"I'll bet it's the housekeeper." He stared at her for a few moments. "I probably ought to warn you that the older black woman who lives here is a little on the strange side."
"What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, he reached out, as if to touch her hair, then jerked his arm back to his side.
Surprised, she stepped back. What did he think he was doing?
He shoved his hand back in his pocket and cleared his throat. "You had a leaf in your hair, but the wind blew it off."
Yeah, right. She patted the thick braid at the back of her neck. "Er, thanks. You were going to tell me about the old black woman?"
He appeared nonplussed for a few seconds. "Oh, yeah. Well, my reception wasn't exactly what I expected. An old black woman answered the doorbell and when I stepped inside, she stared at me as if I'd suddenly sprouted horns. Then she started saying something I couldn't understand and swayed back and forth until some old man came into the hallway and led her away."
The corners of Mary's mouth twitched, but she kept her serious expression. "Maybe she wanted you to leave before we started the inventory. Sometimes the servants don't want the estate to be sold and they create problems while the inventory is in process. I've had it happen a couple of times, and it can get ugly."
He shook his head. "Nah, I've been in this business a long time and I don't think that's what she was doing. At first I thought she was having some sort of attack. Funny thing, though. She kept calling me Jean."
Jean? As in Jean-Pierre? As he continued to speak, she tried to figure out why that name sounded so familiar. Surely she would have remembered meeting someone with such an unusual name. She was so intent on her search for an elusive memory link that she missed the rest of what he said.
He made a small sound, and she felt foolish when she realized he expected some sort of comment, though she didn't have a clue how to respond. She chided herself for acting stupid. It was a good thing she didn't have blonde hair. She tried to drag her thoughts back to the present. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" she mumbled.
He rubbed his hand across his mouth, as if to hide a grin. "I said the old woman called me Jean. It must be the French version of Jack. Look, I didn't mean to alarm you. I only wanted to warn you in case you got the same welcome. It was, to say the least, unnerving."
She pressed her lips into a false smile. "Thanks."
He watched her walk away with mixed emotions. The blue sweater outfit she wore hugged her slender figure, and desire stirred within him.
God, she was even more beautiful than she'd been five years ago. Her long red tresses reminded him of a summer sunset glimmering at the edge of the horizon, and her eyes were the color of exquisite jade. He wanted to free her hair from its confining braid and run his hands through its shimmering glory.
What had gotten in to him? Cursing himself for his stupidity, he zipped his jacket and started toward the house.
Just as Mary reached up to knock on the door, it opened and an older woman walked forward. Her smiling lips revealed sparkling white teeth as she held out her hand to Mary. "Welcome to La Fleur House. I am Justine Domineaux, the housekeeper. It's a pleasure to meet you. Mrs. Martine told me you'd be arriving today so I've made your room ready. If you'll tell me where your luggage is, I'll send Markham out to get it."
The scent of jasmine drifted toward her, and Mary realized the housekeeper couldn't have picked a more appropriate perfume. Slender, with blue-gray hair styled in the latest fashion, Justine brought to life Mary's mental image of a mature "Southern Belle." Her voice, with its soft Southern drawl, sounded like liquid honey; her skin was as smooth and white as any magnolia blossom. Even her clothes, which didn't have a single crease, contributed to her aura of charm and graciousness.
She shook the woman's outstretched hand. "Thanks. I'm Mary Corbett. I appreciate the warm welcome."
Justine's smile widened. "I do hope you enjoy your stay with us. If you need anything, just ask."
The tap, tap, tap of a cane as it struck the floor interrupted them. Mary turned and watched an elderly black woman hobble down the hall. This must be the woman Jack warned her about. Her gait was slow and she leaned heavily on a curved ebony walking stick. She reached the group and clung to Justine's arm while she adjusted a tattered black shawl across her bony shoulders.
The difference between the two women was remarkable. Justine's attire was immaculate, but the old black woman looked as if she'd just climbed out of bed. Her faded red shirt sagged across bony shoulders and her black skirt was ripped and stained in several places. Coarse black hair threaded with silver, stood out in all directions. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, divided by a nose that closely resembled an eagle's beak. Dark eyes glittered beneath bushy gray eyebrows.
The old woman cleared her throat and a misshapen index finger pointed to Mary. "You here now. About time. The spirits told me you were gonna come. I done seen the signs," she whispered in a raspy voice. "You da one."
Surprised, Mary could only stare. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" she stammered.
The crooked finger wagged back and forth and the old woman's cackle echoed down the hall. "You heard me. The spirits knows when somebody good or bad comes. I can tell. I seen the signs."
"Now, Sadie, we don't need to keep our guests from their work," Justine interrupted in a voice as smooth as butter. "I'm sure Miss Corbett and Mr. Windom have things they need to be doing. Why don't you and I go back to the study and I'll turn on the radio for you. It's almost time for your favorite program." She draped an arm around Sadie's shoulders and lifted her gaze to Mary and Jack. "Please excuse me while I take her back to the study. The drawing room is the first door on your right. Would you mind waiting in there for me? I won't be very long."
Jack nodded. "I know where it is." After the two women disappeared, he leaned toward Mary. "See what I mean?" he whispered in a tone tinged with laughter. "I told you the old black woman was strange."
She ignored his comment and followed him down the hall. This really was too much. The old black woman's appearance reeked of melodrama. Did Sadie really think it would scare her? She must have been desperate to stage such an elaborate charade.
Justine reappeared a few moments later. "I apologize for Sadie's outburst. She's getting on in years and sometimes her ramblings don't make much sense. Please don't let what she said frighten you. There's nothing to be afraid of in this house; never has been. And we certainly don't have any spirits or ghosts."
Jack stirred the embers. "Has Sadie lived here long?" he asked as he tossed another log into the fireplace.
Justine perched on the edge of a faded brocade chair. "Lord, yes. She and Markham have lived here longer than I care to remember. I think they came with Mr. Ventereux when he inherited this house from his grandfather." She patted her lacquered hair. "That must have been sometime back in the early fifties. I seem to remember that Markham once told me he'd been with Mr. Ventereux for over thirty years. In those days, you see, Markham worked as the groundskeeper and Sadie kept the house. Mr. Ventereux was kind enough to let them stay on after they retired."
"Does anybody else live here?" Mary asked.
Justine rose and smoothed the front of her skirt. "No. Ever since Mr. Ventereux died, it's just been the three of us." The mantle clock chimed as she walked toward the door. "If you're ready, Miss Corbett, I'll be glad to show you to your room. It's getting late and I must see to dinner."
"Please, call me Mary."
"Thank you. You may call me Justine. Please, follow me and I'll show you where everything is located. That way, you'll have time to get situated before dinner."
Jack lifted a newspaper from the coffee table. "You two go ahead. I'll catch up with you later. I've already had my tour of the house."
Justine pointed out various objects and volunteered bits and pieces of background information as she led Mary down the hallway. Shivers raced down Mary's spine as she realized she already knew the layout of this house. Several
times she found herself tempted to point out mistakes in Justine's explanation, but realized she'd look foolish when she couldn't explain how she knew that Justine was wrong. By the time they ended the tour, her nerves felt like bits of frayed wire, jagged and torn. Once Justine left the room, she collapsed onto the side of her bed and stared at the tall French doors. There had to be an explanation for the memories that kept popping up. Now that she had a few minutes to herself, maybe she could figure out what it was.
She was still mulling over the day's events when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed six-thirty. She rushed downstairs to join everyone in the formal dining room.
Even though the plaster on the walls was cracked and the hardwood floors creaked, the dining room was graceful and elegant. Antique china matched the floral patterns embroidered on the snow-white tablecloth and stained wallpaper. Tendrils of steam rose above covered dishes in the center of the table, and Mary's mouth watered as her nose identified the tantalizing aroma of roast beef.
Justine introduced Markham, said grace, then invited Mary and Jack to help themselves.
Sadie said nothing, but managed several loud belches while she waited for the bowls of food to be passed toward her. Mary bit her lips to keep from snickering and stared at the embroidery on the tablecloth. She wasn't about to dignify Sadie's behavior by giggling. A few minutes passed, and when no additional noises came forth, she looked up.
Markham sat quietly at the far end of the table. Tall and thin, he wore his faded black dinner jacket with an air of elegance and grace. His grizzled white hair was slicked neatly against his dark scalp, and Mary noticed a horizontal scar at the top of his forehead.
His face, covered in wrinkles, revealed no hint of his inner personality, and she wondered if he'd always been quiet, or, like the house, had his spirit broken by circumstances beyond his control. When his gnarled hands passed a bowl of mashed potatoes toward her, she saw that the index finger on his left hand was about an inch shorter than his other fingers. Had he been in some sort of accident? She made a mental note to ask Justine about him once she got to know her better.
Jack kept the conversation going, and she sat quietly, observing him. He certainly hadn't changed much. God, he looked good. She wondered what it would feel like to have him wrap his arms around her and hold her close to his chest. Surprised at the path her thoughts were taking, she shifted in her seat and studied the design on the china bowls in the center of the table. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes met Sadie's, and the old woman's lips curled into a lopsided grin. Startled, Mary looked away, worried that the old woman could tell what she'd been thinking.
The meal was excellent, as was the wine served with it. After imbibing several glasses, she decided her memories about the house were merely the result of a vivid imagination and no lunch. When her offer to help with dinner clean–up was declined, she retreated to the safety of her room.
The massive canopy bed was comfortable, but her mind refused to quit. One thing still puzzled her. How, after five years, could she still be attracted to Jack? It wasn't as if they'd had an affair. She hadn't even thought about him for several years. Why, after all that time, was her attraction to him still so strong?
The humiliation of their last encounter surfaced, bringing with it painful memories. She cringed when she recalled, how, after drinking too many potent cocktails, she'd told him she was attracted to him and wanted to spend the night in his room. Unfortunately, his reaction hadn't been what she'd expected. Instead of accepting her offer, he'd explained that although he was flattered, he was engaged to be married, and must therefore decline. To make matters worse, he'd treated her like a child, assuring her that she'd feel differently in the morning. He then walked/carried her back to her hotel room, dropped her onto the top of her bed, pulled a blanket over her, and left.
That was the last time she'd seen him. The next morning, too embarrassed by her behavior to face him, she'd taken the coward's way out--hiding in her room until it was time to catch her plane.
Even now, as she thought back to the five days they'd worked together, she still couldn't believe that he hadn't felt some kind of attraction for her. Her assessment of him couldn't be that far off. It was almost as if they were meant to be together. They laughed at the same things, made the same kind of notes, and both shared an intense passion for their work. Surely no man and woman could get along that well without feeling some spark of mutual attraction. Had it been a foolish infatuation on her part?
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Sadie entered, carrying a silver tray. "Justine told me you had a headache, so I brought you a cup of warm milk to help you sleep."
Mary sat up. "Thank you. That's very kind."
Sadie set the tray next to the bed and touched her arm. "Don't you fret, child. I know you done remembered things you can't understand. Don't you worry none. You one of the chosen ones. The night of the Blue Moon's coming and that's when you'll know why you know all them things you keep trying to forget. I done seen the signs." She held a finger against her lips and tiptoed out of the room.
Mary climbed out of bed, more amused than worried. Evidently the three staff members were working together, trying to frighten her into leaving. The other two were probably doing the same thing to Jack. They obviously wanted to prevent the sale of the estate. She wondered if they realized Mr. and Mrs. Martine would simply hire somebody else if she and Jack left.
Well, whatever their game was, it wasn't going to work. If they thought strange sayings and warnings were going to frighten her off, they were wrong. It would take a whole lot more to make her leave.
Satisfied that she'd explained Sadie's strange behavior, she climbed back into bed. The question of why she knew so much about this house hovered on the edge of her subconscious, like a moth circling a light. Sometime during the night she realized that the answer lay buried deep in her memory. She just needed to find a way to bring it to the surface.
Chapter 3
Jack's eyes followed Mary as she left the dining room. Part of him wanted to run after her and the rest of him wanted to keep her at arm's length. God she was beautiful, with her long hair and jade green eyes.
He wandered back into the drawing room and fixed himself a whiskey. Gulping it down, he pulled one of the overstuffed chairs closer to the fire and stretched his long legs out toward the fireplace. As he stared into the dancing flames, his muscles relaxed and the throbbing pain in his temples eased off.
This whole setup had been strange. He wasn't even supposed to be here; a last minute car accident had put the other curator in the hospital, and he'd been asked to fill in. Because his connecting flight had been delayed, he hadn't arrived until well after nine p.m. By then, all the rental cars were gone, so he'd hired a taxi to drive him out to the plantation. Big mistake. One hour and sixty dollars later, he'd arrived.
Then he met Mary and his emotions had gone haywire. The flickering flames of desire he'd felt five years ago were now a blazing inferno. He wanted to hold her close against him and feel the touch of her bare skin next to his. He was attracted to her all right, but he wasn't going to do anything about it. He couldn't--because of Audrey.
How could he love one woman and still be attracted to another? That puzzled him, and made him feel guilty. Sure, he'd felt attracted to Mary five years ago, but, good God, who wouldn't? In the short time they'd worked together, they'd gotten along better than anyone he'd ever met. Even Audrey. It was almost as if he and Mary were on some different level of communication. They thought the same things, said the same things, even laughed at the same jokes.
He smiled as he recalled her offer to sleep with him. It had taken all his determination not to say yes, but he knew that they'd both regret that decision the next morning. Especially since she'd been more than a little drunk. He wondered now, as he had then, what made her offer to spend the night with him. They'd worked together for five days; she'd had plenty of opportunity to approach him before then. Why wait unti
l the night before they left? It wasn't as if she slept with every man she met. He was as certain of that as he was of his own name.
If it hadn't been so close to his wedding, he'd have been tempted to see where their attraction went. However, with the wedding only two days away, there was nothing he could do but leave. It was too late to postpone the arrangements, and Audrey would have been devastated. His expression saddened as he thought of his wife. In the five years they'd been married, they'd had more than their share of ups and downs. Recently, he'd even thought about asking for a divorce, but that was before Audrey got sick. She needed him now, more than ever. Whatever attraction he felt for Mary was something he didn't dare think about.
If that wasn't enough, he had Sadie to contend with. Strange didn't even begin to describe that one. His introduction had been unusual, to say the least. She'd also reacted strangely to Mary. Maybe she didn't like outsiders. It was anybody's guess. The only normal thing about this whole setup had been Justine, the housekeeper. At least she seemed normal. Who knew what secrets she was hiding?
Right now he didn't have the desire or the energy to get tangled up in an affair. He considered calling his boss and asking for another curator to finish the job. With Audrey as sick as she was, he shouldn't have come anyway. It would be easy for him to request a replacement. All he'd have to do was tell his boss she'd taken a turn for the worse and he could leave. No problems, no entanglements. He stood up, reached for the phone, then stilled his hand. Something deep in his subconscious prompted him not to make the call. Not yet.
Puzzled by his abrupt change in decision, he nevertheless decided to go with his gut feeling that he needed to stay. He'd relied on his instincts for years and hadn't been sorry yet. Heaven help him if this time they turned out to be wrong.
Chapter 4
Mary's eyes opened as she jerked herself to an upright position. It took a moment for her fuzzy brain to realize it was still dark. Something had awakened her. Was it a noise, or was someone in her room? The slow tick of the bedside alarm clock boomed in her ears as her eyes scanned the dark, menacing shadows for an intruder. When she realized nobody was there, she chided herself for being afraid.
Blue Moon Page 2
