Читать книгу The Season Of Love: Beloved - Diana Palmer - Страница 13

It was raining the day Tira began taking her sculptures to Bob Henderson’s “Illuminations” art gallery for her showing. She was so gloomy she hardly felt the mist on her face. Christmas was only two weeks away and she was miserable and lonely. Only months before, she’d have phoned Simon and asked him to meet her for lunch in town, or she’d have shown up at some committee meeting or benefit conference at which he was present, just to feed her hungry heart on the sight of him. Now, she had nothing. Only Charles and his infrequent, undemanding company. Charles was a sweetheart, but it was like having a brother over for coffee.

She carried the last box carefully in the back door, which Lillian Day, the gallery’s manager, was holding open for her.

“That’s the last of them, Lillian,” Tira told her, smiling as she surveyed the cluttered storage room. She shook her head. “I can’t believe I did all those myself.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Lillian agreed, smiling back. She bent to open one of the boxes and frowned slightly at what was inside. “Did you mean to include this?” she asked, indicating a bust of Simon that was painfully lifelike.

Tira’s face closed up. “Yes, I meant to,” she said curtly. “I don’t want it.”

Lillian wisely didn’t say another word. “I’ll place it with the others, then. The catalogs have been printed and they’re perfect, I checked them myself. Everything’s ready, including the caterer for the snack buffet and the media coverage. We’re doing a Christmas motif for the buffet.”

Media coverage. Tira ground her teeth. The last thing in the world she wanted to see now was a reporter.

Lillian, sensitive to moods, glanced at her reassuringly. “Don’t worry. These were handpicked, by me,” she added. “They won’t ask any embarrassing questions, and anything they write for print will be about the show. Period.”

Tira relaxed. “What would I do without you?” she asked, and meant it.

Lillian grinned. “Don’t even think about trying. We’re very glad to have your exhibit here.”

Tira had worried about Simon’s reaction to the showing, since he was a partner in Bob Henderson’s gallery. They hadn’t spoken since before his close call in the courtroom and she half expected him to cancel her exhibit. But he hadn’t. Perhaps Mrs. Lester had been mistaken and he hadn’t been angry that Tira hadn’t phoned to check on him. Just because she hadn’t called, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t worried. She’d had a few sleepless nights thinking about what could have happened to him. Despite her best efforts, her feelings for him hadn’t changed. She was just as much in love with him now as she had been. She was only better at concealing it.

The night of the exhibit arrived. She was all nerves, and she was secretly glad that Charles would be by her side. Not that she expected Simon to show up, with the media present. He wouldn’t want to give them any more ammunition to embarrass him with. But Charles would be a comfort to her.

Fate stepped in, however, to rob her of his presence. Charles phoned at the last minute, audibly upset, to tell her he couldn’t go with her to the show.

“I’m more sorry than I can tell you, but Gene’s had a heart attack,” he said curtly.

“Oh, Charles, I’m so sorry!”

“No need to be. You know there’s no love lost between us. But he’s my half brother, just the same, and there’s no one else to look after him. Nessa is in shock herself. I can’t let her cope alone.”

“How is he?”

“Stabilized, for the moment. I’m on my way to the hospital. Nessa’s with him and he’s giving her hell, as usual, even flat on his back,” he said curtly.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thanks for your support. I’m sorry you have to go on your own. But it’s unlikely that Simon will be there, you know,” he added gently. “Just stick close to Lillian. She’ll look out for you.”

She smiled to herself. “I know she will. Let me know how it goes.”

“Of course I will. See you.”

He hung up. She stared at the phone blankly as she replaced the receiver. She looked good, she reasoned. Her black dress was a straight sheath, ankle length, with spaghetti straps and a diamond necklace and earrings to set it off. It was a perfect foil for her pale, flawless complexion and her red-gold hair, done in a complicated topknot with tendrils just brushing her neck. From her austere getup, she looked more like a widow in mourning than a woman looking forward to Christmas, and she felt insecure and nervous. It would be the first time she’d appeared alone in public since the scandal and she was still uncomfortable around most people.

Well, she comforted herself as she went outside and climbed into her Jaguar, at least she didn’t have to add Simon to her other complications tonight.

The gallery was packed full of interested customers, some of whom had probably only come for curiosity’s sake. It wasn’t hard to discern people who could afford the four-figure price tags on the sculptures from those who couldn’t. Tira pretended not to notice. She took a flute of expensive champagne and downed half of it before she went with Lillian to mingle with the guests.

It didn’t help that the first two people she saw were Simon and Jill.

“Oh, God,” she ground out through her teeth, only too aware of the reporters and their sudden interest in him. “Why did he have to come?!”

Lillian took her arm gently. “Don’t let him know that it bothers you. Smile, girl! We’ll get through this.”

“Do you think so?”

She plastered a cool smile to her lips as Simon pulled Jill along with him and came to a halt just in front of the two women.

“Nice crowd,” he told Tira, his eyes slowly going over her exquisite figure in the close-fitting dress with unusual interest.

“A few art fans and a lot of rubberneckers, hadn’t you noticed?” Tira said, sipping more champagne. Her fingers trembled a little and she held the flute with both hands, something Simon’s keen eyes picked up on at once.

“Nice of you to come by,” Lillian said quietly.

He glanced at her. “It would have been noticeable if I hadn’t, considering that I own half the gallery.” His attention turned back to Tira and his silvery eyes narrowed. “All alone? Where’s your fair-haired shadow?”

She knew he meant Charles. She smiled lazily. “He couldn’t make it.”

“On the first night of your first exhibition?” he chided.

She drew in a sharp breath. “His half brother had a heart attack, if you must know,” she said through her teeth. “He’s at the hospital.”

Simon’s eyes flickered strangely. “And you have to be here, instead of at his side. Pity.”

“He doesn’t need comforting. Nessa does.”

Jill, dressed in red again with a sprig of holly secured with a diamond clip in her black hair, moved closer to Simon. “We just stopped in for a peek at your work,” she said, almost purring as she looked up at the tall man beside her. “We’re on our way to the opera.”

Tira averted her eyes. She loved opera. Many times in the past, Simon had escorted her during the season. It hurt to remember how she’d looked forward to those chaste evenings with him.

“I don’t suppose you go anymore?” Simon asked coldly.

She shrugged. “Don’t have time,” she said tightly.

“I noticed. You couldn’t even be bothered to phone and check on me when that lunatic went wild in the courtroom.”

Tira wouldn’t look at him. “You can’t hurt someone who’s steel right through,” she said.

“And you were out of the country when it happened.”

She lifted her eyes to his hard face. “Yes. I was in Nassau with Charles, having a lovely time!”

His eyes seemed to blaze up at her.

Before the confrontation could escalate, Lillian diplomatically got between them. “Have you had time to look around?” she asked Simon.

“Oh, we’ve seen most everything,” Jill answered for him. “Even the bust of Simon that Tira did. I was surprised that she was willing to sell it,” she added in an innocent tone. “I wouldn’t part with something so personal, Simon being such an old friend and all. But I guess under the circumstances, it was too painful a reminder of…things, wasn’t it, dear?” she asked Tira.

Tira’s hand automatically drew back, with the remainder of the champagne, but before she could toss it, Simon caught her wrist with his good hand.

“No catfights,” he said through his teeth. “Jill, wait for me at the door, will you?”

“If you say so. My, she does look violent, doesn’t she?” Jill chided, but she walked away quickly just the same.

“Get a grip on yourself!” Simon shot at Tira under his breath. “Don’t you see the reporters staring at you?”

“I don’t give a damn about the reporters,” she flashed at him. “If she comes near me again, I swear I’ll empty the punch bowl over her vicious little head!”

He let go of her wrist and something kindled in his pale eyes as he looked at her animated face. “That’s more like you,” he said in a deep, soft tone.

Tira flushed, aware that Lillian was quietly deserting her, stranding her with Simon.

“Why did you come?” she asked furiously.

“So the gossips wouldn’t have a field day speculating about why I didn’t,” he explained. “It wouldn’t have done either of us much good, considering what’s been in print already.”

She lifted her face, staring at him with cold eyes at the reference to things she only wanted to forget. “You’ve done your duty,” she said. “You might as well go. And take the Wicked Witch of the West with you,” she added spitefully.

“Jealous?” he asked in a sensuous tone.

Her face hardened. “I once asked you the same question. You can give yourself the same answer that you gave me. Like hell I’m jealous!”

He was watching her curiously, his eyes acutely alive in a strangely taciturn face. “You’ve lost weight,” he remarked. “And you look more like a widow than a celebrity tonight. Why wear black?”

“I’ve decided that you were right. I should have mourned my husband. So now I’m in mourning,” she said icily and with an arctic smile. “I expect to be in mourning for him until I die, and I’ll never look at a man again. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

He frowned slightly. “Tira…”

“Tira!”

The sound of a familiar voice turned them both around. Harry Beck, Tira’s father-in-law, came forward, smiling, to embrace Tira. He turned to shake Simon’s hand. “Great to see you both!” he said enthusiastically. “Dollface, you’ve outdone yourself,” he told Tira, nodding toward two nearby sculptures. “I always knew you were talented, but this is sheer genius!”

Simon looked puzzled by Harry’s honest enthusiasm for Tira’s work, by his lack of hostility. She’d killed his only son, didn’t he care?

“I’m glad to see you, Simon,” Harry added with a smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“Simon was just leaving. Weren’t you?” Tira added meaningfully.

“Someone’s motioning to you,” Harry noted, indicating Lillian frantically waving from across the room.

“It’s Lillian. Will you excuse me?” Tira asked, smiling at Harry. “I won’t be a minute.” Simon, she ignored entirely.

The two men watched her go.

“I’m glad to see her looking so much better,” Harry said on a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been worried since she went to the hospital.”

“Do you really care what happens to her?” Simon asked curiously.

Harry was surprised. “Why wouldn’t I be? She was my daughter-in-law. I’ve always been fond of her.”

“She divorced John a month after they married and let him go off to work on a drill rig in the ocean,” Simon returned. “He died there.”

Harry stared at him blankly. “But that wasn’t her fault.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Why are you so bitter?” Harry wanted to know. “For God’s sake, you can’t think she didn’t try to change him? He should have told her the truth before he married her, not let her find it out that way!”

Simon was puzzled. “Find what out?”

Jill glared at Simon, but he made a motion for her to wait another minute and turned back to Harry. “Find what out?” he repeated curtly.

“That John was homosexual, of course,” Harry said, puzzled.

The blood drained out of Simon’s face. He stared down at the older man with dawning comprehension.

“She didn’t tell you?” Harry asked gently. He sighed and shook his head. “That’s like her, though. She wanted to preserve your illusions about John, even if it meant sacrificing your respect for her. She couldn’t tell you, I guess. I can’t blame her. If he’d only been able to accept what he was…but he couldn’t. He tried so hard to be what he thought I wanted. And he never seemed to understand that I’d have loved him regardless of how he saw his place in the world.”

Simon turned away, his eyes finding Tira across the room. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. She turned her back. He felt the pain right through his body.

“Dear God!” he growled when he realized what he’d done.

“Don’t look like that,” Harry said gently. “John made his own choice. It was nobody’s fault. Maybe it was mine. I should have seen that he was distraught and done something.”

Simon let out a breath. He was sick right to his soul. What a fool he’d been.

“She should have told you,” Harry was saying. “You’re a grown man. You don’t need to be protected from the truth. She was always like that, even with John, trying to protect him. She’d have gone on with the marriage if he hadn’t insisted on a divorce.”

“I thought…she got the divorce.”

“He got it, in her name, and cited mental cruelty.” He shrugged. “I don’t think he considered how it might look to an outsider. It made things worse for him. He only did it to save her reputation. He thought it would hurt her publicly if he made it look like she was at fault.” He glanced at Simon. “That was right after your wreck and she was trying to take care of you. He thought it might appear as if she was having an affair with you and he found out. It might have damaged both of you in the public eye.”

His teeth clenched. “I never touched her.”

“Neither did John,” Harry murmured heavily. “He couldn’t. He cried in my arms about it, just before he saw an attorney. He wanted to love her. He did, in his way. But it wasn’t in a conventional way at all.”

Simon pushed back a strand of dark, wavy hair that had fallen on his brow. He was sweating because the gallery was overheated.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked with concern.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He’d never be all right again. He glanced toward Tira with anguish in every line of his face. But she wouldn’t even look at him.

Jill, sensing some problem, came back to join him, sliding her hand into his arm. “Aren’t you ready? We’ll miss the curtain.”

“I’m ready,” he said. He looked down at her and realized that here was one more strike against him. He was giving aid and comfort to Tira’s worst enemy in the city. He’d done it deliberately, of course, to make her even more uncomfortable. But that was before he knew the whole truth. Now he felt guilty.

“Hello. I’m Jill Sinclair. Have we met?” she asked Harry, smiling.

“No, we haven’t. I’m—”

“We have to go,” Simon said abruptly. He didn’t want to add any more weapons to Jill’s already full arsenal by letting Harry tell her about John, too. “See you, Harry.”

“Sure. Good night.”

“Who was that?” Jill asked Simon as they went toward the door.

“An old friend. Just a minute. There’s something I have to do.”

“Simon…!”

“I won’t be a minute,” he promised, and caught one of the gallery’s salespeople alone long enough to make a request. She seemed puzzled, but she agreed. He went back to Jill and escorted her out of the gallery, casting one last regretful look toward Tira, who was speaking to a group of socialites at the back of the gallery.

“Half the works are sold already,” Jill murmured. “I guess she’ll make a fortune.”

“She’s donating it all to charity,” he replied absently.

“She can afford to. It will certainly help her image and, God knows, she needs that right now.”

He glanced at her. “That isn’t why.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say, darling. Brrrr, I’m cold! Christmas is week after next, too.” She peered up at him. “I hope you got me something pretty.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I probably won’t be in town for Christmas,” he said not quite truthfully.

She sighed. “Oh, well, I might go and spend the holidays with my aunt in Connecticut. I do love snow!”

She was welcome to all she could find of it, he thought. His heart already felt as if he were buried in snow and ice. He knew that Harry’s revelation would keep him awake all night.

Tira watched Simon leave with Jill. She was glad he’d gone. Perhaps now she could enjoy her show.

Lillian was giving her strange looks and when Harry came to say goodbye, he looked rather odd, too.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Harry.

He started to speak and thought better of it. Let Simon tell her what he wanted her to know. He was tired of talking about the past; it was too painful.

He smiled. “It’s a great show, kiddo, you’ll make a mint.”

“Thanks, Harry. I had fun doing it. Keep in touch, won’t you?”

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You know I will. How’s Charlie?”

“His brother-in-law had a heart attack. He’s not doing well.”

“I’m really sorry. Always liked Charlie. Still do.”

“I’ll tell him you asked about him,” she promised.

He smiled at her. “You do that. Keep well.”

“You, too.”

By the end of the evening, Tira was calmer, despite the painful memory of her argument with Simon’s and Jill’s catty remarks. She could just picture the two of them in Simon’s lavish apartment, sprawled all over each other in an ardent tangle. It made her sick. Simon had never kissed her, never touched her in anything but an impersonal way. She’d lived like a religious recluse for part of her life and she had nothing to show for her reticence except a broken heart and shattered pride.

“What a great haul,” Lillian enthused, breaking into her thoughts. “You sold three-fourths of them. The rest we’ll keep on display for a few weeks and see how they do.”

“I’m delighted,” Tira said, and meant it. “It’s all going to benefit the outreach program at St. Mark’s.”

“They’ll be very happy with it, I’m sure.”

Tira was walking around the gallery with the manager. Most of the crowd had left and a few stragglers were making their way to the door. She noticed the bust of Simon had a Sold sign on it, and her heart jumped.

“Who bought it?” Tira asked curtly. “It wasn’t Jill Sinclair, was it?”

“No,” Lillian assured her. “I’m not sure who bought it, but I can check, if you like.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” Tira said, clamping down hard on her curiosity. “I don’t care who bought it. I only wanted it out of my sight. I don’t care if I never see Simon Hart again!”

Lillian sighed worriedly, but she smiled when Tira glanced toward her and offered coffee.

Simon watched the late-night news broadcast from his easy chair, nursing a whiskey sour, his second in half an hour. He’d taken Jill home and adroitly avoided her coquettish invitation to stay the night. After what he’d learned from Harry Beck, he had to be by himself to think things out.

There was a brief mention of Tira’s showing at the gallery and how much money had been raised for charity. He held his breath, but nothing was said about her suicide attempt. He only hoped the newspapers would be equally willing to put the matter aside.

He sipped his drink and remembered unwillingly all the horrible things he’d thought about and said to Tira over John. How she must have suffered through that mockery of a marriage, and how horrible if she’d loved John. She must have had her illusions shattered. She was the injured party. But Simon had taken John’s side and punished her as if she was guilty for John’s death. He’d deliberately put her out of his life, forbidding her to come close, even to touch him.

He closed his eyes in anguish. She would never let him near her again, no matter how he apologized. He’d said too much, done too much. She’d loved him, and he’d savaged her. And it had all been for nothing. She’d been innocent.

He finished his drink with dead eyes. Regrets seemed to pile up in the loneliness of the night. He glanced toward the Christmas tree his enthusiastic housekeeper had set up by the window, and dreaded the whole holiday season. He’d spend Christmas alone. Tira, at least, would have the despised Charles Percy for company.

He wondered why she didn’t marry the damned man. They seemed to live in each other’s pockets. He remembered that Charles had always been her champion, bolstering her up, protecting her. Charles had been her friend when Simon had turned his back on her, so how could he blame her for preferring the younger man?

He put his glass down and got to his feet. He felt every year of his age. He was almost forty and he had nothing to show for his own life. The child he might have had was gone, along with Melia, who’d never loved him. He’d lived on illusions of love for a long time, when the reality of love had ached for him and he’d turned his back.

If he’d let Tira love him…

He groaned aloud. He might as well put that hope to rest right now. She’d hate him forever and he had only himself to blame. Perhaps he deserved her hatred. God knew, he’d hurt her enough.

He went to bed, to lie awake all night with the memory of Tira’s wounded eyes and drawn face to haunt him.