Eternally Yours (7 page)

“Mark?” Karen interrupted his thoughts. “I was asking what you thought of her house.”

“Oh, it’s very nice--in good condition.” He really had no desire to get into the topic with her. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay and chat. I have an appointment in half-an-hour.”

“Wait a minute,” she said before he could get away. “If you’re going to be working with that Lara Peale, there are a few things you should know about her. Paula was telling me that the woman’s poor ex-husband lost his shirt to her in their divorce. Apparently, his family had owned their house for generations. Now it all belongs to her.”

Of course he knew that, basically, but the remark struck a nerve, especially after the news he’d just heard. Lara’s house really would have been better off in the hands of her ex...but why Karen thought she had to warn him about the situation was a mystery. What could he do about it?

“I’m not sure I see your point,” he said.

She looked at her fingernails, glossy pink and an unlikely length. Today she seemed artificial to him in general; he no longer trusted her. “If you’re interested in her, Mark, I’d think twice before getting involved. I mean, I guess she’s attractive, if you like the earthy type, but she sounds like a gold digger.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing, considering the source. Karen, who had returned to a man with a drinking problem and a tendency for compulsive gambling, was now trying to advise him about relationships. He almost told her off but decided she wasn’t worth the energy.

Looking past her, he said, “As far as I can tell, the only money Ms. Peale is after is a grant from the society to build an art studio--and, actually, she’s probably withdrawing her application.”

“An art studio?” She raised her eyebrow again. “That would be a commercial venture, wouldn’t it? It’s funny, because the permit she applied for was residential.”

The news surprised him, but he didn’t know for sure whether Lara sold her work or not. He wasn’t even familiar enough with zoning laws to know how rigid they were. If she peddled a piece of art here or there, he guessed it wouldn’t matter, as long as she didn’t run a full-blown gallery on the property.

“I’ll have to ask some of my friends on the zoning board about it.” Karen tapped her chin with her index finger, a fake gem gleaming on the tip. “They might want to look into the case. I guess the historical board might give her some flak, too, considering her request to tear down that outside wall.”

So she did still plan to tear down the wall. It took all his will not to react. How on earth had she come up with so much money so quickly? Now it looked like it was too late to talk to her again, as he’d been considering. After this, he definitely couldn’t talk to her calmly. The situation was hopeless, he realized.

He looked down at his watch. “One o’clock. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

“Oh, no problem.” Karen gave him a funny, twisted smile. “I have a new client to meet, anyway.”

“Hope it goes well.” Without ceremony, he turned away.

As he started up the street she called after him, “Keep in touch, Mark! I miss hearing from you.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered to himself without looking back.

He fumed the whole way home. Karen’s stopping him and sticking her nose into his business was bad enough, but Lara’s recklessness really upset him. She couldn’t even have taken a week to think over the points he’d made? No, she had to rush down to Town Hall today--even though she had so much to do she hadn’t had time to look at the secret room with him on Saturday. She had no problem coming into town and filling out all the forms required for a building permit!

When he got home he slammed the printer paper down on his desk. The bang made him cringe. Louder than he’d expected, it had probably given his neighbors a start.

Telling himself to relax, he went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. At least he seemed to be getting over Karen. He could truthfully say that today she hadn’t appealed to him in the least. She’d seemed so phony with her claims of missing him and her concerns about his involvement with Lara. He wondered if she
was
a little jealous. After all, how happy could she be reunited with that idiot she’d divorced?

He popped off the cap and took a swig, walking into the living room. His aggravation over Lara was harder to dismiss. She’d completely ignored his warnings. The woman wouldn’t know a valid opinion if she tripped over one. To think he’d spent the last two days going back over their conversations and trying to convince himself she might be more than a pretty face. Amazing what thinking with one’s brain fixed below the belt could do for a man’s intellect.

Planting himself in front of the TV, he noted that the whole mess could have been worse. If he hadn’t found out so quickly how shallow Lara was, he might have done something truly stupid, like asking her out. For the first time he acknowledged that the idea had been in the back of his mind, as much as he’d denied it. What was wrong with him anyway? Did he have a thing for divorcees?

He picked up the remote control, making a mental note to stay away from previously married women. What was that saying about used cars?
Why take on someone else’s problems?

None of it mattered, he thought with another gulp of beer, now that he saw Lara for what she was. Maybe Karen’s interfering had done some good.

He remembered his ex’s musings about consulting the zoning board, and he felt a little funny. He was the one who’d let it slip that Lara intended to build a studio. As much as he opposed her plans, he didn’t like the idea of being a rat. Telling himself it was her responsibility to obey building codes didn’t seem to help. Which was more important--preserving her house or his integrity?

The next swig of beer he took tasted bitter, and he set the bottle down on the coffee table. The taste lingered. He would have to remember not to buy that brand again.

The mistake aggravated him more than it normally would have, and he couldn’t entirely blame the beer. It was him. He couldn’t seem to do anything right anymore. He couldn’t even tell for sure if Lara was completely in the wrong or if he’d provoked her into getting militant about her house.

The minute he’d met her he had withdrawn and gotten curt, determined to resist any attractive woman at this point in his life. If he’d expressed his views in a friendlier way, she might have listened. He might have had a chance to influence her--and he’d blown it.

Sighing, he slumped back on the couch. Maybe he’d pick up his manuscript after all and see if she brought up the subject of the house. If nothing else, visiting her again would give him one last shot at seeing the secret room.

Meanwhile, Karen’s inquiries would probably stall the processing of the permit. If he was really lucky, the zoning board would straighten Lara out, and he could forget about this whole mess.

Chapter 5

Lara dabbed acrylic color onto a still life painting of fruit, trying hard not to glance over her shoulder. She usually lost herself in her work, but lately she couldn’t get past the feeling that someone--or something--was watching her.

Trying to capture the shadow of a pear, she took consolation in the fact that Di would be here for lunch any minute. Unfortunately she couldn’t count on her friend to rescue her from her isolation every day, especially since Di would be going to Cape Hatteras on Sunday.

Little prickles rose on the back of her neck. She spun around. Naturally, no one else was in the studio. Everything looked normal except for the bookcase, still jutting out slightly from the wall. Since she couldn’t get the damned thing back into

place, she wished she had the nerve to peek behind it. Maybe then she could shake off the creepy feelings she’d been having since learning about the secret room.

She just couldn’t bring herself to look.

Getting up, she started putting away her supplies in order to break for lunch. She wondered if Ron might know something about the secret room. But if she asked, and he didn’t, he’d only insist on taking a look. The last thing she needed was her ex-husband at the house berating her for the changes she’d made so far. For years her salary had paid off his home equity loans, and he’d never even given her a say in the decor. The fact that she now held the deed wouldn’t matter much to him either.

She went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While she was making sandwiches, a soft rap came at the back door. Looking up, she confirmed that it was Di, who knew enough not to frighten her by pounding at the front. She reached over and undid the latch. “Come on in.”

“Hi,” her friend said as she entered. She set her purse down on the counter and pushed her long, dark hair out of her eyes. “Hey, the floor looks great. When you told me about the bricks, I imagined a bunch of crumbling clay, but these are in really good shape.”

“Yeah, a few of them could use replacing, but overall it’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all.” Di walked into the center of the room and looked around in all directions. “The kitchen seems so much warmer. It’s hard to believe that someone thought this should be covered up with hideous linoleum.”

“At least the material was easy to tear up.” Lara sliced the sandwiches and set them on plates. “Thanks for coming over today. How’s the job going?”

“Okay.” Her friend stepped up to the sink and took two mugs from the dish rack, carrying them to coffee maker. “The work’s not exciting, but my discount should help me build up a decent wardrobe for school this fall.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and brought their lunches into the dining room. Lara had never moved the table back into the kitchen, it being too heavy for her. Instead she’d dragged the dinette chairs across the hall so the whole set now stood there.

“What happened here?” Di asked, nodding toward Mark Vereker’s manuscript, which lay spread over half of the table. Three days after he’d forgotten it, he still hadn’t contacted her about it--not that she wanted him to.

“Oh, sorry about the mess. This belongs to that guy

from the historical society. Remember that I told you he left his manuscript here the second time he stopped over?” She set her plate down at the clear end of the table. “My curiosity finally got the best of me, and I was looking at it this morning.”

“Oh, right.” Di took the place across from her. The signed copy of Mark’s last book was also on the table, and she flipped it over to the back cover, looking at his picture. “Wait a minute, this is him--Mark Vereker?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I went to school with this guy!”

Lara laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“No. How strange. I guess I’m not surprised that he turned out to be a writer. He was a whiz in English class. I have to say he always seemed nice back then, too--not at all the ogre you describe.” She looked more closely at the photo. “He’s even better-looking than he used to be. Are you sure he’s as bad as you say?”

“I only told you what happened between us. You can judge for yourself.” Lara bit into her sandwich.

“Well, maybe he’s been under stress lately. He may have a tight deadline to meet or something. Who knows? Did you happen to find out if he’s married?”

“Oh, please. He and I could barely say two words to each other without one of us flying off the handle. Of course, I didn’t bother asking if he’s available.”

Munching on her sandwich, Di skimmed through the bio beneath the photo. “There’s no mention of a family here. I’ll bet he’s single.”

Lara gave her a warning look. “Don’t even start.”

Her friend ignored her. “So, what did you think of his manuscript?”

“The part I read was pretty good,” she admitted. “I got through the first chapter during breakfast, and I hated to stop. Instead of just listing the features of a house, he sort of draws a sketch of life in it during the past. He made the story so interesting I felt like he’d swept me back in time.”

“I remember our English teacher once trying to get him to submit a short story of his to a magazine.” Di sipped her coffee. “He must be very talented.”

“What a coincidence that you went to school with him--well, maybe not, in such a small town.” Lara’s peek at Mark’s writing had made her wonder what more there was to him, but she didn’t want to show too much curiosity. That would only stimulate Di’s craving for matchmaking. Still, she asked, “You say he didn’t seem like a hothead back then?”

“Not at all. He was a very sweet guy. I guess the pressures of the world have soured him, just like the rest of us.” She grinned.

Though the comment was made jokingly, Lara thought it could be true. Preoccupied, she chewed on a bite of her sandwich. Certainly she was no longer the carefree girl she’d been ten years ago.

“I’ll bet you just caught him during a couple of bad days,” Di said. “I think you should make a play for him.”

Lara barely managed to swallow. “You’re crazy. He’s arrogant and manipulative, and he’s made it clear he thinks I’m irresponsible and apathetic. He obviously can’t stand me, or he would have come back for his manuscript by now.”

“Maybe he’s afraid you don’t want to see him.”

“I don’t.”

Di picked up her mug and swirled her coffee around. “But you said you liked his writing, and I’m telling you he isn’t really a bad guy. I’d think an artist and a writer would go well together--two creative types. Why don’t you take the manuscript over to his place? Seeing him on his own turf may give you a different perspective.”

Lara felt an unexpected hint of temptation. Mark’s writing had already shown him in a different light. She would have liked to see that pensive, soulful side of him in person--but she wouldn’t admit it to her friend. She shook her head. “No way.”

They sat and chatted for another half-hour; then Di had to run back to work.

After seeing her off, Lara returned to the dining room, and the manuscript caught her eye again. Putting off clearing the dishes, she took a seat and picked up where she’d left off that morning. Before long she had finished the second chapter. Mark’s power of description intrigued her.

She straightened the papers carefully and slid them back into the envelope. She’d been wrong when she’d told him he had no vision. His imagination matched--or even beat--that of his ancestor.