by Lois Winston
“Now,” she said, twisting to look at me. “What was it you wanted to know about Pepper?”
“It’s not about Pepper, actually, but Robert” I paused, feeling like something of a jerk, then forged ahead. “What’s he like?”
If she thought the question odd, she gave no indication. “Cautious, deliberate, demanding, bright, a stickler for details, very proper. And not a heck of a lot of fun. He likes to be in control and he likes to be right. But for all that, I like him. He’s a true gentleman and knows how to turn on the charm.”
Holding her mug with both hands, she sipped her coffee thoughtfully, then shrugged. “He’s really more George’s friend than mine. Although we occasionally got together as couples, Pepper and I never really hit it off.”
“But you’ve known him a long time?”
“George has. They went to boarding school together and then ended up at the same college. I met him once or twice way back when—and he was at our wedding— but until he and Pepper moved to Walnut Hills I never really talked to him.” She laughed. “I still don’t. He and George talk a lot about the tax code and rates of return. I generally don’t pay much attention.”
“So you didn’t know Pepper before she married Robert?”
“Never met her until they moved out here. George was kind of miffed that we didn’t even learn about the marriage until after it was all said and done. I gather it was kind of a spur of the moment thing. No real wedding at all.”
I set my cup down on the table in front of me and thought how best to phrase my next question, but nothing seemed just right. “Did they get along okay?”
“As well as most couples. They didn’t argue or try to one-up each other in public, if that’s what you mean. In fact, I remember noticing once the fond way Robert draped an arm over Pepper’s shoulder as he was talking. It must have been one of those times when I’d had it up to here with George’s sense of propriety.” Sharon punched the pillow at the back of the chair and shifted her position before continuing. “They were certainly no Romeo and Juliet, but then who is after a few years of marriage?”
The next probe felt even more awkward, but I plunged ahead anyway. “I’ve heard rumors that Pepper might have been having an affair.”
Sharon shrugged. “It wouldn’t have surprised me.” Something must have shown on my face because she laughed.
“It’s not uncommon you know.” The laugh passed, but the gleam in her eye remained.
“You?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
I’m not sure I was shocked, exactly. More like amazed, and maybe a little awed. I was beginning to think I was the only woman in Walnut Hills leading a mundane, puritanical life. Except, of course, for Daria, who wasn’t so much puritanical as blinded by love.
“Men like Robert and George,” Sharon explained, “they’re so sober and sedate. They make wonderful husbands, but lousy soul mates. And only passable lovers. Technically competent, but sadly lacking in passion.”
I thought of Andy who had plenty of passion, all of it focused on himself. It wasn’t even clear to me that he was technically competent, but I’d never thought of filling the void. Until recently that is.
“Why are you so interested in Robert? Are you planning to move in on him too?” she asked.
“Too?”
“Susie Sullivan. She was over here yesterday, pumping me with all kinds of questions.” Sharon leaned forward and patted me on the knee. “Kate, you can do better than Robert. He’s worse than George, by a long shot.”
A half-giggle rose up in my throat and I almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. “I have absolutely no romantic interest in Robert. He’s definitely not my type.” And besides, I wasn’t the kind of woman who played around, was I?
Sharon studied me, trying to determine if I was telling the truth. “So why all the questions?”
“This sounds crazy I know, but I never knew him very well and . . .” I stopped and took a deep breath. “And it crossed my mind that he might have had something to do with Pepper’s death.”
She laughed loudly. “Robert? You’ve got to be kidding. If he were the one who had been killed, I might suspect Pepper, but never the other way around. It just isn’t his style.”
“That was my thinking too, but anything’s possible. And he did have a temper I’ve heard.”
She shrugged. “No worse than the rest of us. Besides, why would he do it?”
“How would Robert take it if he found out Pepper was seeing another man?”
“I don’t imagine he’d be too happy about it, but I can’t see him killing her for God’s sake. Besides, I don’t know how he’d ever find out unless she told him. He has a fine eye for details which have a financial implication, but everything else seems to float by him. She’d have to practically bring her lover into bed with him before he’d notice.”
“Several people have told me they saw bruises on Pepper’s arms and legs.”
Sharon shook her head, but more in bewilderment than denial. “I don’t know, it sounds pretty unbelievable. Still, I guess none of us can ever really know what goes on in another’s head, can we?”
It was an idea I would have liked to explore further, but just then Anna and Kyle came in to announce that the movie was over and since they’d been so good, could they please have extra ice cream.
Our conversation turned to less weighty matters, and when the ice cream was gone Anna and I got ready to leave.
“By the way,” Sharon told me at the door, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. My sister ran into an Andy Austen from Walnut Hills last week when she was in Switzerland, of all places, at this little out-of-the-way restaurant that had been written up in Gourmet. That’s your husband, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It’s a small world.”
“He was with his cousin. Apparently she’s a famous Italian fashion model. If she ever comes for a visit I’d love to meet her.”
I promised I’d introduce them, though of course I never would. Couldn’t, in fact. Andy had no female cousins at all.
TWELVE
Warm water pounded my back, easing the cricks and cramps resulting from a troubled night’s sleep. You don’t know anything for sure, I told myself. Maybe Andy really does have an Italian cousin, some distant relation he looked up on the spur of the moment. Maybe, I answered right back, but I doubt it. And some things you don’t need to know for sure. High probability is enough.
Guiltily, I let the water run, even after I had soaped and rinsed my body and thoroughly washed my hair. California’s water situation was going from bad to worse as one dry winter followed another, and our daily water allotment, already curtailed, was due to be cut even further now that summer was approaching. Just a minute longer, I promised myself—repeatedly, for a full ten minutes. Fortunately, Max’s frantic barking saved me from a record-high utility bill, and maybe even a visit from the water police. A moment later, as I was stepping from the shower, Anna peered into the bathroom.
“There’s a man at the door for you.”
“Anna!” My voice was shrill and, I hoped, harsh. “I’ve told you time and again not to open the door to strangers.” God only knew what wily con artist was, at that very moment, prowling around the front rooms of the house, trying to sniff out the Ming vases and silver tea sets we had so wisely put off buying.
“It’s that same man.”
Grabbing my terry robe, another of Andy’s castoffs, I trudged down the hallway, hair dripping wet. In my haste, I didn’t bother to think about Anna’s words, using the precious seconds instead to formulate a suitably nasty threat about calling the police.
But they were already here.
Michael Stone slouched against the closed door, rubbing Max’s ears. “Good morning, Kate. I wanted to catch you before you left for work.”
Wiping away the rivulet of water that snaked down my cheek, I pulled the robe tighter around my middle and retied the sash. “Here I am.”
“I guess you were
in the shower.”
“You’re very observant.”
“And you’re very pretty, even dripping wet. Especially dripping wet in fact.”
“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time this morning.”
“That’s okay, neither do I. But I’ll wait if you want to dry off first.”
A little puddle was forming at the base of my feet, but I ignored it and tried my best to glower.
Michael waited, a lopsided grin creasing his face. “And if you keep tugging at that robe,” he drawled, “it’s going to rip right in two.”
I knew when I was outgunned. “I’ll just be a minute,” I told him, trying for a hostess-in-control formality. “You can make yourself some coffee if you’d like. The filters are in the drawer next to the sink.”
Ten minutes later, hair damp but no longer dripping, makeup artfully in place, and dressed, for a change, in something other than sweats, I waltzed into the kitchen. Stone eyed me for a moment, then, with an appreciative grin, handed me a cup of hot coffee.
“You’re very pretty when you’re not dripping wet, too.”
Ignoring him, I sat down at the table. “Now, what’s all this about?”
He sat down across from me and sipped his coffee. “I wanted to see if you’d have dinner with me.”
“Tonight?”
“Or tomorrow, if you can’t make it tonight.”
“Evenings are kind of hard for me. Baby sitters, you know.”
There was that cocky grin again. “How about lunch then?”
“I work, remember?”
“Every day?”
“Except weekends and Wednesdays.”
“Great, tomorrow’s Wednesday. I’ll pick you up about eleven- thirty.”
I watched his eyes crinkle with pleasure; then I set my cup on the table and laughed too. “Does this qualify as police harassment?”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Michael said with a wink. He leaned back in his chair. “Oh, there was another thing. There’s no Tom working for Robert, and no one who drives a Jeep Cherokee, blue or otherwise.”
He waited, gauging my reaction. “Be careful Kate. If you play with fire you’re bound to get burned.”
I thought his warning applicable to numerous areas of my life right then, and Robert was the one that worried me least.
~*~
Several times that afternoon and the next morning I picked up the phone to cancel lunch, but in between, I savored the giddiness of anticipation. And in an odd moment here and there, I found time to contemplate what I knew of Robert and what I did not. Why he might have lied to me about the car.
All in all, it was a long twenty-four hours.
Promptly at eleven-thirty the next day, Stone arrived at my doorstep, whistling softly under his breath. We drove to Concord and pulled up in front of a newish-looking complex of garden apartments.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“My apartment.”
I looked at him blankly.
“A friend’s actually, but I’m staying here while he’s on assignment back East. Barbara has the house.”
“What about lunch?”
He grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m a wonderful cook.” His grin grew wider. “Among other things.”
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“That’s because you haven’t tasted one of my omelet’s yet. They’re the best in the West, guaranteed.” Flipping his jacket over his shoulder, Michael began whistling again, a breezy, upbeat tune. He continued to whistle as we walked up the main path and turned left to his front door, but I noticed that his hand trembled as he put the key in the lock. It was that, I think, that finally did it. There was no longer a decision to be made.
Once inside, Michael kissed me lightly, just barely brushing my lips with his, and then, when I didn’t protest, he pulled me tight against him and kissed me again, a longer, more serious kiss that seemed to go on almost forever.
And thus it was that I found myself at high noon in the middle of the week, when I should have been pulling weeds or folding laundry, recklessly tossing my carefully selected wardrobe onto the floor.
Michael, who had helped with the tossing, pulled me onto the bed next to him and kissed first one eye, then the other. As he was working his way toward my mouth, I suddenly giggled, and he looked stricken.
“It’s not you,” I hastened to explain. “It’s the bed. I’ve never slept on a waterbed, much less made love on one. It feels as though I’m about ready to bounce off onto the floor.”
“It does take some getting used to.”
I bit my lip. “It’s that—and the fact that I’m nervous as hell.”
With soft, cool fingers, he brushed the hair from my face. “You don’t have to be nervous, Kate.”
“But I am.”
Michael moved to the left and gently tucked the pillow around my head. Then propped himself on an elbow next to me and began stroking my body with a slow, soft touch. “You tell me when you stop feeling nervous, okay?”
In the end, I didn’t have to tell him, it was obvious. But Michael didn’t rush anything, even then.
“I want you to enjoy this,” he murmured, his breath warm on my neck.
“I am,” I murmured back, and later, curled beside him, my head nestled in the hollow of his shoulder, I told him again. “I don’t remember when I’ve felt this good.”
“I wasn’t a complete incompetent then?”
“Hardly.” I ran a hand over his chest and down to the inside of his thigh, feeling the hard curves of his body beneath my fingers. “In fact, you were terrific.”
“So were you, Kate. I can’t begin to tell you how terrific.”
“Yes you can—go ahead and try.”
But he just grinned. “You hungry?”
“You mean food?”
“I invited you for lunch, didn’t I?”
“It wasn’t just a ploy to get me into bed?”
“That too, but I did get stuff for lunch. In case you said no.”
I sighed contentedly. “Maybe later. I don’t think I’m ready to move just yet.”
“Good, neither am I.”
We nestled in comfortable silence, soaking up the pleasure of intimacy. After a time Michael leaned across and kissed me on the chin.
“Kate?”
“Hmm.”
“I know it’s a little late to be asking, but are you on the pill or anything?”
I shook my head. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m already pregnant.”
There was a moment of absolute stillness, like the ringing silence that follows the crash of good crystal. Then he rolled onto his back, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
“Jesus, Kate, you might have said something earlier.”
“The timing never seemed quite right”
“Well, you certainly waited for an opportune moment.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Of course it does. I guess. I mean, it should, shouldn’t it?”
In truth, it had barely crossed my mind. And that was a frightening realization. During all those moments when I’d entertained erotic fantasies of Michael Stone, I’d never once thought about what came next. A bright, blinding flash of passion—and then a Hollywood fadeout. But in real life there is no fadeout.
“I’m sorry.” I longed to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid he would pull away.
“When were you going to tell me?”
When I knew you better, I thought. But that was a heck of a thing to say to a man who’s lying naked in bed with you.
“Or maybe this is just a quick roll in the hay for you,” he said coolly. “No need to get personal. Just have your fun and be gone. Is that what you’re thinking? Because that’s certainly not the way I see it.”
“And that’s not the way it is.”
Michael continued to stare at the ceiling, his jaw tensed.
“Really, I am sorry,” I said again, this time braving a quick kiss.
“It’s just that it’s kind of an awkward thing to bring up, in these particular circumstances I mean.”
He grunted and then, with a shy smile that reached all the way to his eyes, rolled back to face me. “Actually,” he said, “it wouldn’t have made any difference. I’ve been thinking about this since that first morning I met you. And lately, I’ve thought of little else. You could have told me you were from another planet and I wouldn’t have cared.” His eyes skimmed the length of my body. “You don’t look pregnant though.”
To my eye, I did, but he had no way of knowing that the rounded belly and full breasts before him were not the real me. “Not quite two months,” I told him. And then, without meaning to, I also told him about Andy and how mixed up everything was. My eyes began to smart, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, my cheeks were wet with genuine tears.
“Geez, Kate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”
“You haven’t,” I managed to burble between shallow, uneven breaths. “You’ve made me very happy.”
Michael leaned over and kissed me again, on the forehead. “I can make you even happier,” he said. “Want me to show you?”
~*~
We did, finally, get lunch. And Michael was absolutely right about his omelets. They were superb. We sat on the little deck off the kitchen, balancing our plates on our knees, stealing kisses between bites.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, spearing a piece of mushroom with his fork.
I shrugged. “Nothing much.”
“Then why are you frowning?”
“Was I? I’m sorry. It’s not the company, I assure you.” Setting his plate on the bench next to him, Michael reached for my free hand and held it between his own. I could feel him looking at me even though my head was turned. “You’re the first woman I’ve been with since Barbara left,” he said slowly. “The first woman I’ve wanted to be with.”
