Once More With Feeling (16 page)

“Has she left again?” Raven's voice was dull.

“Apparently she left last night. She didn't go very far.” Hearing the hesitation in Julie's voice, Raven felt the usual tired acceptance sharpen into apprehension.

“Julie?” Words dried up, and she waited.

“There was an accident, Raven. You'd better come home.”

Raven closed her eyes. “Is she dead?”

“No, but it's not good, Raven. I hate having to tell you over the phone this way. The housekeeper said Brand wasn't there.”

“No.” Raven opened her eyes and looked vaguely around the room. “No, Brandon isn't here.” She managed to snap herself back. “How bad, Julie? Is she in the hospital?”

Julie hesitated again, then spoke quietly. “She's not going to make it, Raven. I'm sorry. Karter says hours at best.”

“Oh, God.” Raven had lived with the fear all her life, yet it still came as a shock. She looked around the room again a little desperately, trying to orient herself.

“I know there's no good way to tell you this, Raven, but I wish I could find a better one.”

“What?” She brought herself back again with an enormous effort. “No, I'm all right. I'll leave right away.”

“Shall I meet you and Brand at the airport?”

The question drifted through Raven's mind. “No. No, I'll go straight to the hospital. Where is she?”

“St. Catherine's, intensive care.”

“Tell Dr. Karter I'll be there as soon as I can. Julie . . .”

“Yes?”

“Stay with her.”

“Of course I will. I'll be here.”

Raven hung up and sat staring at the silent phone.

Mrs. Pengalley came back into the room carrying a cup of tea. She took one look at Raven's white face and set it aside. Without speaking, she went to the liquor cabinet and took out the brandy. After pouring out two fingers, she pressed the snifter on Raven.

“Here now, miss, you drink this.” The Cornish burr was brisk.

Raven's eyes shifted to her. “What?”

“Drink up, there's a girl.”

She obeyed as Mrs. Pengalley lifted the glass to her lips. Instantly Raven sucked in her breath at the unexpected strength of the liquor. She took another sip, then let out a shaky sigh.

“Thank you.” She lifted her eyes to Mrs. Pengalley again. “That's better.”

“Brandy has its uses,” the housekeeper said righteously.

Raven rose, trying to put her thoughts in order. There were things to be done and no time to do them. “Mrs. Pengalley, I have to go back to America right away. Could you pack some things for me while I call the airport?”

“Aye.” She studied Raven shrewdly. “He's gone off to cool his heels, you know. They all do that. But he'll be back soon enough.”

Realizing Mrs. Pengalley spoke of Brand, Raven dragged a hand through her hair. “I'm not altogether certain of that. If Brandon's not back by the time I have to go to the airport, would you ask Mr. Pengalley to drive me? I know it's an inconvenience, but it's terribly important.”

“If that's what you want.” Mrs. Pengalley sniffed. Young people, she thought, always flying off the handle. “I'll pack your things, then.”

“Thank you.” Raven glanced around the music room, then picked up the phone.

An hour later she hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Everything seemed to have happened at once. She willed Brand to return, but there was no sign of his car in the driveway. Raven struggled over writing a note but could think of nothing to say on paper that could make up for the words she had thrown at him. And how could she say in a few brief lines that her mother was dying and she had to go to her?

Yet there wasn't time to wait until he returned. She knew she couldn't risk it. Frantically she pulled a note pad from her purse. “Brandon,” she wrote quickly, “I had to go. I'm needed at home. Please, forgive me. I love you, Raven.”

Dashing back into the music room, she propped the note against the sheet of staff paper on top of the pile on the piano. Then, hurrying from the room, she grabbed her suitcases and ran outside. Mr. Pengalley was waiting in his serviceable sedan to drive her to the airport.

Chapter 14

F
ive days passed before Raven began thinking clearly again. Karter had been right about there only being a matter of hours. Raven had had to deal not only with grief but also with an unreasonable guilt that she hadn't been in time. The demand of details saved her from giving in to the urge to sink into self-pity and self-rebuke. She wondered once, during those first crushing hours, if that was why people tied so many traditions and complications to death: to keep from falling into total despair.

She was grateful that Karter handled the police himself in a way that ensured the details would be kept out of the papers.

After the first busy days there was nothing left but to accept that the woman she had loved and despised was gone. There was no more she could do. The disease had beaten them, just as surely as if it had been a cancer. Gradually she began to accept her mother's death as the result of a long, debilitating illness. She didn't cry, knowing she had already mourned, knowing it was time to put away the unhappiness. She had never had control of her mother's life; she needed the strength to maintain control of her own.

A dozen times during those days Raven phoned the house in Cornwall. There was never an answer. She could almost hear the hollow, echoing sounds of the ring through the empty rooms. More than once she considered simply getting on a plane and going back, but she always pushed the thought aside. He wouldn't be there waiting for her.

Where could he be?
she wondered again and again.
Where would he have gone? He hasn't forgiven me.
And worse, she thought again and again,
he'll never forgive me.

After hanging up the phone a last time, Raven looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. She was pale. The color that had drained from her face five days ago in Cornwall had never completely returned. There was too much of a helpless look about her. Raven shook her head and grabbed her blusher. Borrowed color, she decided, was better than none at all. She had to start somewhere.

Yes, she thought again, still holding the sable brush against her cheek. I've got to start somewhere. Turning away from the mirror, Raven again picked up the phone.

Thirty minutes later she came downstairs wearing a black silk dress. She had twisted her hair up and was setting a plain, stiff-brimmed black hat over it as she stepped into the hall.

“Raven?” Julie came out of the office. “Are you going out?”

“Yes, if I can find that little envelope bag and my car keys. I think they're inside it.” She was already poking into the hall closet.

“Are you all right?”

Raven drew her head from the closet and met Julie's look. “I'm better,” she answered, knowing Julie wouldn't be satisfied with a clichéd reply. “The lecture you gave me after the funeral, about not blaming myself? I'm trying to put it into practice.”

“It wasn't a lecture,” Julie countered. “It was simply a statement of facts. You did everything you could do to help your mother; you couldn't have done any more.”

Raven sighed before she could stop herself. “I did everything I knew how to do, and I suppose that's the same thing.” She shook off the mood as she shut the closet door. “I
am
better, Julie, and I'm going to be fine.” She smiled, then, glimpsing a movement, looked beyond Julie's shoulder. Wayne stepped out of the office. “Hello, Wayne, I didn't know you were here.”

He moved past Julie. “Well, I can definitely approve of that dress,” he greeted her.

“And so you should,” Raven returned dryly. “You charged me enough for it.”

“Don't be a philistine, darling. Art has no price.” He flicked a finger over the shoulder of the dress. “Where are you off to?”

“Alphonso's. I'm meeting Henderson for lunch.”

Wayne touched Raven's cheek with a fingertip. “A bit heavy on the blush,” he commented.

“I'm tired of looking pale. Don't fuss.” She placed a hand on each of his cheeks, urging him to bend so that she could kiss him. “You've been a rock, Wayne. I haven't told you how much I appreciate your being here the last few days.”

“I needed to escape from the office.”

“I adore you.” She lowered her hands to meet his arms and squeezed briefly. “Now, stop worrying about me.” Raven shot a look past his shoulder to Julie. “You, too. I'm meeting Henderson to talk over plans for a new tour.”

“New tour?” Julie frowned. “Raven, you've been working nonstop for over six months. The album, the tour, the score.” She paused. “After all of this you need a break.”

“After all this the thing I need least is a break,” Raven corrected. “I want to work.”

“Then take a sabbatical,” Julie insisted. “A few months back you were talking about finding a mountain cabin in Colorado, remember?”

“Yes.” Raven smiled and shook her head. “I was going to write and be rustic, wasn't I? Get away from the glitter-glamour and into the woods.” Raven grinned, recalling the conversation. “You said something about not being interested in anything more rustic than a margarita at poolside.”

Julie lifted a thin, arched brow. “I've changed my mind. I'm going shopping for hiking boots.”

Wayne's comment was a dubious “
hmmm.”

Raven smiled. “You're sweet,” she said to Julie as she kissed her cheek. “But it isn't necessary. I need to do something that takes energy, physical energy. I'm going to talk to Henderson about a tour of Australia. My records do very well there.”

“If you'd just talk to Brand . . .” Julie began, but Raven cut her off.

“I've tried to reach him; I can't.” There was something final and flat in the statement. “Obviously he doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not at all sure I blame him.”

“He's in love with you,” Wayne said from behind her. Raven turned and met the look. “A few thousand people saw the sparks flying the night of your concert in New York.”

“Yes, he loves me, and I love him. It doesn't seem to be enough, and I can't quite figure out why. No, please.” She took his hand, pressing it between both of hers. “I have to get my mind off it all for a while. I feel as if I had been having a lovely picnic and got caught in a landslide. The bruises are still a bit sore. I could use some good news,” she added, glancing from one of them to the other, “if the two of you are ever going to decide to tell me.”

Raven watched as Wayne and Julie exchanged glances. She grinned, enjoying what she saw. “I've been noticing a few sparks myself. Isn't this a rather sudden situation?”

“Very,” Wayne agreed, smiling at Julie over Raven's head. “It's only been going on for about six years.”

“Six years!” Raven's brows shot up in amazement.

“I didn't choose to be one of a horde,” Wayne said mildly, lighting one of his elegant cigarettes.

“And I always thought he was in love with you,” Julie stated, letting her gaze drift from Raven to Wayne.

“With
me?
” Raven laughed spontaneously for the first time in days.

“I fail to see the humor in that,” Wayne remarked from behind a nimbus of smoke. “I'm considered by many to be rather attractive.”

“Oh, you are,” she agreed, then giggled and kissed his cheek. “Madly so. But I can't believe anyone could think you were in love with me. You've always dated those rather alarmingly beautiful models with their sculpted faces and long legs.”

“I don't think we need bring all that up at the moment,” Wayne retorted.

“It's all right.” Julie smiled sweetly and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I haven't any problem with Wayne's checkered past.”

“When did all this happen, please?” Amused, Raven cut into their exchange. “I turn my back for a few weeks, and I find my two best friends making calf's eyes at each other.”

“I've never made calf's eyes at anyone,” Wayne remonstrated, horrified. “Smoldering glances, perhaps.” He lifted his rakishly scarred brow.

“When?” Raven repeated.

“I looked up from my deck chair the first morning out on the cruise,” Julie began, “and who do you suppose is sauntering toward me in a perfectly cut Mediterranean white suit?”

“Really?” Raven eyed Wayne dubiously. “I'm not certain whether I'm surprised or impressed.”

“It seemed like a good opportunity,” he explained, tapping his expensive ashes into a nearby dish, “if I could corner her before she charmed some shipping tycoon or handy sailor.”

“I believe I charmed a shipping tycoon a few years ago,” Julie remarked lazily. “And as to the sailor . . .”

“Nevertheless,” Wayne went on, shooting her a glance. “I decided a cruise was a very good place to begin winning her over. It was,” he remarked, “remarkably simple.”

“Oh?” Julie's left brow arched. “Really?”

Wayne tapped out his cigarette, then moved over to gather her in his arms. “A piece of cake,” he added carelessly. “Of course, women habitually find me irresistible.”

“It would be safer if they stopped doing so. I might be tempted to wring their necks,” Julie cooed, winding her arms around his neck.

“The woman's going to be a trial to live with.” Wayne kissed her as though he'd decided to make the best of it.

“I can see you two are going to be perfectly miserable together. I'm so sorry.” Walking over, Raven slipped an arm around each of them. “You will let me give you the wedding?” she began, then stopped. “That is, are you having a wedding?”

“Absolutely,” Wayne told her. “We don't trust each other enough for anything less encumbering.” He gave Julie a flashing grin that inexplicably made Raven want to weep.

Raven hugged them both again fiercely. “I needed to hear something like this right now. I'm going to leave you alone. I imagine you can entertain yourselves while I'm gone. Can I tell Henderson?” she asked. “Or is it a secret?”

“You can tell him,” Julie said, watching as Raven adjusted her hat in the hall mirror. “We're planning on taking the plunge next week.”

Raven's eyes darted up to Julie's in the mirror. “My, you two move fast, don't you?”

“When it's right, it's right.”

Raven smiled in quick agreement. “Yes, I suppose it is. There's probably champagne in the refrigerator, isn't there, Julie?” She turned away from the mirror. “We can have a celebration drink when I get back. I'll just be a couple of hours.”

“Raven.” Julie stopped her as she headed for the door. Raven looked curiously over her shoulder. “Your purse.” Smiling, Julie retrieved it from a nearby table. “You won't forget to eat, will you?” she demanded as she placed it in Raven's hand.

“I won't forget to eat,” Raven assured her, then dashed through the door.

Within the hour Raven was seated in the glassed-in terrace room of Alphonso's toying with a plate of scampi. There were at least a dozen people patronizing the restaurant whom she knew personally. A series of greetings had been exchanged before she had been able to tuck herself into a corner table.

The room was an elaborate jungle, with exotic plants and flowers growing everywhere. The sun shining through the glass and greenery gave the terrace a warmth and glow. The floor was a cool ceramic tile, and there was a constant trickle of water from a fountain at the far end of the room. Raven enjoyed the casual elegance, the wicker accessories and the pungent aromas of food and flowers that filled the place. Now, however, she gave little attention to the terrace room as she spoke with her agent.

Henderson was a big, burly man whom Raven had always thought resembled a logjammer rather than the smooth, savvy agent he was. He had a light red thatch of hair that curled thinly on top of his head and bright merry blue eyes that she knew could sharpen to a sword's point. There was a friendly smattering of freckles over his broad, flat-featured face.

He could smile and look genial and none too bright. It was one of his best weapons. Raven knew Henderson was as sharp as they came, and when necessary, he could be hard as nails. He was fond of her, not only because she made him so rich, but because she never resented having done so. He couldn't say the same about all of his clients.

Now Henderson allowed Raven to ramble on about ideas for a new tour, Australia, New Zealand, promotion for the new album that was already shooting up the charts a week after its release. He ate his veal steadily, washing it down with heavy red wine while Raven talked and sipped occasionally from her glass of white wine.

He noticed she made no mention of the
Fantasy
score or of her time in Cornwall. The last progress report he had received from her had indicated the project was all but completed. The conversations he had had with Jarett had been enthusiastic. Lauren Chase had approved each one of her numbers, and the choreography had begun. The score seemed to be falling into place without a hitch.

So Henderson had been surprised when Raven had returned alone so abruptly from Cornwall. He had expected her to phone him when the score was completed, then to take the week or two she had indicated she and Brand wanted to relax and do nothing. But here she was, back early and without Brand.

She chattered nervously, darting from one topic to another. Henderson didn't interrupt, only now and again making some noncommittal sounds as he attended to his meal. Raven talked nonstop for fifteen minutes, then began to wind down. Henderson waited, then took a long swallow of wine.

“Well, now,” he said, patting his lips with a white linen napkin. “I don't imagine there should be any problem setting up an Australian tour.” His voice suited his looks.

“Good.” Raven pushed the scampi around on her plate. She realized she had talked herself out. Spearing a bit of shrimp, she ate absently.

“While it's being set up, you could take yourself a nice little vacation somewhere.”