"So how about you? Have you heard from Drew Sedgwick?"
Cathryn blinked. "What do you know about Drew?" She hadn't mentioned him or their encounter at the reunion.
"What I read in Palm Beach Parade," said Susannah, pulling a copy from her purse. She flipped through the pages.
Cathryn was horrified to see herself gazing raptly into the eyes of Drew Sedgwick on page 12.
"Ziff Bucholz," she murmured. "He snapped that photo in the lounge right before we left."
"Nice picture," commented Susannah before stuffing the magazine back in her purse. "Anyway," she went on, "I went to haul you out of the ladies' room that night after I figured Donny wasn't going to throw anyone else in the pool, and when I couldn't find you, I looked outside and there you were standing by the seawall and holding a very earnest conversation with Drew."
"Well, I had a drink with him, as you already know, thanks to Ziff. And that's all."
"How do you feel about him?"
"My, you do plunge right to the heart of matters, don't you?" hedged Cathryn, poking at a piece of parsley at the edge of her plate.
"The heart of matters. Of course," said Susannah, showing pearly-white teeth capped to perfection. "Oh, Cathryn, it's just that I think you need variety in your life."
"Like you have?" Cathryn couldn't help tossing off that remark, and Susannah just grinned.
"Not like that. You're different from me, we both know it. But you can't go on like this. You need a personal life, someone to share your emotions with."
Susannah could get serious once in a while. Cathryn had forgotten.
"Look, Cathryn, give the man a chance. From what Judy says, he's a nice guy."
"If he's so nice, why did his wife leave?" retorted Cathryn, but she immediately felt like a traitor. It wasn't fair to judge Drew by his ex-wife's actions.
"There could be any number of reasons. The point is, why not give him a chance? I saw the way he looked at you when you were having your little chat outside. He was absolutely mesmerized. There was no doubt that he was hitting on you. Anyone could see that."
Cathryn reached for the check.
"No, let me get that," said Susannah, but Cathryn held it out of her friend's reach.
"I should make you pay, just for having to listen to your lecture," she chided. "But I consider this business."
"Business? That's stretching it a bit, isn't it?"
"You asked me to redecorate that big old mausoleum of prospective husband number four's, didn't you?"
"His name, my dear, is Avery."
Cathryn laughed. "It's no use, Susannah. I can't keep your husbands straight any better than you can. I've converted to your numerical system, too."
As they strolled outside into the bright sunshine, Cathryn was touched when Susannah hugged her impulsively before ducking into her rented Cadillac.
"I meant what I said, Cathryn," Susannah said, her eyes dark and serious again. "Give Drew Sedgwick—or somebody—a chance. Promise."
Amazingly, surprisingly, Cathryn felt her own eyes fill with hot, unexpected tears. "But—"
"Cathryn, what's wrong? I haven't hurt your feelings, have I?" Susannah was aghast.
"No, no, I just—"
"Don't explain. Just promise you won't turn him down again."
Numbly, Cathryn nodded, too embarrassed to do anything else.
"Are you okay, Cathryn? Honestly? I hate to leave you like this."
"I'm all right. I was just thinking that I'll miss you when you're gone, you idjit."
Susannah brightened. "You always did call me an idjit," she said fondly. "And I always let you. Take care of yourself, okay?" Susannah settled into the seat of the Cadillac, her body sleek against the supple leather. "I'll phone and let you know about Avery and me," she called out the open window as she backed the car out of its space in the parking lot, and again Cathryn nodded. She smiled—bleakly, she knew—and waved as Susannah disappeared down the street.
What in the world had come over her? Why had she been overwhelmed by such sudden tears? Was it that Susannah, one of her oldest friends, sensed her loneliness and pitied her for it? Whatever Susannah had made of her own life, she was certainly not lonely.
Cathryn hadn't thought she was lonely. She'd always had her career, and it had been enough. But if it was, why did she feel so sad when she thought about her life in comparison with Susannah's and Judy's and almost everyone's?
It was the reunion, she thought, resolutely heading back to her studio, where she was determined to arrive promptly to consult with new clients about the redecoration of their home on Everglades Island.
Or maybe she shouldn't blame it on the reunion. In all actuality, her present state of churning emotions dated back to the night she had first seen Drew Sedgwick outside her Design Boutique, lounging ever so casually against a pillar in the shadows.
* * *
Drew bided his time. He didn't call her, and he forced himself to stay away from her boutique in his Caloosa Mall store. Instead, he embarked on an extended trip to Houston, hoping that business would help him push the image of her blonde hair and green-gold eyes from his thoughts. It didn't help. He found himself thinking of her in the middle of important meetings, and he saw her in every platinum blonde who crossed his path.
He even asked one of them out because her hair reminded him of Cathryn's. But compared to her, this woman lacked charm and luster. By the time he arrived back in Palm Beach, he could wait no longer. When he disembarked from the airplane late Friday afternoon, he already had a plan. It was a little wacky, perhaps, but it was a plan nonetheless.
* * *
The design boutique at the mall was a raging success, both in terms of dollars and new contacts. Because her assistants managed it capably and well, Cathryn herself didn't have to spend much time there. In the month or so since the boutique had opened, it had netted her four big jobs. Two of them, houses in West Palm Beach, Cathryn turned over to Natalie Bell and Zohra Vlast, designers who worked for her. The third, an office for an architect who could send plenty of business her way if he liked her work, Cathryn would handle herself. The other was a "handyman special" house on Barton Avenue, a run-down place that Cathryn would enjoy refurbishing and designing to the tastes of a young family.
Cathryn usually spent Friday afternoons at the boutique, where she checked receipts, approved orders, and phoned customers who had specifically requested to speak with her. On this Friday she lingered at the store until well after six o'clock, telling herself that the reason she stayed was that certain things required her attention. But deep in her heart she knew that wasn't the real reason. She kept hoping, Friday after Friday, that she'd catch a glimpse of Drew Sedgwick. But she never did, and finally today, just before she left, she heard two clerks from the store office talking about Drew's trip and wondering aloud when he would return.
Downplaying her disappointment, she let them step off the elevator ahead of her. So, she told herself ruefully, you've been hanging around here every week waiting for Drew Sedgwick to show up, and he hasn't even been in town. She felt like a fool. She'd lost her chance with him, just as she'd thought the night of the reunion. Her promise to Susannah, that she'd give Drew a chance, was worth nothing if the man wasn't interested.
The sense of letdown stayed with her, a weight inside her chest as she walked to her car parked in the back of the huge lot. The heaviness didn't abate as she switched on the engine, flicked on the air-conditioning, and ramped up the sound on the CD player.
She eased her Jaguar sedan out of its slot. A mournful song about love gone wrong played loudly, and Cathryn impatiently switched off the music. She pulled the visor down against the glare of the hot sun glinting off the chrome and polish of hundreds of parked cars. It was unseasonably warm for early April, even a South Florida April, and the asphalt of the parking lot fairly oozed with the heat.
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for a yacht to pass under the drawbridge to P
alm Beach. The thought crossed her mind that she shouldn't be in such a hurry to get home. Nothing and no one waited for her there, and this bothered her tonight for some reason.
Cathryn parked her car in the covered parking area beneath the exclusive apartment building where she lived. She stepped into the elevator and let it deliver her to the luxury penthouse she called home. The first thing Cathryn did when she got inside was to kick off her hot shoes, chuck her panty hose into the nether regions of her closet, and wiggle her toes up and down in the plush white carpet. Next, she switched on the stereo, not caring what it played as long as it wasn't something torchy. She felt lonely, and she thought of calling Judy. But then her mind flashed to the scene at Judy's house, where her friend was undoubtedly preparing a meal for Ron and Amanda, each of them telling the details of their day. This was family time in most houses.
Here there was no one to care about her day, no one to greet her and make her feel as though she had come home. The apartment seemed silent and empty. Was it always this way? Always one-dimensional? She'd decorated it to her taste, seeking harmony in space and form, but suddenly the lack of clutter seemed merely cold, the brass and gilt and glass hard. Why hadn't she ever noticed it before?
In the kitchen, even the bright colors of the framed Haitian primitive painting on the wall failed to cheer her. The shiny metal oblongs of the dishwasher, range, and refrigerator greeted her like silent sentinels.
"Hi, guys," she said to none of them in particular, and she tugged at the door of the freezer until it swung open to reveal her choices for dinner.
Rectangular cardboard packages, bought by the dozen in the supermarket, were stacked in neat rows on the shelves. She ran through the contents rapidly. Lasagna? No, she'd eaten that last night. Skini-mini zucchini-and-rice casserole? She'd had that the day before yesterday—again.
She had just selected a foil-packaged chicken-and-noodle casserole and switched on the oven to preheat when the shrill sound of the doorbell startled her. Turney, the doorman, was supposed to announce all visitors over the intercom before they came up, but lately the intercom had been out of order. Cathryn wished it had been repaired by now.
Slightly apprehensive, she opened the massive carved-cypress door cautiously, leaving the chain on. Through the small opening she was amazed to see none other than Drew Sedgwick standing there with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in hands, grinning expectantly and looking exceedingly handsome in a short-sleeved knit shirt the color of his eyes.
"Cheers!" he said. "I hope I'm not too late for dinner!"
She stared at him, speechless, as the stereo played on, offering them a light Chopin melody as a backdrop.
"Couldn't you at least invite me in?" His eyes danced as his gaze swept across her face and to the room behind her. He saw a bar, long windows with a balcony beyond, a glass-topped gilt cocktail table.
She stood barefoot on thick white carpet. Her height pleased him. He liked tall women and looking into a face that was almost on a level with his.
He couldn't stop himself from being curious about the way she lived, and he wondered if her natural habitat was decorated to be soft and warm or cold and inflexible—she was such an unpredictable combination that it had been impossible for him to guess.
Drew couldn't get a feeling for the place from where he stood outside the doorway, but the first impression was one of luxury. He stopped looking past Cathryn and focused on her face. Her eyes were wide and surprised, and he noted with interest that the irises were green rimmed with gold, not gold-flecked as he had originally thought. The gold rims put him in mind of picture frames, and he studied her eyes as he would a fine painting, trying to fathom the meaning behind them.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "There's supposed to be a security system in the building with alarms and things. And a doorman."
"Your doorman is the father of Bud Turney, the manager of our Caloosa Mall store. Both Turneys, junior and senior, think very highly of me. Say, do you have any Champagne glasses? I'm getting tired of standing here holding this bottle."
Cathryn gave up. "Come in," she said. "It's hard to deny someone who is so persistent."
"Thanks," he said approvingly. "At last, persistence paid off. You know, I had no idea when I began all this that you were going to be so difficult."
He went to the bar at the other end of the living room while she stood motionless and watched him make himself at home in her apartment. He moved with grace and assurance, as though he took it for granted that she would brook no objection.
"Do you always take charge when you enter someone's home? Most people wait until I ask them to—well, whatever."
He proceeded to pop the cork off the Champagne. "No, I usually wait to be invited to—well, whatever. When I'm not sure I'll be invited, I find it's best to just charge ahead. How else could I get you to drop that aloofness?" His eyebrows lifted in a kind of shrewd impudence. With considerable finesse, he poured Champagne into her hollow-stemmed Champagne glasses and held one out to her. She had to walk around the couch to get it.
"So you find my manner off-putting," she said, playing for time while she absorbed the surprise of his being there.
"You know yourself that you're often reserved and self-contained, isolated in your own thoughts. Come on, admit it." His eyes riveted hers. The Champagne in her glass wobbled, and he noticed.
When she was too startled to answer, he raised his glass. "To designs," he said, whatever that meant. Still in a state of shock at his nervy invasion and at his equally nervy assessment of her, she raised her glass to his. She couldn't be angry with him, not when she'd spent the last few weeks agonizing over whether she'd ever see him again. For him to be standing in her living room was totally unexpected.
She took a sip and then she remembered. "I've left the oven on!" She set her glass on the cocktail table and hurried to the kitchen. Uninvited, Drew followed her.
His eyes took in the chicken-and-noodle casserole on the counter, the lack of any serious preparations for dinner.
"Would you like to go out to eat?" he offered quickly.
"No, thank you," she answered just as quickly. She picked up the casserole and pretended to read the directions even though she knew them by heart.
"We might as well. We could go to—"
She shot him an impatient look, but her meaning was clear—no.
"We can hardly share this one tiny little casserole, can we? Do you have another?"
"Well," she said, reluctantly amused all over again at his persistence. No wonder he had succeeded in building up his department store chain from practically nothing. It was almost impossible to say no to the man, and he got his way without bulldozing. In fact, he didn't allow time to think of any objections before he accomplished exactly what he set out to do.
He opened the freezer door. "Quite a choice, I see. I'll have chicken-and-noodles, too—" and he tossed one of the foil containers on the counter next to hers "—and we should eat escalloped apples with it, I think. Oh, and here's a nice spinach souffle." He lobbed the containers one by one so that they slid across the countertop to rest beside the others.
"Drew Sedgwick, you're too much," she said, smiling at his performance.
"We'll set the table, of course," he said. "Would you mind digging out the best china while I put these in the oven? I thoroughly detest eating out of aluminum-foil disposables."
Reluctantly adopting his festive mood, Cathryn gathered plates and silver from the china closet in the dining room and arranged them on the octagonal teak top of the dining-room table.
"Very nice," he said when he saw the table. He appropriated her arm. "Let's sit down in your living room and enjoy that lovely view of the Atlantic. We have to finish our Champagne." He grasped her elbow and guided her gently but firmly to the couch.
The store, she thought in desperation, that's what we can talk about. My boutique. Those seemed like safe topics.
"The response to my Design Boutique has been excellen
t," she said, keeping her voice businesslike. "I've taken on four big jobs as a result of it."
"You're a good drawing card. You've spruced up our usually sluggish spring sales, did you know that? Sales have gone up in Furniture, in Linens, in every department having to do with home furnishings. People know who you are, so they stop in to see what's new in your section, and while they're there, they buy that new bedspread they've been thinking about."
"Then we're embarked on a venture that's mutually beneficial," she said, smiling at him, liking the way he so openly expressed his enthusiasm. Opalescent light from the uncurtained window, softened by approaching dusk, shimmered across Drew's features. His eyes were long-lashed and expressively framed by wing-shaped brows. His dark hair glinted with blue-black highlights in the fading light from the wide window.
"And so," he said, after another sip of Champagne, "tell me about your work schedule. Have you had to work even harder to keep the Design Boutique going?"
"I delegate most of the work connected with the boutique. I'm fortunate to have competent people working for me, so..." She gave a little shrug.
"That's one of the secrets, isn't it?" he said, studying her. "Hiring competent people. Sometimes it's hard to let them take over a job, though."
She nodded in agreement. "I used to want to poke my finger into every Cathryn Mulqueen pie, itching to see every swatch of fabric that came into the studio, pushing myself to dicker with every antique dealer. It isn't possible, of course, not anymore. My business has grown so big."
"Too big?"
"No, not too big. Not unwieldy. Yet I can't help thinking that I've lost some of the excitement that personal contact with every aspect of the business gave me."
Drew nodded understandingly. "I remember the first store I opened out of town. I used to lie awake nights, worrying that I couldn't handle all the day-today details. But everything fell into place, finally. I learned to save myself for wheeling and dealing and aggressively pursuing certain markets. Inventories, ordering, and ad campaigns could all be handled by employees."
Interior Designs Page 4
