Slow Burn (17 page)

She walked to the door, taking her small case from David's hands. “Thanks,” she said briskly, and started for the marble stairs.

She could feel three pairs of eyes boring into her. No, four. Henri had appeared silently, magically—in a robe not much less elegant than her father's—to see to David's comfort. She gave him a wave. “Hi, Henri!”

“Welcome back, Mrs. Huntington.”

“Thanks.”

Spencer kept on walking. Let them stand there staring all night.

But that wasn't what happened.

“Join me for a brandy, David?” she heard her father ask. “Henri can take your things, and I'll show you the guest room when we go up.”

“I…sure,” David replied.

“Perhaps I should have something,” Mary Louise began.

“No, perhaps you should go on up. I'll be along soon,” Joe countered.

Spencer, past the landing, turned back, unable to resist looking over the balcony to the scene below.

Her mother was stunned, but her father looked very determined. Mary Louise allowed a hand to flutter to her throat, and her voice was totally disapproving. “Well, I suppose…”

Spencer sympathized with her mother. She was dying to know what the two men were going to say to one another. She was almost ready to go running downstairs, demanding admittance to their private meeting.

Unfortunately, she was certain she would be just as firmly rebuffed as her mother had been. And she
was
tired. Exhausted. If she didn't lie down soon, she would fall down. She was dead tired.

Dead…

What an awful word to use. She shivered fiercely and hurried along the hallway to her room.

It was always ready for her. It had hardly changed from when she'd been a little girl and had come here for the summers. It fit her much better now, for it had never been much of a little girl's room. The draperies were a golden damask, and the canopy over the cherrywood bed was the same, as was the comforter. The floors were hardwood, covered by a plush Persian carpet. The wrought-iron radiators that remained despite the conversion to forced-hot-water heat were painted a soft beige. The walls were paneled to a point, then the sunburst wallpaper rose to the moldings that rimmed the ceiling. It was a handsome room, an attractive room, done many years ago by a talented interior designer. Spencer didn't dislike it. But she felt there was little or nothing of herself here. The only thing she really liked was the bathroom, with its old fixtures and huge claw-footed tub. And she liked the balcony as well; it overlooked the rose gardens and the pool, which was kept heated year-round for those very few occasions when someone might actually go in it.

She dropped her bag at the foot of her bed and walked out of the balcony. She could smell the roses in the garden as she looked out over the pool. The balcony stretched across the rear of the house, but she might have been absolutely alone in the world, the night was so silent. She stepped in, showered quickly and went to bed, certain that she was so exhausted she would fall asleep quickly.

She didn't.

Instead she closed her eyes and remembered the night David had been arrested.

His eyes. She would always remember the way he had looked at her. She had felt chilled straight through the heart. She had tried to run down and find out what was going on, but her father had been on the stairway, catching her. She had fought him wildly, hysterically, and he had sounded as innocent as a man could be. By the time she'd managed to fight her way past him, David and the police car were gone. Her mother had been implacable. Of course she would never have called the police if she had realized it was David, but then, it was important for David to learn that trespassing was illegal, and so was trying to break windows.

It had been the worst night of Spencer's life. No amount of arguing had been able to move her mother. And she had told both her parents that she never wanted to see them again.

That had made it easy to leave the next day when David had walked out on her.

She trembled again just to remember it after so much time, so much life and death, had come between them. He'd been her life, and he'd walked away. She'd defended her parents, but she'd hated them then. It had been years before she'd managed to forgive them; she hadn't even come home from school for holidays at first. In fact, if it hadn't been for Sly, she might never have forgiven them, or herself; she had simply been too hurt that the people she loved could have betrayed her so deeply.

It was so long ago. And she had gotten past it. Married Danny, been happy with Danny. But now…

Now she was struggling again. It was so easy to feel close to David again. To feel as if the memories of their relationship could come rushing in and cause her marriage to fade to the far recesses of her mind. She bit her lip lightly and admitted that she had never fallen out of love with David. That didn't mean that she hadn't loved Danny, because she had. But maybe not as she should have. Still, there were moments when the guilt began to fade, and then she would feel guilty all over again for not feeling guilty enough. But despite the guilt there were moments when she forgot everything and simply wanted David. But they were older now, leading new lives. And she didn't dare feel too deeply until…

Until Danny's memory could rest with his soul. And then, maybe…

Her eyes flew open. She heard something. A creak, a whisper. She stared at the French doors that led to the balcony. Moving across the filmy gauze curtains floating on the breeze, she saw a shadow.

Her heart leaped to her throat. Sly had never convinced her that someone was trying to kill her. But the shadow seemed so menacing, looming in the moonlight, growing larger as it moved closer to the doors.

She bounded out of bed. Streaked across the room and froze against the wall beside the French doors.

One began to move slowly inward. She should have screamed, but she was afraid to. There was a large Lladro figurine on her dressing table. She snatched up the porcelain statue as the shadow moved into the room. She raised her weapon and started to bring it down. The shadow spun. An arm deflected her blow, and a palm flattened over her mouth when a scream at last promised to burst from her throat.

“Spencer, they arrested me for throwing pebbles! They'll have me on death row for breaking into your bedroom.”

“David!” she gasped, pulling free from his grasp. “You son of a bitch! You scared me half to death! Why didn't you just knock?”

“I didn't want to wake you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She set the Lladro figurine on the dresser, trembling, her heart beating way too quickly again. He was a damned good-looking shadow. He'd showered and he was in jeans and nothing else. She loved the clean scent of his flesh. For a moment she was tempted to throw herself at him, to tell him that she was scared and needed him to stay the night beside her. She wanted to feel the living warmth of his flesh, wanted to feel hot again, so hungry that the world was forgotten.

What would he say? That they would wake to a firing squad? But that wouldn't really matter to him. He didn't give a damn what her parents thought; he'd learned the hard way that self-respect was the most important thing.

She closed her eyes, feeling slightly sick, ashamed of herself for how quickly she was able to forget that she had loved Danny. How quickly everything could fade away, the past
and
the future, when she got too close to David. An aching was all that remained, a longing. And then…

The pain was something she would only remember later.

Danny had been one of the world's most wonderful guys. And she had loved him. She had really loved him.

But once she had loved David, too.

And if he touched her again, just touched her…

But he didn't. He turned, heading for the French doors. “Amazingly,” he said, an ironic tone in his voice, “I'm just the next room over. They seem to trust me as a watchdog. If the littlest thing happens, scream. I'll leave my door open.”

“Nothing is going to happen here,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Has anything happened since the incident in the cemetery? And if I was in danger then, it was my own fault. As you and a number of others have been so willing to point out.”

“Spencer, be a good kid and behave, huh?”

“Nothing is going to happen. Not here. We're a million miles from home.”

“Yeah, well, I hope so.” He hesitated. “Maybe you should move up here for a while—”

“And maybe not!” she said indignantly.

“You were quick to run away.”

“I didn't run away.”

“Yes, you did. You've always run, and run fast. But this time it might not be such a bad idea.”

“David, I came for the weekend. That's all.”

He shrugged. “Well, it's late. We can argue it out tomorrow.”

He started to walk away, but she called him back. “David!”

“Yeah?”

“What did my father want?”

“A private conversation with me.”

She set her jaw and repeated evenly, “What did my father want?”

David hesitated for a second. “He apologized. He said he was sorry for having me arrested all those years ago.”

The breeze rustled; the gauze curtains rose and fell.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That it was a long time ago. And it didn't matter anymore. Good night, Spencer.”

He paused, watching her for a moment. Then he disappeared and she lay there awake, thinking of him.

Sleeping in the next room.

So very close.

She dozed, and she remembered….

She awoke with a start, sat up, shivered. Groaned. Tried to sleep again.

It was a long night.

 

When she woke the next morning she found the rest of the household already up, having breakfast on the porch. The day was cool, but the sun was strong; it was a perfect morning to sit outside and feel the breeze and the touch of heat. David had a cup of coffee in hand. He wasn't exactly sitting at the table with her parents like a long-lost friend, but at least he was there, drinking coffee as he looked out over the expansive lawn.

“Spencer, dear!” her mother said. “You look awake and refreshed. I'd thought that perhaps since you were here, you'd come with me to a luncheon at Daisy Eaton's house this afternoon.”

“Sorry, Mom, I want to see the beach and the mansions today. Get a few ideas for some projects.”

“Spencer, you don't even need to work,” her mother said unhappily. “And Daisy Eaton's house is far nicer than any of those gaudy public mansions. If only Danny had lived, you might have been pregnant by now, and he could have given up his foolish notions of crime fighting. You two—”

“Mary Louise!” Joe said sharply.

Spencer would have protested herself, but her mother's words had created the most awful pain in her heart, as if someone were twisting a wire coat hanger into her flesh.

She glanced at her father, a little surprised. He was leaning toward her mother, staring at her firmly. “Spencer and Danny had the right to choose their own way of life, just as you are free to pursue your desires. Reminding Spencer that her husband was murdered does not seem constructive to me in any way.”

Mary Louise gasped, staring at her husband. Hurt filled her eyes; she was about to burst into tears.

Spencer thought of all the times her mother had manipulated her life, and for a moment she sat very still. She'd always forgiven Mary Louise. She'd never wanted to hurt her. But her father was right. Mary Louise could see only one road—and it was time she acknowledged some others.

Spencer stood up. She felt her parents watching her and David staring at her curiously. “I've got to go,” she said softly, and turned to leave them. She was striding to the garage when she realized David was barely two steps behind her.

She spun to face him. “What? No applause?” she demanded bitterly. “I think that was just about as good as a slap in the face, don't you?”

“Spencer…”

She didn't want to hear any more. She opened the garage and saw the rental car sitting there, keys in the ignition. She strode over to the driver's seat and slid in, slamming the door behind her.

He crawled in on the passenger side.

She eased out of the driveway, staring ahead, completely miserable. She owed Danny so much, and she was failing him. And just what the hell was she doing now?

David was silent beside her.

“Say something!” she demanded.

He was silent for another moment; then he said softly, “I can't pretend that I've respected your mother in the past.”

“You hated her.”

“I didn't care much for her. But I'm sorry for her now, and maybe I've finally seen something myself. She can't help being what she is, Spencer. You grew up with a broader vision. You were sent to a preppy school, but it was bordered by a neighborhood filled with ghetto kids. You watched the refugees pour in your whole life. You saw what you had and what others didn't. Your mother never had that experience. She grew up rich. She was surrounded by wealth and only wealth. She couldn't accept what she didn't know, and she still can't accept things that scare her. But she can change, Spencer. Anyone can change. And she loves you.”