The Secret of the Villa Mimosa (33 page)

She held the card against her cheek, smiling as she thought of Millie resplendent in shocking pink and the very same pearls at the opera last year. How could she ever forget her?

The phone rang, and she answered it absently.

“I have to see you,” Brad said.

His voice sounded tense, and she bit her lip, hesitating. “Brad, I think it’s better if we don’t see each other again,” she said finally.

“Please, Phyl. Please. It can’t just end like this because of a silly quarrel. At least let’s discuss it. Give me a chance to apologize.”

“Where are you?”

“Here in San Francisco.”

Phyl debated with herself. She knew it was more than
just a silly quarrel, but she still felt that old allure. Brad could be so sweet, so charming; maybe she was being a bit hard on him after all. She sighed as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked like a wreck after last night’s partying with Mahoney and his colleagues. But she guessed Brad was right; she owed him a chance to explain himself.

“Give me an hour,” she said. “You had better come over here.”

“I know where you live. I’ll be there.” He sounded elated.

Phyl smiled as she showered, remembering Mahoney and the wedding celebration. It had been years since she had had that kind of careless fun, without strings, without responsibilities. Just nice people having a good time. Somehow it helped put her problems with Brad in proportion. She could handle it now, she thought confidently. She dressed quickly in black jeans and a white linen shirt, cinching them together with the silver and turquoise belt from Santa Fe. She brushed back her hair and tied it firmly into a knot, smoothed on her signature red lipstick, and then in memory of Millie, put on the extravagant pearls.

She paced the room nervously, waiting for Brad. Her footsteps seemed to echo in the silence, and she wished she had the cat to keep her company, but it was still with Mahoney. She would call him later and arrange to pick it up.

She was remembering slow-dancing with Mahoney the previous night when the doorbell rang. When she answered it, Brad held out an armload of calla lilies.

“For you,” he said, looking penitent.

She smiled at him ruefully. “You’re not a man who does things by halves, are you, Brad?” she said, taking the enormous sheaf of flowers into the kitchen.

He glanced around curiously. “So this is your lair,” he said. “I wondered what it would be like.”

“And?” She faced him, arms folded defensively across her chest.

“It’s exactly you. Cool, clever, cultured. And beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She watched him prowl her home. He was wearing jeans and a blue work shirt. With his outdoors tan and rangy stride, he looked as out of place in her glossy urban apartment as a Thoroughbred racehorse at the local horse show.

“Today you look like a cowboy,” she said.

“After all, that’s what I am,” he said, studying the paintings. “A rancher.”

“And proud of it. Maybe too proud, Brad.”

“What do you mean?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “Don’t I have a right to be proud of my family and their achievements?”

Phyl thought about that; after all, hadn’t most of America’s great fortunes been made by the robber barons, and weren’t they all American legends now? “I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “In a way.”

“I like this,” he said, standing in front of a small oil by David Oxtoby of a green English lawn and a clipped yew hedge. “And this.” He was looking at a tempera by Tindle of a wooden chair standing by an open window, the muslin curtain blowing in a breeze. It had a bleached, otherworldly look, and it was one of her favorites.

He turned to face her. “I’m not used to saying sorry,” he said stiffly. “I find it very difficult.” She looked at him, saying nothing. “Do you want me to go on my knees to you?” he demanded. “Weren’t the flowers enough?”

“The flowers are beautiful, Brad. It was a nice thought. But do you really expect me to forgive you for the way you behaved? Without an apology?”

“You are right. It was unforgivable.” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. “The truth is, Phyl, I did it because I’m in love with you. I’m so
damned crazy about you I just can’t bear the idea of anyone taking you away from me.”

“But no one was taking me away from you. It was an urgent call from a friend—”

“Was that the same friend you were out with last night?”

She pushed away, staring at him with astonishment. “How do
you
know who I was with last night?”

“I called you for hours and you weren’t here. I just guessed you were with someone else….”

“It’s none of your goddamn business who I was with, Brad Kane. Not anymore.”

“Don’t say that Please.”

“Oh, Brad,” she said wearily, “it was all so beautiful, so special….”

“It can be again.” He caught her in his arms, holding her so close she could feel the muscles of his chest hard against her breasts and the strong, wiry length of his body against hers. “I’m sorry, Phyl. I’m really sorry.” He sounded desperate. “There, I’ve said it. Now
please
, tell me you forgive me.”

She felt herself capitulating, falling under his sexual spell. “I’m a busy woman,” she said quickly. “My work takes up most of my time. I’ve been irresponsible, playing when I should have been working. I have to get back to my own life, Brad.”

“Don’t abandon me.”
It was a cry from his heart, and she recognized it. Mahoney’s handsome, smiling face suddenly came into her mind. Her body remembered the feel of his arms around her, their steps fitting perfectly as they slow-danced. Mahoney, the joker, the tease, the good friend. Mahoney, the dedicated cop, the poet, the opera buff. And rich, handsome, overly proud Brad Kane with all his problems somehow seemed less enticing.

She breathed a sigh of relief. She was finally free of Brad Kane’s dangerous spell. But looking at his despairing face, she knew she had to let him down gently.

“I promise I’ll see you when I have time. But on my terms.”

“I’ll take anything I can get,” he murmured, “the crumbs from your plate, a kiss on the hem of your garment, a glance from your jeweled eyes….” He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, and she laughed, remembering how much she had enjoyed him. Perhaps it would be all right after all; perhaps they could be friends.

“In that case you can take me to lunch,” she said briskly.

“Anywhere,” he said eagerly, his anxious look disappearing. “The moon, Mars, Venus.”

“Il Fornaio, around the corner,” she said, laughing with him despite herself. “For pizza. I’m starving.”

They had a corner table by the long windows. After they had ordered, Brad eyed her necklace and said coldly, “Who gave you the pearls?”

She heard the warning note of jealousy in his voice again. “Brad, these were left to me by my friend, the one whose funeral I missed.”

He played with the cutlery, not looking at her. “She must have thought a lot of you to leave you such an expensive necklace.”

“Millie also left me the matching earrings and ring. They’re really too fancy for daytime, but I felt like wearing her pearls. Somehow it makes me feel closer to her. I can remember the last time I saw her wearing them. It was last year at the opera. We saw
Carmen
, and Millie even dressed for the part, in shocking pink flounces.”

“They must be worth a small fortune,” Brad persisted.

“Millie was a very rich woman, though perhaps not quite as rich as you,” she said with a coaxing smile. “And she was free with her money. She spread it around. She alway wanted to help other people, and she was a sucker for any sob story. That’s why she took
on my patient as her social secretary—the one I told you about with the lost memory. Anyway, Millie left her millions in her will, as well as two orphaned children that she has to take care of. She said she was giving a future to the girl with no past. And I guess she was right because Bea seems happy enough now.”

“The woman sounds like a typical misguided philanthropist. I would say that girl got very lucky,” Brad said savagely.

“Millie Renwick was not misguided,” Phyl said angrily. “She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and she had the means to do it.”

He looked up from the pizza, his eyes suddenly alert. “Renwick?”

“Yes, Millicent Renwick.”

“I’ve heard that name somewhere else recently.”

“You’ve probably read about her in the society columns. Or maybe in the obits. Anyway, she bought this villa in the south of France, and she gave it to Bea. The Villa Mimosa.”

“The Villa Mimosa?”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful place, although Bea is convinced it has a mysterious past. Anyway, now it’s hers, and she’s living there with the two children, Scott and Julie Renwick, aged nine and seven. So I guess she has her hands full.”

“You said Bea was your patient? What exactly is wrong with her?” Brad took a gulp of his red wine and glanced at her with hooded blue eyes.

“I told you, she had an accident and lost her memory. She doesn’t remember anything about it. It’s just one of those strange things.”

“And will her memory ever return?”

Phyl sighed regretfully. “Who knows? I hope so, for her sake.”

“You are too involved with your patients,” Brad said with some tenderness. “You take on all their problems.”

She smiled. “Including yours.”

“Do you mind my talking to you about my family?”

“I think it’s probably very good for you.”

He leaned across the table and gripped her hand. “Phyl, come back with me to Hawaii. Please, just for the weekend. I need you there.
I need to talk to you.
”

There was total despair in his voice. Panicked, she wondered what he might do to himself if she said no. But it still wasn’t right for him to put her in this position. “I don’t know if I can … there’s so much to do….” She hesitated.

“It’s easy,” he said pleadingly. “I’ll fly you to Honolulu myself.
Please
, Phyl. I need you.” He gripped her hands tightly. “I’ve never said those words to anyone else in my life. But I’m saying them to you now. Come with me, Phyl. I promise faithfully to have you back in San Francisco on Monday morning.”

How could she resist such a cry for help? She knew only too well how it felt to be alone. “Oh … all right, but no strings,” she said, hoping she was doing the right thing.

She could tell Mahoney didn’t like it when she called and told him she would be returning to Hawaii the following weekend. “Are you sure about this?” he asked worriedly. “After what you told me about him?”

“He says he’s a reformed character, Mahoney. What can I do? I really feel he needs to talk, and that’s the only reason I’m going. Brad needs me.”

Mahoney sighed. “Sounds like a ploy to me.”

“I had such a great time last night, Franco,” she said softly. “You’re a terrific dancer.”

“It’s only one of my talents,” he replied morosely. “I didn’t get to show you the rest.”

She laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ll miss me.”

“Who the hell said I would?” he demanded, grinning. Then, suddenly serious, he added, “Look, Phyl, take care, will you? This guy sounds a bit unstable to me.”

“Don’t worry. He’s as sane as you and I, whatever that means. Will you hang on to Coco for me? I’ll call you when I get back on Monday.”

“Sure.” He was about to hang up when he thought of something. “Doc,” he said, “what kind of auto does Mr. Hawaii drive?”

“A Porsche nine-thirty-eight. Black. Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered,” he replied.

Well, well
, he said to himself, heading down the hall to the coffee machine,
the hunch paid off. Mr. Hawaii was spying on her last night.
He remembered Phyl’s leaning affectionately against him as they walked up the steps into her building and his putting his arm around her, kissing her. He gave a dismayed whistle as he thought about Mr. Hawaii’s unreasonable jealousy. He hoped Phyl knew what she was doing. And maybe in the meantime he would do a little quiet checking on Mr. Brad Kane.

26

T
he children were bathed and in bed. There had been no sound from them for the past half hour, and Bea assumed, as thankfully as any birth mother, that they were finally asleep.