Judy Gill

by Golden Swan [LS-377] (epub)

  "Yes, we do. If we're going to wait to get married until Mel and Curt come home, then we'll have a big party so I can meet your friends and family and you can meet mine. I'm proud of you. I want to show you off."

  "Nah," she'd said, wrinkling her nose and turning her left hand from side to side so the candlelight caught in her diamond and sapphire ring. "You just want to show this off."

  "That's right," he'd said. "I'm an inveterate show-off." Taking her hand, he'd drawn it under the table and onto his lap. "See?"

  "Oh!" Her eyes had widened in surprise and delight. "Yes, siree, Mr. Mixall, you are indeed a show-off!" Leaning closer, she'd whispered, "And what, exactly, can you do with that. . . object?"

  "Let me take you home, and I'll show you."

  She'd pretended to consider his suggestion. "And what if I don't like what you show me?"

  "Then I won't make you go through an engagement party. Deal?"

  "Deal," she'd agreed, and now that the party was in full swing, she was glad all over again. To her great joy, Phyllis and Henry had taken time out of their bicycle tour of Australia to come to the party, and Edwin, the elder of her two brothers, had flown out from Edmonton with his wife Sylvia and three of their five grown children, each of whom had brought several offspring of their own as well as mates. Graham, her other brother, a handsome bachelor, had come "stag, as usual," as he put it, so he could dance with anyone he pleased.

  "So why are you wasting time on your baby sister?" B.J. asked as he swung her around the floor.

  "It's never a waste of time being with you, Sissy," he said, whirling her so the skirt of her blue dress flared out around her legs. He twirled her away, holding her only by one hand, then brought her back. "You're good to look at, little one. That man of yours is lucky."

  "I'm the one who's lucky," she said. She'd panicked at first, thinking that some member of her family might refer to the old B.J. in front of Cal. Now, as the evening progressed, and no one seemed to remember that she hadn't always looked this way, she found herself wishing someone would disclose the secret she'd kept from Cal for too long. At least then it would be out in the open—and she'd know, one way or the other. "I ... I can't really believe he loves me," she added, looking worriedly at Graham. "Or that he should."

  "Of course he should, and I can see that he does, and that you love him. It's about time, I think. You've been single too long."

  She laughed. "Look who's talking! I'm only thirty. You're fifty-six."

  Graham looked pensive for a moment, then said, "You know, I once found someone I felt for the way your man feels about you, but I made a mistake and let her go. So you hang on to that love of yours, Sissy. Hang on to it tight. It's important."

  She hugged him. "I know it is, and thank you."

  Giving her a quick hug in return, her brother set her away from him. "I guess I figure somebody should talk to you like a father, and as a much older brother, it seemed to be my duty."

  Next it was Edwin's turn. Over a drink in a quiet corner, he scowled down at her. "You're happy, aren't you?"

  "Very happy, Ed."

  "He's good to you?"

  "Wonderfully so."

  "Well, he's ever anything but, you come to me. I'll sort him out in a hurry."

  "Thanks, Eddie. You're a good brother."

  "Well, I wasn't always. I was the oldest, and when our parents died, I should have taken you in, given you a home, raised you myself. But I didn't. And I always felt I'd done wrong."

  "Ed, there's no need for feeling like that. I was better off in my own home, a familiar place, and Phyllis and Henry loved me as if I were their own. They were wonderful foster parents. I wasn't unhappy."

  His scowl deepened. "But you could have been a lot happier. I never figured out why Phyllis let you stay so . . ."

  "Fat," she supplied. "A psychologist told me that Mom and Dad probably overfed me as an infant and a small child to compensate for not having wanted me. When Phyllis and Henry took over, they let me go on overeating because I was a sad and bereaved little girl and food seemed to comfort me. By the time anyone realized exactly what was happening, it was too late and I was busy engineering my own destruction. You can't blame yourself or anyone else. It was just the luck of the draw. And now my luck has turned, and I am happy, Eddie. Happier than I ever believed possible."

  "Excuse me, Edwin," said Cal, lifting B.J.'s untouched drink out of her hand and putting it on the tray of a passing waiter. "May I have my fiancee for a few minutes? I miss her when she's away too long."

  "Take her, son. Take her. With my blessing." Edwin raised his glass in salute.

  Cal gathered her close and they danced away. "I'm glad I have somebody's blessing," he said with a chuckle. "Henry just told me that he's the nearest thing to a father you have, and that he felt it was his place to tell me that you weren't as sophisticated as some of the women I might have known, and to be patient with you. The suggestion was that if I didn't make you happy, he was going to rip me into small pieces, or words to that effect."

  B.J. laughed. "Wow! From having no father, I seem to have gone to having three of them all in one evening. Graham's just been handing out advice to me, and before you came and rescued me, Ed was threatening to sort you out on my behalf if you didn't treat me nice."

  "I'll treat you nice," he said, and she shivered at the promise in his tone.

  "When?" she asked. She rubbed the tips of her fingers around the back of his collar, sliding them onto his nape and into his hair. "You haven't treated me nice since this afternoon."

  He looked down at her, his eyes slumberous and full of love. "If you don't cut that out right now, Miss Gray, you might find yourself missing your own engagement party."

  She smiled at him. "We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

  His hand traced the low V at the back of her dress and slipped inside the silk fabric, finding living silk much more to its liking. "Oh, wouldn't we just!"

  "Yeah," she said. "We would, but we'd disappoint a whole lot of people, I guess."

  "Who'd you rather disappoint, me or a bunch of strangers?"

  "I won't disappoint you," she said, and cringed inside, thinking that eventually she was going to have to do just that. But not tonight. No. Tonight was too special to ruin with confessions that should have been made long ago.

  "I know you won't. You never have. You never will. I love you, B.J."

  He drew her closer and they danced in silence, content for the moment Just to hold each other, love each other, breathe in each other's scents. When their guests had finally gone, Cal surprised her with the key to a suite he'd taken in the hotel where the party had been held.

  "So we don't have to waste time driving home," he said. They went up to their room and neither was disappointed in the other.

  "I hate dropping you off here," Cal said on the Monday morning following their party. "Do you know how empty my bed is while you're tucked away in your virginal little boarding-school bed? How lonely my heart?"

  "No more lonely than mine," she said, holding his hand. As they had every other Monday morning since the school had reopened in early November, they were trying to say good-bye discreetly in full view of a school full of girls—interested, nosy girls. At least B.J. wanted to be discreet. Cal had no such intention.

  "But you have a classroom of active kids to keep you occupied," he said, tugging on her hand. She slid a few inches closer. Just close enough to feel the warmth of his body, she promised herself. Just close enough to smell the scent of his skin.

  "You have your work," she said. "And a show coming up in less than two weeks."

  "I know. Are you sure you have that weekend free? I can't do it without you, B.J."

  "I'm sure I have it free. And even if I didn't, you could do it without me. You have many times before."

  "That was then. Now, I need you."

  "You've got me. But you also have to let me go."

  "Kiss me."

  "Cal! Those girls will gi
ggle and I'll blush, so don't!"

  "I like to see you blush," he said, and gave a tug on her hand, tumbling her across the seat and into his arms. "Kiss me," he said against her lips. She gave in, opening her mouth under his, accepting the deep, loving caress of his tongue and returning it in kind.

  When she opened the door and stepped out of the car, Kara came running to take her hand. "B.J.—I mean, Miss Gray," she whispered, "you're blushing."

  Cal leaned out his window and called, "I love you. Miss Gray!" The girls giggled. B.J. blushed even brighter, and turned to wave as he drove away.

  "How was the party?" Kara asked. "And how come you didn't come for breakfast with us yesterday like Grandma and Grandpa did? Are you going out for dinner with us tonight? They got special permission to take us out because they're going back to Australia tomorrow so they can finish their bike tour."

  "Kara," said her sister. "Give her a chance to tell us about the party. The first bell's going to go any minute!"

  "Hi, Laura," B.J. said, hugging her other great-niece. "The party was wonderful and I'll tell you all the details later. I wish you could have been there."

  "Me too, but Grandma says when it's the wedding reception and we're bridesmaids, we get to stay as long as we want."

  "Right, and now I have to run or my students will get to class before I do." She kissed them both and darted away, skirt swinging around her knees.

  That was her wedding reception they were talking about. Each time she thought of it, she got butterflies in her stomach, and they weren't always the pleasant ones of delightful anticipation. Did all brides feel like this even months before the wedding, or was it her increasingly guilty conscience bothering her?

  As the days passed B.J. grew more and more disappointed in herself for her continued silence and the way it was affecting her relationship with Cal. But was it just her secret, as she suspected, raising a cloudy barrier between the two of them? It could be, she knew, partly his concern and nervousness over his coming exhibition. And with that on his mind, how could she justify easing her own by adding another burden to his load?

  She told herself she was using his exhibit as an excuse, but as it seemed like such a good one, she let her silence continue. She knew he was excited. There was a quiet tension about him that almost hummed sometimes, and as the opening night of his show grew closer, he grew more and more anxious. By the time that Friday itself arrived, he was unable to eat dinner, unable to sit still, unable to talk. He paced, his face taut and white, glancing at his watch over and over again, rubbing his face with one hand as if wiping away sweat.

  "It's going to be all right," B.J. told him, sliding her arms around him. "Everything's perfect. Lord, are you always like this before a show?"

  "No."

  "So what's different this time?"

  "I—I can't talk right now."

  He jerked out of her arms and strode away, leaning on the window of his studio, looking up the mountain at lights that blurred before his eyes.

  Oh, hell! he thought. He wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. He should tell her. He should have told her weeks ago. He should have showed her weeks ago. But he hadn't, he couldn't, and now it was too late, because if he told her now and she hated the idea, she might refuse to go. If she didn't go, she wouldn't see it, and if she didn't see it, she wouldn't be able to understand. And what if she hated him for what he'd done?

  She wouldn't! Of course she wouldn't. Phyllis, her own sister, who was as close to her as a mother, had told him that. "She'll be thrilled," Phyllis had said, and hugged him. "I wish I could be here to see her face when she sees it, Cal. You're right to keep it as a surprise. If you tell her, she'll just fret and spend her days and nights on edge wondering if anyone else will like it. As of course they will. I wish you'd reconsider selling it, and let us have it. Living over in Victoria, we don't get to see her often enough, and you'll have the real thing."

  "It's not for sale, Phyllis. Not for any amount," he'd said. Right now, though, he'd give it away for nothing, if only he didn't have to go through any more of this self-imposed agony of wondering if he was doing the right thing.

  "Darling, it's time to go," B.J. said, coming up behind him and placing a hand in the middle of his back.

  He wheeled and crushed her in his arms, oblivious to the fact that he was also crushing her cream silk dress and the pale gold and pink orchid he had pinned on her not fifteen minutes before. "I love you!" he cried, kissing her with a desperation she could only wonder at. "Don't ever forget that. I love you more than I love anything else, or anyone else in the entire world!"

  "I know, love," she said, gently disentangling herself. "I'm not going to forget it."

  He was silent as they rode in the back of the limousine the gallery had sent, silent as they pulled up to the brightly lighted forecourt where a milling group swirled and separated, some going inside, others waiting, microphones poised, alert, watching for the guest of honor.

  When Cal opened his door, he was immediately surrounded. When B.J. stepped out with the chauffeur's assistance, another group isolated her, shouting questions at her.

  "Ms. Gray, do you have any words for us as you go inside to see this very special exhibit? Is this a big moment in your life?"

  "Yes, of course. This is the first of my fiance's shows I've ever attended."

  "But the portrait, Ms. Gray, the portrait. How do you feel about that?"

  B.J. blinked in consternation at the man who had asked. "What portrait?"

  "The one we're all waiting to see. Surely you have, even if no else has, not even the gallery staff."

  "I'm sorry. I think there's some kind of mistake. My fiance doesn't—"

  "Haven't you seen it yourself?" asked someone else.

  "No. I don't know what you mean. My fiance doesn't paint portraits."

  "Then what about the one that's to be unveiled tonight? It's listed here as Mr. Mixall's first portrait." A reporter waved a printed sheet at her. "Model, Miss Barbara Gray. Don't you feel honored to be the subject of a painting entitled Enchantment?"

  "Is it a nude, Ms. Gray?" asked a woman in bright red.

  "Is that how you met your fiance, Ms. Gray? Were you one of his models?"

  A dull roaring sound filled her head. She tried to answer the question, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. She closed it again, hearing again the words. Is it a nude, Ms. Gray? and hearing Cal saying, as he had that night so many weeks ago, Someday you'll let me paint you like this, with your breasts all rosy and swollen, their tips wet and hard from my kisses.

  "No ..." It was a soft moan of protest, heard by no one but her. He couldn't have! He couldn't have taken something so personal, so private, so precious as their love and the way it made her look, the way she had thought she looked only for him, and put it on public display! Could he? She looked at him over the top of the limo, her eyes wild with panic, and he gave her a helpless smile, a shrug, as if to say, "What can I tell you?" She let out a tearing cry and wrenched open the door of the limousine just as it started to edge out through the crowds. She tumbled inside, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  "Miss? Miss?" She heard the driver, but couldn't lift her head to look at him. Humiliation filled her. Pain radiated from her every pore. I've finally got you captured, the full beauty that's been eluding me all these weeks. . . . Smile at me and say, "I love you, Cal."

  And she had snatched the covers up and told him to stop.

  But though he may have stopped drawing, he had sneaked away and painted. Painted her.

  "Take me home," she cried. "Please, please, get me out of here!" Dimly, she heard a pounding, but still didn't lift her head. The locked door shook, but she was oblivious.

  "Miss, Mr. Mlxall's running after us," the driver said.

  "Just keep going! Go!" she moaned, and huddled there as the big car turned the corner and the sound of shouting was left behind.

  Sometime, she must have given the driver her address, bec
ause she found herself handing him her keys so he could unlock the front door. "Will you be all right, miss? Should I call someone? A friend? A doctor?"

  "No. Thank you. Good night."

  She closed the door and sank to the floor, wishing for the release of tears. There were none, only a burning, aching emptiness that went right to the bottom of her soul.

  At length she arose and went to her room, opened her closet, and took out an album. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the unopened book. She didn't need to open it to see what was there, and because she had never showed Cal, he didn't know. What he had done was her fault. Because of her, he had made a complete fool of himself in public. He had used his talent to perpetrate a lie, and once he knew, he would never forgive her.

  When she heard the door open downstairs, she knew it was him, but was too heartsick to get up and close and lock the door to her bedroom, or even to tell him to go away. Besides, what good would it do? He wouldn't go. Not until he knew the truth. And once he did, he'd go, and then maybe she'd be able to cry and rid herself of this terrible ache in her chest.

  "B.J." He stopped in the doorway, looking at her narrow back, her bent head. "Why did you run? You could have let me explain."

  She didn't turn. "You shouldn't be here. You have a show to open. A . . . portrait to unveil."

  "To hell with that!" He strode into her room, stopped in front of her. "Don't you understand? Without you, without the portrait, there is no show! And that portrait won't be unveiled unless you're there to do it."

  She lifted her head and looked at him. "Good," she said softly. "Then it won't be unveiled. At least you'll be spared that humiliation."

  He crouched before her, not touching her, but looking at her ravaged face. He'd expected tears. What he found was a hundred times worse. Tears filled his own eyes and he blinked them back. "I didn't mean to humiliate you. I did it because I love you. Because I want you to see yourself as I see you. It was the only way I could show you, B.J. The only way to convince you of the truth. I know you don't think you're beautiful, and I wanted you to see that you are."

  She let out a long breath and shook her head. "I said you'll be spared the humiliation, Cal. Not me. Oh, I admit at first that's all I thought about, but sitting here . . . with this"—she patted the leather cover of the album—"I realized that I had done something terrible to you, and that in doing it—not doing it, rather—I might have cost you your career."