The Invitation (Matchmaker Trilogy) (4 page)

Victoria schooled her expression to one of total maturity. “I’ve thought a lot about that. Samson won’t be an idiot. Maybe an absentminded professor, or a man bent on living out his childhood dreams.” She took a quick breath. “He could be fun.”

“He could be impossible.”

“But there will be others aboard.”

“Mmm. A bunch of his students, all around twenty and so full of themselves that they’ll be obnoxious.”

“You were pretty full of yourself at that age,” she reminded her niece, smoothing a stray wisp of hair from Shaye’s pale cheek.

“And obnoxious.”

“You didn’t think so at the time.”

“Neither will they.”

But Victoria’s eyes had grown thoughtful again. “I don’t think there’ll be many students. Garrick wouldn’t have signed me on as a dorm mother. No, I’d guess that we’ll be encountering adults, people very much like us looking for a break from routine.”

“Since when do you have a routine you need a break from?”

“Not me. You. You need the break. I don’t need anything, but my friends wanted to give me a good time, and that’s exactly what I intend to have.” She pushed herself gracefully from the bed. “Starting now. I’m famished. What’ll it be—a doggie bag from the restaurant or room service later?”

Shaye tucked up her knees and closed her eyes. “Sleep. Tomorrow will be soon enough for superb food and nice dry martinis.”

*   *   *

T
HE TWO WOMEN HAD NO TROUBLE
finding the
Golden Echo
the next morning. She was berthed at the end of the pier and very definitely stood apart from the other craft they’d passed.

“Oh Lord,” Shaye muttered.

Victoria was as wide-eyed as her niece. “Maybe we have the wrong one.”

“The name board says
Golden Echo.
”

“Maybe I got the name wrong.”

“Maybe you got the trip wrong.”

They stood with their elbows linked and their heads close together as, eyes transfixed on the boat before them, they whispered back and forth.

“She isn’t exactly a tub,” Victoria offered meekly.

“She’s a pirate ship—”

“In miniature.”

“Looks like she’s been through one too many battles. Or one too few. She should have sunk long ago.”

“Maybe not,” Victoria argued, desperately searching for something positive to say. “She looks sturdy enough.”

“Like a white elephant.”

“But she’s clean.”

“Mmm. The chipped paint’s been neatly scraped away. Lord, I don’t believe I’ve seen anything as boxy since the Tall Ships passed through during the Bicentennial.”

“They were impressive.”

“
They
were.”

“So’s this—”

“If you close your eyes and pretend you’re living in the eighteenth century.”

Victoria didn’t close her eyes, but she was squinting hard. “You have to admit that she has a certain … character.”

“Mmm. Decrepit.”

“She takes three sails. That should be pretty.”

Her enthusiasm was lost on Shaye, who was eyeing in dismay the ragged bundles of canvas lashed to the rigging. “Three crisp … white … sails.”

“Okay, they may not be crisp and white. What does it matter, if they’re strong?”

“Are they?”

“If Samson VanBaar is any kind of friend to Garrick—and if Garrick is any kind of friend to me—they are.”

Shaye moaned. “And to think that I could have been in the Berkshires, lazing around without a care in the world.”

“You’ll be able to laze around here.”

“I don’t see any deck chairs.”

“But it’s a nice broad deck.”

“It looks splintery.”

“So we’ll lie on towels.”

“Did you bring some?”

“Of course not. They’ll have towels aboard.”

“Like they have polished brass fittings?” Shaye sighed. “Well, you were right in a way.”

“What way was that?” Victoria asked, at a momentary loss.

“We are going in style. Of course, it’s not exactly
our
style—for that matter, I’m not sure whose style it is.” Her voice hardened. “You may be crazy enough to give it a try, but I’m not.”

She started to pivot away, intending to take the first cab back to Barranquilla, but Victoria clamped her elbow tighter and dragged her forward. “Excuse me,” she was calling, shading her eyes from the sun with her free hand. “We’re looking for Samson VanBaar.”

Keeping step with her aunt through no will of her own, Shaye forced herself to focus on the figure that had just emerged from the bowels of the boat. “It gets worse,” she moaned, then whispered a hoarse, “What
is
he?”

“I’m VanBaar,” came the returning call. “Mrs. Lesser, Miss Burke?” With a sweep of his arm, he motioned them forward. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Nothing they’d imagined had prepared either Shaye or Victoria for Samson VanBaar. In his mid to late fifties, he was remarkably tall and solid. His well-trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, very possibly combed in a dignified manner short days before, tumbled carelessly around his head, forming a reckless frame for a face that was faintly sunburned, though inarguably sweet.

What was arguable was his costume, and it could only be called that. He wore a billowy white shirt tucked into a pair of narrow black pants, which were tucked into knee-high leather boots. A wide black belt slanted low across his hips, and if it lacked the scabbard for a dagger or a sword, the effect was the same.

“He forgot the eye patch,” Shaye warbled hysterically.

“Shh! He’s darling!” Victoria whispered under her breath. Smiling broadly—and never once releasing Shaye, who, she knew, would head in the opposite direction given the first opportunity—she started up the gangplank. At the top, she put her free hand in the one Samson offered and stepped onto the deck. “It’s a delight to meet you at last, Professor VanBaar. I’m Victoria Lesser, and this is my niece, Shaye Burke.”

Shaye was too busy silently cursing her relationship with Victoria to say much of anything, but she managed a feeble smile in return for the open one the professor gave her.

“Welcome to the
Golden Echo,
” he said, quietly now that they were close. “I trust you had no problem finding us.”

“No, no,” Victoria answered brightly. “None at all.” She made a grand visual sweep of the boat, trying to see as little as possible while still conveying her point. “This is charming!”

Shaye nearly choked. When Victoria gave a tight, warning squeeze to her elbow before abruptly releasing it, she tipped back her head, closed her eyes and drew in an exaggerated lungful of Caribbean air. It was certainly better than having to look at the boat, and though Samson VanBaar was attractive enough, the insides of her eyelids were more reassuring than his getup.

“I felt that the
Golden Echo
would be more in keeping with the spirit of this trip than a modern yacht would be,” he explained. “She’s a little on the aged side, but I’ve been told she’s trusty.”

Shaye opened one eye. “You haven’t sailed her yet?”

Almost imperceptibly he ducked his head, but the tiny movement was enough to suggest guilt. “I’ve sailed ones like her, but I just flew in yesterday myself, and the bulk of my time between then and now had been spent buying supplies. I hope you understood why I couldn’t properly welcome you in Barranquilla last night.”

“Of course,” Victoria reassured him gently. “It worked out just as well, actually. We were both tired after the flight.”

“You slept well?”

“Very well.”

“Good.” He ran a forefinger along the corner of his mouth, as though unsure of what to say next. Then his eyes brightened. “Your bags.” He quickly spotted them on the pier. “Let me bring them aboard, then I’ll give you the Cook’s tour.”

He’d no sooner descended the gangplank when Shaye whirled on Victoria. “The Cook’s tour?” she whispered wildly. “Is he the cook or are we?”

“Don’t fret,” Victoria whispered back with confidence, “there’s a cook.”

“Like there’s a lovely stateroom for us to share? Do you have any idea what’s down there?”

“Nope. That’s what the Cook’s tour is for.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Of course not. This is an adventure.”

“The boat is a wreck!”

“She’s trusty.”

“So says the professor who’s staging Halloween three months early.”

Victoria’s eyes followed Samson’s progress. “And I thought he’d be stuffy. He’s precious!”

“Good. Since you like him so well, you won’t need my protection after all. I’ll just take my bag and head back—”

“You will not! You’re staying!”

“Victoria, there’ll be lots of other people…” The words died on her lips. Her head remained still while her eyes moved from one end of the empty deck to the other. She listened. “Where are they? It’s too quiet. We were ten minutes late, ourselves. Where are the others?”

Victoria was asking herself the same question. Her plan was contingent on there being other treasure seekers, specifically of the young and good-looking male variety. True, in terms of rest alone, the trip would be good for Shaye, and Victoria always enjoyed her niece’s company. But matching her up with a man—it had worked so well with Deirdre, then Leah … Where
were
the men?

Concealing her concern behind a gracious smile, she turned to VanBaar, who had rejoined them with a suitcase in either hand. “We don’t expect you wait on us. Please. Just tell us what to do.” She reached for her bag, but Samson drew it out of her reach.

“Chivalry is a dying art. You’ll have plenty to do as time goes on, but for now, I think I can manage two bags.”

Chivalry?
Shaye thought, amused.
Plenty to do?
she thought, appalled.

Victoria was thinking about the good-looking young men she didn’t see. “Is this standard service given to all the members of your group?” she ventured, half teasing, half chiding, and subtly fishing for information.

“No, ma’am. We men fend for ourselves. You and your niece are the only women along.”

Swell,
Shaye groused silently,
just swell.

Victoria couldn’t have been more delighted. “How many others are there, Professor VanBaar?”

He blushed. “Samson, please.”

She smiled. “Samson, then. How many of us will there be in all?”

“Four.”

“Four?” the women echoed in unison.

“That’s right.” Setting the bags by his booted feet, he scratched the back of his head. “Didn’t Garrick explain the situation?”

Victoria gave a delicate little cough. “I’m afraid he didn’t go quite that far.”

“That was negligent of him,” Samson said, but he didn’t seem upset, and Victoria saw a tiny twinkle in his eye. “Let me explain. Originally there were to be just two of us, myself and an old college buddy with whom I often travel in the summer. When Garrick called me about your joining us, I saw no problem. Unfortunately, my friend had to cancel at the last minute, so I hoodwinked my nephew into taking up the slack.” He stole a glance at Shaye’s dismayed expression. “It takes two to comfortably man the boat, and since I didn’t know whether either of you were sailors—”

“We’re not,” Shaye burst out. “I don’t know about my aunt, but I get seasick.”

“Ignore her, Samson. She’s only teasing.”

“
Violently
seasick.”

“Not to worry,” Samson assured her in the same kind tone that made it hard to hold a grudge. “I have medicine for seasickness, though I doubt you’ll need it. We shouldn’t run into heavy seas.”

At that moment, Shaye would have paid a pirate’s ransom to be by her lonesome in the Berkshires. A foursome—Victoria and Samson, Samson’s nephew and her. It was too cozy, too convenient. Suddenly something smacked of a setup. Could Samson have done it? Or Garrick? Or … She skewered her aunt with an accusatory glare.

Victoria had her eyes glued to Samson. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Now then, I believe you said something about a tour?”

*   *   *

N
OAH
V
AN
B
AAR WAS
nearly as disgusted as Shaye. Arms crossed over his chest and one knee bent up as he lounged on a hardwood bench within earshot of the three above, he struggled in vain to contain his frustration. He’d had other plans for his summer vacation, but when his uncle had called, claiming that Barney was sick and there was no one else who could help him sail, he’d been indulgent.

Samson and he were the only two surviving members of the VanBaar family, but even if sentimentality hadn’t been a factor, Noah was fond enough of his uncle to take pity. He knew how much Samson looked forward to his little jaunts. He also knew that Samson was an expert sailor and more than capable of handling the boat himself, but that for safety’s sake he needed another pair of hands along. If Noah’s refusal meant that Samson had to cancel his trip, there was no real choice to be made.

Naturally, his uncle had waited until last night to inform him that they wouldn’t be sailing alone. Naturally, he had waited until this morning to inform him that the pair joining them would be female.

Noah didn’t want one woman along, much less two. Not that he had anything against women in general, but on this trip, they would be in the way. He’d planned to relax, to take a break from the tension that was part and parcel of his work. He’d planned to have one of the two cabins on the boat to himself, to sleep to his heart’s content, to dress as he pleased, shave when and if he pleased, swim in the buff, and, in short, let it all hang out.

The presence of women didn’t figure into his personal game plan. They were bound to screw things up. A widow and her niece. Charming. Samson was already carrying their bags. If they thought
he
was going to wait on them, they had another think coming!

Actually, he mused, the aunt didn’t sound so bad. She had a pleasant voice, sounded lively without being obnoxious, and to her further credit, had protested Samson’s playing bellboy. He wondered what she looked like and whether Samson would be enthralled. He hoped not, because then he’d be stuck with the niece, who sounded far less lively and more obnoxious than her aunt.