“Why? To whom? You and I dated exclusively for eight years.”
“I’ve been gone almost seven since then. Even when we were living together, your mom kept trying to fix you up with a lineup of lawyers, regardless of how old some of them were. Say, how old is this Alec?”
“Fifty-six. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Connor would have shared his opinion of a twenty-four-year age difference had the maître d’ not come back to collect them.
Mallory read Connor’s views plainly enough. And she didn’t care to hear what he thought. She all but tore the wine list out of Dominic’s hand, plopped down hard in the chair he pulled out and hid behind the tooled leather binder.
“Is everything all right, Ms. Forrest?” Dominic inquired. “You’d like a different type of wine tonight, perhaps, rather than Dr. Robinson’s preferred extra-dry pinot Grigio?”
Mallory’s eyelids snapped open wide. “Wine? Oh, we’re not having wine. It’s not that kind of dinner, Dominic.”
Staring at her oddly, the man discreetly plucked the wine folder from Mallory’s grip, replacing it with the menu.
Connor lowered his head to hide a grin. “The lady is the designated driver,” he mumbled. “I’m merely along for the ride. I’ll have a glass of cabernet.” Connor rattled off several more exclusive brands. “Any one of those will be fine.”
Dominic snapped his fingers. “Very good, sir. I’ll leave you with Josef, our sommelier. Carlisle will be your waiter.”
Like magic, Josef materialized. Following a brief discussion pertaining to what vintages the restaurant stocked, Connor settled on one.
Josef briskly closed the wine list, bowing as he backed away.
Connor watched the ritual, then glanced around, eyeing the gleam of silver against a backdrop of candles, snowy linen and lead crystal. The whole place had the smell of old money.
“Now that I can afford to patronize a restaurant of this caliber, I find it excessively formal. I can’t imagine considering anyplace this stuffy my favorite.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Mallory unfolded her napkin.
“I still prefer that hole-in-the-wall crab shack you and I used to steal away to down in Apalachicola whenever I scraped together enough money to eat out.”
Mallory laughed in spite of herself. “The air inside that place was so thick and humid, not even the overhead fans could get rid of the odor of fried seafood and hush puppies.”
“I know. Yet, I’ve often thought about our trips there. We had a lot of laughs while we cracked that greasy crab.” It dawned on him that he’d be afraid to laugh here at the Inn, afraid he’d be thrown out for disturbing the funereal atmosphere. That observation was interrupted by Josef coming to pour his wine. After he’d tested it and approved, Mallory buried her nose in her menu, adding no further comments, no other memories. Connor was aware of a vague disappointment as he turned to his own menu.
Their waiter appeared out of the darkness like a silent wraith. Mallory set her menu aside and, in a low voice, gave her order. Folding her hands together on the table, she and Carlisle gazed expectantly at Connor.
He continued to take his sweet time reading the hand-scripted gold pages, until Mallory’s irritation became palpable. The air surrounding their secluded table sang like the taut bowstrings of the annoying, screeching violin playing in the background.
“For God’s sake, Connor, choose something.” Mallory leaned forward, slapping his menu aside.
Carlisle sucked in a breath.
Connor hiked one eyebrow. “You never used to be so uptight, Mallory. What’s the matter—are you afraid old Alec will waltz in and find you at his special table, knee to knee with a strange man?”
“No.” She drew back as if the idea was completely foreign.
Their knees had been comfortably touching—as Connor noted the minute she jerked hers to one side. Turning a smile toward the waiter, Connor asked questions about various items on the menu. At a point seconds before he sensed Mallory might explode, he named his selection and sat calmly back to enjoy his wine.
She twisted the gold necklace she wore around and around one finger. Her gaze darted right, then left and right again, never coming to rest on Connor.
“Get it off your chest, Mallory, before you strangle yourself with your necklace.”
“All right.” She leaned forward, the very picture of fury. “You don’t even like me, Connor. Why are you playing out this elaborate charade?”
He choked on his gulp of wine. He might have guessed any number of reasons for her annoyance. Her belief that he didn’t like her was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Seven years ago, who ran out on whom, Mallory? I seem to recall chasing you all the way to the parking lot, where you vanished into thin air. When you didn’t come back to the apartment, I phoned your folks to see if you’d gone to their place. The housekeeper admitted you had. Next morning before I left for the airport, I phoned Forrest House twice, asking to speak with you. I was told you’d gone out.” He shook his head. “You know…I’d forgotten that, but it’s all coming back now.”
“That’s a lie! I was home all day.”
“Your mother said you weren’t. I want you to know I felt like crap leaving without even saying goodbye.”
“Mother wouldn’t be so mean. She knew I was cry—” Mallory shrugged and broke off, twisting the necklace even tighter until it left marks above her collarbones.
Connor set down his wineglass. He, too, leaned tensely across the small table. He opened his mouth to present his side but was forced to wait as Carlisle arrived with their salads. Angry sparks danced above the pepper mill as the waiter ground some on both salads. “Thanks,” Connor snapped. “That’s enough.” And Carlisle scurried away.
Picking up her fork, Mallory stabbed her lettuce. “I sent a letter in care of the address you’d left for your headquarters in Guam. You never even tried to get in touch with me, Connor.”
“The hell I didn’t,” he roared so loudly that diners at several tables around broke off talking and eating to stare at the disruptive party.
Mallory touched a napkin to tightly pursed lips. “I don’t have to listen to you trying to put the blame for our breakup on me. And I’ve lost my appetite.” Tossing down her napkin, Mallory gathered her purse. “Phone a cab to take you to the airport after you finish your dinner.” She rose, her dark eyes filled with pain.
Connor shackled her wrist. “Don’t stop now, Mallory. Your fictional version of this is just getting good. Sit. It’s damn well time we got to the bottom of something that’s obviously been festering in both of us for years.”
An evenly modulated voice spoke Mallory’s name from above and to Connor’s right.
“Alec,” she exclaimed, her face going chalky in the candle glow. “I had no idea you planned to come here tonight. You never mentioned it at work.”
“That’s because you seemed preoccupied all day, Mallory.”
Connor, forced by good manners to drop Mallory’s hand and to stand and extend his to the newcomer, used the moment to measure the older man. Alec Robinson didn’t look fifty-six. Slightly less than Connor’s six feet in height, the hospital administrator wore his three-piece suit without bulge or wrinkle. There was no gray in his mustache, and only a trace in the otherwise ash-blond hair. The handshake he laid on Connor spoke of a man who worked to stay fit. Connor couldn’t readily identify why the salad he’d hardly tasted seemed in danger of not staying down.
“Alec, this is Connor O’Rourke. Connor, Dr. Robinson…er…Alec. Technically, Connor’s a doctor, too. He has a Ph.D. in meteorology.” Mallory seemed reluctant to elaborate further on any personal details regarding either man.
“Poor Dominic almost had apoplexy, trying to tell me you’d already claimed our table, Mallory.” Alec eyed Connor coldly, although he issued a dry chuckle. “Dom explained that you were on your way to the airport with a gentleman. If you’ll excuse me for eavesdropping, I’m sure I heard yo
u telling Dr. O’Rourke to call a cab. Does that mean you’re heading back to the hospital? If so, I’ll follow you.”
The maître d’, hovering behind Robinson, fluttered around like a demented butterfly. “Sirs and madam, we’re creating a small scene here,” he hissed. “Shall I add a third chair or will you be wanting your own table, Dr. Robinson?”
Mallory’s color drained even more, if that was possible. While Connor would’ve liked to boot the good Dr. Robinson into outer space, he’d let Mallory deal with the situation.
“Dominic, please seat Alec elsewhere this evening. I’ve developed a splitting headache, I’m afraid,” she said, speaking in a low, rapid voice. “I did ask Connor to call a cab. I’m going home to take care of myself. Alec, I’ll see you at the hospital tomorrow. Connor, goodbye.” She gripped her purse tightly and attempted to slip between the two men.
Alec gazed after her, his eyes confused. Connor took a giant sidestep and blocked her exit. “Are you feeling well enough to drive home?” he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
“I…yes. Thank you for asking.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment, with Connor gazing down on her bent head, troubled by so many things that remained unspoken. But from her body language, he could tell she wasn’t receptive and just wanted to leave. “We’ll talk when I hear about my tests,” he said, moving aside.
Mallory shook her head. “I can’t handle the added stress, Connor. Please, for Liddy Bea’s sake if not for mine, confine any further dealings to Fredric’s office.” She wove through the tables, practically at a run.
Connor pulled out a money clip, peeled off several bills and dropped them between their unfinished salads. Spinning from where he stood, he bumped into Carlisle, who was carrying their entrées. “You’re leaving, sir?” the waiter gasped.
“Yes. Sorry, but I’ve got to run. I left my bags in the lady’s car.” Connor sprinted to the entry, only to see Mallory’s taillights as she screeched out of the lot.
He stopped short and swore. He wondered when she’d discover she had his duffel and briefcase. Thank God he had a ticketless reservation.
“Does that outburst mean Mallory’s left you stranded in Tallahassee?”
Connor turned around and met Alec Robinson’s hard, black stare. “What business is that of yours?” Connor demanded testily.
“It isn’t. But in the six years I’ve known Mallory, she’s been unflappable, even though she’s gone through plenty of things to flap about. Until tonight.”
Connor ignored Forrest Memorial’s top dog. Brushing by him, Connor felt in his pocket for loose change. He stalked inside the restaurant and found the pay phone in the Inn’s foyer. He’d deposited the money and had the receiver to his ear to call a cab, when Robinson’s hand flashed over Connor’s shoulder.
Alec depressed the switch, and coins rattled as they fell into the coin box.
“Excuse me…” Connor dug out the change to redeposit it.
“I’ll give you a lift to the airport,” Alec said roughly. “There’ve been rumors floating around the hospital for the past couple of days, to the effect that Lydia’s father blew into town on his white charger, intent on saving the day. As a rule I don’t pay much attention to hospital scuttlebutt. It just occurred to me that perhaps this time I should’ve listened more carefully.”
“Yeah, well, I understand a man’s hearing is the first to go in the aging process.” Hunching his shoulders, Connor opened the phone book again to the section listing cabs. He imagined he could hear Alec’s teeth gnashing as he punched in the cab company’s number a second time. He completed his call without interruption. But when he hung up and turned around, prepared to wait the few minutes they’d said it would take for his cab to get there, Alec still lurked at Connor’s elbow.
“Look, smart-ass. You think you’re pretty clever. Well, know this. I wield a lot of power at Forrest Memorial. Senator Forrest and I are like this.” Robinson crossed his fingers and shook them in Connor’s face. “I have more than a passing interest in Mallory—with Bradford’s full blessing. It’d be wise for you to do as she said and confine all your dealings in this case to Fredric Dahl.”
Connor noticed Dr. Robinson didn’t look nearly so cool and collected now. “I think a man your age should watch his blood pressure,” he said mildly.
Fortunately, before Robinson could manage any response, Connor’s cab arrived. Dashing out, Connor jumped into the back seat. “Airport,” he said, his voice still calm. But, dammit, his own blood pressure had risen. Who in hell did Robinson think he was, warning Connor away from the woman who was the mother of his child?
He fumed all the way to the airport and during the entire hop-skip-and-a-jump flight to Miami. It didn’t dawn on him until he opened the door to his apartment and walked into his bedroom—where the first thing he set eyes on was Claire’s photo—that he hadn’t thought of his fiancée once in the past several hours.
Falling onto his bed fully clothed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, blocking Claire’s picture from sight. Being with Mallory tonight, before Alec Robinson showed up, had felt like old times. But if he still carried such strong feelings for Mallory, what did that say about his commitment to Claire?
Connor rolled over with a groan and snapped off the bedroom light. He’d better get his feelings sorted out before he went to work the next day and ran into Paul. His assistant dated Lauren, Claire’s good friend. And Paul had a way of noticing things.
Needing sleep more than anything, Connor put both women out of his mind.
The phone, jangling loudly on the bedside next to his ear, awakened him from an unpleasant dream. His alarm clock said eleven-fifteen. A.m. or p.m.? More than half-groggy, he dragged the receiver to his ear. “Hello,” he croaked. His sleepy greeting was met with silence. Assuming it was a crank call, Connor cursed and started to hang up.
“Connor?” His name, spoken softly, reached through the line, jolting him.
“Mallory?” Rolling onto an elbow, he did his best to make sense of the fact that she was phoning him at night.
“I’m sorry. It sounds as if I woke you. I hadn’t expected you to even be home yet. I intended to leave a message.”
“That’s okay. I got to the airport ahead of schedule. They had a cancellation on an earlier flight. What’s up?” he asked, hating to think she was phoning because old Alec had rushed right out and contacted her dad.
“After Davis brought my father home from a late meeting, he went to put my car in the garage and found you’d left your duffel and a briefcase in the back seat. I feel horrible having stormed from the restaurant with your things. I’ll courier them to you in the morning. I hope there’s nothing crucial in them that you need for work.”
“Nothing vital. I’d ask you hang on to the lot until I hear about tests and return to Tallahassee. Except the brochures Dr. Dahl gave me on transplants are in my briefcase.”
“Doesn’t Claire have a set?”
“Yes, but we…uh…decided to take a breather from each other until after I hear if I’m an acceptable donor.”
“That’s my fault, isn’t it? I feel awful, Connor.”
“No need. You have enough to contend with. If we’re going to apportion blame, Mallory, I probably deserve the lion’s share. At the time we parted, I thought I was doing the right thing. Just after I got the grant, I overheard someone in the presentation party say how glad your mom would be to get rid of me. The more they talked, the more I began to realize I’d been holding you back.”
“That’s absurd!”
“Wait, don’t interrupt, let me finish,” he said over Mallory’s protest. “This needs to be out in the open. That lady, who was from the civil weather patrol, spoke the truth. She knew your family well. Your mom headed the volunteer program. Anyhow, on the way home, I started thinking that I could be broke for another five to ten years, depending on how my research went. You deserved a better life than I had any hope of providing. I suddenly saw everything you
’d sacrificed for me, and I didn’t like being a taker. A user.”
Her breath caught in a little sob. “Why didn’t you explain all this back then?
“Probably because I’ve matured and have developed some finesse,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But that’s all history. It’s too late to change our destinies. We can only go forward from here.”
“You’re right. There’s nothing to gain by rehashing the past. I wish I didn’t feel that we’ve somehow cheated Liddy Bea.”
“You haven’t, Mallory. You’ve been there from the minute she gave her first cry. Any way you cut it, I come off looking like the villain.” He paused, rubbing his face. “Didn’t you ever once consider that I had a right to know about her?” His voice grew thin. Bleak. “You of all people knew how I felt about my own father’s irresponsible behavior.”
“I would have notified you if you’d shown a glimmer of interest in how I fared after you left. It would only have taken a postcard. A word. Anything, Connor.”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “That’s why didn’t you answer a damn one of my letters.”
“Letters? You wrote?” The question hung between them.
“Look, I’ll buy into the probability that your folks’ housekeeper didn’t tell you I called. And I’ll accept that your mom lied about you being home. But no way in hell will I believe the U.S. Postal Services lost all four of my letters.”
Static came and went on the line, but there was no sound from either Mallory or Connor except for their erratic breathing.
“You’re saying you actually mailed letters to me? No way! I received nothing.”
“You don’t have to keep up the charade, Mallory,” he said tiredly. “What’s done is done.”
“Connor, I’m not lying.” Mallory’s voice rose. “I swear on your mother’s Bible—which, by the way, you left in the apartment and I’ve saved for you—that I never got so much as a postcard from you. I swear.”
Connor jackknifed upright. He didn’t know why he needed light to take in what Mallory was saying. He just did. He groped for the switch and flooded the room. In the process, he knocked down a tray that held his car keys and change.
The Seven Year Secret Page 12
