Chapter 7
It wasn’t like Megan to daydream. Years of discipline had taught her that dreams were for sleeping, not for rainy mornings when the fog was drifting around the house and the windows ran wet, as if with tears.
But her computer hummed, unattended, and her chin was on her fist as her mind wandered back, as it had several times over the past few days, toward moonlight and wildflowers and the distant thunder of surf.
Now and again she caught herself and fell back on logic. It wouldn’t pay to forget that the only romance in her life had been an illusion, a lie that betrayed her innocence, her emotions and her future. She’d thought herself immune, been content to be immune. Until Nathaniel.
What should she do, now that her life had taken this fast, unexpected swing? After all, she was no longer a child who believed in or needed promises and coaxing words. Now that her needs had been stirred, could she satisfy them without being hurt?
Oh, how she wished her heart wasn’t involved. How she wished she could be smart and savvy and sophisticated and indulge in a purely physical affair, without emotion weighing in so heavily.
Why couldn’t attraction, leavened with affection and respect, be enough? It should be such a simple equation. Two consenting adults, plus desire, times understanding and passion, equals mutual pleasure.
She just wished she could be sure there wasn’t some hidden fraction that would throw off the simple solution.
“Megan?”
“Hmm?” Dreamily she turned toward the sound of the voice. Her imaginings shattered when she saw Suzanna inside the office, smiling at her. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were miles away.”
Caught drifting, Megan fought back embarrassment and shuffled papers. “I suppose I was. Something about the rain.”
“It’s lovely—always sets my mind wandering.” Suzanna thought she knew just where Megan’s mind had wandered. “Though I doubt the tourists or the children think so.”
“Kevin thought the fog was great—until I told him he couldn’t climb on the cliffs in it.”
“And Alex and Jenny’s plans for an assault on Fort O’Riley have been postponed. The kids are in Kevin’s room, defending the planet against aliens. It’s wonderful watching them together.”
“I know. They’ve blended together so well.”
“Like a mud ball,” Suzanna said with a laugh, and eased a jean-clad hip on the edge of Megan’s desk. “How’s the work coming?”
“It’s moving along. Amanda kept everything in order, so it’s just a matter of shifting it into my own system and computerizing.”
“It’s a tremendous relief for her, having you take it over. Some days she’d be doing the books with a phone at her ear and Delia at her breast.”
The image made Megan grin. “I can see it. She’s amazingly organized.”
“An expert juggler. Nothing she hates more than to bobble a ball. You’d understand that.”
“Yeah, I do.” Megan picked up a pencil and ran it between her fingers. “I worried about coming here, Suzanna, bringing Kevin. I was afraid I’d not only bobble a ball, but drop all of them, because I’d be so anxious not to say anything, even think anything, that would make you uncomfortable.”
“Aren’t we past that, Megan?”
“You were.” Sighing, Megan set the pencil down again. “Maybe it’s a little harder, being the other woman.”
“Were you?” Suzanna said gently. “Or was I?”
Megan could only shake her head. “I can’t say I wish I could go back and change things, because if I did I wouldn’t have Kevin.” She took a long breath, met Suzanna’s eyes levelly. “I know you consider Kevin a brother to your children, and that you love him.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I want you to know that I think of your children as my family and I love them.”
Suzanna reached over to lay a hand over Megan’s. “I know you do. One of the reasons I dropped in was to ask if you’d mind if Kevin came along with us. I’m going to do some greenhouse work today. Alex and Jenny always enjoy it—especially since it includes pizza for lunch.”
“I can’t think of anything he’d rather do. And it would make up for having to wear a tie the other night.”
Suzanna’s eyes lit with humor. “I nearly had to strangle Alex to get him into his. I hope Aunt Coco doesn’t plan any more formal dinner parties for some time to come.” She tilted her head. “Speaking of Aunt Coco, have you seen her today?”
“Only for a minute, right after breakfast. Why?”
“Was she singing?”
“As a matter of fact, she was.” Megan touched her tongue to her top lip. “She’s been singing in the morning for several days now.”
“She was singing just now, too. And wearing her best perfume.” Uneasy, Suzanna nibbled her lip.
“I was wondering if Trent’s father...
Of course, he’s gone back to Boston now, so I thought there was nothing to worry about.
He’s a lovely man, and we’re all very fond of him, but well, he’s been married four times, and he doesn’t seem able to keep his eye from roving. ”
“I noticed.” After a quick debate on privacy versus disclosure, Megan cleared her throat. “Actually, I don’t think Coco’s looking in that direction.”
“No?”
“Dutch,” Megan said, and watched Suzanna’s eyes go blank.
“Excuse me?”
“I think she and Dutch are... infatuated.”
“Dutch? Our Dutch? But she’s always complaining about him, and he’s snarling at her every chance he gets. They’re always fighting, and...” She trailed off, pressed her hands to her lips. “Oh...” she said, while her eyes danced over them. “Oh, oh, oh...”
They stared at each other, struggled dutifully for perhaps three seconds before bursting into laughter.
Megan fell easily into the sisterly pleasure of discussing a family member.
After she told Suzanna about walking in on Coco and Dutch in the kitchen, she followed it up with the scene on the terrace.
“There were sparks flying, Suzanna. At first I thought they were going to come to blows, then I realized it was more of a—well, a mating ritual.”
“A mating ritual,” Suzanna repeated in a shaky voice. “Do you really think they—?”
“Well.” Megan wriggled her eyebrows. “She’s been doing a lot of singing lately.”
“She certainly has.” Suzanna let the idea stew for a moment, found it simmered nicely. “I think I’ll drop by the kitchen before I go. Check out the atmosphere.”
“I hope I can count on a full report.”
“Absolutely.” Still chuckling, Suzanna rose to go to the door. “I guess that was some moon the other night.”
“It was,” Megan murmured. “Some moon.”
Suzanna paused with her hand on the knob. “And Nathaniel’s some man.”
“I thought we were talking about Dutch.”
“We were talking about romance,” Suzanna corrected. “I’ll see you later.”
Megan frowned at the closed door. Good Lord, she thought, was she that obvious?
After spending the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon on The Retreat’s accounts, Megan gave herself the small reward of an hour with Fergus’s book.
She enjoyed tallying up the costs of stabling horses, maintaining carriages.
It was an eye-opener to see how much expense was involved in giving a ball at The Towers in 1913.
And, by reading Fergus’s margin notes, to come to understand his motives.
Invitations all accepted. No one dare decline. B. ordered flowers—argued about ostentation. Told her big display equals success and wife must never question husband. She will wear emeralds, not pearl choker as she suggested, show society my taste and means, remind her of her place.
Her place, Megan thought with pity for Bianca, had been with Christian. How sad that it had taken death to unite them.
Wanting to dispel the gloom, she flipped to the back pages. The numbers simply didn’t make sense. Not expenses, she mused. Not dates. Account numbers, perhaps. Stock market prices, lot numbers?
Perhaps it would be worth a trip to the library to see if she could unearth any information from 1913 that correlated. And on the way she could stop by Shipshape to drop off the completed spreadsheet for April and pick up any more receipts.
If she happened to run into Nathaniel, it would be purely coincidental.
It was a pleasure to drive in the rain. The slow, steady stream of drops had most of the summer people seeking indoor entertainment.
A few pedestrians wandered the sidewalks, window-shopping under umbrellas.
The water in Frenchman Bay was gray and misted, with the masts and sails of ships spearing through the heavy air.
She could hear the ring of bell buoys, the drone of foghorns. It was as if the entire island were tucked under a blanket, snug and safe and solitary. She was tempted to keep driving, to take the twisting road to Acadia National Park, or the meandering one along the shore.
Maybe she would, she thought. After she completed the day’s business, she would take that drive, explore her new home. And maybe she would ask Nathaniel to join her.
But she didn’t see his car outside Shipshape. Ridiculous to say it didn’t matter whether she saw him or not, she realized. Because it did matter. She wanted to see him, to watch the way his eyes deepened and locked on hers. The way his lips curved.
Maybe he’d parked around the corner, out of sight. Snagging her briefcase, she dashed from her car into the office. It was empty.
The first slap of disappointment was stunning.
She hadn’t realized just how much she’d counted on him being there until he wasn’t.
Then she heard, faintly, through the rear wall, the throb of bass from a radio.
Someone was in the shop attached to the back of the building, she concluded.
Probably working on repairs as the seas were too rough for tours.