Nathan’s eyes were brooding, defying her to discuss the subject they were skirting. “I didn’t father that baby, Mallory,” he said bluntly.
Mallory knew he hadn’t; the confrontation with Renee Parker had convinced her of that much. But something inside her insisted that she deny what she knew to be truth, that she use the issue to keep Nathan at a safe distance.
“Mallory.”
She met his eyes. “Assuming that someone really paid Renee to file that suit—”
“Assuming? Mallory, she as much as told you someone did! And that someone was, undoubtedly, Diane Vincent.”
“She might have been scared—Renee, I mean—”
“The baby isn’t mine!”
“Okay,” Mallory said in a voice that was at once agreeable and frantic.
Nathan was obviously frustrated. “My God, you still don’t believe me, do you?”
Suddenly, despite her earlier certainty, Mallory didn’t know the answer to that question. All her instincts told her that Nathan was and always had been a faithful husband, but she could not fully trust them. Wishful thinking, in a situation like that one, was an easy trap to fall into. Maybe she’d done just that that morning, when she’d sought out Renee. Maybe she’d only believed Nathan innocent because she couldn’t bear not to.
“We’ve been apart so much, Nathan,” she said reasonably, sanely. “Women offer themselves to you as a matter of course. You’d be superhuman if you—”
But Nathan was on his feet so suddenly that his chair overturned with a crash, and his hand was hard under Mallory’s chin. “I’ll tell you about me, Ms. O’Connor!” he cried in a controlled roar. “I love my wife! And while I may have been tempted to bed the occasional groupie, I never have!”
Instantly furious herself, Mallory thrust his hand aside and stood up. “Damn it, Nathan. Stop!” she screamed. “You would hardly confess to an indiscretion when you have every reason to believe that I would fall apart before your very eyes!”
Something violent contorted Nathan’s big frame; Mallory could feel it even though they weren’t actually touching. When it passed, he spoke again, in ragged tones. “If I were callous enough to sell you out like that, Mallory, I wouldn’t care how you reacted, would I?”
Now tears were smarting in Mallory’s eyes. “Maybe you just didn’t plan on getting caught!”
A muscle moved in Nathan’s jaw, and ominous rage made his throat work, but he said nothing. He turned away from Mallory and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Mallory sank back into her chair and dropped her head to her trembling arms, too shattered to cry. The separation of the McKendricks was off to a less than tender start.
Probably unable to refrain any longer, Trish knocked on Mallory’s kitchen door bright and early the next morning. One look at her friend’s tear-swollen face brought her scurrying across the uneven linoleum floor to offer an embrace.
Mallory cried, and so did Trish. But neither spoke until they had left the house and walked down the muddy path through the orchard to the Sound. The tide was in, and it did much, in its ancient and dependable way, to soothe Mallory.
After an interlude of reflection, Trish bent, slender in her worn blue jeans and red Windbreaker, to pick up a small piece of driftwood and fling it into the bubbling surf. “What happened, Mall?”
Mallory overturned a barnacle-covered rock and watched dispassionately as the tiny sand crabs living beneath it rushed in every direction. “I’m not sure,” she said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Mallory abandoned the pandemonium she’d created in the sand to sit down on a bleached-out log and wriggle the toes of her sneakers in a tangle of wet kelp. “You read about the paternity thing?”
Trish nodded, letting the low tide surge around her ankles. “You must know that’s a crock,” she observed, squinting in the springlike sun.
Mallory swallowed miserably. “The crazy thing is, Trish, I do know that. I think I knew it from the time the story broke. But instead of saying that, and standing my ground, I drove up to Eagle Falls and confronted her.”
Trish sighed. “I guess I would have done that, too,” she conceded finally, though she clearly disapproved. “Was Nathan upset about it?”
“He saw it as a lack of trust on my part.”
“And?”
“And we can’t seem to talk about it without fighting, Trish. My God, even when I wanted to say that I believed in him, I couldn’t. It was as though that part of me had been shoved aside.”
Trish came to sit beside Mallory, her hands cradling her knees. “Do you love him?”
Mallory nodded glumly.
Trish’s soft blond hair danced around her face as she studied her friend. “But still you wanted to keep him at a distance, didn’t you, Mallory?”
Mallory’s mouth dropped open, but before she could say anything, Trish went bravely on.
“You know what I think, Mall? I think you’re trying to hold onto your old life—the life you had when your parents were still alive. Look at you—you’re married to a millionaire, for God’s sake, and you insist on living in that little cracker box of a house because that way you won’t have to let go of Mummy and Daddy.”
Mallory shot to her feet, her cheeks crimson, her throat closing and opening spasmodically over a surging fury. “That’s a lie!”
“Is it, Mallory? You’ve been married to that man for over six years and I’ll bet you haven’t spent more than two or three nights at Angel Cove in all that time! And if it weren’t for that damned soap opera, which everyone knows makes you miserable, you probably wouldn’t set foot inside the penthouse, either! And then there’s your name—”
“Shut up!” Mallory shrieked.
Trish stood up calmly, faced her friend. “Your parents are dead, Mallory. Dead. Gone. And, baby, it’s forever!”
Mallory was trembling; she wanted to turn and run away from Trish, from all the hurtful things her friend was saying, but she couldn’t move. It was as though she’d become a part of that beach. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and her throat ached over screams of protest.
And Trish hugged her. High in the azure sky, a lone gull squawked in comment.
Mallory sniffled inelegantly and moved to dash at her tears. “How can you—say such—things—?”
Trish shrugged, her hands firm on Mallory’s shoulders. “Mallory, grow up. You love Nathan—fight for him.”
Drawing deep restorative breaths, Mallory shook her head. “We’ve agreed to separate for a while, Trish. And I th-think we need the time apart.”
Trish shook her head in angry wonder. “You’ve had too much time apart already, don’t you see that? Go to him, tell him everything you’re feeling—contradictions and all.”
But Mallory was drawing back inside herself, refusing to hear the reason in Trish’s suggestion, refusing to think that she didn’t belong in the small house beyond the orchard anymore.
And after that, there was no reaching her.
Nathan stood at the living room windows in his own house, looking out over the peaceful vista of sea and sky and mountains. Angel Cove itself was sapphire blue and sun dappled that day, and boats with brightly colored sails bobbed in the distance. Beyond them rose Mount Rainier, snowy and impervious even as she favored lesser beings with a rare view of her rugged slopes.
“Mr. McKendrick?”
He started slightly, having forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Even though the band was gone for the time being—some of them hadn’t taken the news of his retirement any better than Diane had—the housekeeper was always in residence.
Mrs. Jeffries stood in the center of the spacious room now, carrying a china coffeepot with steam curling from its spout and looking nervous. The stains in her cheeks, no doubt, were the result of the scandal and shame served up by the ever-vigilant press.
“What is it?” Nathan demanded, none too politely.
“Th-there’s a man at the door, asking
to see you.”
“Who?”
Mrs. Jeffries actually shuddered, and the coffeepot was in peril. “I think he’s a process server!”
Nathan sighed, exasperated and weary. “Show him in, please. And put down that coffee before you burn yourself!”
The housekeeper obeyed, then scurried out into the hallway again.
Nathan looked at the coffee and distractedly shook his head, even though there was no one to see. He’d had too much coffee during the long night, and his nerves were crackling under his skin like high-voltage wires.
A moment later, a man in a sedate business suit entered the room and looked at Nathan with obvious recognition. “Nathan McKendrick?”
Irritated, Nathan simply held out his hand.
The visitor extended a folded document and then fled.
After parting with Trish, Mallory made her way back toward the house alone. Cinnamon met her in the middle of the orchard path, bounding and yipping in greeting.
The pat Mallory gave the animal was halfhearted, at best. Reaching the house, she filled Cinnamon’s bowl from the dog food bag on the screened porch and set it down near the door.
The telephone rang suddenly, and the sound of it reverberated through Mallory’s body to her very spirit. She crossed the kitchen floor with such speed that she bruised her knee on one corner of the big woodburning stove, and tears of physical pain were brimming in her eyes. “Hello!”
“Hi,” Brad Ranner said, as easily as though they’d never argued, never shouted at each other over cross-purposes. “How’s life in the wilds of Puget Sound?”
Mallory’s disappointment was crushing; she had hoped, desperately, unaccountably, that the caller would be Nathan. “Wild,” she answered in a peevish, dispirited whisper.
“I’m sorry about that scene at the penthouse the other day, Mallory—I really blew it. Forgiven?”
Mallory sighed, rubbing her throbbing knee and grimacing. “Brad, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m still leaving the show.”
Brad’s voice was as smooth and warm as the fresh butter Mallory’s mother had always served with steamed clams. “In view of Nathan’s latest escapade, I’m surprised.”
Mallory closed her eyes tight, but the gesture was no help against the sudden knotting pain in her stomach and the ache beneath her skull. “Brad,” she responded evenly, “I don’t care if my husband impregnates a hundred groupies—I’m still not going to take my clothes off on national television.”
“Maybe we could work around that.”
Mallory bit her lower lip and tried to think clearly, but she was simply too tired and too confused.
“Mall?”
She drew herself up, summoned all her flagging strength. “I’m here. Listen, Brad—I’m not really an actress, you know? The show was a kind of a—well—a lark for me. But now I’m tired and I can’t think and—”
“Babe, this paternity thing has really leveled you, hasn’t it?”
Why lie? “Yes And I’ll thank you not to make any more remarks about Nathan’s alleged escapades, Brad.”
He sighed. “I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
Even though she knew he couldn’t see the gesture, Mallory nodded. “C-could we talk another time, Brad?”
“Of course, sugar. You’ll think about renewing your contract, won’t you?”
Mallory McKendrick was not sure of many things at that point, but she was sure about one in particular. She hated memorizing lines, standing under bright lights and before cameras, getting up before dawn to go to the studio to be smothered in makeup. “No, Brad. I’ll finish out my commitment, but that’s all.”
“Fine,” Brad said, his calm manner gone. “You’re fired!”
“Thank you very much.”
“Mallory!”
Mallory replaced the telephone receiver gently. She had no more than stepped back from it when she felt a wild relief. For all the things that were wrong in her life, she’d taken one positive step. Once the few episodes she was legally bound to do had been taped, she would be free.
Maybe too free, she thought as the fact that Nathan was living in one house and she in another displaced her momentary pleasure.
She turned, looked around the humble kitchen, and saw that it looked almost exactly as it had when her mother had walked out of it for the last time. Was Trish right? Was she trying to cling to two people who no longer existed?
I’m on some kind of psychological roll here, she thought with grim humor. And she knew then that, on some subconscious level, she’d been waiting here, all this time, for parents she knew could not return to her.
Mallory wiped away the tears that had welled up in her eyes and reached resolutely for the telephone again.
Mrs. Jeffries spoke in crisp answer, her voice harried and sharp. Undoubtedly, people had been calling from all over the world, shocked by the news of Nathan’s retirement. Not to mention Renee Parker’s accusation.
“This is Mrs. McKendrick,” Mallory said wearily, her pride thick in her throat as she swallowed it. “May I please speak with my husband?”
There was a pause, perhaps to give the loyal housekeeper time to decide whether Mallory was really Nathan’s wife or just some brazen fan. “He isn’t taking calls now, Mrs. McKendrick—”
Mallory felt crimson fury pounding in her cheeks. It was bad enough to grovel, without being turned away like some salesperson or irksome reporter. “I want to talk to him now!”
Mrs. Jeffries reconsidered, and, a full two minutes later, Nathan ventured a cautious greeting into the phone.
Mallory didn’t know where to begin; they’d made such a tangle of things that any one of half a dozen conversational threads could have been picked up. She drew a deep, shaky breath, closed her eyes and took the plunge. “Do you think we could go back to square one and start over, Nathan?”
There was a silence on the other end of the line, and then a rasped, “I’ll be right over.”
Mallory remembered the things Trish had said to her that morning on the beach, and the sense of it all was undeniable. “No, I’ll come there.”
His voice was hoarse, broken. “Mallory—”
She swallowed painfully, knowing how troubled he was, regretting every moment she hadn’t spent at his side. “Shh. We’ll talk when I get there.”
“But—”
Mallory hung up the telephone.
The villa overlooking Angel Cove was of graceful, Spanish architecture, and Mallory admired it anew as she approached. It was enormous, boasting a terra-cotta roof and some twenty rooms in addition to a swimming pool and a plant-bedecked sun porch with its own hot tub. Holly trees grew in the yard, and the house looked out over the Sound and the private wharf where Nathan’s boat, the Sky Dancer, bobbed on the water.
Mallory was so caught up in the ambience of the place that she was startled by her husband’s voice.
“Hi,” he said, and she looked up to see that he was waiting on the front step. For all his strength, he looked so vulnerable in that moment that Mallory’s heart constricted.
“Hi,” she replied, when she could speak.
He was standing up, striding toward her. When they were face-to-face at the base of the long flagstone walk, he brought gentle hands to her shoulders and bent to kiss her forehead. “I would have killed the fatted calf, but we don’t have one.”
Mallory smiled up at him, feeling shaky inside. What if they ended up hurting each other again? What if—
Firmly she caught herself. “I’d settle for a glass of white wine and a dip in your hot tub,” she said.
He laughed. “You’re on. The phones are unplugged, and Mrs. Jeffries has stern orders to tell any visitors that we’re lost in the Cascade mountains.”
As they walked toward the magnificent house, Mallory tucked under Nathan’s arm and wondered how to begin straightening things out. She ventured a serious statement. “No sex, though—okay? Every time we try to talk, we end up making love and nothing gets settled.�
�
He held up one hand, as if to swear an oath. “No sex,” he promised. And then an evil light flashed behind the pain in his dark eyes. “For now,” he added.
Less than five minutes later, they were both in the swirling waters of Nathan’s hot tub, Mallory sipping the requested white wine. The black-and-white swimsuit she wore was one she’d left behind one summer day, and she was grateful that it was her own; she wasn’t quite sure she could have dealt with all the questions that would have arisen in her mind if it hadn’t been.
Nathan, his strong, tanned forearms braced against the tiled edge of the hot tub, watched her for several long seconds before he ventured, “Mallory, I was served with the summons today—it’s official.”
She wanted to avert her eyes, to look down at the warm water bubbling around her or stare into her wineglass. But she didn’t. She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed, and his voice, when he spoke, was low and rough. “My lawyers want me to settle out of court.”
“Do you plan to?”
Nathan shook his head quickly, but he didn’t look affronted by the question. “No. That would mean an admission of guilt.”
Mallory swallowed. “Nathan, you know you’re not guilty, and I know you’re not. Maybe it would be easier if you did settle.”
Nathan brought one gentle hand to Mallory’s shoulder, and his eyes searched her face. “Do you, Mallory? Do you believe I’m telling the truth?”
She nodded. “I guess I was just hysterical or something. I don’t know. Trish made me see that I might be—well, kind of holding out on you and on our marriage—trying to keep one foot in the life I had with my parents and one in the life you and I share.”
He said nothing; clearly, he was waiting for her to continue. She drew a deep, shaky breath.
“I—I never realized it before, but I think Trish had a point. I mean, I kept on calling myself ‘Mallory O’Connor’ and then there’s the house—”
Nathan smiled, traced the curve of her right cheek with an index finger. “Lots of women are using their own last names now, Mallory. It’s a sign of the times.”
Snowflakes on the Sea Page 11
