Tessa said slowly, “She wants to believe she’s pulled off a complicated project.”
“Exactly.”
“I think you’ve got something there.” Tessa lifted her tea cup in a salute. “I may have to make you a partner, Wendy.”
Wendy told Mack about it that evening over dinner, mostly because she thought he’d find the whole idea amusing. But Mack didn’t seem to see the humor. He wrinkled his brow a little instead.
Wendy could almost read his mind. “I know this is an entirely new twist for Tessa’s business, but she’s not going to plunge into anything without thinking it through.”
He laughed ruefully. “Maybe you don’t know Tessa as well as you think you do.”
“She can’t, Mack. She doesn’t have a product ready to market, and if she did, she couldn’t just dump it into stores. I’m not sure stores are the right way to go anyway. Maybe a mail-order catalog, something with other crafts in it as well. But that’s only speculation. Tessa doesn’t even know who her target buyer is, and the research on how to reach that buyer could take months.”
Mack was smiling faintly. “You miss it, don’t you?”
“Marketing?” She looked down at the remains of the salmon steak on her plate. She hadn’t realized how absorbed she’d been in Tessa’s problem; she’d eaten most of her dinner without even noticing. “Well, it is a fascinating question. Of course clothes aren’t my specialty.”
“What is?” Mack asked.
“Not valves and gauges, that’s for sure,” Wendy said with a smile. “Not that it matters any more. I’d have to do a lot of studying before I was much help to Tessa.”
The truth was, figuring out Tessa’s marketing strategy would be exciting, a challenge that – under different circumstances – Wendy would jump at. But it wasn’t as important as what she was doing now, and there would be other opportunities, after Rory was older.
Tessa would have other brainstorms. It was even possible that this idea would be so long in development that Wendy could be involved after all. It wasn’t as if she was giving up anything critical.
But it took effort to put a cheerful note in her voice. “If I wasn’t too busy just now with the baby, I’d be tempted to get involved. That reminds me, Rory’s going to take off crawling any day now, so don’t trust her to stay where you put her.”
Mack nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And in the midst of her babbling this afternoon there was something that sounded awfully like Dada. Now isn’t that gratitude for you?” Wendy picked up their plates. “Do you want to have dessert and coffee here or in the library?”
CHAPTER TEN
The gallery opening on Saturday night was a glittering affair. Fur coats and jewels were abundant, and champagne flowed as freely as a mid-sized river. The rooms were so crowded that it was difficult to see the art.
Thank heaven for Tessa, Wendy thought as she glanced around the room, more interested in the people than in the paintings. Tessa had asked what she planned to wear, and then nagged her into another shopping trip. So at least Wendy was properly dressed and looked as if she fit in, even though her bittersweet-red dress was not nearly as daring as some of the outfits around her. And though she wasn’t wearing an icing of jewels, Elinor’s diamond ring was the equal of any single other piece Wendy saw.
The way she felt was something else altogether. The fact was, properly dressed or not, she was completely out of her depth among the arty set which surrounded her. She couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of a nearby couple, but she wondered how they could possibly be talking about the same garish painting she was looking at.
“Restrained passion... incredible control... masterful vision,” the couple said with reverence. To Wendy, it simply looked like paint squeezed from random tubes onto a canvas, without thought or planning.
She’d simply have to take a course in art appreciation.
Not knowing another single soul – except for Mack, of course – didn’t help. If she had even a nodding acquaintance with a few of these people...
Familiarity would come with time, she reassured herself. She’d just have to be patient. Besides, any moment Mack would catch up with her – the crush at the cloakroom had been incredible, so he’d suggested she go on ahead – and then she’d feel much better.
But she did know one other person, she realized. Only a few feet away from her was the woman who had stopped her on her walk last week, in order to admire the baby. DeCarlo – that was her name; Wendy was proud of herself for remembering it. She was with another, younger woman, and she was studying Wendy over the rim of her champagne glass as if trying to place her.
Wendy smiled encouragingly. It would be no surprise if the woman didn’t recognize her. In her new red dress, Wendy must bear only a vague resemblance to the bundled-up, jeans-clad figure of a few days ago.
The woman said something to her companion and strolled toward Wendy. “Well, hello, Wendy Burgess. Let me introduce you to my friend Yvette Abbott.”
Wendy held out a hand. “You do remember me, then, Mrs. DeCarlo.”
“Of course. You’re unforgettable.”
Wendy’s smile tightened a little. Though the words were flattering, there was something about the woman’s voice which sounded almost cold. Why it should be that way was beyond her understanding, but the hair at the back of her neck was bristling in anticipation.
The other woman laughed lightly. “I hear you have a most precious baby – Mrs. Burgess.”
Wendy understood why she was under attack. She’d heard that voice only once before, on Mack’s answering machine – but the smooth polish and the molasses-like drawl were unmistakable.
“I’m amazed you left her for a mere party,” the woman went on. “I’m sure you’d be much happier at home with her than in a place like this.”
There was no need to stand there and be slashed at. “If you’ll excuse me...”
“Oh, come now. You can’t start cutting all of Mack’s friends just because they raise an eyebrow about your little story. Before long, you won’t be speaking to anyone at all.” Mrs. DeCarlo raised her champagne glass and studied the bubbles rising silently in the wine. “You know, people can’t help but speculate how very convenient it is that Marissa can’t defend her reputation.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” The only thing Wendy understood just then was that she was feeling ill.
Mrs. DeCarlo gave a ladylike snort. “It was positively ingenious of Elinor to announce that the baby is Marissa’s, to explain why the child looks so very much like Mack. Let’s face it, Marissa had no reputation left to smear.”
Wendy remembered the way the woman had studied Rory’s sleepy face and commented about her looks. And she remembered her easy, diplomatic answer about who Rory resembled. It no doubt looked like an admission of guilt to a woman who was already convinced she knew the truth.
The younger woman said, “If I’d realized that all it took to catch Mack was to have a baby and tell his mother...” She paused. “Though saddling him with an unwanted infant is a cheap trick.”
The crowd shifted a bit, and Mack appeared at Wendy’s side. “It took a while to find you in this mess. Here’s your champagne, darling.” He pressed a tall fluted glass into Wendy’s hand, and his lips brushed her cheek.
Yvette Abbott turned slightly red. The woman must be trying to figure out exactly how much Mack had heard.
“Hello, Yvette,” Mack went on cheerfully. “And Mrs. DeCarlo. It’s very nice of you to welcome Wendy.”
Yvette relaxed a little. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet your wife, Mack,” she purred. “Tell me, Wendy, when do you plan to start entertaining Mack’s friends and clients? In his position, he can hardly continue to ignore them. And if he tries to keep you hidden much longer, they’ll start to wonder if you have antlers or something.”
Wendy had to admire the woman’s recovery. She almost sounded sincere.
“When she’s ready,�
�� Mack said. “In the meantime, she’s very busy with the baby. And as long as we’re talking about the baby, Yvette, I must point out that saddling me with an unwanted infant would hardly be a cheap trick. Considering what we’ll have invested in Rory by the time she graduates from college, I’d call it a very expensive one. But then, since it’s not a trick, and she’s not at all unwanted, it hardly matters, does it?” He smiled sweetly and slipped a hand under Wendy’s elbow. “I’d like your opinion on a painting over here. If you’ll excuse us, ladies...”
“Thanks for rescuing me.” Wendy’s voice was soft, and in the noisy room, Mack bent his head so close that his breath brushed her ear. “You know what they’re saying, don’t you?”
“Of course. I wish you hadn’t heard it.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Mack sighed. “The important people know the truth. When the time’s right, so will Rory. As for the rest, no matter what they’re told, they’ll speculate. At any rate, we’re going to raise Rory as ours, so what difference does it make if a few people with little minds think she really is?”
She knew he was right, but somehow it wasn’t as easy to dismiss the gossip as he obviously thought it should be. The discomfort Wendy felt puzzled her a bit, for she’d had her share of encounters with women like Mrs. DeCarlo and Yvette, and she’d always been able to brush off their venom. Of course, she admitted, no one had ever credited her with an illegitimate child before.
But it wasn’t the fact that her own reputation was being unfairly tarnished which bothered her. No matter how irregular the circumstances, if Rory had actually been her child and Mack’s, Wendy would have had no hesitation in carrying the baby to term. She would never have planned such a pregnancy, of course, and she would never have schemed to capture Mack, as Yvette had implied. But she would have been proud to have his child.
Too proud to have hidden behind Marissa’s tragedy, that was certain. Was it the fact that she was being called a liar which really bothered her?
No, it wasn’t that either. It was difficult to explain, even to herself, but she’d be happy no matter what people thought about her – and about Rory – if this was a real marriage. If she knew Mack cared about her, the little stuff wouldn’t be important. And compared to Mack’s love, what the neighbors thought would be very small potatoes indeed.
But to have only the illusion of being his wife, and to be branded an immoral liar as well... That was a double-barreled blow.
“What do you think?” Mack gestured with his glass.
Wendy swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the painting he was pointing out. Unlike the others, this work was displayed flat on the floor like a rug, arranged at an oblique angle to the closest wall and surrounded by velvet ropes to keep viewers at a distance. It consisted of nothing but thick black paint on a stretched canvas; there was not even a frame.
Mack had obviously shaken off the gossip, and so should she. She couldn’t dwell on this just now. The truth was, she shouldn’t dwell on it at all, since there was nothing she could do about the problem – though she thought putting it completely out of her mind was probably beyond her power. Still, she couldn’t think it through properly while she was in the public eye.
“Wendy?”
“I know, the painting.” She twirled her champagne glass and played for a bit of time. Mack couldn’t be thinking about buying that monstrosity, could he? What on earth would he do with it? “It’s unusual.”
“Your honest opinion, Wendy.”
She sighed. “All right. Call me a cretin, but I think it looks as if a workman has smeared glue all over the floor and now he’s ready to lay a batch of vinyl tile.”
Mack started to chuckle. For an instant Wendy felt like a fool, till she realized that his laugh was deep and infectious. He wasn’t laughing at her, he was sharing the joke.
She groped through her memory for what she’d heard the art-lovers in the crowd saying earlier. “You mean you don’t see the incredible control in his work either? And the masterful vision, and the restrained passion?”
“I’d say any passion in that particular piece has been limited to glee at taking money from the poor soul who buys it. Not very nice of me, is it?” He glanced around at the crowd. “I think we’ve been seen by enough people for one evening. Let’s go home.”
*****
Wendy brushed her hair an extra hundred strokes that night, hoping that Mack would come to her bedroom, but he didn’t appear. He hadn’t visited since the afternoon when Mrs. Morgan had walked in on them in her kitchen – the day he’d said they’d make the best of the situation. He’d been talking about the trip to Phoenix, but Wendy knew he’d meant a great deal more than that. He’d meant the whole marriage, and she had accepted the statement at face value. Until tonight. After her encounter with Mrs. DeCarlo and Yvette, his words had taken on a more sinister meaning.
Mrs. DeCarlo had spoken of Elinor Burgess as if she had been the architect of the whole scheme. It was clever of Elinor to pretend that Rory was Marissa’s baby, she’d said.
The woman had been wrong, of course – but was it possible there was a nugget of truth at the bottom of the accusation? Elinor had approved of Mack’s plan to marry Wendy and adopt the baby. Or was she even more involved than that? Elinor had overheard no more than a few words of conversation on Christmas Eve, but without an instant’s hesitation she had understood what was happening and rushed to offer her approval.
Wendy had been too stunned at the time to wonder about Elinor’s reactions. But now it seemed obvious that she had known beforehand what was coming. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have taken a moment before plunging in with congratulations? Elinor wasn’t the impulsive sort.
And did that mean the whole thing been Elinor’s plan – not really Mack’s idea at all?
It couldn’t be, Wendy assured herself. Nobody could force Mack to do anything.
But perhaps force had nothing to do with it. She knew herself how very difficult it was to refuse Elinor’s requests. She looked at the diamond ring on her left hand and remembered how hard she had tried to turn it down. But the woman was so incredibly reasonable that it was impossible to argue with her.
And she would have been arguing from a position of strength. The combination of Mack and Wendy was the only one which made sense. Mitchell was too young and unstable to be a good parent; John and Tessa were too involved in their own lives. Besides, Wendy was the center of the child’s world. It would have been stupid to uproot that relationship, as long as there was a way to preserve the family’s rights, as well. And such an easy way, too.
If Mack’s mother had put it to him in that form, what could he have said? It would have been such a rational request.
And then there was Rory herself. One had only to look at the child – helpless, appealing, completely dependent – to know how important it was that someone take care of her. The baby’s innocence, added to Elinor’s logic, would be nearly irresistible.
It doesn’t matter, Wendy told herself firmly. No matter whose idea it was, Mack had made his decision of his own free will, just as Wendy had. They would simply make the best of it – for Rory’s sake.
And for her own peace of mind, Wendy would be very careful that he never suspected she wanted more than that. For if Mack ever guessed that she had fallen in love with him, the humiliation would be nothing short of disastrous.
*****
Mack was drinking coffee and thumbing through the morning newspaper when Wendy appeared from her end of the two-bedroom suite in Phoenix’s Kendrick Hotel, dressed in jeans. “It looks as if you’re ready to pitch in and work,” he said as he poured her a cup of coffee.
She took it gratefully and sank into one of the deep chairs. There was something to be said for hotels and room service, she reflected. She’d almost suggested, before they left Chicago, that they could simply stay at the apartment. Then she’d remembered there was really only one bedroom – the second one was still full of nursery furn
iture – and she’d been thankful that for once her tongue hadn’t run away with her.
Mack finished his coffee and pushed the cup aside. “I have to be going. I’ll see you here tonight.”
“You’re having dinner with your clients?”
He nodded. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Wendy said brightly. “I’ll probably just fix myself a sandwich and keep working till late. There’s such a lot to do.”
Mack checked his cuff links and reached for the silvery-gray jacket he’d draped over the back of a chair. “You could let the movers take care of it.”
“Movers don’t do everything, you know. I didn’t even take the Christmas tree down before we left. Besides, most of my stuff isn’t important enough to move halfway across the country, so I’ll have to sort through it before the movers can start work at all.”
She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t realize he’d come around behind her chair till he braced both hands on her shoulders. “If something matters to you, Wendy, it’s important enough to move.”
She looked up at him, startled by the dark intensity of his eyes. She couldn’t quite identify the expression; was it doubt? concern? Or – perhaps – a dawning realization?
Slowly, he bent over her, took the cup out of her hand and set it aside, and then his lips came to rest on hers.
Wendy closed her eyes and warned herself to be careful. He hadn’t kissed her since that day in the kitchen, when she had lost control of the coffeepot and Mrs. Morgan had interrupted them.
This time she must be more restrained. She couldn’t take a chance on letting Mack guess how deep her feelings were. Even if her hopes were correct and he was beginning to feel something more than mere attraction for her, that awareness was so new and tender that it could be easily overwhelmed.
It would take time to develop and solidify, and in the meantime, any hint of pursuit or expectation could drive those half-formed sensations back into hiding – even from Mack himself.
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