Defy the World Tomatoes (19 page)

“No, but I thought about it.”

“That’s scarcely flattering, but it would still be a good idea for you to have one. You might actually want to travel with the next guy you meet.”

Darcy braced herself, but he showed a great deal of restraint by not slamming the door on his way out. Her anguish got the better of her then, and she began to sob with hoarse gulps. She’d known nothing in life was ever certain, but with her once-trusted partner barely speaking to her and the man she cared about more determined to occupy a building than a place in her heart, tears were her only comfort.

Chapter Eleven

After another nearly sleepless night, Darcy awakened Monday morning to find a soggy coastal fog clinging to the ground. It was far too wet to burn off before afternoon and, contemplating a day as dreary as her mood, she pulled on a bright pink long-sleeved jersey and blue floral overalls to affect a spring-like cheer.

She made herself a poached egg on toast the way her mother had prepared them for her as a child and sipped tea while she ate her breakfast. She still had no appetite, but the nostalgic food offered a surprising amount of comfort on an otherwise bleak day.

After washing her dishes, she set a few of her philodendron out on the back porch to soak up the moisture in the air. She brewed a second cup of tea, poured it into an insulated cup and pulled on her bright green Defy the World windbreaker. As ready as she would ever be, she walked on over to the nursery, but her step lacked its usual bounce.

She entered her office intent upon ordering roses for the Peavey wedding. A couple of smaller jobs had come in last week, and they also needed her attention, but that morning her sketches were as distracted as her thoughts and she sent them sailing toward her wastebasket rather than attach them to her clipboard.

Mid-morning, George arrived carrying a bag of jelly donuts. He took one look at the faint shadows beneath her eyes and shook his head. “Now don’t tell me you aren’t hungry, because it sure looks to me as though you could use a good meal.”

Ignoring his astute observation, Darcy helped herself to a donut, but after thanking him, she left the plump pastry resting on a napkin on her desk while she sipped the last of her tea. “I doubt we’ll see a tourist all day in this weather,” she mused aloud.

“Monday is never very busy, but it’s good to have some extra time to clean up and restock after the weekend.”

“Make a note of whatever is running low, and I’ll call in an order.”

“Looks to me like it’s morale that’s in short supply around here, and I expected you to be a happier girl once Griffin came home. Not that I’m prying into your love life, of course.”

“Of course not,” she replied, but the curious light in his eyes prompted a truthful response. “We didn’t even make it through dinner last night before he got up and left.”

George licked the last drop of raspberry jelly from his fingers, wiped them on a napkin, then leaned back against her door to get comfortable. “Then it’s no wonder you’re upset. I know you’re an only child. Does Griffin have brothers and sisters?”

“No, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, from what I read in Marge’s magazines, it seems birth order might matter a great deal in relationships. Only children, as well as those who are the firstborn, are used to getting their own way. That works fine if they’re paired up with someone who was a second or third child and is accustomed to going along with others. But when two such independent people get together, they just naturally butt heads.”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see where that might create a problem, but we have so damn many conflicts, and I can’t blame them all on the fact that we’re both only children.”

“We could nibble away at those conflicts one at a time. What’s your worst problem?”

“Nosy employees,” she shot right back at him.

George waved aside her complaint. “Other than that.”

Darcy shrugged slightly as she ticked off the list in her mind. “That he wants this building is right up near the top.”

“Eat your donut,” George ordered, and he waited until she’d taken a bite to respond. “We can blame the fact that he’s a celebrity and people cater to his every whim, but that’s too easy. What’s the real reason he’s so set on taking over this place?”

“He has plans to record here.”

George appeared puzzled. “He could do that anywhere.”

“That’s my view exactly, but no, he insists upon having Defy the World’s space in the universe for his own.”

“Well, it is his own,” George agreed, “but do you remember what I said about people sabotaging good relationships?”

“Sure. Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

“Could be.” George straightened. “Give it some thought.”

“I’ve already exhausted myself on that score,” she protested. “I think Griffin is simply a control freak who’s going to push for every advantage. First he’ll take our location, and if I’m still speaking to him, then he’ll insist I travel with him. Every time I give in, he’ll come up with some new demand. Nothing will ever be enough for him.”

“That’s a real dark prediction, little lady.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied sadly. “Now, I’m not paying you for therapy. Let’s rotate the stock in the pottery shed and see if we can’t sell some of the largest pots this week.”

“I’ll get on it, but right now I’m going into the shop with the rest of these donuts. I hope you’ll remember I offered one to you first, though.”

“I’ll make a note of it on my calendar,” she responded, but her pencil remained on her desk. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She wanted to concentrate on business, not Griffin Moore, but seconds later when she made the attempt, he was standing not two feet away. Startled that she might have conjured him up, she bolted to her feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to pay for the fountain,” he responded calmly. “You left your bill on the kitchen counter, remember?”

Darcy rubbed her palms along the side seams on her overalls. “Sure, but there was no need to rush.”

“Wasn’t there?” he asked softly. He took a check from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

Being careful not to brush his fingers, she took it, then sat at her desk. “Wait just a minute, and I’ll write you a receipt.”

“I have all day.”

His voice was dark honey, smooth and sweet, but her hands shook as she wrote out a receipt. For a panicked moment, she felt as though she might suffocate with him crowding her office, but she shook it off and signed her name.

“Tell me something,” she asked without daring to look up at him. “What prompted you to buy this building in the first place?”

After a brief hesitation, Griffin slid his hands in his pockets and began to pace the cramped aisle beside her desk. “You want the truth?”

“That was our deal, remember?”

“All right. At the time, a press release claimed I was here for a short break in my concert schedule, but I was completely burnt out. I couldn’t face another ten to twenty years of constant practice and performance where the city and orchestra would change, but audiences would expect me to remain exactly the same. I couldn’t stand the thought of being frozen in my prime like some succulent strawberry.

“I happened upon this building, saw the for-sale sign and bought it for a studio that same morning. It didn’t matter to me that it might take a couple of years to fulfill all my contracts. From the moment I bought this beautiful building, it became a lucky charm, a solid reminder that I could escape the frantic demands of fame and just write music. I didn’t even care if I was a colossal failure as a composer. I just wanted to give it a shot.”

He turned to face her. “I’m sorry it’s not a more entertaining story.”

Darcy handed him the receipt. “So our building is merely the embodiment of a dream you’ve already begun to realize? You’ve proven you can write incredibly beautiful music from your home, but you could do it anywhere, in your Zen garden, or down on the beach. The music is in you, Griffin. Don’t you trust your own talent? Your genius?”

Griffin responded with a sly smile. “It’s really too soon to categorize me as a genius.”

“Not from the review I read it isn’t.”

“That was just one man’s opinion.”

She rose to confront him. “One extremely knowledgeable and respected man,” she reminded him. “What did the critics say in Chicago?”

Griffin glanced away as though the subject tired him. “They were equally enthusiastic, but that doesn’t make them infallible.”

“Now you’re being a prick!”

Griffin laughed off the insult and reached out to draw her close. “It isn’t like you to mince words.”

Darcy batted away his arms. “Back off.”

Griffin raised his hands and stepped aside. “Yes, ma’am. Now, is my account paid in full?”

For one terrible instant, Darcy couldn’t recall what account he meant. She’d done her best to score a point for her side, and if all he could think of was his bill, then she’d failed miserably. “Yes, it is.”

“Good. Please feel free to list my address on your résumé.”

Darcy watched him turn and walk away. As always he moved with more than a little swagger, but she twisted in a slow turn and sank into her chair. The man had no good reason for keeping their building other than he just damn well felt like it. Even if he were a genius, he was too lost in himself to consider her feelings. She knew she should consider herself lucky she’d seen through him this soon.

But she sure didn’t feel lucky. She just ached clear through.

Griffin managed to hold on to his temper until he reached his Land Rover, but after climbing in he slammed the door shut and let fly with a string of curses in an impressive variety of languages. A week ago, he’d spent a fantastic night with a warm and loving woman, but why hadn’t that delightful creature welcomed him home? Maybe if he’d had presents delivered to her every day while he’d been away, she might have been happier to see him. But he hadn’t thought he would have to buy her love.

Wouldn’t it be inappropriate to send flowers to a landscape architect? he grumbled to himself. She made her own intoxicating perfume, so that was out. He’d already given her a diamond necklace, and he suddenly recalled that she’d been wearing it last night and again this morning. Maybe she’d never taken it off.

Still, something was definitely wrong. She wanted the blasted building. She’d made no secret of that, but if he extended her lease, what would she want next? He’d never understood how women think, and perhaps they simply didn’t bother.

Maybe they just followed their feelings and flitted from one lover to the next without giving their actions any more thought than a butterfly gave to a rose. Monarch Bay had been named for the beautiful black and orange butterflies that spent part of each year on California’s coast. It was pure instinct that led the graceful insects, but what compelled Darcy to give him grief?

There were people who would kill for a fraction of the talent he possessed, but no one seemed to care much for him as a man. That was such a depressing thought he drove home and composed the darkest, most painfully difficult piece he could manage. He doubted there was another pianist alive who could play it, or even want to, and that brought a perverse satisfaction all its own.

By midnight, the pervasive fog had become rain. Griffin had always enjoyed the sound of water trickling along the roof and splashing into the pebbled pools at the bottom of the gutters, but the next morning he wandered through his near-empty house and longed for the sun.

His telephone rang, but he ignored it. He’d sent Interpol a description of the woman who had approached him in Chicago, but hadn’t monitored his computer for a reply. He took an umbrella and went out to check for erosion along the cliff at the edge of the Zen garden, but it was solid rock and wouldn’t wear away in a thousand storms.

He drove into Monarch Bay to work out at the gym and overheard an off-duty fireman mention sand bags, but it meant nothing to him. It wasn’t until he started back up the hill that he noticed the streets were filling with water. Thinking it would all just run into the sea, he went on home and added to the darkly threatening piece that flowed to the keyboard straight from his splintered heart.

Jeremy Linden pulled his hat low and went out for a walk through town, but, unwilling to risk a chilly reception at Defy the World Tomatoes, he walked right on by without stopping in to say hello. He went instead to the Scarlet Letter to sip coffee and browse the latest magazines.

Nothing appealed to him, though, not even Karen, the tall, slender clerk. Whenever he came into the bookstore, she usually caressed his arm in passing, or let her fingertips linger across his palm while she counted out his change. She was attractive, and quite pleasant too, but he couldn’t help but recoil from her touch. She seemed not to notice, however, which he supposed was a good thing for them both.

But that morning Karen didn’t even meet his gaze, let alone flirt with him. It was disconcerting at first, then he wondered if she’d heard that he’d found Twink on his boat. The weekend had passed with no mention of the incident from anyone, and he’d been relieved to think it had already been forgotten. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Concerned people might actually believe he harbored a yen for little girls, he left the Scarlet Letter and swung by the post office to pick up his mail. It was the usual assortment of bills, flyers for things he didn’t need and appeals from several worthy causes which had included still more address labels. He shoved the bills into his hip pocket and tossed the rest into the trash bin on his way out.