Читать книгу The Man Behind the Mask - Barbara Wallace, Barbara Wallace - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

“SIMON! WHAT HAPPENED? Are you all right?” The words rushed out of Delilah’s mouth in one giant sentence. At the same time Simon pushed away from the table. The glass lay on its side on top of his risotto, what was left of the contents pooling onto his plate.

She reached out to touch his arm only to have him wave her off along with the waitress hurrying toward their table. “No harm done.”

“Except to your food,” Josh said.

“Serves me right for being such a klutz. Besides, the spill will keep me from overindulging.”

“Wish a little spill would keep me from overindulging. I’d just treat it like wine sauce.”

“Which is why the two of us are built like beer kegs, and he’s not,” Jim joked.

All three men chuckled and conversation shifted to new topics. Delilah did her best to join in, but she couldn’t focus. Her brain was too busy replaying what happened. Not so much the spill, but Simon’s expression. She wasn’t sure if the others noticed, but he’d turned white as a sheet. Like he’d seen a ghost. Even now, while he was acting unruffled by the whole event, his complexion remained ashen. She wanted to ask him if he was ill, but didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of the moment now that it had passed.

Still, her concern lingered. After four years of watching Simon interact with clients, she knew the difference between a full-on Cartwright charm offensive and simply going through the motions. Simon might be charming the Bartletts, but she could tell that the special Simon spark had disappeared.

It was his eyes. Normally they reminded her of the prairie sky on a summer’s day, bluer than blue. But now the color had dulled, as though a cloud had blown in.

Fortunately, the mishap occurred near the end the meal, and an hour later, the quartet was back on the sidewalk where they began, saying goodbye and making arrangements for the next day’s brewery tour. A hearty, two-handed shake accompanied Jim Bartlett’s farewell too, she noted, meaning they either didn’t notice the subtle change in Simon’s demeanor or that it didn’t matter. In fact, watching the enthusiastic exchange, she wondered if perhaps she’d let her imagination blow the whole incident out of control. No sooner did the Bartletts head up the sidewalk however, than the smile faded from Simon’s face killing her theory. Wordlessly, he opened the door to their town car and waited.

She slid into the backseat, taking pains to move as far to the opposite door as possible. Although he never said anything aloud, based on how he hated being approached unaware, she assumed he preferred a lot of personal space as well, and since he never bothered to correct her behavior...well, she kept up the practice.

A flash of movement caught her eye. Yet again, he was rubbing his neck. After biting her tongue all dinner, she had to ask. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

That answered that question. “Would you like those aspirin now?”

“What I could use is a drink.”

“Really?”

He turned toward her, his expression hidden by shadows. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Last time I checked, alcohol wasn’t the best cure for a headache.”

“No, but it sure as hell cures other things.”

Like what? Whatever it was that spooked him in the restaurant? She wished she had the nerve to ask. Even more so the nerve to erase the gap between them and let him know she was there for him. In the dimness, everything seemed more acute. The sound of his breath exhaling long and slow, the rustle of fabric as he sought to find a comfortable position. Tension radiated from his body. She longed to reach across the seat to rest her hand on his arm to soothe him.

She could only imagine how well that gesture would go over. So instead, she did nothing.

* * *

When they reached their harborside hotel, Delilah assumed they would check in and go their separate ways. It surprised her then when Simon grabbed her wrist to stop her from heading to the elevator.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.

For the second time in less than a day, Delilah imitated a fish. “You want my company?”

“Do you mind? I’m not in the mood for drinking alone tonight.”

His smile was almost sheepish, so boyishly winsome, her insides turned soft and warm. How could she say no?

Ten minutes later, she sat in a bamboo fan chair waiting on a glass of white wine. Being close to the water must have inspired the hotel decorator to try a Caribbean theme. With its potted palms and soft calypso music, the verandah bar resembled a tropical hideaway. A New England version anyway. Paper lanterns strung on wires swayed in the ocean breeze. Being a Thursday night, the room was only partially full, mostly small groups of professionals visiting the city on business. She and Simon were the only couple in the crowd.

Only they weren’t a couple, she reminded herself. Just employer and employee sitting in a romantic moonlit setting.

She searched around, looking for a distraction. To her left, Boston Harbor stretched black, red and green lights guiding boats to the Atlantic. More lights dotted the horizon, the runway markers for Boston’s airport. Delilah watched as a line of planes made their way to their descent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the waiter return.

Simon slid her wine across the table toward her, then raised his whiskey in the air. The gesture forced her attention back to him. Not that she needed much force, seeing how she hadn’t completely stopped paying attention.

“To getting through dinner,” he said.

Delilah frowned at his choice of words. “Wouldn’t we be better off toasting to success?”

“That depends on your definition of success.”

“You don’t think tonight went well?”

“Are you talking about before or after I dumped cabernet all over my tenderloin?” He took a long, healthy drink before speaking again. “I think we can both agree, I’ve had better performances.”

“It wasn’t that bad. You recovered nicely,” she added, when Simon arched his eyebrow.

“The idea is to not have to recover at all. Not with an account this size.”

“Jim Bartlett didn’t appear too concerned.”

Holding his tumbler by its base, he studied the contents of his half-full glass. “Didn’t your mother tell you appearances can be deceiving?”

Her mother had been too consumed by grief to teach her much of anything. “So, what do we do?”

“Nothing.” He set the glass down with a resounding thunk. “What’s done is done. We start over better and stronger in the morning.”

“Well then we really should be drinking to putting tonight behind us,” she told him.

“Funny. I thought we were.” He raised his glass. “To better tomorrows.”

“To better tomorrows,” Delilah repeated.

They clinked their glasses and Simon tossed back the rest of his drink. Inspired, Delilah took a healthy sip of her own, hoping the crisp dry liquid would help shake off her concerns.

“Funny how you and Josh Bartlett both went to the same prep school,” she remarked, still in the past but at least changing the subject. “What are the odds?”

“Better than you’d think. Sadly, the prep school world is surprisingly small.” Either she was imagining things or there was a new edge to his voice. Hard to say since Simon had turned to signal the waitress and she couldn’t see his face.

“You said you didn’t know him though.” Details of their dinner conversation came back. “Jim mentioned some kind of hazing scandal? Do you know what he was talking about?”

“It was nothing.”

Okay, there was definitely a change in tone. A newly acquired clip to his words. “Really? Because the way he spoke...”

“I said it was nothing,” he snapped. “Stupid kid stuff is all. Certainly not worth the attention everyone’s giving the subject.”

For nothing he certainly reacted strongly enough. “So, the fact you didn’t know Josh, is that why... Never mind.” The wine, added to the glass and a half she drank at dinner, had loosened her tongue.

“Finish your thought, Delilah.”

“Well...” She played with the stem of her glass. “I wondered why you didn’t make a bigger deal out of the coincidence, the two of you attending the school, I mean. Didn’t you tell me the key to good small talk is to find common ground?”

“I also said to encourage people to talk about themselves.”

“Wouldn’t this have encouraged conversation? Shared experiences and all that?”

“There are very few experiences from prep school that I wish to remember.”

“You didn’t enjoy high school?”

“Let’s say I prefer to treat high school as though the four years never happened and leave it at that.”

His comment surprised her. She’d always assumed Simon ruled whatever kingdom he entered.

Rather than push her luck by asking more, she changed the subject. “I suppose everyone has parts of high school they’d like to forget,” she said. “Personally I wouldn’t mind blocking out the tenth grade ring dance.”

“What happened at the tenth grade ring dance?”

“I caught Bobby McKenzie making out with another girl.”

“Doesn’t sound so horrible.”

“He was my date.”

“I stand corrected.”

The conversation paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. “You seemed to rebound well enough.” Simon continued after the man retreated. “Or are you still carrying a torch for the late great Bobby McKenzie?”

“Oh, I’m definitely over him.” Hopefully her cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to forget the humiliation. When you’re fifteen years old, being publicly dumped can be very traumatic.”

Simon raised his drink, the glass masking both his tone and his expression. “Trust me, there are far more traumatic things that can happen.”

No kidding, thought Delilah. Try losing your father and having your mother turn into a ghost. If only she could forget those years.

“Clearly you were never a fifteen-year-old girl. I was certain Bobby was ‘the one.’” That was her mother’s fault, too, in a way. “I spent the whole year practicing my married signature. Delilah McKenzie. Mrs. Bobby McKenzie. Over and over, with little hearts over the i’s. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson...”

“What lesson?”

“Did I really just say that aloud?” No need wondering if she was blushing this time. Her cheeks were on fire. She pushed her wine to the side. “No more wine for me.”

“You still haven’t said what lesson you learned.”

Not to wear her heart on her sleeve, of course. “If you cover your notebook with stupid doodles, you’ll be forced to look at them all year long. I had to stare at those foolish hearts for six more months.”

He chuckled in to his drink. “At least you didn’t get a tattoo. You could still be staring at them.”

“Thank goodness for small favors. Can you imagine? I always wondered what people did when they were stuck with a tattoo they no longer wanted.”

“They get it removed.”

Delilah shuddered. “Talk about a painful way of forgetting your mistakes.”

He turned to look out at the water, leaving her to study his profile. Shadows, cast by the table lantern, flickered on his cheek and highlighted the day’s-end stubble that was beginning to show. “Is there any way that isn’t painful?”

His eyes glazed over then, and for a second, he disappeared, his thoughts going who knew where. Instinct told her it was some place he shouldn’t be. And that he needed a far better distraction than liquor. “Hey.” She almost reached out to touch him, only to catch herself at the last second. “How about we go for a walk? My legs could use stretching after sitting all day.

“Or not,” she continued when he didn’t respond. Her spirits sagged to think she wasn’t enough to pull him from his thoughts. “I can go by myself and catch up with you in the morning.”

“No,” he said just as she got to her feet. “A walk sounds good.” Draining the last of his whiskey, he slammed the glass down, then tossed some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The pathway behind their hotel was part of a longer walkway that extended along the entire inner harbor and connected the various docks and piers along the way. On the northeastern end, you had the trade center with its large white cruise ships, while to the northwest you had the naval shipyard, the tops of the USS Constitution’s masts visible at just the right angle. In between, ships of all sizes, from beat-up whale-watch vessels to sleek dinner cruisers and private sailboats, moved about all day long.

Delilah hadn’t spoken since they’d left the bar, making him wonder if she regretted her invitation. Then again, he wasn’t winning prizes for his conversational skills at the moment, either. The whiskey, while warming his insides, hadn’t relaxed him the way he’d hoped. There was still an elastic band attached from the back of his skull to the base of his spine.

He couldn’t believe Josh Bartlett went to Bates North. Forget what he told Delilah about the prep school community being small; it was still a lousy coincidence. And naturally Jim had to go and mention the hazing scandal....

Thankfully, Delilah didn’t make the connection between Jim’s comment and his poor reaction. He wasn’t sure he could handle her looking at him with more sympathy than she already was.

The hotel pier was quiet at the moment, although a sign posted on a lamppost said the first commuter boat would arrive at 7:30 a.m. There were sailboats floating in slips, their lowered sails tucked in canvas covers, the waves slapping against their fiberglass hulls. The soft sound calling to him, he led her to the end of the main pier where he could stare at the waves lapping the pilings.

Behind him, he could feel Delilah hovering a short distance from his shoulder. Funny, he usually hated people standing close, but Delilah’s proximity didn’t bother him. In fact, he found knowing she was in his space reassuring, comforting even.

“The water’s so black,” he heard her say. “Looks bottomless.”

So it did. Black and never-ending. He let the gentle noise of the waves wash over him. “There’s something very soothing about that idea.”

“What? You mean being bottomless?”

“Sure. Knowing you could float underwater forever surrounded by silence.”

“You’re not planning to jump in, are you?”

He smiled, picturing her concerned expression. “Afraid you’ll have to jump in and swim after me?”

“A little.”

Her bluntness made him chuckle. Refreshing after so many hours putting up a false front. “Don’t worry, I prefer my water a little more chlorinated. I simply meant in general. There’s a peacefulness to being surrounded by water.”

Good God, listen to him, waxing poetic about swimming. The whiskey must have relaxed him more than he thought. Staring deeper into the depths, he felt the pier sway with the waves, proving his point. He sat down, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

Delilah continued to hover; from the corner of his eye, he could see her leaning against a piling. He patted the concrete next to him. “Come sit down with me.”

Leaning back on his elbows, he looked out over the water, listening to the waves’ steady cadence as they splashed the objects around them. Once upon a time, he’d latched on to that rhythm to erase the past. Tonight he latched on again, letting it wash the memories back into place.

Over at her seat, Delilah had leaned back on her hands, as well. Not so far back as him, but enough that he could see the length of her thighs and the flash of her pants as she kicked her legs up and down. Her ponytail looked like a long brown tail. As she turned her face skyward, it hung down the center of her back. Made him want to give the thing a tug.

“Do you know, I’ve been in New York for four years now, and I still haven’t gotten tired of seeing the water?” she said to him. “I don’t think people on the coasts realize how lucky they are.”

“You make it sound like Kansas is a desert.”

“No, but watching the Missouri doesn’t have the same romantic quality.” She turned with a puzzled look. “How did you know I was from Kansas?”

“Your personnel file. I read it when I hired you.”

“Oh, I should have realized.” She ducked the hair behind her ear, a sure sign she was blushing. Simon was sorry the pier didn’t have better lighting so he could see what shade of pink her skin turned.

“Is this the point where I make a joke about leaving home for the Emerald City?”

“Please don’t. I heard enough jokes when I first moved here. And before you ask, no, I don’t own a little dog or have an Auntie Em.”

“Does that also mean I don’t have to worry about you clicking your heels three times during a meeting?”

“To go home?” She shook her head, tail swishing across her back. “Definitely not.”

“Pretty emphatic-sounding there, Dorothy. Got a problem with Kansas?”

She definitely blushed this time. Even the dim lighting couldn’t hide the color. “I’m just really glad to have made it to Manhattan.”

“There was doubt?”

“Let’s say there was a time when I wasn’t sure and leave it at that.”

“Okay.”

Clearly there was more to the story. Her lowered gaze and pink cheeks said as much, but who was he to judge? Everyone had secrets. Some worse than others.

Smiling, he reached over to pat her hand, silent reassurance that he didn’t plan to pry any further. To his surprise, it was he who felt comforted. The warmth of her skin beneath his palm eased his muscles in a way the liquor didn’t.

He wondered if Delilah noticed, for she suddenly raised her eyes to meet his. The dim gleam of the dock light reflected in their depths, turning them a richer shade of blue. The color water should be, he thought to himself.

“How come I never noticed how blue your eyes were before?” he asked her.

“I...”

Damn. His comment made her blush again, sending her lashes sweeping downward and blocking his view. He wanted the blue back. There was a serenity to the shade he didn’t want to let go of.

“The proper answer is thank you,” he said. Shifting his weight, he used his free hand to catch her chin and gently force her gaze upward again. There, that was more like it. “When someone pays you a compliment, you’re supposed to say thank you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” The sea breeze, light as it was, blew hair into her face, again marring his view. Repeating what he’d seen her do so many times before, he tucked the errant strands behind her ear, his fingers lingering along the outer edge. Those eyes widened, and arousal, that blessed precursor to forgetting, began to curl through him. It surged when he saw her catch her lip between her teeth, as though biting back a sigh....

“Hey! You can’t sit there.”

Simon jerked back. The voice belonged to a security guard who was strutting toward them. A perfectly timed bucket of water.

“Sorry,” the guard said as he drew closer, “but you’re going to have to move.”

“Right. Of course.” He scrambled to his feet, ignoring how the rapid motion caused the pier to shift and throw him off balance. Delilah, who was on her feet, as well, reached out to steady him, but he grabbed hold of a piling instead. “It’s time we call it an evening anyway, don’t you think?”

From the look on her face, his assistant didn’t know what to think. Can’t say I blame you, he thought as he motioned for her to go ahead of him. Frankly, he wasn’t sure himself.