Banish Misfortune (13 page)

"Jessica!" he pleaded.

"You and your father want me to sleep with Rickford Lincoln to cement the merger, is that right? Is it?" Her voice was still tranquil. "I need an answer, Peter."

"Yes."

A small, resigned smile lit her face. "I see."

"You needn't act as if it's a surprise," he said defensively. "You're a savvy person-you know the score. This has been in the cards for months now."

"Yes, it has."

Still Peter watched her, his face awash in misery. Poor Peter, she thought absently. Immorality didn't sit well on his patrician soul—he hadn't the killer instinct his father possessed in abundance.

"Father's transferred your bonus to your account. I think he's planning to give you an extra little something ..." The words trailed off as he realized how they sounded.

Jessica laughed in genuine astonished amusement. "How tacky of you, Peter," she murmured. "You're going to have to learn more finesse if you plan to keep this up."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you didn't." She had surreptitiously slipped off the huge diamond ring that had hung loosely on her left hand, and she tucked it into her palm. Moving closer, she slid her arms around his waist. "Kiss me good-bye, Peter. Lincoln's picking me up around nine tomorrow, so I won't have another chance to see you."

"Jessica, you don't have to go," he said miserably. "The merger's signed, there's nothing he could do...."

"Hush, darling." She slid her hands back, casually dropping the ring into his pocket. He wouldn't discover it for days. Reaching up, she kissed him lightly.

"Let me come home with you, Jessica. We need to talk about this."

"No, Peter." She pulled away from his suddenly clutching embrace. "I have a lot of last-minute packing to do. Good-bye, Peter."

There was nothing he could do as she made her way to the nearest waiting taxi but follow her, opening the door and helping her in, the misery still stamped on his face.

Leaning back, Jessica breathed in the myriad smells of a New York City taxi on a summer night. Sweat, cigarettes, exhaust and onions. Part of her would miss New York. And part of her would miss Peter Kinsey and think of him with gratitude. He couldn't have given her a better going-away present. By asking her to sleep with Lincoln, he had destroyed any responsibility she felt toward him. If somehow word got back to him that she'd had a baby, he would know better than anyone else that it couldn't be his. But no one would believe him if he denied it, and the thought gave her a certain tranquil satisfaction.

Now there were just the two of them, she thought, placing a thin hand on her flat, silk-covered belly. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.

Of course, there were problems, she thought as she entered her darkened apartment. Moving through the hall at her rapid pace, she avoided the memory of that night with Springer with single-minded determination. But none of the problems were too large to be overcome.

She had lied to Peter, of course. All her clothes were packed, waiting in the hall, all her few belongings were locked up and stored in the once precious back room that she now avoided like the plague. She was going to impose on Elyssa, who little expected it. She was counting on her to arrange a sublet for this huge place while Jessica found someplace to settle. The bonus money wouldn't go very far if she had to pay the extraordinary rent on this apartment, but she didn't have time to see to it herself. She had to be gone and fast.

Kicking off her high-heeled sandals, she wandered into the kitchen to peer into the almost empty refrigerator. Dutifully she poured herself a glass of milk, for once wishing she could have a drink to calm the trepidation that threatened to overwhelm her. It was typical of fate, she thought, swallowing the milk with a grimace of distaste. She, who seldom drank alcohol, would suddenly develop the urge when it was strictly forbidden. Just as well. She had an absolute horror of ending up like her parents.

There was still the question of where she was going to go the following day. At first she thought she'd just drive, but she couldn't even decide in which direction. Her sisters would always welcome her. Sunny, newly divorced in northern Minnesota, would be glad to have help with the three children driving her to the edge of distraction. Or Maren, with her pretty suburban Chicago house, her pretty suburban family and her delicate little suburban drinking problem. No, she couldn't stay with Maren.

Perhaps she should head south. Though with the summer humidity at an all-time high—

The doorbell slashed across her rambling thoughts, and she jumped, spilling the last bit of milk across the silk front of her black dress. The kitchen was still and dark, echoing the shrill intrusion of the doorbell as it sounded again.

She moved slowly toward the hall, wary and on edge. It had to be someone she knew. Her building had very good security and an excellent night doorman—no one would get past him unless the visitor was well-known. He'd never met Lincoln—she was safe at least from that. Logic told her it should be Peter, with one more excuse, one more argument, but for some reason she didn't think it was. Would Henry remember Springer from two weeks before?

Squashing down the sudden surge of panic, she reached the door as the bell rang again.
Don't be absurd,
she told herself. Springer was long gone, and if he did reappear it would hardly be at her door at eleven o'clock at night. Dear Lord, don't let it be Springer.

It was Springer's parents on the other side of her peephole. It took her a few moments to fumble with the three locks, long enough for her to regain a portion of her equilibrium. "What in the world are you two doing here?" she greeted them lightly as she swung open the door. "Not that I'm not delighted to see you at any hour. What brings you to town, Elyssa?" A sudden, horrifying thought came to her, stripping her of her smile and her banter. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"

"You tell me, darling," Elyssa retorted sternly, pressing her cheek against Jessica's for a moment. "I got your note."

"Hello, Ham," she murmured as she was enveloped in a bear hug. "Elyssa drag you along?"

"I dragged myself. What's going on, lambkin? Running out?"

"You weren't supposed to get my note till Monday," Jessica accused lightly. "No fair."

"The U.S. mail was for once quite efficient. So you're not going off with Lincoln?" Elyssa questioned.

"No."

"I'm glad. I can't imagine that Peter really expected you to. He must not have realized—"

"Oh, he realized all right," Jessica said, throwing her slender body into the uncomfortable sofa. "He came right out and asked me tonight."

"But you'd already decided to leave. Does he know?"

"Not yet. He'll find out soon enough. I expect Lincoln will call him when he comes to collect his door prize and I'm not here." She kept her voice light. "I hope you're not here to talk me out of it."

"Not at all, Jessica," Elyssa said firmly. "I think you're doing the right thing."

"But we're worried about where you're planning to go, what you're planning to do," Ham added seriously.

I'll be having your grandchild,
she thought, but said nothing. "I haven't decided."

Ham heaved a sigh, exchanged glances with Elyssa, and then plunged in. "In that case, we have a proposition for you."

"I don't want to have anything to do with Springer," she said abruptly, betraying herself.

Ham looked surprised, obviously having missed those developments. "It has nothing to do with Springer, Jessica. He wouldn't have to know anything about it."

"About what?"

"We have a house, Jessica. It's been in the family for generations—an old, rambling Victorian summer

cottage on one of the Champlain islands in Vermont. It's been empty for years; since the divorce, as a matter of fact. We've rented it out a few times, kept it up, but neither of us has had the time or the inclination to go back. We thought you might like to go up there for a while. It's very secluded, but I don't think you'd mind that."

Jessica eyes had lit up. "Hamilton, you angel!"

"And you could consider doing me a little favor while you're there rusticating."

"Anything," she promised rashly.

"You might think about honing your writing skills.
I
'll never forget that parody of the Slaughterer you wrote for me last Christmas. It was marvelous."

"But Ham, that's all I can do, I assure you," she protested, confused. "I'm completely uncreative. I can only do parodies and satires. God knows, I've tried, in college and later, but I just don't have it."

"I'm not asking you to force anything," Ham said mysteriously. "Just keep it in mind and we'll talk about it later. So, do you want to go?"

"More than anything. You two have saved my life."

"I hope it's not that bad," Elyssa said gently. "And the house has been winterized, after a fashion, though no brave soul has ever attempted to survive the rigors of Vermont weather there. If you're bold enough you can stay as long as you want. As Ham said, it's a little remote and lonely, but I know you prefer it that way."

"I would. Elyssa, it sounds like heaven."

A wry smile lit Elyssa's concerned face. "Wait till you've experienced a Vermont winter before you say that."

"I've already experienced Minnesota winters—I doubt it's worse."

"Then it's settled. Come by for breakfast tomorrow, and we'll give you keys, maps, instructions, the works," Ham said expansively. "Not to mention coffee and croissants. Elyssa brought fresh beans and pastry when she arrived tonight. We spent most of the evening trying to figure out what to do with you, and I think we've contrived quite well."

"I'm used to taking care of myself."

"Of course you are, lambkin," he soothed. "And aren't you getting a little tired of it? Let those who love you take over for a short while. You need peace and quiet to sort out your life. We both can recognize when someone's on the fine edge."

The tears that neither of her friends had ever seen filled her blue eyes, and she went into Ham's arms like a frightened child. "Bless you both," she whispered. "But I'll be fine."

"I know you will, Jessica," Ham rumbled. "I know you will."