Читать книгу Secrets At the Cove - Honey Perkel - Страница 17

Iris Grayson’s nephew and Elizabeth Windsor dined at table number nine. They made a handsome couple, Caroline thought. Across the way at table number six, sat Tilly and her husband, Richard. However, Caroline noticed that neither woman appeared particularly happy on this beautiful night.

“Are you having a nice time with your Aunt Iris?” Elizabeth inquired, sitting across from Scott.

“Oh, yes,” Scott answered. “Of course, I just got here this morning.”

“What are your plans while you’re here?”

“To see you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You know what I mean.”

“To see you,” Scott repeated, and offered her a smile.

“Be serious, Scott.” Elizabeth was growing uncomfortable.

“I am serious.” And the look on Scott’s face told her there was no doubt.

Elizabeth squirmed a bit in her chair, then took a sip from her daiquiri cocktail to calm herself. This was not going to be easy. She knew why Scott had come to Seaside.

“Don’t want to be my friend?” he asked, pushing out his lower lip in a mock pout.

“Scott, that’s all I want to be,” she said. “I really like you.”

“Ouch.” Scott winced. “You’re mortally wounding me.”

Elizabeth took another sip of her cocktail.

“Am I driving you to drink?” He smiled.

She remained silent, studying the small vase of red roses standing on the white cloth-covered table between them. She didn’t know what was making her more nervous, the expectations from the man sitting across from her, or the flickering candlelight on the table.

Elizabeth had always been paranoid about fire; even an innocent thing as a lit votive candle could send her into a tail spin. She had inherited the fear from her mother, though she had never known the reason.

“Seriously,” Scott continued, “I thought we had something great going for us. Was it just my imagination?”

“Well, I thought so, too.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but agree.

Scott looked searchingly into Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes. Her long dark hair framed her pale face, like a curtain of silk about her slim shoulders. The dim candlelight made her appear almost frail, vulnerable, in a black slinky pant suit, cinched at the waist with an aqua sash. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold, and protect her.

Scott loved Elizabeth. He had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her at Aunt Iris’. Elizabeth had stopped by the house on a chilly afternoon to return art books his aunt had loaned her. She’d appeared sad, vulnerable even then. That was six months ago.

From Aunt Iris’ house he had taken her to coffee downtown. Strolling Broadway, dressed in heavy coats and scarves, they had browsed the shop windows. Elizabeth had shared memories of her vacation in Seaside with her parents when she was a child. They had ended up taking in a movie at the theater on the highway. It had been a great afternoon, one neither Elizabeth, nor Scott had wanted to end.

The following morning Scott had joined Elizabeth for a walk on the beach and then she had invited him up to the Loft House for a mug of hot chocolate. She wanted to show him her paintings. They sat and talked long into the day.

That had been in January when icy winds blew in off the ocean, locals hunkered down in the warmth of their homes, and tourists braved the slick, snow-covered mountain pass to catch a glimpse of the ravaged sea.

Two months later Scott had returned to Seaside specifically to see Elizabeth. He wanted to know just how important this woman was in his life, and to know how important he was in hers. Was there a chance for them to share a future together? He thought it had gone well.

He’d ended up staying the weekend at the Loft House. He and Elizabeth shared every moment, taken walks on the beach, gone to another movie, cooked meals together in Elizabeth’s small, but efficient kitchen, and they’d made love.

Now Scott had returned once more, only to find something had changed. Everything had changed. Elizabeth had grown distant. “What happened to us?”

Elizabeth didn’t have an answer. She was grateful that at that moment Mertle Roe brought out their dinners from the kitchen. Mertle served Scott his pepper steak with demi-glaze and caramelized onions, and she gave Elizabeth her salmon piccata. She also set down a basket of herbal bread for them to share.

Elizabeth’s mind had already moved back to the morning she had first seen the stranger at Surfer’s Cove. Dressed, undressed, his beautiful cobalt blue eyes looking at her. It had been more than any physical attraction she had felt for a man. Deeper feelings than she’d had for any of her previous boyfriends. More feelings than she felt for Scott. The surfer left her weak, shaking, wanting more. Wanting everything. It would not be possible to convey those feelings to Scott.

She had seen the surfer again this morning out on the breakers. He was so beautiful. He had looked at her as before, hypnotically, as if he could see into her very soul, but that was only part of why she was pulling away. There was her illness to consider. Her secret.

“Nothing happened to us,” Elizabeth responded.

This conversation was going nowhere. Scott ran his fingers through his dark hair, and looked down at his steak dinner, still untouched.

“Is there someone else?” he asked.

Elizabeth hesitated. “Maybe. I’m not sure,” she replied, her eyes remaining on her dinner plate. The strains of violins played through the sound system of the restaurant. The salmon was fast losing its appeal.

She hadn’t told Scott she was dying — she hadn’t told anyone since she’d arrived in Seaside. It hadn’t been as she had hoped. Her family. She couldn’t even tell them.

It had been wrong to lead Scott on during his previous trips to Seaside. It had been unfair to both of them, but she just couldn’t tell him then. And she couldn’t tell him now. It was better to break off this relationship, no matter what Scott thought of her, or how much it would hurt him.

“So where do we go from here?” he was asking.

“I’m sorry, Scott. Feeling the way I do, I just can’t make a commitment to you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Elizabeth looked at Scott’s eyes. They were intense, yet sad. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

And all Scott could do was gaze into her deep slate eyes.

* * *

Hoping to enjoy a lovely evening, Tilly and Richard Jacobs sat attempting to eat their suppers.

Tilly gazed at her husband as he ate. He was still a handsome man and looked much as he had when they married twenty-two years before. His graying hair and the extra weight he had put on made him even more distinguished. He looked particularly nice tonight in his navy sport jacket, blue shirt, and yellow print tie.

Richard didn’t wear a suit often, but when he did Tilly felt something stir within her. It was like she was falling in love with him all over again.

There was so much to love about Richard, she knew. Even now, he still possessed all the qualities she’d first admired about him. He was a good and decent man. He was a kind and generous man. She remembered how she had loved everything about him: how he smelled first thing in the morning, how he ate his food, the warm touch of his hand, and his endearing pet names for her. Everything had been so perfect in their marriage ... perfect, until the day Mark died. Now, Tilly was so consumed with grief she often hated Richard, and couldn’t help blame him for their son’s death.

Caroline Williams came by their table and refreshed Tilly and Richard’s wine, stayed for a bit of chitchat, and then moved on to play hostess at yet another table of guests.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Richard said, taking her hand in his, eying her sexy low cut black dress. “I love you,” he added.

Tilly looked at her husband. He was attempting to reach out to her and she knew it was only fair that she try to be responsive.

“Sometimes I know I’m not very lovable.”

“We’ve had a pretty rough time these last two years. But, Tilly, I do love you.”

Still holding his wife’s hand, Richard waited. His eyes searched hers, looking for something, finding nothing.

Tilly remained silent. Slowly, she slipped her hand from Richard’s. She saw the hurt she had just caused, but she didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Instead, she picked up her fork and began to eat her dinner.

At a loss for words, Richard sat, watching her. He felt like they were always sparring. In/out. Drawing closer/pulling apart. It felt like a damned game that he didn’t want to lose.

Tilly kept her focus on her meal. She knew what Richard wanted to hear. But she couldn’t say the words. She couldn’t betray Mark. How could she forgive Richard? And how could Richard expect that? Giving Mark the keys to the car on that stormy day wasn’t a simple mistake, or just poor judgment. It was a deadly choice! No, she could NOT express love for Richard!

“We used to be so happy.” Richard spoke quietly.

“We lost our son, Richard.”

“And it’s destroying us. But we don’t have to let it.”

“I don’t know any other way.” Her head was spinning. “I can’t deal with this.”

Richard reached for her hand again, but this time Tilly jerked it back before he could touch her. Anger flared inside her. It was starting to overtake her senses.

“God, Richard, I sometimes feel such hate for you! For what you did! And you never once said you were sorry for killing Mark!”

Richard leaned forward, almost a pleading in his quiet tone. “I didn’t kill Mark, Tilly. You know that.”

“I know nothing of the kind! Why won’t you tell me you’re sorry?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Just say it, damn it!”

An elderly couple sitting at the next table was watching them. Other diners nearby began to turn in their direction. Noticing this, Tilly attempted to calm herself, though she was close to tears.

“I’m sorry, Richard. I’m just so unhappy ... and I feel so ... alone.”

“We have to resolve this. I love you. I don’t want anyone else in my life, and I know you don’t either.”

Tilly was speechless. Was this supposed to be some kind of compliment? She leaned forward, an accusatory finger pointing at her husband’s face, rage coming to the fore.

“Are you saying no other man would want me?”

“No. Of course not. I’m saying we love each other and wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“You don’t think I might find someone to love me? That I wouldn’t be attractive to somebody? Don’t make assumptions, Richard! You just might regret it!”

With that, Tilly stood up and threw her linen napkin onto the dining table. She was so angry, she wanted to slap him. Instead, she picked up her glass of wine and splashed it in his face.