The Widow and the Wastrel (2 page)

Amy's grandfather, Jerry's father, had been taken from them quite suddenly with a heart attack almost two years ago. He had never spent much time with Amy even though they lived in the same house. Nor had Amy ever indicated any great affection for her grandfather, but sometimes Elizabeth found it difficult to know exactly what was on her daughter's mind.

Hesitating in front of the open door of her closet, she shrugged away the thought of dressing and reached instead for the cotton caftan. Its loose-fitting folds would be much more comfortable on this hot, stickily humid day.

Downstairs again, Elizabeth paused in the roomy, old-fashioned kitchen long enough to fix herself a cold glass of lemonade. She had already had a light lunch with her tennis partner and friend, Barbara Hopkins. Besides, with the house quiet, this was the perfect time to read through the plays the local theatre group was considering using this season.

Although there was no longer a Carrel in the business community, Rebecca Carrel had not relinquished her leadership in the other areas. Elizabeth had the impression that now that her husband was gone, her mother-in-law actually enjoyed being the sole center of attention, no longer needing to share the spotlight with her husband. It was a mean thought since Elizabeth knew at first hand how devoted Rebecca had been, always the perfect wife, the perfect helpmate and the perfect confidante to her husband, while maintaining her own social position and never allowing the two to conflict.

Rebecca Carrel was a marvel of organization and Elizabeth had learned considerably from her. Now she played an active role in the 'right' social clubs of the community. She was a Carrel, and the younger set sought her out in much the same way as her mother-in-law. Her life was full to the point that there was rarely an empty moment. Maybe that was why she never missed Jerry as much as she thought she would. In the beginning, Rebecca had not allowed her the time to grieve, although Elizabeth had felt more shock than grief. Then there had been Amy. And now—well, now there was now.

As she entered the living room, Elizabeth stopped and, with a smile, walked to the piano in the small alcove. She ran her fingers lightly over the ivory keys, remembering her own young rebellion at practising scales. Amy seemed to have an aptitude for the piano, expressing an enjoyment similar to what Elizabeth had known. Certainly she had never pushed Amy into learning.

Setting her lemonade glass down, she began experimentally picking out the melody of a song. More memories came flooding back as the nimbleness of her fingers increased. It was at the piano recital that she had met Jerry. He had come with his parents and they had been introduced for the first time at the reception that followed the recital.

Not that Elizabeth hadn't known who he was all the time. She doubted that anyone in the county hadn't known Jeremy Carrel. Nearly everyone had given up expecting that he would marry a local girl. When she had seen that admiring light in his dark eyes, she knew there was hope. If she played her cards right, Elizabeth had realized that she could catch the most eligible bachelor around—and in truth, that was exactly what she had set out to do. It had been terribly easy to let herself fall in love with Jerry.

Mary Ellen Simmons, the aunt who had raised Elizabeth after her parents had died when she was eleven, had not entirely approved of the marriage. She had insisted that at seventeen Elizabeth couldn't possibly know that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Jerry Carrel, fearing that her niece was more impressed with his background than in love with the individual. Her suspicions were never proved one way or the other. In fact, Elizabeth hadn't given them a thought until this minute.

Curious. Her fingers slipped into a slower, more pensive tune. Why was she suddenly dwelling on what happened so many years ago? She had never questioned before whether she had truly loved Jerry or not. It was a moot question that had no definitive answer.

A surge of restlessness burst through her for no apparent reason. Her fingers clanged on the keyboard, discordant and harsh. Anger turned inward that she had wasted time with useless daydreaming that could have been better spent studying the theater's plays.

Sliding to the edge of the piano bench, Elizabeth reached for her lemonade glass. With it safely in hand, she turned to rise impatiently and froze. A figure was leaning against the wooden frame of the living room archway.

A cold chill ran down her spine at the unkempt appearance of the man; a sweat-stained shirt of light blue was half-unbuttoned to accent a masculine chest tanned teak brown. Lean hips were covered by slacks that were probably a darker blue, only they were too dust-covered to be certain. The stubble of unshaven beard darkened the chiseled angles of his face. A windbreaker was over one shoulder and a much used duffle bag was sitting on the floor beside him. Thick, tobacco brown hair had been combed away from the tanned face by the fingers of one hand. Hazel gold eyes were watching Elizabeth with lazy intentness.

"What are you doing in here?" she breathed, suddenly conscious of how isolated the house was in its country setting.

"Is the concert over?" his deep, husky voice asked.

She rose to her full five feet six inches, making her shaky voice sound icy and imperious. "You have no right to be in here. I suggest that you leave immediately before I contact the authorities." There was a flash of white in the beard growth as the man smiled and remained where he was. "If you're looking for a handout, you'll get none here. The highway is a half-mile down the road. I'll give you five seconds to leave and I'm phoning the police."

With the threat voiced, she walked to the telephone and picked up the receiver. Any second she expected him to pull a gun or knife and assault her.

"I didn't expect the fatted calf," he drawled, "but I did think I would at least be offered a meal."

"You'd better leave." She dialed the first digit, ignoring his comment.

"You're going to feel like a fool, little sister. It might be interesting to see a Carrel with a red face, even one claiming the name by marriage," he chuckled softly.

For the second time, Elizabeth froze, her green eyes swinging back to the stranger in the archway, confident, not the least bit intimidated by her threat. She didn't know him, but he seemed to know her, or at least he was aware of her connection with the Carrels.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her fingers were still tightly clenching the receiver.

"Have I changed that much in all these years?" A brow lifted in mock inquiry. "I would have recognized you anywhere. I like your widow's weeds. Jerry always did like you in blue."

The receiver nearly was dropped from her hand. "Jed?" she whispered in disbelief.

"The one and only," he confirmed, straightening from his slouching position against the door. "Had you given me up for dead?"

"We haven't heard from you—" Elizabeth began, then stopped. "Jed, your father—he had a heart attack almost two years ago. He's…he's dead." There seemed no way to put it less bluntly.

"The house hasn't changed much," was his comment as his tawny gold gaze swept the room, then it returned to the sympathy etched on her oval features. "I heard about Dad," he said finally with little emotion visible on his unshaved face. "Mother's letter caught up with me about a year ago. There seemed little point in returning by that time."

"Why…why have you come back?" she asked.

His tongue clicked in mock reproval. "It's bad manners to ask probing questions, Liza."

"Elizabeth," she corrected automatically, and he laughed.

"Still striving for status, I see."

"I don't like the name Liza. It sounds—"

"Common was the adjective I believe you used before," he reminded her. "It was shortly after you became engaged to my brother and you were trying to appear the poised and sophisticated young lady to impress my mother. You became very angry when I called you that in front of them."

"I remember." A tautness crept into her expression as she averted her eyes from the watchfulness of his.

"Where's Mother?"

"At a luncheon in town," Elizabeth replied.

"Of course, it's Thursday, isn't it? I had forgotten that she holds court every Thursday." A hard smile moved over his mouth, somewhat cynical and derisive.

"If you would like to clean up, the room at the end of the stairs is empty. You can put your things there. There are fresh towels in the bathroom."

His expression didn't change. "Is that a subtle hint that you find my appearance less than presentable?" Jed Carrel queried mockingly. "It was a hot, dusty walk out here."

"Do you mean you walked from town?" She frowned at him in surprise.

He glanced down at his dust-covered shoes and slacks. "My feet were the only transportation available. The local taxi was no doubt ferrying Mother's lady friends to their weekly luncheon with the Queen."

"You could have waited," Elizabeth murmured automatically.

"I was anxious to see if Thomas Wolfe was right, that you can't go home again. So far I would say hers right. My old room at the head of the stairs is in use?"

"It's Amy's now." She bristled faintly at his implication. They had met only once. They were virtually strangers, so why should he expect her to welcome him back with open arms?

"Amy?" Jed questioned with a dark brow arched in inquiry.

"My daughter." Her chin lifted fractionally to a defiant angle.

Again there was the cynical movement of his mouth that was supposed to resemble a smile. "Oh, yes," he nodded. "I remember Jerry left you with a child. Amy, that was my grandmother's name."

"That was her namesake," Elizabeth admitted.

"Mother must have liked that. Or was it her suggestion?"

His mocking jibe struck home, but Elizabeth wouldn't acknowledge it. "Several names were discussed before Amy was born." She turned away abruptly. "Have you eaten? Would you like me to fix you a light lunch?"

"Breakfast, please," he requested instead. "I haven't adjusted to the time zones yet. For me, it's tomorrow morning. Omelette and toast will be fine."

He was picking up his duffle bag and striding with catlike smoothness for the stairway door. Elizabeth stared after the lean, masculine figure. After almost nine years she couldn't be blamed for not expecting to see her husband's brother again, or for practically forgetting his existence. In the last few years, his name had only been mentioned once that she could recall, and that had been when Rebecca, his mother, had wanted to notify him of his father's death. Just once.

They had only received three cards from him that Elizabeth could remember, short little notes that had been postmarked in different foreign ports ranging from the Pacific Islands to South-east Asia. His name had almost been forbidden from the very first.

Naturally when Elizabeth had first met Jeremy, she had been aware that he had a brother, younger by little more than a year. Jed was a wild one, the gossips had said, expelled from schools and colleges, ignoring every edict and principle of social behavior that his family stood for.

Her only interest had been in Jeremy. The escapades of his brother were of little importance. If she had thought of him at all, it had only been a concern that she should approve of her as a future member of the family. She had always known in the back of her mind that if Jeremy's family didn't approve of her, there would be no marriage regardless of how much he had professed to love her.

Unconscious of her actions, Elizabeth turned to the kitchen, caught up in the memories of the past, a trip backward that had already begun before Jed's sudden arrival. Now her thoughts focused on her single meeting with him.

It had occurred only a day or two after Jeremy had proposed. She had met his parents once, briefly at a dance he had taken her to at the country club. After his proposal, she had been invited to dinner. Elizabeth had been afraid it was very significant that Jeremy had not yet given her an engagement ring.

When they had arrived here at his house, she had been a bundle of nerves, terrified that she would do or say the wrong thing. Jeremy had offered little support, growing more silent with each step they had taken toward the door. His parents and Jed had been in the living room awaiting their arrival. The hostile atmosphere had almost smothered Elizabeth. She had been certain the silent animosity was directed at her. It was quite a while before she realized their censure was directed at Jed.

Initially he had been silent, not the silence of disapproval, but of cynical amusement. Although he had never uttered a word to confirm it, Elizabeth had the distinct, feeling that his parents' approval or disapproval of the girl he wanted to marry would not have affected his decision and he found it amusing that Jeremy sought it so earnestly. At the time, Elizabeth had been angered that he couldn't understand the necessity for it.

Except for an initial greeting and an odd comment at the dinner table, Jed had not addressed any conversation directly to her. Not that she had cared. In fact, she had been glad that he hadn't singled her out for attention in case his parents' anger rubbed off on to her. There had been an inner sensation that he knew she had silently taken the side against him and knew why.

After coffee had been taken in the living room, a tiny voice had suggested that this was the time to make a discreet withdrawal and give Jeremy an opportunity to speak to his parents in private. The smile of approval that had flashed across Jeremy's face when she asked to be excused to freshen up had told her that the suggestion was a wise one.