A Season of Miracles (12 page)

“I'll put coffee on.”

“Sounds good.”

“There are two showers. The guest room has everything you'll need.”

“Ah, you entertain frequently,” she said, trying to make the words light.

He shook his head. “No. Not frequently.” He turned from her, walking toward the kitchen.

 

When she emerged, coffee had perked. He joined her in the kitchen a few minutes later, Mr. Corporate America again, perfect in Calvin Klein today, she thought.

He did wear a suit well.

Still, that extra length of hair over his collar would always mean something special to her now, as would knowing where he lived. There was nothing stark or impersonal about his surroundings. She loved the feel of the place, loved knowing that his reading interests were many and varied—despite the fact that the expected sports and business magazines were in the rack by the leather sofa, and that she had found the
New York Times
just outside his door after she had poured her coffee. Antique volumes elbowed popular fiction and contemporary literature along his shelves.

“Fruit, bagel—or a great doughnut?” he asked her.

“Ah, you're expecting me to say ‘Just a bit of fruit, please,' aren't you?” she murmured.

“No, I think you should go right for the doughnut today.”

“How about the fruit
and
the doughnut.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He produced both. They sat at the counter in the kitchen and ate together, sharing the paper. It should have been at least a bit awkward, Jillian thought. But it wasn't. It was fun. And then, as he poured her more coffee, she set the paper down and looked seriously into his eyes.

“Robert?”

“Yes?”

“I wasn't lying when I said, well…last night was the most wonderful time I've had in forever. Maybe in my whole life. But…”

“But?”

“Will you understand if I want to back off?”

He hesitated, looking at her. “I'll try.”

She ran a finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “You said you don't believe in ‘strange.'”

“I—”

“Wait, please. Okay, suppose the tarot reader
had
been set up to tell us both specific things? How do you explain the way I reacted when I saw you? I never, ever pass out.”

He set the coffeepot down slowly, leaned on the counter and studied her seriously. “Most things, they say, are psychological. The human brain, we all know, is the most incredible computer ever. Okay, so I'd just come into the company. You heard wild and ridiculous rumors. Somehow, perhaps, I became something really awful in your mind. And after the whole bit with the tarot reader, the drinks, the whole Halloween thing…”

“I still say it was genuinely strange,” she told him softly. “And then…how do you explain last night?”

His eyes met hers. “I say that every once in a while we're just incredibly lucky and come across someone else in this world who is unique, so wonderful and exciting, so beautiful and sexy, it's almost unbearable. And sometimes, by the grace of God, that person feels the same way about us. That's how I explain it.”

She exhaled slowly.

“Well?”

“I say it's a darn good explanation. But I've still got to ask you to let me go slow. It's very strange for me in a different way. Friday…Friday marks the anniversary of my husband's death.”

“I know. And I'm very sorry.”

“I knew he was dying when I married him.”

“So I've heard.”

“You don't want to know why?”

“I'm assuming that you loved him and were willing to take whatever time you might have.”

She smiled. “Well, yes. But I thought…I thought I could make him better. Rather arrogant of me, huh?”

“No. I think it was rather great of you. And I'll tell you what. I won't call you. I won't see you. Except for work. When you're ready, you let me know. All right?”

She walked around the counter, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. He held her and kissed her back, and the world began to recede. She wanted more.

He eased back, lifting her chin. “Are you calling me already?” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“I'll be here. When you need me, I swear, I'll be here,” he told her.

When he released her, a chill swept through her. She shouldn't have let him go. The sense of discomfort stayed as they left his apartment, went down and called for his car.

The snow had turned hard and heavy, but the city workers had done a good job. Heavy piles had been pushed aside, leaving the roads and sidewalks clear.

As they drove, Jillian was thoughtful. “So you really don't believe in ‘strange'?”

“No.”

“Or in miracles?”

“No, I'm afraid not.”

She smiled and looked at him. “How about a bit of magic?”

“Nope.”

He drove into the parking garage at Llewellyn Enterprises.

“But,” Jillian pressed, “you did say it was incredible when you found someone and, ‘by the grace of God,' that someone felt the same way about you.”

“I did,” he agreed.

She opened her door, exiting before he had cut the engine, then leaned in and looked him straight in the eye. “Then, you already believe in miracles and magic,” she told him.

Then she turned and left.

O
n Friday morning, Eileen came bursting into Jillian's office. “We're off to the house in Connecticut for some stills and filming on the ad campaign. All of us. We'll take Monday if we need to. I suggest leaving work a little early, since we'll start with the light first thing tomorrow morning.”

Jillian inhaled. Eileen was a few years older than she was, and ever since they were little kids, Eileen had always seemed to think that made her boss.

“Eileen, I can't leave this afternoon.”

“Why not?”

“I'm going to the graveyard. It's the first anniversary of Milo's death.”

Eileen let out a breath of air. “Oh, Jillian, I'm sorry. I knew it was coming up, but I forgot it was today. You had that memorial service a couple of weeks ago, so…”

“Yeah, I know. And it's not that I think any one day really makes a difference, but I do want to go by the graveyard.”

“I'll go with you, then we'll drive up together.”

“No, Eileen, it's all right. Really. You'll want to drive with Gary, and I want to have a car if we're going to be there through Monday.”

“There are cars up at the house. I don't think you should be driving alone.”

“Don't be silly. Besides, I have to head home, too, pick up some clothes for the weekend.”

“Henry can send them to the office for you. Jillian, I don't want you going to that graveyard alone, all right?”

Actually, she'd really wanted to be alone. But Eileen seemed awfully concerned—and persistent. And the drive to Connecticut could be long.

Besides, since Robert Marston had kept his distance, as she had asked, it wasn't as if she had other plans.

“I guess. But—”

“I could go with her, Eileen,” Connie supplied from the doorway.

Eileen whipped around. “It's no problem for me, Connie. And Daniel said you and Joe weren't planning on coming up until tomorrow morning—he said he knows you don't want to leave the kids any longer than you have to.”

“Why don't they just bring the kids?” Jillian suggested.

“We're going to be working,” Eileen said firmly, looking at Connie as if having children had been a direct violation of the work ethic.

“Agatha will be there. She can watch the kids while we're busy.”

“Agatha has the whole house to look after, and she's got to be seventy, at least,” Eileen reminded them.

“And she employs a bunch of people. We'll be fine if you choose to bring the children, Connie.”

“Thanks,” Connie murmured, but she looked uncomfortable as she started to turn away.

“Let's head out at lunchtime, shall we?” Eileen suggested, turning to go, as well.

Jillian rose from behind her desk. “Hey, wait, both of you. I still can't find Jeeves, and I'm getting really worried.”

They had both stopped in their tracks, but neither of them turned to look at her.

“Eileen?”

“No, haven't seen him,” Eileen said, and hurried out of the office.

“He must be somewhere around,” Connie muttered, and hurried out, as well.

That Connie hadn't looked at her seemed strange. With determination suddenly ruling her completely, she walked out of her office, past Connie and down the hall. She burst in on Griff, who actually appeared to be working, deep in study over some financial document.

He looked up.

“Griff, where is Jeeves?”

He folded his hands on his desk. “Jillian, don't worry about old Jeeves, especially not today.”

“Today—”

“It's the anniversary of Milo's death, right?” He smiled. “No, I didn't forget. I'm going by the cemetery before heading north. Want me to go with you?”

“Eileen just offered, thanks. And thanks for remembering. But we've got to find Jeeves.”

“We will.” He stood, walking around to her and escorting her to the door to his office. “Maybe he got out. Maybe he found a girl. You know how cats are.”

He kissed her on the cheek. She wasn't sure, but he seemed rather eager to get her out of his office. “Even I have to clean up my desk a bit if I'm going to leave early for the weekend,” he told her.

His door closed. Curious, she walked down the hall. She was about to stick her head into Daniel's office, but Gracie Janner stopped her.

“He's not in there, Miss Llewellyn.”

She could have told Gracie that her legal name was Anderson, but she didn't bother. No one remembered to use it even when Milo was alive. Llewellyns seemed to stay Llewellyns, no matter what.

At the far end of the hall was the plushest office, her grandfather's domain. She started that way, but then, as she passed Theo's, she saw that Connie, Daniel and Joe had gathered there.

She poked her head in. “What's up?”

They all stared at her.

“Nothing,” Daniel said, walking to the door to meet her. “Weekend driving plans, that's all. You're going with Eileen?”

“Yes, I guess, but—”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on,” Connie said quickly.

Once again Jillian had the feeling that either she—or her entire family—was going crazy.

“Nothing,” Joe repeated.

“Nope, nothing at all,” Connie said.

Daniel was staring at the group with something like disgust. He shook his head. “Excuse me. I've got to get moving.”

“Is everyone going to Connecticut?” Jillian enquired.

“Just about,” Theo said, starting to follow Daniel out.

“Theo?”

“What?”

“This is your office,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah, but I have some…papers. Papers in Daniel's office.”

Theo sped by her.

“Jillian, you should call Henry,” Eileen offered. “I'll get hold of Gary. Excuse me.” She sailed on by.

With a shake of her head, Jillian turned away herself and headed down to her grandfather's office. Amelia Yancy had her desk—a huge oak affair, like a guard tower—dead smack in front of the double doors that led to Douglas's office.

“Is he in?” Jillian asked.

“Yes, but—”

Jillian had started around the desk.

“He's in a meeting with Mr. Marston.”

Jillian hesitated. Since the night she'd spent with Robert just two days ago, she'd needed perspective. A slowdown. But though she hesitated, she didn't want to avoid him. Not completely. She didn't want to be ridiculous about any of it. Or feel…possessive. As if there were really something deep there, going beyond the accident of two people meeting and feeling such an instant attraction. It was scary. And she didn't want to cling to him, which would be far too easy to do. She knew so little about him.

Still, she just smiled at Amelia. “I'll burst in on them. My fault. Don't worry, I won't let Grandfather yell.”

She tapped on the door and could envision her grandfather's frown as he called, “Come in.”

She entered. Robert was seated in front of Douglas's desk, relaxed but wearing a slight scowl. She wondered what their conversation had been about. Both men rose as she entered, and as she drew closer to Robert Marston, she felt again a strange sense of déjà vu, and wondered why she was being such an idiot, trying to keep any kind of distance between them. He made her tremble, made her feel warm. She wanted to walk over and slip her arms around him, ride off with him into the sunset, into the snow, to a glowing fire and surroundings of pure warmth.

She stopped short, remembering that she was going by a cemetery, that the man she had known and loved for a very long time had been dead just one year today.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but, Douglas, why didn't you tell me this morning we were heading for Connecticut?”

“Because we just discovered at nine-fifteen that all the arrangements could be made so quickly.”

“The arrangements?”

“Cameramen, lighting, all that. We've given the project to Brad Casey—right beneath Eileen, of course—and since we're making such a big deal out of it, we had to clear the calendars of everyone involved.”

“Interesting. Everyone forgot to clear it with me.”

“I poked my head in this morning and asked if you had weekend plans,” Douglas said.

“But you didn't ask me if I was available to go to Connecticut,” she explained.

He looked truly mystified. “I'm sorry. You said you were free, and frankly, it's not as if…well, it's not as if you have a husband, children, or…well…” His voice trailed off. His steady old eyes were on her, and he smiled slowly. “You have me. And I'll be in Connecticut.”

“Is there a problem?” Robert asked.

He was watching her, but she was careful to reveal no emotion in her eyes. “No. Not after I go to the cemetery.”

“Naturally,” Douglas said. “Is everything all right with you then?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Well?” Her grandfather spoke softly, but he was clearly implying that she should leave.

“Fine.” With little choice, she turned and walked out, still wondering about the subject of their meeting.

She had barely sat down at her desk before Connie came rushing in. She stared, opened her mouth, shook her head and rushed out.

“Connie?”

Connie pretended not to hear her, so Jillian walked out of her office and into Connie's. “What is going on?”

“I—I—nothing.”

“Connie, I've known you for years. What's the nothing that's going on? And what is Robert Marston doing in my grandfather's office?”

Connie's eyebrows shot up. Then she looked vastly relieved. “I haven't the faintest idea. Work, I guess.”

“Connie, why did you just come into my office?”

“I—I—I—”

“Connie, don't
I—I—I
me.”

“He's dead!” Connie blurted.

“What?” A chill seized her. “Who's dead?”

“Jeeves,” Connie whispered. “I'm so sorry, but we just didn't want to tell you. You were so upset about the tarot card reader yelling at you and all, and he was a black cat, and it was Halloween….”

“The cat is dead?”

At the deeply voiced question, Jillian spun around, and Connie leapt to her feet. Robert Marston was standing in the doorway.

“Why is everyone lying about a dead cat?” he enquired.

“We weren't lying—we just didn't want to tell Jillian. We didn't want to upset her,” Connie explained quickly.

“Connie, that's ridiculous. I'm very sorry, of course, but…why lie to me?”

“We just…we just didn't want to upset you,” Connie repeated.

“How did the cat die?” Robert asked sharply.

“We think it must have been old age,” Connie said. “He was just…dead.”

Robert Marston turned around and left, a thoughtful look on his face. Connie was pale and still very upset. Jillian shook her head. “Connie, it's all right. I just wish someone had told me. I wouldn't have gone crazy looking for him.”

“I'm sorry. We meant to tell you, of course. When the time seemed right. Today…well, you know, today being the anniversary of Milo's death, it didn't seem like the right time.”

“It's all right. I'm a big girl.” Jillian started back to her own office. Then she paused, looking back. “What did ‘we' do with Jeeves?”

“I don't know,” Connie said. “Either Daniel or Griff took care of…the remains.”

Jillian walked back into her own office, far more disturbed than she had let on. There was something Connie wasn't telling her. She was sure of it.

She tried to work, but she couldn't seem to concentrate. She put down her pencil and folded her hands in her lap. Douglas had told her that morning that she shouldn't come in today, but she hadn't wanted to sit home alone or spend the day brooding. But now…

A year. A full year.

And the cat was dead, too.

And she was having terrible dreams about fires….

She got up and walked to Daniel's office, waving a hand impatiently as Gracie started to rise. She walked in without knocking.

Robert Marston had preceded her here, as well. He didn't see her when she first slipped in, because he was talking to Daniel and his back was to her.

“I don't understand why you just cremated the creature without knowing what had happened.”

“For God's sake, Robert, it was a cat.”

“And it died in Jillian's office.”