On Sunday, Patrick turned up at the Hollisons” just as Molly began serving lunch to Edward and the children.
“Had lunch?” asked Edward.
“Thanks. I’ve eaten.” Molly recognized the determined look on his face, wasn’t surprised when he announced, “I’m taking Molly out for the afternoon. She needs a break. Ed, you’ll be okay?”
“I’d planned to visit Sarah and the twins this afternoon.”
Patrick nodded. He had already allowed for that. “David’s expecting the kids. Just drop them off on your way to the ferry. Molly, are you ready?”
She looked around desperately. “I’ve got to do the dishes.”
“Can we come?” demanded Sally. “We need a break, too, Uncle Pat.”
Patrick shook his head. “This break is just for Molly.” His voice wasn’t allowing any argument.
“Go ahead, Molly,” said Edward. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”
She felt more like a lamb going to the slaughter than a woman going out with the man she loved. What could she say? Patrick, my father’s about to be charged with tax evasion. However Patrick might react to that announcement, Molly simply did not have the nerve to say the words. Perhaps it was not only a lack of courage, but also the habit of a lifetime of keeping her problems to herself.
“Where are we going?” she asked. She wished that she could hide her head in the sand, enjoy what he had to give her, and pretend tomorrow wasn’t going to come.
Patrick, concentrating on the winding North Road, answered idly, “Originally, I thought of a walk to the petroglyphs.”
“The what?”
“So you are listening. I thought you were a few thousand miles away.”
Probably she had been. As far away as France or Belgium. Wherever it was her father had decided to hide out, it was bound to be a long way from here.
“What are petro-whatsis?”
“Petroglyphs. Rock carvings made by the prehistoric people of this area. There are some about half a mile back behind your place.”
“In the middle of the bushes?” She stared at the road ahead. Half a mile? “But we’re not going there?” She felt his shrug and turned to look at him. His face was almost grim, more like David’s harsh features than the Patrick she was growing to know.
He said flatly, “The way you’ve been avoiding me lately, I suspect you’d run for your life if I took you off alone into the bushes.”
She swallowed sudden dryness in her throat. “So – You said originally, so where are we going?”
“Victoria.”
Coward! Why couldn’t she ask him to turn back, to take her to see the rock carvings, anywhere that he would take her in his arms and make her forget.
“What are you worrying about, Molly?”
“Worrying?” She supposed that he could read it in her. Even at the beginning, he had seemed able to see right through her defenses.
“Your eyes,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road, which didn’t seem to stop him reading her mind. “And you’re feeding everyone else, but pushing your own food around the plate. Damn it, Molly! In the last week, you’ve got visibly thinner!” He pulled the car into the right lane as he passed a junction, then came to a smooth stop behind a pick-up truck. The ferry line-up. Ahead, the ferry was just docking. Patrick turned the key off and Molly heard the emergency brake go on. He turned towards her, his hand resting on the back of her seat, not quite touching.
“Are you going to tell me what’s worrying you?”
Patrick was accustomed to solving problems. Sarah called him when she needed help. Jeremy and Sally were in the habit of dropping over and telling him their problems. The other day at the farm, Molly had heard David talking to Patrick about a mysterious problem he was having with the cows. One had died and two others were behaving strangely.
It was not only family that turned to Patrick when they had problems. A group of professionals wanted him to run for political office, thought he could help solve the province’s problems.
Even Trouble had chosen Patrick’s walls to climb when Saul abandoned her.
“Molly?”
She stared at the little stream of cars coming off the ferry. Sunday afternoon, light traffic. Soon he would have to start the Corvette and drive on. She watched the last car drive towards them, and then a single foot passenger walked along the ramp onto the ferry. Patrick started his engine and released the emergency brake just as the man standing on the side of the loading ramp waved the line of vehicles to come forward.
On the ferry, he turned off the key and set the emergency brake, then said abruptly, “Let’s go outside.”
She followed him to the front of the ferry and leaned against the rail beside him, looking down at the water. A shadow moved over the water and she looked up to find the eagle circling lazily high overhead. She thought of asking Patrick again where he was taking her, where in Victoria, or why, but it did not matter. She would go anywhere he asked. She had known that almost from the first.
“Are you angry with me about something?”
She shook her head mutely.
“I didn’t think you were, but... “
She hugged her jacket closer. He would know soon enough. He might believe she had known about the tax thing all along, had helped Saul evade the authorities.
He said quietly, “I want to help. Whatever it is that’s got you so worried, Molly, I want to help you.”
Of course he would. She bit her lip, released it when she realized he was watching, adding up information. With those eyes, he might actually guess. She tried desperately to think of some excuse he would believe. She was worried about her work, couldn’t eat because a dinosaur was giving her a hard time. She cleared her throat to stop the hysterical laughter that threatened to rise up.
“Are you short of money?” She shook her head and his frown deepened. “You’re not sick?”
“No!” She closed her eyes, said harshly, “Please, Patrick. I need space. Could you just back off?”
He said, “I’m glad you decided not to lie.”
“You’re psychic,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Good.” He draped an arm around shoulders, drawing her against him. “Now why don’t you try relaxing? Enjoy being a tourist. No worries. No hassles. A day of escape.”
“Escape from everything?”
“Everything,” he promised, then he kissed her lightly and somehow it seemed possible to escape for one day of fantasy.
She had never been to the old, Victorian city that was British Columbia’s provincial capital. It reminded her a bit of Ottawa, especially the old legislative buildings. “All lit up at night,” Patrick told her. “Outlined in lights. It’s quite a sight.” After the legislature lawns, he took her to a newsstand and searched for a big postcard to show her the magical night time-outline.
“I’ll send it to Aunt Carla and Uncle Gordon.”
He had a booklet of stamps in his wallet and she wrote the postcard out right there, then they found a mailbox and she laughed, saying, “You don’t believe in putting things off, do you.”
“Not if it can be avoided,” he agreed, and took her hand to lead her to a horse-drawn carriage parked at the side of the road. “Ever been on a horse-and-carriage tour?” he asked.
“Never with you,” she answered, and it was magical. In the back of the carriage, Patrick settled her in the curve of his arm and she knew that was where she belonged. Even Saul could not take this day from her. It was springtime. The old port of Victoria was in bloom, flowers everywhere, tourists laughing and shooting pictures of everything from the famous Butchart gardens to the Royal Victoria Wax Museum.
From the wax museum, Patrick was going to take her to the undersea gardens; but when she said her feet were sore he took her instead down to the Causeway, a walk along the harbor’s edge where the tall masts of sailing ships stretched against the blue harbor and the clear sky. There was also a ragged man with a guitar singing
songs for coins.
Patrick added to the coins, then sat down on one of the wide concrete steps with Molly to listen to the love song. When he kissed her, very gently, very softly, the music was everywhere.
“I wish this day would go on forever,” she whispered.
“It isn’t over yet. Dinner next. Seafood, I think.”
“Nowhere fancy, I hope? You dragged me off in my jeans.” Patrick was wearing a casual pair of black corduroy slacks and a blue shirt with a V-neck sweater over it. Sexy, she thought whenever her eyes fell on the way the sweater clung to his broad shoulders.
“A low-class joint,” he promised, but he took her to a quiet dining room filled with a mixture of everything from tattered jeans to evening dress. They ate scallops and drank wine. Patrick toasted her new dinosaur book. Molly forced herself to toast his career in politics. Inflicting pain on herself.
She smiled brightly at him and asked, “Did you say yes to Gary and his cronies? Next Friday, you told them, and next Friday’s gone.”
“Hmm.” He had her hand in his, was playing absently with her fingers. “They gave me a respite. The MLA that was about to step down has changed his mind. I’m off the hook for the moment.”
“But you will do it? In the end you’ll do it?” She wanted him to say no. It might be possible for her to have a future with a Patrick who had a private life. Saul’s disasters might not matter too much. For a politician, Saul would be a devastating father-in-law.
Did Patrick want a future with her? An affair, yes. But marriage?
“Maybe I will,” he said slowly. “The next provincial election isn’t for a year. No hurry to decide.”
For a man like Patrick, solving problems for the province was just one more step in the natural progression. “I can see you in those parliament buildings.” She lifted her glass with determination. “You might end up prime minister.”
He laughed, but it was no joke. He took her hand and she curled her fingers around it, tightly.
“Do you see yourself in that crystal ball,” he asked. “Standing beside me?”
In dreams, not in real life. She took her hand away and said in a shaken voice, “I can’t see the future,” and hoped it was true.
“Dance with me, Molly.”
She had been watching the few couples brave enough to try dancing on the tiny space between tables. There was a band, making music, and conversation all around, drowning out the singer who was wailing something about a train that kept on rolling.
Patrick put his arms around her, moving to the faintly heard drum of music. Molly closed her eyes and let her cheek settle against the soft wool that covered his shoulder. Escape, he had promised her. One day might be all she had before the bailiffs turned up. She let her arms slide up around his neck. The irresistible force, she thought. And she was no immovable object.
“I like it when you smile like that.” His whisper tickled her ear. “It makes me think of secrets whispered, of loving.” He turned them to avoid collision with another couple and his arms tightened. “I love you, Molly. You know that, don’t you?”
Oh, God! She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Please! she begged silently. No tears! She must not cry!
The tempo of the music changed. Faster. Wilder. She slipped out of his arms, moving to the music, his eyes holding hers. She had no right to trap him with her own words of love, not when her life contained a tangle that could easily destroy his future.
A year, he had said. A year until the next election. Was that long enough for Saul’s fugitive status to be forgotten? Saul, damn him, had made headlines all his life.
Patrick caught her close against him as the music slid back to a slow, seductive beat. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. “I’m taking you home.” Whose home? His? Or her temporary haven, the cabin that might actually be evidence in a tax evasion case? Saul, who had more than once claimed loudly that taxes were forced payment for services he had not asked society to provide.
“One more dance,” Molly begged, going into his arms and knowing he would not refuse her. With that look in his eyes, she thought he might give her anything, this man who said he loved her.
Somehow she must find the strength not to ask for more than this one day of escape. Strong arms. She loved his strength. She moved her cheek on his shoulder and felt his hands settle just above her hips as he moved slowly to the music. She wanted forever in his arms.
“Can we go for another carriage ride,” she asked shakily.
In darkness, they glided along the waterfront behind the clopping hooves of the horse. Molly closed her eyes and breathed in the musky scent of the man she loved.
“Look, or you’ll miss it,” he teased her softly, and when she opened her eyes the magical castle was there, an outline of the old buildings in lights against the night sky.
“Magic,” she breathed. “I believe in magic.”
“Sure you do.” A smile in his voice. “And dinosaurs who get lost in big cities, with saviors to come rescue them.” He bent his lips to her ear and whispered, “You make me believe in magic.”
She closed her eyes on painful sweetness, said in a shaken voice, “I like fantasy. It has neat endings, happy endings.”
“So does life, if you take happiness when it offers.” He took her chin gently in his hand, turned her face up to his. “You love me, don’t you, Molly?”
Better if she could lie. She curled her fingers into the softness of his sweater. “I shouldn’t. Patrick, it can’t work.”
“Why not?”
She gulped and reached desperately for a distraction. “We should go back. The children. I should be back there to look after them.”
“They’re staying at David’s tonight.”
She had known, really, that Patrick had arranged something for them. Otherwise, he would have had her back much earlier. The carriage stopped at an intersection. Molly wanted to pull his head down, his lips to hers. He was holding himself back, keeping his desires in control for her sake. He wanted her, could easily have swept her into passion with just one of those shattering kisses. But he knew something was wrong.
He had no right to be so understanding, willing to wait for her to explain. If he would get angry with her erratic behavior it would all be easier. Angry, then over.
Or if he would kiss her, really kiss her.
A silent voice taunted her. Taking responsibility out of your hands, Molly? Seducing you? Later, would she look back and say the man tempted her, swept her off her feet? If she hadn’t the courage to tell him the truth about Saul and his gift, at least she could be honest about this. She curled her fingers tighter into Patrick’s sweater, brought her lips to his.
“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered, knowing that going back, crossing the harbor in that ferry, she would feel that sense of impending disaster crawling back over her. He took her lips, her mouth, but she could feel the passion still leashed in him.
“What is it you want?” he demanded. “To ride behind a horse all night, looking at city lights?”
She closed her eyes, but knew she would give him truth as far as she could. “Escape,” she admitted. “That’s what I want. I’ve never done this, skipped off and not come home all night. I knew girls who did in school, but I was always afraid to.”
He was amused. “There’s no one back on Gabriola keeping track of your movements. You’re a big girl now.”
She swallowed and whispered, “Please. Isn’t there somewhere we could stay. Here in Victoria. Tonight.”
His hands took her face and turned it so he could study her in the reflection from the street lights. His mouth was a hard line, his eyes dark and narrowed.
“If I stay with you tonight, Molly, I’m going to want to make love with you.”
She touched her lower lip with her tongue. “I want that too.”
She felt the shudder go through him. Then he leaned forward to speak quietly to the driver. “Are you crazy?” she whispered when he took her back in his
arms after the horse had turned in the direction Patrick had requested. “That’s a luxury hotel. I saw it when we went past. Have you forgotten how I’m dressed?”
His hand slid down along her jacket to the denim-clad firmness of her hip. “I’ve been noticing all day. I like you in jeans, especially when they’re a little tight here,” he decided, sliding his hand suggestively under cover of darkness.
She gasped. “The hotel—They’ll expect luggage and—”
“A gold credit card will look after it.”
“I didn’t know you were a cynic.”
“Occasionally.”
In the hotel, the porter showed Molly and Patrick to the luxury suite with smooth hospitality. Inside the room, Patrick picked up a telephone and made a quiet list of requests.
“I’m impressed,” breathed Molly when the soft knock came on the door a few minutes later. A cart with champagne and glasses was quietly rolled in, while another attendant slipped into the bathroom to lay out razor, shaving cream and toothbrushes. Molly giggled when they were alone again. “I’d never have the nerve to ask for toothbrushes in a hotel.”
Patrick poured a glass of the champagne and pressed it into her hand.
He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair. “I want to kiss you.”
“I’ll drop my glass.” Her fingers curled around it. “And I’ll melt.”
He moved away from her to turn out the lights, leaving only the glow from the harbor lights coming through the window, and the shadow of her lover as he came back across the room.
He took her glass away and slid the jacket off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor and he said, “There’s no ice in you. How could you melt?”
Easily, she thought as she felt his light touch on her shoulder.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“In a sweat shirt and jeans?” She might have laughed, but she could hardly breathe. “I wish you’d let me change before you took me out. I would have worn something pretty.”
“I was afraid you’d shut the door of your cabin and keep me out.”
With Strings Attached (Gabriola Island) Page 11
