The Talented Mr. Maxwell

by Julia Harlow

  “Anyway, they married as soon as Wes felt financially secure enough to support her. Deanie was a teaching assistant in the English Department. Her goal was to teach at the college level.

  “When Tad graduated, his prospects were somewhat limited. The only way he could get into even a community college, according to Clara, was if he worked on his Math and English skills over the summer after graduating to bring up his grades. Or he could enlist in the army. He didn’t seem too happy with either option. It seemed his only interest was cars, the faster the better. And he always had a lot of girlfriends hanging around him.

  “Eventually, Tad got into car racing and married a dancer named Amber. She was already pregnant with Carly Ann at the time. Wes and Deanie had also started their family and had felt truly blessed when Dorrie was born.

  “By this time, Clara had stopped coming to our committee meetings. Deanie told me that family gatherings were becoming increasingly unpleasant. There were many ugly confrontations. Tad had become quite a big drinker and downed beer after beer at their parents’ restored Victorian home in Pine Bluff when the families got together. He felt his parents favored his brother over him. Growing resentment and jealousy toward his brother churned and churned until it finally erupted.”

  Blanche smoothed the napkin in her lap. “I can’t blame Wes and Deanie for not wanting their young daughter subjected to the ugliness. And Wes didn’t want Clara and Wesley to have to suffer through another contentious family gathering. After all, they were getting on in years. They’d started their family quite a bit later than Harry and I had. So Wes decided to break ties with his brother until he got his act together and urged his parents to do the same. It was a wrenching decision, but Wes felt they’d all given Tad enough free passes. Tad would either grow up or do without his family connections. Wes felt it was Tad’s choice.

  “Tad’s reaction was typical. He drank more, drove faster, and said he didn’t care. But just about everyone knew he did. He was crazy about his daughter, Carly Ann. She really was a darling little girl and the only bright spot in his life at that point. It must have broken his heart that his parents and brother had seemingly cut him, and thereby, Carly Ann out of the family.

  “In the end, anyone who knew him had to wonder if the crash that killed him was really an accident.

  “Carly Ann was only seven years old when it happened. Deanie said she worshipped her father. Amber wasn’t much of a mother, so the loss of her father was devastating. She was too young to comprehend the inner workings of the family, but it must have registered to her as a betrayal of the father she worshipped by her uncle and grandparents.

  Grant rubbed the fingers of one hand up and down the stem of the wine glass, while he rested his chin on the fingers of his other hand, focusing in on Blanche’s every word.

  Blanche brushed errant curls off her forehead and then slowly shook her head. “From what I could gather, for Carly Ann, it was not only the loss of her father, but also the loss of the one source of security she’d known in her young life. Her mother was self-absorbed and bent on finding the next rich man; her only concerns were maintaining her physical appearance. She had no room for what Amber considered a spoiled seven-year-old in her life.

  “So the bottom line is Carly Ann still blames her grandparents and uncle, and by default Dorrie, for the demise of the family. Of course it was wrong as Dorrie was a young child and had nothing to do with any of it. But that’s the situation between them, as best as I can explain it.”

  Grant sat back in the chair, crossing his long legs. “Thank you, Blanche. I really appreciate your sharing this with me. I realize it must have dredged up a lot of painful memories for you. But it explains so much and certainly clarifies the relationship as it stands between Dorrie and Carly.”

  After strong coffee and a generous slice of warm apple pie, Grant cleared the table, scraped the dishes, and started to wash them before Blanche had a conniption, insisting they leave the dishes for now. She took him by the arm and urged him into a chair in the living room.

  “Don’t go back to the city tonight. I want Dorrie to stay in my room so I can keep an eye on her. You can have the guest room.”

  “That’s a tempting offer, but I need to be ready for the book signing tomorrow morning. May I give you my contact information?” He handed Blanche a card from his wallet. “Would you mind calling me to let me know how Dorrie’s doing?”

  Blanche was quiet as she took a pen and paper from the antique secretary. “Here are my home and work numbers. I don’t have a cell phone or email account. Not yet, anyway. Call me anytime, and I’ll let you know how Dorrie’s doing if she doesn’t put up too much of a fuss.”

  After saying goodbye, Blanche hugged Grant at the front door. He hugged her back and thanked her for the delicious dinner. She thanked him again for bringing Dorrie to her.

  “I can see where she gets her wonderful qualities.” He dipped his head and placed a kiss on Blanche’s cheek, which immediately turned bright pink.

  “Dorrie’s mother and father were the best parents a child could ever have. I’d give the credit to them.”

  She watched him climb into the back of the limo, touching the spot on her cheek where he’d kissed her, and sighed. “Oh, my heavens.”

  ~*~

  As Dorrie lay in the dark comfort of her grandmother’s bed, she heard their voices and knew Blanche had convinced Grant to stay for dinner. Her gracious hospitality was firmly rooted in her Kentucky upbringing and generous nature. The deep richness of his voice took turns with Blanche’s comforting one. Dorrie was too far away and the door to the bedroom was closed, so all she heard was the play of their voices. Finally, the physical exertion of the trip here had caught up to her and she relaxed, her body cradled in the soft mattress and nest of pillows surrounding her.

  Chapter 15

  Throughout the ride back to the city in the dark of night, Grant wrestled with his conflicted feelings about Dorrie. He couldn’t quite come to terms with an undeniable . . . what? Affection? Warmth? Or perhaps something far deeper that overcame him when he saw her lying on floor, pitiful and defeated.

  But what she’d done with Luke Parker in that hotel room was unforgivable. It didn’t matter that, from what he could ascertain, it had been a one-night stand. In his mind, it was a game changer. He’d often wondered, the countless times he’d recalled every agonizing detail of that night, why Dorrie hadn’t at least apologized. Instead, her cryptic “Luke won” message needled him like a “fuck you.”

  By the time the car pulled up to the St. Regis, he had resolved to forget Dorrie. It was time to move to the next stage of his life: marriage and family. And a dog. Finally, he’d be in one place long enough to take care of the pet he’d always wanted. Renovation of his London home was coming along. And he’d seen to it that it would be a family home, with rooms designated for a nursery and playroom and plenty of outdoor space for frolicking in fresh air.

  He hadn’t realized it until after the fact, but he’d needed to see Dorrie one last time before he made up his mind. He’d been on the verge of proposing to Carly more than once, but some gnawing emotion held him back. Now that he’d seen Dorrie, it was all settled. He would propose tomorrow night at Per Se, Thomas Keller’s foray into New York City fine dining and the toughest reservation to secure in Manhattan. Even though he’d had some inkling about Carly’s struggles in her early years when she’d told him about her father’s death, he’d had no clue how rough it had been until Blanche revealed the sordid details. Now he felt magnanimous; he could give Carly the life she wanted and deserved.

  Oddly enough, as he strode into the lush suite and tossed his jacket on a chair, an undeniable feeling of relief washed over him at being alone tonight.

  ~*~

  Carly tried her best not to chew on her fingernails. After all, they’d just been manicured to perfection at Jin Soon. Her future seemed as if it were hanging by a piece of dental floss. Grant had blown off last night with the clas
sically vague guy excuse, “something’s come up,” and now it was noon, and she hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him. Hands planted on her slim hips, she stared out her window at The Pierre, not seeing any of the incomparable view of Central Park before her. Yes, the book signing was this morning. But, come on. Would a quick call to let her know what the heck was going on be too much to ask?

  If they were going out tonight, she needed to know where. Last minute surprises were not her thing. She needed to have her hair blown out. The hotel’s hairdresser could take care of it, but she should call to book a time. If she knew where they were going, and when.

  Racing to her buzzing phone, she let out an exasperated sigh when she saw the name on the screen. Thank you, God. It was Grant. Finally!

  It was totally worth the wait. When Grant told her where they were going, she almost wet her slinky little raspberry thong. Per Se! Could Grant tell over the phone that she was jumping up and down like a baby chick? And he said he had a surprise for her in the most delicious deep, sexy voice. A surprise? That surprise? After they ended the call, she did cartwheels across the large living room of her suite until her cheeks blazed hot pink. Then she called the hairdresser and dashed around as if her hair were on fire, trying to decide what to wear.

  ~*~

  On his way out to pick up Carly, Grant stopped by the concierge desk at The St. Regis to send a package to Bronxville. He drew the Mont Blanc pen from his inside jacket pocket and scripted a note:

  Dear Blanche,

  Please accept this signed copy of Grant Maxwell with my best wishes. I wanted you to see for yourself what an accomplished and exemplary writer your granddaughter is.

  Thank you again for the delicious dinner and your warm hospitality last evening.

  Grant

  Before folding the note and enclosing it with the book inside the gift box, his fingertip drew circles on the bottom of the page. Should he congratulate Dorrie on her indubitable success and mention that her presence was missed at the book signing?

  No. He capped the pen and returned it to his jacket pocket.

  The April evening was uncharacteristically cold. Grant could see his breath curl like icy wisps of smoke as he climbed into the limousine, rubbing his hands together trying to warm them up. As the driver approached The Pierre, Grant didn’t notice the tall man in the wrinkled, baggy suit that was at least a couple of sizes too large for him standing off to the side.

  Grant strode to the entrance as the doorman opened the door for Carly, resplendent in an ivory fitted coat and chic matching stilettos. She was stunning. He held out his hands to her just as the tall man approached, cutting Grant off.

  “Carly Ann! Christ Almighty, I’ve been searching for you for ten fucking years!” His face had the haunted look of someone who’d lost his way for so long he was deranged. Just as he reached Carly, Grant threw his forearm out, blocking his advance. The man started to stumble but then caught himself. He wasn’t dressed warmly enough; he needed a coat, and the worn fabric of his suit couldn’t have afforded much protection against the cold. Grant thought perhaps the man had mistaken Carly for someone else, but then he’d called out, “Carly Ann,” hadn’t he?

  Grant rushed to her, positioning himself between the man and Carly. Just then the doorman approached. “Miss Thomas, is there anything I can do for you?” At that moment, Grant noticed Carly’s face had blanched as white as her coat, and one hand covered her mouth, right before a mewling sound escaped.

  “Please, let’s just go.” Carly huddled into Grant. He nodded to the doorman before escorting her inside the town car.

  After they were seated inside the bustling Per Se, Grant asked, “Are you all right, Carly?” She nodded, continuing to stare at her hands. “Did you know that man?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Grant didn’t want to press her, but he was curious. “And he called you ‘Carly Ann.’”

  At this her head shot up, and for a moment he didn’t recognize the person he thought he knew. The expression in her green eyes was arctic while her voice was steely. “What did you say?”

  “It’s okay. I know your real name is Carly Ann Applegate and that you’re Dorrie’s cousin. She told me. But why did that man call you ‘Carly Ann.’”

  Whatever coldness had been in her eyes disappeared. Grant had the odd feeling that she’d erected a mask to hide what was going on behind her calm, blank expression. “Sorry, Grant. That man just freaked me out. Like he was stalking me or something. I have no idea why he called me that.” She covered his hand with hers, gave it a little squeeze and smiled.

  “Okay, but before we put it behind us, why didn’t you tell me that Dorrie is your cousin?”

  She only hesitated a moment before answering. “Our fathers had a falling out when we were children, and our families never communicated after that. I just never thought about it, I guess. I don’t feel that we’re even related.”

  “Why? You don’t have many living relatives, do you? She’s your cousin.” Grant was having a tough time figuring out why Carly would shut someone as lovely and rock-solid Dorrie out of her life.

  “Instead of the Hatfields and McCoys, it was the Applegates and Applegates. The falling out was ugly, and to be honest, I’d rather not talk about it.” Grant had never heard the sharp edge in her voice before and chalked it up to her being upset.

  “I understand. Forgive me if I got too personal.” He wondered what would be too personal between a man and a woman who were contemplating marriage. Whatever it was, he decided to put off the proposal. She’d just have to be satisfied with a gourmet dinner at Per Se and every eye in the place on her. For now.

  ~*~

  Dorrie stared out the kitchen window at the first signs of spring in Pine Bluff. Tender lime green shoots dangled like little bells from the maple and oak trees. Bright yellow and deep purple pansies seemed to appear out of nowhere. The soft, mild breeze, a hint of what April promised, ruffled the branches of yew bushes and holly trees.

  Blanche had arranged for them to stay at her friend Anne’s home in Pine Bluff while Anne was still wintering in Florida. Dorrie had said a change of scenery might help her and that she longed for the comfort of her surroundings in Pine Bluff. Both of them still thought of it as home. Before leaving Bronxville, they had each taken two weeks off work. Blanche had plenty of vacation saved up, and her boss said she more than deserved time off, but Arianna had been less than gracious. Dorrie reminded her that she’d rarely taken a sick day, not even for dentist or doctor appointments, and told her she’d talk to HR herself if Arianna thought it was a problem. That shut Arianna up. The truth was Dorrie wasn’t certain she’d be going back to Omni or New York.

  But the fact that she’d felt up to arguing with Arianna proved a little of her strength had returned. Blanche had started her on fruit smoothies every morning, something Dorrie could easily get down. Then, one morning her grandmother’s scrambled eggs tasted good to her, the first food she’d enjoyed in months.

  With Blanche’s gentle prodding, they took walks in the afternoon when it warmed up and eventually worked up to walking mornings and afternoons. The first few days, Dorrie lasted about ten minutes before her legs started to feel shaky. But she kept at it, and she was able to go a little further each day.

  The daily exercise helped Dorrie sleep a bit better, at least until the hours before dawn when she routinely woke and couldn’t get back to sleep. In those dark hours, her mind raced with thoughts of what might have been. What if she’d never given in to Luke Parker? She’d have lost her job, but she’d still be with Grant. Would she? Was their relationship merely tied to her writing his biography? Had he cared for her or was it just sex? Nothing could stop her brain from re-hashing every detail and memory of her time with Grant. And when that happened, the aching emptiness took over.

  She thought when the biography was finished she wouldn’t have to think abou
t him anymore. But memories of their time together plagued her. Even with Blanche’s sure-fire remedies to get her physically healthy again, she had to get past Grant before she could truly heal. He was with Carly Ann now had become her mantra. Maybe Carly Ann was a better match for him. Except for the brief times they’d spent together as young children, she barely knew her cousin. From photos and online stories, Dorrie had learned that Carly Ann was self-made, had created a life and career for herself as a yacht broker, was stunning, attractive to men of all types, and climbing up the social hierarchy of Palm Beach.

  This line of thinking got her nowhere. She needed to move on once and for all. Grant had moved on, taking up with Carly Ann the very evening after their break-up. That stung like a whiplash. Dorrie wondered about those sci-fi stories she’d heard about having memories erased from your brain. She would do it if she could. These memories were holding her back from the rest of her life, and she refused to be stuck in a quagmire of what-if pity.

  Once the sun came up and she heard Blanche puttering around in the kitchen making breakfast and smelled the delicious aromas of bacon frying and coffee brewing, she felt a flicker of hope that she just might be able to go on. Doing what, she wasn’t sure.

  It seemed to Dorrie that her career and her relationship with Grant were destined to be at cross-purposes. First, they’d met and made love before they knew they’d be working on his biography together. Then all hell broke loose. Next, she tried to salvage her career by giving in to Luke Parker’s blackmail only to realize too late that his purpose all along had been to injure Grant. She doubted Luke was aware of the extent of the damage he’d caused.

  Her deep affection for Grant was more important than any career, and she yearned for one chance to turn back the clock. Fairy godmothers and leprechauns granted those wishes. Where were they when she needed them? If she could be magically transported back to that night, she’d call security and have Luke thrown out of the hotel, his blackmail be damned. If only.