Inconvenient Lover

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  How had he known? She must have mentioned it in passing at some point. Wearing a ribbon to bed wasn’t earth shattering news that one should keep private, after all. He had obviously heard and taken note. And somewhere during the day he had slipped upstairs and come in here…

  She frowned to herself, trying to recall his movements after their return from their walk. He had gone into the family room to say hello to Benitta and had been a while. Benitta and he seemed to get along well and she could keep him talking for ages, so Anastasia had paid no attention to the length of his absence. Perhaps it was then he had gone upstairs.

  She looked around her bedroom. He had been in here. She shivered and gathered her hair together again, selecting one of the new ribbons. She slid the card into her dressing gown pocket, where she would keep it—a physical reminder of David every time she put her hand into the pocket.

  Chapter Nine

  David could feel the beginning of a headache, somewhere deep in the back of his skull. He gripped the cellular phone tighter. “Deal with it, Lao Xing,” he said as gently as he could into the phone. “That’s what you’re there for. You know these people. Just…deal with it.”

  Lao Xing’s voice piped back at him and David tried to listen but his conscience whispered that all this would be much easier to handle if he were there on the spot, in China.

  He shaded his eyes against the late afternoon glare bouncing off the water. It made his headache worse. He nodded as Lao Xing’s list of woes continued.

  A scraping sound came from behind him and he swivelled around in the pilot chair to look at the stern of the boat. He completely forgot Lao Xing and the trouble in his boatyard in Shanghai, for the person climbing aboard his boat was Hugh.

  “I’ll have to call you back, Lao Xing,” he said and disconnected the call without waiting for a reply. He put the phone on the shelf above the controls and stood up, all the while watching Hugh’s hesitant approach to the wheelhouse.

  “Why does this feel like the mountain coming to Mohammed?” David asked.

  Hugh clutched the railing of the steps up to the wheelhouse and lifted his head to look up. “When you disappear off the face of the earth for a week, extremes are called for, you know.”

  “You’re checking up on me?” As Hugh went to climb the steps, he held out his hand to prevent him. “No, wait. We’ll go into the cabin. The rocking is worse the higher you get. You’ll turn green inside five minutes up here.”

  “That suits me,” Hugh said, with a deep sigh of relief.

  David led his friend down into the cabin. He refrained from offering him anything to eat or drink. Neither would help Hugh’s stomach remain steady. The table had been folded out and Hugh sat on the bench behind it. David took the other side.

  “So. Tell me about this extraordinary power that can force you to step onto a boat? I thought I’d already had my share of disasters for today.”

  “It’s Anastasia,” Hugh said.

  A cold dread wrapped clammy fingers around his heart and squeezed, producing an exquisite pain and for a moment he swore his heart stopped beating. It took a huge effort to get his mouth to work. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Damn, he shouldn’t have slunk away like that! A whole week…

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Hugh said quickly. “She’s not ill, or injured or anything.”

  The lifting of the dread was almost worse than the pain. It allowed his mind to work and too many questions crowded in. Why was Hugh here? Had he guessed the secret David had been nursing all week? What was wrong with Anastasia that could send her fiancé out looking for him?

  David studied him, trying to judge what question to ask first and for the first time really noticed his friend’s appearance.

  Hugh had been fighting his own battles lately. There was a haggardness about his eyes that only ever appeared when he was under heavy stress or mentally exhausted. “What is it, Hugh? You look like hell.”

  “Thanks,” Hugh replied wryly. “I don’t know what the problem is with Anastasia. I don’t even know that there is a problem. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You want to talk about it?” He was puzzled.

  Hugh moved awkwardly on his seat, the discomfort he always seemed to feel when talking about himself and his feelings apparently nudging him again. “I wanted to see if you could figure out what the problem was. You’re better at judging people than I am and you’ve got to know Anastasia over the last few weeks—”

  “I haven’t seen her for a week, either,” he said, and it emerged more sharply than he had intended.

  Hugh looked taken aback.

  David reached behind him for the whiskey decanter on the little shelf above his head and snagged two shot glasses with the other hand. He knew he was trying to hide his face and hated himself for it but was helpless to prevent the instinctive reaction. “Hell, I didn’t fly all the way back here just to fool around with you two. I’ve got better things to do than party on, wine and dine and fall in love, you know.” His voice was still ragged but the edge had gone. He poured two slugs of Glenfiddich and shoved one glass across the table.

  Hugh gave a little laugh and seemed to relax. He picked up the glass and sipped.

  “So tell me about Anastasia,” David prompted him, after a healthy sip from his own glass.

  Hugh pushed his spectacles back up his nose. “She’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Moody, distracted. Nothing that sounds terribly dramatic but for her, that’s alarming enough. You have to understand what she’s like. She just goes along through life, untouched by everything. Calm, controlled…”

  “And the control appears to be slipping?” David asked and held his breath.

  “Yes,” Hugh confirmed, with a heartfelt sigh. “She’s wearing different clothes. She goes for long walks and sits and listens to music for hours on end. And then there’s her swimming.”

  “Swimming?”

  Hugh nodded. “Every night. She goes swimming. Thirty, forty laps. Christopher says she’s chasing demons away. It worries me.”

  It obviously worried Anastasia’s father enough to talk to Hugh about it, although David thought her symptoms were cause for celebration.

  Hugh sat holding his glass, silent.

  “Have you talked to her about it?” he asked.

  “There’s been no time…”

  He shook his head. “Hugh, you’ve got to talk to her.”

  The other man remained silent for a long while. He knew he had reached the meat of the problem as far as Hugh was concerned and waited out his friend’s response.

  “I’m afraid…I might lose her if I do.” Hugh knocked back the contents of his glass. He coughed a little and sat there looking miserable. David felt a hammer-punch of guilt slam into his soul.

  There was no avoiding the grisly fact that Hugh was in pain and if David got his way, Hugh was going to be deeply hurt.

  Tell him! his conscience demanded. Now was where he should tell him the truth. It would hurt both of them but at least Hugh would have his answer.

  David clenched his glass, trying to find the words but for once they wouldn’t flow. He swore at himself, goading himself to just say it, get it out but his brain wouldn’t cooperate with his mouth and he sat there hating himself in silence, while his friend suffered.

  He knew that at this moment their friendship—the old dependable relationship they had enjoyed for so many years—shifted and changed between them, for the honesty that cemented it had shattered.

  David let it happen.

  He loved Anastasia, had known he loved her this past week and his love was a growing entity that was fighting for its life against everything that stood in its way. Against it, even Hugh’s friendship fell victim.

  If he had been sure of her feelings for him, none of this would be necessary but all he had was a slender thread of hope and on that thread hung the balance of the rest of his life. Hugh had just handed him that hope and the irony of it was no
t lost on him.

  Love wasn’t the simple, clean, wholesome feeling he had supposed it to be. It came wrapped in layers of confusion and hurt and rode roughshod over people’s lives.

  The precariousness of the balance frightened him. On one side was the yawning chasm he had only recently recognized as his life, and on the other, Hugh’s.

  He couldn’t withdraw now. He was in this until the end. And so he sat at the table opposite his best friend and remained silent despite knowing the answers to Hugh’s soul-searching.

  Hugh stirred and reached for the decanter with a tired sigh. “You’re right. I should talk to her.”

  David tried to find his voice.

  Above, in the wheelhouse, the high-pitched squawk of his cell phone reverberated through the deck and the open hatchway. Lao Xing, undoubtedly, with another problem.

  Hugh waved toward the door. “Go. You’ve got problems of your own. I’ll just drown my sorrows in this glassful and be on my way.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked, not moving.

  Hugh grinned. “I’m sure. Another five minutes on this tub and I’m going to return all this excellent malt to you.”

  He managed a rueful smile. “It’ll be Shanghai again,” he said. “Call me, if you want.”

  Hugh shook his head. “Nope. I’ll sort it out. Just needed to tell someone, I guess.”

  He nodded. It had been an unvarying pattern of their adult friendship. The sympathetic ear to vent frustrations, then both of them would get out there once again to face their lives. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He climbed up to the wheelhouse, to face the part of his life that had once been the only part and now was trying to take him back.

  * * * * *

  Friday dawned bright and crisp, bringing Anastasia awake with a groan. Her dreams had been shot with disturbing images of her mother, who had stepped out of the painting to tell Anastasia something. But her lips moved silently, despite Anastasia straining to hear her mother’s message. She stared at dust motes dancing in the flood of sunshine through her windows and frowned. “Freud save me,” she muttered and looked at the clock. Six thirty. Time to get up, no matter how battered she felt.

  Tonight was the night of the Autumn Ball and she still didn’t have her dress. Somewhere during the hectic day she knew was in store for her she must find time to shop for a dress. She had been putting it off all week because she just hadn’t been in the mood for clothes shopping. Somehow, today, she had to find the energy and inclination.

  Digging through her wardrobe, she recalled a piece of advice often given in women’s magazines, “On low days, wear your favourite dress.”

  Good advice. Except her favourite dress was at the cleaners. She decided to follow the spirit of the advice anyway. Carefully she went through her clothes and selected an outfit she would like that fitted perfectly, was nice to wear and made her look good. The illusion would hopefully pick up her spirits. She donned the slim black skirt and silky white blouse and deliberately chose black stockings and shoes with moderately high heels—she needed to look feminine and above all tall, if she wasn’t to be cowed by fashion store sales assistants, who all seemed to be experts at detecting vulnerability in their customers and exploiting it to the max.

  The positive impact of her appearance was proven at the breakfast table, where Benitta sat nursing a second cup of tea. Her aunt’s eyebrows rose alarmingly. “Goodness me. Aren’t you going into the office today?”

  “Yes, I am.” Anastasia smoothed down the soft silk of her skirt. “I felt like a change,” she confessed.

  “You’ve certainly achieved it,” Benitta said dryly.

  Anastasia smiled, feeling her spirits rise just a fraction. She turned to the Aga to get herself a cup of coffee and had returned to the table to sit down when her father arrived. She smiled at him, conscious that she had been more brusque than usual over the past week and was anxious to makes amends.

  Christopher paused in the doorway. “Anastasia,” he acknowledged. “Benitta.” It was a polite aside, for his attention remained steadily upon her.

  “Good morning, Dad.” She tried to keep her voice sunny. “Can I get you a coffee while I’m up?”

  “Are you going into the office like that?” he asked.

  “Like what?” she asked defensively, feeling her resistance to him soaring and hating herself for it.

  “Your hair down, your skirt up.” He focused on the modest split in the material, that followed one thigh. After a long moment, he shrugged. “I suppose it’s the fashion. I’ve seen some women wearing similar things.” He moved past her toward the range.

  Anastasia remained still, while she focused on his words. “Some women”. Her father was of the old school. Women were always ladies to him, unless their morals were loose. Then they were women, with all the derogation the term implied.

  Anastasia put her cup down and left the room. There was no point in staying. Her father would refuse to talk to her anymore and her appetite had fled. Her briefcase was on the hall table where she had dropped it on her way to the kitchen. She picked it up and headed out the front door to the garage. She was going to work. At least there she could shut herself up in her office and bury herself in distracting details.

  The trip into the city seemed to take forever but when she glanced at the clock in the car’s dashboard as she pulled into her parking space she realized she had actually made very good time. It was still early, she had missed the peak hour traffic. Hugh’s parking spot was empty. So were all the other company parking bays. She would have the office to herself, which pleased her.

  Once in the office she made a fresh pot of coffee, collected her coffee mug and went to her office. She hung a “Do not disturb” sign on the door knob and shut the door. There was, as always, an overflowing in-tray. Almost gleefully, she began to tackle the pile.

  Her secretary, Sally, looked in some time later. “Oh, you are in. Hugh is looking for you.”

  Anastasia blinked and glanced up. “Why?”

  “Staff meeting.” Sally was looking at Anastasia quizzically.

  Alarmed, Anastasia looked down at her watch. “Oh hell, it’s gone ten.” The weekly staff meeting started at ten.

  Then she properly noticed her secretary’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just your hair. I never realized how long it really is before now. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks… I think,” Anastasia grabbed a notepad and pencil. “They’re not all waiting for me, are they?”

  “No. He started without you.”

  “Good. I should be able to slide quietly in the back, then.”

  Sally grinned. “I doubt it.”

  Anastasia ignored her and swiftly traversed the corridor to the two large doors that opened onto the conference room. They were closed. Anastasia slowly opened one door, hoping attention would be firmly fixed on Hugh at his customary position at the head of the large oval conference table and the opening door wouldn’t be noticed.

  Her hopes were in vain. Even though Hugh was speaking, he broke off as she slipped through the door and stared at her. His expression was indefinable.

  Heads immediately turned to look at her. She was caught in the focus of attention, halfway between the door and the empty chair she had been heading for, like a bug under a microscope.

  She tried for grace under pressure. “I do apologize, Hugh, everyone. I was working in my office and lost track of time. Please, go on. I’ll catch up.” She resisted the impulse to push her hair back over her shoulders and walked forward to sink into the empty chair with an inaudible sigh. At least when she was sitting, she didn’t feel quite so on display.

  Hugh nodded at her and frowned. “Where was I?” he murmured. “Oh, yes. The electricians—” He picked up his narrative again and went on.

  The meeting settled down, although Anastasia could feel one or two glances linger on her, despite keeping her eyes either on her notepad or the current speaker. Although tempted to sp
eak herself, she resisted it, suddenly reluctant to draw more attention upon herself. From time to time Hugh would look at her too and when he was not speaking she could detect a faintly puzzled air emanating from him.

  The meeting broke up over an hour later and she was glad it had not stretched on any longer than usual. She had found the entire process mind-numbingly boring, which was strange, for some of the discussion had been about issues at the forefront of their business. She’d continually had to drag her attention back to the meeting, when she discovered she had mentally wandered miles away. She spent a lot of time trying to analyze why everyone, without exception, had reacted so strongly to her appearance. After all, she had merely discarded her jacket, worn her hair down and donned higher heels than usual—all in an attempt to lighten her spirits.

  As everyone had filed out of the room, Anastasia fell behind until the last person moved through the doorway, then closed the door. She turned back to Hugh, where he still sat at the head of the table, scribbling notes and reminders on his pad.

  He put his pen down as she crossed the room and watched her walk toward him. His expression was appreciative and a smile was growing. “You look absolutely sensational.”

  “Then I don’t look like a tart?”

  Hugh seemed shocked. “No. Who told you that you did?”

  “Dad.”

  His face grew relieved. “Well, we both know his standards are a little old fashioned, don’t we? Surely you didn’t get offended by it? You know it was virtually a compliment when you discount for inflation.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Hugh grinned. “My pleasure. Very much my pleasure. You look quite…edible. I will remember how you look now and keep it next to my heart.”

  She felt her flow of warm feelings check. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled fondly at her and turned to pick up his pen. His expression seemed to smack of condescension and when he spoke, his tone confirmed her suspicions. “Now darling, you can hardly keep up your authority as a partner of this firm if you persist in running around in outfits like that, can you?”