Love Songs (49 page)

By car her apartment was two minutes from the shop. Before she was even able to suggest that Tom leave her and come back another time he had taken her hand and led her inside, guiding her into the elevator and up, opening the door for her and ushering her in. Through it all she kept her eyes downcast, to ward off the pain.

Last time she had staggered alone to her bedroom; this time Tom was by her side the whole way, leaving her only to get her pill and some water, returning to help her undress and get into bed. This time he stayed in her room, keeping guard in the darkness, waiting for her revival. As before, she buried her head against the pillow, dozing as the medicine went to work. When she awoke, however, her hand was in Tom’s and he sat close beside her, stroking her hair with infinite tenderness. To her chagrin she started to cry once more.

“You—you should go,” she stuttered in muffled misery.

“I’m going nowhere.” To emphasize his determination he bodily lifted her and set her against him as he leaned back against the headboard. “Now, cry if you want, but get it out of your system. I want to hear what happened today to upset you like this.”

“Oh, Tom, it’s such a mess. You don’t want to hear…”

“Would you rather I rushed out of here and took my fury out on André Phillips?”

Her whisper was weak. “André?”

“Yes, André! I know you had lunch with him today. And, according to Monica, you were upset from the minute you returned. Now, will you tell me what happened—or do I go to
him?
”

Much as she needed the comfort of his nearness, Serena pushed herself away and sat up. “I’d like to wash my face. I feel terrible.” Without waiting for his approval she threw on her robe and fled to the bathroom, emerging after a short time feeling no better for the cold water she had thrown on her burning cheeks. She walked to the refrigerator, where she helped herself to a tumbler of iced water, then looked up to find Tom following her every move.

“Would you like to wash the floor and clean the oven before we get down to this?” he drawled facetiously. “Or do you think we can finally talk?”

Serena escaped past him to the living room. “There’s really nothing to say.” She hugged her middle with one hand, her chilled glass with the other.

“I can’t imagine that anything’s happened between us to upset you; you were happy enough last night.”

“It’s nothing to do with you.”

Tom had advanced and now stood tall behind her. “Then it has to do with our friend, the money man. Are you going to tell me what he said when you met with him today?”

“It’s not important.”

“Like hell it isn’t! It was enough to keep you from speaking to me this afternoon. Tell me, Serena!” She simply shook her head and looked down. “Then, I’ll call him.”

“No!” She whirled around, oblivious of the water sloshing on the rug.

“Then you tell me.”

“I can’t!” Her voice was higher with each protest.

“Serena…”

“No!” she screamed, then again, “No! I can’t take any more threats. Don’t push me into a corner, Tom! I don’t think I can bear it!”

With deliberate calm Tom took the glass of water from her hand and put it safely on the mantel. His fingers cupped her chin and tipped it up until she had no choice but to look at him. What she saw stirred every bit of the love she felt and she trembled anew.

“If there’s something wrong, Serena,” he spoke slowly, softly, “I want to know.”

“It’s
my
problem,” she began in a whisper, only to be jolted by the quiet vehemence of Tom’s correction.

“It’s
our
problem. Haven’t you learned that yet? It’s
our
problem, Serena.”

Still her protesting whisper persisted. “I can’t run to you with my burdens, Tom. I can’t just dump them on you. It’s not fair!”

He hesitated for a split second before voicing thoughts that had been held off for too long. “Is it fair that I love you?” he murmured achingly, bringing both hands up to frame her face. “Is it fair that, after everything I did to your family years ago, I expect that you might love me back? Is it fair that I’ve finally found what I’ve searched for all these years, only to have it kept away by a ghost from the past?”

Serena couldn’t believe the words Tom spoke, but they were reinforced by the gentleness of his touch and the devotion in his eyes. They were words she had wanted so badly to hear; she should have been ecstatic. Why, then, did she feel an overwhelming sense of fear? Was the greatest hurdle still ahead?

Her hazel eyes widened as she stared at him. Her words were choked when she forced herself to speak. “I don’t know what to do.”

For what seemed an eternity of silent communication Tom read in her eyes the message of her heart. “Do you love me?” he whispered at last. When she nodded, his hands tightened by her ears. “Then trust me. Please. That’s the only way we can see through this. Trust me. Trust me to be able to help you, to do what’s right. If you can’t do that we have no hope.”

“I want to trust you, Tom. You have no idea how much. And I do. It’s just that … I feel so … helpless.”

Leading her gently toward the sofa, he sat her down, then knelt before her. “All right, honey. Now, I want you to start from the beginning. It’s got to do with Phillips, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, then slowly gathered the strength to tell him everything. She held nothing back, counting on the force of his love and the trust she felt to overcome any doubts either of them had. When she had finished relating the course of her meeting with André she hesitated, noting Tom’s deep concentration. “You must think I’m a fool for getting into this mess.”

Her vulnerability snapped him from his preoccupation. He moved to sit beside her and drew her against him. “I think you’re a fool for not having called me the minute you got back to the shop after lunch. What ever possessed you to keep this to yourself?”

Her words were muffled against his chest, but she answered him anyway, suddenly needing for him to know everything. He was right; if there was to be any hope for their love only the complete truth would do.

“I felt ashamed, for one thing.”

“Ashamed? Honey, he’s a scoundrel. If it wasn’t you it would have been someone else. And from what you say, there
are
others whose funds he’s used.”

“But you warned me. And I didn’t listen.”

“It was just a hunch on my part then. This is the first piece of concrete evidence we’ve got against him.”

There was a greater meaning to his announcement than Serena was able to assimilate at that moment, so intent was she on telling him all. “But it would have been hypocritical for me to run to you and expect you to publicly expose him after I’d held you at fault all those years for exposing my father like that.”

“Serena,” he murmured against the warmth of her hair, “I was overzealous way back then. I’ve never regretted exposing a crime, though I have agonized over my methods. I’ve mellowed, I suppose. We’ll deal with André in a different way.”

“You do believe
me
then?”

“What?” He held her back to study her fear. “Did you honestly think I might not?”

“Well, after all, I am the daughter of a convicted felon.”

“Serena! When are you going to be able to forget that? I’m in love with you because you’re sweet and sincere, innocent and warm, brimming with bundles and bundles of love. I don’t give a damn who or what your father may have been. It’s you I love! You!” Short of taking her by the arms and shaking her he couldn’t have made his point more forcefully. The fire she knew so well was in his eyes. It was the fire of love.

His kiss held the promise of a future filled with that same fire. She returned it eagerly, gaining faith with each caress and hope with each soft-whispered vow of love. All too soon he held her back to look at her. Satisfied that the worst of her torment was behind, he set about working to eliminate the rest.

“I’d like to see the paper André gave you. Have you got it?”

“I certainly do.” Without hesitating she retrieved it from her purse and handed it over to Tom.

He studied it closely, turning to catch the light at different angles. When he looked up, there was taut-held fury in his gaze. “That swine. He thought he could blackmail you with
this
?”

Serena frowned, then brightened at his implication. “You mean it
won’t
pass as an original?”

“To the naked and untrained eye, perhaps. To an expert, no way. Unless André produced an original he’d never have a case.”

“The original
was
a standard release form. He told me that. And I’d bet that he tore it up and flushed it down the pipes when he went to the men’s room. He was in an unnatural rush. But, Tom, the only way we can prove anything is if we go to court! I don’t want it to come to that!”

Seeing her distress, he took her hand. “It’s not going to go that far. André is bluffing; you know that. And, innocent that you are, you didn’t call him on it and make it stick any more than you called me on my bluff that first day when I really didn’t remember who you were.” Leaning forward, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I do love you.” He smiled, shaking his head at the wonder of it. “And I do want to protect you. Do you know that that was the very first thing I felt that day in the restaurant? There was such hurt in your eyes when you looked at me. I didn’t know who you were, only that I somehow wanted to protect you. Little did I know that your fear was of
me!
”

Entranced by his fierce tenderness, Serena wove her fingers through the hair by his temples and brought him forward for another kiss. Her lips were a warm breath of femininity on the male-firm contours of his, speaking of her own adoration with startling aggressiveness. Needing to know of her love, Tom held up his response, forcing from her a most glorious statement, written by her lips, underscored by her tongue, and backed by the way she opened completely to him. With a low moan he yielded to her power, succumbing to the golden glow she cast over him.

“Serena,” he groaned, “we’ve got to stop this. There’s so much to figure out.” Panting, he sat back. “I could make love to you all night, but that won’t do anything to solve this problem with André. Let me think.” Knowing his withdrawal to be in her own best interests, Serena moved further back on the sofa and tucked her feet under her. The dilemma with André hadn’t eased in the least, yet knowing that Tom would share in the solution brought her great reassurance. She believed in him. She trusted him. Together they would work something out.

Together they did work something out. Or, rather, Tom did, for Serena remained confused, largely in the dark, following his directives without quite understanding the power of the punch line.

She had some doubts when she put through a call to André that evening, claiming that she wanted to talk again, even offering to cook him breakfast the next morning. Made complacent both by the note of fear in her voice and the state of his overblown ego, he accepted her invitation.

She had further doubts when Tom left her for a short time that night, returning under cover of darkness with armloads of recording equipment and one plainclothes detective who quite casually spent the night on the sofa while Tom shared Serena’s bed.

She had even greater doubts when, early the next morning, she calmly greeted André at her door, showed a properly civil front to offset his arrogance, and served him eggs Benedict on her good china, for old time’s sake. Once again she prodded him on the matter of her money, confronting him with the falsified letter, engaging him in an argument perfectly designed to reveal every last detail of his devious scheme.

Her most grave doubts came, however, when the detective emerged from the bedroom and read André his rights. For an instant she was stirred by the stunned expression on his face, but when a mask of sheer ice replaced it she, too, hardened.

“None of this will stand up in a court of law,” André seethed, coldly watching Tom, who had come to stand beside Serena.

It was the detective who answered. “Perhaps not the letter. Any expert will discredit it. Now, as for these tapes, and a star witness…” All eyes turned toward Serena; at that moment she was terrified.

Tom, however, recognized her fear. Taking her hand he intertwined his fingers with hers and tucked her elbow through his as he stepped forward. “I don’t think Serena will ever get to court.” His gaze flicked warmly toward her before moving chillingly back to André. “My guess is that you’ll make a plea.”

André seemed unfazed. “I have nothing to confess.”

“You may sing a different tune before long,” Tom continued. “Larceny under false pretenses is one thing. Conspiracy to commit bribery on top of that is quite something else.”

Serena wasn’t the only one to stare at Tom. André paled. “What are you talking about?” he asked more quietly.

“Ann Carruthers. Edward Grant. I believe they’re friends of yours. And I believe your schemes involve them, as well.” André’s concerned glance shot from Tom to the detective, then back. But Tom hadn’t finished. “I know the Attorney General will appreciate your cooperation in bringing those aldermen to trial. If you do turn state’s witness I’m sure we can settle this smaller matter quietly.”