Lydia was now living in Bermuda with her new husband. Portia decided she’d contact her mother the following morning. Juliet could tell Lydia what her plans were and hear her mother’s reaction.
But Portia knew all too well that Lydia, psychically able to see and hear things invisible to the average person, was totally deaf and blind to the problems and emotional needs of her children. She professed to love Juliet and Portia and the boys, but she’d always delegated responsibility to others, nannies when her children were young, tutors and private schools as they grew older. She was hopeless at the hands-on day-to-day challenges of raising children. Fortunately, she’d always had enough money to hire others to do it for her.
In Juliet’s case, Lydia had relied, from the time of her challenged daughter’s birth, on Isabel, a beloved housekeeper, and on Portia.
Portia drained the wine left in her glass and turned off the gas fireplace. It was past midnight, and she’d gotten up at six. The day had been long and wearying.
Tonight was the Leonard Cohen concert, Portia remembered with a pang of regret. She wondered for a moment whether Nelson had found some willing lady to go with him. A feeling of intense loneliness came over her as she shut the lights and locked the doors before making her way upstairs to her bedroom.
It was one of those rare times when she felt sorry for herself and regretted being single. She felt so weighed down with concern for her sister, and she dreaded the hours of patient reasoning and convincing she’d have to get through the following day. Juliet had been born with stubborn stamped on her forehead. Convincing her that pregnancy wasn’t the answer to her problems wasn’t going to be easy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BY THE TIME BREAKFAST was over the next morning, Portia was exasperated with her sister.
“If Stuart doesn’t marry you, you’ll have the full responsibility for your baby, Jules,” she said, trying to reason. “You couldn’t stay at Harmony House. You know that babies aren’t allowed. Where would you live? You’d need a baby-sitter, just for starters. Being a single parent is really tough on anyone, Jules. And you’d need extra help. It’s not like having a doll, honey.” She took a sip of her coffee, hoping the caffeine might give her energy for this battle, because once again, Juliet was shaking her head, her chin set in stubborn mode.
“Stuart will marry me. Don’t keep saying he won’t.” She was tearing her toast into tiny bits.
“I know you believe that, but let’s play worst-case scenario here for a minute. Let’s pretend this is a movie and you’re alone with the baby, okay?”
They’d played worst-case scenario plenty of times. It was one of Portia’s most effective strategies for helping Juliet see probabilities she didn’t want to examine.
“Okay. But it’s only pretend, right?”
“Right.” Portia’s head was starting to ache. “You have a baby, you need a place to live, somebody to help with child care, and you need extra money.”
Juliet looked at her from under lowered eyelids.
“Our mother has lots of money. She would give me money if I asked her. We get money from those trust things already. She’d let me take more if I needed it.”
Juliet was right. Money wasn’t an issue. Each of her brothers and her sister, and Portia herself, had trust funds from their maternal grandparents. Portia constantly forgot about hers; she had it paid directly into an investment fund.
And if Juliet required extra money, Lydia would always supply it, Portia thought bitterly, as long as she didn’t have to be involved in the day-to-day complications of Juliet’s life.
“Okay, money’s not a big issue. You’re right about that. But Mother needs to know what’s happening in your life. Let’s phone her in a little while and you explain the situation to her, okay?”
Juliet started to bang the side of her head with the palm of her hand. “You tell her. You tell her. Please, Portia. Talking to Mama makes me feel nervous.”
Most of the time talking to Lydia made Portia nervous, too, but she didn’t say so. She reached out and gently restrained her sister. “Don’t hit your pretty face, honey.” She sighed and gave in. “Okay, you win. I’ll talk to her.”
Juliet immediately calmed down, but Portia couldn’t stop now. If she did, they’d be at this all day.
“So let’s discuss child care and a place for you and the baby to live.”
“Okay. But it’s just pretend, right?” Juliet had abandoned the toast. Her fingers were interlaced now, her arms moving like a pendulum back and forth. She didn’t meet Portia’s eyes when she said in a low voice, “Pretend we came to live with you, Portia.”
“Jules, we’ve discussed that lots of times before and it’s not a good idea.” Portia had to consciously cling to every last scrap of her patience. She felt on the verge of tears.
“Remember how often we talked about independence for you and for me and each of us needing privacy in our lives?” Establishing her right to a life separate from her sister had been hard.
When she’d finished her medical training and bought this cozy house, it had taken soul-searching and a struggle with guilt, as well as a great deal of fortitude, for Portia to refuse Juliet’s repeated requests to come and live here.
“Your decision to have a baby can’t in any way be based on help from me, Jules,” Portia declared in a firm tone. “I have a job, a life of my own.” And there was that other aspect she hadn’t yet mentioned. “Your baby might also be mentally challenged,” she said finally, hating to mention it but realizing it was necessary. “The baby might need specially trained nurses and teachers the same as you did when you were little.”
Juliet bobbed her chin up and down. “I know. Remember, you explained when you gave me birth control pills? Handicap is not a disease,” she repeated in a perfect parody of Portia’s lecturing voice. “But it is a problem, and it’s best not to take chances.” She reverted to her own voice. “But I know what needs to be done for mentally challenged babies. Like Mrs. Cousins always says, been there, done that. So I’d be the best mother for a mentally challenged baby, right?”
Portia prayed for patience.
The phone rang. Juliet was beside it.
“Portia Bailey’s residence,” she said loudly. Mrs. Cousins had gone to great lengths to teach her charges how to answer telephones. Juliet listened and nodded and then handed the receiver to Portia, who snatched at it, grateful for any interruption.
“Portia, it’s Nelson Gregory. Don’t hang up, okay?”
She closed her eyes and blew out a long breath. Today wasn’t going well at all, and it was only—she glanced at her wrist—could it still be just ten-thirty in the morning? She should have an unlisted number. She’d get one immediately. Juliet, now Nelson—and on her day off!
“I’m not in the habit of hanging up on people, Nelson,” she said.
“I thought maybe you’d like to go for a ride out to Steveston. It’s a sunny day. I know this old-fashioned café on the waterfront where we could have lunch…”
“That’s out of the question. I have company.”
“Invite her along.”
He was so bloody arrogant and self-assured. Why didn’t he assume her company was male? Why didn’t he imagine they were in bed together, enjoying a late-morning tryst? What made him think she didn’t have a lover, or three or four? It probably had something to do with Juliet answering her phone.
“Thank you, but that’s not possible, Nelson. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She was growing more irritated by the minute.
He sighed, a soft yet somehow determined sound that carried clearly over the receiver. “I’m having to go to unusual lengths here, Portia. I’m convinced you enjoyed our first and only date every bit as much as I did, but for some reason you’ve made it difficult for me to see you again. And I very much want that. So I’m just going to sit here in front of your house until you come out and either join me for a ride or explain exactly why you won’t accept my invitations.”
�
��You’re—you’re sitting in front of my house?” Portia shrieked. “Now?” She flew to the front window. Sure enough, the long black limo was parked behind her silver Datsun.
Juliet had been listening. She came running over and peered through the window, pulling the blinds back so she could see better.
“Wowe-e-e-e, a limo,” she squealed. “You know someone with a limo, Portia? Who is it, can I go see? I love limos. Remember that time we got to go to Mama’s wedding in one. I love limos—”
And before Portia could stop her, she raced out the door and down the walk.
Portia, barefoot and cursing under her breath, went searching for her shoes to run after her, but by the time she found them and reached the sidewalk, Charlie was out of the limo, the back door was open and Juliet was reaching inside to shake hands with Nelson as she babbled away about a disabled friend at the group home. Portia could hear bits of the conversation as she neared the car.
“And George, he has a wheelchair, too. He calls it Hiyosilver, like the Lone Ranger’s horse,” Juliet was saying. “What do you call your wheelchair, Nelson?”
“I’ve called it plenty of names, none of them polite,” Nelson admitted. “But I’m really lucky, because I’m beginning to get out of it now. Not much yet, but a little.”
Portia was intensely aware that he was watching her. She was also aware that although she’d showered, she hadn’t bothered with a scrap of makeup. She was wearing worn jeans and an old pink sweatshirt, and the shoes she’d found were rubber thongs.
He, on the other hand, looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for Esquire, well-pressed khakis that undoubtedly had the tailor’s trademark zippers installed, and a black turtleneck under a soft tartan shirt.
“Hi, Portia,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Just want to tell you that this stakeout wasn’t my idea. I merely take orders from the boss.”
“I understand that, Charlie.” Portia knew she’d greeted the woman curtly, but she was beyond annoyed and well on the way to furious.
“’Morning, Portia.”
Nelson’s grin would have charmed Medusa, but Portia wasn’t about to be charmed. She narrowed her eyes and pretended to glare at him. “You promised you wouldn’t stalk me, remember?”
“I do. You’re absolutely right, and I apologize. My only excuse is that you left me no alternative. I’m a desperate man, and desperate men do unpredictable things. Can I offer you ladies some coffee while we chat? It’s latte from Starbucks.” He held out a silver thermos. “And we also have an assortment of the best pastries in town, freshly baked, still warm, right here in this box.” He gestured at a cardboard container.
“O-o-oh, chocolate croissants. I’d like one, please. They’re my favorite.” Juliet took the mug and, at Nelson’s enthusiastic invitation, clambered into the limo and settled herself on the long leather seat.
“Juliet, get out of that car this minute.” Portia could tell she was losing control of the scene.
Juliet, through a mouthful of croissant, mumbled, “It’s okay. Honest, Portia. He’s challenged, same as George at my house. Challenged people won’t kidnap you. Honest.”
“Challenged, my…my left foot. Nelson, just what the hell are you doing?”
His blue eyes were dancing, and he was laughing.
Suddenly, Portia’s anger fizzled into nothing and she wanted to laugh, as well. This was, after all, a totally ridiculous scene, her sister wolfing down chocolate croissants in a chauffeur-driven limousine and Portia herself being pursued relentlessly by a man in a wheelchair.
“Well?” She wasn’t going to give in too quickly. “I’m waiting for an explanation, Nelson.”
“Looks like I’m inviting your sister to go for a ride in the country. Of course, you’re welcome to come along if you wish.”
“I wanna go, Portia. I really wanna go. Please come, too?” Juliet wasn’t budging. What choice did Portia have? She swore under her breath and climbed in. “You realize this is the next thing to abduction,” she snapped at Nelson. She wasn’t about to let him know she was already starting to enjoy herself.
“That only happens with bad people, silly.” Juliet giggled, reaching for yet another croissant. “We’re grown-ups, Portia, and he isn’t a bad man, but even if he was there’re lots of us girls. Mrs. Cousins always tells us to chill out when we get crazy ideas in our heads. So chill out, Portia.”
“All aboard and ready to roll.” Charlie shut the door and got behind the wheel.
Nelson poured delicious-smelling coffee into a china mug and handed it to Portia. He filled a silver travel mug, as well, and passed it up to Charlie, along with several cream-filled pastries. He offered the box to Portia, but she shook her head. She was revved enough without a ton of carbohydrates in her system.
“You don’t like croissants? I thought everyone did. You’re a tough lady, Doc Bailey.”
“And you’re outrageous.”
“You silver-tongued seductress you.”
They were both grinning.
Juliet was studying the casts on Nelson’s feet. “Do those come off? Did you have an operation? Did my sister put those on for you? Portia’s a doctor, y’know.”
Nelson explained about the accident. “These are called walking casts. In another week they’ll come off and I’ll get casts that I can put on and take off myself, so I can have showers and baths easier.”
“That must have hurt a lot, crashing your car. I fell off my bike one time and it hurt a lot. Did it really, really hurt when you did it?”
Nelson agreed that it had.
Portia could see that although he was trying hard, he wasn’t entirely at ease with Juliet. Her sister was excited, talking with food in her mouth, spraying crumbs around, bouncing up and down on the seat and, as usual, asking questions that weren’t always appropriate.
Portia settled back and sipped her coffee. When Juliet was this excited, she talked nonstop. Nelson Gregory had gotten himself into this. Now he could live with the consequences.
NELSON WAS DOING HIS BEST to hide just how ill at ease he felt with Juliet. Whenever possible, he avoided people with mental or physical handicaps. They reminded him all too vividly of his own future, and they brought back harsh memories of his once-dignified father, drooling, unable to walk, unable to make sense when he talked, unable to even go to the bathroom on his own.
But Juliet was Portia’s sister, and Nelson vowed to do his best, however difficult and uncomfortable it made him feel.
Portia had challenged him, and there was nothing he appreciated more than a challenge. She’d refused his every invitation, and he’d actually begun to wonder if he would have to give up on his plan for seducing her. He’d never pursued a woman as diligently, and he’d never put as much time, energy and imagination into making himself appealing to her. Up till now, the problem hadn’t been attracting women. It had been getting rid of them diplomatically when the affair was over. Sometimes even without the affair, they clung like burrs.
He thought of Corinna, the sexy blonde Lambotti had a thing for. Her actions at the party the night before the race had indirectly caused his accident, yet Nelson hadn’t so much as kissed her. Lambotti had quit the team and disappeared after Nelson was injured, but Corinna had sent him roses and come to the hospital. Nelson had been in too much pain to be tactful, and the resulting hysterical scene wasn’t one he cared to remember. He’d ended up telling a nurse to call Security.
Having Portia in the limo with him was a vivid reminder of how attractive she was. Her skin was luminously clear and shining. Her eyes were that mysterious, smoky gray that seemed to see straight into his soul. Her short, dark hair begged to be touched, but of course he wouldn’t do anything like that with Juliet present.
He could smell Portia’s perfume, or maybe it was her shampoo, an elusive fragrance that was tantalizing and seductive. She looked wonderful in faded, close-fitting jeans, and he didn’t think she was wearing a bra under the sweatshirt.
His body react
ed strongly to her, and he winked at her when he caught her eye, delighted when she blushed and glanced away.
There wasn’t much opportunity for them to have a conversation; Juliet was still talking nonstop.
“Can I look inside the little fridge, Nelson?” She was examining and admiring everything about the limo.
“Sure you can, but better wait until we stop somewhere. The cops could give us a ticket if they found out we’d undone our seat belts,” Nelson explained.
“Portia used to date a cop, didn’t you, Portia?”
To Nelson’s delight, Juliet was oblivious to the quelling glare Portia shot her way.
“His name was Kramer,” Juliet babbled on. “And he got some of Portia’s speeding tickets canceled, didn’t he, Portia? She gets lots of them because she goes too fast. And then when her and Kramer broke up she had to start paying them again, right, Portia?”
The flush came and went on Portia’s cheeks. “Nelson doesn’t want to hear about my speeding tickets, Juliet.” She sounded irritated.
“Oh, but I do. I find it really interesting that you enjoy speeding. You didn’t tell me that we have a love for speed in common, did you?” He couldn’t resist teasing her, and he counted on her innate sense of humor. Already he could see a reflection of his own amusement mirrored in her eyes.
Juliet was still explaining about the policeman Portia had dated for a few months. “He was a hunk. Remember you said he was a hunk, Portia?”
Portia rolled her eyes and stared out the window.
“But Kramer was way too controlling, wasn’t he, Portia? That’s why he got the old heave-ho, right, Portia? Are you controlling, Nelson? ’Cause if you are, it’s the old heave-ho for you, right, Portia?”
She was watching him, one eyebrow raised in mocking inquiry.
“I’d like to think not, but I suppose that’s something you don’t really know about yourself unless someone else tells you,” he remarked.
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