by Diana Palmer
After her husband died, Marlene’s kind periods grew further apart until they all but vanished. Marlene had allowed Ivory to go to design school only on the understanding that she would begin repaying her debt to Marlene from the minute she got her first paycheck. Ivory would have agreed to anything to get away. And once in Houston, she’d changed her name legally to Keene in a half-hearted attempt to escape her mother. But she’d been too intimidated to run away completely. She sent small checks home, cashier’s checks from the bank, and tried to put the past behind her.
One incident, however, was impossible to forget—or forgive. Not too long after Larry had died, Marlene found a new boyfriend. She and her new man got roaring drunk the same week Ivory was accepted to design school. Marlene decided then on a ménage à trois. She helped her boyfriend hold her daughter down, laughing all the while. Fortunately, he was too drunk to do much. Also fortunately, an off-duty policewoman who had been passing by, heard Ivory’s screams and rushed to her assistance. After Marlene’s cursing, drunken boyfriend was taken away in a squad car, Marlene became hysterical and claimed to be the victim. She blamed the whole episode on her daughter’s attempts to seduce the man. Because Marlene had built such a tissue of lies to belittle her daughter, she was believed again. That was the last straw for Ivory. She accepted the scholarship by letter and when she received the paperwork, she announced her plans to leave despite all of Marlene’s threats. Perhaps Marlene realized that she’d crossed the line during her last drunken spree, because she didn’t really try very hard to deter her daughter.
Ivory had escaped and nothing on earth would make her go back. Still, the thought of her mother kept her sleepless some nights. Ivory had built a good life for herself here in New York. People accepted her as someone with a decent background, as a person in her own right. Marlene could ruin it with her lies. To keep her away, Ivory had no choice but to split her check with Marlene. The threats came by mail, regularly. Pay up or else. She knew that her mother wasn’t bluffing.
Marlene blamed everyone, especially Ivory, for her lack of wealth. She could have had a career if it hadn’t been for her ugly daughter keeping her in prison, she raged. It was Ivory’s fault. She wished the girl had never been born. Once, she pulled her father’s old shotgun out of the closet in one of her drunken bouts and threatened to kill Ivory. Fortunately, there were no shells for it. The pale blue eyes staring at her down that long barrel had screamed murder.
There were no social services offices in Harmony and no close family to report the mistreatment of her child. The school officials knew nothing of Ivory’s home life, and Marlene made frequent trips to PTA meetings and activities to show everyone what a good mother she was. Early on, she’d learned how to convince people that Ivory was a pathological liar. The small Texas community was full of people who only shrugged when Ivory ran out in the road from time to time crying that her mother was hurting her. Marlene had told them that Ivory did it frequently, for no apparent reason. She made sure that the bruises didn’t show. By the time Ivory was in her teens, Marlene had destroyed her credibility.
Even today, if she were to go back to Harmony, Texas, people wouldn’t think any better of her. She’d heard from the one friend she had that Marlene told everyone how ungrateful her only child was, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that Ivory never even came to see her.
After her husband’s death, Marlene had been allowed to stay in the small house, which was owned by Larry, who had been her husband’s boss. The job Marlene had induced him to give Ivory was picking and packing fruit in the orchards with a family of Mexicans who worked on his farm. It had been hard work, but Ivory had had no choice. She wasn’t badly treated, she was away from Marlene all day and she was paid. Of course, Marlene took the money; but some of Ivory’s few happy memories were associated with that loving Hispanic family. That was where she’d learned her Spanish. It was part of the past she felt obliged to hide from Curry, although he made the lowliest profession seem noble if it involved sacrifice. His mother had been a housekeeper, and he thought her a paragon. He didn’t seem to care very much about social position, but he cared about people. Ivory smiled at that thought and then grew sad remembering that he and Belle had been out on the town.
She went home that afternoon, Christmas Eve, with her heart around her ankles, imagining Belle out at some glitzy party with Curry. He might spend some of the evening with his mother, though, considering her condition. She mustn’t be jealous of him, Ivory told herself firmly. She had no right.
Curry had mentioned that he planned to drop by on Christmas Eve for his present, but Ivory didn’t believe he really meant it. She was sure that he’d forgotten all about her, so she didn’t bother to dress up.
After she made herself a meager supper, she sat in front of her gorgeous Christmas tree with a cup of instant cappuccino and listened to Christmas music on television. She had developed a love for opera, and Luciano Pavarotti was singing arias, along with Plácido Domingo, on the educational channel.
The buzz at the intercom came just at the end of “Nessun Dorma,” from her favorite opera, Turandot, by Puccini. She grimaced at the interruption in the middle of the exquisite crescendo, and she lingered just a moment before she got up, reluctantly, to answer the signal. It must be a neighbor, she thought, offering good wishes.
“May I come up?” a familiar deep voice asked.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Y...yes! Of course!” She pressed the buzzer next to the intercom to unlock the outer door.
A minute later, there was a knock on the door and she ran to answer it. Curry was leaning there against the wall, in the sort of evening clothes she had seen only in store windows. Her heart ran away at just the sight of him. He was unbearably elegant, from his white tie to his tuxedo, an overcoat with a white silk opera scarf thrown carelessly over one arm. Even his black dress shoes were polished so brightly that they reflected the hall light overhead.
He lifted a dark eyebrow, letting his curious gaze wander down her body in the jeans and bright red T-shirt she was wearing.
“There didn’t seem any need to dress up,” she faltered. “I didn’t expect anyone...”
He smiled lazily. “Not even me? I told you a while back that I was going to stop by for my Christmas present, didn’t I?”
Of course he had, but she hadn’t really believed he would after she’d talked to Belle. “Oh!” She opened the door and let him inside, closing it gently behind him. “The tree, it’s lovely,” she rambled as she watched him drape the coat and scarf over the back of her one straight chair. He was studying the tree intently.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “You did a good job,” he toned, watching her closely. “Belle said that you looked worried when she went for her fitting.”
She lowered her eyes before he could read her feelings in them. “I couldn’t get the darts in the jacket straight,” she lied.
He didn’t believe that for a minute. “She told you that I took her to a gallery showing.”
She drew in an impatient breath. “Look, you have no ties to me,” she said. “It’s none of my business. I only work for you.”
He moved toward her slowly and stopped a foot away. He tilted her face up to his searching gaze, watching her color. “Don’t. I know how I’d feel if someone told me you’d been out on the town with another man.”
Her expression was fluid. Surprise finally won it over.
“I told you at the beginning that Belle and I were friends, but I think I’d better qualify the relationship. The gallery showing was all business. Belle was wearing one of the pieces from another of our collections. I wanted to show off some of our designs. I had two other models there as well, not just Belle.”
“O...oh.”
“I don’t usually bother explaining myself. It’s different with you. You’re very vulnerable. I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily.” He traced the soft flush down her ch
eek to the comer of her mouth and let his finger explore the shape of her soft lips.
“We aren’t...involved,” she whispered, made breathless by his intoxicating nearness and that maddening finger tracing her mouth.
“We could be, if I were more of a roué,” he replied with a faint smile. “I’m very protective of you. Even against my own base inclinations.”
“Are they so base?”
He chuckled. “You might think so.” He bent and brushed his mouth lightly over her lips, drawing back much too soon. “Where’s my present, Ivory?”
“Mercenary man,” she accused.
“Well, I don’t get presents often,” he explained. “I told you.”
She reached under the tree and drew out the small package. The other one, for Dee, had already been given away. She placed it in his hands with trepidation.
“It’s not much,” she said worriedly. “Don’t expect...”
He kissed her softly. “Hush,” he said, his deep voice tender.
He opened the package and the small box. He smiled, and with genuine appreciation.
“It’s a real pearl,” she pointed out.
Odd that she seemed to think it was, when he knew from the setting that it was cultured. Perhaps she didn’t buy pearls often. Well, she’d know the difference after tonight. And not for all the world would he have admitted that his jewelry case had a dozen or so tie tacks made of South Sea pearls set in 18-karat gold. He examined it with the same satisfaction he’d have felt if she’d given him a new yacht.
“Do you like it?” she persisted, nervous.
“Oh, I like it, all right.” He bent and kissed her again, a little longer this time, with breathless patience. “I have something for you, too.”
“But you gave me the tree! And all those decorations!”
He waved the expense away. “Hardly a proper Christmas present. Here.”
He handed her a box. It had a jeweler’s label on it, and inside was a black velvet-covered box. Her hands trembled and almost dropped it as she forced the lid open and saw what was inside. She kept looking, unbelieving.
“Great minds run in the same direction, don’t they? Try them on.”
Her fingers touched the pearls. They had the palest pink sheen, like the inside of a seashell. They felt hard, and strangely warm. “They’re...real?” she faltered.
“Yes, they are. And I mean real, not cultured.”
She had a vague idea of the expense. “But you can’t!”
So she did know the difference in price. That reassured him. A woman from her wealthy background would have to, of course, and she would hardly have spent hundreds of dollars for a tie tack on such short acquaintance.
“Of course I can do it,” he replied. “You’ll be going to shows, meeting buyers, representing the company. You can’t dress properly without a good string of pearls. Presumably you don’t like jewelry, because you seldom wear any.”
She had to agree because she couldn’t admit that she couldn’t afford nice jewelry; she was supposed to be from wealthy Louisiana society. She took the pearls reverently out of the box and put them on, uneasy at handling something so beautiful and costly. She’d never had a good piece of jewelry in her life.
“The catch is tricky, isn’t it?” she asked with an apologetic laugh as she fumbled with it.
“Here.” He fastened it for her, breathing in the faint floral scent that clung to her hair, which was almost as wavy as his own. His hands on her shoulders were heavy and warm, lightly caressing. “Do you have a mirror?”
“A handheld one, on the dresser.” Her voice sounded husky.
He let her go, reluctantly, to fetch it, and held it so that she could see the way they looked against her throat. She had a slender neck. He’d been right about the color, too. It suited her skin tone much better than a silver-gray tint would have.
“These, too,” he added suddenly, producing a second box. “I noticed that your ears were pierced.”
“Oh, no, Curry, you can’t,” she pleaded, embarrassed by how expensive the gifts were.
“Yes, I can. Don’t argue.”
She opened that box, too, and discovered a pair of pearl studs that matched the necklace. There was such a difference between these small pearls and the one in his tie tack that she felt mortified. Hers was so obviously a cultured pearl, but she hadn’t known until she’d seen the real thing. She hoped he didn’t wonder why she didn’t know the difference. She still had so much to learn about wealth.
She fitted the earrings into her lobes and then stood looking up at him with anticipation.
He nodded. “Yes. They suit you, all right. I’ll have to take you out one night, so that I can wear my tie tack. We’ll be perfectly matched, like the pearls,” he teased.
Her face fell with her eyes. “I couldn’t go out with you.”
“Why?”
“Well, look at me,” she said on a groan, indicating her clothes. “Curry, I can’t afford the clothes I’d need to go out with you! I’d be an embarrassment to you at an exclusive restaurant, without the clothes I left back home. You see,” she lied convincingly, “I wanted to start from scratch. I wanted to earn my place in the world, all the way, so I brought nothing with me.” She laughed nervously. “Why, you wouldn’t want to be seen with me at the local fast-food joint in the sort of clothes I wear...”
“Querida,” he said gently, pulling her back when she would have walked away. “You’re lovely as you are. The clothes are not important.”
She smiled. “Thank you for the compliment but you know how important clothes are—you make them.”
“And you design them. You can wear the beautiful satin dress you wore to my party,” he reminded her.
“I sold you the design...”
“And I’m telling you to wear it,” he returned.
She brightened. “You’ll have to wait for warmer weather, though.”
He framed her face in his lean hands. “What sort of coat do you want? I’ll buy one for you.”
She colored furiously and tried to move away. She remembered Marlene teasing her married lover, begging for pretty dresses and coats and new shoes.
He held her securely. “I embarrass you. Why?”
“I’d feel like a kept woman,” she said. “Without honor, or pride.”
“Ah. I see.” He drew in a slow breath as he studied her. “No woman such as you has come into my life since I became wealthy,” he mused. “I don’t know how to deal with someone who wants nothing material from me.”
“The pearls are too much, already,” she said. “I’ll be able to afford a coat in a month or so.”
“The financial obligations you mentioned—are they serious?”
“Heavens, no!” she laughed, flushing a little. “I send money to a poor relation back home, that’s all.”
He watched her closely. “You do this because you choose to?”
“Of course!”
Her reply was a little too quick. He was a shrewd man, with a keen intellect, who knew when an answer was less than the truth. But he was a good poker player, as well. He smiled. “Of course.” He pursed his lips. “Since you will not permit me to buy you a coat, will you permit me to lend you one?”
She blinked. “Well...”
“Only for an evening out,” he promised.
“I suppose I could do that,” she said, yielding to his persuasion, while inside she was churning with excitement. “I haven’t been out at night since I’ve been in New York. Just to a movie occasionally.”
“New York at night is not a thing to miss,” he said. “After the new year, we’ll make a point of some evening entertainment.”
“I guess you’re busy with family this time of year, especially now,” she added gently, remembering his mother.
His face darkened for an instant.
“Yes.” He touched her soft hair. “It’s a sad time for us, but we mustn’t show it. Mama gets upset if we pamper her too much. I want you to meet her.”
“In the new year,” she agreed.
He looked gently on her uplifted face. “We’re like family already, aren’t we?” he asked in a whisper. “Two lonely people who find such joy in being together that it’s difficult to keep the distance between us, even at work.” He chuckled. “My secretary remarked the other day that I spend more time drinking coffee with you lately than I do on the telephone.”
Her eyes brightened as she searched his lean, solemn face. “I’ve felt that way, too, about being close to you, I mean. I didn’t know you did. You have so many friends...”
“Not like you,” he explained gently. “I feel comfortable with you, safe.” He laughed. “What a thing for a man to admit.”
“But you are a man,” she replied quietly. “Very much a man. You don’t have to prove it, do you?”
His powerful shoulders rose and fell. “Once in a while,” he confessed. “Big business has its challengers and some are devious and bad-tempered.”
“I suppose I’ll learn about that soon enough.”
He nodded. “If you climb in the company, which I fully expect, you’ll have to learn to deal with the board of directors. I have no doubt you’ll do that quite well.”
“I’m not very assertive.”
“It comes with age.” His expression changed as he looked at her. “You’re so young,” he said softly. “And I’m thirty-seven.”
She reached up and touched his firm, warm mouth. “I’ve never known anyone like you,” she said in a voice as quiet as his. “It wouldn’t matter if you were fifty...” She hesitated. “I don’t know how to say it. It hasn’t anything to do with age. It has to do with what people are, inside.”
He held her palm to his mouth and kissed it hungrily. “Perhaps it does, but you’re very unsophisticated and I know too much about women.”
“Such as?” she asked, deliberately provocative for the first time in memory.
