Читать книгу Thrill Me - Isabel Sharpe, Isabel Sharpe - Страница 9

Note on Luxe spa board:

Trevor’s latest babe-ola here today for the full spa treatment. Don’t forget Brazilian wax instead of bikini. And low-sodium lunch so she doesn’t “puff.”

Marta

(Rolling eyes)

AT TWO O’CLOCK the next afternoon, May emerged—not from the airport in Milwaukee—from the HUSH spa, Luxe. Okay, so she hadn’t quite gotten on the eleven-thirty plane. But the way she was feeling right now, Veronica Lake et al should be looking to emulate her. What an experience. Hot stone massage, luxury warm glove manicure, pedicure, caviar extract and seaweed protein facial, waxing, gourmet lunch, haircut and makeover….

She was buffed, polished, soothed, relaxed, well-fed—the entire series of appointments had been glorious, beginning to end, with the merest exception of the waxing. Apparently Brazilian wax was not a special kind of wax, ahem. Obviously not a single hip New York woman ever committed the horrible faux pas of having more than a tiny strip of pubic hair at the base of her pelvis.

None. Anywhere else. Nada. Niente. Not even…back there.

Ouch.

Other than that, it had been ecstasy. She’d even gotten up her nerve to cut her hair chin-length for the first time, after Nico, the stylist, practically threatened her life if she refused. And he was right—she loved it. Loved it. A blunt bob with bangs that fell just above her newly made-up eyes, which made her look mysterious and peekaboo sexy. She felt as beautiful and cool and sophisticated as she’d pretended to be last night. She wished Trevor could see her like this. For that matter, she wanted to go knock on Beck Desmond’s door to show him the new look. Hell, fax Dan a photo and make it a four-way.

She’d woken up this morning in the bed she should have been sharing with Trevor, with her brain full of Beck Desmond and regret that her adventure at HUSH had been so limited. She’d intended to pack and leave for the airport, but discovered the fabulous invitation with the schedule for her own private spa day slipped under her door. Didn’t take long for her to decide she’d be nuts to pass up the opportunity.

The invitation must have originated with Trevor. What a sweetheart. He must have worried, thinking how lonely and lost she’d be feeling and called the hotel to arrange the pampering for her morning. And here she’d been so upset that he made no effort to get in touch with her after he cancelled. He probably hadn’t wanted to spoil the surprise.

So she’d take the five-thirty plane home. At least she could say she’d really had an adventure now. At least she had something to show for her trip. No, she hadn’t had a week of wild sex with a charming handsome man, but Dan I’m-bored-of-you Thompson couldn’t say she was dull and predictable now. At least not to look at.

She sailed into her room, changed into her sensible traveling suit with only a brief burst of longing for all the new clothes she wouldn’t get a chance to wear this week, and packed up her things, stopping every now and then to glance in the mirror. Great hair, perfect nails, soft lovely feet, newly cleaned-up brows… Who was this fabulous woman? A tiny wistful thought flew into her head that this fabulous woman would be sort of wasted back home in now-dateless Oshkosh.

Packing done, she glanced at the clock. About an hour before she had to leave. Why spend it sitting here?

She wandered out into the hall, carrying her sketch pad, not sure where her feet would take her, thinking that if she had control of the universe, fate would intervene and put Beck Desmond in her path, and at least give her a reason to take the seven-thirty flight….

But of course fate never did what she thought it was supposed to do.

Her feet took her down the hall into the elevator, where she saw Roof Garden on the label next to the top button. Perfect. She rode all the way up, smiling languidly at a man—not Beck, sigh—who glanced away from his date more than once to check her out. If this kept up, by the time she tried to leave, she’d be so full of herself she probably wouldn’t fit through the door.

Alone in the elevator for the climb to the rooftop, she emerged and wandered out into an extraordinarily beautiful and elaborate garden. The space had been cleverly segmented with columns and railings and pergolas, giving the illusion of a series of rooms. Nasturtiums and morning glories cascaded from metal railings, clematis and grapevines climbed white trellises. An espaliered fruit tree here, juniper and white pine there, pots and pots of hanging greenery and flowers everywhere else. A bower with a swing. A rose garden with a statue fountain, a partly enclosed space with a rock garden sprinkled with exquisite bonsai—May could happily spend her whole week here with a good book or two.

Except it seemed bizarre to have a slice of nature on a roof in the middle of one of the world’s biggest cities. A glance up, and the unrelenting geometric aggression of the surrounding buildings made her feel uncomfortable, isolated and alone. She took out a charcoal pencil tucked in a pocket of her sketch pad, and drew angular jagged lines and weary hopeless greenery, a satire of a garden choked off from the grassy meadows and trees that should cradle it.

Sketch done, she closed the pad, a little relieved, as if some of the poison had been allowed out of her system, and wandered over to where an elderly woman in blue slacks knelt on a black cushion tending an herb garden, humming and occasionally singing snippets of some song in a high lovely voice.

“Good morning.” The woman broke off her hum and greeted May as if they were friends—her eyes warm, intelligent and bright blue in her lined face—then went on snipping sprigs of rosemary, placing them into an open wicker basket at her side. “Lovely day.”

“Oh. Yes.” May glanced around in surprise, wondering why she hadn’t registered that it was. Maybe because beautiful days to her meant peaceful woodlands and fields and sunshine-smelling breezes, not skyscrapers and smog and distant traffic noise. The temperature was cooler than the previous day; a light wind pushed puffy clouds past overhead. There were still buildings everywhere, hemming her in, but the roof of HUSH was high enough that she could at least see over some of the others and not feel victim to their oppression. “The garden is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The woman removed a flowered cotton glove and held out her perfectly manicured hand, making May pleased that her own nails were up to snuff. “I’m Clarissa Armstrong.”

“May Ellison.” She shook Clarissa’s strong soft hand and found herself smiling genuinely. The older woman was beautiful—she must have been absolutely stunning in her day. Her linen blouse, sprigged with tiny blue and purple irises, green leaves and dots of yellow, was freshly pressed and immaculate. May would bet that even though Clarissa worked in and around dirt all day, none of it was allowed to stick to her.

“The garden isn’t only beautiful. We grow herbs and vegetables for the restaurant here. And the plants keep the temperature of the roof down, which saves the hotel money on cooling.”

“I didn’t know that.” May sank down and inhaled sage and thyme. “Oh, these remind me of Mom’s garden at home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Wisconsin.” She grinned wryly. No point pretending anymore that she was anyone but herself. “Oshkosh.”

“Ah, a lovely state.” Clarissa glanced at May, then clipped a few stems of basil. “Have you visited New York before?”

“No.”

“What do you think?” The question came out quickly, as if she had some reason other than politeness for wanting to know.

“It’s…very different. A little…overwhelming. But the hotel is wonderful.”

“Indeed.”

A flash of black and pink leaped out of the garden and materialized from behind Clarissa—the cat May had seen in the lobby. It stood, head tipped slightly, studying May as if considering her future worth.

Clarissa chuckled. “There you are, Eartha.”

“Eartha?”

“Eartha Kitty.” Clarissa smiled mischievously. “The official hotel cat. She has the run of the place. Showed up one day and never left. I have a catnip patch for her up here and she loves to chase insects.”

May crouched and extended a hand to the beautiful animal, speaking soothingly. The cat sat, curled her tail around herself and gave May a stare that would shame an empress. Next time May needed lessons in cool, she’d have to remember that look.

“So, have you visited the bar, Erotique?”

May shot Clarissa a sharp glance, but to all appearances, she was still concentrating on basil. “I was there last night.”

“Really?” Her voice was a little too casual. “Lovely isn’t it. And Shandi makes a fabulous Cosmopolitan.”

“How did you know I—” Her cell phone rang and she stood, pulling it out of her purse. “Excuse me. Hello?”

“Hey gorgeous, how was your appointment this morning?”

“Trevor!” May let out the cry of pleasure, then for some reason thought of her newly nude privates which Trevor wouldn’t get to see, and blushed. Then immediately had to banish an enticing image of Beck watching her touch herself the way she looked now. “Why aren’t you here?”

“I would be if I could, baby. Work is nuts, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’d rather be there with you.”

“Me, too.” She smiled into the phone and tried not to think how much she hated being called “baby.” Her fault for not saying something at the beginning of their friendship.

“So what’s your plan for this afternoon?”

She sighed. “I’m going home.”

“What?”

“I can’t let you spend this kind of money, Trevor. Not if you’re not here to enjoy it with me.”

She noticed the woman glancing curiously at her and turned away, tossing her head to move strands of hair the wind blew into her mouth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She frowned. She didn’t sound that sure. A man’s tall athletic form caught her eye through a trellis and her heartbeat sped before she registered it wasn’t Beck and turned back toward Clarissa.

“Whatever you want. But I owe you the week, so if you decide to stay it’s fine. We can still reschedule another time soon. Just think about it.”

“Thanks, Trevor.”

“Hey, you’re entirely welcome. I just wish—” A woman’s voice sounded in the background. “I gotta go, babe, my appointment’s here. I’ll call you later.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll—” The phone clicked off in her ear and left May standing with her mouth forming more words that didn’t get to come out.

Obviously an important appointment.

Clarissa gave her another glance. May lifted her head to the breeze, thinking of the vast green tree-lined farmlands of her childhood and wondering philosophically how any child could thrive in this claustrophobic concrete wasteland, where gardens existed on roofs and in boxes as some kind of antidote to their surroundings, instead of an extension of them.

Because if she stood here wondering these things—philosophically of course—she wouldn’t have to wonder why something didn’t seem quite right about Trevor Little and this whole situation.

“How did you happen to come to New York?”

May looked sharply down at Clarissa, who’d moved closer to dig peacefully around some thyme, as if she hadn’t just been obviously eavesdropping and as if she thought it was her perfect right to ask personal questions. Eartha had disappeared, or she probably would have demanded a few details, too. May wanted to say “none of your business” but she wasn’t raised to be able to say that to people.

“To meet a friend here.”

“Trevor Little?”

May’s mouth dropped open. She was sure she hadn’t mentioned more than Trevor’s first name. “How do you know him?”

Clarissa serenely brushed a fly off her cheek and went back to the thyme. “Most of the staff at the hotel know Mr. Little.”

May froze with the phone halfway back into her purse. A cloud swept over the sun, in an absurdly melodramatic accompaniment to Clarissa’s statement.

“He…has some business dealings with the hotel?” Maybe? Please? With the cherry on top?

The pitying look Clarissa sent her was expected. “Trevor Little is often a guest here at Hush.”

The tiny bite of acid in her otherwise gentle tone told May everything she needed to know. Charming Trevor was a regular here with women, probably a different one every time, maybe sometimes two at once, perhaps an occasional animal, as well. That shouldn’t surprise her. Or shock her. Or disappoint her.

But of course it was doing all three. Damn.

So, okay, regroup. Just because this was a once-in-a-lifetime event for her didn’t mean it had to be for him. He brought women here all the time? Big deal. Not like he promised May romance forever. Not like she’d forgotten to bring a box of condoms to avoid catching anything icky.

“Did you enjoy your spa visit this morning?” Snips of thyme went into the basket and Clarissa moved gracefully on to the sage.

“How did you know about that?”

“Tuesday morning is always the spa appointment.”

May took a step toward her, her brain struggling against more unpleasant thoughts. Tuesday…always the spa appointment? For every woman he brought here? Trevor hadn’t called this morning and booked it especially for her?

God she was gullible. “The flowers yesterday?”

“I always arrange them myself.”

May nodded miserably. “Two dozen red roses on Mondays.”

“Lovely, aren’t they. Jewelry tomorrow and I think lingerie Thursday, then chocolate on Friday.”

May’s elegant spa luncheon threatened to turn inelegant on her. She wanted to run to the airport, fly home and dive into a half gallon of Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Swiss Almond, then get miracle-grow cream for her pubic hair to come back as fast as possible, so she could put this entire fiasco behind her. Maybe Dan was right, but dull and predictable had to be better than this.

Clarissa rocked back on her heels, then slowly up to standing, knees still bent as if they wouldn’t straighten quickly. “Oof. I’m getting too old for this job.”

“Let me get that.” May darted forward to lift the basket so Clarissa wouldn’t have to bend again.

“Thank you, dear.” Clarissa put a warm hand on May’s arm, and May caught a whiff of a light floral perfume amid the strong herbal scents from the basket. “I don’t want you to think I’m a gossip. I told you because you shouldn’t hesitate to spend as much of his money as possible. He has plenty and then some. Stay the week and have yourself a ball. It’s a lovely hotel, the city is peerless.”

May stooped to get the shears still on the edge of the herbal bed and held them out. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Of course you can.” Clarissa tucked the shears into her basket and slung it over her arm. “I met a man in Paris, in 1958, when I was studying at the Sorbonne. Jean-Jacques. We arranged to meet for a week in a hotel on Corsica and he never showed. I met another man at the hotel, a Mr. Wisely, a new widower, a wonderful and very special lover. We had a splendid week together, and I sent all the bills to Jean-Jacques.”

“He paid?”

“Of course. He owed me.” She winked and May could well imagine how men had flocked around her—and probably still did. “Turned out Jean-Jacques had a wife who had other plans for him that week. That happens, you know. Quite frequently.”

She gave May a significant look, and the lightbulb finally went on in May’s naive too-trusting brain. Of course. The last little bit of fantasy excitement for the planned week crumbled like the dirt of the garden. “Trevor is married.”

Clarissa put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Most of Trevor’s…friends knew and didn’t mind. But I had a feeling you didn’t and would.”

“Yes.” A classic understatement. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve been very indiscreet, the hotel management would be furious with me. But we women must stick together.”

May smiled and took a step back, wondering how to say politely that she needed to get the heck out of here because she had to hit something.

“Go. Go ahead, I understand.” Clarissa made a shooing motion with her free hand. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had a good cry or whatever you need to do. Then pick yourself up and have the time of your life. It’s waiting for you here this week, don’t waste it.”

“Thank you.”

“And come see me anytime, dear.” Her eyes warmed and crinkled into a smile. “I take care of all the plants in the hotel, so if you need a friendly face or someone to talk to, just ask anyone and they’ll find me.”