Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  And with that parting shot, she turned and walked slowly to the driveway where Charles was pulling up in front of the house, leaving Simon rigidly in place with an expression of shock that delighted her wounded pride.

  After what she'd said, she didn't expect Simon to follow her, and he didn't. When Charles had installed her in the passenger seat, she caught just a glimpse of Simon's straight back rapidly returning to the house. She even knew the posture. He was furious. Good! Let him be furious. She was not going to care. She wasn't!

  "Take it easy," Charles said softly. "You'll burst something."

  "I know how you felt earlier," she returned, leaning her hot forehead against the glass of the window. "Damn him! And damn her, too!"

  "What did he say to you?"

  "He wanted to know what she said, and then he gave me his opinion of my character again. But this time, he didn't know he'd hit me where it hurt. I made sure of it."

  Charles let out a long breath. "Why can't we love to order?" he asked philosophically.

  "I don't know. If you ever find out, you can tell me." She stared out the dark window at the flat landscape passing by. Her heart felt as if it might break all over again.

  "He's an idiot."

  "So is Jill. So is Gene. We're all idiots. Maybe we're certifiable and we can become a circus act."

  They drove in silence until they reached her house. He turned off the engine and stared at her worriedly. She was pale and she looked so miserable that he hurt for her.

  "Go inside and change your clothes and pack a suitcase," he said suddenly.

  "What?"

  "We'll fly down to Nassau for a long weekend. It's just Saturday. We'll take a three-day vacation. I have a friend who owns a villa there. He and his wife love company. We'll eat conch chowder and play at the casino and lay on the beach. How about it?"

  She brightened. "Could we?"

  "We could. You need a break and so do I. Be a gambler."

  It sounded like fun. She hadn't been happy in such a long time. "Okay," she said.

  "Okay." He grinned. "Maybe we'll cheer up in foreign parts. Don't take too long. I'll run home and change and make a few phone calls. I should be back within an hour."

  "Great!"

  It was great. The brief holiday made Tira feel as if she had a new lease on life. Charles was wonderful, undemanding company, much more like a beloved brother than a boyfriend. They padded all over Nassau, down West Bay Street to the docks and out on the pier to look at the ships in port, and all the way to the shopping district and the vast straw markets. Nassau was the most exciting, cosmopolitan city in the world to Tira. She never tired of going there. Just now, it was a godsend. She hated the memory of Jill's taunting words and Simon's angry accusations. It was good to have a breathing space from them, and the publicity.

  They stretched their stay to five days instead of three and returned to San Antonio refreshed and rested, although Charles had confessed that he did miss his car. He proved it by rushing home as soon as the limousine he'd hired to meet them at the airport delivered Tira at her house.

  "I'll phone you in the morning. We might have a game of tennis Saturday, if you're up to it," he said.

  "I will be. Thanks, Charles. Thanks so much!"

  He chuckled. "I enjoyed it. So long."

  She watched the limousine pull away and walked slowly up to her front door. She hated homecomings. She had nothing here but Mrs. Lester and an otherwise empty house, and her work. It was cold compensation.

  Mrs. Lester greeted her with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad you're home!" she said. "The phone rang off the hook the day after you left and didn't stop until three days ago." She shook her head. "I can't imagine why those newspaper people wanted to drag the whole subject up again, but I guess the shooting downtown Tuesday afternoon gave them something new to go after."

  "What shooting?"

  “Well, that man the attorney general had paroled—you remember?—was in court to be arraigned and he went right over the table toward the judge and almost killed him. They managed to pull him away and he grabbed the bailiffs gun. They had to shoot him! It's been on all the television stations. They had the most awful photographs of it!"

  Tira actually gasped. "For heaven's sake!"

  “Mr. Hart was right in the middle of it, too. He had a case and was waiting for it to be called when the prisoner got loose."

  "Simon? Was he...hurt?" Tira had to ask.

  “No. He was the one who pulled the man off the judge. The man had that bailiffs gun leveled right at him, they said, when a deputy sheriff shot the man. It was a close call for Mr. Hart. A real close call. But you'd never think it worried him to hear him talk on television. He was as cold as ice."

  She sat down on the edge of the sofa and thanked God for Simon's life. She wished that they were still friends, even distant ones, so that she could phone him and tell him so. But there was a wall between them now.

  "Mr. Hart wondered why you hadn't gotten in touch with him, afterward," Mrs. Lester said, hesitating.

  Tira glanced at her breathlessly. "He called?"

  She nodded and then grimaced. "He wanted to know if you heard about the shooting and if you'd been concerned. I had to tell him that you were away, and didn't know a thing, and when he asked where, he got that out of me, too. I hope it was all right that I told him."

  Simon would think she went on a lover's holiday with Charles. Well, why shouldn't he? He believed she was a murderess and a flighty, shallow flirt and suicidal. Let him think whatever else he liked. She couldn't be any worse in his eyes than she already was.

  "Give a dog a bad name," she murmured.

  "What?" Mrs. Lester asked.

  She dragged her mind back to the subject at hand. "Yes, of course, it's perfectly all right that you told him, Mrs. Lester," Tira said quietly. "I had a wonderful time in Nassau."

  "Did you good, I expect, and Mr. Percy is a nice man."

  "A very nice man," Tira agreed. She got to her feet. "I'm tired. I think I'll lie down for a while, so don't fix anything to eat for another hour or so, will you?''

  "Certainly, dear. You just rest. I'll have some coffee and sand- wiches ready when you want them."

  Would she ever want them? Tira wondered as she went slowly toward her bedroom. She was empty and cold and sick at heart. But that seemed to be her normal condition. At least for now.

  Chapter 4

  It was raining the day Tira began taking her sculptures to Bob Henderson's "Illuminations" art gallery for her showing. She was so gloomy she hardly felt the mist on her face. Christmas was only two weeks away and she was miserable and lonely. Only months before, she'd have phoned Simon and asked him to meet her for lunch in town, or she'd have shown up at some committee meeting or benefit conference at which he was present, just to feed her hungry heart on the sight of him. Now, she had nothing. Only Charles and his infrequent, undemanding company. Charles was a sweetheart, but it was like having a brother over for coffee.

  She carried the last box carefully in the back door, which Lillian Day, the gallery's manager was holding open for her.

  "That's the last of them, Lillian," Tira told her, smiling as she surveyed the cluttered storage room. She shook her head. "I can't believe I did all those myself."

  "It's a lot of work," Lillian agreed, smiling back. She bent to open one of the boxes and frowned slightly at what was inside. "Did you mean to include this?" she asked, indicating a bust of Simon that was painfully lifelike.

  Tira's face closed up. "Yes, I meant to," she said curtly. "I don't want it."

  Lillian wisely didn't say another word. “I’ll place it with the others, then. The catalogs have been printed and they're perfect, I checked them myself. Everything's ready, including the caterer, for the snack buffet and the media coverage. We're doing a Christ mas motif for the buffet."

  Media coverage. Tira ground her teeth. The last thing in the world she wanted to see now was a reporter.

  Lillian, sensitive t
o moods, glanced at her reassuringly. “Don't worry. These were handpicked, by me," she added. "They won't ask any embarrassing questions, and anything they write for print will be about the show. Period."

  Tira relaxed. "What would I do without you?" she asked, and meant it.

  Lillian grinned. "Don't even think about trying. We're very glad to have your exhibit here."

  Tira had worried about Simon's reaction to the showing, since he was a partner in Bob Henderson's gallery. They hadn't spoken since before his close call in the courtroom and she half expected him to cancel her exhibit. But he hadn't. Perhaps Mrs. Lester had been mistaken and he hadn't been angry that Tira hadn't phoned to check on him. Just because she hadn't called, it didn't mean that she hadn't worried. She'd had a few sleepless nights thinking about what could have happened to him. Despite her best efforts, her feelings for him hadn't changed. She was just as much in love with him now as she had been. She was only better at concealing it.

  The night of the exhibit arrived. She was all nerves, and she was secretly glad that Charles would be by her side. Not that she expected Simon to show up, with the media present. He wouldn't want to give them any more ammunition to embarrass him with. But Charles would be a comfort to her.

  Fate stepped in, however, to rob her of his presence. Charles phoned at the last minute, audibly upset, to tell her he couldn't go with her to the show.

  "I'm more sorry than I can tell you, but Gene's had a heart attack," he said curtly.

  "Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry!"

  "No need to be. You know there's no love lost between us. But he's my half brother, just the same, and there's no one else to look after him. Nessa is in shock herself. I can't let her cope alone."

  "How is he?"

  "Stabilized, for the moment. I'm on my way to the hospital. Nessa's with him and he's giving her hell, as usual, even flat on his back," he said curtly.

  “If there's anything I can do..."

  "Thanks for your support. I'm sorry you have to go on your own. But it's unlikely that Simon will be there, you know," he added gently. "Just stick close to Lillian. She'll look out for you."

  She smiled to herself. "I know she will. Let me know how it goes."

  "Of course I will. See you."

  He hung up. She stared at the phone blankly as she replaced the receiver. She looked good, she reasoned. Her black dress was a straight sheath, ankle-length, with spaghetti straps and a diamond necklace and earrings to set it off. It was a perfect foil for her pale, flawless complexion and her red-gold hair, done in a complicated topknot with tendrils just brushing her neck. From her austere get up, she looked more like a widow in mourning than a woman looking forward to Christmas, and she felt insecure and nervous. It would be the first time she'd appeared alone in public since the scandal and she was still uncomfortable around most people.

  Well, she comforted herself as she went outside and climbed into her Jaguar, at least she didn't have to add Simon to her other complications tonight.

  The gallery was packed full of interested customers, some of whom had probably only come for curiosity's sake. It wasn't hard to discern people who could afford the four-figure price tags on the sculptures from those who couldn't. Tira pretended not to no- tice. She took a flute of expensive champagne and downed half of it before she went with Lillian to mingle with the guests.

  It didn't help that the first two people she saw were Simon and Jill.

  “Oh, God," she ground out through her teeth, only too aware of the reporters and their sudden interest in him. "Why did he have to come?!"

  Lillian took her arm gently. "Don't let him know that it bothers you. Smile, girl! We'll get through this."

  "Do you think so?"

  She plastered a cool smile to her lips as Simon pulled Jill along with him and came to a halt just in front of the two women.

  "Nice crowd," he told Tira, his eyes slowly going over her exquisite figure in the close-fitting dress with unusual interest.

  "A few art fans and a lot of rubberneckers, hadn't you noticed?" Tira said, sipping more champagne. Her fingers trembled a little and she held the flute with both hands, something Simon's keen eyes picked up on at once.

  "Nice of you to come by," Lillian said quietly.

  He glanced at her. "It would have been noticeable if I hadn't, considering that I own half the gallery." His attention turned back to Tira and his silvery eyes narrowed. "All alone? Where's your fair-haired shadow?"

  She knew he meant Charles. She smiled lazily. "He couldn't make it."

  "On the first night of your first exhibition?" he chided.

  She drew in a sharp breath. "His half brother had a heart attack, if you must know," she said through her teeth. "He's at the hospital."

  Simon's eyes flickered strangely. "And you have to be here, instead of at his side. Pity."

  "He doesn't need comforting. Nessa does."

  Jill, dressed in red again with a sprig of holly secured with a diamond clip in her black hair, moved closer to Simon. “We just stopped in for a peek at your work," she said, almost purring as she looked up at the tall man beside her. "We're on our way to the opera."

  Tira averted her eyes. She loved opera. Many times in the past, Simon had escorted her during the season. It hurt to remember how she'd looked forward to those chaste evenings with him.

  "I don't suppose you go anymore?" Simon asked coldly.

  She shrugged. "Don't have time," she said tightly.

  "I noticed. You couldn't even be bothered to phone and check on me when that lunatic went wild in the courtroom."

  Tira wouldn't look at him. "You can't hurt someone who's steel right through," she said.

  "And you were out of the country when it happened."

  She lifted her eyes to his hard face. "Yes. I was in Nassau with Charles, having a lovely time!"

  His eyes seemed to blaze up at her.

  Before the confrontation could escalate, Lillian diplomatically got between them. "Have you had time to look around?" she asked Simon.

  "Oh, we've seen most everything," Jill answered for him. "Even the bust of Simon that Tira did. I was surprised that she was willing to sell it," she added in an innocent tone. "I wouldn't part with something so personal, Simon being such an old friend and all. But I guess under the circumstances, it was too painful a reminder of...things, wasn't it, dear?" she asked Tira.

  Tira's hand automatically drew back, with the remainder of the champagne, but before she could toss it, Simon caught her wrist with his good hand.

  "No catfights," he said through his teeth. "Jill, wait for me at

  the door, will you?"

  "If you say so. My, she does look violent, doesn't she?" Jill chided, but she walked away quickly just the same.

  "Get a grip on yourself!" Simon shot at Tira under his breath. "Don't you see the reporters staring at you?"

  "I don't give a damn about the reporters," she flashed at him. "If she comes near me again, I swear I'll empty the punch bowl over her vicious little head!"

  He let go of her wrist and something kindled in his pale eyes as he looked at her animated face. "That's more like you," he said in a deep, soft tone.

  Tira flushed, aware that Lillian was quietly deserting her, stranding her with Simon.

  "Why did you come?" she asked furiously.

  "So the gossips wouldn't have a field day speculating about why I didn't," he explained. "It wouldn't have done either of us much good, considering what's been in print already."

  She lifted her face, staring at him with cold eyes at the reference to things she only wanted to forget. "You've done your duty," she said. "You might as well go. And take the Wicked Witch of the West with you," she added spitefully.

  "Jealous?" he asked in a sensuous tone.

  Her face hardened. "I once asked you the same question. You can give yourself the same answer that you gave me. Like hell I'm jealous!"

  He was watching her curiously, his eyes acutely alive in a strangely tacitur
n face. "You've lost weight," he remarked. "And you look more like a widow than a celebrity tonight. Why wear black?"

  "I've decided that you were right. I should have mourned my husband. So now I'm in mourning," she said icily and with an arctic smile. "I expect to be in mourning for him until I die, and I'll never look at a man again. Doesn't that make you happy?"

  He frowned slightly. “Tira..."

  "Tira!"

  The sound of a familiar voice turned them both around. Harry Beck, Tira's father-in-law, came forward, smiling, to embrace Tira. He turned to shake Simon's hand. "Great to see you both!" he said enthusiastically. "Dollface, you've outdone yourself," he told Tira, nodding toward two nearby sculptures. "I always knew you were talented, but this is sheer genius!"

  Simon looked puzzled by Harry's honest enthusiasm for Tira's work, by his lack of hostility. She'd killed his only son, didn't he care?

  "I'm glad to see you, Simon," Harry added with a smile. "It's

  been a long time."

  "Simon was just leaving. Weren't you?" Tira added meaningfully.

  "Someone's motioning to you," Harry noted, indicating Lillian frantically waving from across the room.

  "It's Lillian. Will you excuse me?" Tira asked, smiling at Harry. "I won't be a minute." Simon, she ignored entirely.

  The two men watched her go.

  "I'm glad to see her looking so much better," Harry said on a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I've been worried since she went to the hospital."

  "Do you really care what happens to her?" Simon asked curiously.

  Harry was surprised. "Why wouldn't I be? She was my daughter-in-law. I've always been fond of her."

  "She divorced John a month after they married and let him go off to work on a drill rig in the ocean," Simon returned. "He died there."

  Harry stared at him blankly. "But that wasn't her fault."

  "Wasn't it?"

  "Why are you so bitter?" Harry wanted to know. "For God's sake, you can't think she didn't try to change him? He should have told her the truth before he married her, not let her find it out that way!"

  Simon was puzzled. "Find what out?"