Читать книгу Whispers Of The Heart - Ruth Scofield - Страница 11

“Can’t make it, Laureen,” Brent said into the phone the following Wednesday. “Have a lunch date tomorrow with a client. It’ll take up most of the afternoon.”

“Oh, very well,” Laureen murmured. Yet she wasn’t any too happy about his putting her off again.

Laureen had been a friend of Felice’s and, though he appreciated her help after his wife’s death, Laureen had grown far too possessive over the past six months. He had no intention of taking the friendship into anything closer. Lately, he’d taken steps to loosen her clutch. He’d dodged dates with her for weeks.

“Well, at least call the Saxons, will you? They’re new to the Midwest and looking for an architect-builder to build a new house out in Johnson County. I told them you’re the best.”

“Laureen, you know I’d gladly let John handle them,” he mentioned the top designer on his team, “but I’m personally tied up for a couple of months.”

“They don’t want John, Brent. They want you.”

“But my specialty isn’t in personal residences, anymore, Laureen. I’ve—”

“These people have money, Brent, and they can work in your favor when you want backing for some of your projects.”

“Not the kind of projects I want to do out in Johnson County,” he muttered. But he let Laureen run on with her list of why he should take on the new clients she’d found for him. The fact of his work overload mattered little to Laureen. Her philosophy was to take care of the influential and wealthy first; everyone else could be relegated to a back burner. Or someone of lesser importance.

“Do me this favor, Brent,” she begged, using her cajoling tone, low and breathy. “I’ll see to it you won’t lose anything.”

Well, he supposed John could take on another appointment or two for the firm while he met with the Saxons. The extra money he’d make if he took this on would cover some of the expenses for the old church they were refitting. He did need to find an office assistant without delay, though. Work had taken an upswing.

“All right.” He moved things around on his desk, restacking papers with notes of things he’d rather be doing. “But not tomorrow. It’ll have to be on Friday.”

Brent hung up the phone after setting a time with Laureen, and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms high above his head. He’d worked late for the first time in weeks—since his offices had moved to the new location, in fact—trying to wrap up several loose ends. Now hunger gnawed at his middle.

He rose and moved to stand at the front window. Dusk lay the shadows deep over the quiet street. Without the bustling business day, it seemed almost deserted, and he wondered about the fabled residents. Did Autumn really have neighbors at night or was she alone in that building? Alone on the street at night. He hadn’t thought about it too closely before now.

Even as he wondered, a light switched on in her building. Third floor. The working couple of whom the Realtor had boasted, he assumed.

He let out a deep breath, not realizing he’d held it. He didn’t like the idea of Autumn living so much alone. She seemed altogether too vulnerable for his peace of mind.

Wondering where those protective feelings came from, he tipped his head up toward the top floor. Lights streamed from her apartment. She was there—home.

He picked up his phone and punched her number. She answered on the second ring, a quick, almost breathless, “Hello…”

“Hi, Autumn, it’s Brent. Am I disturbing you?”

“Uh, oh, hello, Brent. No, I…I was expecting my sister to call.”

“Should I call back, then?”

“No. It isn’t important. We’ll talk later.”

“Well, then, have you had supper yet?”

“No. Well, I had…yes, I’ve eaten.”

Had she? He wondered if she’d really eaten a meal or merely nibbled at something. People living alone tended to skimp on meals or made do with very little.

He knew that for a fact. After his wife died, during those first awful months, he’d let himself dwindle down two sizes. He’d made sure his son was fed, but he’d barely cooked anything for himself.

“I haven’t and I’m starved. Come out and have a bite with me. I’ve worked until just this minute and—” he glanced at his watch “—no wonder I’m hungry. It’s way after seven and I’m a guy used to eating early.”

“I don’t think—”

“Aw, c’mon, Autumn, take pity on a starving man. I hate eating alone.”

“Where’s Timmy? Don’t you have to go home to your little boy?”

“He’s with my mom for the night. They have something cooked up together about making mobiles for Children’s Mercy Hospital next week.” He changed his tone to a persuasive one. “Just dinner, Autumn. There’s an Italian place a couple of blocks from here that’s not crowded in the middle of the week. I’ll bring you right home.”

Her hesitation seemed like a stone wall. He was gearing himself up for a last firm refusal when she asked almost timidly, “Not crowded, huh. Would you mind making a stop for me while we’re out?”

“Sure, we can do that.”

“All right,” she capitulated. “If you don’t mind. I’ll meet you downstairs in…fifteen minutes?”

He waited in front of her door, leaning on the passenger side of his car. She smiled at him, a tentative offering, but she didn’t glance away. He felt hopeful.

“If you don’t mind, can we stop at Mirror Images first?” She held forth a large, maroon portfolio case. “I have to drop off a couple of additional paintings for framing. It won’t take long.”

“Sure, let’s go.” He held the car door wide for her, then put her case in the trunk and started the motor.

“Where, exactly?” he asked.

She directed him down the hill, and he pulled up in front of the small gallery wedged between an empty corner store and one featuring used clothing. Only a night-light appeared to illuminate the first floor.

“It appears to be closed,” he commented. “Does the gallery usually stay open late?”

“Only during the summer hours, really, but Curtis uses the upstairs for his workroom and classes. He’s often there late. Besides, tonight he’s expecting me. Want to come in?”

“Sure. I’ll get your case.”

Autumn slid from the car and, as he opened the trunk, went to ring the bell. When she retraced her steps to reach for her case, he said, “I’ll get it.”

She hadn’t made up her mind whether to argue with him or not, he noted. While dark eyelashes gave a hint of fluttering uncertainty, she paused a second too long over her decision. He didn’t wait. He swung the case from the trunk, snapping the lid closed, hiding his own smile. It wasn’t the first time he’d realized her shyness. She hadn’t yet acquired the modern woman’s assertiveness.

Above them, a slight, graying man raised the window and called down to them to wait where they were. A moment later, he let them into the gallery. Autumn introduced the two men.

“Brent Hyatt. Don’t I know you?” Curtis’s inquisitive gaze was friendly as he turned on some lights and led the way up the back stairs. “You’re on the mayor’s committee, working toward urban renewal, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Brent answered. “Are you interested in the revitalization going on down here?”

“You know it. Wouldn’t be down here if I didn’t believe in it. I’d have a pricy place down on the Plaza or out in Johnson County,” Curtis said empathically. He cleared a worktable of oak frame pieces and matting, stacking everything neatly in a box.

“But I wouldn’t mind relocating to a larger space in a good renovation if I could afford it.” He glanced up at Brent as he worked. “Anything of a smaller nature going on besides that big project proposal in the papers recently?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of a couple buildings with new owners interested in just your kind of gallery.” Brent set the case on the cleared table as he replied, then stepped back to allow Autumn to attend to business. “Lot of work needed, though. Might take some time. I’ll put you in touch with them if you’d like.”

“Sounds good to me.” Curtis nodded, then turned to Autumn. “Now Autumn, let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

Autumn stepped forward and unzipped her case. Curtis made humming noises as he looked at the five watercolors she pulled out. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Hmm…”

Brent tried hard not to gawk, but he felt agog to see her work. He caught a quick glance of bright splashes of color, of dewy petals and quick rushing water in a streambed. The impressionist style shone with spirit and verve, a style much looser than the architectural renderings she’d done for his competitor.

“This one and this one,” Curtis made up his mind quickly. “And let me keep this one, too. We’ll frame it to match the one that’s up. I have a customer who comes in every week or two who looked at that one. Maybe she’ll take a pair.”

Of the three chosen, two were similar, but from different angles, still lifes of a pot of bright-red tulips sharing the space with a fruit basket of ripe strawberries. The third showed an old black upright piano with a bowl of daffodils sitting on one end, music sheets on its rack.

He liked them. Very much, actually. Autumn had real talent.

Further, he thought his mother, Catherine, would like these, and he knew immediately that he’d purchase the piano painting for her birthday next month. The style would appeal to her. But he wouldn’t do it now, he’d wait until Curtis had them framed and up. Somehow, he felt Autumn might find it embarrassing.

It was well after eight by the time they arrived at the restaurant. The big room held only two other tables of diners, and Autumn, after a hesitant glance around, relaxed considerably. The waiter greeted him by name, a courtesy not lost on Autumn.

“Hi, Frank,” he returned, easily recalling the man’s name. Remembering people’s names and knowing their occupation was a talent of his. He liked knowing people, liked knowing about their families and where their interests and concerns lay. Meeting new groups of people never bothered him. He belonged to a couple of circles active in civic affairs. He’d even had his picture in the newspaper on occasion, once or twice with the current mayor. He didn’t mind admitting to ambitions to serve the city, but he didn’t know about higher political aims, as Laureen sometimes suggested.

He ordered quickly and waited patiently while Autumn made her choice more slowly, taking the opportunity to study her features. She had a tender, wide mouth in an oval face enhanced by shiny dark hair. Her lashes lay against her cheek like feathery swatches as she read the menu.

Later, they lingered over their pasta. She seemed content to let him lead the conversation. He did so with a relaxed approach, touching only on general subjects such as the neighborhood, its history, and the spring weather.

Instinctively, he chose not to push Autumn into confidences she wasn’t ready to give, so he shied away from asking about her dating life. Though he wanted to know. For now, he felt he’d gained a giant leap in meeting Curtis Jennings; he’d detected mere friendship between them, though a long-standing one.

Instead, he let her know a little about himself and Timmy.

“Timmy and I moved into a house in midtown last year. We had a lot of fun doing it over, with Grandma’s help, of course. She helped him pick his favorite colors and wallpaper and such.”

“You must feel very lucky to have an active grandparent to help out with Timmy,” she murmured.

“Yes, we’re very blessed. Timmy never knew his mother, really. He was only six months old when she died in a car accident.”

“Oh, how sad,” she said, her gaze direct and compassionate. “Spring and I lost our parents at a young age, too, only a little older than Tim is now. We were raised by an uncle. Now he’s gone, as well. Does Timmy ask about her much?”

“Not often. He spends a lot of time with his grandmother, you see, which seems to fill the gaps for him. And I haven’t rushed him into a nursery school, preferring to hire a sitter this past year when I’ve needed one. But Mrs. Myers, the sitter, is moving away next month, so we’ll lose her. Anyway, Tim is enrolled next year at a Christian school in a prekindergarten class for four-year-olds. They keep the class size small.”

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. He goes to Bible class on Sunday mornings now and loves it.”

They left the restaurant, and he drove her back to her building through nearly deserted streets. A frown caught him. He really did believe in the renewal projects and knew that it took almost a pioneer spirit to bring prosperity and life back to these sections of the city, but it concerned him a little to leave Autumn there. He insisted on seeing her to her door.

“That really isn’t necessary,” she murmured, flashing him a questioning glance. “Tomorrow’s a working day.”

“Just call me old-fashioned,” he joked. “I should’ve been raised in the fifties, according to my mom. I’ll merely see you to your door. I won’t ask to come in.”

She nodded, and stepped into the elevator. They remained quiet on the way up.

“D’you ever work in oils?” he asked as they stepped off.

“Sometimes.” Her key was out and poised. “And acrylics. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just a thought.” He let her open her door; the kitchen light had been left on so she could clearly see into the apartment. He glanced past her shoulder. Everything appeared in order.

“Good night, Autumn. See you around.”

“Thanks for dinner,” she murmured. “I appreciate your asking me. I needed the outing.”

Although he’d promised he wouldn’t ask to come in, he realized he wanted to. He wanted to sit and talk with her longer. He wanted to touch her, only just to place his palm against her cheek, to feel its warmth.

But he supposed he’d count himself lucky to have had her company at dinner.

“Good night,” he murmured again.

“Good night,” Autumn returned as she slowly snapped the door closed.

The phone rang insistently as Autumn closed the door behind her. Her sister, she knew. She didn’t have to guess.

“Where were you?” Spring sounded breathless with concern and curiosity.

“Out to dinner,” Autumn answered with pride. “With Brent Hyatt, the man I told you about. Remember, we met him the same day we first looked at this apartment?”

“Oh…him. Well, what’s he like?”

“Nice,” Autumn said without elaboration and changed the subject. She had no intention of indulging Spring’s perpetual curiosity or raising her speculations over someone who merely fit into the category of an acquaintance.

That she found Brent more attractive every time they met had nothing to do with it, or that he appealed to her on more than one level. She didn’t think he was the kind of man who normally lacked female company, or, for that matter, any companionship at all. What would he need her for? She’d seldom seen him completely alone. The few glimpses she had of him from across the street, he’d been in company with other men in business suits or Timmy, and once, with that real estate person.

He’d mentioned the other woman, Laureen Shore, as a business associate during his dinner conversation. Autumn suspected Laureen occupied a big chunk of Brent’s attention and wondered about their friendship. She even recalled how Laureen had wrapped her arm through Brent’s rather intimately that first time they all met. In her mind, the action seemed far more personal than casual.

Did Laureen mean more to Brent than mere business? Why hadn’t he phoned her when he wanted company for dinner?

Maybe he had. Just maybe the other woman hadn’t been available tonight.

Giving it up, Autumn ended her conversation with her sister. After changing into a sleep shirt, she stood beside her south window studying the dark city skyline. She wouldn’t admit to being lonely.

But even if she was, just the tiniest bit, she could do something about it. Inviting company to visit didn’t frighten her. She’d call her friend Kim and invite her for lunch. It wasn’t too late to reach her.

She picked up the phone.

On Friday, just before noon, Autumn waited for Kim outside her building, feeling very brave as she strolled the street. Telling herself she needed the exercise, she couldn’t admit to feeling so excited to have a friend to visit in her new home that she could hardly wait for her arrival.

She turned around at the corner to retrace her steps. A familiar woman drove past her and parked in front of Brent’s building.

“Oh, hello,” the blond woman said, flashing Autumn a curious glance as she exited her car. “We’ve run into each other again. I’m Laureen Shore, remember?”

“Ah, yes, I do remember.” Autumn let herself be drawn into the exchange. They stood on the sidewalk across from the law offices. “You were with Brent the day we viewed my building.”

“I see you really took that apartment,” Laureen said, her mouth pursed. “It was fated to sell quickly, but I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“Why, yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Laureen shrugged, eyeing Autumn as though she didn’t quite fit the usual description of a female. “A woman alone down here… Too quiet, I’d guess, especially at night. I’d think there wouldn’t be enough action for the younger singles crowd.”

“I don’t mind that. I don’t really run with a—a crowd. I prefer quiet, actually.” Autumn spotted her friend’s car and swiftly excused herself, meeting Kim in the side parking lot.

A second later, she noticed Laureen talking with Brent in his doorway. What had Laureen said of her? She knew the other woman had made some remark because Brent suddenly glanced her way in a curious manner.

The distance was too far, she couldn’t see what speculation might lie in his gaze. Shrugging it aside, she led Kim into her building.

But she did wonder.