Never Too Rich (25 page)

He drew a deep breath, inflated his cheeks, and let
the air out noisily. “So. What you’re telling me is that we
shouldn’t expect to find some wild-eyed, wild-haired weirdo.”

“
No, you should not. Not
necessarily.”

“
Charming. But the scalping. That’s
what I can’t get. What did he have to do
that
for? Why
didn’t he just kill her?”

She raised her hands and then dropped them back in
her lap. “Here we go again, hazarding more guesses.” She looked at
him severely.

He waited without speaking.

“
All right,” she sighed. She sipped
at her beer, contemplating her answer. Eventually she raised her
eyes and looked over at him. “Let’s say he hates women and has this
overwhelming need to punish them. That’s a fairly obvious
assumption.”

“
Then the scalp is a trophy of the
kill?”

“
You mean a keepsake to remind him
of his victory over women?”

He nodded.

“
Perhaps,” she said. “But it may go
much deeper than that. It’s possible—remote, but plausible—that in
some perverse, twisted sense, he wants to
become
a
woman.”

“
Huh? You’ve lost me
there.”

“
Fred,” she said uneasily, “has it
occurred to you that he just may—and I use the word ‘may’ very
judiciously—that he may want to become his victim?”

Chapter 26

They had made love twice more— three times
altogether—and if it was possible, each time was better than the
last. R.L., with instinctive sensitivity, had let himself be guided
by Edwina’s needs as he felt them, switching from tenderness to
forcefulness to abandon and back, whichever he sensed she required.
And Edwina, however much she needed the comfort of being loved, was
torn between conflicting emotions. She kept wavering between
clinging to him like a limpet and guardedly wrenching herself
away.

Don’t get involved any deeper! the skeptical part of
her mind warned her. Just remember, you left R.L. once, years ago,
and married Duncan. Then you divorced Duncan. Then you had more
than a few one-night stands before deciding that to have not can be
as good as or better than having what isn’t worth it. All in all,
as far as men are concerned, your track record’s pretty rotten. She
gave a soundless laugh. Rotten? That’s an understatement if ever
there was one! Now, just the fact that R.L.’s back in your life,
doesn’t mean you can throw all caution to the winds and plunge
right back in where you left off. Life doesn’t work that way. One
or both of us is liable to get hurt. Remember, you’re older now,
and presumably wiser. Orgasms alone do not a relationship make.

Ah, but they’re infinitely better than nothing, she
told herself.

“
You’re so quiet,” R.L.’s soft
voice intruded, his breath ticklish against her bare skin. He
placed his lips on her shoulder and sucked gently. “Is everything
all right?”

Edwina rolled over on her pillow, smiled, and
nodded. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“
About your
resignation?”

Her eyes held his. “That. And a whole lot more.”

“
Such as?”

“
You. Me.” She frowned slightly.
“Us.” She said it like a sigh.

A shadow of worry flitted across his face.

They were lying, blissfully spent, in his big
paisley-sheeted bed with the smooth walnut headboard and
tartan-plaid pillows. The bedroom was warm and safe and reassuring
after the high-wire tension of Anouk’s glittering party. And, after
the intimidating palatial grandeur of the de Riscals’, it felt good
to be in a human scale room with soothing earth-tone walls and
simple sisal carpeting. The party noises inside her head had
calmed. Klas Claussen was a faraway creature, a monster of another
world.

Here, at R.L.’s, no matter where she looked, her
eyes met peace. There was no turning back the clock, no contrived
foray into a romantic past, like at Anouk’s. Here, everything was
down to earth. Furniture looked like furniture, solid and honest,
and paintings looked like what they depicted. All around, dim brass
picture lights spilled pools of soft yellow over peaceful
landscapes. She studied the one in her direct line of vision.
Friendly water lapping the edges of a tranquil pool. Breezes gently
ruffling leafy trees. Sunlight warming boulders under a clear,
almost cloudless sky. A simple, straightforward painting of a
temperate Eden.

But nothing was straightforward. Not really. Who
knew what menacing creatures lurked just behind those sun-dappled
boulders, to what dark, bottomless depths that deceptively peaceful
pool plunged? Tranquility and harmony were illusions—both on canvas
and in real life.

R.L. kneaded her shoulders gently and she let
herself drift. Friendly hands. Smiling eyes. It was so nice and
easy to just let herself go . . .

She pulled herself back sharply. Don’t plunge too
deeply! she cautioned herself again. Take it slow. Don’t just
dive.

“
You’ve suddenly tensed,” he said,
his fingers feeling her tightening up. “Your muscles are all
knotted.”

She didn’t reply.

There was a bottle of brandy in a bucket on his side
of the bed. He refilled the glasses and handed her one. They sipped
and listened to the soft music. Just lay there quietly, enjoying
the moment.

Forgetting herself, she stretched with contentment
and snuggled against him, like a spoon inside a spoon.

“
Still thinking?” he asked
gently.

She nodded.

“
Regretting your decision already?
We can always go back and retrieve your resignation from Antonio’s
desk, you know.”

She shook her head. “No, now that Klas would be my
boss, it’s out of the question.”

“
Any idea of what you’re going to
do?”

She rolled over again and looked up at him; he was
lying on his side, propped on an elbow. “No.” She let out a deep
sigh. “Find another job, I suppose. I can’t afford the luxury of
unemployment.”

“
Do you need money?”

She shook her head. “I need to find a job,
though.”

“
Whatever happened to the budding
fashion designer I met fifteen years ago?”

She gave a little laugh. “She was hit by a king-size
dose of reality and came to terms with her limitations.”

“
That’s a cop-out, and you know it.
Even back then, you were very good. You’ve got what it
takes.”

“
Sometimes I wonder,” she said.
“You’ve got to want it real bad. I obviously didn’t want it badly
enough. I gave it up for a husband and motherhood.”

“
And now?”

“
Now it’s too late.” She turned
away.

“
Nothing’s too late, Eds. Nothing’s
ever too late.”

She was silent.

He smiled. “You could do it now, you know. You’re
older. Wiser. You must know the game inside out at this point.”

“
That’s one of the things that
scares me. Fifteen years ago my illusions were intact. But now?”
She let out a reedy, bitter breath. “Now I know how cutthroat this
business really is.”

“
What you mean is, now you’ve got
experience. That amounts to something.”

“
Yes, but do I have the
talent?”

“
Why shouldn’t you?” He sounded
surprised. “You had it back then. Talent doesn’t desert you.
Technique might get rusty, granted. But talent?” He shook his head.
“If you were born with it, you’ve still got it. You only have to
use it.”

She smiled. “You make it sound so simple. But it’s
not, you know. Even if I wanted to start designing clothes under my
own label, we’re talking big bucks. And I don’t have them.”

He held her gaze. “I do. And, thanks to
Shacklebury-Prince, I’ve got the retail outlets too.”

She drew a deep breath, letting the pressure build
in her lungs, and let it out slowly.

He waited for her to speak.

“
Don’t make jokes like that, R.L.,”
she said shakily when she found her voice. “They aren’t
funny.”

“
I wasn’t joking.” His Irish green
eyes underwent a sea change, turning almost black. “I never joke
where business is concerned.”

For one of the few times in her life, she felt
totally thrown, torn between her own fierce independence and the
temptation to raid the candy store.

“
Thanks, R.L., but no.” She shook
her head almost violently. “It’s tempting. Too damn tempting.” She
laughed softly. “You know, fourteen years ago I would have jumped
at the opportunity.”

“
Then jump now,” he urged softly.
“Fourteen years ago, I wasn’t in any position to help. Now I
am.”

“
No. Absolutely, without a doubt,
inarguably, no way,
no.
And that’s final.”

“
Why?” he asked softly. His eyes
bored into hers. “Because you doubt your own abilities? Or is it
because you think it would make you beholden to me?” He looked at
her tenderly and brushed an extravagant frizz of hair from her
face. “It won’t, you know. I’m not trying to buy you.”

She turned away to avoid his almost hypnotic gaze
and caught sight of the bedside clock on the nightstand. It was
inching toward three o’clock. “Good Lord!” She sat suddenly bolt
upright. “Is it that late already!” She lunged out of bed.

He watched her swiftly don pieces of clothing he’d
retrieved from the living room when he went downstairs for their
brandy. “I wish you’d reconsider and spend the night,” he said.

She sat down to roll on stockings patterned with
roses. “Much as I’d like to, I can’t, R.L.” She looked over at him.
“What kind of a role model is a mother to a twelve-year-old if she
stays out all night?”

“
Then I’ll see you across
town.”

She shook her head. “There’s really no need. I can
get a cab at the corner.”

He got out of bed and started to get dressed anyway.
“Like I said before, I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy,” he said,
stepping into a pair of trousers. “If I pick a girl up at home, I
see her back to her door. Besides, I’ve got to bring Les home.”

“
You don’t have to do that. He can
stay over, and I’ll see to it that Ruby brings him back in the
morning.”

He continued getting dressed.

She had to smile. She should have known. She’d
almost forgotten how stubborn he could be at times. Trying to argue
with him was like beating your head against a brick wall.

When they were set to leave, he took her in his
arms. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Do
you want to?”

“
Would I have asked you if I
didn’t?”

“
But . . . I thought you had to go
to Boston.”

“
I do. But Boston can be postponed.
You’re more important.”

Her eyes glowed brightly. Then abruptly they dimmed,
as though a rheostat had been turned down. She shook her head and
pulled away. “No, R.L.” She put the flat of a hand on his chest.
“Go to Boston. I’ll see you when you return.”

He stood very still. “What’s the matter? Are you
afraid?”

“
No. Yes.” She sighed and her eyes
fell away from his. “I don’t know.” She made a gesture of
exasperation. “Everything’s happening so fast. I can’t seem to
absorb it all at once.”

“
God, if you only knew how often I
dreamed of this, Eds. I used to make up entire scenarios in my head
about running into you. About resuming what we should never have
given up.”

She shut her eyes. “Don’t say that, R.L.!” she
begged huskily. “Please don’t say that unless you mean it!”

He held her by the arms. “You told me once that you
loved me. Remember?”

“
I did love you,” she
whispered.

“
Then what happened? Why did we
break up? I just don’t understand it.” His voice was exasperated.
“Didn’t we love each other enough?”

She didn’t reply. She knew the answer to that one
all too well. She’d given R.L. up for Duncan Cooper, whom she
hadn’t
loved enough—if she had, they’d still be married.

All those years, those wasted years . . . Could it
be that it had been R.L. whom she’d really loved all along?

But fate had been cruel, had thrown Duncan between
the two of them and forced her to choose. But fate had been kind
too—had given her her most precious possession, Hallelujah.

And now fate had intervened once again by bringing
R.L. back into her life.

What was fate going to dish out this time? Kindness?
More cruelty? Or a bittersweet mixture of both?

Were second chances at love really possible? Or was
that another pipe dream?

She honestly did not know. But she did know that she
really had no right to love R.L., not after she had dumped him
once. Just because she was free again and R.L. had reappeared, she
couldn’t, wouldn’t,
mustn’t
let herself get involved with
him again. Not for her sake, but for his. She shouldn’t even have
come here with him. It had been a mistake to make love.

Suddenly she was very tired. “Let’s go, R.L.,” she
said quietly. “Please take me home.”

Same World/Same
Time

In the Realm of Miss
Bitch

Some people have secret rooms. Others, locked
closets or drawers.

For the past year, the man had rented an
eight-by-twelve-foot storage room in a spruced-up old industrial
building in the West Twenties. There was no view out of the storage
room: it had no windows. It was cold also: there was no heating.
Entry was granted by a guard in the lobby during normal business
hours, and storage tenants were free to come and go as they
liked—they had their own keys for their own individual rooms. Rent
was paid by the month.