Loving Treasures (14 page)

Her concerned expression powered his resolve. “Absolutely not. I’ve looked forward to this day.”

Though he’d exaggerated, at the moment Philip meant every word. He slipped his arm around her waist and guided her across the room to a small cluster of businesspeople he’d known for years.

This time he did it right. “This is my lady, Jemma Dupre,” he said to the group in general, and then introduced Jemma one by one.

Maybe their looks of acceptance were only wishful thinking on his part, but he didn’t believe so. Each seemed gracious. When he introduced Jemma to the owner of the town bookstore, Gracie Dobson extended her hand with a lovely smile.

“Jemma, how nice to meet you. I’ve wondered why this handsome man never had a beautiful woman on his arm. Today I can stop asking.” She leaned over and gave Jemma a hug.

A sweet flush bathed Jemma’s creamy complexion, and her smile seemed as natural as a spring rain.

The rest of the evening passed with laughs and welcomes to the guests, and no one said a word, until Don cornered Philip again when he was alone getting a soft drink.

“You old so-and-so,” Don said, a leering grin on
his face. “Where’d you pick up that young chick?” Don squeezed his upper arm again with an irritating shake. “You enjoying the young stuff?”

Slowly, Philip shifted his eyes from the man’s grip to his face. “I didn’t pick her up, Don. God sent her to me. She’s terrific.”

“I’ll bet she is.”

Tension shot up Philip’s back and he knotted his fist.

Don dropped his hand and closed his gaping mouth. “Listen, buddy, I didn’t mean to offend—”

“And
enjoying
isn’t the word,” Philip said. “I cherish her, and I’d like her to be my wife…only I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Hey, man,” Don said, his face sheet white, “I’m sorry, and I wish you both the best. She’s beautiful, and I was a slob to say anything.”

“You were, Don, but I have to forgive a man who recognizes a beautiful woman when he sees one.” He turned away, not wanting to waste his breath to explain that Jemma was even more lovely on the inside.

Heading back to Jemma, Philip’s pulse surged as he realized what he had said.
I’d like her to be my wife.
Tonight was the first time he’d allowed his heart to speak what he’d felt for so long. His mind whirred with thoughts. He’d propose, but when? What was the right place and time? And Claire. He should talk with Claire. He had many questions and
concerns to sort out. She was Jemma’s closest family, and it seemed only right.

He headed back to Jemma feeling on top of the world.

A
warm sunny breeze turned the September afternoon into an Indian summer evening. Philip entered the boutique from the front, hoping that Claire was ready to close the shop. He wanted to talk in private, uninterrupted by customers.

When he opened the door, the bell’s tinkle brought Claire in from the back room. “Philip, it’s you. Good. I was afraid it was a customer. I’m getting ready to close.”

“Then, I timed it right.” He gave her a hug. “Do you have time to talk?”

“Sure. What’s up?” She looked into his eyes, then clutched the doorjamb. Her face filled with worry. “It’s not Andrew, is it? Did something happen—?”

“No, it’s not Andrew. I haven’t heard from him since my birthday dinner. I just want to talk.”

“Whew, you scared me.” She arched a penciled
brow and grinned. “I hope I haven’t missed a loan payment.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “We’re not talking about you. It’s about me…and Jemma.”

She spun around, her hands clasped near her chest and an eager smile on her lips. “You and Jemma? Well, praise the Lord. Maybe he does listen to this old gal.”

He didn’t comment. Instead, he walked to the front door, turned the lock and flipped over the Closed sign.

Claire gave the shop a once-over, and when he reached her by the side door, she snapped off the light and he followed her up the stairs.

“So what’s this about?” she asked, huffing as she climbed the steps, peeking occasionally over her shoulder as if he were a fish she feared might escape.

“From that grin on your face, you know what it’s about,” Philip said, springing up the steps behind her and feeling younger than he had in years.

At the top, she swung around. “Does Jemma know you’re here?”

He shook his head. “No. But she will soon.”

Her look lifted his spirits. Though he had assumed Claire would be pleased, his old inner fear nagged at him, and once in a while his confidence flagged. Sometimes Philip wondered if God was really guiding his path or if it was his desire.

“Sit,” Claire said as they entered the kitchen. “How about some coffee?”

“Sounds good, but nothing to eat. I’m taking Jemma out to dinner.”

Filling the coffeemaker, Claire fluttered at the counter, her arms and mouth racing like thoroughbreds in a derby.

“This has been my dream, Philip.” She flashed him a smile. “I tried to drop hints to Jemma that you’d make a good husband, but you know Jemma.”

He did, and he nodded, but Claire rattled on.

“She had this need to be independent. I guess I can’t blame her when I think back…”

Philip’s mind drifted to the first day he had laid eyes on Jemma. She had been standing on the ladder, her face turned away, but from behind he had seen her delicate figure and her quaking knees.

He’d climbed up behind Jenna and grabbed her waist, and his heart had turned to jelly when she spun around. He’d tried not to laugh at the determination in her eyes as she pushed him away with one hand while clinging to the rung with the other.

“What’s so funny?” Claire asked.

Philip jumped at her question. “Jemma. Your description tickled me.”

“Oh,” she said, “I thought you weren’t listening.”

He knew he’d better tune in before she gave him a quiz.

Claire rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands together as if in prayer. “So now…tell me about you and Jemma.”

He realized she’d slid a cup of black coffee in front of him and another with milk for herself. Philip picked up the mug and took a sip.

“First, I came for your blessing, Claire, but…to be honest it’s more than that.” He stared at the cup, afraid to see the look in her eyes. “No matter how you cut it, I’m old enough to be Jemma’s father.”

“Philip, don’t be ridiculous. There’s age, and then there’s age. You’re young at heart. You’re a handsome, virile, generous man, whether you think it or not. Did you ever take look at yourself? If not, you should. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Her comment had a ring of familiarity. Ian had said something similar. But he needed more than a compliment. When he focused on Claire’s face, he recognized sincerity. She wasn’t just trying to make him feel better. He lowered his head.

“I suppose I ought to take a gander.”

When he lifted his eyes, her face had darkened, and she gripped his forearm. “Philip…you’re not telling me…that you have, uh, problems, are you? I mean are you worried that you…can’t—”

Philip loosed a loud, shocked guffaw. “Oh, Claire, no.” Heat flew to his face. Why would she think such a thing?

“I’m sorry, but you’ve moped about old age since I came to Loving. I thought maybe that’s what was worrying you.” She swept her hands toward the ceiling. “How was I to know?”

Nervous laughter punctuated his sentence. “When
you come right down to it, Claire, you shouldn’t know…but I’m telling you that all of me functions well. I’m only fifty.”

“Ah-ha,” she exclaimed, “I’m glad you finally realize that.”

Philip gaped at her, letting her words sink in. “You got me, Claire. I had no idea where you were leading me.”

“I’m leading you home, Philip. Home to a young woman’s arms.”

Her face glowed like an angel’s. She might be an exotic angel, but she was one just the same. “I’m hoping she’ll accept me. I’d be lost if she—”

Claire’s face filled with understanding. “She’s nearly as dumb as you are, but I think when you ask the question you’ll hear the answer you want.” She lifted her cup and took a lengthy sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup. “I think her fear was your faith. Never your age. And now she knows you’re a Christian.”

Philip nodded. “I hope she does.”

“She does. Lyle Junior was a con-artist…like his father, I’m sorry to say. Jemma and I were both duped, but we stuck with them, hoping for change, hoping for some intangible fluke to make things right. We ladies don’t give up easy.”

Philip prayed Claire was correct. How could he go on if Jemma gave up on him?

“Jemma’s as stubborn as a mule, but she’s also
very faithful,” Claire said. “And you can’t say that about all women.”

“Or men.” His memory drifted back to men he knew who had cheated on their wives. He’d cheated on his wife, but with his work and ambition, not with another woman.

“So what else bothers you? I see it on your face.”

Philip moved the mug around on the table, his mind organizing his thoughts, trying to put his finger on the fears that had come so close to harnessing his feelings for Jemma.

Finally he opened his mouth and revealed his list of fears—being a good husband, showing Jemma the love and attention she deserved, fathering children that he would be able to see grow into adults.

When he finished, Claire didn’t respond. She rose and left the room, leaving Philip to stare after her, concerned and speechless.

In a heartbeat, she came through the doorway with a Bible in her hand. “I never read this much until recently,” she said, “but since it’s fresh in my mind, I’d like to read you something.”

Philip blew out a slow stream of breath and leaned back against the chair, chiding himself for the thought that Claire had turned her back on him.

“This doesn’t answer every question, but it does a pretty good job.” She flipped through the crisp pages until she jammed her finger against one. “Right here in First Corinthians—the most beautiful words I’ve ever read. ‘Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”’

She paused and gave him a long knowing look before she continued. “‘It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. When perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.”’

Philip gasped and dragged in a deep breath.

“Ever hear that before?” Claire asked.

“At weddings, I suppose.”

“Couples should read this every night before going to bed and before going to work in the morning. Love has nothing to do with age or fears. It has to do with actions,” she pressed her palm against her chest, “and what’s in your heart.”

His thoughts drifted over the words.
Patient, kind, protects, trusts.
He’d tried to show all those things to Jemma and more. He pictured their laughter, their love of nature, their tender looks and gentle touches.

“And here’s the crux, Philip. ‘When perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.”’

Claire had nailed it. When Jemma came into his life, God had given him another chance at perfection. Though his humanness had clung to his flaws and faults, he didn’t have to face those anymore. Not with Jemma…and not with God.

He took Claire’s hand. “Thank you. This talk is
worth a million dollars to me. That loan of yours is paid in full.”

Her eyes widened and her head shook like a weather vane in a gale. “No, Philip, I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Yes, Claire, and I won’t hear another word. I’ll tear up your checks if you send them. Trust me.”

She lifted her eyes. “Okay…but then let me add another two cents’ worth…about the children.”

Philip chuckled. “Two cents? I suppose you want change?”

She shooed away his comment. “Your father was eighty when he died. Now, if that’s any sign, you’ll have plenty of time to watch those little ones grow into adulthood.” A deep laugh rumbled from her chest. “In fact, about the time they’re teenagers, you’ll probably wish God hadn’t granted you quite so many years.”

Philip smiled. He’d heard that sentiment many times, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if the Lord gave him the opportunity to experience it himself.

Jemma skidded to a stop, and a high-pitched titter rose behind her. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “What’s so funny, Latrice?”

“Where are you going, girl?”

“I’m plodding today, Latrice. I’ll never get finished. Judy is out, so I have to prep the baskets before I leave.”

The woman slapped her leg. “Come on, now. You don’t think the boss’ll fire you?”

Jemma grinned. “Not fire me, but—”

“That man has eyes for you, girlfriend. Although I’m sure that’s no surprise to you.”

“Not anymore…but it took me a while to catch on.”

She wrapped her arm around Jemma’s shoulder. “I knew it the day he invented that job for you. He had love in his eyes.”

Jemma froze to the spot. Reining in her shock, she monitored her voice. “What job?” She remembered thinking that he’d hired too many housekeepers. She’d told Philip that.

“Come on, girl…the one you’re in now.”

Icy tendrils gripped her heart. “You mean…” Her voice shook and she swallowed her panic. “Specialty Director.”

Latrice nodded, her grin as wide as a rainbow. “We never had a position like that around here until you came along.”

Jemma willed a lighthearted smile to her face, wanting to die.

“I remember when Carrie came gigglin’ to me about that job. She and I had a good laugh. We figured he’d confess…or you’d just hear it through the grapevine.”

“That old grapevine,” Jemma sang out, her heart hammering until she thought her chest would explode. She gripped the cart handle for support.
“Well, I need to get moving. Even if I’m in cahoots with the boss, I don’t want to spend the night here.”

Latrice clasped her shoulder. “No, girl, you have better things to do with your time. You get along.”

She sent Jemma a cheerful wave and hurried around the corner, leaving Jemma clinging to the cart with trembling hands and wondering what to do.

Anger sizzled inside her. She wanted to tear into Philip’s office and toss a morning basket in his face. The grapevine would get a kick out of that! Even the thought tore at her, knifed her with pain. How could Philip have set her up to look like such a fool? Why did he think no one would ever tell her that she’d been another of his charity cases?

She’d gone on his research trips, raced around the hotel like she had a purpose, and all the while the staff was laughing behind her back.

And Philip? Even if that’s how it had started, why hadn’t he told her? She cringed, knowing the answer. If he had admitted it, she would have ripped and snorted like a wild bull. Tears welled in her eyes. But…they would have made up, and maybe laughed about it later.

But not now.

Avoiding Latrice, Jemma headed back to her workroom and called Ian. “I’m not feeling well, Ian. Can you replace me for the rest of the day? I really need to go home.”

Ian sent her on her way, and Jemma slipped out of the building. When she reached the outside, tears
streamed down her face while she hurried to her car, praying no one would see her. She had to get home.

Inside the car, she closed her eyes.
Dear Lord, why? Why did he hurt me so badly? Philip isn’t like Lyle, so why did he deceive me? Please help me.

Her hopes and dreams slipped away like sand beneath her feet—like the beautiful evening when they’d wandering along the shore in her stockinged feet. Washed away.

Philip sat with his face buried in his hands. What had happened and where had she gone? He’d called her apartment, he’d called Claire. He didn’t understand.

Ian had said she came to him midway through the day, saying she was sick and needed to go home. But she wasn’t there. Claire knew nothing. His only option was to go to Jemma’s apartment. But why didn’t she answer the telephone? A horrible fear filled his mind. No. He had to be wrong.

His hand clung to the telephone, his head pounding. Philip rose and, after making an excuse to his secretary, rushed from the building.

His mind flew as fast as he was driving, and when he pulled in front of her apartment, Jemma’s car was there. He tried to calm himself. Maybe she’d only been sleeping when he called.

He hurried to the porch, opened the front door and climbed the stairs. Outside her door, he faltered, trying to calm himself. He was being foolish.

Philip tapped and called her name. He listened. Nothing. She had to be there. Her car was outside. This time he knocked louder and tried the doorknob. It was locked.