Black Rose (5 page)

“Did either she or your grandmother keep a journal, any sort of diary?”

“Yes, both of them. Another fine old tradition I haven’t followed. My grandmother moved into the guesthouse when my father married and brought his own bride home. After she died, he cleaned out her things. I recall asking him about her journals, but he said they were gone. I don’t
know what became of them. As for my mother’s, I have hers. You’re welcome to them, but I doubt you’ll find anything pertinent.”

“Just the same. Aunts, uncles, cousins?”

“Oh, legions. My mother’s sister, who married some British lord or earl—third marriage—a few years ago. She lives in Sussex, and we don’t see each other often. She has children from her first two marriages, and they have children. My father was an only child. But his father had four sisters, older sisters—Reginald’s daughters.”

“Yeah, I’ve got their names on my list.”

“I don’t remember them at all. They each had children. Let’s see, that would be my cousins Frank and Esther—both gone years now—and their children, of course. Ah, Lucerne, Bobby, and Miranda. Bobby was killed in World War II. Lucerne and Miranda are both gone now, too. But they all had children, and some of them have children now. Then there’s Owen, Yancy, ah . . . Marylou. Marylou’s still living, down in Biloxi where she suffers from dementia and is tended by her children, best they can. Yancy, I couldn’t say. He ran off to join a carnival years back, and no one heard from him again. Owen’s a fire-and-brimstone minister, last I heard, in Macon, Georgia. He wouldn’t talk to you about ghosts, I can promise you.”

“You never know.”

She made a noncommittal sound as she worked. “And my cousin Clarise, who never married. She has managed to live to a ripe age. Too sour not to. She’s living in a retirement village, other side of the city. She doesn’t speak to me.”

“Because?”

“You do ask questions.”

“Part of the process.”

“I’m not sure I remember exactly why she stopped speaking to me. I recall she didn’t appreciate that my
grandparents left everything to me and my daddy. But they were
my
grandparents, after all. My father’s parents, while she was only a niece to them. She came to visit here when the boys were young. I believe that’s when she cut me off, or we cut each other off, which is more accurate. She didn’t care for my style of raising the boys, and I didn’t care for her criticism of them, or me.”

“Before the family rift, do you recall if she ever talked to you about the Bride?”

“I don’t, no. Cousin Rissy’s conversations mostly consisted of complaints or her own irritable observations. And I know damn well she pilfered things from the house. Little bits and pieces. I can’t say I’m sorry we’re not on speaking terms.”

“Will she talk to me?”

Thoughtfully, Roz turned to him, studied his face. “She might, especially if she thinks I’d prefer she didn’t. If you decide to go see the dried-up old bat, be sure you take her flowers, and chocolate. You spring for Godiva and she’ll be very impressed with you. Then you turn on the charm. Be sure to call her Miss Harper, until she says otherwise. She uses the family name, and is very formal about everything. She’ll ask about your people. If you happen to have any ancestors who fought in the War Between the States, be sure to mention it. Any Yankees in your tree, disavow them.”

He had to laugh. “I get the type. I have a great-aunt who’s on the same page.”

She reached under the worktable to a cooler, took out two bottles of chilled water. “You look hot. I’m so used to it, I don’t notice.”

“Working in all this humidity every day must be what gives your skin that English rose look.” Absently he reached out, flicked a finger over her cheek. When her brows shot up again, he eased back, just a step.

“Sorry. You had a little dirt . . .”

“Something else I’m used to.”

“So . . .” He reminded himself to keep his hands otherwise occupied. “I guess from what I saw the other day, you’re ready for Christmas.”

“Near enough. You?”

“Not even close, though I owe you big—once again—for the gift for my sister.”

“You went for the cashmere, then.”

“Something the salesgirl called a twinset, and she said no woman could have too many of them.”

“Absolutely true.”

“Okay. So, I’m going to put some effort into the rest of it over the next few days. Get the tree out, fight with the lights.”

“Get it out?” A look that might have been pity, might have been derision covered her face. “I assume that means you’ve got a fake tree.”

His hands slid into his pockets, his smile spread slowly. “It’s simplest. Apartment life.”

“And from the state of that dieffenbachia, probably for the best.”

“State of the what?”

“The plant you were slowly murdering. The one I took when I came to your place to meet you the first time.”

“Oh. Oh, right.” When she’d been wearing that lady suit, he thought, and those high heels that had made her legs look ten feet long. “How’s it doing?”

“It’s just fine now, and don’t think I’ll be giving it back.”

“Maybe I could just visit it sometime.”

“That could be arranged. We’re having a holiday party at the house, a week from Saturday. Nine o’clock. You’re welcome to come, if you like. And bring a guest, of course.”

“I’d like that. Would you mind if I went over to the house now, took a look at the library? Get a ground floor started?”

“No, that’ll be fine. I’ll just call David and let him know you’re coming.”

“Good. I’ll go on, then, and get out of your way. I appreciate the time.”

“I’ve plenty of it.”

He didn’t see how. “I’ll call you later, then. You have a strong place here, Rosalind.”

“Yes, I do.”

When he’d gone out, she set her tools aside to drink deeply from the water bottle. She wasn’t a silly young girl who was flustered and giddy at the touch of a man’s hand on her skin. But it had felt strange and oddly sweet, that careful brush of his fingers over her cheek, and that look in his eyes when he touched her.

English rose, she thought and let out a half laugh. Once, long ago, she might have appeared that fragile and dewy. She turned and studied one of her healthy stock plants. She was much more like that now, sturdy and strong.

And that, she thought as she got back to work, was just fine with her.

D
ESPITE THE STEADY
rain, Mitch took a walk around the buildings, and gained even more respect for Roz and what she’d built. And built almost single-handedly, he thought. The Harper money may have given her a cushion, he decided, but it took more than funds to create all this.

It took guts and vision and hard work.

Had he actually made that lame, clichéd comment about her skin? English rose, he thought now and shook his head. Like she hadn’t heard that one before.

In any case, it wasn’t even particularly apt. She was no delicate English rose. More a black rose, he decided, long and slender and exotic. A little haughty, a lot sexy.

He’d learned a lot about her life, just from that conversation in her work space. A lot about her. She’d lost someone she’d loved very much—her grandmother—at a tender age. She hadn’t been very close with her parents. And had lost them as well. Her relatives were far-flung, and it didn’t appear she had close relations with any of them.

Other than her sons, she had no one.

And after her husband’s death, she’d had only herself to depend on, only herself to turn to while she raised three boys.

But he’d detected no sense of pity, certainly no weakness in her.

Independent, direct, strong. But there was humor there, and a good heart. Hadn’t she helped him out when he’d been floundering over a toy for a little girl? And hadn’t she been amused by his dilemma?

Now that he’d begun to get a good sense of her, he only wanted to know more.

What was the deal with the second husband and the divorce, for instance? None of his business, of course, but he could justify the curiosity. The more he knew, the more he knew. And it wouldn’t be difficult to find out. People just loved to talk.

All you had to do was ask the questions.

On impulse, he detoured back into the center. There were a few customers debating over the poinsettias and some sort of cactus-looking plant that was loaded with pink blossoms. Mitch had barely raked a hand through his wet hair when Hayley arrowed in his direction.

“Dr. Carnegie! What a nice surprise.”

“Mitch. How are you, Hayley, and the baby?”

“We both couldn’t be better. But look at you, you’re soaked! Can I get you a towel?”

“No, I’m fine. I couldn’t resist walking around, looking the place over.”

“Oh.” She beamed at him, all innocence. “Were you looking for Roz?”

“Found her. I’m about to head over to the house, get a sense of my work space there. But I thought maybe I’d pick up one of those tabletop trees. The ones that’re already decorated.”

“Aren’t they sweet? Really nice for a small space, or an office.”

“A lot nicer than the old artificial one I fight to put together every year.”

“And they smell just like Christmas.” She steered him over. “You see one you like?”

“Ah . . . this one’s fine.”

“I just love all the little red bows and those tiny Santas. I’ll get you a box for it.”

“Thanks. What are those?”

“Those are Christmas cacti. Aren’t they beautiful? Harper grafts them. He’s going to show me how one of these days. You know, you should have one. They’re so celebrational. And they bloom for Christmas and Easter.”

“I’m not good with plants.”

“Why, you don’t have to do much of anything for it.” She set those big baby blue eyes on him. “You live in an apartment, don’t you? If you take the tree, a Christmas cactus, a couple of poinsettias, you’ll be all decorated for the holidays. You can have company over, and be set.”

“I don’t know how much attention Josh is going to pay to a cactus.”

She smiled. “Maybe not, but you must have a date over for a holiday drink, right?”

“Ah . . . I’ve been pretty busy with the book.”

“A handsome single man like you must have to beat the ladies off with a stick.”

“Not lately. Um—”

“You should have a wreath for the door, too.”

“A wreath.” He began to feel slightly desperate as she took his arm.

“Let me show you what we’ve got. I made some of these myself. See this one here? Just smell that pine. What’s Christmas without a wreath on the door?”

He knew when he was outgunned. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

“You bet,” she said with a laugh and selected a wreath. “This one goes so well with your tree.”

She talked him into the wreath, three windowsill-size poinsettias, and the cactus. He looked bemused and a little dazed as she rang it all up and boxed his purchases.

And when he left, Hayley knew what she wanted to know.

She dashed into Stella’s office.

“Mitch Carnegie’s not seeing anybody.”

“Was he recently blinded?”

“Come on, Stella, you know what I mean. He doesn’t have a sweetie.” She drew off her cap, raked her fingers through her oak-brown hair she was wearing long enough to pull back into a stubby tail.

“And he just spent a good half hour in the propagation house with Roz before he came in here to buy a tabletop tree. Harper sent him in there without even letting her know. Just go right on in while she’s working and doesn’t even have time to swipe on some lipstick.”

“Just sent him in? What is Harper, stupid?”

“Exactly what I asked him—Harper, that is. Anyway, then he—Mitch—came in all wet because he’d been walking around the place checking it out. He’s going over to the house for a while now.”

“Hayley.” Stella turned from her computer. “What are you cooking?”

“Just observing, that’s all. He’s not seeing anybody, she’s not seeing anybody.” She lifted her hands, pointing both index fingers, then wiggled them toward each other.
“Now they’re both going to be seeing a lot of each other. And besides being a hottie, he’s so cute. I talked him into buying a wreath, three mini poinsettias, and a Christmas cactus as well as the tree.”

“Go, Hayley.”

“But see, he didn’t know how to say no, that was the cute part. If Roz doesn’t go for him, I might myself. Okay, no.” She laughed at Stella’s bland stare. “He’s old enough to be my daddy and blah blah blah, but he’s just perfect for Roz. I’m telling you, I know this stuff. Wasn’t I right about you and Logan?”

Stella sighed as she looked at the aquamarine he’d given her as an engagement ring. “I can’t argue about that. And while I’m going to say, firmly, that observing’s all we should do, I can’t deny this may be a lot of fun to watch.”

A
S A RULE
when he was working, Mitch remembered to clean his apartment when he ran out of places to sit, or coffee cups. Between projects he was slightly better at shoveling out, or at least rearranging the debris.

He hired cleaning services. In fact, he hired them routinely. They never lasted long, and the fault—he was willing to admit—was largely his.

He’d forget which day he’d scheduled them and, invariably, pick that day to run errands, do research, or meet his kid for a quick game of Horse or one-on-one. There was probably something Freudian about that, but he didn’t want to think too deeply about it.

Or he’d remember, and the team would come in, goggle at the job facing them. And he’d never see them again.

But a man had to—or at least should—make an effort for the holidays. He spent an entire day hauling out, scrubbing down, and sweeping up, and was forced to admit that if he were being paid to do the job, he’d quit, too.

Still, it was nice to have some order back in his apartment, to actually be able to see the surface of tables, the cushions of chairs. Though he didn’t hold out much hope he’d keep them alive for the long-term, the plants Hayley had talked him into added a nice holiday touch.

And the little tree, well, that was ingenious. Now instead of dragging the box out of storage, fighting with parts, cursing the tangle of lights only to discover half of them didn’t work anyway, all he had to do was set the cheerful tree on the Hepplewhite stand by his living room window and plug the sucker in.

He hung the wreath on the front door, set the blooming cactus on his coffee table, and the three little poinsettias on the top of the toilet tank. It worked for him.

By the time he’d showered, dragged on jeans and a shirt, his date for the evening was knocking at the door.

Barefoot, his hair still damp, Mitch crossed the living room to answer. And grinned at the only person he loved without reservation.

“Forget your key?”

“Wanted to make sure I had the right place.” Joshua Carnegie tapped a finger on the greenery. “You’ve got a wreath on your door.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I heard a rumor about that.” He walked in, and his eyes, the same sharp green shade as his father’s, widened.

He was taller than Mitch by a full inch, but spread the height on the same lanky frame. His hair was dark, and it was shaggy. Not because he forgot haircuts like his father, but because he wanted it that way.

He wore a hooded gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans.

“Wow. You find a new cleaning service? Do they get combat pay?”

“No, haven’t had a chance. Besides, I think I’ve ripped through all the cleaning services in western Tennessee.”

“You cleaned up?” Lips pursed, Josh took a brief tour of the living room. “You’ve got a plant—with flowers on it.”

“You’re taking that with you.”

“I am.”

“I’ll kill it. I’ve already heard it gasping. I can’t be responsible.”

“Sure.” Josh pulled absently on his ear. “It’ll jazz up the dorm. Hey. You got this little tree going on. And candles.”

“It’s Christmas,” Mitch repeated, even as Josh leaned down to sniff the fat red candle.

“Smelly candles. Plus, if I’m not mistaken, you vacuumed.” Eyes narrowed he looked back at his father. “You’ve got a woman.”

“Not on me, no. More’s the pity. Want a Coke?”

“Yeah.” With a shake of his head, Josh started toward the bathroom. “Gotta use the john. We getting pizza?”

“Your choice.”

“Pizza,” Josh called out. “Pepperoni and sausage. Extra cheese.”

“My arteries are clogging just hearing that,” Mitch called out as he pulled two cans of Coke out of the refrigerator. From experience, he knew his son could steam through most of a pie on his own and still stay lean as a greyhound.

Oh, to be twenty again.

He speed-dialed the local pizza parlor, ordered a large for Josh, and a medium veggie-style for himself.

When he turned, he saw Josh leaning against the jamb, feet crossed at the ankles of his Nike Zooms. “You’ve got flowers in the john.”

“Poinsettias. Christmas. Deal.”

“You’ve got a woman. If you haven’t bagged one, you’ve got one in the sights. So spill.”

“No woman.” He tossed one of the cans to Josh. “Just a clean apartment with a few holiday touches.”

“We have ways of making you talk. Where’d you meet her? Is she a babe?”

“Not talking.” Laughing, Mitch popped the can.

“I’ll get it out of you.”

“Nothing to get.” Mitch walked by him into the living room. “Yet.”

“Ah-ha!” Josh followed him in, plopped down on the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table.

“I repeat: Not talking. And that’s a premature
ah-ha
. Anyway, I’m just feeling a little celebrational. Book’s done, which means a check will be in the mail shortly. I’m starting on a new, interesting project—”

“Already? No decompressing?”

“I’ve had this one dangling awhile, and I want to get on it full steam. It’s better than thinking about Christmas shopping.”

“Why do you have to think about it? It’s still a couple weeks away.”

“Now, that’s my boy.” Mitch raised his Coke in toast. “So how are your mother and Keith?”

“Good. Fine.” Josh took a long swallow from his can. “She’s all jazzed up about the holidays. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do.” He gave Josh an easy slap on the knee. “It’s not a problem, Josh. Your mom wants you home for the holidays. That’s the way it should be.”

“You could come. You know you could come.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But it’d be better if I just hang out here. We’ll have our Christmas deal before you leave. It’s important to her to have you there. She’s entitled. It’s important for you, too.”

“I don’t like thinking about you being alone.”

“Just me and my cup of gruel.” It was a sting, it always was. But it was one he’d earned.

“You could go to Grandma’s.”

“Please.” Exaggerated pain covered Mitch’s face, rang in his voice. “Why would you wish that on me?”

Josh smirked. “You could wear that reindeer sweater she got you a couple years ago.”

“Sorry, but there’s a nice homeless person who’ll be sporting that this holiday season. When do you head out?”

“Twenty-third.”

“We can do our thing the twenty-second if that works for you.”

“Sure. I’ve just got to juggle Julie. She’s either going to Ohio to her mother’s, or L.A. to her father’s. It’s seriously messed up. They’re both doing the full court press on her, laying on the guilt and obligation crap, and she’s all, ‘I don’t want to see either one of them.’ She’s either crying or bitchy, or both.”

“We parents can certainly screw up our children.”

“You didn’t.” He took another drink, then turned the can around in his hands. “I don’t want to get all Maury Povich or whatever, but I wanted to say that you guys never made me the rope in your personal tug-of-war. I’ve sort of been thinking about that, with all this shit Julie’s going through. You and Mom, you never hung that trip on me. Never made me feel like I had to choose or ripped on each other around me. It sucks when people do. It sucks long.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I remember, you know, before you guys split. It was rugged all around. But even then, neither of you used me as a hammer on the other. That’s what’s going on with Julie, and it makes me realize I was lucky. So I just wanted to say.”

“That’s a . . . That’s a good thing to hear.”

“Well, now that we’ve had this Hallmark moment, I’m getting another Coke. Pregame show should be coming on.”

“I’m on that.” Mitch picked up the remote. He wondered what stars had shone on him to give him the gift of such a son.

“Hey, man! Salt and vinegar chips!”

Hearing the bag rip, and the knock on the door, Mitch grinned, and rising, took out his wallet to pay for the pizza.

“I
DON
’
T GET
it, Stella. I just don’t get it.” Hayley paced Stella’s room while the boys splashed away in the adjoining bath.

“The sexy black shoes that will kill my feet, or the more elegant pumps?”

When Stella stood, one of each pair on either foot, Hayley stopped pacing long enough to consider them. “Sexy.”

“I was afraid of that. Well.” Stella took them both off, replaced the rejected pair in her closet. Her outfit for the evening was laid out on the bed, the jewelry she’d already selected was in a tray on the dresser.

Now all she had to do was settle the boys down for the night, get dressed, deal with her hair, her makeup. Check the boys again, check the baby monitors. And . . . Hayley’s pacing and muttering distracted her enough to have her turn.

“What? Why are you so nervous? Do you have a date going on for tonight’s party I don’t know about?”

“No. But it’s dates I’m talking about. Why would Roz tell Mitch to bring a date? Now he probably will, because he’ll think if he doesn’t, he’ll look like a loser. And they’ll both miss a golden opportunity.”

“I missed something.” She hooked on her earrings, studied the results. “How do you know Roz told him to bring a date? How do you find this stuff out?”

“It’s a gift of mine. Anyway, what’s up with her? Here’s this perfectly gorgeous and available man, and she invites him for tonight—points there. But then tells him he can bring somebody. Jeez.”

“She’d have considered it the polite thing to do, I guess.”

“You can’t be polite in the dating wars, for God’s sake.” On a long huff, Hayley plopped down on the foot of the bed, then lifted her legs out to examine her own shoes. “You know,
date
’s from the Latin—or maybe it’s Old English. Anyway, it comes from
data
—and it’s a
female
part of speech. Female, Stella. We’re supposed to take the controls.”

Since she hadn’t yet started her makeup, Stella was free to press her fingers to her eyes. “How? How do you know that kind of thing? Nobody knows that kind of thing.”

“I was a bookseller for years, remember. I read a lot. I don’t know why I retain the weird stuff. But anyway, it’s a holiday party here—her house. And you know she’ll look amazing. And now he’ll show up with some woman and screw everything up.”

“I don’t actually think there’s anything to screw up at this point.”

Hayley tugged at her hair in frustration. “But there
could
be. I just know it. You watch, you just watch them tonight and see if you don’t get the vibe.”

“All right, I will. But now I’ve got to get the kids out of the tub and into bed. Then I have to get dressed, and strap on my sexy shoes with the single goal of driving Logan crazy.”

“Want a hand? With the kids, not with driving Logan crazy. Lily’s already sleeping.”

“No, you’ll get wet or wrinkled, and you look fantastic. I wish I could wear that shade of red. Talk about sexy.”

Hayley looked down at the short siren-red slip dress. “You don’t think it’s too . . .”

“No, I think it’s exactly.”

“Well, I’ll go down, see if I can give David a hand with the caterer and all. Then I can get his take on the outfit. He rules in fashion.”

Roz was already downstairs, checking details and second-guessing herself. Maybe she should have opened
the third-floor ballroom and held the party there. It was a gorgeous space, so elegant and graceful. But the main level, with its hive of smaller rooms, the fires burning, was warmer and more friendly somehow.

Space wasn’t a problem, she assured herself as she checked the positioning of tables, chairs, lamps, candles. And she liked throwing open the rooms this way, knowing people would wander from here to there, admiring the home she loved.

It was a clear night, so they could spill onto the terraces, too. There were heaters if it got too chilly, and more tables, more seating, more candles and all those festive lights in the trees, the luminaries along the garden paths.

And you’d think, for heaven’s sake, that it was the first party she’d given in her life.

Been awhile, though, since she’d held anything this expansive. Because of that, the attrition rate on her guest list had been very low. She was going to be packed.

Avoiding the caterers and extra staff bustling around, she slipped outside. Yes, the lights were lovely, and fun, she decided. And she liked the poinsettia tree she’d created out of dozens of white plants.

Harper House was designed for entertaining, she reminded herself. She’d been shirking her duty there, and denying herself, she supposed, the pleasure of socializing with people she enjoyed.

She turned when she heard the door open. David stepped out, holding two flutes of champagne.

“Hello, beautiful. Can I interest you in a glass of champagne?”

“You can. Though I should be inside, helping with the madhouse.”

“Under control.” He tapped his glass to hers. “Another twenty minutes, and it’ll be perfect. And look at us! Aren’t we gorgeous?”

She laughed, slipped her hand into his. “You always are.”

“And you, my treasure.” Still holding her hand, he stepped back. “You just shimmer.”

She’d chosen a gown of dull silver in a long, narrow column with an off-the-shoulder neckline that would showcase her great-grandmother’s rubies.

She brushed her fingertips over the platinum necklace with its spectacular ruby drops. “I don’t have many opportunities to wear the Harper rubies. This seemed the night for them.”

“And a treat they are for the eyes plus they do amazing things for your collarbone. But I was talking about you, my incandescent beauty. Why don’t we run away to Belize?”

Champagne and David, the perfect combination to make her feel bubbly and relaxed. “I thought it was going to be Rio.”

“Not until Carnival. It’s going to be a wonderful party, Roz. You just put all the other crap out of your mind.”

“You read me, don’t you?” She shook her head, staring into the gardens as she sipped champagne. “Last time I threw one of these holiday bashes, I walked upstairs into the bedroom to change my bracelet because the clasp was loose, and what do I find but my husband nibbling on one of our guests instead of the canapés.”

She took a longer, deeper sip. “A singularly mortifying moment in my life.”