Garden of the Moongate

by Donna Vitek

  Trying not to consider that possibility, Allendre hurried out of the arbor to walk briskly on along the path, as if she thought physical exertion might dissipate her confusing thoughts. Unfortunately, it didn't, especially when she stepped through the moongate, where Ric had first kissed her. Slowing her pace, she strolled through the deserted tropical garden, pausing, enchanted, by the bird-of-paradise plants with their bird-like orange blooms. Beyond them was a row of coralita shrubs with drooping clusters of popcornlike red flowers, and as she bent closer to examine their large heart-shaped leaves she noticed a trail beginning between the two central shrubs. She followed it. It wound through a copse of royal poinciana trees, which unfortunately weren't in bloom, but she tried to imagine what they would look like with their smooth-barked branches laden with heavy clusters of scarlet-orange flowers.

  Leaving the copse, she suddenly stopped, realizing she had stumbled across the staff quarters. There was a long, two-story apartment building and next to it a medium-sized limestone coral house, where she assumed Deb and her uncle lived. But it was the sprawling two-story house of gray stone that captured her full attention. Set off by itself in a stand of cedar trees, overlooking the ocean, it had to be Ric's cottage, though she had no idea how he could call it that. It was more like the main house on a huge country estate. A balcony with wrought-iron railing formed a columned portico porch below with the traditional welcoming-arms stairs. Huge, multipaned bay windows jutted out over the porch, providing an exquisite panoramic view of the sapphire ocean. She stood staring at it for a long time, wishing she could see what it was like inside. As she started to walk back into the copse a man called to her from the porch of the small house by the apartments. When she turned inquiringly, he beckoned her to him.

  Allendre approached him with a smile, presuming him to be Lawrence Hopkins, Deb's uncle. In his late sixties, with a thick thatch of snow-white hair, he did seem a bit pale, as if he might have recently been ill.

  "If you're lost, you're not the first," he said, obviously trying to put her at her ease. "Guests are often wandering down here and don't exactly know how to get back to the hotel."

  "Oh, I'm not lost," Allendre explained. "I was just walking through the tropical garden and I followed the path down here. I hope that was okay. This place isn't off limits, is it?"

  "No, nothing like that," he assured her, his voice low and cultured and mercifully lacking the irritating nasal drawl his niece's voice possessed. "In fact, it gets so lonely down here during the day, with most of the staff at work, that I welcome lost guests."

  He looked a little lost himself, as if he didn't quite know what he should be doing, and Allendre felt a surge of compassion for him. "You're Lawrence Hopkins, aren't you?" she asked. When he nodded with some surprise, she introduced herself, adding, "I'm a guest at the hotel. And I've heard a lot of nice things about you."

  "Oh? From whom?" he questioned, indicating with a sweeping gesture that he wanted her to join him on the porch. Grinning as she took a seat on a wicker settee, he sat down also in an adjacent chair. "I bet you heard the staff talking about me. Probably said I was a terrible slave driver and that they didn't miss me harassing them one little bit."

  "I said I'd heard nice things about you," Allendre reminded him with a smile. "And from the owner of the hotel himself."

  "Ric? You know Ric?"

  She nodded. "And I've met your niece, Deb."

  "She's been managing the hotel since my illness, you know," Mr. Hopkins said, with an obviously affectionate smile. "She worries so much about my health. I've been telling her for the past two months that I feel well enough to go back to work again. But she insists it's too soon yet." He lifted his shoulders in a resigned gesture. "I did worry about her being too inexperienced to run a place like Shannon by herself, but now that Ric's here, I guess she'll do all right. Trouble is, they don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. But I guess you've noticed that if you've seen them together. They seem to argue constantly these days."

  "I did hear Ric say he preferred your methods of running the hotel," Allendre admitted. "But Deb seems to have her own ideas."

  "She's just impetuous," her uncle excused her. "But of course Ric realizes that. She's always been that way, and since they've known each other since they were children, he can make allowances for her when she gets a bit overenthusiastic."

  "I suppose he would have fired anyone else who made the changes at the hotel that she has, wouldn't he?" Allendre probed, ashamed of herself for doing so even as she spoke. But she couldn't seem to prevent herself. "He must be very fond of her."

  "Oh, yes, indeed he is," Mr. Hopkins agreed without a moment's hesitation. "As I said, they've known each other all their lives, and, to be honest, I've always hoped they'd fall in love and get married someday. Deb needs a strong man like Ric, and she's been half in love with him for years anyway. But he… well, I expect you've noticed he's an attractive, intelligent young man. He has his pick of the girls, but so far he hasn't shown any inclination to settle down with one. He will, though, eventually."

  With Deb, Allendre expected Mr. Hopkins to add, but when he didn't, she hastily changed the subject. "Tell me what Shannon House was like when you first went to work there. You had some very important people as guests, I understand."

  "A few princes and princesses and innumerable lesser royalty," Mr. Hopkins told her proudly, then proceeded to get down to specifics.

  Fascinated by his stories, Allendre didn't realize how fast the time was passing until she saw Ric and Deb leave the copse of trees and approach the Hopkins house. Glancing at her watch, she jumped to her feet. "It's nearly five-thirty. I didn't realize it was so late. I'd better be going."

  "Nonsense. Stay and have a drink with the children and me," Lawrence Hopkins insisted, waving her back into her seat, smiling at Ric and Deb as they ascended the steps to the porch. "Miss Corey's been letting me bore her with my reminiscing. Wasn't that sweet of her?"

  "Very sweet," his niece answered, but there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she tucked a possessive hand into the crook of Ric's elbow. "And how did you happen to find your way down here, Miss Corey?"

  And how did you happen to get an uncle as nice as yours is when you're so hateful? Allendre longed to retort. But she didn't. Instead, she smiled as nicely as possible. "I discovered the path leading from the tropical garden."

  Deb sniffed, surveying Allendre with insulting intensity. "Well, I can certainly see why you were in the garden instead of on the beach. You've gotten yourself a doozie of a sunburn. But I guess it's easy for pale people like you to burn, isn't it? Such a pity."

  "How are you feeling today, Allie?" Ric intervened diplomatically. "Still pretty uncomfortable?"

  "I'm feeling much better, thank you," she answered, a hint of shyness in the smile she gave him. "That aloe cream you put… uh, recommended is very effective."

  Apparently noticing Allendre's near slip of the tongue and Ric's amused answering smile, Deb's lips tightened to a grim line. "It's getting on toward dinnertime, isn't it?" she hinted very unsubtly. "And I'm ready for a drink. How about you, Uncle Lawrence? Ric?" And, as a deliberate afterthought: "Miss Corey?"

  Tired of the daggers Deb's eyes were hurling at her, Allendre shook her head. "Nothing for me, thanks. I have to be getting back to the hotel."

  "No, you must stay and have a drink with us," Mr. Hopkins insisted graciously. "Please."

  Unable to refuse such a sincere invitation, Allendre nodded. "All right. But just one drink for me; then I'll have to go."

  During the next twenty minutes, Deb did her best to exclude Allendre from the conversation. She chattered away like a magpie, resisting all her uncle's and Ric's attempts to begin discussions the younger girl could join in.

  Relegated to a nonperson status, Allendre sipped her white wine and merely listened as Deb talked about people only she, her uncle, and Ric knew. Finally, bored by the older girl's pettiness, Allendre stood. "Thanks for the wine and the
very interesting afternoon, Mr. Hopkins, but now I really should go."

  Disentangling Deb's arm from around his own, Ric started to stand also. "I'll walk you back, Allie."

  Uttering a little protest, Deb caught his hand. "But, Patrick, you said you wanted to discuss last quarter's financial statement with me. And I'd really like to get started before dinner. I did so want to get to bed early tonight." Giving Allendre a gloating smile, she seemed to be implying she didn't plan to go to bed alone.

  As Allendre turned away in disgust from the silent yet obvious insinuation confusion made her refuse Ric's offer to escort her. "I can walk back alone, thank you," she said stiffly, not looking at him. "I certainly wouldn't want to keep you from your work." As she then said goodbye to Mr. Hopkins, however, her tone lost its former resentful edge. "Thank you again for telling me all those wonderful stories."

  "Thank you for listening to them," he replied. "And do come back to visit me again."

  Nodding, Allendre walked down the porch stairs and across the neat, lushly green lawn, her shoulders squared, her chin jutting out rather defiantly. Only as she approached the copse of poinciana trees did she glance back involuntarily. Then she wished she hadn't.

  Deb and Ric were walking toward his house, and Deb was clinging to his arm, gazing up at him, an expression of nearly imbecilic adoration on her face. Even if they were that eager to be alone together, they could at least have waited until she was out of sight, Allendre thought resentfully. As she turned back to walk on, a sudden weariness made her bend her head, and she bumped directly into a man leaving the copse. It was Derek Harrison, but he no longer looked like the aloof maitre 'd she had always seen in the dining room. With his tie loosened and his collar open, he looked considerably more approachable. Allendre easily returned the warm smile he gave her. But as he looked past her and saw Rick and Deb, Derek Harrison's smile vanished, to be replaced by the grim, strained line of his tightly closed lips. When his hands balled into fists at his sides, Allendre hurried past him, knowing exactly how miserable he was feeling. Obviously, Derek's interest in Deb involved more than mere friendship. The sight of Ric and Deb together seemed to enrage him. It wasn't the first time Allendre had noticed Derek's interest in Deb and what she could only suppose was his jealousy of Ric, though she had never before seen the proper Englishman reveal his feelings so plainly.

  With a silent sigh, Allendre trudged through the copse. This tangle of relationships was becoming ridiculous. Everyone was involved with everyone else, especially Ric. There were so many women in his life— Chantel and Deb and the unknown New York socialite, plus who knew how many others. And Allendre knew she couldn't allow herself to become another one of them. She needed to go home to Chicago, where she could get back into a normal routine, where she could begin to forget Ric and the way he made her feel. She couldn't possibly do that when he was so near. Home was where she needed to be. Sighing again, she massaged the nape of her neck with a weary hand. If only her assignment here were finished…

  Chapter Eight

  Three days later, when Abigail Chandler answered Allendre's dinnertime knock, the dots of rouge she wore were emphasized by the unusual pallor of her cheeks. Lips atremble, she beckoned Allendre into the room she shared with Myrtle Wainwright.

  "Is something wrong, Mrs. Chandler?" Allendre asked worriedly, touching the woman's trembling arm. "Aren't you feeling well?"

  Gesturing vaguely, Mrs. Chandler shook her head. "Oh, it isn't me. Myrtle is… oh, I simply don't know what to do or say that would make her feel the least bit better."

  "But what's the matter with her?" Allendre exclaimed softly, trying to peer around Abby to see if Mrs. Wainwright was in bed. "Is she ill?"

  "Well, no, not ill, exactly, but she's very upset, and you know it's just not like Myrtle to get upset. She's always such a pillar of strength. I depend on her so much, you know, and I just can't think what to do now. She's overwrought, and I've never ever seen her that way, at least not since her husband—his name was Jack—died. Naturally, she was overwrought at such a terrible time, but since then…"

  "But why is she anxious now?" Allendre prompted, knowing Abby's tendency to ramble on and on. "What's happened?"

  "Why don't you come along and see her, dear?" Mrs. Chandler suggested instead of answering the question. "Maybe you'll know what to do or what to say to her. She might listen to you; she thinks you're such a nice young lady."

  Anxious to discover what was wrong, Allendre followed her into the lamplit room. When she saw Myrtle Wainwright sitting dejectedly on the edge of one of the beds, she really became concerned. Myrtle, who had always seemed so calm and capable—even a bit cynical, perhaps—looked years older now. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and she was winding a lace handkerchief around and around her frail fingers.

  "Allendre's here to go to dinner with us, Myrtle," Abby said softly. "You do want to go, don't you? You really must eat."

  Smiling tremulously, Mrs. Wainwright shook her head. "I'm really not hungry at all. Why don't the two of you just go on to dinner without me?"

  "Most certainly not!" Abby protested, unusually emphatic. "I wouldn't think of leaving you here alone. Dear, you can't just sit here and brood about this, and besides, you have to eat. We wouldn't want you getting sick, now, would we?"

  Unable to stand the mystery a moment longer, Allendre sat down beside Myrtle on the bed. "What's bothering you, Mrs. Wainwright? Why are you so upset?"

  Myrtle lifted her shoulders, then let them sag again as she expelled a long, shuddering breath. "I'm just a foolish old woman. Don't pay any attention to me. I'm ashamed of myself for getting in such a state over such a little thing." Her chin wobbled. "I keep trying to tell myself it's no disaster—I only lost my wedding ring."

  "Oh, what a shame," Allendre commiserated. "I'm terribly sorry."

  Gazing soulfully at her bare left hand, Myrtle shook her head. "It wasn't anything fancy, just a plain gold band. That's all Jack could afford when we got married; and later, when we had money, I couldn't bear the thought of replacing it with one that was fancier and more expensive. I wore that ring for forty-five years. I simply feel naked now without it."

  "Of course you do. It only makes sense for you to feel that way, and I don't blame you at all for being so upset," Allendre said gently. "I suppose you don't have any idea where you lost it, do you?"

  Surprisingly, Myrtle nodded. "Oh, yes, I know exactly where I lost it, not that it does me any good. You see, I was taking a shower and… well, I've lost a little weight lately, and with soap on my hands the ring simply slipped right off my finger; the running water carried it right down the drain, pretty as you please. So it's gone forever now, no hope of ever seeing it again."

  "But that's not necessarily true," Allendre disagreed, looking up at Abby. "I used to work at an old hotel during summer vacations from college. A woman lost a diamond earring in a drain once, and the maintenance man found it for her easily enough. He had to take the pipes apart, but once he'd done that, the earring was easy to find."

  "Well, I thought I'd heard of people doing that," Abby spoke up, her hands aflutter in her uncertainty. "But when we told that young woman at the desk about the ring, she said there was no way it could ever be found. I guess they just have different kinds of pipes here than they had at that hotel where you worked, dear."

  Allendre grimaced almost comically. "I'm not absolutely sure, of course, but I think plumbing is about the same everywhere. In the hotel where I worked there was a sort of J-shaped piece of pipe right under the bathtub drain, and the maintenance man found that earring right where the pipe curved around and up. It had caught in there."

  "Then they must not have J-shaped pipes in this hotel," Myrtle said hopelessly. "Because that Miss Hopkins said she was sure my ring had been washed down into the waste-water system."

  "Oh, what does she know?" Allendre said impatiently, rising to her feet. "Could I see your bathtub? The old hotel where I worked ha
d nice little doors in the walls behind all the bathtub faucets so the maintenance man could work on them if something went wrong."

  "I've never noticed any little door, have you, Myrtle?" Abby asked; then, seeing her friend's woebegone expression, she added more cheerily, "But it can't hurt to look for one, now, can it?"

  Allendre snapped her fingers. "Now I remember. The little doors were on the other side of the walls, behind the bathtubs. So if your bathroom here is arranged like mine, the door should be in the back wall of your closet."

  That was where they found it. About two feet square, it looked as if it had been painted over several times and wouldn't be easy to open. But it was there, and it provided Myrtle with a hope she hadn't had before.

  "Well, I wonder if that snooty Miss Hopkins even knows about this," she remarked, her hands on her hips, her eyes shining with some of her former spunkiness. "And I wonder if she'd be willing to send the maintenance man up here if we told her about it."

  "I'll go ask her," Allendre offered hastily, knowing Deb would probably refuse. Quite a bit of prodding, she thought, would be required to change her mind. But the threat of going to Ric with the problem should do the trick nicely, and Allendre wouldn't hesitate to talk to him if Deb proved too difficult. Giving both women a confident smile, she went to the door. "Don't worry, now. I'm sure Miss Hopkins can be persuaded to see that everything possible is done to help find the ring."

  Deb wasn't at the desk, though, nor was she in her office. "She had a little headache and left early this afternoon, miss," Loretta explained to Allendre two minutes later. "But perhaps I could be of some help to you?"

  Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Allendre decided. "I wanted to talk to her about Mrs. Wainwright's ring. I don't know if you heard anything about it—it went down the drain while she was taking a shower."

  "Oh, yes, I heard her telling Miss Hopkins about that. But Miss Hopkins told her there was nothing she could do."