by Clare Willis
Richard bowed at the waist. “It was a pleasure seeing you, Jacob. I’m sure we will meet again soon.”
The interior of Restaurant Gary Danko was what Sunni imagined it might be like inside a womb—dark, warm, and red. The staff moved in slow undulations, as if they were propelling themselves through liquid. The walls were covered with velvety fabric that muted the sounds of voices and clicking silverware. The few windows were also covered in velvet drapery, so the visual effect could be controlled. A maître d’ in a charcoal gray suit led her to a corner table where Isabel and Richard were already seated next to each other on one of two banquettes. When she arrived Richard stood up, a little awkwardly, as he was hemmed in by the table, and gave a slight bow. He didn’t reach for her hand.
Sunni realized immediately that the outfit she’d chosen—black wool trouser suit and a green silk blouse—while appropriate for a business dinner, was woefully casual in this situation. Isabel’s blond hair was arranged in an up-do, with soft curls that drifted down her neck, and her black silk cocktail dress showcased her ample cleavage. A diamond pendant that Sunni had never seen before hung in the cleft between her breasts. There was a competition going on, and Isabel was in it to win.
Sunni slid onto the banquette on the other side of the table, across from Richard Lazarus. He was wearing one of the nicest suits she’d ever seen—blue pin stripe, cut narrow in the waist and shoulders—worn with a cotton shirt that shone like satin. When he smiled at her she felt the same uncomfortable flush come over her that she’d experienced in the gallery. The maître d’ shook out her linen napkin and placed it in her lap, then handed her a padded leather menu the size of a doormat. Disconcerted, she opened her menu so that she could look at something besides him.
“So happy you could join us,” Richard said.
What was that accent of his? Supposedly he was from London, and he did have an accent, but it was different, a bit sharper in the consonants, than a standard British accent. It reminded her of the way Jacob Eddington spoke. Was it possible the two men were from the same place?
“I’ve never been to this restaurant, but I’ve heard great things about it.” Sunni glanced at Isabel’s chest. “That’s a beautiful necklace, Isabel. Is it new?” Sunni asked.
“This old thing? I’ve had it forever,” Isabel said, touching it.
Richard’s eyes settled on Isabel’s chest for the briefest of moments and then skittered away. “Lovely, very lovely,” he said.
Sunni couldn’t tell whether he was speaking of the necklace or the bosom underneath it, but she still experienced a twinge of jealousy. Their waiter, a handsome older man with dark, wavy hair, approached to offer them a cocktail. Richard inquired after the man’s origins, and when he said he was Italian, they engaged in a brief burst of conversation in his native language. Sunni ordered a martini, the strongest drink she could think of. Richard ordered a bottle of twenty-year-old cabernet sauvignon for the table.
Next the waiter brought an amuse-bouche: brie and crab soup served in a shot glass. Richard didn’t touch his, and when the sommelier brought the wine over he indicated that Isabel should approve it. She tasted it and pronounced it delicious.
Sunni ignored the crab soup, but gulped her martini. To cover her nervousness, she began firing questions.
“So Richard, where are you from?”
Richard fingered the diamond tack in his scarlet silk tie. “Originally from Providence, Rhode Island, but I have lived in England for many years.”
“Ah, that explains your accent,” Sunni said. And perhaps its similarity to Jacob Eddington’s, she thought. “And I’m curious about your art collecting. Do you specialize in baroque, or are you more eclectic in your tastes?”
“I have always loved beautiful things,” Richard smiled pointedly at Isabel. “In my youth I began with Renaissance art. I managed to get my hands on one or two Rembrandts when they were more reasonably priced. They’re still the pride of my collection.”
“What do you mean, ‘in your youth’? You’re still young, Richard.” Isabel said, batting her false eyelashes.
Richard laughed. “You do me honor, my lady. ”
Sunni felt the jealous twinge again, and issued herself a quick, silent rebuke.
Three waiters brought their appetizers and placed them on the table simultaneously. The food was beautiful, arrayed in artful patterns or stacked vertically into delicate edible towers. Isabel attacked her lobster risotto. When Richard ignored his foie gra terrine Sunni found it too strange not to comment on.
“Is there something wrong with your food, Richard? You haven’t eaten a thing.”
Isabel cast a concerned glance at his plate. “You could order something else. They’re very accommodating here.”
Richard took a sip of wine before he answered, swirling it around in his mouth as if to prove that there was something at the restaurant he was enjoying.
“I’m just not very hungry tonight, that’s all. It must be the jet lag.”
He leaned toward Sunni. “But that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Isabel tells me that she’s known you since you were both girls. Fourteen, did you say, my dear?” He directed the last question to Isabel and she nodded.
“Yup,” Sunni replied, “we met in high school.”
“BFF’s,” Isabel said.
“What is this term?” Richard asked.
“Best Friends Forever. ”
“I see. How charming.” He turned back to Sunni. “High school, you say? I thought you met in a psychiatric institute.”
Sunni’s spoon dropped into her bowl of red pumpkin soup, scattering the fennel, bacon, and apple balanced on its creamy surface. She stared at Isabel, aghast. This was one of their most closely guarded secrets, a pact held for sixteen years. How could she have told Richard in the five minutes they’d been waiting for her? Isabel returned her inquisitive stare with a blank smile, as if she didn’t know anything was amiss.
“I’m surprised you told him that, Isabel,” Sunni said pointedly.
“Told him what?” Isabel sipped her wine.
What was her game? “About us being at Ashwood together. ”
Isabel seemed confused. “I didn’t tell him that.” She turned to Richard. “I didn’t tell you that, did I?”
“How else would I have known?” He waved a hand in dismissal. “But please forgive me, I didn’t realize this was a tender subject. Let’s speak of other things, shall we?” Richard leaned toward Sunni. “I’ve met the estimable Dennis LaForge already. But I’m curious about your parents, Sunni. They must be most unusual people to have created such an interesting specimen as yourself.”
For most people this was a benign, even boring, question. For Sunni it was fraught with difficulties. “The LaForges are the closest thing to parents I’ve had.”
“You don’t know who your biological parents were?”
Now he was getting a little pushy. “My mother died when I was eight. I never knew my father. ”
Richard tut-tutted in sympathy. “My condolences. I am no stranger to loss myself. Death, it seems, is always waiting in the wings where I’m concerned.” His sad smile encompassed Isabel. “And you, my dear, lost your dear mother not so very long ago.” He raised his glass in the air. “I propose a toast: To all those we have loved and lost, and to those we have found again. ”
Sunni’s glass was already clinking against the others when the strangeness of his toast impressed itself upon her. Whom had he found again?
She was about to ask Richard what he meant when her attention was diverted by the maître d’ passing their table, leading a diner who appeared to be alone. Sunni’s spoon would have fallen into her soup again if she’d been holding it, because the person being led was Jacob Eddington.
He, like Sunni, was dressed a trifle too casually for the restaurant, but he looked comfortable and his clothes suited him. His leather jacket was rugged and just scuffed enough to look lived-in. Underneath it he wore a black turtle
neck sweater, his dark curls spilling over the collar in back.
Sunni held her breath while her heart pounded painfully against her rib cage. She had no idea what to do. And then the most surprising thing happened.
“Richard Lazarus, is that you?” Jacob said, stopping in front of their table. The maître d’ waited, a patient half smile on his lips, the giant menu balanced in the crook of his arm.
Sunni’s head swiveled from Jacob to Richard and back again. Even though her mind advised against it, some more primal part of her was busy taking stock of the two men, comparing their relative attributes. They were both far more than conventionally handsome. Jacob was taller and more slender, while Richard was broader in the chest and shoulders, but both had stunning physiques. There was something wild about Jacob; maybe it was his hair, which looked like he’d just climbed off a motorcycle, maybe it was his stormy blue eyes, but perhaps it was just the leather jacket versus Richard’s Savile Row suit.
Richard’s beauty was more restrained, but no less compelling. Everything from the perfect symmetry of the knot in his tie to the shiny signet ring on his manicured pinkie finger said that he was in control—of his money, of his image, of his emotions. And of other people, if Isabel’s adoring gaze was any indication.
Sunni was attracted to them both, but was also wary of her feelings. In the case of Richard, she didn’t want to be in competition with Isabel, and her encounters with Jacob Eddington had left her with more questions than answers about who he was and why she kept seeing him around. All in all, both men had left her feeling confused and vulnerable, and those were feelings Sunni hated. She looked down at her soup bowl and took deep, calming breaths. They’re just guys, she told herself soothingly. Don’t let them rattle you.
“Jacob, fancy seeing you here. I had no idea you were in San Francisco.” Richard licked his lips. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Some strong emotion was going through him but Sunni couldn’t tell what it was. After that indecisive moment he smiled and stood up graciously.
The two men clasped hands across the table. “I did hear that you might be in the city, but running into you is an unexpected …” Jacob glanced at Sunni and smiled. “… pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Richard said. Sunni got the distinct feeling that the supercilious politeness was masking something much darker. She glanced at Isabel, who returned her gaze with wide eyes.
“Jacob Eddington?” she mouthed.
Sunni nodded.
“Shit,” Isabel whispered.
“My sentiments exactly,” Sunni muttered.
“Are you by yourself, Jacob? Why don’t you join us for dinner?” He looked back at the women. “Ladies, do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Isabel said hurriedly. “We have an extra seat. We’d be delighted.”
Jacob gracefully slipped off his leather jacket, handed it to the maître d’, and took his seat next to Sunni, exuding that fresh and delightful odor. Sunni felt as if a leprechaun, a fairy, or a green alien had just landed at her table, his presence was that unbelievable. He was smiling at her, but his dark blue eyes revealed no trace of recognition.
Richard swept his arm toward Sunni. “May I present Miss Sunni Marquette?”
Jacob’s hand was cool, his shake firm but not aggressive. He looked into her eyes boldly, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his shapely mouth. She felt her own mouth go dry as she stared into his eyes, and she was glad she was sitting down, as her knees were a little shaky. She felt a tiny stab of disappointment when he turned away from her to clasp Isabel’s hand. She stared at the strong line of his jaw as he spoke to Isabel and dared to hope that this was the beginning of something special.
They stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi that the maître d’ had summoned at Richard’s request. The restaurant was only three blocks from the bay, and a foghorn blasted at regular intervals as a thick, wet mist crept up the hill from its birthplace outside the Golden Gate Bridge. Isabel stood at Richard’s side, balancing on her crutches while the wind tugged at her upswept hair. Sunni was standing next to Jacob. He appeared nonchalant, but Sunni noticed that a muscle was twitching in his jaw and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. She had learned almost nothing about him during the course of the meal, except that he lived somewhere in San Francisco and that he had some sort of business relationship with Richard that went back quite a few years and had begun in Rhode Island.
The valet approached, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets against the cold wind. “Can I get your car for you, or are you taking a cab as well?” He looked from Jacob to Sunni expectantly. Sunni felt herself blush as Jacob coughed quietly into his hand.
“Um, we’re not all going to the same place,” Sunni said.
“The night is still young,” Richard said. “There’s a wonderful jazz quartet at the Brazil Room downtown. Can I entice anyone to join me?” His smile beamed equally on Sunni and Isabel, but studiously avoided Jacob. The cab pulled up to the curb.
Sunni glanced at Jacob. His facial expression never changed, but something in his eyes told her to stay put.
“I’m awfully tired. Why don’t you two go?” Sunni said, taking a step backward and putting her hand on Isabel’s coat sleeve.
“Is this okay?” Isabel whispered as Sunni helped her into the cab.
“It’s fine, I’ll call you later,” Sunni whispered back. “You have fun!” she said more loudly.
Richard climbed into the cab and it whisked them away. She turned around, half expecting Jacob to have disappeared into thin air like he did at the wedding, but he hadn’t moved.
“So, what do we do now?” Sunni asked, and immediately regretted the question. She felt an unwelcome heat rise up in her body as she remembered all the times she had fantasized about Jacob making love to her. Just two days ago she’d used his image to get off when the twerp she’d picked up in the bar, Alex Petrie, had failed to arouse her sufficiently. She’d already given Jacob Eddington the edge in this new relationship.
Luckily, Jacob was fixated on Richard and the taxi and seemed to have no idea what was going through Sunni’s mind. His jaw twitched.
“We go to the Brazil Room,” he said briskly.
Chapter 7
They climbed into a cab a few minutes after Isabel and Richard. Jacob had to shift his long legs sideways, which turned him slightly toward Sunni. Even in the dim light Jacob’s features were easily discernible. His pale skin gave off a faint glow, like some luminescent fish from the bottom of the sea. Or perhaps it was just Sunni’s excellent eyesight, since people, as a general rule, didn’t glow. The cabbie requested their destination and Jacob provided it. Sunni sighed deeply and leaned her head back against the seat. The taxi smelled of old leather, Chinese food, and the piney woods and fresh snow odor she now associated with Jacob.
Jacob Eddington and I are on a date. She turned the idea around in her mind, testing it out. For all intents and purposes it looked like a date. They were in a cab together, going to a nightclub. There was some kind of tension between them, perhaps sexual attraction, although Jacob was certainly not making his intentions clear. But maybe tonight would clarify the situation. Sunni decided she was going to try to let her guard down and see where the evening took them.
“Let’s talk about Richard Lazarus.” Jacob rubbed his hands together as if they were cold, although the cab driver was blasting the heat to keep the windshield clear.
Sunni’s heart sank. “Of course,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “let’s talk about Richard Lazarus. Because we certainly wouldn’t want to talk about ourselves.”
“He is very dangerous.”
“Dangerous to whom?”
“To you.” Jacob turned to her, his mouth firm, eyes unblinking. “I need to take you away from San Francisco tonight.”
“Is that a proposition?” Sunni was aiming for a light tone, but she didn’t think she was able to disguise the excitement and confusion she was feeling.<
br />
He shook his head dismissively. “Obviously not. This is about your safety, nothing else.”
“I see.” Disappointment was followed quickly by anger. “Shall we tell the cab to take us to the airport right away?”
“Yes, that would be advisable.” Jacob leaned toward the cab driver.
She laughed, although it wasn’t remotely funny, but when he tapped the driver’s shoulder she pulled his hand down.
“Never mind,” she said to the driver, who shrugged and kept driving.
“What is your game?” she hissed at Jacob.
“It’s not a game, I assure you. Richard Lazarus came here for you.”
“Yes, to buy art from me.” The cab driver took a corner hard and Sunni had to grab the door handle to keep from sliding into Jacob’s lap.
He raised one eyebrow. “And you believed him?”
“Why shouldn’t I believe him?”
“You haven’t noticed anything unusual about him?”
“You’re the unusual one, buddy. Speaking of which, let’s talk about you for a while.”
He nodded. “All right. ”
“Why have you been following me?”
His head tilted as he watched her. “You think well of yourself, don’t you?”
“I know you have. I’ve seen you around …” her shoulders slumped as she realized that anything she could say could be refuted in a completely commonsense way.
“I live at Fourth and Howard. I believe you do too, in the building across the street.”
She nodded reluctantly.
“I too, have seen you around. I know your name: I know where you live and where you work. And yes, I did protect you from a mugger in front of Glide Memorial two years past. But I just happened to be passing by. It’s a small world, as they say.”
“And the wedding?”
“I am an acquaintance of the groom. ”
She squeezed her temples and closed her eyes. She hadn’t even known how much of a fantasy she’d built around this man until the impact of her burst bubble hit her like a stick of dynamite.
