To Tell the Truth

by Janet Dailey

  Instantly, her wrists were released and Tell was stepping away. "Yes, Mrs. Davison," Andrea murmured in a choked tone.

  "If they don't sit down to dinner pretty soon, that chowder isn't going to be fit to eat," the housekeeper replied.

  "Thank you," Andrea smiled tightly. "I'll have the others come in right away."

  "It can't be none too soon." And the pantry door closed behind the woman.

  Andrea glanced hesitantly at the back of Tell's wide shoulders. "I don't think she was listening."

  "And even if she was—" he turned his head slightly, letting the arrogant line of his profile be seen over his shoulder "—you'd be able to come up with some story to convince her nothing is wrong, wouldn't you? You have the servants under your thumb as well as John, I suppose."

  Andrea spun away. No matter what she said, Tell would not believe her. He was determined to think the worst of her and there seemed to be no way to stop it.

  SLEEPING PILLS WERE a necessity that night. Even then Andrea lay awake for a long time before they took effect and brought that blessed unconsciousness.

  The voices in the hall seemed part of a nightmare she was having in which a horde of accusing voices led by Tell were condemning her to a life of agony for not telling him the truth.

  She struggled to raise the weighted lids of her eyes, confident that if she could open them, the voices would stop. They didn't. She tried to shut her ears to the sound. Finally the realization that she was hearing actual people penetrated her drugged stupor.

  Clumsily, Andrea pulled on her robe and stumbled to the door. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she used the walls of the corridor for support to lead her to the sound. Near the top of the staircase, she saw Tell, his sister and Mrs. Davison. The two women were in housecoats. Tell was wearing a pair of dark slacks with an unbuttoned shirt covering his bare chest, as though he had put it on in a hurry.

  "What's wrong?" she asked thickly, trying to push away from the wall and cover the short distance between them. Her legs wouldn't function properly and she had to sway back against the wall for support.

  "For God's sake, what's the matter with her?" Tell muttered.

  An instant later, Andrea felt his arms sliding around her, taking her weight against him while his hand closed over her chin and raised her face up for his frowning inspection.

  "It's those sleeping pills she takes, I expect," Mrs. Davison answered in her usual low voice of disapproval.

  "What does she need sleeping pills for?" Nancy asked curiously.

  "To sleep. To sleep and not dream," Andrea responded softly, closing her eyes against Tell's nearness. His arm tightened around her for a second.

  "Let's get her back to bed." The harshness of his voice made her wince, then she felt him bodily carrying her back to her room. But it was Mrs. Davison's face she saw as the covers were pulled over her arms and chest.

  "Why is everybody up? What's happened?" Andrea asked, trying to sit up, only to have the light pressure of the housekeeper's hand push her back.

  "It's nothing for you to worry about, dear," Mrs. Davison said gently. "Mrs. Collins had a slight asthma attack, but she's all right now. You go to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

  Andrea wanted to protest, but she felt herself slipping away. The bedside lamp was switched off and she remembered nothing else until the sun streamed into her window heralding the coming of morning.

  As usual, her head throbbed dully as she dressed and made her way down the stairs. Her mind had begun to clear, enabling her to separate the dream of last night from the reality of what had actually transpired. In the downstairs hallway, she met Mrs. Davison on her way up with a tray.

  "Everyone is in the breakfast room," the housekeeper said, not slackening her step as she hurried by Andrea.

  "Mrs. Collins?" She inquired anxiously.

  "Much better," was the succinct response.

  Reluctantly, Andrea turned toward the sunny breakfast area. She had the strange feeling that last night she had allowed Tell to see another chink in her armor and she was worried how he was going to use it to hurt her more. The first person she saw as she entered the room was John, smiling a greeting and letting her draw strength from his protective presence to meet the guarded look of Tell seated at the table beside him.

  "Good morning." Her greeting was directed to all three and returned by Nancy and John. She avoided Tell's inspecting eyes to smile at Nancy. "How's your mother this morning?"

  "She's fine," Nancy answered firmly arid with a bright sparkle in her blue eyes that said she was telling the truth. "She gets these attacks every now and then, mostly when she becomes excited or overdoes things."

  "I'm sorry I wasn't much help last night." Andrea self-consciously averted her attention to the coffee pot, only to find it in Tell's possession as he poured a cup and handed it to her.

  "Tell said that you were a bit out of it," John commented.

  "I, er—" she tossed her head back in a nervous gesture, smiling stiffly as she stared at the cup in her hand "—took a couple of sleeping pills before I went to bed last night. You know how they knock me out, John."

  "Do you suffer from insomnia, Mrs. Grant?" Tell inquired in a bitingly soft voice.

  "Occasionally," she shrugged.

  "Quite often in the past few months," John corrected her dryly.

  "Really?" A dark brow was arched across the table. "Are you suffering from a guilty conscience?" The question sounded innocently teasing, but Andrea knew better. Tell's arrows were swift and sure of their target.

  "I had blamed it on spring fever," she countered.

  "Thank heaven, I never have any trouble," Nancy sighed contentedly.

  "That's because yours is the sleep of the innocent, kitten," Tell mocked, his remark ricocheting harmlessly off his sister to strike Andrea again.

  "Is that why you work so late at nights, Tell?" Nancy teased in return. "You're lucky sometimes to have five hours' sleep out of twenty-four."

  "What's your response to that, Mr. Stafford?" Andrea challenged.

  "The plea of every man," he answered tautly, meeting her gaze and holding it. "Work, Mrs. Grant."

  "Well," Nancy folded her napkin and placed it on the flowered tablecloth, "I'll leave you two to argue over the reasons for sleeping or not sleeping while I see how mother is doing."

  "Give her my love," John said, wheeling his chair away from the table, "and tell her how very sorry I am that she wasn't able to join us this morning, but we'll be saving a place for her at noon, and I'm sure we're all hoping she'll be here."

  "Knowing mother, she'll be down," Nancy said, laughing.

  "I'll be up later," said Tell. When his sister had left, he glanced at the man in the wheelchair. "Would you like some more coffee, John?"

  "No, no, I don't think so." The massive chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "If you want me, Andie, I'll be in my study."

  When the whirr of the wheelchair faded, an awkward silence settled over the room. Tell poured himself another cup of coffee and rose from the table to walk to the window. A pulse hammered in Andrea's temple, not letting her forget he was still in the room. She spread homemade apple jelly over a slice of toast, trying to concentrate on it instead of the virile figure framed in the sunlight.

  "This changes things," Tell said quietly, bending his dark head to stare at the cup in his hand. "You realize that, don't you, Andrea?"

  "I'm afraid I don't follow you." Her knife was held poised above the toast, a frozen terror creeping through her limbs.

  "I'm referring to mother's attack," he snapped. "It will be impossible for me to leave this afternoon as I'd planned."

  "Of course," murmured Andrea, releasing the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Whatever she had been braced for, that wasn't it.

  "Only for a couple of days, long enough to be sure she's all right. Believe me, I won't stay any longer than necessary," Tell muttered.

  "There's no need to worry,"
she said stiffly. "I'm not likely to pretend that you're staying for any other reason than your mother."

  Glancing over his shoulder, he glared at her coldly. Without another word, his long strides carried him from the room, leaving Andrea shaken and hurt, her head throbbing more painfully than before.

  Chapter Seven

  "ARE YOU SURE you don't want to come with us, mother?" Nancy asked again. "We're only driving over to Jacksonville, then into Medford to do some shopping."

  "No, you and Andrea go." Rosemary Collins smiled. "I'm sure the two of you will have more fun without me. Besides, John wants me to read the rough draft of his novel so he can have my valued opinion." She glanced laughingly at John as if to say she was hardly a critic to be listened to. "This afternoon will be a good time for that."

  "Well, if you're sure." Nancy shrugged and turned to Andrea. "If you're ready, I guess I am."

  Touching John's shoulder, Andrea murmured, "We won't be late."

  "Have a good time," he winked.

  Adding a quick goodbye to Rosemary Collins, Andrea followed Nancy into the hall leading to the foyer. They had just reached the front door when a third pair of footsteps sounded in the hall.

  Instinctively, Andrea turned, knowing it was Tell yet unable to prevent herself from looking. She had seen him so seldom in the past few days since his mother's attack. It did no good to remind herself that he was deliberately avoiding her. The bittersweet happiness of knowing he was in the same house and being able to catch an occasional glimpse of him was enough.

  "Where are you off to, Nancy?" Tell said, frowning, a brow arching impatiently.

  "Andrea and I are going to do some sightseeing and shopping. Why?" His sister's hand remained poised on the doorknob.

  "Do I dare ask you to hold off leaving for an hour?" he asked with faint sarcasm.

  "Why?" Nancy repeated tilting her head to one side.

  "I have some correspondence that can't wait until I get back to San Francisco to be answered, I'd like to get it out this afternoon," answered Tell curtly. "I had hoped I could count on my sister's help since it's a family business."

  "Dictation?" she asked with a grimace.

  "And typing the letters," he acknowledged.

  "You know how terrible I am, Tell," Nancy sighed, her hand falling away from the door. "Every time I help you, you always get so impatient. I can only take longhand and my typing is the two-finger variety."

  His mouth thinned into a grim line as long fingers raked irritatedly though his black hair. "Never mind!"

  "See, already you're snapping," his sister pointed out.

  "Could I help?" The instant Andrea made the offer she wished that she could take it back as his smoldering dark gaze pinned her with sudden swiftness.

  "Don't tell me you take shorthand and type?" he jeered.

  "Have you forgotten that I told you I worked for John?" Andrea demanded, trying to draw blood.

  "That's not something I'm likely to forget, is it?" Tell responded with cold arrogance. "Of course, I couldn't be certain it was the truth either."

  "It is the truth." Her reply was drawn tightly through the constricting muscles in her throat.

  "I didn't know you worked for John, actual office work, I mean." Nancy turned a frowning, curious look to Andrea. "Where was I when you two were talking about that?"

  In that stricken instant, Andrea realized that she and Tell had made another slip in their anger. Widened hazel eyes pleaded with him to rescue them, to satisfy his sister's curiosity before she became suspicious. His mouth tightened grimly, the clefts in his cheeks deepening with his inner displeasure.

  "You were there, Nancy," he stated. "Obviously you were daydreaming about Scott again."

  "That's possible," she acknowledged, a warm smile curving her mouth. "Are you going to accept Andrea's offer or are we going to struggle through those letters for the rest of the afternoon? With me helping, it will take that long."

  His narrowed, resentful eyes slid over Andrea's tense face. "Since it's vital the letters are out today, I have very little choice. I'm practically forced to accept Mrs. Grant's offer. If you'll step into John's study, with luck your skill is such that we can be through with them quickly. I would hate to take up too much of your time and spoil your planned outing."

  With the thinly veiled sarcasm of his last remark hanging in the air, Tell walked down the hall to the study. Feeling as if she were going to her own execution, Andrea hesitantly moved forward and Nancy followed.

  "I hope it won't take too long for your sake," his sister offered, glancing toward the door Tell had left ajar, a wry grimace to her mouth. "He's in a vile mood today, as usual. Don't let him get you down, Andrea."

  "I won't." But her smile was stiff. There was little chance that she would come out of the study unscathed.

  Perhaps she was a masochist, Andrea thought idly, hesitating for a split second in front of the partially open door before pushing it open the rest of the way and entering the study. Tell was sitting behind the desk, shifting through a sheaf of notes lying on top.

  Aware that he had deliberately not glanced up since she had entered, Andrea picked up her notepad and pencil from the typewriter stand that she used and walked to the chair in front of the desk. For several minutes, she sat there waiting for him to begin.

  "I'm ready whenever you are," she said finally, the tension in the room oppressively suffocating her.

  He leaned back in his chair, his brooding gaze centering on hot with piercing thoughtfulness. Andrea wished she had not called attention to herself. He was deliberately attempting to unsettle her and he was succeeding.

  Without any warning, Tell began the dictation, his low, clipped voice giving her the name, firm and address to which the letter was directed. Andrea had barely written that down when he began the contents of the letter.

  She stretched her ability to the limit to try to keep up with his steady and swift dictation, but she slowly kept falling behind, relying on her memory to supply the sentences she had heard a moment ago while trying to concentrate on what he was saying. Finally, she had to acknowledge defeat.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured, heat flashing into her cheeks as she refused to look up. "Would you repeat that last part? I'm afraid that I didn't get all of it."

  "I thought you said you could take shorthand?" Tell challenged.

  "Not at that speed," Andrea retorted. "If I could I'd probably be working as a secretary and not merely helping John from time to time." Even with her head downcast, she could feel his eyes boring into her, delving and examining.

  "Why didn't you take some advanced training? Why didn't you get a job as a secretary? Why couldn't you have worked for John instead of marrying him?" The flurry of questions was hurled unwillingly, bitter frustration tightening his jaw and drawing his dark brows together.

  "Why do you ask questions when you don't want to hear the answers?" Andrea cried, rising to her feet in agitation, knowing that no matter what answer she gave him, he wouldn't believe her.

  Anger, blazing white-hot, pushed him from his chair. "How can you stand there righteously indignant, playing the martyr, pretending that you were the one who was betrayed? You were the one who lied to me! Who led me on! Who asked me to believe things that were untrue!"

  "Tell, I was going to explain, I swear I was!" Andrea pleaded with him to believe her. "I even tried to do it the morning you came to my room, but you were too busy telling me what we were going to do that you wouldn't listen. I know if I had had the chance, I could have made you understand that things aren't as sordid and ugly as you think. Then John called, and you condemned me without hearing my side."

  "And how does that explain, the fact that you omitted to mention that there was anyone at home who had a prior claim? According to you, you didn't even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband," he taunted.

  "If I'd told you I was married that first night we dined together, what would you have thought? We were strangers then. I wouldn't have told
you the truth about the circumstances surrounding my marriage to John, not to a total stranger. But if you'd known I was married, would you have seen me again?" she demanded.

  "No!" Tell snapped. "I'm disgustingly old-fashioned in that I believe the marriage vows between a man and a woman are sacred promises. I have little respect for those who don't keep them!"

  Andrea recoiled from the venom in his voice as if she had been struck. "I haven't broken any promises I made to John," she murmured.

  "Really?" he jeered. "How can that be when you promise to marry one man when you're still married to another? Is that something you promised John you would do?"

  "I never promised to marry you!" Her hands trembled visibly as she cast the notepad and pen on the desk. "There isn't any point in continuing this conversation. You don't want to listen. You've become so twisted and cynical that all you want to do is hurt. You haven't even had enough courtesy to hear me out before you've judged me. I think I've been punished enough for my mistake without enduring any more of your insults!"

  Spinning away from the desk, she hurried toward the door. Her eyes, already blurring with tears, turned the door into a dark mass and the brass knob into a shapeless, gleaming object. But Andrea wasn't to be granted a reprieve. As her fingers touched the cold knob, her shoulders were roughly seized and she was swung around with violent force.

  "You don't know the meaning of the word 'punished'!" Tell snarled.

  In the vice of his hands, Andrea was pulled toward his descending mouth. One quick gasping breath later, the punishing force of his kiss was bruising her lips, grinding them against her teeth until the taste of blood tainted her mouth. His arms then circled her, crushing her against his chest until she thought he intended to squeeze the air from her lungs.

  Blackness swirled around her, but Andrea could not bring herself to be afraid. She loved him desperately and unendingly. Behind his brutal kiss, she knew that he loved her, too, although he despised and hated himself and her because of it. She was being smothered by his ravaging mouth and she didn't care.

  When Tell drew his head away, relaxing his hold, she leaned weakly against his arms, too drained and defenseless to break free now that she had the chance. His eyes glittered over her like cold, black diamonds, cutting and emotionless. Then Tell released her completely and strode back to the desk.