Memory's Embrace (19 page)

Tess was in the suite’s kitchen, brewing tea for her mother, when Rod joined her. How smug he was, smiling that way. Leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest.

“Wear something pretty,” he said.

Tess colored with annoyance, but she held her tongue until she could speak in civil tones. Which was almost a full minute. She looked down at her skirt and shirtwaist.

“What’s the matter with—” she began.

“You look like a schoolmarm,” Rod broke in.

Tess had privately fancied that she looked like a businesswoman. “What would you have me look like, Rod? A concubine?”

“That would be nice. However, it’s too much to ask, even of you. We’re leaving in ten minutes, sweetness, so fuss over your mother and change your clothes.”

“You know something, Rod? You are a real bastard.”

“Me?” he laid one hand to his breast, as if mortified, and made a face to match the gesture.

Tess fumed, but there was nothing she could do to retaliate, not at that point, anyway.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” he scolded. “You’ve been made legitimate, so to speak. It isn’t your fault it took almost twenty years.”

“Get out of here.”

Rod assessed the steaming teapot in her hand, as well as the expression in her eyes, and subsided to the parlor to wait.

Olivia was alone in her room when Tess reached her, cosseted under a blue silk comforter, satin pillows plumped at her back. She seemed much revived, though her hands trembled just a bit as she took the cup of tea her daughter poured for her.

“Asa spoils me so,” she said.

Tess bit back a reminder of the difficult years just past. “Yes,” she managed to agree. And then she sat down on the edge of the wide bed and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m very grateful to him for buying the shop.”

“I didn’t hear you thank him,” pouted Olivia. And for all the gray in her once-lush hair, for all the lines of pain and old despair around her eyes, she looked like an indignant little girl.

Tess was quick to mollify her. “I will, Mother. I promise I will, as soon as I leave this room.”

Olivia sniffed. “I don’t like that shop. It’s dirty and dark and any kind of ruffian could wander in off the street and attack you.”

Tess suppressed a sigh. Olivia hadn’t been a mother in five years, hadn’t been capable of it, of course. Apparently, she had decided to make up for lost time by being difficult now. She was really more of a child than a woman, though Tess had never before thought of her in quite that light. “Mama, it’s in the best part of town—only a five-minute walk from this hotel!”

“I don’t care. I want you to forget the whole silly idea and come back to St. Louis with your father and me.”

Tess stiffened. “I absolutely will not. I will not be a child again, Mama. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“It’s that dratted peddler, isn’t it? I know you weren’t in your bed last night, Tess. I went in to bid you
good night and you weren’t there. I haven’t said anything to Asa, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“I wasn’t with Keith, Mother!” Tess whispered desperately. Oh, Lord, she could imagine what Asa would do if this theory were presented to him now! He might take back the shop. He might even insist that Tess return to St. Louis with him and Olivia. Under the law he could do either of those things, or both!

“Then where were you?”

“I went into his suite—his family keeps the one just across the hallway.” Tess lowered her head and swallowed. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I wanted to see Keith just once more. I wanted to say goodbye. Only he wasn’t there. I sat down on a sofa to wait for him and—and the next thing I knew, it was morning.”

“I see,” said Olivia, who clearly did not. “He is gone? Out of your life?”

Tess’s heart squeezed painfully down to the size of a walnut and then expanded again. “Yes,” she said miserably. “He’s gone.”

“I still think you should come home with us. We’re going to Europe next spring, and you could go, too. You could meet someone—”

“Mother, you could force me to go. I know you could, by persuading Asa that it would be best. But I beg you not to.”

“Tess, I love you. I only want—”

Tess took the teacup from Olivia, set it aside, and grasped her mother’s hands in her own. “I know you love me, Mama.” She said softly, earnestly. “I love you, too.”

Olivia started slightly and looked down at Tess’s
hands. A frown narrowed her eyes as she inspected fingers that were still reddened from working in Derora’s roominghouse.

“She used you like a servant,” whispered the older woman.

Tess averted her eyes. Olivia touched her cheek and forced her to look at her again.

“You were a maid in my sister’s house,” she said, her dark eyes snapping with a new vigor that was heartening to see.

“S-She needed someone to help after her husband left her, Mama. And you were sick. There were expenses.”

“Oh, Tess.”

“Mama, don’t. Don’t feel badly, please. You would have done the same thing for me, wouldn’t you, if I’d been sick?”

“I’m not sure I would have had either the strength or the wherewithal. You’re even finer than I thought, Tess, even finer than I thought. It’s clear that you can take care of yourself, even in a rough-and-tumble place like this.”

“I can, Mama. I swear I can. And I’ll write to you every single week. I’ll send you photographs and tell you all about the people who come in to have their pictures made—”

“Oh, my darling,” Olivia almost wept, “it is so hard, having children. They grow up and they want to leave you.”

“You have Asa.” Tenderly, Tess kissed her mother’s cool, silken forehead. “You’ll be happy. And you mustn’t let those awful women torment you, either.”

Olivia laughed now, though it was a sniffly, crying
sort of sound. “What ’awful women’ do you mean, Tess? The very proper friends of Violetta Thatcher and her daughter, Millicent?”

“Yes,” whispered Tess, her own eyes clouded with tears. “You’re fragile, delicate. They could—”

“They can do nothing, besides gossip and indulge in the occasional snub. Do you think I care what those fusty crows think of me, Tess?”

“But, your collapse—”

“I collapsed, as you so politely put it, because I thought I’d lost Asa. Now, he’s mine again, I am his wife. Everything else, my dear, is a trifle. Go now. Your brother is anxious to keep that engagement.”

My brother, thought Tess, with anything but familial charity. “Yes. You’ll rest, won’t you?”

“I promise that I will.”

“And you won’t say anything to Asa, about my going to St. Louis?”

“No.” The word was said firmly, if reluctantly, and Tess took her leave.

The Goldens lived in an impressive house, Tess had to say that for them. It had belonged to a sea captain at one time, Cynthia proclaimed proudly, as she led Tess and Rod out of the entry hall and into a sumptuously furnished room overlooking the ocean. From the windows, Tess could see—even hear—the waves crashing on the rocky shore.

For some reason, the experience made her uneasy.

Tea was served and Cedrick made an entrance, wearing sleek black trousers and a rather gaudy smoking jacket of burgundy velvet. Tess had mentally compared him to an angel the night before; now,
remembering Keith’s brother, Jeff, she lowered Cedrick to the rank of cherub.

They all chatted for a while, Tess trying not to glance at the small glass clock on the mantel too often, and then Cynthia playfully grasped Rod’s hand and dragged him off to some other part of the house, giggling all the way.

Tess was furious, but there was nothing she could do without making an absolute fool of herself. She wasn’t going to thank Rod for leaving her alone with Cedrick Golden, that was for sure.

“I was hoping for a few moments alone with you,” crooned Cedrick.

I’ll bet you were, you—you actor, thought Tess vehemently, but she sat up a little straighter in her chair, smiled over the silver-trimmed teacup in her hands, and tried to assume the aspect of a lady. “Why?” she asked, softly.

“I’ve written a play,” Cedrick confided importantly.

Every actor has written a play, reflected Tess. “Oh? How interesting.”

“The lead is Cynthia’s, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

“But there is a part for you. A good part.”

“I am a photographer, Mr. Golden. Not an actress.”

It was as though she hadn’t spoken. Cedrick was beaming dreamily into space. Tess suspected he spent a lot of time there, like any good cherub. “And naturally there would be a part for your brother.”

Ah. So Cedrick was not quite so vacuous as he seemed. “And if I read for the female role, Rod will be in the play, too,” she guessed.

“You are not only beautiful, but perceptive.”

“I am also completely uninterested. Mr. Golden, I have no talent, no desire—”

“I sense that you have more than your share of desire,” interrupted Cedrick.

Tess blushed and lowered her eyes.

Cedrick bent forward in his Morris chair and patted her hand. “Now, now, my dear, I’m not going to pressure you. Not at all. All I ask is that you read my play. As a favor.”

Tess swallowed. “All right. I’ll be happy to read your play—”

“Good, good! That’s all I ask of you. Let us just have our tea and chat like the good friends we are.”

Tess felt a shivering uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was the sound of waves beating on the nearby shore, perhaps it was this man. She didn’t know and hadn’t the wit, at the moment, to decide. “Where do you suppose Rod is?” she asked, after her teacup had been drained.

“At the portals of heaven, I would imagine,” said Cedrick.

The implication was not lost on Tess. Crimson climbed up from beneath the bodice of her sprigged cambric dress and pounded in her cheekbones.

Cedrick laughed throatily at her discomfort. “My dear, my dear—don’t look so scandalized. You must know how very—er—affectionate theater people are with each other.”

Tess knew. She had been raised in a household where actors and actresses congregated on a regular basis, calling each other “darling” and exchanging embraces
the way most people exchanged handshakes. “Not being an actress myself …” she began, somewhat lamely.

Cedrick laughed again. But then he took mercy on Tess and began telling her how he and Cynthia had been born of theater people, how they had tired of the road, and, having had some considerable success, decided to buy a theater of their own. They’d had good fortune with their productions and, just recently, given up their rented rooms and bought their current residence.

When Rod reappeared, fully an hour later, he did indeed look as though he’d spent the time in heaven. Tess wanted to slap the sappy expression right off his face.

“We’d best go home now,” she boldly suggested, setting aside what must have been her ninth cup of tea and rising out of her chair.

“Ummm-hmmm,” sighed Rod, smiling foolishly down into the glowing and upturned face of Cynthia Golden.

Tess was just wondering whether she would have to peel the woman out from under Rod’s armpit when Cedrick graciously interceded.

“Heel,” he said, looking pointedly at his sister.

Somewhat petulantly, she subsided, that accomplished lower lip jutting out again, just as it had the night before, backstage at the theater.

In the carriage—Rod must have been given money by his doting father, for the driver had waited all this time, and cheerfully—Tess fixed her brother with an icy glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whined. “You didn’t have such a bad time, did you? Cedrick didn’t chase you around the parlor.”

“Not physically,” said Tess, looking down at the manuscript in her lap. It was a play, probably long and insufferably dull, and she had promised to read it. As if she didn’t have enough to do, what with her shop in the state it was.

“I had a good time,” insisted Rod.

“That was quite obvious,” replied Tess.

“Don’t play the prude, Tess,” snapped her brother.

“You’re no angel yourself.”

There was no denying that. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ve got to make plans for my shop—”

“That shop is a joke and you know it. The peddler will come back, grunt a couple of times, whack you over the head with his club, and drag you off to the nearest cave.”

“I hate you, Rod Thatcher.”

Rod smiled fondly. “I’m crushed. Where were you last night, anyway?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is. I’m your brother. When Father and Olivia railroad off into a blissful glow, I’ll be charged with looking after you.”

“I don’t need looking after.”

Rod ignored her words and sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I can see it now. I’ll get nothing done for dragging you out of caves.”

“Or dragging Cynthia into them.”

Rod grinned, and this time his sigh was entirely different. The carriage came to a stop in front of the
Grand Hotel, and brother and sister gave every appearance of total devotion as they alighted.

“I despise you,” beamed Tess, letting Rod take her hand and help her down.

Rod bent to kiss that very hand. “If I thought I could get away with it,” he crooned, “I would wring your little ivory neck. Darling.”

The peddler standing a little distance away took in only the last word of the conversation. The scene said enough, all by its self.

The actor. Damn it all to hell, he’d been brooding over her. He’d been drawn back to her when he should be anywhere but where he was. And she was letting that pompous actor fawn all over her!

Keith Corbin felt very sorry for himself.

The shock in Tess’s face when she saw him comforted him just a little. What was that light in her eyes?

“Keith!” she cried, in seeming delight, and it was almost as though she was glad—even overjoyed—to see him.

Keith could not look at her. He turned his gaze to the actor, who seemed a little pale. “We meet again,” he said, in a low voice.

“Unfortunately,” replied Waltam.

Keith prided himself on his reason, his ability to overlook the flaws in others. He’d been trained to be calm, after all. Rational. Forgiving.

He clasped Roderick Waltam by his tweed lapels and flung him unceremoniously against the wall of the Grand Hotel. And this with Tess and half of Portland looking on.