Pillow Talk (7 page)

Parker pushed open the double doors. "Are you always so forgiving?"

Meg shrugged. She wasn't sure how to answer
him
. She certainly didn't feel it her place to criticize his family, no matter how insufferably rude they were. Her own guilty knowledge of her terms with Jules made it pretty tough for her to blame them for scrutinizing her.

"The phone's on the desk." He pointed across the room to a massive piece of furniture that dominated the far end. It gleamed from polishing. Several stacks of file folders, neatly arranged, covered one side of the surface.

Meg approached. "Do you work out of your home?"

"I grew up here," Parker said, "but I have my own home elsewhere in the city. I consult with Grandfather here, and I have an office in the CBD."

"CBD?"

"Central Business District. Sorry, I forgot you wouldn't know."

"Just a stranger in town," she said, itching
to reach for the phone but at the same time curious to know more about this man.

"I think of New Orleans as a city of subsets." He folded his arms across his chest and settled against the edge of the desk. "There's the parish of Orleans, and then there are all the neighborhoods or subsets. For instance, you're Uptown. My original family settled in the Vieux Carre almost two hundred years ago. And between here and there is the Garden District."

Meg nodded, following his words but of course not really understanding what he described. "So much history. I can tell you like your city a lot."

"I do." He smiled at her. "I'm glad that's obvious." Moving away, he said, "You'd better make your call. We need to get going to see Gus."

She picked up the phone, then hesitated. No way was she talking to her children in front of Parker Ponthier. What he didn't know about her personal life she preferred to keep secret. That thought reminded her she'd have to ask him why he'd said he knew her parents. Her heart had leapt at his statement, reminding her that as an orphan she still held the secret wish that she'd be reunited with her birth family.

"I'll meet you at the side door where we came in," he said, turning and striding across the room.

She dialed Mrs. Fenniston's number, racking
up yet one more long distance call on the Ponthier bill. She had a feeling that before she backed gracefully out of this entanglement she'd be calling home many more times.

Mrs. Fermiston's voice came over the line.

Meg gripped the phone in relief. "Oh, Mrs. Fenniston, I'm so glad you're there."

"Is everything going well?" Nothing ruffled Mrs. Fenrdston's calm. "I do hope so."

"I guess so," Meg said, wishing she could spill out the entire story. Over the past several months she'd grown close to the dignified widow, but she hadn't been able to confide the details of her "job" in New Orleans. "But not exactly as planned."

"I believe that's one of the reasons the colonel loved to study quantum physics," Mrs. Fenniston said. "Well, you mustn't worry about the children. We are having a fabulous time. They introduced me to the water park yesterday."

Meg smiled. She admired and loved this woman who'd taken her and her children in. Both of them had been widowed at almost the same time, Mrs. Fenniston after fifty-five years of marriage to a brilliant British scientist who'd been conducting research in Nevada's nuclear testing industry.

"I bet they loved the water park."

"Yes they did. And I found it quite refreshing. Someone's dancing a jig to talk to you."

"I just want to warn you I may be delayed."

"Well, you do what you need to do there and don't worry about us. We're having a peach of a time. But you do sound a bit unlike yourself."

"Oh, I'm fine," Meg said, wishing she could pour out her troubles to Mrs. Fenniston. But she'd gotten herself into this mess and she'd see herself out of it.

"Here's Ellen, then."

"M-o-m! We went to the water park and Teddy was such a b-a-b-y. Why, even Samantha went down the big slide but not Teddy."

"And did you go down the big slide?"

"Of course." Her ten-year-old daughter sounded indignant. "Only a baby wouldn't go down that."

Meg heard a commotion and wasn't at all surprised to hear her son's voice next. "My sister is too stupid to understand that I'm far too mature to need to scare myself in order to enjoy my day."

Meg sighed. Teddy had grown up far too fast in the past year. She knew he felt he had to take on the role of his father and she tried her best to allow him to grieve in his own way, while also encouraging him to be the little boy he still was.

"And you did enjoy yourself?"

"Yep. And Mrs. Fenniston let me have three hot dogs."

"Good." That was more like a ten-year-old boy should act.

"Here's Samantha."

"Mommy, I had a tummy ache last night but Mrs. Fenniston fixed it."

"Oh, that's good, sweetie. Are you better now?"

"Yep."

"I miss you," Meg said, clutching the phone so tightly she thought it would pop from her
grasp.

"Agamem-mem threw up," Samantha said.

Agamemn
on was Mrs. Fenniston's twenty-
pound tomcat, who ruled her house.

"And I love you," Meg added, wishing she could gather her children close and never let them go.

"It was a hairball, Mrs. Fenniston said."

Meg had to laugh despite the tears in her eyes. Her children were carrying on quite well without her. "Let me speak to Mrs. Fenniston," she said.

"Bye, I love you," Samantha said.

"Well, dear, are you feeling better now?"

"I can't thank you enough."

"It's not a bother at all. I feel younger than I have in years."

"I'll try to be home within two days. I'm really sorry to stay longer but things are much more complicated than I expected." Now that was an understatement!

"You just let us know and we'll pick you up at the airport."

"Thank you."

"I promised the children they could construct a lemonade stand, so I'll say good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Mrs. Fenniston.” Mrs. Angel, Meg might have said. She closed her eyes, murmuring a brief prayer of appreciation for the woman's steady friendship.

Just before she lowered the phone, Meg thought she heard a click on the line.

Alarmed, she stared at the phone, then around the room. Had someone listened in on her conversation? Shaking her head, she rose and crossed the room.

In the foyer by the door, she came across Grandfather Ponthier. He was sitting there in his wheelchair staring out the broad windows that ran floor to ceiling across the front of the house. His brows were drawn close. When he caught sight of her, he stared hard.

He wasn't such a bad old man, just bossy. She was relieved there was no sign of a telephone anywhere near his wheelchair. Had it been her imagination or had she heard that click on the line? Probably just her guilty conscience. Meg summoned a smile. "I'm ready whenever Parker is.”

"Hmmph.” He lifted his right hand toward his face. As he did, she caught sight of a portable phone tucked against the side of the wheelchair.

Grandfather said, ”As soon as you get back from Mississippi, I'd like you to come talk to me about those children of yours. In private.”

Seven

I
n private? Did that mean he’d keep his discovery
to himself? Possibly, Meg thought, as rather than the show of temper she expected to see on the Ponthier patriarch's face, Meg sensed a grudging respect. "No wonder you agreed to break the news to Gus," he said.

She flashed him a smile but she couldn't help retorting, "Didn't anyone ever tell you eavesdropping is very bad manners?"

He chuckled. "Sure and people who were more concerned with success than manners taught me it was a damn good way to learn about the competition. Referring to the business arena, naturally."

"Naturally." Meg was dying of curiosity. How much had he overheard? How much would he keep to himself? "Umm—"

Just then Parker came bounding down the staircase that rose from the far end of the foyer.

Great. Meg had gained enough impressions of Jules from his family to conclude that Parker
would never believe his brother had married a widow and mother of three from an unknown family out of love and desire. A man who shipped his ten-year-old to boarding school wasn't exactly a prime candidate for taking on three more youngsters.

Meg admitted she didn't want Parker to revert to the suspicious, arrogant jerk he'd been at the hotel, questioning her motives and treating her like a call girl. Since they'd come to this house, he'd shown he could be nice in a way that surprised Meg. And impressed her.

He drew on a pair of black leather gloves as he approached. She noticed he had a dark blue overcoat and her own wrap tossed over one arm.

Meg shot a look at grandfather, who was staring hard at Parker, the same intensity with which he'd greeted her a few minutes earlier etched on his face.

Please don't say anything about my kids, she said to herself, holding her breath.

With a smile, Parker said, "Ready?"

Meg glanced again at grandfather Ponthier. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair. Looking straight at Meg he said, "Remember to come see me when you get back. No matter how late it is."

"Sure," Parker answered for them.

Meg licked her lips and nodded, wondering why he'd chosen to hold his fire. No doubt some business mentor had told him to accumulate knowledge as well as wealth. Well, she'd take the gift for the moment.

Parker held her coat. She slipped into it, appreciative of the simple courtesy, then followed Parker out the side door where she'd entered earlier, feeling in a very strange way as if crossing that threshold with Parker were the most natural thing in the world.

"We'll take the Infiniti," Parker said. "You'll probably find it more comfortable."

Meg ha
d managed to hang onto her ten-
year-old Corolla. Ted had driven a leased Mercedes, a luxury the dealer had wasted no time in relieving her of after the funeral. Outside of an advertisement, Meg wasn't sure she'd ever seen an Infiniti. The families in her old neighborhood favored Toyotas and an occasional Chevy wagon.

Following him along the wide drive toward a rustic-looking carriage house, Meg asked, "More comfortable than what?"

"I usually drive my Porsche."

"Ah," Meg said, thinking that explained the black leather dri
ving gloves. "Isn't that a two-
seater?"

He nodded, then pushed a button on his key ring and one of the ancient-looking carriage house doors eased silently upward.

She must have looked impressed because he said, "Retrofitted. I designed it myself."

"Nice."

A gleaming black car sat inside the garage.

Peering around, Meg saw three other cars, one of them a low-slung sports car. "Your car does look like it's fun to drive but Gus wouldn't fit."

"Gus?" He held the car door open for her and she slid in. The soft leather of the seat embraced her and she let out a small sigh of appreciation. Then as Parker walked around the car she said sternly to herself, "Don't get spoiled. You're going home to your Corolla very soon."

Parker tossed his coat into the back seat and took his place behind the wheel. He filled the space in a commanding way and Meg suddenly felt as if the spacious interior of the car had shrunk. She scooted just a bit sideways, her face turned towards him. She wanted to study Jules's brother but the way he had of crowding in on her made her want to protect herself. It also left her breathless in a way she found surprisingly pleasant.

Pulling from the garage, Parker said, "Gus may not want to come back with us."

"Not come to his father's funeral?" Meg heard the shock in her voice.

They left the drive and turned onto a side street with few curbs and no sidewalks, the surface pitted with broken paving, an odd contrast to the quality of the homes lining the block. Parker managed to miss most of the potholes. He turned onto the broad avenue Meg had traveled in the cab before he spoke again.

Staring ahead, Parker said, "I don't know
what my brother told you. Sometimes I'm not sure my brother told you anything about him
self, except it seems he said 'I
do
'
based on that paper you flashed in front of my face."

Meg made a sound of protest.

"Please, let me finish. You asked why Gus might not want to come to his father's funeral and I'm answering your question. Jules lived for himself. He and Gus's mother, Marianne, are—were—two of the most self-centered human beings who ever walked this planet." Parker shrugged and flashed a glance at Meg. "In short, lousy parents."

"But family is family." Meg heard the stubborn note in her tone and knew she argued purely out of her own lack of family during her childhood. She knew quite well many children were better off away from the parents who'd brought them into the world.

"Family," Parker said slowly, "can drive you nuts."

Meg thought of the group in the Great Parlor. "You do have a point."

"What about yours?" He looked at her, curiosity in his eyes. Then he turned his attention back to the road, where they were merging onto a freeway.

"You mean my parents with whom you're acquainted? Why ever did you say that?" She tried to keep the question light.

"Truthfully, it just popped out." He glanced over at
her. "It was the least I could d
o to protect you. I take exception to my relatives when they marinate and grill guests."

"Thank you for the helping hand. It can get pretty hot on a grill." She smiled and was pleased when he smiled back.

"Especially when Mathilde and my grandfather are cooking. But don't change the subject. Tell me about your family."

"Why?"

He looked surprised. "When someone defends the institution as strongly as you do, I can't help but think you must have discovered some secret the rest of us could benefit from. You know, how to achieve the perfection of one mother, one father, two-point-five children, one dog, one cat, oh and don't forget the parakeet."

"A little bitterness there?" Meg murmured the words but she could tell he heard her by the face he made.

"Are you married?" He wasn't wearing a ring, but Ted never had.

"Me?" He s
hook his head. "No. I was en
gaged once, but as it turned out—to the wrong woman."

"Ah." She wanted to know more, but it wouldn't be polite to pry.

"Stick around the Ponthiers for awhile and you'll be glad you're—" He stopped, chagrin overtaking his features. "I am so sorry. I can't believe what I was about to say."

"Glad that I'm a widow." Meg nodded. "After someone close to us dies, we say things that are true but we don't want to let ourselves acknowledge any truth if it's ugly or detrimental to the person who died. But it's okay to say what you feel. It's better really than pretending.”

"How'd you get to be so wise about death? It can't be from losing Jules. You only found out today." He narrowed his eyes.
"And…
you didn't even ask to say good-bye or to see the body."

Meg stared at her hands. She hadn't even thought of going to see Jules's body. Not once had it entered her mind. She'd been far more concerned with trying to reach her children over the phone. But how out of character that lack of attention was for a brand-new bride. She could feel him staring at her, the earlier suspicion flooding back to fill the space between them.

She knew she had to say something. Why not tell him the truth? The question whispered in her mind. She opened her mouth, then stopped. He'd despise her. He'd probably head straight to the airport and dump her there. So why not tell him? She should go home, back to Las Vegas, and let the Ponthiers solve their own problems.

"Or is all that wisdom pure theory?" Parker was gripping the wheel with both hands. "Ever seen a dead man? Ever seen a face that used to laugh and cry and shout with joy that's now a
mask? A dead man, Meg, is no longer there. The spirit is gone and it's as if that person never existed because the shell isn't anything at all like the person in his life." He swallowed hard and Meg felt tears steal up behind her eyelids.

"I know what you're describing," she whispered. "I was married before and that's how Ted looked."

"You've outlived two husbands?"

She nodded.

He moved one hand from the wheel and touched her briefly on her folded hands. "Forgive me for judging you. Once you've seen death, it's nothing you want to see ever again. It must have been too much for you to think of seeing Jules like that."

Meg nodded, feeling worse than ever. She dabbed at her eyes, thinking that if Parker ever found out the truth he wouldn't just despise her, he'd probably run over her with his Porsche.

Back and forth until she was really, really flattened. What a skunk she was! "I'm sorry you had to see him like that," she finally managed to say.

"Me, too. And it was such a waste." He jabbed at the wheel with his right hand. "Just like my father."

Meg had wondered about this missing member of the family. "What happened to your father?"

"I think," Parker said in a dry voice, "that story falls into what Mathilde would definitely call the dirty linen."

Of course that made her even more curious. She wanted to press him but it wasn't polite. Instead she looked out the window. They'd been moving swiftly through the traffic and were now on a bridge that seemed to go on forever. "Where are we?"

"Lake Pontchartrain. Headed east."

"Gus's school is a long way out of the city."

"Actually, it's in Mississippi."

"Mississippi!" Her voice rose.

"Perhaps I should have told you just how long of a trip this would be but I was grateful for your help." He flashed that grin that made him look like a young man without a care in the world, rather than the burdened executive he seemed so much of the time.

"And afraid I'd back out?"

"Well, I didn't know that you'd want to be locked up in a car with me for two hours each way."

Meg thought of the way he'd backed her against the armoire and suppressed a shiver. But she couldn't say it sprang from distaste. Far from it. "Well
, I can't turn away from a ten-
year-old in need," she said, sticking carefully to the legitimate reason for this time spent with Parker.

"Your parents teach you that?"

"You're good,"
she said, laughing. "Are you a lawyer?"

He made a face and shook his head. "I left that to Jules."

"And did what instead?"

"Engineering at MIT. Then an MBA from Tulane."

"I see." No GED and state college for Parker Ponthier. "Which do you like better?"

"Both." With a pleased look, he said, "I have the perfect job, running companies that make both products and money."

Companies. Plural. Meg was impressed. Ted had bungled his one business. Then she thought of Ted's work schedule and how she'd never seen him. "Do you work a lot?"

He shrugged. "To hear my grandfather tell it, I do. But work makes me happy."

"How many hours a week?"

"Tell me about your parents and I'll answer your question."

She smiled. "You win this round." The smile fading from her face, she admitted, "I'm an orphan. The kind who never knew who her parents were."

"Left on the doorstep of a foundling home?" He sounded aghast.

"Pretty much. Just substitute foundling home with Department of Social Services."

"How could someone do that?"

"I spent a lot of nights making up reasons," Meg said. "And then I got over it."

He glanced over at her. "No wonder you put such importance on family."

Oh, he was not only smart, but sensitive. Meg sighed and wondered how she'd landed up in this dream car with a man who could see right to the heart of the matter. A man to whom she'd already sold a bill of goods and told more fibs than she'd uttered in her previous thirty-two years.

"So tell me how many hours a week you work."

"Oh, it depends."

"Sounds like waffling to me. Are you afraid your grandfather is right?"