? she wondered.

Sure, she thought. Why not?

“I can't get to Hong Kong until the week after New Years,” she said. “Will that be too late?”

“No, of course not. I won't approach anyone else. I owe you my life.”

Ann winced at his comment. She didn't want anyone beholden to her. “You don't owe me anything,” she said. “Look—I'll call you with my reservations and let you know what time we can meet.”

“Have a good holiday, Ms. Lesage.”

“Thank you very much. Have a safe trip home.”

This was a crazy, crazy business she was in, she thought. Full of backstabbing, lying and cheating. But not killings. What had happened to her had been an aberration and would never be repeated.

She hoped.

Despite it all, the toy industry was in her blood. Yes, kids were forsaking traditional playthings at an earlier and earlier age, choosing cell phones, iPods, and electronic video games instead. But she was in it for the long haul, and no matter what other bastard got in her way, she would never go down without a fight.

Ann finally left her office and headed up the hall. She rapped her knuckles on Patrick's door. “Let's go,” she shouted through the wood. “Time to close up shop.”

He opened the door, scowling. He would never like her, she thought. There would always be bad blood between them. And
she knew she would never trust him. She drew in air through her nose, checking for a whiff of cognac.

Nothing. So far, so good. For today, at least, they could still be civil enemies.

They rode down in the elevator and went out the front door. Jonathan was waiting on the sidewalk.

He turned to his brother. “So where are you going tonight?”

“Home,” he said shortly. “Verna's out of town visiting her mother and an aunt from Scotland whom she hasn't seen in years.”

“Don't do that,” Ann said.

“I won't drink.” He sounded surly.

“Why put yourself to the test?” Jonathan countered. “Don't be stubborn. Come by and have some virgin eggnog with us.”

Patrick started walking toward Sixth Avenue. “I'll think about it,” he said over his shoulder.

They watched until he blended into the crowd. “He won't do it,” Ann said as they rode a cab toward Jonathan's place.

Jonathan took her hand. “Maybe, maybe not. You still expect the worst from him.”

The taxi dropped them off and he unlocked the door. “Let's have a toast now,” he said, “in case he does stop by. We'll do our imbibing by ourselves.”

“A Christmas toast,” Ann said, taking her coat to the closet. I'll get the Glenlivet.”

“I bought champagne.”

She paused in the process of reaching for a hanger. “Well, then, by all means. We'll celebrate Baby Talk N Glow.”

He came toward her. “With all due respect, Ann, I've had enough of that doll to last me a lifetime.”

Now was obviously not the time to tell him about Ling's new creation. “All right. We'll celebrate Christmas, then. And Felicia's memory.”

“I've got a better idea.” He purposely prolonged his stroll to the fridge. Then he made a show of removing the champagne, popping the cork and pouring it. “Now,” he said very seriously as he handed her one of the flutes, “I have an important question for you.” He paused.

“I'm listening.”

He clinked glasses with her, then went down on one knee. “Ann Lesage…”

She stared at him for a number of seconds.

“…will you marry me?”

“Marry you?”

“Uh-huh.”

The question hung in the air.

Suddenly, a fist hammered on the door.

Ann hesitated, trying to decide if she should answer Jonathan's question now or keep it for later.

Another fist on the door made her mind up for her.

She turned on a heel to open it.

It was Patrick, after all.

“Merry Christmas,” she said when he pushed past her. “Can I take your coat?”

Patrick paused, stunned.

Somewhere in her heart, Ann was sure she felt Felicia smile.