“I wish I could believe that.” A trace of impatience tinged his voice, but he disguised it behind a cheerful invitation. “When you come home I’m going to cook you the thickest steak in Charleston.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
“Good. Have you finished … your business yet?”
Glenn didn’t know exactly what it was she had to do in Groves Point, and Angie had never explained. That lack of trust had hurt Glenn, and she felt a twinge of guilt. Glenn was the best thing to happen in her life in twelve years. “I’ve only been in town an hour.” But it had to be today. The banks were closed on weekends.
“Will you call me tomorrow?”
“If you want.”
“I want you for the rest of my life, Angie. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she echoed softly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Gently, she ended the call.
Talking to Glenn reinforced her determination to be done with the purpose of her visit. A quick check in the mirror assured her that she was now a composed, mature woman. Simon Canfield Senior would be incapable of destroying her as he had so long ago.
Not once on the walk to the bank did Angie hesitate. Her heart leaped to her throat as she pushed the glass door that opened into the interior. That, too, hadn’t changed. Marble pillars, marble floors, marble hearts.
The woman gave no indication that she recognized her, but Angie remembered Mrs. Wilson, who had been with Groves Point Citizens Federal for years, working as Simon’s father’s assistant.
“I’d like to see Mr. Canfield,” she announced in a crisp voice.
Mrs. Wilson’s lined face revealed nothing. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m confident he’ll see me.” She wasn’t the least bit sure, but Mrs. Wilson didn’t know that. “Tell him Angie Robinson is here.”
Again Mrs. Wilson’s features remained stoic. “If you’ll wait a moment.” She left Angie standing on the other side of the counter as she walked the length of the bank and tapped against a frosted glass door. She returned a minute later, her face a bright red hue. “Mr. Canfield suggests …” she started, then swallowed with difficulty. “He would prefer not to see you, Ms. Robinson.”
How dare he! Angie fumed inwardly, but she gave a gracious smile to Mrs. Wilson. “Thank you for your trouble.”
The older woman gave her a sympathetic look. “Nice seeing you again, Angie.”
“Thank you.”
Her heels made clicking sounds against the marble floor as she turned and walked toward the exit. How dare he humiliate her like this! He had no right. None. With one hand against the metal bar on the glass door, Angie forcefully expelled her breath. She wasn’t scum he could walk over. She wouldn’t let him.
With an energy born of anger and pride, she pivoted sharply and walked the length of the bank lobby, her chin tilted at a proud angle. She wasn’t a member of the country club, nor had she been a member of the upper class, but she was going to have her say to Simon Canfield Senior whether he wanted to hear her or not.
Not bothering to knock, Angie let herself into the office. “Excuse me for interrupting …” She stopped and swallowed back the shock. It wasn’t Simon’s father who rose from the large oak desk to confront her, but Simon. Time had altered his dark good looks. The gray eyes that had once warmed her with his love were now as grim as the storm-tossed North Sea. Tiny lines fanned from them, but Angie was convinced he hadn’t gotten them from smiling. He was so cold that in his gray flannel suit he resembled a stone castle whose defenses were impenetrable. Cold and cruel. The edge of his hard mouth twisted upward.
“Hello, Angie.”
“Simon.” The oxygen returned to her lungs in a deep breath.
Neither spoke again. The chill in the room was palpable, Angie mused, and a smile briefly touched her eyes. It hadn’t always been that way with them. Years ago, the temperature had been searing and they couldn’t stay out of each other’s arms.
“Something amuses you?”
“No.” If anything, the thought should produce tears. But Angie hadn’t cried in years. Simon had taught her that. She lowered her gaze to the desktop. Crisp, neat, orderly.
“You wanted to see me?” he began, in starched tones.
“I wanted to see your father.”
“He isn’t well. I’ve assumed most of his duties.”
They were speaking like polite strangers … No, Angie amended the thought. They were facing each other like bitter adversaries.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
“Are you?” He cocked a mocking brow.
“Yes, of course.” She felt flustered and uneasy.
“I’d have thought you hated him. But then, it must be difficult to dislike someone who has been so generous with you in the past.”
Simon’s biting comment was a vivid reminder of the reason for her being in Groves Point. The color flowed from her face, leaving her sickly pale. “Taking that money has always bothered me,” Angie confessed in a weak voice that she barely recognized as her own.
The pencil Simon was holding snapped in two. “I’ll just bet it did. Ten thousand dollars, Angie? I’m surprised you didn’t want more.”
“Want more?” she repeated, her heart constricting painfully. “No.” Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. She wouldn’t bother to explain that it’d nearly killed her to accept that.
Her fingers fumbled at the snap of her purse and were visibly shaking as she withdrew the narrow, white envelope. “I’m returning every penny, plus ten percent compounded interest. Tell your father that I …” She hesitated. “No. Don’t tell him anything.”
“I don’t want your money.” Simon glared accusingly at the envelope on the edge of his desk.
“It was never mine,” Angie said, her voice laced with sadness. “I took it for Clay.”
“My, my, aren’t you the noble, self-sacrificing daughter?”
The words hurt more than if he’d reached out and slapped her. Involuntarily, Angie flinched. “It bought you your freedom,” she managed awkwardly. “I would have thought you’d treasure your marriage more. You paid enough for it.”
It looked for a moment as if Simon wanted to physically lash out at her. His fists knotted at his sides, the knuckles whitening.
“I didn’t mean that,” she whispered, despising their need to hurt each other. “I know you won’t believe this, but I wish you well, Simon.”
He didn’t answer her; instead his troubled gaze narrowed on the envelope.
“If you don’t want the money,” she murmured, her gaze following his, “then give it to charity.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, and his lip curved up in cynical amusement. “I believe that was my father’s original intent.”
To her dismay, Angie sucked in a hurt gasp. Slowly the ache in her breast eased so that she could speak. “Oh Simon, you’ve changed. What’s made you so bitter?”
His short laugh was mirthless. “Not what, but who. Leave, Angie, before I do something we’ll both regret.”
With an inborn dignity and grace, Angie turned and placed her hand on the doorknob. But something deep within her wouldn’t allow her to walk out the door.
“Go ahead,” he shouted.
“I can’t,” she murmured, turning back. “It’s taken me twelve years to come back to this town. Twelve years, Simon.” Her voice was raised and wobbled as she fought to control the emotion. “I refuse to have you talk to me as though I did some horrible deed. If anyone should apologize, it’s you and your family.”
“Me?” Simon nearly choked. “You’re the one who sold out, so don’t play Joan of Arc now and try to place the blame on someone else.”
“I did it for you,” she cried.
His harsh laugh was filled with contempt. “Only a moment ago you did it for Clay, or so you said.”
Angie swallowed back the painful lump that tightened within her throat. Sadly she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sim
on, sorry for what happened and sorry for what you’ve become. But I won’t accept—”
“Our love had a price tag—ten thousand dollars,” he shouted. “It was you who took that money and left. So don’t try to ease your conscience now.” Leaning forward, he rested the palms of his hands on the edge of the desk. “Now I suggest that you leave.”
“Good-bye, Simon.”
He didn’t answer, but turned and faced the window that looked out onto the parking lot.
The door made a clicking sound as she let herself out. Several pairs of eyes followed her progress across the marble floor. Undoubtedly her sharp exchange with Simon had been heard by half the people in the bank. A rush of color invaded her pale face, but she managed to keep her unflinching gaze directed straight ahead as she returned to the hotel.
The key to the hotel room wouldn’t fit into the lock as Angie struggled to steady her hand. She felt as if her legs were made of rubber. By the time she’d manipulated the lock, she was trembling and weak.
A soft sob erupted from her throat as she set her purse on the dresser. Angie’s hand gripped the back of the chair as another cry threatened. Tears blurred her eyes so that the view from the third-story window swam in and out of her vision.
At first she struggled to hold back the emotion, disliking the weakness of tears. Her fingers wiped the moisture from her cheek as she began to pace the room, staring at the ceiling. Soon every breath became a heart-wrenching cry for all the pain of a love long past. She fell across the bed and buried her face in the pillow, crying out a lifetime of agony. She cried for the mother she had never known. And the weak father whom she loved. She cried for the empty promises of her father’s dreams, and the Canfield money that had given him the chance to fulfill them. And she cried for a town divided by railroad tracks that made one half unacceptable to the other and had doomed a love from the start.
Fresh tears filled her eyes. Glenn loved her enough to force her to settle the past. He loved her enough to want her for his wife.
Twisting around, Angie stared out the window at the blue sky. She wept for Glenn, the man she wasn’t sure she could marry.
And for Simon, the man she had.
Two
The gleaming white envelope remained on the corner of Simon’s desk as he rolled back his chair and stood. For Angie to come to Groves Point had taken courage. To confront him and return that money had cost her a lot of pride. One thing Simon remembered vividly about Angie was that she might not have had two pennies to rub together, but when it came to pride, she had been the richest lady in town.
When he’d told her to leave, she’d turned for the door and hesitated. Her back had stiffened with resolve as she refused. In that minute it was as if twelve years had been wiped out and she was seventeen again. She’d been so beautiful, and she was just as beautiful today. Naturally, several things about her were different. No longer did her silky brown hair reach her waist. Now it was shoulder length and professionally styled so that it curled around her lovely oval face.
Her graceful curves revealed a woman’s body, svelte and elegant beneath a crisp linen business suit. There had been a time when Angie hated to wear anything but washed-out jeans and faded T-shirts.
Angie had been his first love and he had been hers. Together they had discovered the physical delights of their bodies. With excruciating patience, they had held off as long as they could, because it had been so important to Angie that they be married first.
Discipline might well have been their greatest teacher. In restraining their physical desires, they had learned the delicate uses of kissing and the exquisite pleasure of exploring fingers. Their hearts beat as one and they were convinced their love could overtake convention, prejudice, and everything else that loomed in their path.
Only it hadn’t. Angie had prostituted herself. Simon had loved her so much he would have willingly given his life for her. And now he wanted to hate her with the same intensity and discovered he couldn’t.
The bank was empty when Simon left his office. The envelope remained on his desk. He would do as Angie suggested and give it to charity. Money meant little to him. He’d had it all his life and had never been happy. The only real contentment he’d ever known had been those few months with Angie. Now it seemed that she, too, had discovered money’s limitations.
The Mercedes was parked in the side lot, and Simon was on Main Street before Angie drifted into his thoughts again. He wondered where she was staying and if she had come to town alone. She had used her maiden name, but he hadn’t thought to look for a diamond on her ring finger. If she hadn’t married, it would be a shock. One glance at the woman she had become revealed a rare jewel. Angie was a prize most men wouldn’t ignore.
Engrossed in his thoughts, Simon automatically took a left turn off Main onto Oak Street on his way to the country club. Tonight he needed a long workout. A flash of color captured his attention and he glanced across the green lawn of the city park. Cindy and Bob Shannon were in the front yard, firing up a grill. Dressed in blue shorts and a faded T-shirt was Angie. She sat on the Shannons’ porch with a beer bottle in her hand, chatting with her friends as if she hadn’t been away for more than a week. Charlie Young, their high school class’s football hero and the new owner of the town hardware store, came out the screen door and plopped down beside her. He said something to Angie, who threw back her head and laughed. The musical sound of her mirth drifted through the park to Simon, assaulting him from all sides.
The muscles of his abdomen tensed. Angie was where she belonged. She was with her friends.
The Mercedes caught Angie’s eye as it peeled down the narrow street. Simon. It had to be. She didn’t know of anyone else in town who could afford such an expensive car. The ten thousand she’d brought was petty cash to a man like Simon. Returning it was a matter of pride. She hadn’t touched a dime of it. Clay had spent it chasing dreams. Her father had insisted that the Canfields owed her that money. As far as Angie was concerned, the Canfields owed her nothing.
“You have to remember we’re rubbing elbows with the upper echelon,” Bob teased, twisting off the cap of a beer bottle. “Ol’ Charlie is now a member of the Groves Point Country Club.”
“Charlie!” Cindy gave a small squeal of delight. “That’s really something.”
Angie thought it revealing that a club would decide Charlie unacceptable one day and welcome him the next.
“I knew there was a reason I bought that hardware store.”
With the agility of a man well acquainted with the art of grilling, Bob flipped over the hamburgers as if he were handling hotcakes. “And tell us mere serfs, Your Worship, what’s it like to mingle with the Canfields and the Radcliffs of our fair city?”
Casually Charlie shrugged one shoulder. “Why not find out yourselves? There’s a dinner tomorrow night and I’d like the three of you to come as my guests.”
Cindy tossed her husband a speculative glance. “Oh Bob, could we? I’ve always wanted to know what the inside of the country club looks like.”
Uneasy now, Bob cleared his throat. “I suppose this means I’ll have to wear a suit and tie.”
“Honey, you’ve got the blue one we bought on sale before Easter,” Cindy argued. The burst of excited happiness added a pinkish hue to her face. “Of course I’ll need to have something new,” she said, and shared a conspiratorial smile with her friend.
Admirably, Angie refrained from laughing. From the sound of them, they were all seventeen again and discussing prom night.
“What about you, Angie? Can you come?” Charlie was regarding her with an eager expression. From the minute Charlie had arrived he’d made it plain that he liked what he saw. His divorce was final, and he looked as if he was ready to try his hand at love again. In an effort to steer clear of his interest, Angie had taken pains to mention Glenn.
“Like Cindy, I’m afraid I haven’t a thing to wear,” Angie explained, and lifted her palm in a gesture of defeat.
�
�We’ll both go shopping!” Cindy exclaimed with enthusiasm. “I know the perfect shop in Fairmont.”
“Fairmont!” Bob choked. “Just don’t go using any credit cards.”
Slowly shaking her head, Cindy tossed her husband a playful look. “Robert, Robert, Robert. I’ve always said if the shoe fits, charge it.”
Angie woke with the first light of dawn. Sunlight splashed through the open draperies and spilled over the bed and walls. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her face and stood. Her watch announced that it was barely six, hardly a decent hour to be up and about on a Saturday. Cindy wasn’t expecting her until ten. With four hours to kill, Angie dressed in old jeans and an Atlanta Braves T-shirt.
A truck stop on the outskirts of town was the only place open where she could get a cup of coffee. She’d hoped to avoid that area of town because the Canfields’ twenty-acre property was in that direction.
As Angie climbed inside her small car, she realized coffee was only an excuse. Yes, she’d pull over at the truck stop, but her destination was the small clearing on the Canfield property. Something inside her needed to return there. The thought was a sad reflection of her emotional state. Twelve years had passed, and she hadn’t been able to forget the love she’d shared with Simon in that small clearing in the woods. The physical aspect of their relationship still had the power to inflict a rush of regret and sorrow. They’d been wrong to sneak into the church that night. Wrong to have gone against convention and the wishes of his parents. A few words whispered over her mother’s Bible had never been legally binding. But Angie had felt married even if Simon hadn’t.
The years had changed the land, and Angie nearly missed the turnoff from the highway. A long, sprawling house had been built, and the paved road led to the back and a three-car garage.
Hesitating, Angie decided to ignore the house and go on. The morning was young, and it wasn’t likely that she’d wake anyone. The road went deep into the property, and she could steal in and out without anyone knowing she’d ever come.
Leaving the car, Angie took care to close the door silently, not wanting the slightest sound to betray her presence. With her hands stuffed deep within her jeans pockets, she climbed over a fallen tree and ventured into the dense forest. A gentle breeze chased a chill up her arm, but the cold wasn’t from the wind. Her breathing had become shallow and uneven, and for a moment she wasn’t sure she could go on. Only once had she felt this unnerved, and that had been as a child, when she’d visited her mother’s grave.
Reflections of Yesterday Page 2
