A Night to Remember (5 page)

Once back inside the car, Eleanor huddled in the corner of the Bentley and fought against despair. Maybe she should stay home and forget the entire weekend. Or perhaps she could fly down on the plane with Joshua, give him a detailed briefing on Rosemary's books, then fly back home. Alone.

A wistful feeling caused Eleanor's throat to tighten. She really, really wanted to spend this time with Joshua but how could she possibly attend a very formal occasion without the proper clothing? In her heart Eleanor knew that even if she was dressed correctly she would most likely still feel out of place. Yet if she was dressed right she could at least blend into the crowd. Pretend, just for an evening, that she belonged.

“Change of plans,” Joshua announced to his driver. “We have to make another stop. I need to buy a dress for Ms. Graham. I'll phone our pilot and tell him we'll be late.”

Joshua turned his head in Eleanor's direction and asked, “By the way, what is your first name?”

“Eleanor ... but I really—”

“I'm Joshua.”

“Yes, I know. But as I was trying to say before, I really can't allow you to buy me a dress.”

“Why?”

“It isn't proper.”

Joshua's eyebrows drew together. “I'm not trying to be improper, I'm trying to be expedient. There's a dress boutique next to the shop where I have my suits made. I'm assuming they will have the right type of dress you require for this party.

“The boutique is on the way to the airport, so we won't be driving miles out of our way. The prices at this store are sure to be exorbitant and I certainly don't expect you to go into debt purchasing an article of clothing you need in order to help me.

“Therefore, I only feel it's fair that I pay for your dress. However, if there is someplace else you would rather shop, please inform my driver. Immediately.”

Eleanor's mouth opened and closed. She couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound peevish and immature, so she kept silent. She realized she shouldn't really be surprised by his actions. Joshua was a man who solved a problem by taking control.

Well, she had a few surprises of her own. Knowing it would be foolish to make an issue of it now, Eleanor wisely decided to wait and sort out the details of paying for the dress later.

All too soon they arrived at the elegant, staid women's store Joshua had selected. It reminded Eleanor of a church. Hushed, quiet, reverent.

A reed-thin salesclerk in a sleek black shift drifted toward them. Eleanor's heart sank. She looked down in distress at the mushroom-colored short-sleeved cotton knit top with matching calf-length skirt and flat-heeled pumps she was wearing. This was by far the trendiest outfit she owned and it didn't measure up to the clothes the saleswoman was wearing. She definitely didn't belong in this shop.

Eleanor would have turned and run in a second, but Joshua must have sensed her panic. He clutched her elbow firmly and began urging her forward.

“May I be of assistance?” The saleswoman asked in a low, cultured tone. Although the words were meant for Eleanor, the saleswoman never took her eyes off Joshua.

“I need a dress,” Eleanor mumbled, feeling gauche and unsophisticated as the saleswoman finally turned her attention on her. “A formal dress.”

“I'm certain we can find something for you. We have a variety of styles, something for every taste. However, the best selection of dresses are size ten and under.” The saleswoman's eyes moved quickly over Eleanor. Then she leaned over and inquired sweetly, “Can you wear a size ten, dear?”

“Only if it's mismarked,” Eleanor muttered under her breath.

Joshua made an odd noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. This was simply too embarrassing to be believed.

“Well, I'm not sure ...” the saleswoman began, making a clucking noise with her tongue.

“If you don't have anything suitable, we'll happily take our business elsewhere,” Joshua told the salesclerk in a cold voice.

The saleswoman practically snapped to attention. “I can assure you, that won't be necessary, sir,” the clerk said, her voice rising in dismay. “Please, come this way.”

Within minutes, Eleanor was nearly drowning in a sea of dresses.

“Do you have a style or color preference?” the clerk asked, glancing anxiously between Eleanor and Joshua.

“Not really,” Eleanor said, clearly overwhelmed. She had never seen so many pretty, outrageously expensive clothes. Some didn't even have price tags. She turned instinctively toward Joshua for guidance.

“I prefer simple styles, but Eleanor looks good in everything,” Joshua declared.

Eleanor's jaw dropped.
What did he just say?
Her eyes met his and a mischievous smile curved across Joshua's mouth. A warm, wonderful feeling spread through her heart. She found herself grinning back at him, relaxing for the first time since they had entered the shop.

“I'd like something in dark blue or black,” Eleanor said firmly. She skimmed her hand over the generous curve of her hip. She would not be ashamed of her body. “In size twelve, please.”

 

 

Joshua settled himself in a pink-and-white striped armchair that was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked and waited. Eleanor and the snobby saleswoman had disappeared behind the mysterious dressing-room doors moments before, and he doubted they would be returning anytime soon.

Normally he disliked shopping, especially with a woman. But being with Eleanor made it feel like more of an adventure than a chore.

Who could have guessed that her initial timid manner and plain appearance hid a quirky sense of humor? What a delightful surprise. Joshua also appreciated how Eleanor managed to avoid a scene at the store where they had lost her other dress.

He detested incompetence and rarely tolerated it, but gave Eleanor credit for realizing demanding satisfaction from the young clerk would only have resulted in an unpleasant confrontation that would not have changed the outcome of the morning. They still would have left that shop without her dress.

A soft, rustling noise caught Joshua's attention. He looked up just as Eleanor, swathed in a cloud of black taffeta, emerged from the fitting room with the saleswoman close on her heels. The ball gown Eleanor wore was fitted at the waist and hooped out like a large bell. It made a swishing sound each time she moved.

Over it she wore a sheer jacketlike black top that covered her from her neck to her wrists. The dress didn't look bad on her, but remembering well how that wet T-shirt had hugged her chest, Joshua decided he wanted to see more of Eleanor's lovely white skin.

He jerked himself upright. Now where in the world had that unexpected thought come from?

Joshua shook his head. Despite the fact that he was starting to like Eleanor, it was totally ludicrous to imagine her as a romantic partner in his life. For one thing, she worked for him, and he never dated his employees.

In so many ways, on so many levels, they were mismatched. He was a passionate, headstrong, adventurous type while Eleanor was a more conservative, proper, reserved person. Of course, aside from the vast differences of their pasts, there were also the expansive differences of their futures.

Hell, Eleanor's biggest goal in life was to be a librarian while he thrived in a hectic, cutthroat business environment. Talk about different lifestyles. How could he possibly relate to a woman who found contentment reading stories to little kids and shelving books?

Feeling irritated, Joshua strode over to the women, determined to end this little shopping spree immediately and put the morning back on its proper business course.

“All set?” Joshua asked curtly. He stood near the saleswoman and practically glowered at her.

She gave him a brief, cursory glance. Eleanor didn't even raise her eyes. Joshua's irritation escalated.

As the salesclerk fussed with the skirt of the dress, Joshua stared hard at Eleanor, rocking back on his heels and waiting impatiently to catch her eye. She was averting her eyes from the three-way mirrors and making funny little strangling sounds each time the clerk said anything.

“Do you like that one?” the saleswoman inquired politely. “It's a classic style and very flattering.”

Eleanor sighed. “I look like a Civil War widow.”

Joshua's mouth quirked. He tried, but failed to hold on to his annoyance.

“Remove the jacket,” he suggested in a quiet voice.

Eleanor's face paled, as if she had just noticed he was standing so near. She raised her eyes and gave him an indecipherable look, then slowly peeled off the gauzy top. The dress had a low-cut strapless neckline that emphasized her impressive bosom and showcased lots and lots of smooth, creamy white skin.

Joshua's gaze flicked to Eleanor's bare shoulders, wondering if they were as satiny soft as they looked. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look away, sternly reminding himself they were completely wrong for each other.

“You look great.”

Eleanor managed a crooked smile. “Oh, sure. I was born to wear designer clothes.”

She smoothed down the side of her skirt and Joshua noticed the uncertainty and vulnerability in her eyes.

“You look wonderful, Eleanor,” Joshua insisted.

“Really? You don't think I look silly? You know, like a little girl who's playing dress up with her mother's clothes?”

“I doubt there are any little girls around who can hold that dress in place the way you can,” Joshua commented with a wry smile.

Eleanor broke into shy, hesitant laughter. The sound made something warm unfurl in Joshua's chest. He removed a credit card from his wallet and casually passed it to the saleswoman. “We'll take the dress.”

Eleanor's face slowly lit up with delight. “Thank you, Joshua.”

Her simple, sincere gratitude hit him right in the gut. He felt a strong momentary impulse to sweep her up in his arms and taste the sweetness of her lips, wondering if he could make her tremble with the same desire and passion that had unexpectedly seized him.

Instead Joshua did the only sensible thing possible. He turned on his heel and fled.

“Is your seat belt securely fastened?” Joshua asked in a deep voice. “The pilot just informed me that we've been cleared for takeoff.”

Eleanor glanced across the aisle. They were seated in the first row of seats in the small, luxurious plane cabin. She didn't immediately answer his question. Instead she stared at him, realizing that she was surprised to discover he was going to be riding back there with her for the flight. For some odd reason she had expected him to be flying the plane.

That image was more in keeping with her perceptions of him—Superman and James Bond all rolled into one. Eleanor honestly never doubted for a moment there wasn't anything Joshua Barton couldn't do, if he set his mind to it ... including flying a plane.

“Seat belt is fine,” she eventually murmured.

Joshua leaned over and tugged on her belt, just to be certain. The movement startled her and she jumped. Recovering quickly, she schooled her features into a blank expression, but he never lifted his head. As he withdrew, Eleanor caught a gentle whiff of his subtle cologne—clean, crisp, masculine, and oh, so sexy.

She bit her lip to keep from sighing. Her mind started spinning in slow circles as a strange, wicked thrill came to life inside her. She imagined Joshua turning toward her, giving her a lazy, sexy smile, then drawing her close and covering her mouth with his.

How would it feel? Would there be bells and whistles and explosions of colors behind her closed eyelids, a swift-beating pulse at her throat, the sensation of the earth moving under her feet as they kissed?

An image flashed through her mind, of her body sprawled beneath his as they embraced, hungry flesh straining and pressing tightly together, but she instantly pushed it away.

Get a grip, Eleanor demanded of herself. This was not a date, this was business. She needed to be certain to remember that—at all times. Joshua was a dangerous man, inspiring sensual, romantic fantasies. But they could never become a reality.

“All set,” Joshua muttered briskly. He turned away and she saw him press a button on the wall near his seat. She supposed it was a signal to the pilot.

Eleanor pulled herself back from her romantic daydreams. She reached down and retrieved several picture books from her heavy canvas tote bag, deciding she desperately needed something to focus on during the flight. Or else she was going to make a total fool of herself before they even cleared Philadelphia air space.

Thanks to the fair weather and a competent pilot it was a smooth takeoff. The plane climbed steadily for several minutes, then leveled off. Fortunately so did Eleanor's stomach. She wasn't the best of flyers and had been concerned about the potential for a turbulent flight in the small aircraft.

Yet as she held the books in her lap in a near death-grip, she realized her fears had been groundless, because her stomach felt fine. Except when she was on the receiving end of one of Joshua's piercing glances.

The moment Joshua was given the signal from the pilot, he released his seat belt and instructed Eleanor to do the same. Once free of the constraints he prowled about the cabin, removing his briefcase and laptop from a storage bin. He arranged a variety of official-looking papers on a movable table, turned on the computer, and positioned the table in front of his seat so he could easily access these items.

Then Joshua fixed himself a drink—Scotch and water—after Eleanor declined one, downing it in several quick gulps.

He eventually settled back in his seat, but paid no attention to the work he had so studiously arranged. With an audible sigh, he leaned his head back and thrust out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles.

The space Eleanor initially thought was so large seemed to shrink. She tried to stop herself, but couldn't help an occasional glance in his direction. He seemed unaware of her scrutiny, or perhaps he was so accustomed to subtle as well as blatant stares he didn't even notice hers.

“This is normally a short flight. With clear weather and the unusually low amount of air traffic today we should arrive at the airstrip in North Carolina in about an hour,” Joshua announced in a flat tone. “We need to spend that time discussing Rosemary's work.”

He spoke without looking at Eleanor. His head was lolling lazily against the high seat back, his gaze pinned out the small plane window. He sounded so weary and unenthusiastic she thought his eyes might also be closed, but couldn't be certain since she was unable to see his face. Yet it was only an illusion of relaxation, for she noticed the tightness of his white-knuckled fingers as they gripped the armrest.

“I've brought a number of Rosemary's books with me,” Eleanor replied, rooting about in her tote bag. “A few I borrowed from the library, but most are from my personal collection.”

“Excellent.” He turned toward her, and she could see the muscles flexing along the square line of his jaw.

Wordlessly Eleanor thrust several books in his general direction. His mood was strange and unsettling. Not precisely rude, not precisely brooding, but a far cry from the charm she knew he was capable of bestowing.

She shuffled the remaining books she held on her lap, then gave up the pretense and stared openly while he read, trying to judge his feelings, identify and understand the emotions that seemed to be bubbling and churning inside him. Clearly something was bothering Joshua and she desperately hoped it wasn't her.

“That's my very favorite story,” Eleanor blurted out when Joshua finished the first book. “It only won an Honor Medal in the Caldecott competition that year, but I think it should have taken first place. I'm sure it didn't win because Rosemary had already won the award two years prior and the Caldecott committee doesn't like repeat winners.”

Joshua glanced at Eleanor, looked down at the cover of the book he held, then back up at her. “So all of these small round silver and gold symbols on the book covers represent some sort of award?”

“Yes.” Eleanor ran her finger lightly over the book jacket. “Rosemary has won countless awards over the course of her career, but none more prestigious than the Caldecott Medal,” she explained with enthusiasm. “That award is given annually by the American Library Association to the artist who has created the most distinguished picture book of the year. The only restriction is that authors must be citizens or residents of the United States, but obviously that encompasses a great many writers.”

“And Rosemary has won this coveted prize?” Joshua asked slowly. He seemed to be digesting that information as though he didn't quite believe it.

Eleanor's spine stiffened. “She has won once, but has also had six titles named as Honor Books. They are sort of the runner-up prize, although no one refers to them precisely in that manner. Still, in a competition of this size and scope, when literally hundreds of books are considered, being a runner-up is a big deal.”

“I see,” Joshua replied, yet his puzzled expression suggested otherwise. With a slight shake of his head he turned to the books she had given him and began reading.

Eleanor felt a twinge of dismay. Apparently she hadn't clearly conveyed that Rosemary Phillips was an exceptional children's author and illustrator, greatly admired by peers, professionals, and readers of all ages. Deciding it would be best to let Rosemary's work speak for itself, Eleanor waited anxiously while Joshua read the other two books.

“Would you like to read a few more stories?” Eleanor asked politely when Joshua was finished. “I have a whole bag full of picture books.”

He offered her a sharply frowning expression. “Are they any different from the three I just read?”

Eleanor's heart sank. He didn't get it. No wonder he seemed so surprised that Rosemary's stories had received awards.

Although picture books were designed and written as a visual experience for children, many adults, herself included, appreciated the whimsy and humor in the stories. In Eleanor's humble opinion, Rosemary Phillips's books were marked by excellence in both artistic technique and story themes. Yet Joshua had obviously failed to notice that fact.

“There are many layers to Rosemary's books,” Eleanor said quietly. “Naturally she has to show respect for a child's understanding and abilities when she writes, since kids are her principle audience. Still, there is much here that an adult can savor, especially the subtle traces of humor. I think you need to look at these books with a slightly different perspective to fully appreciate their impact.”

Joshua shrugged his shoulders, but dutifully opened the book again. Eleanor let out a small breath. She wasn't exactly sure why, but she felt it was important that Joshua at least acknowledge and attempt to comprehend the magnitude of Rosemary's genius.

“So I'm supposed to be looking for funny stuff, right?” Joshua sat up straighter and peered intently at the open book. “Things that a kid would laugh at? Like the flower pot on the puppy's head and how the little rabbit isn't wearing pants, just a shirt?”

Eleanor shook her head. The rabbit wasn't wearing pants! He thought that was supposed to be funny? “You must have been a real handful as a child,” she declared, as she plucked the book off Joshua's lap and began reading the story out loud.

By the second page her nerves had dwindled enough to allow her voice to remain steady and strong. By the fourth page she was enjoying herself so much that she no longer felt self-conscious. Consequently by the fifth page Eleanor was in full storyteller mode, varying the volume and pitch of her voice for each character, making appropriate sounds and gestures, alternating the speed and delivery of her words.

She finished with a triumphant crescendo. Closing the book gently, she turned her head and smiled smugly at Joshua.

There was a blank expression on his handsome face, but his eyes held a hint of true astonishment. Eleanor cleared her throat nervously. The roar of the jet engines suddenly seemed overpoweringly loud. She could feel the tips of her ears begin to heat as a wave of embarrassment washed over her entire being.

What in heaven's name came over me?
She had only meant to demonstrate the whimsy of the book and instead acted out the entire story as though he were a three-year-old.
Dear God, where's a parachute when I need one? Better still, I should probably jump without one and spare myself the agony of surviving the fall.

Just when Eleanor thought she had reached the end of her capacity to endure humiliation, Joshua's lips moved. He broke into a wide, genuine smile and said softly, “Read it again.”

 

 

The last time someone had read Joshua a story he had been seven years old. An elderly baby-sitter had kept him company in his lonely sickbed while his parents attended an important business event. He remembered being angry that they had left him and petulantly had refused the kind woman's offers to cheer him up.

He had declared loudly that being read to was for babies, but she had been persistent. And he remembered being oddly comforted by the familiar words of his favorite story, patiently read and reread by the caring sitter.

Eleanor's spirited rendition of this comical tale brought that memory to life. And other memories, too, of his mother sharing books with him and those rare occasions when his father would read him a story before bed. Impulsively Joshua wondered what had happened to the substantial book collection of his childhood favorites.

“I'm glad that you enjoyed the book,” Eleanor said stiffly. She pressed a hand to her hair, nervously smoothing back a stray curl. “Some ... sometimes these stories are better received when read aloud.”

“Apparently.” He grinned mischievously.

She cast her eyes away from his and Joshua felt a stab of regret. Obviously she was embarrassed by her spirited performance, but he had thought it was immensely entertaining. He found himself remembering how pretty she had looked while she was reading, with her head tilted to one side and a smile on her face and in her voice. For a few moments she was quite irresistibly attractive.

“Perhaps we should look at another book,” Eleanor suggested.

“Sure.” Joshua quickly flipped through the volume she handed him. It seemed similar to the others, with bright colorful drawings of various friendly-looking, cuddly animals. The pictures were charming to view and cleverly humorous in a childlike way. Yet he still failed to see what was so incredibly unique about them.

He was about to say just that, but one look at Eleanor's expectant face changed his mind. Apparently there was something special about this story and he had about three minutes to figure it out. Feeling like he was cramming for a final exam, Joshua gave it another try.

“I can see that this book is meant to be a bedtime story,” Joshua began slowly. “And I also noticed there are more pictures in this one and not nearly as many words.”

Eleanor nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Spare in text but long on action, much of it related through these cleverly expressive pictures. In essence, the very definition of a picture book. To write and illustrate a story which cannot be understood by reading the text alone.”

“So that's the big challenge with this type of book?”

“Yes. And believe me, it isn't easy to achieve this kind of balance.” Eleanor leaned closer. “Try to imagine telling the story to someone over the phone. It doesn't work, because they can't see the pictures.”

Taking that into account, Joshua reread the three stories. He saw now that the slapstick wit of the illustration moved beyond the story to enrich it. His appreciation for Rosemary Phillips's talent went up a full ten degrees.

Still, he wondered privately about his father's choice of wife. Rosemary seemed far more creative and cerebral than any of the women his father had dated after Joshua's mother died. Joshua hadn't really expected his father to remarry, but if that happened he assumed his stepmother would be more of a society type.