“I don’t know what to do,” Elizabeth admitted.
“He wants to see you. Is that it?”
She nodded. “And I promised I’d go to Boston, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Mother, you have to go. You promised, didn’t you? He doesn’t sound like the kind of man who’d let you go back on your promise. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” her dreamy, romantic Ellen said with stars in her eyes. “He’s gotten fat and bald?”
Even now that she’d made it as far as Boston, Elizabeth could think of a dozen worse things than that, that could go wrong with such an impetuous trip. None of them had she dared to share with Ellen.
There was no denying, though, that she wanted to be here, wanted to see Brandon again, if only to resolve all the old hurts that she’d so carefully banked in order to get on with her life. Maybe now, at last, she could truly put the past behind her.
It had surprised Elizabeth that Brandon had sounded almost as nostalgic about their brief romance as she felt. If the memories hadn’t faded for him after all this time, why had he let her go so easily? Why had he abandoned her?
Her heart still ached when she thought about the way she’d watched the mail day after day, only to be disappointed again and again, until finally it had become too painful to watch. Now she would ask him why. She would satisfy herself that she’d gilded the memory, that Brandon Halloran wasn’t the romantic hero she remembered at all.
And then she would run back to her full, satisfying life in California and live out her days in peace. One last piece of unresolved business would be finally put to rest. Until he’d called, she’d had no idea that it still mattered so much to her to know what had happened.
So here she was, back in Boston for the first time in decades, her stomach tied in knots, her fingers trembling. Even at seventeen she was certain she’d never felt this giddy sense of anticipation.
Elizabeth ran a brush through the short hair that she’d finally allowed to turn gray. Oh, how she wished it were the same rich auburn it had been way back then. Brandon had loved her hair, long and touched with fire, he used to say.
When they’d made love on that one incredible moonlit night, he’d allowed the strands to flow through his fingers like silken threads, fascinated with it. What would he think of this short cap of waves that her daughters said took ten years off her age, despite the gray?
She smoothed her pale blue suit over hips that were still slender and adjusted the flowered silk scarf at her throat. Beneath the scarf she could feel the locket pressing against her skin, its once-familiar touch oddly reassuring.
Still, she was filled with trepidation as she went with the driver Brandon had sent. Were either of them prepared for the changes? Could they possibly avoid disappointment?
When the car drove up the winding driveway of the same impressive brick Colonial family home that she recalled from one brief visit years before, for one instant she wanted to turn back. She wanted to flee before illusions were shattered—or confirmed.
She wasn’t sure which she feared more, the answers he would give or the disappointed realization that things between them could never be the same. Maybe it would have been wisest, after all, to keep the past in the past, where memories could live on untarnished.
Then the door opened as if Brandon had been watching impatiently for her arrival from just inside. He stepped outside into the glow of the brass lamps on either side of the door. Elizabeth’s breath snagged in her throat as she allowed herself the freedom to study him unobserved through the limousine’s tinted windows.
He was older to be sure, but he was just as tall and handsome as she remembered him. Like hers, his hair had gone silver, but it only made him look more distinguished in his dark suit. Any woman would be proud to appear on his arm. She had envisioned him once exactly like this—lean, sophisticated, impressive—back in the days when she spent too many hours imagining the two of them growing old side by side.
The quick, once-familiar flutter of her pulse took her back nearly fifty years and she knew that, in this way at least, time had stood still.
Chapter Four
At the first sign of headlights turning into the driveway, Brandon felt his pulse begin to race. He had the front door open, his heart thudding with anticipation, before the limousine could brake to a stop. It took every last bit of restraint he possessed to keep from sprinting down the steps. Instead he waited impatiently for his driver to open the door, more impatiently yet for Elizabeth to emerge.
For no more than the space of a heartbeat he was taken aback by the short hairstyle, the unapologetic gray that had replaced the stunning auburn he’d remembered. Then he looked at her tanned face, the way the sassy style emphasized her unchanged, twinkling eyes and admitted that the short cut, even the gray, suited her.
He noted that her legs, as she swung them out of the car, were still slender, her figure still girlish in a sedate blue suit with a twist of something silky at her throat. By golly, she was still a looker all right.
Brandon thought back to the snapshot he’d carried off to war. It had shown off that figure. She’d worn white shorts and a skimpy top that tied behind her neck and at her waist. The provocative outfit had left her legs and back bare and gave the impression of height far taller than her actual five foot-two. She’d been glancing over her shoulder at the camera, Betty Grable pinup style.
He had pulled that picture out a dozen times a day, considering it his good luck talisman. Only after she’d stopped writing and vanished had he angrily torn it into shreds and thrown it away. The memory had lingered for far longer, along with regrets for his brash, ill-considered act.
He pushed the memories aside and went to meet her, holding out his hands. “Lizzy,” he said, his gaze meeting hers, detecting the nervousness behind the brave smile. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
Her hands were like ice in his. She glanced at him far more shyly now than she had on the day they’d met, though her words were calmly gracious.
“Brandon. It’s good to see you, too. You look well,” she said.
“I’m better, now that you’re here.” He tucked her hand through his arm and led her inside. “I’m afraid I’ve rushed the housekeeper. She already has dinner on the table. Do you mind if we go straight in?”
“Of course not,” she said, sounding surprisingly relieved.
He wondered if she’d feared the idle moments before the meal as he had, if she’d worried that conversation would lag, if she’d dreaded an endless evening begun in hope and ending in disappointment? How could a man who’d entertained politicians and celebrities in his time be so nervous about an evening with someone he’d once thought he knew even better than himself?
The elegant Queen Anne table in the formal dining room had been set for two with the finest Halloran china and crystal, brought over by his father from England at the beginning of the century. Candles glowed. A bottle of Brandon’s best vintage wine was ready to be poured. White roses, opened just enough to scent the air, had been arranged dramatically in a crystal bowl in the center of the table. Even with such short notice, Mrs. Farnsworth had outdone herself. Although, she had told him with an indignant huff, no thanks to his agitated hovering.
Even with those exquisite touches, all Brandon noticed was the shine in Lizzy’s eyes. She’d always had a twinkle in those eyes, a daring glimmer that belied her cautious nature.
Obviously, daring had overcome caution to bring her back to Boston, to bring her here tonight. He wondered why she’d been so reluctant in the first place. This wasn’t some silly blind date she’d had cause to fear. But there’d been no mistaking the earlier reluctance, no ignoring the hesitation even now, a hesitation that he was certain went beyond simple nervousness.
Still he pushed curiosity aside and went through the motions of settling her in the chair next to his. He wasn’t about to relegate her to the far end of a table big enough for Halloran family reunions.
Brandon’s own
meal cooled, untouched, while he listened to Elizabeth fill in the gaps they hadn’t covered on the phone. More than the details, he heard the humor, the love, the fulfillment, and regretted more than he could say that he hadn’t been the one to share them. How he wished that he’d been there to witness the shift from youthful impetuosity to mature strength, that he’d been the one to bring her laughter and contentment.
“Tell me about your husband,” he said.
“He was a wonderful man, kind, thoughtful, generous. The girls adored him, especially Kate. She came along late, when we weren’t sure we’d have another child. He doted on her. I wasn’t sure what would happen to her when he died. For a long time she seemed almost lost without him.”
“He made you happy, then?” Brandon asked, hiding the resentment that crept over him. It was foolish to be jealous of a man he’d never met, a man who’d been dead for five years. Yet knowing that didn’t stop the pangs of regret.
“Very,” she said.
Brandon regarded her speculatively, trying to interpret the note of determination in her voice, the defiant gleam in her eyes. “And love, Lizzy? Did he love you?”
“Perhaps more than I deserved,” she said.
“What an odd way to put it.”
“Don’t you find that in relationships more often than not one partner cares more than the other, that one gives and the other takes? What about in your own marriage?”
Pained that she had hit upon something he had thought more than once about his relationship with Grace, he nodded. “I suppose that’s so, about relationships, I mean.”
“And your own?” she prodded, her gaze relentlessly searching his.
He felt it would be a betrayal of Grace to admit that she had loved more than he, yet he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I suppose we found a balance,” he said finally, skirting the truth of it. There had been a balance of sorts. He didn’t think his wife had ever felt cheated. He had cared deeply for her, honored their vows, and to his dying day he would be grateful for the life they had shared, the son she had borne him.
“Tell me more about your life in California,” he said at last.
He sat back, then, and listened, watching the way laughter put such sparks in her eyes, the way her face became animated when she talked about her daughters and grandchildren. Then there was no mistaking the radiance of love, which proved he’d been right when he’d guessed she hadn’t felt it nearly so deeply for her husband.
Finally, when she’d been talking nonstop for some time, Elizabeth lifted troubled eyes to his. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Brandon. It’s not like you.”
“I like listening to you. I’ve had too many quiet meals in this room over the past couple of years. It’s wonderful to have some laughter in here again.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
“I suppose I was thinking about how much I missed.”
She looked startled by the candid answer. “Don’t try to make me believe you haven’t had a good life,” she chided. “You’re not the sort of man to let life pass you by.”
“No, I’ve had a wonderful life,” he admitted. He told her about his business triumphs and his family, omitting the inexplicable emptiness that had nagged despite everything. He wouldn’t have her thinking him ungrateful for all the genuine blessings in his life.
“The years since Grace died have been lonely, though. These past weeks I’ve been thinking how much I wished I had someone to share things with again.”
“You’re a handsome, successful man, Brandon. I’m sure there are dozens of women who’d be pleased by your attention.”
It was odd, but he’d never really thought of that before. He supposed it was true enough. There had been invitations to dinners, the symphony, the ballet, charity affairs. He’d even accepted a few, but always in the back of his mind he must have been waiting for his search for Lizzy to be successful. He hadn’t seriously considered any of those other women as candidates for his affection.
Brandon gazed solemnly into Elizabeth’s eyes and took her hand. “I think fate has done it again, Lizzy. I think there was a reason for my finding you after all this time. Not a woman I know could hold a candle to you.”
“And I think you’ve had too much wine to drink,” she retorted, but there was a becoming blush of pink in her cheeks and she didn’t withdraw her hand.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what I mean. You didn’t come all this way just to say hello, did you?” he countered, watching the blush deepen.
“Of course not,” she said hurriedly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Boston.”
“Are you trying to say that I’m just one of the sights on your schedule?” he teased. “I’m old, Lizzy, but I’m not a monument.”
“You still have a sizable ego, I see.”
“You’d never want a man who wasn’t sure of himself.”
“And how would you know that?”
“No one changes that much, not even in a lifetime.”
“Perhaps at my age I’m not even looking for a man,” she said. “Did you consider that?”
“Then you’re here for nothing more than a little talk about old times?”
“Yes,” she said, but there was something wistful in her voice that touched his heart and told him the quick response wasn’t quite the truth. She needed more than memories, the same way he did. Just thinking about proving that to her made his tired old blood pump a little faster.
“And maybe some answers,” she added determinedly then, not quite meeting his gaze as she withdrew her hand from his. She folded her hands together as if to keep them from trembling. Her knuckles turned white and there was a sudden frost in her voice.
“Answers?” he asked warily, startled by the shift in her mood.
She looked up then, her gaze colliding with his. “What happened back then, Brandon?” she asked indignantly. “Did you meet someone else? Did you forget I was waiting? Explain it to me. I think you owe me that much.”
Stunned by the sudden burst of anger over hurts a half century old, he simply stared at her. “Forget you? Never, Lizzy. Never!”
He hit the table with his fist and suddenly he was every bit as angry as she, drawing on emotions he’d thought dead and buried long ago. He shoved his chair back and stood, towering over her. She never even flinched, though her hands clenched even more tightly.
“How could you even ask something like that?” he demanded.
“Then why did the letters stop?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back. “For weeks after I got your last letter, I kept on writing. Not a day passed that I didn’t write some little note at least. Do you know what it’s like being away from home, alone?” He held his fingers a scant inch apart. “This close to dying every single day, only to think that the woman you love more than life itself has forgotten all about you so quickly?”
“But I wrote,” she swore just as vehemently. “It was you. I never got any letters, not after we moved.”
Suddenly they stopped and stared at each other as the meaning of the furious words sank in. Brandon sank back into his chair as he realized that trust, as much as anything, was at stake. Either or both could have been lying.
To his regret, he saw that there was no way of proving what they said, not after all this time. There was no way of knowing for certain if the letters had simply been misdirected, lost in the chaos of war, destroyed by her parents—or never sent in the first place.
“We’ll never know,” she said finally, her voice filled with a sadness as deep as his own as she came to the same realization. “Will we?”
Brandon couldn’t bear the uncertainty he saw in her eyes, heard in her voice. “You must believe me,” he insisted. “I sent those letters. I swear I did. When I was injured and sent home, I moved heaven and earth to try to find you, but it was as if you’d vanished without a trace.”
“You were injured?” she said, her eyes wide. “How seriously? What happened?�
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“I’d only been there a few months when my plane went down. I got out with no more than some broken bones, but it was enough to get me sent home.”
“So my letters could have gone astray?” she said slowly.
“Yes, as could mine.”
He hoped she could see the truth in his eyes, could read the bitter agony of loss on his face. If only he’d hired a qualified detective back then, rather than counting on unreliable acquaintances in Maine and eventually in California. Leads had dwindled, then turned cold. By the time Grace had been introduced and encouraged as a suitable match, he had only discouraging answers. Grace had been there during the recuperation, not Lizzy. They had been, at the least, compatible. With no word on Lizzy, the choice had seemed clear.
“Only then did I give up,” he swore. “That’s the truth, Lizzy. You must believe me.”
But rather than unqualified trust, all she said was, “I want to, Brandon. I want to believe you.”
“We have another chance. Let’s not let it go so easily this time,” he urged. “Please, Lizzy. We’re too old for more regrets. Say you’ll stay and give me a chance to make it all up to you. We’ll do all the things we never got to do back then.”
For the longest time she looked indecisive, avoiding his eyes. Finally she said simply, “A few days, Brandon. I’ll stay on for a few days.”
There was an implied finality to the limit she set that nagged at him, but for the moment at least he would take what she was willing to give. He trusted in his own persuasiveness to see that a few days turned into weeks, then months and eventually a lifetime. He could explain his determination no more clearly now, than he could have decades ago. He only knew what he felt in his heart. It was there again, beating with the same strong certainty that had guided everything he did.
* * *
The phone in her hotel room was ringing when Elizabeth walked in, still shaken by the powerful emotions that had gripped her from the first instant she had seen Brandon again. It was after midnight, three hours earlier in California. She had no doubts at all that it was Ellen calling to see how this first meeting had gone.
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