Midnight in Brussels

by Rebecca Randolph Buckley

  “My darling, I do understand. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you like I did. I know you need to do what you’ve got to do. And I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back. You can bet on that. Drake, pour us some more champagne, let’s celebrate! My baby’s going to Belgium!”

  Drake snapped out of his stupor and topped off the glasses.

  “I want you to hang on to this ring, darling. It’s yours, regardless of what happens.” He slipped the ring on her finger and closed her hand in his. “I know that one day you’ll be my bride. I can wait for that day.” He voice cracked and he used his fingers to wipe his tears.

  Amanda covered her face and began weeping.

  Richard drew her to him and held her close. “No, no, my dearest Amanda. Please don’t cry. I don’t want you to cry. Come on, now. Let’s celebrate your dream trip. Okay?” He held her at arms’ length and grinned at her. “I mean it, darlin’. No more tears. You don’t want to make a grown man crumble at your feet, do you?”

  Paula reached for her, too. “Now, come on, honey. You just sit down and tell us all about your plans. How’re you gonna get to the airport? This is really good news, you know. Ain’t it, Drake? She’s finally going to Europe. Can you believe it? Your dream is comin’ true, Miss Amanda Jeffries— I mean Conroy! We ain’t gonna mention that scalawag Arlie’s name anymore!”

  They laughed.

  She pulled Amanda to the sofa and sat down next to her. “Now, show me that monstrous rock on your finger. That’s the biggest dad-gummed diamond I’ve ever seen in my whole life! Drake, how come you never gave me one of these? Huh?”

  The laughter grew and they all began celebrating Amanda’s dream that was finally coming true.

  Chapter 14

  For over eighteen months Arlie had lived in the small copper mining town of Miami, which was situated between another mining town called Superior and the county seat of Gila County, Globe, Arizona. The area was generally referred to as Globe-Miami.

  Miami is in the Tonto National Forest with a population of around 2,000, a residential community, not much going on otherwise.

  The original downtown area consists of boarded-up buildings, shacks, and dozens of antique stores. As for bars and eateries, in a three or four block-square area, there is an art gallery/coffee shop on Sullivan Street, an outdoor bar shaded between its neighboring antique shops on Miami Avenue, but most of the locals frequent the Shamrock Bar which is on the main highway and Judy’s Cook House toward Globe. Mexican restaurants are also spaced on the main drag between Miami and Globe. Miami is a collector’s paradise, not a culinary haven.

  The two men who had found Arlie – Scott and Jimmy –were employees of the Miami copper mine. But after Arlie’s lengthy stay in the hospital and his slow recovery, their failed attempt to get him a job at the mine without I.D. or memory turned out to be a godsend. Scott decided to start his own construction company, something he’d wanted to do for years. So Arlie became his partner, for he proved himself to be as talented a carpenter as he was an electrician. Jimmy stayed with the mine, unable to afford the drop in pay for a new enterprise.

  Scott was divorced and owned one of the larger shacks in downtown Miami on Gibson Street. So Arlie bunked with him.

  A small town seemed right to Arlie. He didn’t want to go anywhere else. It felt comfortable. He felt as if he’d always lived there, but he still couldn’t remember who he was or where he came from.

  Although his lower back had been broken, it mended after being in traction for seven months. His legs and his left arm had healed miraculously, but he was left with a slight limp.

  Now Arlie was known as John Cramer, a name the hospital staff had given him when he couldn’t remember his own. His wallet wasn’t on him when he was found. There was nothing else in his pockets, no car keys, no money. It was as if he had been dropped from the road with a bullet wound through his shoulder. Nothing else was known about him, except that he must have been married, he wore a wedding band. That bothered Arlie more than anything else. Somewhere he had a wife. He wondered if he had children.

  The new John Cramer had been examined and tested by a neurosurgeon and was told he had suffered memory loss due to the concussion. The doc said his memory would eventually come back, that he needn’t panic. Most amnesia victims begin to regain bits and pieces if not in a few days, then in a few weeks. But it had been a year and a half and no bits and pieces had surfaced in Arlie’s memory.

  The gunshot wound had raised questions from the sheriff’s department when he’d been hospitalized. They’d taken his fingerprints, but nothing came up in the system. He was truly a John Doe, or rather a John Cramer.

  Little did they know, the pickup truck had been hauled off by a desperate passerby teenager. The shooter, being the professional that he was, had picked up the bullet casings. As for Arlie’s wallet with his I.D. and money, it was never found.

  So eventually life went on as usual, as it does in most small towns.

  Arlie Jeffries was dead and gone. John Cramer was alive and well.

  PART TWO

  “Your thoughts and your feelings create your life. It will always be that way. Guaranteed!”

  Lisa Nichols

  The Secret

  Chapter 15

  RACHEL O’NEILL

  Another beautiful summer day, Rachel O’Neill thought while stepping from the shower and glancing through the open French doors at the view from her bedroom to the garden and the sea beyond.

  The aroma of roses, carnations, and hyacinths mixed with the crispy, cool salty sea air gave her a euphoric high as it always did. This was her favorite part of the world. She looked up into the sky where black clouds were overtaking the white ones, forming billowing picturesque subjects over the ocean. Perfect watercolor paintings she thought, remembering art classes she’d taken years previously. Storm clouds were the best subjects.

  Storms weren’t unusual on the southwest coast of England in the summer. Glorious summer storms were especially of the norm in the Newlyn and Mousehole harbors, which was one of the reasons Rachel bought a cottage in Cornwall. The first time she had visited the area with Ethan Philips it had been a stormy Christmastime, and she was immediately hooked by the dramatic and romantic ambiance of her favorite author Daphne du Maurier’s world, creator of Rebecca, My Cousin Rachel, and The Birds, to name a few … du Maurier was the most successful Cornish novelist of all time.

  Rachel agreed fully with Daphne’s description of Cornwall: “Beautiful, mysterious, Cornwall exerts a potent spell on all who visit it.”

  For hours Rachel would sit at her window spellbound, much like Daphne, watching violent lightning and thunder storms move from the sea to hover over the southwestern coast of England. Sometimes she would open her French doors and breathe in the fresh cold air that gave her an abundance of energy and fueled her creativity.

  In the summer the Cornwall coast was also full of blossoms and butterflies and chirping birds, in spite of the occasional storms.

  Not only did Rachel love her cottage on the cliff, she loved the fishing boats in Newlyn Bay below, with their clanking lines battering the masts making mysterious night music.

  Newlyn was one of the few working fishing ports remaining in the UK, and hosted the second largest fishing fleet in the country – vessels of all sizes. The Pilchard Factory had recently closed, which was a sad event. It had been in operation for ninety years. When Rachel first arrived, the Pilchard factory was still in operation. She had spent many mornings soaking up the local color at the factory, watching and listening to the fishermen and the factory packers at work.

  In the summer the primary catch was silver mackerel. How she loved walking to the Newlyn Fish Market where the fish were sold. The fish were held in rectangular baskets of all colors, neatly stacked, and ticketed waiting for a buyer in the auction - from dovers to hand-line caught tuna to monk to lemons to John Dorey.

  She was thinking she might make a quick trip to the docks and see
what fish were available that morning. She was feeling she might want to cook some for dinner.

  Reaching for the plush towel she’d thrown over the white wicker chair near the French doors that opened onto the patio, she began humming George Gershwin’s “Summertime” while rubbing the water from her hair and face, followed by a quick, brisk drying of her body from her neck down to the soles of her feet. She was feeling that life was grand.

  “You are lovely as a 'n noeth angel.” Pete’s voice startled her.”

  “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in.” She laughed as she dropped the towel and went to him, standing on tiptoes to reach her hands up around his neck while pressing her nudeness against his fully-clothed body. She’d come a long way from the days she couldn’t bear to let anyone see her nakedness, including her first two husbands, not even Ethan. With Pete it had all gone by the wayside. He made her feel sexy and free. She adored him and wanted him to have every bare inch of her. He made her feel proud of the body of which she once felt ashamed.

  Pete swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

  “No, no, no,” she giggled. “I have to get dressed, darling. I have an appointment this morning.”

  “All arhosa!” he replied in his native Welsh.

  “Pete, speak English. What is all arhosa?”

  “It means it can wait, my luv, it can wait.” He grinned widely, tossing her onto the bed and following after he pulled off his clothing as fast as he could. “You drive me mad, woman, 'n arbennig pryd 'ch re 'n noeth.”

  “English!”

  “Especially when you’re naked,” he whispered as he nuzzled her neck.

  She loved Pete’s eagerness and his passion. He had made her believe her body was beautiful and he’d helped remove her shyness and terror of being naked in front of a man. He’d taught her that making love was the ultimate experience between a man and woman. She’d lived her whole life afraid of sex and the vulnerability it presented. It took Pete to change her feelings.

  She couldn’t help but notice the franticness Pete was showing in this morning’s lovemaking. He usually was more gentle and a genius at foreplay. But not this time, it appeared. The passion was there, in fact it was at a frenzied high, and she had to admit she was enjoying it for a change. It made her giggle.

  “My luv, my luv … ” He was devouring her breasts with his hands and his lips. He slowly flicked his tongue down her body past her navel, teasing her till he reached her female softness where he found what he was looking for. She sighed and squirmed with utter rapture.

  Suddenly he rolled over on his back, placing her on top of him, pulling her hips to his. His huge hands held her buttocks in place as he entered her with ease and began the slow, rhythmic movements that she loved so much.

  Later Pete sat on the edge of the bed beside Rachel and lifted her hand to his lips. “I have to leave for London in a couple of hours, luv.” He searched her green eyes for the reaction he knew was coming.

  She frowned and stared into his eyes, not saying anything.

  “You knew it would be soon, doll. You knew I’d be leaving again.”

  “Where to this time?” she asked quietly, turning away.

  “The Amazon.”

  “Not again!” Rachel looked at him with a frown and sighed deeply.

  “Yes, luv. The deforestation is happening at an alarming rate now, and we have to get in there to rescue samples before plant life as we know it will be completely destroyed. The country is being plundered, Rachel. These are critical times. We’ve discussed this.”

  She looked down at their clasped hands in resignation, “I know. I know.”

  “Be happy for me, Rachel. You know I love doing what I do. Please don’t make it difficult for me. I love you and I need your support.”

  She stood in front of him and put her arms around his neck, while he remained seated on the bed, his face pressed against her breasts.

  “I don’t mean to be a shrew, darling. I’ll just miss you, that’s all. I’m so afraid something will happen to you again. I couldn’t go through another plane crash, wondering if you’re alive or dead, and that jungle is treacherous.”

  “There won’t be another plane crash, luv. The chances of it happening again are next to none. Besides, we’re flying into a major airport, not taking a puddle-jumper this time. And we’re going up river by boat, so there won’t be any small planes involved at all. I’ll be safe.”

  “So how long will you be gone, then?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Three or four months. I’ll know more after we get there. Might be up to six, I won’t lie to you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before now? That’s not fair, Pete.”

  He stood and held her close to him, tightly. “I didn’t have the heart to tell you. I knew how you’d feel and I couldn’t bear seeing it in your eyes. This way I only have to bear it for an hour or so.”

  “Not fair, Pete! Not fair at all!” She pulled away from him and grabbed her towel on the way to the bathroom and slammed the door. In the next instant she re-opened the door and flew back into his arms, crying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I act this way. I love you, my darling, and I will miss you so much.” She held on to him as if it would be the last time they’d be together.

  “I love you, too. And when I get back we’ll take a holiday to Paris, if you’d like. How’s that, does that sound good to you?”

  Trying to hold back the sobs, she looked up into her tall lover’s kind eyes, more in love with him than ever. She kissed his chin. “Yes, that would be perfect. Yes. I’ll make sure the house is ready for us, Montmartre will be perfect for an anniversary getaway – we can go to Maxim’s, reserve the same table where you proposed to me. We’ll invite Robert and Janet, too. Maybe Shellie and Adrian will be in town. Yes, that will be fun. I’ll get dressed and we can have a cup of coffee together before you go, then I’ll take you to the train station. I’ll cancel my appointment.”

  “All right, luv.” He patted her on the bottom and gave it a loving squeeze as she turned away.

  “Hey, stop that.”

  They both laughed until she disappeared into the bathroom and he began putting on pants.

  He called out to her, “Why don’t we get married this Christmas, luv? Don’t you think we’ve been engaged long enough? Two years is plenty of time, don’t you think?” He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

  Rachel immediately appeared in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you mean it? You really want to?”

  “It’s time, luv. That ring on your finger needs its matching mate.”

  “You’re sure you want to? I mean, you’re the one who said there’s no rush.”

  He walked to her and put his arms around her, “Do fi m 'n ddiball , 'm cara.”

  “English, English!”

  “Yes, I’m sure, my luv.”

  “Oh, I am so ready to marry you, Pete Bell. I am so ready!”

  Chapter 16

  The next day went by fast. Rachel didn’t think of Pete as much as she thought she would, but then it had only been a day and night. Her thoughts were taken up with the subject matter of her next novel. After a two-month break since she’d submitted the previous novel to her agent, she was ready to get back to work on another one. She’d already decided where the setting of her new novel would be. So she figured she’d go there for a couple of months, or however long it would take to write the first draft. The timing was perfect since Pete would be away for a while.

  As she walked from her cottage down the alleyways to the bus stop in the center of Newlyn (she liked taking the bus to Mousehole instead of driving the two miles), she was thinking how happy she’d been in Paris with Shellie and Janet just two years before when Pete had made the last trip to South America. His plane had crashed and he had gone missing for weeks before he and the pilot were found close to death.

  Tears came to her eyes as she thought about almost losing her beloved Pete. She was gr
ateful for the time they’d had together over the past couple of years, although their individual business travels often took them to separate destinations. Now they were to be married. She wondered if that would change anything. Probably not. They both still had their work—Pete had the Eden Project, she, her writing—and the travel that came along with it all. There shouldn’t be a problem.

  She stopped to smell a rose along the alleyway. Tears pricked her eyes again as her thoughts shifted to Ethan and the tragic way he had died. That was before she and Pete were engaged. She’d known Ethan before she met Pete.

  Several years before Pete came into her life, she had come to England to help her friend Ethan with his business. He’d wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t do it. She just didn’t want to have to deal with a man and his demands - any man.

  Then when Pete and Rachel had grown apart due to commitment issues, Ethan had stepped back into her life for a moment. Only a moment, for he’d crashed his car near Penzance on the way to see her and hadn’t survived. It took a long time for Rachel to get over the guilt she felt for his death. She wasn’t sure she was over it yet.

  A foreboding feeling was increasing as she walked along the street and crossed the bridge by the post office to the bus stop. She shook off the feeling and deliberately began concentrating on the novel she was going to write. Her thoughts were about the novel the rest of the two-mile trip on the bus to Mousehole.

  Rachel couldn’t wait to get to Belinda’s studio and tell her the good news about the December wedding. Hopefully Paul would be at the shop, too. She’d tell them both at the same time. She knew it would be difficult for them to go to Paris for the wedding with the two children, but she was going to invite them anyway. Maybe the timing would be right for them to check on their artworks at the gallery in Montmartre. They were her dearest friends, her closest friends, and they’d been through so much together in the past few years. It was as if she was a magnet to drama and tragedy – her own as well as that of her friends. She chuckled at the thought of a drama magnet and opened the heavy door leading into the shop.