Love Me Tonight (2 page)

Having made certain that she got to the conference room in time to check out the seating arrangements and have them changed if they didn't follow protocol, she sat in the place assigned to her and took out her notes and tape recorder. She wondered how many of those present truly cared about the suffering of children in Sudan, which was the subject of the conference.

The discussions got off to a slow start, and shortly after the coffee break, she felt a hand on her thigh. Shocked, she turned around to look at the man.

“Your husband is a fool to let you out of his sight,” he said with a practiced smile, looking certain that he'd complimented her.

She stared at him. “How do you think these delegates will react when I slap your face?”

“Surely, you don't mean that,” he said, his smile still in place. “Your country and mine are on good terms.”

Her expression didn't waver. “Remove your hand. One…two…”

He removed his hand. “I don't know how the American men call themselves men.”

Heather ignored the taunt, for she was accustomed to the attitudes of men from certain developing countries. At five minutes past twelve, she got her chance to address the group, and at the end of her prepared statement, she added her views on the way in which some delegates wasted opportunities to make a difference in the lives of disadvantaged children.

Later, after congratulations on her talk, Mr. Taliah, one of the delegates, asked, “Would you join my wife and me for dinner in our suite this evening? My wife doesn't go out because she isn't in purdah. She's a modern woman and she hates the snide remarks that she gets.” Heather agreed; she knew Mr. Taliah and knew he was married.

However, the minute Heather walked into the room that night, she knew the man had lied. It wasn't a suite, but a room like her own. She realized the delegate intended a seduction. Without a word, she whirled around and walked out.

Back in her room, she had to admit that the calla lilies lifted her spirits, reminding her Judson Philips admired her as a person.

I must remember to send him a note of thanks,
she thought to herself.
He went to a lot of trouble and great expense to send me these flowers. They're still so beautiful.
She threw her briefcase on the bed and heaved a long and heavy sigh. She lived a life that most people would not consider normal. At times, neither did she. In her mind she saw Judson Philips's handsome face, remembered his gracious manner and wondered if he could fill the awful void in her life. But after what she'd seen of her parents' bitter and loveless marriage, she doubted the wisdom of letting herself care for any man.

 

“Would you like me to request an apology from Mr. Taliah?” the chief of protocol asked her the next
morning when she related the incident from the previous night as she was required to do.

“Of course not,” she said. “It goes with the job.”

She'd made light of it, but she would be glad to set foot in Baltimore that Tuesday afternoon. She liked Egypt, especially the Egyptians—who welcomed her as a sister—but she had little use for pompous diplomats who went to these conferences merely to exploit their status.

Her mission finished, she took one last whiff of the calla lilies in her room and—a smile on her face—made her way to the airport, home and dreams of Judson Philips.

 

She walked into her office Wednesday morning, locked her briefcase in her desk drawer and went to Scott's office. “Hi,” he said when she walked in after one knock. “How'd it go?”

“Same old, same old. Great ideas, an excellent report that will be widely circulated and nothing substantial will change,” she complained.

“Good grief, Heather. You're becoming so cynical.”

“Not really. But I see the same guys at every one of these meetings, and it seems they get less courteous every time. Now,
you!
How did Judson Philips know I was at the Hilton in Cairo?”

“I know both of you, and I wouldn't introduce either of you to just anybody. What happened? Didn't you like him? He needs some cheering up, and so do you.”

“He sent me two dozen of the most beautiful calla
lilies I ever saw. How would he know that calla lilies are my favorite flower?
You
don't even know that.”

Scott leaned back in his swivel desk chair and rocked. “I said, didn't you like him?”

“Don't ask stupid questions. Why wouldn't I?”

“That is not the answer to my question,” he continued.

“I liked him, Scott,” Heather admitted. “But don't try to start anything between us. My life isn't an easy one. My dad isn't getting any better, and I want to spend all the free time I can muster with him. And you know I'm being considered for an ambassador post. I have to focus on that as much as I can.”

“The two of you have so much in common, Heather. Why don't you give it a chance? You owe it to yourself.”

“I'm sorry. It's the wrong time, Scott. He's…well, he's nice. I'll let it go at that. How can I get in touch with him? I want to thank him for those flowers.”

He wrote a number on a notepad and handed it to her. “You can phone him.”

“Thanks, but I want to write him a note.”

“Yeah. You want to be formal. After the trouble he went to, he deserves better.” Scott wrote the address of Judson's law firm and handed it to Heather. “Too bad. He liked you a lot.”

 

Judson looked at the letter and wondered at the precise, forward-slanting handwriting. It had no return address. The sender had marked it personal, and he expected it was probably one more invitation to another
stuffy affair. He opened it and sat up when he saw the handwritten note.

“That's something,” he said. He folded the note and put it in his pocket. She was an intriguing woman. Several different scenarios flitted through his mind. Did he really want a serious involvement with a roving ambassador? Maybe something casual was what he needed. He leaned back in the chair and made a pyramid of his fingers.

He phoned Scott. “Want to meet for lunch? I have to check on a few things not far from your office.”

“Sure you wouldn't rather be lunching with Heather?”

“If that were the case, friend, I would have called her.”

“Meet you at The Crab Shack.”

They reached The Crab Shack at almost the same
time, and sat at their favorite table. “Your usual, gentlemen?” the waiter asked.

“Right,” they said in unison.

“We have a president who's pushing education,” Judson said to Scott. “I'm planning to start a boys' study group. And instead of sports, the focus will be academics. Why don't you start a girls' group, and we can have competitions that will keep them focused and interested?”

“Me start a girls' group? Why don't you rope Heather into it?”

“I don't want to involve her in this. You get a boys' group, then. It won't work unless they have competition.”

“Okay. You do South Baltimore, and I'll form one in the Reisterstown area,” Scott decided. “Have you made any further progress on your mother's estate?”

Judson shook his head. “I've had too many distractions. I'm going to look into it again tonight, see what I can find. You'd think my parents would have told me or at least left me some explanation. Suppose I need a bone-marrow transplant. Where would I turn?”

“You won't, and don't worry. You'll find what you're looking for. They didn't destroy papers that they could some day need.”

“I sure hope you're right.”

 

“This isn't good,” Heather said to herself when she awakened that morning.
It isn't cold, so why do I feel chilly?
She got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Maybe if she drank some coffee, she could pull herself
together. She managed to make the coffee, but took a cupful back to her bedroom, put the cup on her nightstand and crawled back into bed. She didn't get sick. Never. So what was wrong with her?

She couldn't afford to get sick. She had to take care of her father and be ready for a permanent diplomatic post. If she wasn't up to it, someone else might get the assignment.

She fell asleep lying across the bed and awakened at a quarter of ten with a full-blown cold. After admitting to herself that she really was sick she phoned Scott. “Hi, this is Heather. I'm home, and I'm feeling rotten.”

“You've got a cold. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Looks like it. Could you please ask my secretary to print out that report I was working on and leave it with my doorman when you leave work this afternoon?”

“Sure. But why would you try to work? You're sick.”

“I know, but it's due the day after tomorrow, and this is not a good time to start coming up short.”

“All right. I'll deliver it. Do you have any food—juice, soup or something—for your cold in the house?”

“Scott, you're such a darling. Why didn't you and I fall in love? I need some milk, grapefruit juice and eggs. I have coffee and tea.”

“You got it. You and I would never fall in love because both of us need the same thing—someone who's laid-back. Two type-A personalities would kill each other. Now, take Judson—”

“All right. I got the message,” she said sleepily.

“Go to sleep. See you later.” He hung up, and she
managed to do the same. She knew she should eat, but she didn't have the strength to cook.

The intercom buzzed, awakening her. “Hello.”

“Ms. Tatum. A man is here with some things for you. Shall I send him up?'

“Thanks,” she said and dosed off again.

 

“Philips speaking.”

“This is Curtis Heywood.”

“Yes. I've been expecting your call.”

“I believe I have a good lawsuit against a medical diagnostic group, and I'd like you to take the case.”

Judson listened while Curtis described the complaint. “Have you omitted anything that you might have done that could weaken your case? I need to know that up front.”

“I'm certain that I'm not at fault in any way.”

It sounded like a good case, but he wouldn't be certain until he dug into it himself. “Can you be here tomorrow morning at nine and bring your papers and any evidence?”

“I'll be there. Thanks for your time.”

“You're welcome. See you tomorrow.”

Judson hung up, saw the caller ID on his private line and lifted the receiver, smiling at the sound of his friend's voice. “What's up, Scott?”

“I need you to do me a favor—and hear me out before you get your back up. I promised Heather that I'd bring a report and some groceries to her today after work because she's sick at home. The thing is I can't, because I have to stay in D.C. and deal with an issue that just
came in. Working in D.C. and living in Baltimore has advantages, but right now, friend, it's a disadvantage. As a favor would you please take the report and the care package to her on your way home? You can leave it with her doorman, if you don't want to see her.”

“What's wrong with her?”

“Maybe a cold. She sounded really sick.”

Judson wondered if it was one of Scott's tricks to try to get him to see Heather. “If she's sick, and you can't go, of course I'll do it. But if I find out that you're up to your old shenanigans—”

“Judson, if you'd rather not, I'll see if I can get somebody else to do it.”

“I'll be at your office for that report around four o'clock. Did she say what she needs?”

“She said bread, milk, grapefruit juice and maybe some eggs. I guess she hasn't had time to do any shopping since she got back.”

“Maybe. See you at four.” There was something special about Heather Tatum, and he wanted to know what it was.

Later, he stopped by Scott's office at the State Department in D.C., collected the report and headed up I-95. Once in Baltimore, he went to a supermarket, where he bought bread, milk, eggs, grapefruit juice and butter. On an whim, he parked at a specialty restaurant on Calvert Street and bought a large container of chicken soup. If she's got a cold, maybe I ought to get something for that, he thought to himself. He stopped at a drugstore and bought some over-the-counter cold medicine.

 

“I have some things to deliver to Ms. Tatum,” Judson announced to the doorman, careful not to identify himself. The doorman rang Heather's apartment.

“There's a man here to deliver some things to you. Shall I send him up?” He looked at Judson. “She said you can go up. Apartment 34–F.”

Relief spread over his face when she hadn't asked who it was. He got off the elevator at the thirty-fourth floor, turned in the direction of apartment F, rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened, and she stared up at him, blinking so that she could be certain to trust her eyes. “Judson? What—”

From her appearance, she'd just crawled out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe and made it to the door.

“Hi. Scott couldn't make it, so I brought your report and some groceries,” Judson said, in a chirpy voice.

She stood facing him and staring at him. He grinned, hoping to put her off balance, and it must have worked since she smiled. “Why don't I put this stuff in the refrigerator for you?” he said, suddenly feeling less vulnerable. “And maybe you ought to go back to bed.”

“If I'm taking orders, I must be sick for sure,” she mumbled. Judson overheard her but decided to ignore the retort. “To your left,” she said, and went back to bed.