Flirting with Felicity (7 page)

Any humor in Blake’s face vanished. “I’m not opposed to
preserving history, Felicity.”

She was about to say more when her cell phone chimed from
where it was tucked into her coat pocket. “I have to take this,” she said,
after looking at the screen and recognizing her father’s assisted living
facility’s number. “Hello,” she greeted as they continued to climb.

“Felicity, this is Marguerite.” It was the nurse who usually
worked with her father, but her voice sounded odd.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Your father wouldn’t eat his dinner last night, and he won’t
eat his breakfast this morning. You asked us to call you when he won’t eat what
the kitchen here serves. He’s too thin, and it’s a constant worry. We all know
he’ll eat anything you bring him.”

Felicity stopped climbing. She looked at Blake, then silently
sighed. Her father had to come first. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as
possible.” Felicity hung up and turned to Blake. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“One of your employees?” he asked with a frown.

She shook her head. “It’s my father. He needs me.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No.” She ran her hand through her hair. Her father not
eating two meals was no emergency, but it usually indicated something else was
going on with him. “I don’t know.” Felicity looked up and down the stairway,
trying to determine which direction would be faster to get to the street and a
taxi. “It’s not urgent, but the sooner I get there, the sooner we can get back
to our day.”

Strong fingers wrapped around hers as Blake pulled her
forward, up the staircase. “This way will be faster.” He said nothing more as
he reached for his own cell phone. Felicity’s heartbeat thudded in her ears.
She heard only terse words from Blake’s side of the conversation. He hung up
quickly and gave her an encouraging look.

They reached the top of the stairway in no time, and Blake
led her through the early-morning crowd with an expertise that told Felicity
he’d been to the market before. They reached the front of the market near
Rachel, the famous bronze pig, just as a large black car pulled up. “In here,”
Blake said, reaching for the car door and holding it open for Felicity to
enter.

She climbed into the backseat. Blake slid in beside her. “Where
to?”

As much as she wanted to get to her father right away, she
was uncertain about revealing that part of her life to the man beside her. He
was still an unknown. “Take me to the Bancroft Hotel,” she said. “I can make my
way to my father from there.”

Blake informed his driver, then sat back.

“How did you do this?” Felicity asked when her breathing
settled to a more normal rate.

“My driver is always on call.”

“And he just happened to be in the area?”

Blake looked straight ahead, his expression serious. “Peter
knows where I am at all times.”

Felicity sank back against the plush leather interior,
grateful for the transportation, but also a little unsettled by this obvious
wealth. “I don’t even own a car, and you have a driver,” she breathed.

She sat stiffly in her seat as they quickly made their way up
the hills, toward the hotel. She would gather something from the kitchen to
tempt her dad with, then be on her way to Saint Francis House.

When the driver pulled up into the drive of the Bancroft
Hotel, Felicity opened the door before the driver could assist her. “Thank you,”
she said to Peter. To Blake she said, “I appreciate your help.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” he asked, his hand
poised on the door handle, ready to follow her.

“I’ve got things covered from here. Perhaps I can call you
when I’m done?” she asked.

Blake reached for his wallet then withdrew a business card.
He held it out to her. “The bottom number is my cell, but if you call any of
the numbers, someone will know how to get hold of me.”

She accepted the card, then shut the door, and tucking the card
into her pocket, she hurried inside. She knew exactly what to bring her father
to get him to eat.

Blake’s gaze stayed on Felicity a moment before she
stepped away from the car and turned to go in to the hotel’s lobby. She looked
so forlorn. His hand clenched on the leather seat beside him as he fought the
urge to go after her. Her features had been heavy with worry as she stood
there, her platinum blonde hair fluttering in the soft August breeze.

“You have to admire her resilience,” Peter said from the
front seat. “She’s been through a lot in the last couple of days.”

He had to agree, given the emotional highs and lows she must
have experienced since his uncle had died. And still she’d displayed a
determination that surprised even him. In spite of his offer to buy the hotel
for more money than she would get if they went to court, she persevered. And in
spite of his annoyance over that fact, he found himself reluctantly admiring
her courage.

Good God, if he continued in this vein, in another minute
he’d be feeling sorry for her having to deal with
him
.

“Peter, take me to Mount Pleasant Cemetery. I need to see my
uncle’s grave.” It was one of the few places open at the early morning hour and
somewhere he’d intended to go since he’d flown in yesterday.

“You think he left you any answers there?” Peter asked.

Blake leaned back against the seat as the car set in motion. “No.
I’ll probably never know why he did what he did.”

Peter’s eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. “Why he left
the hotel to Felicity? Or why he sent you away all those years ago?”

“Either.”

“Then let’s hope for your peace of mind that you find those
answers somewhere,” Peter said as he headed toward the North Queen Anne area of
town.

“I prepared myself for the worst years ago. The old man can’t
surprise me much anymore.”

“He surprised you by leaving the hotel to Felicity.”

Blake released a pent-up breath. “That he did.”

“Would you like to go for a run around Greenlake after the
cemetery? Your usual hour?” Peter asked.

“Sounds perfect,” Blake agreed.

Peter knew his habits, knew him so well, having been his
driver, butler, and confidant for the past ten years. It was rare for Blake to
let someone past his guard, but then again Peter was more brother to him than
employee. Blake started at the thought. Was that what Felicity felt toward her
workers? His little chef had called them her family.

His
little chef.

How easily possessiveness crept into his thoughts when they
concerned Felicity. He’d been with her for barely an hour this morning and
already she was winning him over to her side. “Christ,” he muttered through
clenched teeth. “Better make that run an hour and a half. I think I’ll need more
distance to put my mind at ease.”

Peter’s shrewd gaze fixed on Blake’s face. “She’s getting to
you, is she?”

Blake expelled his breath in a long, irritated sigh. “In more
ways than one.”

Felicity stepped off the elevator and made her way
to her father’s room. She looked down at the bundle in her hands. She’d brought
a ramekin filled with still warm and gooey macaroni and cheese. It was her
father’s favorite meal, the one that brought a tiny shimmer of vitality into
his eyes as he took a bite. Perhaps it would work its magic now. She pushed the
door open.

Silence greeted her. Taking a deep breath, she closed the
door and headed toward the silent man in the chair by the window. The room was
lit by the sunlight coming through the window. It would be another warm August
day, but inside her father’s room it would remain the usual seventy degrees. At
her father’s side, she reached out and brushed an errant lock of gray hair away
from his face. “Hi, Dad.”

She sat down in the empty chair beside him and searched his
features. There was nothing there. No response. No recognition. Nothing. So she
did what she always did and launched into a one-sided conversation about her
day so far. As she talked, she unwrapped the food she’d brought, and, using a
fork from the undisturbed tray the kitchen had provided this morning, she
offered it to him. He took the fork and ate.

She waited breathlessly for him to smile at her, though she
knew the latter was wishful thinking. But he eagerly finished every bite of the
macaroni and cheese. At the action, tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto
her cheeks. If she’d ever needed an affirmation that the treatment she’d
scheduled for tomorrow was the right thing to do, she had her answer now. “You’re
still in there, aren’t you, Dad?”

When he’d finished his food, she slipped her arm gently
around him, pressing her head against his. She had no idea how long she held
him, breathing in the scent of his soap, until she was roused at last by a
knock on the door. “Come in—”

The door opened and Marguerite entered the room. “Sorry to
disturb you. I just wanted to check and see if you had any success.”

Felicity pulled away from her father and stood. “Yes, just
like always. He’ll eat my macaroni and cheese.”

“I’m so glad.” The elderly nurse smiled. “Sometimes I think
he just holds out, so you’ll come down here and sit with him again.”

That would mean he’d have to know she was with him in the
first place. Holding on to the hope that he really did notice her presence,
Felicity kissed her father goodbye, then left her father in Marguerite’s care.

When she was back at the Bancroft, Felicity reached for the
business card Blake had given her earlier today. She stared down at the bold
letters and numbers printed on the stark-white card. She pulled her cell phone
from her pocket and dialed.

A ring sounded three times on the other end before an unfamiliar
voice picked up. “How may I help you, Miss Felicity?”

Felicity startled. “Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Peter, Mr. Bancroft’s driver.”

“Yes, of course. Hello, Peter,” Felicity said. “Is Mr.
Bancroft available?”

“He’s detained at the moment.”

A feeling of deflation settled in her stomach. “Oh. Well,
just tell him I called.”

“Is it urgent?” he asked.

“No. Just let him know I need to speak with him when he’s
available. I’ll be in room six twenty-nine at the hotel.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“Okay, Peter, thanks.” She ended the call. She stood and
slipped her phone back into the pocket of her chef’s pants before leaving her
room. A quick glance at her watch told her she had a couple of hours yet before
she needed to get started prepping for lunch at the restaurant. In the
meanwhile, it was time to do the one thing she’d been putting off for a week.
It was time to box up Vern’s things and hand them over to Blake.

Felicity stood outside of Vern’s room, the
electronic key in one hand, a big, empty box in the other. Four other big boxes
waited by the door for her to fill. The hotel room’s door looked like any
other, but behind it there would be memories of Vern, things about his life she
didn’t know, and perhaps didn’t want to know. As owner of the hotel, it was her
responsibility to see that his things were returned to his family.

Grief rippled through her as she stared at the plain white
door. She couldn’t make herself move. She just stood there, seeing Vern as he’d
been just last week, sitting in the dining room chatting with her over
end-of-the-meal decaffeinated coffee with two Splendas, one cream. She knew he
liked sweets even though he was diabetic, hated mushrooms, and begrudgingly
added powdered fiber to his morning coffee. She knew a lot about his dietary
habits and needs, but almost nothing about the man himself.

Behind the door were possible answers about why he kept his
true identity a secret or why he hadn’t shared the fact that his heart was
growing weaker. If she’d been able to get him the medical help he’d needed,
perhaps . . .

She took a deep breath and blew it out. She’d been killing
herself with what-ifs for the past week. It was time to move past that pain.
She tilted her chin up, knowing there was no further point in putting this off,
in pretending she didn’t need to do this, and opened the door. A swath of
sunlight from the window filtered out into the hallway, and she followed the
light inside.

Housekeeping had taken care of cleaning the room, but it was
up to her to see to Vern’s personal possessions. She moved about the living
room, collecting stacks of paper here and there, placing them gently in the
box. Inside one of the drawers in the living room, she found three pictures of
a man, a woman, and a child who looked remarkably like Blake. Were these
pictures of his childhood? Carefully, she added them to the box of things to be
sorted through later and continued gathering Vern’s belongings.

At the desk, she stopped when she saw a framed picture of
herself and Vern that had been taken a month ago when she’d thrown him a party
to celebrate his eighty-third birthday after hours in the Dolce Vita. At
Felicity’s request, all the restaurant and hotel staff had come.

The cardboard box slid from her fingers and hit the floor
with a thud. Tears came to her eyes as she picked up the frame and traced the
cool surface of the glass. Both of them were smiling, and there was no worry in
their eyes in that moment. “Oh, Vern . . .”

“You really did care about him, didn’t you?” Blake’s voice sounded
behind her.

She turned to face him, the picture still in her hands, and
nodded. “I’m sorry. I was going to wait for you to do this . . . but I’ve put
it off too long already. Do you want to help me now?”

“What do we need to do?” he asked, a look of understanding in
his eyes. “Maybe we’ll both find some answers about my uncle . . . and your
friend.”

Despite the fact he felt weighed down and heavy, the
words slipped out easily and without blame. That was new for him when it came
to his uncle and Felicity. Maybe his run this morning had calmed him more than
usual, or maybe he was starting to accept she’d had a place in his uncle’s life
more so than he ever had. The picture Felicity clutched to her chest was proof
of that. His uncle didn’t look manipulative or angry in the moment with her.
The thought both cheered and depressed him as he looked about the room.

Felicity moved toward him, stopping by his side. “Do you want
to work on the bedroom together, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” she
asked, gently touching his arm.

He looked down at her delicate fingers on his arm and the
cold inside him dissipated. “I’d welcome your help.”

They worked silently, side by side, going through Vern’s
clothing and boxing it up. Most everything his uncle had left behind would go
to charity, only a few personal items, such as the papers she’d gathered, his
watch, and the picture of him and Felicity had been put aside.

“There isn’t much here to indicate Vern had a family,”
Felicity commented.

Disappointment shot through Blake, not at her comment but at
the fact they hadn’t found anything to indicate why his uncle had regarded him
with such disdain Blake’s whole life.