Chapter 6
Six
The bed was soft, cradling her body. In fact, it was too soft, which surprised Susan. Her mother had replaced the guest room bed before the wedding, and she’d bought one of those new orthopedic mattresses that were supposed to be so good for you but actually felt like you were sleeping on bricks.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was sleeping, for the first time in what seemed like weeks.
She knew she was asleep, knew it wouldn’t take much to wake up, but she made the conscious decision to nestle into the bed and sink deeper and deeper into the gloriously welcome comfort of sleep.
She could feel the heavy satin of the wedding dress wrapped around her body, and she knew she should at least stagger out of bed and strip it off before it got hopelessly crushed. Mary would have a hissy fit if she saw Susan taking a nap in her aunt Tallulah’s wedding dress.
But if she got up there and took off the dress there was no guarantee she’d get back to sleep in the next few hours, or even in this lifetime. No, she’d take the sleep when she could get it and deal with creased satin later.
It was quiet in the bedroom. A soft breeze was blowing across her body, which was another surprise. She’d left the central air-conditioning on, and the windows in her bedroom were locked.
It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Sleep. She mentally crooned the order like a hypnotist in a bad movie, and her body melted into the too-soft mattress.
And then her nose wrinkled in sudden dismay. The sheets beneath her smelled of cigarette smoke. So did the warm, fresh air around her. It smelled as if she were lying in a giant ashtray.
Sleep was gone, effectively banished, and she opened her eyes. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the two double-hung windows that stood open, against the twilight sky. She must have slept for hours—it was no wonder she felt dizzy, disoriented.
She sat up, blinking slightly, and rubbed a hand across her face. Her skin felt strange, hot and damp, and her mouth was covered in lipstick. Odd—she seldom wore lipstick, and she certainly hadn’t put any on today. And if she had, Jake Wyczynski would have kissed it off her.
She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about anything at all. She needed to see what she had to do to salvage the wedding dress.
She could hear the sound of voices in the distance, which surprised her. Her mother must have returned and brought someone with her. She could only hope and pray it wasn’t Jake—she didn’t think she could face him right now.
Whoever it was, they needed to leave. She had to ask her mother about the mysterious man who’d shown up at the front door calling himself “Bill.”
She slid her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand up, only to go sprawling on her face in the darkness. The bed was a good five inches higher than she’d anticipated.
She scrambled to her feet immediately, slightly shaken from her encounter with the bare wood floor. And then she froze.
The double bed in her mother’s guest room was much closer, to the floor than this one, and the entire house had discreet wall-to-wall carpeting.
There wasn’t a bare patch of wood anywhere in her place, thanks to the previous tenants, and while Mary bemoaned the lack of wooden floors, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of perfectly good carpeting, especially with money being tight.
She wasn’t alone in the room. Someone was sitting by the window, in the shadows, the only sign the faint glow of his cigarette.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “And what are you doing in my room? And why are you smoking—my mother doesn’t allow smoking in the house.
...” Her voice trailed off in horror. It hadn’t sounded like her voice at all.
It was lower, huskier, sexier sounding. She must have picked up a cold from those damned open windows. Or hay fever.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lou,” a man’s voice drifted from the corner.
“I needed to talk to you in private, and I figured this might be my only chance without half your family wandering in and interrupting us. And just because your mother uses a silver cigarette holder doesn’t mean she doesn’t smoke almost a pack a day. ”
The cigarette went flying out the window, the red tip arcing against the darkness. “But if it offends you so much I can do without I’ve practically given them up, anyway.”
She took a tentative step toward him, peering in the darkness. All she could make out was a shadowy figure, definitely masculine, slightly familiar. A frisson of horror ran through her.
“That’s not you, Jake, is it?” she demanded. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming in here uninvited.”
“Jack, sweetheart, not Jake. You’ve only known me most of your life, why should I expect you to get my name right?” he said in a lazy drawl. “Are you going to come over here and talk to me before your sister comes barging in here?”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“That’ll come as news to her and your parents.”
“I don’t have parents, either. Just my mother,” she said stubbornly, refusing to consider the stranger who’d shown up at Mary’s door just a few short hours ago.
“Fine,” the man said. “I’m not going to argue with you about it Are you going to listen to me or not?”
Susan didn’t move. She felt a nervous, tickling sensation at the back of her neck, and she , put her hand up under the thick mane of curls. And then froze. She didn’t have a thick mane of curls. She had short hair.
“Turn on the light,” she said in an urgent, husky voice. A voice she didn’t recognize.
The man in the corner moved, and a moment later a dim-watted bulb sent forth a pool of light into the strange room.
Be calm, she told herself. Don’t panic, don’t scream. There’s a logical explanation for all of this.
She looked down at the wedding dress she’d put on such a short time ago. It was the same dress, slightly crumpled from her nap, but still skimming her body and reaching to her toes. Except that there were breasts in the way.
She clutched her chest. “What are these?” They felt real, warm and wrapped in a formidable bra. She yanked open the neckline and looked down. They were breasts all right entrapped in a white foundation garment that looked downright medieval.
“I think they’re boobs, Lou,” the man named Jack said lazily. “You’ve had ’em since you were twelve.”
She jerked her head up to stare at the stranger sitting in her bedroom. No, not her bedroom, a stranger’s bedroom, smelling of stale cigarettes and Chanel Number Five. “What in God’s name is going on?” she whispered. “Who the hell are you? And why are you calling me Lou?”
The man in her room gave her an inimical look.
He had short, dark hair, pushed straight back from a tanned, angular face, and he was dressed in a rumpled suit, his tie unknotted and loosened around his neck.
“I beg your pardon, Tallulah,” he said, not bothering to hide his mockery.
“Or should I say ‘Miss Abbott’? And you know perfectly well who I am.”
She took a step closer, then halted. “Humor me,” the husky voice came from somewhere beneath those unfamiliar breasts.
“I’m Jack McGowan, Jimmy’s brother, as you damned well know.”
“Who’s Jimmy?”
“If you’re trying to tick me off you’re doing a good job of it,” he growled, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “Jimmy’s my kid brother. The boy you were going to marry. The war hero. The dead war hero.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she said faintly.
He rose, obscuring the unfamiliar window, and he was very tall in the dim light. “You’re the one who’s acting like she’s got a screw loose. Listen, Lou, you can’t many Ned Marsden, and you know it. The guy’s no good, and I’ve got proof....”
“What are you talking about?”
With no more than a cursory knock the bedroom door flew open, and a child streaked in, stopping short in the middle of the room. “Hey, Lou,” she said. “What’s Jack doing here?”
The cynical, disapproving expression faded from Jack McGowan’s face as he smiled down at the little girl, and he was suddenly, shockingly handsome. “How’s my best sweetheart?”
“I’m not your best sweetheart, Jack,” she said severely. “Lou is, though she won’t admit it.”
“What’s going on?” Susan demanded weakly, one last time.
The girl looked up at her out of strangely familiar eyes. “What’s wrong with her?” she demanded.
“Your sister seems to have developed a convenient form of temporary amnesia, probably to avoid making the worst mistake of her life.”
“Don’t be stupid, Lou,” the girl said. “If you don’t want to many Neddie just tell him so. I don’t like him, anyway—I think Daddy’s the only one who really approves of him. You’ve got almost three days till the wedding—you can always call it off.”
“Edward,” she said dazedly. “I’m marrying Edward in three days.”
“She’s gotten very formal all of a sudden,” Jack said. “She wants to be called Tallulah rather than Lou, so I guess Edward rather than Neddie is only logical. C’mon, squirt, let’s leave the blushing bride alone, and maybe she’ll remember the mess she’s making of her life.”
“Wait!” Susan cried, as the two of them headed for the door, the tall, tall man and the child. The little girl turned around and looked at her out of Mary Abbott’s blue eyes.
“What’s wrong, Lou?” she demanded, looking worried.
She staggered back a few steps, until she came up against the high, unfamiliar bed. She sank down, dropping her head, and saw the dark curls veil her face.
“I’ll be fine,” she said in her strange voice. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“Do you want me to send Mummy up?”
“No!”
“I don’t blame you. Mummy’s not very motherly, is she? I’ll tell them you might not be down for dinner, and I’ll see if Hattie can sneak you something later.”
She looked up. The man stood silhouetted in the doorway, looking at her strangely. Somewhere in the distance she heard Frank Sinatra singing. She shivered in the warm air.