To Tell the Truth (10 page)

"Adam is engaged. He'll be married next month," Andrea declared angrily.

"That's a convenient red herring. It should throw John off the scent for several months. Maybe by that time you can find someone else to gratify your desires," Tell replied immediately without even a fraction's hesitation at her announcement.

Her chest constricted painfully. "How can you believe that?" she murmured.

"It's easy. I know you."

"You don't know me," Andrea protested numbly, making a slight negative movement of her head to one side. "You won't listen to me. You won't let me explain."

But Tell ignored her remarks, studying the glowing tip of his cigarette. "Mother and Nancy will be staying for two weeks as planned. I will find a convenient excuse to leave Sunday afternoon. You needn't worry." A slicing cynical glance swept over her. "I'll make sure it's believable so John won't realize that it's because I can't stand to be in the same house with his wife."

"Tell?" He was turning away to leave. Despite his jeering wounding mockery and contempt, Andrea didn't want him to go.

"We have nothing more to discuss, Andrea," he said coldly.

Closing her eyes against the scalding tears, she breathed in deeply. "Would you tell John and the others that I'll be out in a few minutes?"

"My pleasure." His mouth curved with cynical politeness as he arrogantly inclined his head before walking away.

Tears were not permitted to fall. There wasn't enough time to hide the results for Andrea to give in to the pangs of self-pity and heartache. She used the delaying time to reassert a grip on her composure before walking to the veranda.

The conversation halted for a few minutes when she arrived, then began again as she took a seat on the wicker lawn sofa beside Nancy. Tell was sitting in the large wicker chair on the left, for the most part blocked from Andrea's vision by his sister. John and Rosemary dominated the conversation with reminiscences of past adventures. Andrea inserted a comment occasionally whenever she felt her silence had been too prolonged.

Tell didn't join in at all. If she hadn't been so sensitive to his presence, she might have forgotten he was there. But the wispy trail of cigarette smoke lazily twisting across the veranda would have reminded her.

In the latter part of the afternoon, John pivoted his wheelchair toward the house, announcing that he was going to look for an old photograph album with some early pictures of a party he and Rosemary had attended. Andrea immediately offered her assistance, but John waved her aside, choosing Rosemary to accompany him instead. Uneasily, Andrea leaned back against the sofa cushions, and no idle subject sprang to mind to fill the awkward gap left by John's departure.

"You have a beautiful home here," Nancy Collins said sincerely. "I've always loved this old house. Scott and I will probably never be able to afford anything like this…not that I mind really," she added quickly with a contented and happy smile.

"John mentioned that you were engaged. Is Scott your fiancé?" Andrea seized on a means to keep the conversation going.

"Yes. His name is Scott Hanson." Proudly she held out her hand for Andrea to see her engagement ring, a small diamond solitaire with flanking emerald chips.

"How long have you known him?"

"About two years. Another boy took me to a fraternity dance, and Scott was there. The minute I saw him I knew that was it," Nancy said, beaming. "Of course, daddy didn't approve of him at first because Scott's background is so much different from ours. We didn't become officially engaged until last January when Scott graduated."

"When's the wedding?" Andrea inquired.

"Not until December," the young girl sighed, her large blue eyes revealing her regret at the long wait.

"That's a long courtship," Andrea offered sympathetically.

"Scott's working for an oil company right now. He's on sort of a probationary period. We're waiting until he's sure he has a job." A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. "And we want to make sure that daddy understands that Scott is not marrying me for the family fortune."

Tell pushed himself out of the chair, his sudden movement choking back the response that Andrea had started to make. With a lazy smile, he walked to stand in front of his sister. Unwillingly, Andrea tilted her head back to gaze up at him, drawn by the flash of his smile, but his gaze was cold when it sliced to her.

"It's commonly known as marrying for love, Mrs. Grant," he said with cutting softness. "I don't know if you're familiar with that motive."

She heard Nancy's quickly indrawn breath of shock. Wounded, Andrea tensed to keep the hurt from being shown too clearly in her expression.

"Are you, Mr. Stafford?" she countered.

"I'm a bitter believer in it," Tell answered dryly. "There's something I'm curious about. Can a man buy his wife's fidelity with—" his hand reached out to touch the pearl choker, burning her neck, the flames reflected in her cheeks "—expensive jewelry?"

"Tell!" Nancy's horrified whisper begged him to stop.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. Stafford." Pride quivered in her voice. "John hasn't tried to buy mine."

"Maybe he knows he can't," he offered with jeering amusement, towering above her for an instant longer before he walked away, leaving the cobblestoned veranda for the landscaped lawn without another word.

At his departure, Andrea let her lashes flutter shut against the pain and pressed her lips tightly together.

"I'm sorry, Andrea," Nancy murmured.

She darted a glance at the knitted frowner concern on the girl's face, smiling faintly before she looked away. "It's all right, Nancy," she sighed. "I've become used to such comments."

It was a lie. Even the curiously raised brows of a stranger at her marriage to John had the ability to hurt. Tell's contempt and censure was nearly a mortal wound.

"It was unforgivable for him to speak to you that way!" Nancy's angry declaration was accompanied by a glowering look at her lean dark brother, now some distance away.

"My father once told me—"
Andrea breathed in deeply "—that what you can't forgive, you must forget, and what you can't forget, you must forgive."

"Do you believe that?"

"I believe it." A smile curved bitterly inward. "I just don't know how to apply it." Brushing an imaginary strand of hair from her face, Andrea rose to her feet. "Would you excuse me, Nancy? I think I should see if Mrs. Davison needs any help in the kitchen."

"Of course. I understand."

Andrea didn't see Tell again until they all met in the living room before dinner. A glance at his granite face told her nothing. She couldn't guess whether she should be prepared to be ignored or subjected to his ridicule in front of others. The strain of not knowing what to anticipate was in the taut lines around her mouth while the agony of wanting his love and knowing he would never give it dulled her eyes.

"I see you've had the tennis court resurfaced, John," Tell commented.

"Yes, a couple of years ago," he acknowledged. "Andrea enjoys playing and the court had fallen into rather bad shape from lack of use."

Tell's mocking gaze slid complacently to her. "Where do you find your partners, Mrs. Grant? I somehow can't picture Mrs. Davison out there swinging a racket."

Her mouth tightened as she saw the quizzical look John gave him. "I have friends," she replied noncommittally.

"Adam and his fiancé come out occasionally," John explained, "but mostly it's her tennis instructor from Medford, Leslie Towers. She's quite good, Tell," he added with a touch of pride. "Maybe tomorrow if the weather holds, you and Nancy and Andrea can play a set."

"Maybe," Tell agreed lazily, his mouth curving into a cold smile. "It might be interesting to find out what kind of game she plays."

John missed the biting innuendo, but Andrea didn't. Judging by the dark blue anger that leaped into Nancy's eyes, she didn't either.

"I hope she's good enough to beat you, Tell." It was small consolation to have his sister rushing to her defense.

"She's good, sis, but not that good," he said.

"Don't start bickering, you two," Rosemary Collins interrupted with a light laugh that revealed her ignorance of the undercurrents flowing between Andrea and Tell and intercepted by Nancy. "Why don't you get us a drink, Tell?"

"That's a good idea," John agreed. "I'll have a vodka martini."

"Is the bar still in the same place?" Tell inquired, allowing his mother to divert his attention from Andrea.

"It certainly is," John said, smiling.

Walking to the narrow side of the living room, Tell stopped in front of an ornately carved series of shelves, on which books and figurines were scattered. A series of pear blossoms had been carved on either side of the frame. He turned one of them and the shelves swung out to reveal cut-glass goblets of varying sizes and a supply of drink.

"I didn't know that was there!" Nancy exclaimed.

"I'm not surprised," her mother said. "The last time you were here, you weren't old enough to drink."

"I still never guessed it was there," she replied. "It's so artfully concealed."

"It used to be a cupboard," John explained. "My father had it converted into a bar complete with a refrigerator and a small mixing counter during the Prohibition days. He was so proud of it that I think everyone in the country knew it was there," he said with a very satisfied chuckle.

"This house, this entire area has seen a lot of things," Rosemary Collins commented idly, accepting the iced glass that Tell handed her. "A lot of gracious entertaining was done here. A lot of young men were sent to Medford in the early nineteen hundreds by their wealthy and strict parents from the East to mend their ways. Most of them stayed to build a new life. My grandparents had a summer home on the Rogue River. Every summer they'd leave San Francisco and spend it here. My mother attended St. Mary's Academy for a while."

"Yes, and in the winter there was a turnabout," John smiled, gazing into the martini Tell had given him. "My family would go to Carmel or Pebble Beach and we'd be entertained by your San Francisco friends. Of course, it wasn't all good times. I imagine there are some painful memories of the tent city that was erected in Medford for the survivors of the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco."

"But the stories that my mother told me of the theater and opera held here more than make up for that," Rosemary smiled, glancing at Nancy and Andrea. "Enrico Caruso performed here."

"That must have been something," Nancy mused.

"Here you are, sis." Tell held out a crystal glass.

She glanced up absently before accepting it. "Thanks."

Andrea held her breath as Tell turned toward her, meeting his hooded look reluctantly. His fingers were gripping the top of the glass, holding it out to her while making sure there would be no accidental contact when she took it from him. It hurt that he didn't want to feel her touch.

"I'm sorry. Tell." John spoke up quickly. "I forgot to mention that Andrea doesn't drink anything stronger than Coke."

She had been staring at the glass as she reached for it, finding it painful to meet his indifferent eyes. But at John's statement, her gaze was jerked to Tell's face. The glass was close enough for her to tell by sight and smell that it contained only Coke. He had remembered her aversion to alcohol and automatically served her an innocuous drink. His expression was grim as he returned her look.

"My mistake," he said curtly, withdrawing the glass from her hand. "I'll get you another."

"It looks like a Coke to me," Nancy observed innocently.

"With a splash of bourbon," Tell stated firmly. "You're not exactly the world's expert in alcohol, little sister."

"I should hope not," Rosemary said, laughing.

The incident was forgotten as John recounted a story of an early party. But it had been a slip that Andrea knew she wouldn't forget and she doubted that Tell would. She hadn't realized how easy it might be to make a mistake and betray the fact that she and Tell had met before. If John found out, she knew he would understand, but she didn't want to suffer the humiliation of having his family learn of it.

Chapter Six

"I'LL PLAY the winner," Nancy declared.

Andrea tossed her light yellow jacket onto the fence. The nervous flutterings of her stomach were difficult to ignore as she shook her tennis racket free from its case. Tell was standing only a few feet away from her, bronze gold legs muscular and long beneath the drill white of his tennis shorts.

"How long has it been since you've played, Mrs. Grant?" he asked.

"Just this week," she answered tautly.

"Perhaps that will give you an advantage. I haven't played in over a month."

"Don't let him kid you, Andrea," Nancy warned quietly. "He's very good even when he's out of practice."

"I have no doubt of that." Andrea touched her hairband, making sure her hair was away from her eyes.

"John told me your instructor usually spends all afternoon out here. You must get in a lot of practice," Tell commented.