The Saint (9 page)

John laughed. Old Anderson's snobbery had been well-known. For instance, he had at first refused to hire John and Evelyn Gordon's excellent law firm just because the Gordons hadn't been born in Heyday.

But John didn't care. Anderson had hired him in the end, because Anderson valued talent even more than pedigree. John also knew that Anderson and Kieran had been as close as father and son could be, in spite of all the old man's idiosyncrasies.

“He really said that?” John's expression was mischievous, making him look much younger than his nearly fifty years. Kieran could see why John had snagged a beautiful wife twenty years his junior. “And you let the old man just stomp out your dream?”

“Hey, I was only ten. I didn't have the courage
of my convictions. He threatened to take the TV out of my room.”

“I guess he wasn't that thrilled when you became a high-school football coach, then. Not much more socially upper crust than fireman, actually.”

“Nope. He was mad as hell. But I was twenty by then. I'd grown a little backbone. Plus, I'd discovered there was a TV down at Sam's Pierside that anybody could watch.”

And anyhow, Kieran had always known that Anderson's tirades were more noise than substance. Especially about the coaching job. Before long he had become Kieran's biggest fan. Until his heart got too bad to let him climb the bleachers, he had attended every Heyday High game Kieran coached.

Crusty old crow. Kieran would give a hell of a lot to look up and see that craggy, arrogant face in the crowd again this September.

But he refused to turn maudlin. That wasn't what Anderson had wanted. “Just get busy and get on with your life,” he'd told Kieran when he had finally accepted that he was dying. “Your life. Your way. Forget everything I told you. I never knew what the hell I was talking about anyhow.”

So, in honor of his father, Kieran had done exactly that. Starting this morning.

“Seriously, though,” John went on, “I'm mighty glad Anderson wasn't here today to see you giving all that land away.”

Kieran grinned. “Me, too.” He remembered the first time he'd mentioned this idea to his father. Ten acres of prime downtown property, prime money-making land, which Kieran had inherited from his
mother—and Kieran thought it should be donated to the city for a park.

His father, who hadn't left his bed for more than a month, had nearly jumped up and strangled him.

No, Anderson hadn't much believed in giving anything away. But Kieran knew the town needed it. And when the Little League program chairmen approached him last week, explaining how desperately they needed a new ball field, Kieran simply decided it was time to make it official.

He'd never miss the land. And if he did, well, he was a Heyday taxpayer. He could sit on the benches whenever he wanted to.

“Thanks for helping me out with the paperwork on this,” Kieran said, holding out his hand as the two men drew near their cars and prepared to part. “I was particularly impressed with the way you set up the tax situation.”

John shook his hand. “I'll pass that thank-you on to Evelyn. She drew up the documents. She's the money expert in the firm. I'm actually just supposed to be the mop-up man for your personal life.” He sighed, an exaggerated heaving. “However, when you work for a saint, there's not much mopping up to do.”

Kieran touched his shoulder. “If it'll make you happy,” he said, “I'll try to be a little more decadent.”

“Too late for that,” John said wryly. “Isn't that your lovely fiancée heading this way?”

Kieran turned. It took a minute to answer, because, as incredible as it sounded, he almost didn't recognize Claire as she strolled toward them, only a block away.

But he had forgotten exactly how petite she was, compared to other women. If he'd ever noticed that she carried her shoulders tightly back when she walked, he'd forgotten it. He was pretty sure he'd never realized that her hair picked up so many golden highlights from the sun.

Besides, she looked so different from the drained, angry woman who had rung his bell Saturday night. Different, too, from the polite mannequin accepting congratulations from his friends with formulaic phrases and robot smiles. And definitely different from the rain-drenched mourner he'd found standing half-dazed outside the house in Yarrow Estates.

The sad truth was that, though they were to be married in twelve days, he simply didn't know her well enough to recognize her in all her moods.

Today she was like walking sunshine. She was utterly lovely and disarmingly young in a sleeveless dress as yellow as the honeysuckle that grew up the back wall of his house.

“Yes,” he said belatedly, but with an illogical sense of pride. “That's Claire.”

John gave him a serious look. “Well, at least you'll have one job for me. I'll be busy drawing up an ironclad prenup. Right?”

Kieran cocked his head. “What?”

“Prenup. A little piece of paper that protects your ass, I mean your assets, just in case the marriage doesn't quite last until death do you part. Every wedding ring should come wrapped in one.”

“Oh. That. Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe?”
John's whisper was filled with incredulity. “Not maybe, McClintock. Definitely. You're a very rich—”

“Hi, Claire,” Kieran said with a welcoming smile, hoping his greeting would drown out John's words. “I was just headed back up to Aurora's house to see you. I don't know if you've met John Gordon.”

Claire held out her hand. “Of course. We met at the party. How's Erica doing, John? Has she recovered from the crème brûlées?”

John's face was returning to its normal color. He took Claire's hand and gave her a smile that said he remembered well how cleverly she had corralled his obstreperous daughter.

“She had a pretty vicious stomachache yesterday,” he said. “But she's back to normal now, God help us.” He grinned. “Good thing my wife is still a young woman. I wouldn't ever have had a child so late in life if I'd known she'd be like Erica.”

Claire laughed. “I thought she was adorable. Just be careful what you say around her. She repeats everything she hears. She's actually frighteningly smart.”

“She thought you were terrific, too. She keeps asking when she'll get to see you again. I told her we'd have you and Kieran over for dinner soon.” He glanced at Kieran. “That sound good?”

Kieran exchanged a wry smile with Claire. “We'll have to check with Aurora. Claire is pretty much her prisoner between now and the wedding.” He glanced toward the street, where Aurora's long white Cadillac was purring to a stop beside them. “See what I mean?”

He moved to the curb just as Aurora rolled down the back window and peered out.

“Hi, there,” he said, leaning in to kiss the old lady. “I was just telling John what a strict chaperone
you are. I told him if I want to see Claire alone, I'm going to have to sneak up the trellis like a teenager.”

“Do it, McClintock, and I'll sic the hounds on you,” Aurora said with a grin so devilish it wrinkled her whole face. “This girl is under
my
protection now. Besides, I'm not exactly the wicked witch. I let her walk down here just now, didn't I? So that she could say hello to you before we got started for the day.”

“Hello? I get one hello a day from my fiancée?”

“That should be plenty.” The driver had climbed out of the car and was now standing at Aurora's door, holding it open. Aurora waved one be-ringed finger in Claire's direction. “Come, my dear. We are going to have lunch at Bennini's before we shop. We will not rest until we've found the perfect gown, so we must fortify ourselves for a long afternoon.”

Claire cast one last, helpless look at Kieran, and then obediently bent down and folded herself into the car.

“Hey, what about me?” Kieran frowned playfully. “I'm hungry, too, you know.”

Aurora signaled her driver to close the door. “Nonsense,” she said as she slowly rolled her window up. “Saintly young men who have just become engaged are expected to live on love.”

L
UNCH WAS EFFICIENT
and uneventful, but at the very first bridal boutique Claire and Aurora encountered a hitch.

The hitch was one of the other customers, a highly polished blonde whom Claire recognized as Linda Reavis. Two years ago Claire and Linda had both been novice teachers at Heyday Middle School.

Unfortunately, Aurora seemed to recognize the blonde, too, and obviously considered the encounter highly undesirable.

“Linda Tremel, of all people! Oh, will you just look at that alley cat! What's she doing here? Not buying a wedding dress, I assure you. Waiting like a spider for us to stumble into her web, that's what. Pretend you don't see her, dear. She's just trying to ferret out the newest gossip.”

A spider and a ferret
and
a cat? Apparently Aurora couldn't adequately express her irritation without using every metaphor and simile in her repertoire. But Claire had no intention of snubbing Linda just because Aurora York told her to. Two years ago, Aurora probably would have pretended not to see Claire, either. Or maybe she really
wouldn't
have seen her, the way the very rich don't see waiters or servants or salesclerks.

Linda Reavis, on the other hand, had always been
friendly to Claire. When they had started teaching across the hall from one another, Linda had just fallen desperately in love with a young lawyer named Austin Tremel. Claire remembered being worried for her. Linda's infatuation had seemed so intense, and Austin Tremel was one of Heyday's elite, traveling in an entirely different social orbit.

But if she was Linda Tremel now, she must have somehow leapt that gap. Apparently congratulations were in order.

“I'm sorry, Aurora,” Claire murmured. “I can't do that. Linda's an old friend.”

She went up to the other woman and touched her on the hand, noting the gigantic diamond ring, the unnaturally bronze tan, and the elegantly manicured fingertips. Oh, yes, Linda had definitely been pulled into Austin Tremel's gravitational field.

“Linda? It's Claire Strickland. How are you? It's been a long time.”

Linda turned, and instantly Claire saw that all the changes were stamped on her face, too. She looked gorgeous but strangely artificial, almost doll-like. She was so thin her cheekbones threatened to break through her stretched skin. And, this close, Claire smelled something that was either the strangest perfume in the world, or plain old vodka.

Maybe, Claire thought, she should hold off on those congratulations.

“Well, hey there, honey,” Linda said, giving Claire a hug, nothing so physical it risked mussing her lipstick or hair. “I heard you were back. Ready to ride the old matrimonial merry-go-round, I understand. I took a spin on that myself.” She wiggled her ring finger. “Of course I couldn't hold on. But, luck
ily, when I fell off, some of the dear boy's stock portfolio fell off with me.”

Claire couldn't hide her surprise. “You and Austin Tremel are divorced?”

Already?

“Yeah, apparently he married me primarily to tick off Tremel Senior, and when the old guy died I guess that rendered me obsolete.”

“Oh, Linda, surely—”

“No biggie,” Linda said, smiling. “I ended up with the mansion, right there on Big Shot Street, which means that once you tie the knot I'll be your next-door neighbor, twice removed. Hers, too.”

She waved merrily at Aurora, who sat in a throne-like chair by the wedding dresses, being fawned over by the young saleswoman, who obviously had no trouble identifying the biggest bank account in the room.

“Hi, neighbor,” Linda called. She tilted her head toward Claire again and whispered, “She tolerated me until Austin split. Apparently he provided my get-in-free card, and now that he's gone I'm just another tacky interloper. You might want to remember that. She's leading you around like her new pet poodle now, but when you and St. Kieran call it quits—”

“‘When?'”
Claire tried to smile, but this level of cynicism was a surprise. “Not even
‘if?'
”

“Hey, don't kid a kidder, honey. I've—”

“Claire!” Aurora's summons was imperious. The blue feather on her pillbox hat shook, as if it echoed her indignation. “Come and look at these gowns. We have several establishments to visit this afternoon. We mustn't let ourselves get bogged down in the very first one.”

“We'll be right there, Aurora,” Linda said, clearly pretending she thought the invitation included them both. She gave Claire a grin, and for a minute she looked like her old self.

Claire had to smile back. Ordinarily, she didn't much care for women as lacquered and insinuating as Linda Tremel had become. But Aurora was being a snob. Claire appreciated being taken under the older woman's wing, but Aurora might as well understand now that Claire didn't plan to adopt her elitist views.

Together, Claire and Linda walked over to the wedding gowns, which were lovely, and entirely out of Claire's price range. The saleswoman looked at Claire, then touched Aurora's arm, as if overcome with delight.

“Oh, you're right, she'll make a beautiful bride. I know we have something that you'll like, Ms. York.” She beamed. “You may find that you don't need to visit those other establishments after all.”

Claire looked at one of the price tags. “Aurora, I can't possibly afford—”

Aurora's feather wobbled emphatically. “Nonsense.
I'm
putting on this wedding, on behalf of Kieran's dear mother. You're not allowed to worry about a single thing, my dear.”

As if that settled it, Aurora turned toward the saleswoman. “I think her coloring calls for ivory, don't you? Long, of course. And demure. But watch the lace. Her face is feminine enough. She doesn't need to fuss.”

The saleswoman nodded as if Aurora had spoken pearls of great wisdom. “I know exactly,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

Linda Tremel had been sifting through the dresses while Aurora gave orders. She watched the departing saleswoman and grimaced. “She's going to bring back every hackneyed old Edwardian princess gown she's got. Look how tiny Claire is. If she wears some monster gown, she's going to look as if the damn dress is eating her alive.”

Aurora tilted her head so far back her feather bumped into the wall. “And what exactly are you doing in this establishment, Linda?”

“Checking on my own dress. They're selling it for me—God knows I don't want it. Don't worry, all the used stuff is over there, in the consignment area. No risk of letting Claire here buy damaged goods.” She winked at Claire.

“I see.” Aurora still stared piercingly down her nose. “And…I don't remember. Did I request assistance with this decision, Linda?”

“No, but you need it. You didn't mention
sexy
on your list of requirements. You don't want Kieran to think he's married a frump, do you? Now this—” She pulled out a gown and, folding the hanger out of the way, held it against Claire's torso. “This would look just awesome.”

The gown was very dramatic. It looked, in fact, as if it had been designed for the Marquis de Sade's wedding. It had a fitted boned bodice like a corset and a ruched skirt so tight Claire wouldn't have been able to walk.

“Yes,” Aurora said thinly. “All it needs is a little white whip.”

Linda studied the dress for a moment, and then she laughed out loud. “Okay,” she said, still chuck
ling. “Point taken. We'll tone it down, then. How about…this?”

It was better, but still loaded with overt sexuality. Claire privately thought of it as an “off” dress. Off white, off the shoulder, off the back, darn near entirely off the body.

But, to Claire's surprise, Aurora studied it a moment before reacting.

“It doesn't leave much to the imagination, though, does it?” Aurora glanced at Claire. “And I think we really must give Kieran credit for possessing a bit of that.”

Linda laughed. “Must we?”

Aurora fingered the satin. “Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, I think we must.”

Claire looked at the two of them, incredulous. Was it possible that the stiff old aristocrat and the brash young divorcée were actually understanding one another rather well? The bride-to-be seemed, for the moment, completely irrelevant.

Which was just as well. Her hormones must be going through another swing. Claire suddenly felt a little sick, as if the soup she'd had for lunch might be going to stage a revolt.

Not here,
she prayed silently, pretending an interest in the row of gowns. The irony would be intolerable.

The saleswoman finally reappeared, her arms laden with dresses. She hung them on rods around the area, all facing out, so that the women suddenly seemed to be drowning in a perfumed white sea of organza, crepe de Chine, satin and lace. Claire thought she'd never in her life seen so many crystal beads and seed pearls in one place.

Linda and Aurora looked them over silently.

“Told ya,” Linda said. She yawned.

Aurora tapped her index finger against her purse. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips set. Finally, with a sigh, she turned to Linda.

“If I allow you to accompany us on this expedition, do I have your assurance that you will not endeavor to send Kieran's bride to the altar looking like a trollop?”

Linda smiled. “If I have your assurance that you won't try to send her up there looking like somebody's great-great-grandmother.”

“Very well.” Aurora inclined her head. “I believe there is a possibility we might be able to find some middle ground.”

Claire made a small sound. “I don't suppose anyone cares what I think?”

The other women both spoke at once.

“Of course we do, dear,” Aurora soothed.

“Not really,” Linda said, more honestly.

“That's what I thought.” Claire squared her shoulders, ignoring the fact that her upper lip felt a little clammy, and her head had begun to feel light. She felt claustrophobic, penned in by heavily scented satin.

“But there is one thing you both need to know. I have a limited amount of money to spend on this, so whatever you two decide, you'd better put the whole costume together for less than six hundred dollars.”

“Six hundred dollars?” Aurora laughed softly. “Oh, my dear, just don't you worry about a—”

Oh, no.
The room began to tilt.

“I'm sorry, Aurora.” Claire turned to the saleswoman. “Do you have a rest room?”

“Sure,” she said, pointing. “Through there.”

The sickness was brief and miserable, even though Claire had hardly eaten anything all day. The small rest room's wallpaper of pink and red roses swam as her eyes watered, and the little bowl of rose potpourri just made things worse.

When she finally stood up, her legs were shaking. She rinsed her mouth in the old-fashioned white basin and checked her face in the fancy antique-gold-framed mirror.

She thought maybe she could pull it off. Her eyes were shining a little, and her cheeks were very pale. But maybe, if she redid her lipstick, no one would notice.

When she returned to the sales floor, Aurora was already out at the Cadillac. Through the picture window, Claire could see the driver helping her into the back seat.

Linda had hung back, waiting, and she scrutinized Claire's face as she approached. “You okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” Now that she felt steadier, Claire assumed that the less said the better. Overexplaining would just look suspicious.

But maybe she should have made something up—bad food from lunch, a need to take a pill, anything—because Linda kept studying her, and finally her gaze flicked down to Claire's waist. Though Claire knew her stomach was entirely flat—it was much too early for anything to show—she flushed.

Linda clearly saw that, too. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

Claire raised her chin and took a step backward. But Linda didn't accept the silent rebuff. She chuck
led softly and slipped her arm through Claire's, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Well, well, it's a good thing you ran into me,” she said. “I tell you what. As soon as I'm through saving your butt on this dress issue, I'll give you a few tips on negotiating the ironclad prenup.”

“Linda, I don't—”

“Oh, yes, you do.” Linda glanced at Claire's midsection one more time. “Because, sweetheart, I was right, wasn't I? The only question about the end of this particular marriage is
when.
Not
if.
”

 

S
IX HOURS LATER
, when the sun was sinking behind the sturdy silhouettes of the Riverside Park mansions, Claire knocked on Kieran's front door one more time.

He'd left a message on Aurora's answering machine, saying he needed to see Claire as soon as they returned. Aurora had announced that she'd go along as chaperone, but just then her telephone had rung. While Aurora was absorbed in the call, Claire had made her escape.

Still, she hoped Kieran would hurry. You never knew what the old lady might do. She could easily come storming over here and try to snatch Claire back into protective custody.

Kieran opened the door within seconds, as if he'd been waiting for her. He was casually dressed in jeans and a broadcloth shirt. He'd rolled the sleeves back, and she recognized the look. It was the way he always dressed for coaching football practice.

“Hi,” he said with a smile. He stuck his head out and checked both directions. “Where's the warden?”

“On the telephone,” she said. “Apparently it's time to start choosing the food for the reception. We just five minutes ago returned from the great wedding dress safari.”

He laughed. “Did you bag one?”

She shook her head, but not for long. She had a vicious headache, and any movement was excruciating. “No. You see, Linda Tremel went with us.”