Love Songs (5 page)

The last did it. Though skeptical, Alanna was game. “I’ll try.”

“Great!”

“Ah … what else am I going to have to do?” Her good-natured, but wary, question was enough to lighten Ellen’s expression even more.

“Nothing painful.” She laughed. “We’d like to eliminate stress from the bedroom. That means no heavy reading or television while in bed. Staying in bed
only
while you’re sleepy. Getting up and leaving the bedroom whenever you’re unable to fall asleep—or go back to sleep—quickly.”

Alanna mulled over the suggestions. “Sounds fair.”

“You don’t nap during the day, do you?”

“If only I had time!” Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Well, don’t!” the other woman rejoined just as quickly. “Never nap during the day—even on weekends. And no coffee or liquor after, say, three in the afternoon. OK?”

“Fine.” She’d been doing as much already.

“One other thing, though I’ll speak more about it tomorrow night when you come in. This is a self-help program. We’ll be teaching you techniques of self-relaxation. You know, deep breathing, muscle-relaxing, mind-clearing.”

“Interesting.…” It had never occurred to Alanna to do that.

“It will be, and it should help. I’ll be on duty every night, should you want to talk. And there will be the other participants. You’ll meet them tomorrow as well.”

“But … what will I have to do with them?” This was a totally new thought.

Again Ellen was well prepared for the question. “I like to see this as a kind of halfway house. You may have
no
cause to talk with the others. But they’re here with a problem similar to yours. The therapeutic value of talking with others can often be greater than talking with me.”

“I see.” She pondered the possibility. As a loner, she was hesitant. “Are they all from the greater Baltimore area, too?”

“Uh-huh. There are two men and two women. I dare say you may find you’re already acquainted with one or two.” If she knew something Alanna didn’t, there was no time for guessing. “You may even develop legitimate friendships.” The doctor glanced at her watch. “Which reminds me, I still have to brief two more. Let me explain what else I want you to do.”

“There’s more?” Alanna had begun to feel saturated.

“Just a little.” Ellen opened a drawer and withdrew an official-looking notebook with several blank charts in front. “I want you to keep a running log of your thoughts and activities from the time you arrive here at night until the time you leave in the morning. There is also a place to summarize your feelings about each day. I’m interested in general problems, aggravations. At night I want you to enter your periods of sleep
and
wakefulness. For the latter, concentrate on your thoughts upon awakening. If you leave the log here during the day I can go over it to keep pace with your progress.” She paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Sound awesome?”

Alanna grinned wryly. “I suppose I’ve faced greater challenges.”
Challenges.
Where had she heard
that
word before? Her grin faded quickly.

“I’m sure you have. And, considering your corporate achievements, I’m sure you’ll meet this one as well.”

It was a compliment that Alanna accepted graciously, if with mild embarrassment. After all, Ellen Henderson must have received her share of accolades to be in the position she now held.

“Any other questions, or would you like me to show you to your room?”

Sorting it all out, Alanna grew apprehensive. “Ah … tonight. When I’m all wired up, what happens if I wake up in the middle of the night?”

“If you lie awake for more than ten minutes, ring for Sylvia. She’ll unhook everything so you can get up. Walk around. Go into the lounge. Help yourself to some milk in the kitchen. Read a light magazine or a book. Pure escapism. Concentrate on relaxing. Don’t go back to bed until you’re really sleepy. You could try filling out the log.” She patted the notebook with a knowing glance. “That’s bound to put you to sleep!”

By the time Alanna had been shown over the lab and then to her room it was nearly ten. Not only was she armed with her log and sleep charts, but Ellen had given her questionnaires to complete, full of in-depth items relating to her childhood, her upbringing, her educational and occupational histories. Settling into the easy chair by the darkened window, she sighed. Exhaustion had its way of creeping up, suffusing weariness through her body. Perhaps she had been more tense about this than she had imagined. Her lips curved into a wry grin. When it came to the office she was in her element, able to face most every problem with aplomb. Something like this—a more personal situation—was another matter.

The pile of forms lay unheeded on her lap as she looked around the room which would be hers for the next two weeks. It was small, but as pleasant as Ellen had said it would be. Painted a pale blue, rather than the traditional hospital white, its simplicity was relaxing. A small table stood to her left, a dresser to her right. Against the far wall was a nightstand, then the bed. In this case, too, white had been usurped by the pale green of both sheets and blankets. The warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand blended with a floor lamp by her chair to bathe the room in a light as gentle as that of dawn. To her surprise, Alanna felt quite comfortable.

Turning to the first of the forms, she searched her purse for a pen, then began. The starting questions were standard. Name: Alanna Lyn Evans. Address: 2201 North Bancroft. Phone: 555–8821. Age: 31. Sex: Female. Marital Status: Single.

A yawn escaped unhampered. Ellen was right; the task was more effective than counting sheep. Mustering her discipline, Alanna returned to it.

Place of birth: Pittsburgh. Parents: Willard and Elizabeth Evans. Siblings: None.

At the second yawn, Alanna put down the pen. The thought of outlining childhood illnesses and traumas, of which there were few, held no excitement. None at all.

Excitement.
The word was a trigger, flashing an instant image before her mind’s eye of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, arrogant as they come. Alexander Knight. Aside from the puppy love she had felt for Shep Harding, Alanna had never been stirred by a man in quite this way. Even aside from his preposterous mention of marriage, he was a puzzle. What coincidence had brought them together tonight? Had it only been for a few hours that she’d known of his existence?

Strange, she mused, how time could take on altered dimensions. It was as though she had known him much longer. Indeed, their kiss had borne an intimacy that shocked her. What had happened to her usual defenses?

Alanna kicked off her shoes and stood to explore the room. Her tapered fingers, their nails well shaped and clear, skimmed the curved edge of the tabletop, then the windowsill, bridging the gap to the bed, marking its length and width before falling to her side.

Would she see him again? He knew where to find her. But what did she know of him, save that he was part of
the
Knight family? His dress and manner spoke of dignity, of class; why, then, his ludicrous idea about marriage? He had been serious! Or had he been? Perhaps he was toying with her; maybe the rich and privileged were accustomed to joking that way. Could he have meant it—that he intended to marry her? The remembrance of the touch of his lips on hers came unbidden to mind. An intoxicating spice—a manly mystique—an insidious explosion of warmth within her. Was she that vulnerable, after all she had led herself to believe?

No! With a determined vow she turned to the closet and began to undress. Alex Knight might have been different, but she was not. She was the same Alanna Evans who had walked toward the hospital today with her head held high. She was a professional woman. She’d worked hard to get where she was. There was time for neither romance nor marriage in her life.

Standing before the dresser in her bra and slip, she reached to carefully remove the pins which had anchored her hair sedately through the day. With the removal of each pin a strand of flaxen silk fell over her pale shoulders, one, then another, until a rich mane of honeyed treasure cascaded to midback. She ran her fingers freely through its length, bending to her overnight bag for her brush, then stroking the fall of hair until it was glossy in the pale light. Once again she thought of Alex Knight and her fingertips feather-touched her lips. How delightful he had tasted, she mused, then grimaced.
Anything
might taste good after decaffeinated coffee!

Forcing her thoughts to her immediate plight, she showered, dressed in her nightgown and robe, then returned to her chair and the paperwork awaiting her. Again, instant sedation. Eyelids heavy. Sleep imminent. Within minutes she had pressed the call button and Sylvia Frazier was with her, bearing a cartload of paraphernalia which, under normal circumstances, would have frightened
anyone
out of sleep. But Sylvia, as she insisted Alanna call her, was one step ahead of her apprehension, explaining every gismo, pinpointing every wire’s purpose and destination, reassuring Alanna until she felt no alarm at all. Surprisingly, she was barely aware of the monitoring electrodes when, finally, she was alone once more in the darkened room, awaiting sleep. Within minutes she had succumbed to its sweet, if temporary, escape.

It was shortly after two that the familiar internal alarm roused her. Blinking into the darkness, she struggled for several moments to identify her surroundings. With recollection came an ironic relief. What if, after claiming to have insomnia, she had slept like a babe through the night? Would they have thought her a fraud?

Fraud.
It was a word that had been used all too often by a few skeptics to spread their ugly gossip. Perhaps it had been inevitable. From her earliest days at WallMar Enterprises she had kept all professional relationships strictly that—except for her friendship with Jake Wallace. A rapport had arisen between them from the start. Alanna found him to be intelligent and open, eager for her input and a far cry from so many of her more ambitious and competitive colleagues. Jake had no need for pettiness. As president of the company, his power was secure. When he promoted Alanna from Administrative Assistant to Director of Management in six short months no one had questioned him—to his face. Alanna had been all too aware of the subtle innuendos, however, the sly looks, even the leering glances. They all pointed to one supposition: that she was daringly sleeping her way to the top of the ladder. Even now, in the darkness of her hospital room, Alanna felt the surge of anger which raced through her every time she brooded on the injustice of the accusation. One colleague, a young and rather rash man, had voiced the sentiment quite succinctly. “I only wish,” he had drawled, raking her slender curves lewdly, “that I had the qualifications
you
have.”

Alanna’s way had been to ignore the taunts and turn the other cheek in an attempt to demonstrate that it had been by merit alone that she had earned her promotion. The charges were absurd. Jake Wallace was a balding man in his late fifties. Yes, she did adore him—and he adored her. She also adored his wife, who was confined to a wheelchair, and had spent many an evening with them both—none of which helped, since no one quite knew what went on inside the old and gracious Victorian mansion that had been in the Wallace family for years. Perhaps they thought of her as the daughter they’d never had. In her professional outlook she was certainly the son they’d never had. And Jake and Elaine were as close to family as
she
now had. Their friendship was mutually gratifying.

Ten minutes. Ellen had told her to get up if she lay awake for longer. It had been fifteen and she was tense and annoyed. Her frustrated summons for Sylvia was met quickly. Soon she was out of bed and, tying her robe securely around her, headed for the lounge and the hope of a diverting magazine. She’d have to remember to bring a book for tomorrow night. Blast! Why did she have to wake in the night to … this?

The lounge was quiet and deserted. Alanna had her choice of several easy chairs and finally sank onto the only sofa and stretched out her long legs. Her feet were bare; she’d forgotten to get slippers. She’d have to buy a pair tomorrow. Bare feet were the rule at her own place, where thick carpets always beckoned. Yet it was warm here and she made herself comfortable.

The minutes slowly ticked away as she turned page after page of the magazine. Finally, bored, she put it down, tossing her glasses onto the table beside her. What had Ellen said about self-help and learning to relax? Mustering her imagination, she rested her head on her arm and concentrated her gaze on the beige carpet, determinedly forcing all thoughts from mind. Inhaling deeply, she focussed her attention on this mental void, willing her limbs to languor, her pulse to steadiness. It worked. Like the slow breakup of clouds on a rain-misted morning, a tentative peace seeped through her. With each deep breath her tension eased until she felt, at last, sleepy. Her lids drooped, yet she was reluctant to move.

Aware of the world now only through the thick shade of her blond lashes, she found the intrusion of human flesh almost surreal. Only vaguely did the image register; as she slowly opened her eyes it sharpened. Human flesh—a pair of feet—masculine and tanned—connected to legs that were strong and roughened by light brown hairs. As she struggled to assimilate the presence it lowered itself calmly before her.