His insight shook her. Deep in the fear was the belief that she could tell no one, that she was alone in the awful knowledge that … that what?
“I haven’t been alone. Dr. Brenner has talked me through it every time. The bad ones anyway.”
“But you don’t love him.”
“He’s as old as my dad.”
“Who left you.”
Her heart pounded. Was it possible she didn’t trust Dr. Brenner? Or maybe she thought if she let go, she’d lose him too. He’d never been unprofessional, but she depended on him as she would her own … dad.
“Maybe I can tell the monster to leave you alone.”
She shook her head. “Dr. Brenner’s tried everything to make the nightmares stop.”
“Not everything.” He set their dishes on the floor and lowered the trays. “Now then. The other night when I kissed you—”
“I am not making out on this airplane to trigger a panic attack.”
“Just enough to make it talk.”
“That’s not funny, Smith.”
“I’m not teasing, Tess. If you knew what it was saying—”
“I know what—”
“Then tell me.”
It felt as though a hand gripped her throat. “Not a word.”
“I can’t. Not like this, not now.” She got up and went to the bathroom, more to distance herself from him than from any real need.
He stood as she returned, then retook his seat. “I’m sorry. I thought it might help.”
She sighed. “I understand. I wish I could fix me too.”
CHAPTER
16
Smith took Tessa’s cue and kept the conversation light, telling her about Bair’s wild rugger days. “He got so aggressive in the matches he’d behave badly, so drunk afterwards he behaved worse. The crowds loved him, but he didn’t think much of himself. When I offered him the chance to complete his education in the States and join me, he jumped at it.”
“I can’t picture him violent.”
“It wasn’t pretty.”
“But he’s so … gentle.”
Smith laughed. “Not on the pitch.”
“Was he good?”
“You mean to make a career of it?” He shrugged. “Good entertainment.”
“I wonder if he misses playing.”
“I’m sure to some degree.” He looked over. “Do you still play tennis?”
“I’d be very rusty.”
“Maybe we could hit around a little when we land. If the resort has a court.”
“I seem to recall you making me run a lot more than necessary.”
He smiled. “I’m rusty too.”
“Love-thirty handicap.”
“All right.” He fought another smile because he did remember making her run. “I’d like to loosen up before meeting with our clients, and the slots aren’t really my thing.”
“But if you did continue working for Mr. Gaston, wouldn’t you be designing casinos?”
“Or other resorts. Or vacation homes. Some possibilities for labyrinths there too, you know.”
“Somehow I’m not seeing it.”
He laughed. He’d forgotten what an easy conversationalist she was, naturally open, whereas Danae had made him pry out what little she ever surrendered of her inner thoughts. He’d wanted to know so much more.
Tessa picked up on his frown. “Are you worried?”
“Yes. You?”
She shook her head. “Your design is perfect.”
“Our design.”
“All I did was talk.”
“You found the heart of it.”
“Well.” She leaned back. “That’s a big part of what I do. Gleaning from the different clients the specific purpose they intend for their paths.”
“Is it ever dark?”
“Dark?”
This could get touchy, he realized, but went on anyway. “You know, like the nightmares. There is a bit of paganism involved in the whole labyrinth thing.”
“There’s paganism in Christmas trees and Easter eggs and days of the week and wedding rings.”
“Wedding rings?”
She nodded. “All of them, things Christianity has sanctified.”
“I just wondered if you’d built any, knowing they would be used for occult purposes.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Smith. Not for something satanic.”
He searched her face. “So your labyrinths draw people to God.”
“Not all. The one I just completed is more of a memorial for an old woman to remember her husband. I imagine her steps will take her through thoughts and reflections of their years together.”
“I see. Nothing frightening in that.”
“Depends”—Tessa shrugged—“on how ornery he was.”
Smith’s mouth pulled up. “Quite.”
Hot and loose-jointed from their tennis match, Tessa climbed into the shower. The exercise had been good, but now it was time to prepare for their meeting with Petra Sorenson and Rumer Gaston. She hadn’t been entirely honest about not being nervous. Had she read Petra correctly? Would Mr. Gaston accept the changes, appreciate the beauty of Smith’s design? What if her resistance to Gaston’s original plan cost Smith the contract?
She turned around in the water and let it rush over her face. She had to believe they’d both “catch the magic.” Some tweaking was possible, but by and large it was all there, a cohesive blend of their needs.
She met Smith in the lounge on the twelfth floor that Mr. Gaston had chosen for their rendezvous. She had put on the only semi-dressy outfit she had with her, a navy layered skirt with a matching off-the-shoulder top. She had pulled up her hair, since Smith thought that looked professional, and threaded her earlobes with a dangle of freshwater pearls. She had a bracelet of the same, but only the gold cross necklace her mother had given her lay in the hollow of her throat.
Still, Smith’s expression when she walked in was gratifying. His gray suit and blue shirt played off the hues in his eyes as he watched her approach. He stood with elegant ease and held the high stool at the round table. She climbed up, and he murmured in her ear, “Petra watch out.”
“This old thing?” She smoothed her skirt. “Why, I only wear it when I don’t care how I look.” She’d always wanted to use that old movie line.
“Well, it’s bewitching. You’re bewitching.” He reached over and took her hands. “How am I supposed to concentrate?”
She allowed a tiny smile.
“Tess, you’re beautiful.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“It’s just that … why do you mask it?”
She raised her brows. “I don’t. I just don’t flaunt myself.”
He brought the knuckles of both her hands to his lips. “I’m smitten.”
“That didn’t stop you destroying me on the tennis court.”
The tease was back in his eyes. “I’d have to play blindfolded not to.”
She narrowed her eyes dangerously, but before she could adequately insult him back, the dazzling duo entered the room. Or rather Petra dazzled in a slinky silver shift and Mr. Gaston rode her wake—a full six inches shorter, but every bit as commanding. His broad brow spread between deep-set eyes and a coifed hairline. His lips pulled thinly over perfectly capped teeth, yet the thickened bridge of his nose and a pale scar near one ear gave the impression of a thug who’d come into money.
He thrust out his hand, squeezing just a little too hard as he welcomed her, eyebrows raised in a way that had more to do with seeing what she thought of him than anything he thought of her. “So this is our maze specialist. You held back on me, Chandler, not mentioning your ‘expert’ was so charming. What are you drinking, Ms. Young?”
“Nothing yet. I just—”
“Champagne.” Gaston turned to the server who had materialized at his elbow. “Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque ’96.” Then to Petra. “Martini?”
She nodded with an aside to Tessa. “No bubbles.”
&n
bsp; Tessa smiled. She was not fond of champagne herself but hadn’t been offered a choice.
“So.” Rumer Gaston rubbed his palms and eyed Smith conspiratorially. “What have you got for me?”
No small talk, then. Tessa glanced at Petra, whose mouth had firmed. Did she assume, like her fiancé, that they had ignored her requests?
The table surface would not have been adequate for blueprints, but Smith opened his laptop and accessed the CAD design that he had rendered in 3-D for this presentation. The sommelier appeared with a silver wine chiller and the champagne wrapped in white cloths. With practiced ease he kept the cork from launching, then poured the flutes to the exact height and set them around. Didn’t champagne signify completion and satisfaction? In celebrating up front, Gaston showed reckless confidence that they had done his bidding.
The server brought Petra’s martini, and even in that she’d been singled out. Tessa chose to believe Mr. Gaston merely knew her preferences, but it sent a visual message of solidarity in the rest of them. Maybe that was why he hadn’t asked hers or Smith’s opinion before ordering. It was all so subtle.
Smith gave a brief explanation of how they had created what he was about to show them. Tessa felt a prickle up her neck as Rumer Gaston realized his original expectations had been modified and Petra’s ideas given credence. At first, he simmered, but then as he grasped more and more of the plan, his mood shifted. He looked at Smith with a penetration that made her glad his focus wasn’t directed at her. When it had all been laid out, Smith stopped explaining and waited.
Petra touched Rumer Gaston’s arm and excused herself. With a motion of her head, she beckoned, and Tessa slipped off her stool, thinking her timing couldn’t be worse. This was the time to have her say, to let Rumer Gaston know what she thought.
Inside the black and copper ladies’ room, Petra situated herself before the mirror to speak as one reflection to another. She arched an eyebrow. “How did you do it?”
“Do … ?”
“That wasn’t Smith Chandler’s original design.”
“We thought about what you wanted and melded it with Mr. Gaston’s ideas.”
“But how did you make him change it? I could have yarked for days, and he wouldn’t have heard me.”
“He heard you.” Tessa tucked a wisp of hair back into her clip.
“He asked me to collaborate on a design that would work for both of you.”
Petra frowned. “How well does he know Rumer Gaston?”
Tessa shrugged. “Only through this, I think.”
“Rumer expects to get what he wants, the way he wants it.”
“If you had told him your ideas, he might have brought the changes to Smith himself.” Had they done Petra and Rumer a disservice by working the plan without them?
“You don’t understand.” Petra touched a gloss wand to the center of her lower lip. “I came in here on the chance he might change his mind—if I’m not there to see it happen.”
Tessa had no idea how to respond, but Petra read her thoughts.
“Why do I put up with that? Because Rumer is riding his star, and it’s rising fast.”
“But you could—”
“Have anyone I want?” She drove the wand into the bottle. “I’m twenty-three. How much runway do you think I have left?”
Wasn’t twenty-three incredibly young to feel washed up? “He’s your fiancé. He must want to know what you like.”
Petra flicked her fingers through the white front of her hair. “Whatev. I got what I wanted. That’s what counts.” She turned from the mirror, all sharp cheekbones and smooth skin.
It was like talking to a shell, a beautifully polished shell the real creature had left behind.
The pulse pumped in Gaston’s temple. “This is not what we discussed.”
Smith held the laser beam of Gaston’s gaze with difficulty and resisted making excuses. He wished Tessa hadn’t left the table. She might have explained their reasoning—her reasoning—better than he could. “We felt it a good blend of the elements we’d been given. Yours and Petra’s.”
“I’m surprised you made that choice. It shows confidence, willingness to take a risk.”
Smith shrugged. “Designs get modified.”
“Mine don’t.”
Again he held his tongue. Tessa had said Gaston wanted to be king. It was in his bearing, his tone, in his command of the room, his casino, his castle. Tess had never met him, had heard only Petra’s side, yet she’d hit it dead on. Probably fifteen years more experienced and immeasurably more voracious, Gaston pinned him with a stare that could shrivel.
Smith didn’t let it. The afterglow of what they’d accomplished had resettled while showing the design, and he would not betray their effort by apologizing. Either Gaston agreed or he didn’t. They could tweak or revamp or throw the whole thing out and start over. But he would not apologize.
Gaston’s eyes narrowed. “Petra show some leg? Promise to play nice?”
Smith stiffened. “Actually it was Tessa. She thought it important you both enjoy your new home. Petra’s ideas at first seemed incongruous, but after hashing it out, we found creative ways to blend the visions—as I imagine you and your fiancée would have done.”
“You imagine wrong. I decide what makes Petra happy. And I give it to her. Anything I want her to have.”
Smith bit hard on the responses that came to mind.
“Lucky for you”—again that penetrating stare—“I like what you’ve drawn. You have some talent.”
“Thank you.”
“And your little maze specialist. Will she deliver?” He intentionally left that ambiguous.
Smith knew his type, always keeping people uncomfortable, on edge. “She’s the best in her field.” He pictured her in the literal field she found so fascinating. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“Who could find her disappointing?”
He refused to be sucked in and deftly changed the subject. “There’s something else you should be aware of. Some odd happenings.” He described the events, letting Gaston draw his own conclusions. If someone was making a point by moving their things, marking their doorstep, Gaston might already know why.
But he looked blank. “What’s it about?”
“I thought you might know.”
Gaston scowled. “I told you I wanted privacy.”
“I don’t think word’s gotten around. This business started as soon as we got there, so I thought maybe someone had issues with our building there. I don’t know the recent history of the property.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Unless it escalates to vandalism and sabotage. Is there anything you know that could have upset someone?”
“Of course not. Have you seen the miscreant?”
Smith shook his head. “He’s eerily invisible.”
As Petra and Tessa reentered the lounge, Gaston hissed, “Don’t tell Petra. She’ll make something supernatural of it.”
Smith nodded. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Figure it out and deal with it.”
Smith stood as the women joined them, seated Tessa, and noted that Petra seated herself, albeit gracefully. What was Gaston’s game? Decked out in his designer suit, his chunky gold ring and Rolex, was he above courtesy? Gaston honed in on Tessa, and the talk turned to landscape and labyrinths.
She explained, “Your labyrinth is a replica of the Chartres Cathedral design, originally laid as a symbolic pilgrimage to the Holy Land. The floor labyrinth in Chartres has over eight hundred feet of paths contained within a tiled circle. Some penitents walk it on their knees.”
“Ow.” Petra grimaced.
“But I believe the St. John labyrinth stood about six feet high in hedge, with a diameter of forty-four yards. It’s going to be quite outstanding once the new hedge has matured and is properly trimmed.”
“Will you be trimming it?” Petra flicked a speck from the table.
Tessa shook h
er head. “I’ve started uncovering the stone path. I’ll restore that, then plant a new hedge. It will take some time to mature before it can be trimmed. You and Rumer will need a topiary professional to maintain the path, but it could easily be quite a famous garden. I’m certain any number of publications would feature it.”
Petra lit up. “You mean like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?”
Gaston iced Petra with a glare. “That’s not happening.”
Tessa must have missed the chill in his expression, since she pressed her point. “It could be completely anonymous. The publications would not reveal the owners or address. But it could be quite an impressive feature.”
Petra pouted. “Why have it, if no one knows?”
“Do you see all this, all these people?” Gaston’s eyelid twitched. “Who here doesn’t know me? Who doesn’t want something from me?” He swept his arm around the lounge, crowded with partiers who seemed more interested in themselves or possibly Petra. But Gaston’s face had reddened. “You haven’t been in enough magazines, you have to put our house on display too? You think I want to live in a circus?”
Petra blanched. “No. It was stupid. Forget it.”
“Forget it; forget it.” His lip curled. “I don’t forget. But maybe you forgot who you’re marrying. Maybe it’s all air inside that sugar coating.” He gripped her chin and wagged her head.
Petra cringed like a scolded dog, far from the vixen who had swept into the office insisting Rumer wanted her happiness.
Tessa straightened. “That’s not—”
Smith gripped her knee. “I’m sure Petra understands that Tessa meant the finished property will equal anything you’ve seen in those types of publications. We’re all in agreement regarding the nondisclosure. Your privacy and Ms. Sorenson’s will be protected.”
Gaston backed off. “Petra has lived a very public life. There isn’t much of her people haven’t seen.”
Smith flushed at the insult, but calling him on it would enflame Gaston once more. Though Petra’s eyes glittered, she said nothing. He followed her cue. His priority was to save the project and make sure Tessa didn’t voice the outrage in her face. “If there’s nothing more, do you mind if Tessa and I tour the casino? I’d like to see what you’ve done.” What someone had done for him, but he knew where to place the credit.
The Edge of Recall Page 13
