Sharley sighed. “What now?”
“The talk around town is that Spence did it on purpose.”
“Had this alleged affair with Wendy, you mean?”
“What do you mean alleged? Never mind. It’s not the affair that’s being talked about. It’s the carbon monoxide.”
Sharley’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Amy sighed. “The newest story around town is that he followed you up to the cabin to get you to reconsider the breakup, and when you wouldn’t—”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“—When you wouldn’t, he tried to follow in his father’s footsteps, and take you with him.”
Sharley was stunned. The idea that Spence would consider suicide — much less murder — was so outlandish it was shocking. How terribly easy it was to twist the truth into a better story!
A driver behind her honked impatiently. Amy opened her door and said, “Sorry to be the one to tell you.”
“No,” Sharley said automatically. “Don’t be. See you tomorrow.” She put the car into gear; it skidded slightly on the snow, and she pulled it back into line.
She almost drove past the dry-cleaning shop, remembering her errand only at the last moment. And it took effort to actually listen to the clerk’s cheerful comments about the weather and make an appropriate response.
She was fumbling in her wallet when the clerk added, “We found this in one of the pockets, Miss Collins.” She held out an envelope.
“Thank you. I’ve gotten so terribly careless.” Sharley handed over the money and reached for the envelope. It seemed to burn her fingers, and her hand trembled.
She had seen it before, but the memory seemed light-years old. She had fished that envelope out of the mailbox at the cottage and stuffed it into her coat pocket, intending to read it once she was inside. But then her world had collapsed, and she had forgotten Spence’s note. She had thrown the coat into the closet, and she had not worn it since.
She carefully hung the plastic-wrapped clothes in the back of her car, as if the fate of the universe was balanced on how conscientious she was just now. And she drove to the park, to the isolated corner where they had had their quiet winter picnic, before she carefully slit the envelope and pulled out Spence’s last note.
It was short, just a few lines written on Hudson Products letterhead. She could almost see him, sitting at his desk with his fountain pen. And she could almost hear his voice...
Sharley, love— Only a week now till our wedding. Things are getting so hectic that there isn’t time to talk. Does that ever bother you--that there isn’t time?
“Yes,” she whispered. “But we were going to have all the time in the world...” She had to blink away tears before she could keep reading.
I want you to know that you’ve given me the most valuable gift anyone could, Sharley. Your love, of course — and even more important to me, your trust. You know what my father was, but you may not realize how few people in this town are able to take my word for anything, because they put their faith in him and he abused their trust. You’ve never doubted me. I think that was the first thing I loved about you. The first of many. I can’t say all this straight out to you — it sounds too sentimental. But I wanted you to know.
Sharley put her forehead down against the steering wheel.
He had slipped this letter into the mailbox, and gone inside the cottage to work and to wait for Sharley. Instead, he had found Wendy.
“And then I walked in,” Sharley said. “And his life really came crashing down around his head.”
She wished she could cry. But this pain was too deep, too severe to be relieved by tears.
What was it Wendy had said this afternoon? “His word is very important to him.” Even Wendy had understood what Sharley had not.
He must have assumed, if he’d taken time to think about it at all, that she had read this letter long ago — maybe even before she had walked into the cottage. No wonder he had reacted as he had; she must have sounded very heartless that day.
If only I had listened earlier, Sharley thought. Not on that horrible day at the cottage; it was already too late then — but long before. If only she had tried to know him better, to understand what made him different, what made him the very special man she loved. Then she would have realized in time how crucial it was to Spence that she believe him.
The flames of their love were gone. There was no question about that; she had splashed cold water on them herself. But at least, after reading his letter, she was confident — as she hadn’t been since the day in the cottage — that he had loved her once.
Now the question was whether the ashes of that love were completely cold, or if there one last warm ember somewhere — perhaps even a chance to fan the fire back to life.
*****
At dinner, Sharley only picked at her food. She didn’t even pretend to listen to the conversation; her thoughts were on her own troubles. She was going back over that last conversation with Spence, trying to find some scrap of encouragement to keep her going. It wasn’t easy; honesty forced her to admit that she would probably be wasting her time if she tried to convince him that there was still some hope for them. What was she to do, anyway? Tell him she was sorry for not understanding? It was a start, of course, but she didn’t expect mere words to make much of a difference. No, there had to be a better way to make amends.
What was it he had said about that? Sometimes the best way to apologize was to never cause the same sort of hurt again, something like that.
She pushed a bite of salmon around on her plate while she considered. That approach would take time and patience, and perhaps he might never see what she was trying to say. Still, she had nothing but time... and she might as well learn to practice patience.
Charlotte, watching her toy with her food, finally said, “Well, I hoped you’ve learned something about listening to your doctor, Sharley.”
“What? Oh, I’m just tired. Tomorrow will be easier.”
“Surely you’re not going back till you’re completely well!”
Martin intervened. “Sharley can make her own decisions, Charlotte.”
Something was different about Martin, Sharley thought. There was a new note in his voice, but the change was even more than that. It was as if he had regained his self-respect, and he wasn’t afraid any more.
“Very foolish,” Charlotte muttered. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”
Martin waited until Libby had cleared the main course and brought in a white-chocolate cheesecake. “Maybe we should go away for a while, Charlotte. It would take your mind off things. Now that you’re feeling better—”
“Who said I was feeling better?”
“You’re stronger than you were last fall,” Martin said patiently. “But if you’re not up to a strenuous trip, how about a cruise? That would let you rest and recuperate. Salt air for a couple of months…”
“A couple of months?”
“Yes. It would be just the thing. We could go around the world, perhaps. I’ll look into it.”
“Months?” Charlotte repeated. “You’d leave Spence in charge of Hudson Products for months?”
“Why not?” Martin said coolly. “He’s been running the whole plant for a year now. I’m only a figurehead, Charlotte, and whenever I retire, Spence will take over.” He took a bite of cheesecake and added in a muffled undertone, “If he’s still here.”
Sharley put her fork down. “What do you mean?”
Martin’s gaze was warm and sympathetic, but he didn’t answer.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Martin meant. Spence had had enough, that was clear. He was going away. There would be no time after all to show him how much she regretted what had happened. Sharley wanted to scream, but even in the middle of her own pain, she understood. What was left for him in Hammond’s Point? Even the reputation he had tried so hard to rebuild was being chipped away, through no fault of his own.
“Aunt Charlotte,�
� she said suddenly, “that reception you wanted me to attend in your place — it’s tonight, isn’t it? What time does it start?”
“It would be polite of you not to interrupt your elders,” Charlotte pointed out. “It begins at eight. But if you’re too tired even to eat your dinner, you shouldn’t be going out for the evening.”
Sharley was already on her feet. “I won’t be late coming home.”
She had no doubt that with a famous musician as bait and the chance to mingle with such greatness, the cream of Hammond’s Point society would turn out for the reception. She was not disappointed. As Sharley made her way through the crush, she ticked names off her mental list; yes, the gossips were out in force. It wouldn’t take long for what she was going to say to make the rounds of the town.
She took a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray, more for something to hold onto than because she wanted it. Her hands were trembling; now that the moment was here, she had no idea how to proceed.
She turned toward the tea table and ran headlong into Spence. She pulled back like a startled fawn; it would have been so much easier, if she didn’t have to face him, too, while she spoke her piece.
The champagne in her glass surged like a tidal wave, threatening to burst over the rim of the goblet and drench the front of his shirt. Spence’s hand closed firmly on her wrist and held the glass at a safe distance.
His grip was just short of painful, and Sharley couldn’t help wincing as she looked up at him.
“Sorry,” he said shortly, and his hand dropped to his side.
“My fault. Of course, soaking you with champagne wouldn’t be the only thing you have to forgive me for,” she said quietly.
Spence had already started to turn away, but he swung back to face her. He looked puzzled, she thought, perhaps even a bit confused.
A matron nearby sniffed. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she murmured to a friend.
Spence nodded coldly at the woman and took a step away. Sharley’s heart twisted. She had been taught from childhood to disregard that kind of rudeness; Spence, she thought, had learned the hard way to ignore it — or at least to pretend that it didn’t affect him.
Sharley wheeled around to face the matron. “Perhaps you’re surprised that I’m the one who is apologizing?” She did not try to keep her voice low.
A murmur rippled across the crowd.
Spence was beside her again, a hand on her arm. His voice was low. “You’ve had too much champagne, Sharley.”
“I haven’t had so much as a sip.” She looked up at him, and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. But there are some things I have to say, Spence.” She raised her voice a little, so that even though she was looking at Spence, it was clear that she was talking to everyone.
“Breaking my engagement was the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life,” she said clearly, “and I deeply regret my foolishness. My only excuse is that I did not truly appreciate the quality of the man I was engaged to marry until I saw him perform two of the most unselfish acts I have ever known.”
Spence’s face was pale, and his jaw was set. Sharley didn’t know if it was shock or anger which made him look that way, or fear that she would tell the crowd about those two unselfish acts — that he had not only saved her life, but protected Martin. She told herself it didn’t matter; it was too late to stop now.
“And I want him — and all of you — to know that if I had it in my power to make a different choice, I would do it. I would be honored to be his wife.”
Five endless seconds ticked by, and Spence was silent. Sharley turned away, toward the makeshift cloakroom. If she had humiliated herself, at least it was in a good cause. Now it was time for a fast exit before the questions began to fly.
She saw the famous musician standing beside his hostess, and paused next to him. “I’m sorry to have trampled all over your party.”
He bowed, gallantly. Sharley didn’t hear what he said.
She didn’t quite know why she went directly to the gardener’s cottage. She only knew she wanted to be alone, and no one would disturb her there. She didn’t bother to turn the lights on. The floodlights out in the garden reflected off the patchy snow and bounced through the windows, casting long intricate shadows; once her eyes grew accustomed to the weird patterns, she could make her way around the cottage with no problem at all.
She saw that the rest of the furniture had been delivered, and wondered when it had arrived. A pair of club chairs stood by the fireplace now, and in the tiny dining nook was an intimate table for two. The cottage smelled of fresh paint and new leather. But those pleasant aromas were mixed with an aura she could only call forlorn emptiness. By now, this little house should smell of cookies and coffee and spices of all kinds — and the aura should be one of love.
She stroked the back of the loveseat, still awkwardly out of place at the side of the living room, just as it had been that day more than two weeks ago...
She plunged both hands into her coat pockets, and her fingertips touched Spence’s envelope. She pulled it out and held it between her palms. It was too dark to read in the cottage, but the feel of the paper crackling under her touch was comforting. Once, he had loved her. Even tonight, she could see in his eyes the memory of that love... but it was only a memory.
She sank into one of the new club chairs and stared at the empty fireplace, caressing the note as if it were written in Braille and her fingertips could recognize the words. She had done all she could. Perhaps at least he would come to see her before he left Hammond’s Point...
She was thinking about that when she looked up, and for a moment she actually wondered if she had conjured up the tall shadow which leaned against the back of the love seat. Then he moved into the light, and she thought, He must have walked as lightly as a ghost.
He didn’t speak, and the silence dragged out for what seemed forever. Sharley’s fingers were trembling; she knew because the crisp letterhead rustled a little. She looked down at it. “I was reading your note.”
“You’ll ruin your eyes.” He moved toward the doorway and the switches which controlled the lights.
“I only got it today,” she said quietly.
He paused. “But you said—”
“I picked it up that afternoon, yes. In the shock, I forgot — and I didn’t read it till today.” She looked down at the white blur in her lap. “Did you mean this, Spence?”
He stood as still as a statue, and the darkness in the room seemed to intensify.
Sharley said, “I’m sorry. Of course you meant it then, or you wouldn’t have said it. And now — well, I guess I already know the answer to that, don’t I?”
“Do you, Sharley?” His voice was quiet. “That was a very gracious thing you did tonight.”
Gracious. He could have called it many things, but that particular word stung her pride somehow. It minimized the effort, the effect, the importance of what she had tried to do. He made it sound as if she had done no more than any ordinary hostess would, to put a guest at ease.
“I owed you one,” she said stiffly.
“Is that why you did it?”
She didn’t answer directly. “At least they’ll stop accusing you of trying to murder me.”
“You can’t have taken that seriously. I didn’t.”
“Then why is Martin so sure that you’re leaving Hammond’s Point over it?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was deep and dry. “Martin knows perfectly well why I’m thinking of leaving Hammond’s Point.”
Then it was true. Her fingertips dug into the soft upholstery of the club chair. “Take me with you, Spence!” The words were out, in a mournful wail, before she realized it. She saw the shock in his eyes, and plunged on before she could think better of it, or consider how embarrassed she would be in the end. She jumped up. “I don’t expect you to marry me. I just don’t want to be shut out of your life. Give me another chance!” She was beside him by then, hands
clutching the lapels of his coat.
He flipped a switch, and the lamps came on.
Sharley blinked in the sudden glare. The light made her feel naked, and foolish. She didn’t let go of his coat, but she couldn’t look at him. She fixed her gaze on a solid gray stripe in his tie instead.
“You’d go with me?” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“No job. No plans. No destination.”
“That doesn’t matter. I don’t know what you’ll do any more than you do, but I believe in you. I made the mistake of not trusting once, Spence. I won’t do it again.” She took a deep breath. “I came to your hospital room that day to tell you that I believed you — that I would take your word for it — before I ever knew what really happened. I don’t expect you to accept that, but it’s true.”
A Singular Honeymoon Page 17
