by Janet Dailey
As he passed the lit cigarette to Alisa, she knew with startling clarity that once they were divorced she would never stay in the same area that Zachary was in. Nodding that it was always possible that she could stay, she placed the cigarette between her lips, the warmth of his still on the filter. Her mind recalled the previous touch of his lips, harsh and cruel, shaming her and denouncing her piteous attempt to resist him. The memory was as clear as if he had left a brand. And in that instant, their truce was dissolved. Zachary must have sensed it, too, for he almost immediately rose and began packing the things away into the station wagon. The serene peacefulness of the afternoon was gone.
Chapter Six
THE first weeks of September inched by, each day seeming to pass slower than the last. The flurry of activity in the mornings as Christine would race to meet her school bus was accented by the hours that stretched ahead for Alisa to fill until the bus brought Christine home that afternoon. The grape harvest had begun. The vineyards were a hum of people and vehicles, picking and transporting the grapes to the winery on the hill above the house. And Zachary was directing the activity, rising and going to the fields long before the workers arrived and staying at the winery long after they had left. Alisa and Christine had usually had their evening meal long before he even arrived to dine. Very occasionally Zachary would join Alisa in the living-room, there sitting in companionable silence before excusing himself to pore over his paper work in the den.
During the first empty days, Alisa had wandered aimlessly around the house and yard, noting the changing autumn colours of the grapevines from green to brown-gold, and the ivy on the house slowly turning its flame red. Her walks often led her in the direction of the winery, but she always halted her steps in the shadow of the oak trees and gazed absently at the traffic shifting back and forth between the buildings and the vineyard. Zachary took his noon meals in those buildings. The returning half-eaten sandwiches were evidence that his attention was on his grapes.
Several times Alisa had heard the sound of hoofbeats on the gravelled road. She knew of only one person who rode a horse and that was Renée, although Zachary never made any mention of her presence. It was extremely unlikely that he would, knowing her feelings about Renée. Still it angered Alisa that Zachary was still meeting her, openly defying Alisa.
The combination of inactivity and unwillingness to meet Renée accidentally on one of her walks had driven Alisa back to the house. There she prevailed upon the housekeeper to let her help in taking care of the house, insisting that Nora had plenty to do supervising the kitchen, the laundry, the shopping and her own home without doing all the cleaning herself. So, slowly, over a period of days, Alisa took on the daily tasks herself, making beds, dusting furniture and floors, and anything else that would speed the passing of the hours.
Alisa opened the door to the master bedroom where Zachary slept and stepped inside, carrying one of his suits just back from the dry-cleaners. Her eyes trailed appreciatively around the room, admiring the ivory-coloured walls and the red velvet of the curtains. Straightening, dusting, and making the bed in this room had become her custom. Since the first day that she had nervously entered the room and discovered its elegant Mediterranean furniture on the plush red carpet, she had fallen in love with the room. She had known a moment of envy that Zachary occupied the room until she remembered, with a shiver, that as his wife she could share it with him. She was content to admire it and care for it.
But her special love was the adjoining room. It was too small to be considered a bedroom and too large for a dressing-room. Dirty, pale cream walls spoke of its neglect, as did the two lonely pieces of furniture, a daybed and a wardrobe. Alisa had known immediately its purpose–a nursery. Even now, as she opened the door and entered the room, she could see it transformed in her mind's eyes. The walls would be papered in a gentle green and white stripe to suit either a boy or a girl and the windows and woodwork would be painted an enamel white. The curtains could be an alry dotted swiss if it were a girl, or a coarse, nubby linen if it were a boy. In the place of the daybed, there would be a shiny white crib with dancing butterflies hanging down from a string. Near the window would be a rocking chair and a small floor lamp. In Alisa's imagination, the setting was very clear.
She stood in the centre of the room, unconsciously hugging the suit against her pastel coral sundress. As her head bent, the material brushed her cheek and she pulled away with a jerk. A tiny smile of embarrassment lifted the corners of her mouth at the wanderings of her thoughts. Alisa brushed the jacket sleeve against her cheek again, wondering curiously how many wives caressed their husbands, clothes like sentimental idiots and dreamed of the babies they would have. She turned with a cynically amused smile, telling herself how glad she was that she wasn't that kind of a woman.
"I wondered how long your daydream was going to last." Zachary stood in the doorway, a hand braced against the door-jamb. "You looked so content that I hated to disturb you."
"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the vineyards." Her face coloured slightly at his questioning look.
"I have to go into town to pick up a spare part, so I decided to shower and change first," he explained, still not moving from the door even though Alisa stood expectantly waiting for him to move. "A better question is what are you doing here?"
"I was just going to put your suit away. Nora picked it up from the cleaners this morning." Alisa hated the defensive weakness in her voice.
"My closet is in this room." His head turned slightly to indicate the room behind him.
"I know. I've been in there several times before."
"Have you?" The eyebrows over Zachary's left eye arched in mockery.
"I usually straighten things up a bit," Alisa added, not liking the gleam that was shining in his dark eyes.
"If you don't stop crushing that coat, we're going to have to send it back to the cleaners to be pressed." His glance slid from the two slightly bright spots on her cheek to her hands that were digging into the suit.
Alisa nearly dropped it in her hurry to release her damaging hold. "If you would move out of the way, I'd hang it up," she managed to say huffily.
"By all means." Zachary shifted his position to lean against one side of the door, permitting her enough room to pass through.
She glanced at him hesitantly, wishing he would have moved out of the doorway altogether. It would do her no good to let him see he riled her, so assuming as much coolness as possible, Alisa left the safety of the centre of the nursery to walk to the door. As she was about to slip past him, his arm moved out to bar the way.
"Would you please let me through?" She eyed him frostily.
His other arm moved to the opposite side preventing her from retreating into the nursery. Zachary moved away from the opposite door-jamb to stand closer.
"What were you thinking about a minute ago when you were standing there dreaming in the middle of the room?" he asked, watching her with that lazy regard that hid the fiery brightness of his eyes.
"If you must know, I was visualizing what it would look like if it were redecorated." A trace of exasperation and frustration sharpened her words.
"Do you know that it was built as a nursery?"
"I assumed it was," she replied with cold arrogance. "Now, will you let me through?"
"I noticed you called Nora, Nora. You two are finally getting along. What brought about this change?" Zachary ignored her request again.
"There didn't seem any point in insisting on formality when everyone else in this house doesn't." Alisa glared at him, angered by his relentless refusal to let her pass. "I've had a great deal of time on my hands since Chris has started school, so I decided to help Nora around the house. It's as simple as that."
"You've probably been at a loose end, haven't you? In another few weeks, the harvesting will be over and I'll have a bit more free time."
"That should please Renée," Alisa said sarcastically.
"I think it must have b
een your perfume that's lulled me to sleep these past nights." Zachary moved closer still, shrugging off her barbed words. 'It's a nice perfume, full of the innocent essence of spring flowers." His head bent slowly towards her as she stiffened and held herself rigidly erect. Alisa could feel the feathery lightness of his lips as he touched the side of her neck. "Where do you put it? Here, on the side of your neck." Zachary continued his nuzzling quest. "In the hollow of your shoulder." His lips gently followed the trail of his words while Alisa stood motionless, determined to let him see how little his lovemaking affected her. But it was a strange and sensuous sensation that covered her arms with goosebumps.
"Did your daydreaming include populating the nursery?" The unexpectedness of his question pulled her sharply out of her reverie of his actions, although the persistent nibbling on her neck didn't cease.
"Of course not!" Alisa breathed out in a shocked whisper.
"That's a pity. I suppose you've noticed my bed is very large." Zachary moved away long enough to gaze deeply into her blue eyes before his lips resumed their wandering on the opposite side of her neck.
"What's the matter? Haven't you seen Renée for a few days" Alisa questioned indignantly.
"As a matter of fact, I saw her this morning." Alisa could hear the amusement in his voice. "But that doesn't solve your problem of a baby. What do you suppose our baby would be like?"
Alisa was beginning to feel overpowered by his nearness. His blue shirt was completely unbuttoned. Her hands, even if she wanted to resist, couldn't push him away without touching the nakedness of his chest. The fragrance of his cologne with its masculine earthiness grew stronger with each breath she took. But it was the persistent caress of his mouth against the sensitive skin of her neck that was creating the most unrest inside her. She realized that she was trying to ward off a master in the art of making love.
"I'm not a maid who's forced to let her lord indulge his whims, Zachary," she said sharply. "And I assure you I've never even considered a … a … baby, and least of all yours!"
"Why don't you consider it now?" Zachary tilted his head back and smiled down at her wickedly before he moved forward again, this time to claim her lips in a gentle but ardent kiss.
Determinedly Alisa kept her lips cool and unresponsive to his touch, despite the increasing fire that threatened to melt her icy reserve. When she thought she couldn't make it any longer, Zachary moved away.
"Does it give you a sense of power to know you can arouse me?" he asked.
Alisa studied him carefully. Except for the burning fire in his gaze, there didn't seem to be any other thing that supported his statement that she had aroused him. He even seemed to be laughing at her.
"Did you feel any sense of defeat when you failed to arouse me?" she returned sharply.
"Oh, but I did arouse you," Zachary smiled. "Your heart was racing faster than a thoroughbred horse. Too bad I have to go into town, or our little diversion could have lasted longer. It would be interesting to see how long you could resist returning my kiss."
"You're the most arrogant, and vain—" Alisa began, angered uncontrollably by his assumption that she would have wanted to kiss him.
"The word is man," Zachary supplied, a confidently knowing smile curling the corners of his mouth.
Alisa didn't spare the time thinking about what she was doing. Her hand raced faster than her thoughts that commanded it. Only after the sting of the contact with his cheek registered did she realize that she had slapped him. Zachary looked at her. Then with the most irritating composure, he laughed.
"You'd better hurry up and get out of here," he chuckled still. "Hang up my suit or whatever you were going to do. I want to shower and change my clothes. You're welcome to stay if you want to."
Alisa wished there wasn't any carpet on the floor so that the sound of her stamping feet could echo in his ears. But unfortunately that wasn't the case. With an efficiency of movement, she had the suit hung up and was slamming the door as, from the corner of her eye, she saw the blue shirt go sailing across the room to land on the velvet bedspread.
Chapter Seven
"I WISH you'd leave those windows for one of the men to get, Mrs. Stuart," Nora called from her vantage point at the base of the ladder. "It's much too dangerous for you to be climbing around up there like that. Zachary would have my hide if he knew!"
"These windows were so dirty from all that dust flying around from the trucks that you couldn't see out of them," Alisa didn't pause as one hand clutched the ladder tightly while the other reached over to wipe a windowpane dry. "Besides, this is the last one and I'm all done."
"All I can say is thank goodness it's the end of October and the last field will be picked tomorrow," the housekeeper replied, firmly holding the ladder while Alisa started down from her second storey perch.
Alisa wasn't too sure she agreed. The harvesting had kept Zachary tied down and prevented any more chance meetings that might have led to further scenes such as the one in his bedroom. Although she had grown quite fond of Nora, Alisa could hardly confide a reluctance to the end of the harvest season. Instead she said that she would welcome the peace and quiet after the endless hum of activity.
"I just came out to make sure there was nothing else you'd be needing me for this afternoon and to tell you that your lunch was all ready whenever you get cleaned up," Nora stated.
"There's not a thing," Alisa assured her, reaching the bottom rung of the ladder. "You go on to town and visit your grandson and don't give a thought to anything out here."
"He's only in the hospital with a tonsillectomy. He'll be home tomorrow. But you know how children are. He expects his grandma to see him."
"He's in Chris's class at school, so you can tell him for her to get better in a hurry. According to her they have a really spooky party planned for Halloween," Alisa laughed, wiping her hands on her faded denims.
"If you won't be needing anything, I'll be going," Nora repeated after promising she would relay Chris's message.
"There's nothing," Alisa assured her again.
It took several more minutes of conversation before Nora was confident that she was leaving the house in capable hands and there would be no unforeseen calamities while she was gone. At last she was away, honking the horn at Alisa as she drove out the lane. Sighing heavily, Alisa gathered her various rags and bucket, and trudged into the house. She hesitated inside, debating whether to shower and change before eating her lunch or just wash for the time being. She decided on the latter, as the gnawing pangs of hunger increased their cry.
As she neared the kitchen, Alisa could hear the mumbled grumblings of Mrs. March, the cook. Cupboard doors slammed loudly, combined with the clanging of utensils. Grimacing to herself, Alisa squared her shoulders to face the short-tempered woman.
"Hello, Mrs. March," she said cheerily as she swung through the door. "How are things this morning?"
"Terrible, if you must know," the woman snarled. Her brown hair, laced with premature grey, was drawn tightly against her skull to gather in a bun at the back of her head. "I ain't one to complain, you know that."
"Not much," Alisa thought to herself, before banishing such thoughts with the remembrance of what an excellent cook she was.
"But that woman," obviously meaning Nora, "goes off and leaves me when she knows I'm in the middle of making a torte for dessert tonight. Why, it'll take me an hour or more before it's done!" Another cupboard door slammed shut.
"I don't understand. What's the problem?" Alisa asked, trying to assume a pose that would quiet the barely controlled tantrum.
"Would you tell me how I'm going to do this torte and still get Mr. Stuart's lunch out to him by one?" Her voice rang shrilly through the kitchen.
"Why didn't you ask her to take it out to him before she left?" Alisa asked, a sinking feeling descending upon her stomach.
"And have her start raving on about her grandson again? Not on your life!" Mrs. March shook her head firmly. "I guess I just might as wel
l forget all about this torte. Throw it in the garbage. Nobody in this house cares about all the time and trouble I take trying to make their food to put on the table. They just go on about their business without so much as a by your leave!"
"You know how much Mr. Stuart and I appreciate your efforts," Alisa soothed in vain.
"Well, there's some in this house, not mentioning any names, who just don't care one way or another."
"I'm sure there's a solution to this." She knew what the solution was, but Alisa dreaded taking it.
"And just what would that be? Calling Mr. Stuart and telling him to come down here to eat his lunch, with him working as hard as he does! Why, he'd just skip eating altogether." A spoon clattered loudly into a bowl.
"It's simpler than that, Mrs. March," Alisa smiled. "I'll just take his lunch up to him after I've finished with mine."
"Now why didn't I think of that myself?" The dull hazel eyes turned on her with the barest hint of gratitude in their depths.
"I imagine you were just too busy," Alisa said, a cajoling smile on her face while her heart sank to her feet at the prospect of going to the winery with Zachary's lunch. "No, I'll just wash up and have my own lunch."
"I'll have everything fixed all up for you in the morning-room, Mrs. Stuart. You're a real life-saver," Mrs. March nodded firmly.
Alisa's thoughts were more like this was a grand way to ruin what started out to be a beautiful day. But there was no other course of action open. She sighed, pushing her hands under the fast-running water from the tap and scrubbing at them briskly. There was always the possibility that Zachary would be occupied elsewhere and she could just leave the lunch for him. It was a small hope to cling to, but it was the only one she had.
Her own meal, though attractively appetizing, didn't appeal to her taste buds—either that or the prospect of seeing Zachary had robbed her of her appetite. In any case, Alisa pushed her plate away with only half the food consumed. While her resolution to take up his lunch held, Alisa returned to the kitchen and picked up the covered tray of food that Mrs. March had prepared.
