The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1)

by Colleen Gleason

  And then she almost dropped it.

  Fiona had never had such an immediate reaction to looking at someone’s palm before. Intense discomfort and unease washed over her like an awful surprise, and she had to take a deep breath to calm her sudden jumping nerves.

  What was wrong with her?

  Fiona swallowed and focused back on Barnaby’s hand. She tried to follow the lines of his palm, but anything she might have read into them was engulfed by her strange feelings of aversion. She concentrated, traced some of the lines on his hand with her index finger, and babbled something—she would never remember what—about him being a success and having a happy life with two children and a wife and several other comments that sounded palm-reader-like.

  Then, as soon as she could—after the comments died down—Fiona excused herself from the little group, glad to notice that at some point Gideon and Leslie had stepped away. Barnaby wanted to accompany her, but with a playful little laugh, she told him, “I’m just going to step into the powder room for a minute. Why don’t you stay here and campaign for a bit?”

  The chuckles from the group followed her as she stepped away, and it wasn’t until she’d made her way across the room that she felt able to breathe again. Between seeing Gideon and his fiancée unexpectedly and then the strange reaction she’d had to Barnaby, Fiona desired only to have a few minutes to herself.

  Her knowledge of the layout of the Art Museum aided her in her quest for privacy, and Fiona had no trouble finding a small alcove where she could stand and pretend to admire a Vermeer while trying to get her composure under control.

  She felt a presence behind her almost immediately, and, half-expecting to see Gideon standing there, she turned.

  Her heart plummeted.

  “Iva. I’m so glad to see you again…and I want to apologize for my comment about you not coming by. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—it was very rude, and I feel terrible about it.” She heard herself babbling, but she couldn’t stop. She was afraid what would happen when her emotions caught up with her.

  “Fiona, dear,” was all Iva said before pulling her into her sweet-smelling embrace. The shorter woman hugged her tightly, and for a minute, she didn’t want to let go. “I wasn’t offended at all. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me, at least, not for awhile. I should be the one apologizing for not coming by. I wasn’t certain…what had happened between the two of you. And, well…you know Gideon. He wouldn’t say anything about it.”

  Tears knitted into the corners of her eyes and she felt a huge lump forming in her throat. How could this woman that she barely knew evoke such an honest response in her when her own mother couldn’t?

  Finally, Fiona pulled away, only slightly embarrassed by her emotional reaction. It had felt good to let someone hold her—to let herself grieve for a minute.

  “You love him,” said the older woman.

  Fiona swallowed over the heaviness in her throat, considered lying, but then nodded. “Yes.” She sniffled in a manner so contrary to the elegance of her gown that she choked on a small laugh and began to dig around in her handbag.

  “Here.” Iva pulled a tissue from her bag and offered it to Fiona, who had not been able to find one in her tiny pocketbook. “I know you’re not used to such a small purse.”

  Fiona smiled again and blew her nose. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…actually, I sort of do.” Not only did she want to change the subject, but she needed to tell someone about Barnaby. “When I picked up Barnaby’s hand to read his palm, something strange happened.”

  “You weren’t hit with a bolt of lightning and fell in love with him, did you?” Iva demanded, half-joking, but, from the look in her eyes, half-serious.

  “No…in fact, it was quite the opposite. Exactly the opposite. I felt this surge of dislike rush through me—I almost dropped him. It made it really hard to focus on what I was reading, and I just made some stuff up. I wonder what caused me to react that way.”

  “Does he frighten you? Perhaps you shouldn’t be alone with him, Fiona.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t necessarily that he frightened me—after all, I’ve been alone with the guy many times and he’s never raised the hair on the back of my neck like tonight. He’s never given me cause to feel uncomfortable around him before. I think it must have just been a fluke of a moment…maybe he’s just another dishonest politician, and it came out in his palm.” She shrugged off the older woman’s concern. She’d already decided that after tonight she wasn’t going to see him any more anyway.

  “Well, he is Valente’s grandnephew,” Iva said with a gentle smile, looking at her with a gleam in her blue eyes. “We’ll get to the other stuff in a minute—but first, I found out some things about your benefactor that might explain your ghost.”

  Fiona raised her eyebrows, glad to have something to focus on instead of her emotions. “You did some research at the library?”

  Iva nodded. “And on the Internet too. Even we librarians go online, you know,” she smiled. “Recall that I mentioned the name Josef Kremer as being familiar to me? I can’t believe I didn’t remember right away—but he was a Nazi war criminal. One of Hitler’s elite. He was thought to have escaped Germany and fled to Argentina with some of the others.”

  “I haven’t heard of him myself, but I’m sure you’re right. What do you think his connection to Valente was? Do you think Valente killed him? And the blackmailer knew it? Maybe Kremer killed Gretchen, the love of Valente’s life, and he avenged himself on Kremer by taking him out.”

  Iva was nodding. “Perhaps. It’s possible. What a romantic story that would be. I thought I would let you know that—so maybe if you come across any more hidden drawers with secret letters in them, they might mean something to you.”

  “Hidden drawers?”

  Fiona nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Barnaby’s voice behind her. Clapping a hand to her chest, which covered a wild heart, she exclaimed in annoyance, “You startled the blazes out of me!”

  “I’m so sorry, ladies. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just realized my wallet is missing, Fiona, and wondered if you’d seen it.”

  “I don’t remember seeing it anywhere. When was the last time you had it?”

  “I know I had it when I stopped by the shop this morning—wanted to make sure our date was still on for this evening,” he added, winking at Iva. “I wonder if I left it there. Would you mind if we stopped by on the way home tonight to look?”

  “Of course not,” Fiona replied, waving away his puppy-dog expression. “Although I’m sure Dylan would have noticed if you left it there and called me.”

  “Well, I’d feel better if I had the chance to check. Anyway, ladies, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Fiona, are you hungry or thirsty? Would you like me to get anything for you?”

  Iva glanced at Fiona and then turned a brilliant smile onto Barnaby that Fiona recognized as one hiding an ulterior motive. It was the smile she played when she wanted to bend Gideon Senior to her will without him knowing. “Mr. Forth—can I call you Barnaby?—I’d like to ask you a few questions about your platform.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Nath. If I could just—”

  “My Ladies Guild at the library is interested in having you come in to speak with us—and we usually have quite an attendance.” She fluttered an old-lady look that made her appear fluffy and ingenuous, and Fiona had to hide a smile. Iva was giving her the chance to escape…and escape she would.

  As she stepped out of the alcove, she came face to face with Gideon.

  She’d known it would happen—both hoped and feared it would, if the truth were to be known—and she was always honest with herself. But the sight of him still made her draw up quickly, and her insides jerk and flutter.

  “Fiona.” His tone sounded as though he’d expected to see her—so he had the advantage. She never liked that.

  “Hello Gideon.” She would remain cool. Not too stand-offish, and certainly not deer-in-the-
headlights speechless. In fact, she would seize control of the conversation since he’d obviously sought her out. “You look absolutely marvy tonight in that tux.”

  Fiona couldn’t believe her own audacity when she reached out to tug on the collar of his jacket, then slide her fingers on down. He was warm and solid even under that brief touch and she regretted reminding herself of it immediately. “I’ve always said you fill out a tux better than pretty much anyone I know…with the exception of Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark.” She grinned cheekily even though her insides churned.

  Gideon finally found his tongue, startled by her sudden appearance and then the onslaught of her icy calm. Surely she wasn’t faking nonchalance too? “Thank you for the compliment. You look stunning as well…but I don’t want to stand here and mutually admire each other for the next ten minutes, Fiona.”

  “Why ever not?” She was practically batting her eyelashes at him—a sure sign that she was hiding something. “We spent several weeks doing little more than that.” Her smile bordered on suggestive, but her eyes were still flat.

  Gideon reached for her arm, wrapping his fingers gently but firmly around it before she could sidestep him. “Are you seeing Forth?” he asked before he checked the words with his brain.

  He directed her around a corner, near the Japanese tearoom that took up the majority of one exhibit hall. It was silent and half-lit—not part of the van Gogh/Gauguin exhibit, of course. The faint trickle of water burbled in the quiet, reminding Gideon that an actual stream ran through the Japanese garden.

  “Well, it’s not the Bryn Mawr Country Club,” Fiona commented, bringing to mind the last time they’d both attended an event and ended up in a private, garden-like setting. “And no I’m not seeing Barnaby. As if it’s any of your business. You’ve always had a craw up your butt about him for some reason, haven’t you?”

  Gideon had no reason to feel the relief, but it washed through him. Then it was replaced by irritation with himself for his selfishness. Just like his father.

  “Did you want to talk to me about something Gideon?” She’d stopped and turned to look up at him. Her gaze searched his, but it was cold and emotionless. He wanted to warm it again, to melt away that reserve and see her easy and giddy.

  He reached to touch her hair, piled tall on her head, leaving her long neck bare. “I just wanted to know that you are doing all right. I think about you…often.” Twisting a coil around his finger, he rubbed the silky strands between the pads of his fingers until she stepped back and the lock slipped from his fingers.

  “I’m doing just fine, Gideon. How about you? Are you happy? Picking out names? Decorating the nursery? Planning a wedding—or did you elope?”

  He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, then emptiness washed over him. It was his own fault for seeking her out, for getting this close to her again. He should have just stayed away, across the room, with his fiancée. It would have been much safer.

  But impossible to do.

  “I love you, Fiona.” The words shocked him as much as they did her. “I’m sorry.”

  Her entire face froze, sagged, and then drew tight in incredulity. Her eyes flashed and snapped wildly at him as she got in his face. “You didn’t really just say that, did you Gideon? I had to have imagined it. How dare you do this to me—to yourself—and to Leslie! How dare you!”

  He’d never seen her that angry. It was frightening and illuminating at the same time. Gideon thought for a minute she was angry enough to strike him, but instead, she whirled and stalked away, her feet clipping hard on the marble floor in furious strides.

  He stared after her, ill and ashamed. Empty.

  Then the sound of clapping…slow, steady, mocking…reached his ears.

  Gideon turned to see Leslie, leaning against one of the tall columns, applauding him.

  He turned cold.

  “Nice job, Gideon. Things are really screwed up now, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, God, Leslie…I am so sorry.” He went toward her, his whole body numb, his brain frozen. Misery, shame, desolation warred inside him. There was nothing he could say.

  Leslie allowed him to take her hands, but she didn’t move away from the column against which she leaned. “Why did you insist on getting married if you felt that way about Fiona?”

  Her fingers felt warm in his freezing hands. He scrambled to pull his thoughts together…but the only thing he could focus on was the image of Fiona’s shocked, loathing expression before she turned away.

  “Leslie…I told you, I’m not going to walk away from my responsibility. And you and I are so well-suited to each other.”

  “Obviously not as well-suited as you and Fiona. My God, this entire vault of a room was sizzling with the chemistry between the two of you.” She withdrew her hands. “And you haven’t said that you love me. Ever.”

  “I care about you very much Les,” he stammered quickly, feeling even more ill. But he wasn’t going to lie. “And I’m going to be a wonderful father…I would never let you raise our baby alone, Leslie. I want to be a part of that.”

  “The thing is, Gideon, I don’t love you, and I don’t want to marry you. And the baby’s not yours anyway.”

  “Leslie, I—” He stopped as the words penetrated. “What did you say?”

  “Which part? The part that I don’t love you and don’t want to marry you? Or the part about it not being your baby?” Leslie was half-smiling now, in a forlorn sort of way.

  He coldly battled back the rush of hope. “You’re lying to me. You don’t have to do this…Leslie, I am not going to embarrass you like this again.”

  “The baby’s not yours, Gideon. I got the results on my amniocentesis today. I tried to tell you earlier, but—”

  “What? Leslie, I know you were getting testing done for Down Syndrome and Cystic Fibrosis, but…oh.” His head swam. He remembered he’d had a blood sample drawn at the lab when she’d had the amniocentesis done—because of her age, and because of Cystic Fibrosis in her family history—to test for genetic diseases.

  “I…was on a business trip a few months ago, and…met someone. It didn’t occur to me right away that that could have been the cause. But rather than getting you all jacked out of shape, since chances were, if it was anyone’s it was yours…I asked them to test the DNA at the same time. I didn’t want you taking responsibility for something that wasn’t yours.”

  She reached up to touch his face. “I want you to know that I admire you for walking away from something you really wanted in order to do what you thought was your duty…even though I didn’t want you to. You are a wonderful man, Gideon…I’m just sorry that we weren’t meant to be together. I certainly hope that Fiona will find a way to forgive us both for putting her through hell. She seems like a wonderful person.”

  “Actually, Les, she dumped me before I even had the chance to talk with her about the situation.” He should have been feeling elated, relieved, and giddy…but it was more of a desolation that crept over him.

  “Self-defense, Gid. It was self-defense. She had to dump you before you walked away from her. I can understand that. You probably scared the hell out of her, and when she saw you acting all mopey, she knew the writing was on the wall.”

  “I don’t know. But at least I owe her an apology.” He looked down at her. “You’re a hell of a woman, Les. A lot of women would have just let me keep thinking it was mine. We would have been happy together.”

  She was shaking her head, her eyes glittering with tears. “But, Gid, we wouldn’t be nearly as happy as you and Fiona will be.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Are you sure you don’t mind leaving already?” Fiona asked as Barnaby draped the wrap over her shoulders. Thanks to the nearby river, the night air was chilly.

  “Not at all. I was ready to go too.” He flashed a smile at her as they stepped in rhythm down the many steps of the museum to where the valet had already pulled up Barnaby’s Jaguar.

  Fiona settled into her sea
t, her heart still hammering with anger and her veins still jumping. How dare that stiff-rumped lawyer tell her he was in love with her when he was marrying someone else? What did he want—a wife, a child, and a palmist on the side for when he wanted some fun?

  True, he didn’t look as though he was having fun. In fact, he looked down right miserable…but that wasn’t her fault, and there was nothing she could or would do about it. He’d made his bed….

  “I still want to stop by the shop to see if my wallet’s there—is that all right with you?”

  “Of course.” Fiona had forgotten about that detour. She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes in an effort to relax, already looking forward to slipping into bed and having a good cry.