Читать книгу Paper Rose - Diana Palmer - Страница 8

There was film at eleven. Senator Holden found it hilarious, and when Cecily phoned to ask him about the job at the new museum that he’d offered her, he told her so. He didn’t ask any questions. He accepted her application over the phone and gave her the job on the spot.

Early Monday morning, Cecily found a small apartment that she could manage on the salary she’d be making and she moved out of the apartment Tate had been paying for. She pulled out of her master’s classes and withdrew from college. From now on, she was paying her own way. And one day, she’d pay Tate back, every penny. For the time being, shell-shocked and sick at heart that she was nothing more than a charity case to him, she wanted no more to do with the man she’d loved for so long. No wonder he’d thought of her as his ward. She was obligated to him for every crumb she put in her mouth. But no more. She was her own woman now. She’d support herself. Maybe later she could finish her master’s degree. She had plenty of time for that. At least she had a job to see her through this difficult transition.

She was forced to use her small bank account to pay the deposit on the new apartment, to pay for movers to transport her few possessions and for enough food to keep her going until she drew her first paycheck. She was so sick at heart that she hated the whole world. She couldn’t even talk to Tate’s mother, Leta.

The new apartment was small, and not much to look at, but at least she’d be responsible for herself. Unlike the old one, it was unfurnished, so she started out with very little. She didn’t even have a television set. At least the new place was closer to the museum. She could ride the bus to work every day, or even take the metro if she liked.

Colby came by to help her unpack, bringing a pizza with him and a small boom box with some cassettes as a house-warming present. They munched while they unwrapped lamps and dishes, sipping beer because it was all he brought for them to drink.

“I hate beer,” she moaned.

“If you drink enough of it, you won’t care about the taste,” he assured her.

She gave the can a dubious stare, shrugged, closed her eyes, held her breath and drank heavily. “Yuck!” she said.

“Keep going.”

She finished half of the can and ate some more pizza. After a few minutes, sure enough, it didn’t taste half-bad.

He watched her grin and nodded. “That’s the first smile I’ve seen in days.”

“I’m getting through it,” she assured him. “I start work next Monday. I can’t wait.”

“I wish I could be around to hear about your first day, but I’ve got another overseas assignment.”

She suspended the pizza at her mouth. Putting it down, she said worriedly, “Colby, you’ve already lost an arm…”

“And it will make me more careful,” he told her. “I lost it because I got drunk. I won’t let that happen again.” He glanced at the can. “Beer doesn’t affect me these days. It’s just a pleasant diversion.” He looked at her. “I’m through my worst time. Now I’m going to help you through yours. When I get back.”

She grimaced. “Well, don’t get killed, okay?”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

During Colby’s absence, she celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday with a cupcake, a candle and a card from Leta, who never forgot. Tate apparently had, or he was holding a grudge. For the first time in eight years, her birthday passed unnoticed by him.

She was now firmly entrenched at the museum and having the time of her life. She missed college and her classmates, but she loved the work she was doing. Acquisitions would be part of her duties as assistant curator, and she got to work in her own forensic archaeology field, Paleo-Indian archaeology. She didn’t really miss forensics as much as she’d expected to. It was almost as exciting to have access to rare collections of Folsom Clovis, and other projectile points, which were thousands of years old, along with bola stones, chippers and other stone tools and pottery fashioned by long-dead hands.

Her new phone number was unlisted, but Tate called her once at the museum. She put the phone down, gently but firmly. He didn’t call again.

Senator Holden did. “It’s my birthday Saturday night,” he said. “I want you and Colby to come.”

“He’s out of town. But I’d love to.”

“Great! We can talk about some new projects I’ve got in mind.”

“We can?” she asked, grinning because she knew how much he loved the museum; it had been his idea to open it. He was a fanatic in the field of Native American culture. He wasn’t Sioux, but his mother had taught on the Wapiti Sioux reservation. Like Cecily, he had an affinity for the Lakota nation.

He chuckled. “I’ll tell you all about it on Saturday. Six sharp at my house. Don’t be late. It’s a buffet.”

“I won’t eat for days,” she promised.

When she hung up she realized what she’d said. She did eat more frugally than before. She spent more frugally than before. Her surroundings weren’t lavish. But she wasn’t having to depend on anyone’s charity. She was twenty-five and self-supporting. It felt good.

Cecily phoned Leta to let her know that she planned to fly out to Rapid City and drive over to the Wapiti Ridge Sioux Reservation near Custer State Park in South Dakota for the tribe’s annual celebrations. There would be a large contingent of Lakota at the three-day September event, and native dancing and singing as well. She’d already bought her plane ticket and reserved a rental car. She wasn’t going to back out of the event just because she and Tate weren’t speaking. Anyway, there wasn’t a chance that Tate would go now.

“Tate hasn’t called recently,” Leta mentioned when they’d discussed the event. “I phoned to see if he was at his apartment, and that Audrey Gannon answered. She told me he was out of the country on some job for his boss, Pierce Hutton.”

Cecily felt a lump in her throat. She swallowed before she replied. “I didn’t know she was living with him,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“He’s secretive, isn’t he, baby? I guess he must feel something for her,” Leta replied irritably. “She hates what he is, she hates the reservation and she was barely civil to me when I told her who I was. If he’s as crazy about her as she says he is, she could turn him against his own people, even against me.”

“Surely she wouldn’t,” Cecily tried to reassure her.

ely she would. She’s against native sovereignty.” There was a hesitation. “I’m glad you’re coming out here. I miss seeing you. Since you went to live in Washington, I hardly get to have you out here at all.”

“I miss you, too,” Cecily said warmly.

“I need something to lift my spirits,” Leta continued. “We’ve just lost the hope of getting an ambulance and a new community clinic, because the funds that were budgeted have disappeared.”

“Disappeared? Where to?” Cecily said.

“Nobody knows,” Leta said. “Tom Black Knife, you remember our tribal chief, says it’s probably a math error. I’m not so sure. There are some real suspicious comings and goings around here lately. Especially since the paperwork for the proposed casino was sent off. I guess you haven’t been able to get Senator Holden to listen to you about our side of the story?” she added, a curious inflection in her voice.

“Matt Holden is one hundred percent against the casino, despite all my pleading,” Cecily said sadly. “Not that I haven’t bombarded him with information. I’m going to his birthday party. Maybe I can waylay him there and do us some good.”

“Yes. His birthday. He’s inflexible when anything goes against his principles,” Leta murmured.

“You sound as if you know him!” Cecily teased.

There was a long pause and when Leta spoke, her voice was strained. “I know of him. Everybody here does.”

“Why don’t you come to Washington later in the year and talk to him personally?” Cecily asked. “You can stay with me.”

“What, in that fancy apartment?” she said, distracted.

Cecily winced. “I’ve…moved. I have a new place. It’s smaller, and a little shabby, but it’s homey. You’ll like it. I have a sofa that folds out into a bed. I can sleep there and you can have the bedroom.”

Leta paused. “I’d love to see you. But I don’t know about getting on an airplane. I’ll have to think about that. You and Tate and I could go on the town, if I did. It might be fun, at that!”

Cecily hesitated. “Tate and I aren’t speaking, Leta,” she said tautly.

“Why not?”

“I found out who’s been paying all my expenses.”

“It’s some foundation, isn’t it?” Leta asked in all innocence. “What would that have to do with you and Tate not speaking? So, who’s really behind it?” she added in a teasing tone. “Is it some gun runner or maybe one of those international terrorists we read about?”

Leta didn’t know that Tate had been supporting her! Well she couldn’t discuss it on the phone. Time for that when she flew out to South Dakota.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get there,” Cecily promised. “See you soon.”

“Okay. Take care, baby.”

“You take care, too.” She put down the receiver. Leta was going to be hurt that her “children” were at war. She frowned, remembering what Leta had said about losing some tribal funds. She wondered what was going on at Wapiti.

Saturday came and Colby was unexpectedly back in the country, so she asked him to go with her to Senator Holden’s birthday party. He agreed, but he sounded solemn. When he came to pick her up, she could see how tired he was.

“I shouldn’t have asked you,” she said gently, knowing better than to ask him what was wrong.

He shrugged. “It beats sitting at home, thinking.” He smiled wanly. “I’m bad company. But I’ll give it a shot.”

They left Cecily’s apartment and drove to the Senator’s residence.

Cecily stared around her at the elegant company of politicians, millionaires and other guests assembled in the huge ballroom of Senator Matt Holden’s Maryland home. Her upswept medium blond hair was neatly done and her knee-length black cocktail dress, while off the rack, was tasteful. But her pale green eyes were restless. She felt vulnerable without her glasses. She hadn’t wanted to bother with them, since Colby was driving. And she hated the worry of trying to wear contact lenses. Besides, who did she need to see, anyway? She and Colby had arrived just in time to wander through the buffet and nibble at the delicious spread. There was everything from caviar to champagne.

Now that they’d finished eating, she wished he would hurry back with the coffee. She was uncomfortable among people whose casual conversation centered around investments, foreign travel and upcoming appropriation bills. She didn’t travel in monied circles. As she studied the people around her being offered drinks by a white-coated, white-gloved waiter, she grinned to herself thinking that her usual companions these days were skeletons. She glanced at the tureen in the waiter’s hands and had an attack of conscience.

She draped her small evening bag over one shoulder and wandered quietly through the room of guests, nodding and smiling politely at people she knew mainly from the nightly news. She was in glittering company, but she was a stranger, alone in this packed gathering. She’d have been more at home in her office at the museum. Or on the reservation with Leta.

It was an unusually quiet cocktail party, she thought, and conversation was muted and somber around her. Recent turmoil in Washington, D.C., had thrown a shroud over the celebration of Senator Holden’s birthday. Holden was the senior Republican senator from South Dakota, a fiery, difficult man who made enemies as easily as he ran the Senate Committee on Indian Affairs, of which he was chairman. He had his finger in plenty of political pies and some private ones. His most recent private one was private sector funding for his pet project, the newly created Anthropological and Archaeological Museum of the Native American where Cecily now worked.

She spotted Matt Holden and her eyes began to twinkle. He was a handsome devil, even at his age. His wife had died the year before, and the husky black-eyed politician with his glimmering silver hair and elegant broad-shouldered physique was now on every widow’s list of eligibles. Even now, two lovely elderly society dames were attacking from both sides with expensive perfume and daring cleavage. At least one of them should have worn something high-necked, she mused, with her collarbone and skinny neck so prominent.

Another pair of eyes followed her amused gaze. “Doesn’t it remind you of shark attacks?” a pleasant voice murmured in her ear.

She jumped, and looked up at her companion for the evening. “Good grief, Colby, you scared me out of a year’s growth!” she burst out with a helpless laugh.

Colby only smiled. “Here’s your coffee. It’s not bad, either.”

He handed her the cup and sipped from his own. She wondered why he’d been out of the country at the same time as Tate, and why. Then she shut Tate out of her mind. She wasn’t going to think about him tonight.

“You never did say where you went,” she told the lithe congenial man at her side.

He mentioned a war-torn country in Africa, then murmured, “And you didn’t hear that from me.”

She sobered quickly. Everyone knew about the strife and the terrible aftermath of surreptitious bombings. It was all that people talked about. “Those poor people.”

“Amen.”

She glanced up at him. “I suppose you were involved somehow in the capture of the suspects?”

He only smiled. He would never talk about assignments. Colby wasn’t a handsome man, especially with all the scars on his lean face. His thick, faintly wavy short black hair was his best asset. Still he did have a dangerous magnetism that Cecily knew didn’t go unnoticed by the ladies. Unfortunately he was too stuck in the past to even look at another woman twice. His wife of five years had left him two years back and found someone else; someone who was at home more, already had two children of his own and didn’t risk his life for his job. His benders since her departure were legendary. Cecily’s intervention with the Maryland psychologist had saved him from certain alcoholism, but he still teetered dangerously on the edge of ruin. A pity, she thought, to love someone so much and lose them and be unable to let go. Just like herself mooning over Tate, she thought with bitterness.

“Seen Tate lately?” Colby asked carelessly.

She stiffened. “No.”

He looked down at her with a wry grin. “It was a boring banquet, anyway. You made all the news shows that night, and I hear one of the bigger late-night television hosts did a monologue about it!”

“Go ahead,” she invited with a gesture. “Rub it in.”

“I can’t help myself,” he said with an involuntary chuckle. “I believe it’s the first time in American political history that an ex-CIA agent was baptized with a tureen of crab bisque right in the middle of a televised political affair.” Colby had to work hard not to crack a smile. He sipped his coffee instead. Before he met Cecily, he couldn’t have imagined any woman doing that to tall, handsome, elegant Tate Winthrop. “Matt Holden seems to have forgiven you,” he added.

She smiled wickedly. “He loved it,” she said. “Just between you and me, he thrives on publicity.”

Colby’s dark eyes went to Holden. “You might also have been invited because he likes embarrassing Tate,” he mused. “Talk about natural enemies!”

Cecily shifted from one leg to the other. Her high heeled shoes were getting uncomfortable. She didn’t go out much formally. “I know. Tate’s gung ho for that proposed casino on the Wapiti Ridge Sioux Reservation in South Dakota to help raise tribal funds and support more programs for teens, to help cut down on alcoholism and violence. The senator, on the other hand, is violently opposed to the casino project on Wapiti. They’ve locked horns over that issue and several others involving Lakota sovereignty.”

Colby’s brows drew together. “Isn’t the senator Lakota?”

Cecily grinned. “His father was from Morocco,” she said. “He hasn’t got a drop of Lakota blood. But he looks it, doesn’t he? Maybe that’s why he gets the Lakota vote every election. That, and the fact that his mother used to teach at the Lakota school on Wapiti Ridge, or so I’ve heard.” Thinking about that, she wondered if Leta had ever met Matt in her youth. They were about the same age.

“Did he know Tate’s family then?”

“He may have known of them, but he ran for congress before Tate was even born, and he came to D.C. as a freshman senator the same year in a landslide victory.”

“You didn’t know him until this museum thing came up.”

“That’s true.” She smoothed down the narrow skirt of her dress and glanced with irritation at a mud spot on her black suede sling-backs. “Darn,” she said. “It was raining and I had to walk on the grass. I’ve got mud all over my shoes. They’re brand-new, too.”

“I’ll carry you across the grass on the return trip, if you like,” Colby offered with twinkling eyes. “It would have to be over one shoulder, of course,” he added with a wry glance at his artificial arm.

She frowned at the bitterness in his tone. He was a little fuzzy because she needed glasses to see at distances.

“Listen, nobody in her right mind would ever take you for a cripple,” she said gently and with a warm smile. She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Anyway,” she added with a wicked grin, “I’ve already given the news media enough to gossip about just recently. I don’t need any more complications in my life. I’ve only just gotten rid of one big one.”

Colby studied her with an amused smile. She was the only woman he’d ever known who he genuinely liked. He was about to speak when he happened to glance over her shoulder at a man approaching them. “About that big complication, Cecily.”

“What about it?” she asked.

“I’d say it’s just reappeared with a vengeance. No, don’t turn around,” he said, suddenly jerking her close to him with the artificial arm that looked so real, a souvenir of one of his foreign assignments. “Just keep looking at me and pretend to be fascinated with my nose, and we’ll give him something to think about.”

She laughed in spite of the racing pulse that always accompanied Tate’s appearances in her life. She studied Colby’s lean, scarred face. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a pinup, but he had style and guts and if it hadn’t been for Tate, she would have found him very attractive. “Your nose has been broken twice, I see,” she told Colby.

“Three times, but who’s counting?” He lifted his eyes and his eyebrows at someone behind her. “Well, hi, Tate! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Obviously,” came a deep, gruff voice that cut like a knife.

Colby loosened his grip on Cecily and moved back a little. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he said.

Tate moved into Cecily’s line of view, half a head taller than Colby Lane. He was wearing evening clothes, like the other men present, but he had an elegance that made him stand apart. She never tired of gazing into his large black eyes which were deep-set in a dark, handsome face with a straight nose, and a wide, narrow, sexy mouth and faintly cleft chin. He was the most beautiful man. He looked as if all he needed was a breastplate and feathers in his hair to bring back the heyday of the Lakota warrior in the nineteenth century. Cecily remembered him that way from the ceremonial gatherings at Wapiti Ridge, and the image stuck stubbornly in her mind.

“Audrey likes to rub elbows with the rich and famous,” Tate returned. His dark eyes met Cecily’s fierce green ones. “I see you’re still in Holden’s good graces. Has he bought you a ring yet?”

“What’s the matter with you, Tate?” Cecily asked with a cold smile. “Feeling…crabby?”

His eyes smoldered as he glared at her. “What did you give Holden to get that job at the museum?” he asked with pure malice.

Anger at the vicious insinuation caused her to draw back her hand holding the half-full coffee cup, and Colby caught her wrist smoothly before she could sling the contents at the man towering over her.

Tate ignored Colby. His eyes began to glitter as he looked at Cecily. “Don’t make that mistake again,” he said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. He looked as if all his latent hostilities were waiting for an excuse to turn on her. “If you throw that cup at me, so help me, I’ll carry you over and put you down in the punch bowl!”

“You and the CIA, maybe!” Cecily hissed. “Go ahead and try…!”

Tate actually took a step toward her just as Colby managed to get between them. “Now, now,” he cautioned.

Cecily wasn’t backing down an inch. Neither was Tate. He’d gone from lazy affection and indulgent amusement to bristling antagonism in the space of weeks. Lately he flew into a rage if Cecily’s name was mentioned, but Colby hadn’t told her that.

“You have no right to make that kind of insinuation about me,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t get jobs lying on my back, and you know it!”

Tate’s black eyes narrowed. He looked formidable, but Cecily wasn’t intimidated by him. She never had been. He glanced at her hands, which were clenched on her cup, and then back to her rigid features. It had infuriated him to be the object of televised ridicule at the political dinner, and Audrey’s comments had only made things worse. He was carrying a grudge. But as he looked at Cecily, he felt an emptiness in his very soul. This woman had been a thorn in his side for years, ever since an impulsive act of compassion had made her his responsibility. In those days, she’d been demure and sweet and dependent on him, and her shy hero worship had been vaguely flattering. Now, she was a fiery, independent woman who didn’t give a damn about his disapproval or, apparently, his company, and she had done everything except leave town to keep out of his way.

She was still like an adopted daughter to his mother, but Tate couldn’t get near her now. He didn’t like admitting how much it hurt to have Cecily turn her back on him. All Audrey’s charms hadn’t been able to erase the memory of Cecily’s wounded, accusing eyes when Audrey had told her the truth about her so-called grant. He wished he’d never confided in the socialite. In the early days of their relationship, he’d been more forthcoming about the past than he should have been. It never occurred to him that Audrey would tell everything she knew to everyone who came within speaking distance. Amazing that he could be so easily taken in by a pretty face. Not that he hadn’t learned his lesson. Audrey heard nothing from him now that he wouldn’t mind having the media overhear. But the damage was done. It was standing in front of him with blazing green eyes and clenched hands. And to have Colby Lane, his friend, on the verge of an affair with Cecily…

“Why are you in town?” he asked Colby abruptly.

“I wasn’t needed any longer,” the other man replied with a grin. “Apparently my methods of interrogation were a little too…intense for some of our politically correct colleagues. They sent me home.”

“Marshmallows,” Tate muttered. “And did you see who was handling the investigation?”

“I did.” Colby finished his coffee. “Whatever happened to the good old days when the “company” handled overseas intelligence?” he wondered.

“Oh, no,” Audrey said in her husky voice as she joined them, ravishing in a red satin dress with a matching chiffon overlay. It looked like couture, and frightfully expensive. It probably was. She was dripping diamonds. “No shop talk,” she continued, pressing Tate’s arm to her breasts. She gave Cecily a cursory, contemptuous glance and transferred her blue eyes to Colby with a flirtatious smile. “Hi, Colby. Long time, no see.”

He smiled back, but his eyes didn’t. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to come and see your best friend?” she chided. “We’ve invited you for dinner twice and you always have an excuse.”

Insinuating, of course, that she and Tate were living together, which Cecily already knew because of what Leta had told her. Cecily didn’t react visibly. Inside, she was slowly dying at the images of Tate and Audrey together.

“I’ve been out of the country for a week, myself, upgrading the security on one of our new oil rig projects in the Caspian Sea,” Tate replied. “We’ve had a few problems.”

“So I heard,” Colby said. “Brauer had friends, didn’t he?” he added, mentioning the German national who’d involved Tate’s employer in a kidnapping scheme. “I guess even from prison he can hire cleaners.”

Tate shrugged. “Pierce and I can handle it.” He smiled down at Audrey. “I’m not ready to cash in my chips yet.”

Cecily unobtrusively slid her free hand into Colby’s real one for comfort. Surprised, his fingers tightened around it.

“Well, it was nice to see you,” Colby said, reading the tiny signal, “but we need to leave pretty soon.”

At the coupling of their names, Tate glanced speculatively from one of them to the other. Everyone knew that Colby was still in love with his ex-wife, but he was holding Cecily’s hand and acting protective of her. He didn’t like that. Colby was teetering on alcoholism, and Tate didn’t want Cecily’s life ruined by him. He’d have to think of some way to handle this; for her own good, of course, he decided firmly.

“So you did show up, after all,” Matt Holden said shortly, joining the small group. He glared at Tate. “I’m not giving one inch on the casino issue, just in case you wondered,” he said without preamble.

Tate glared back at him. “You’re one man. You won’t stop progress.”

“Yes, I will,” Holden said in a clipped, hostile tone. “I’m not having organized crime at Wapiti Ridge, and if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.”

“Bull! There’s no connection to organized crime at Wapiti. That’s just an excuse. But you don’t own the governor or the state attorney general,” Tate told him. “And you have no influence whatsoever on the res.”

“Do you really want to be partners with men who’ll take eighty percent of the profit and shoot anybody who tries to stop them?” Holden asked. “I won’t have organized crime making a living at the expense of children’s food and clothing and housing!”

Tate took a step toward the man, who was a head shorter than he was, and his black eyes were every bit as intimidating as Holden’s. “That’s strong talk from a big shot Washington bureaucrat who rides around in chauffeured limousines and has his meals on china plates! What the hell do you know about children whose parents can’t even afford heat in the winter, who live on a reservation that hasn’t even got a damned ambulance to take injured people to the clinic?”

“I know more about it than you think you do,” Holden shot back. “Listen here…”

Cecily walked between them, just as Colby had gotten between her and Tate minutes earlier. She smiled at Holden. “My boss at the museum told me that you had a collection of projectile points dating back to the Folsom point,” she said. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of your showing them to me?”

Holden stood for a moment vibrating with unexpressed anger, but as he looked at Cecily, his rigid features relaxed and he smiled self-consciously. “Yes, I do have such a collection. You really want to see it?”

“Paleo-Indian archaeology is still my first love,” she replied. “Yes, I’d very much enjoy that.”

He took her arm. “If you’ll excuse us?”

Cecily didn’t look back. She went right along with the senator, apparently hanging on every word.

“Why do you do things like that?” Audrey asked snappily, glancing around to find some people still watching them in the wake of the very audible disagreement. “He’s a very powerful man, you know. And I think he’s right about casinos.” She tossed back her shoulder-length blond hair. “There shouldn’t even be any reservations in the first place,” she muttered, missing Tate’s angry stare. “We’re all Americans. It’s stupid to support a bunch of people who’d rather live with bears than in cities. They should just phase out the reservations and let everybody live together.”

Colby pursed his lips and glanced at Tate. He spoke a few words, softly, in a gutteral language that the other man understood very well.

“Why are you dating Cecily?” Tate asked instead of answering the question he’d been asked in Lakota.

Colby looked nonchalant. “She’s single. I’m single. I like her.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d agree to be seen with her in public,” Audrey sniffed. “She has no breeding and she’s a social disaster.”

“Listen, she didn’t pour crab bisque all over me,” Colby said with a deliberately provoking glance at Tate. “She wouldn’t have poured it on you if you’d told her the truth from the beginning. Cecily hates lies. I can’t imagine that you’ve known her for eight years without realizing that.”

“She has the pride of Lucifer,” he returned. “She’d never have gone to college in the first place if I hadn’t paid for it. She’s self-supporting and able to take care of herself. It was worth every penny.”

“She is going to pay you back, now that she knows, isn’t she?” Audrey asked. “You don’t owe her anything, Tate. You were stuck with her, and you’re certainly not a relative or anything.”

“There are things about my obligation to Cecily that you don’t understand,” Tate told the woman. He drew in a short breath as he watched Cecily cling to Holden’s arm on the way out of the room.

“Like what?” Audrey persisted. “Don’t tell me you were lovers!”

“Of course not,” Tate said irritably. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”

“She’s not much to look at even now.” Audrey was also staring after Cecily and Holden. “He does like her, doesn’t he?” she drawled. “He could afford to keep her. They must spend a lot of time together now that he’s involved in that museum.”

That had just occurred to Tate, too, and he didn’t like it. Holden was years too old for Cecily.

Colby caught that disapproval in his face, but he didn’t remark on it. He held up his empty cup. “I need a refill. Excuse me.”

He left them together. Audrey leaned against Tate’s muscular arm with a soft sigh. “Why did you want to come to this boring party?” she asked. “We could have gone to the ballet with the Carsons instead.”

“I hate ballet.”

“You like opera.”

“There’s a difference.” He was still glaring at the doorway through which Holden and Cecily had vanished. “What does she see in him?” he wondered.

“Maybe he likes to dig up dead people, too,” she said with a contemptuous laugh.

Tate could feel the heat rising over his cheekbones. “I’m still trying to understand why you told Cecily that I paid for her education.”

She looked up at him innocently. “You never said I couldn’t. She’s too old to need a guardian, you know. It was only ever just an excuse to hang around you, getting in my…in our way. She’ll get over it.”

“Get over what?” he asked with a scowl.

“Her infatuation.” She patted his arm, oblivious to the shock on his face. “All young girls go through it. Someone had to show her that she has no place in your life now.” She looked up at him adoringly. “You have me, now.”

He went with her to the punch bowl, still frowning and feeling vague disquiet. Audrey was constantly in his face, getting the manager to let her into his apartment at all hours, even phoning him at work. She was possessive to a frightening degree. He didn’t understand why. She was someone to take around, but he wasn’t intimately involved with her. She was acting as if they were attached at the hip, and he didn’t like it. Her attitude toward Cecily chafed. “What makes you think she’s infatuated with me?” he asked conversationally.

“Oh, Colby told me once, when he was a little tipsy. It was before they started going around together,” she said airily. “He felt sorry for her, but I don’t. There are plenty of eligible men in the world. She isn’t very attractive, but she’ll find someone of her own one day. Maybe even Colby,” she added thoughtfully. “They seem very close, don’t they—even closer than she and Matt Holden. She might be just the woman to help him get over his ex-wife!”