Rite of Passage (9 page)

She looked at her watch. “Got to go. Have an appointment. Auntie is taking me to the salon to get ready for the dinner this evening.” She raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Me, too.” I hoped nothing my brother had discovered would change my feelings for her.

“How ’bout later by the pool?” she suggested.

“Meet you after lunch.”

“It’s a date. And don’t go promising anyone a place on your dance card for this evening.” She giggled and waved as she walked away.

I left, heading down the oriental runner to Jonathan’s office. The door stood closed. Violence was no longer on my agenda, but I’d determined to give him a piece of my mind.

“Hello,” I said, knocking on the massive six-panel door.

“Robbie? Come in.” He stood as I entered, holding out his hand. He seemed pleasant. “Good to see you. The reunion with your brother went well, I hope?”

“Very,” I offered.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s about those newspaper clippings you put in my room.”

“What?” He held up his hand, coming around the desk. “Newspaper clippings?”

“Please, Jon.” I waved dismissively. “The ones about death and witchcraft on Courtney’s estate.”

He sat on his desk. “Robbie, you think I’d stoop that low?” If this was a lie, he was doing a good job. “I’d talk to you, man-to-man.” He shook his head, gray eyes showing concern.

I wanted to argue. Trouble was, I believed him.

“If it wasn’t you, who could have done that? And why would anyone want to? You suggested that Courtney was surrounded by mystery. That she might be involved with…”

He held up his hand again. “I’m glad you dropped by. I had a surprising phone call this morning. I may have been wrong about her.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We’re going to have visitors on Sunday. That may shed some light on my suspicions, even dispel them.” He wore a satisfied look.

“Who’s coming?”

“Well.” He grinned, enjoying his secret, playing the wizard who’d solve the puzzle. “That must stay a secret until they arrive.”

“You’re not going to tell Courtney?” I asked. “What about Gretchen?”

He shook his head. “No, but I promise they’ll both be flabbergasted!”

He’d decided to keep it a secret.
A frown crossed my face. “All right. But I’d still like to know who put those articles in my room
.
”

“Wish I could help.” He fiddled with his mustache.

“Well, since I’m here, could I use the phone? I have a couple of calls to make.”

He looked at his watch. “I’m polishing my remarks for a talk next week.” He gestured toward the chair. “Be my guest. I’ll get some coffee.”

He patted me on the back. “Gonna call your sweetheart, eh?”

I nodded.

I shook his hand. If Jon was innocent, and it appeared that way, who would have collected all that material so quickly and had the nerve to break into my room? The clippings came from Britain. Some were several years old. Who had a motive to sabotage my relationship with Courtney? I exhaled loudly as I sat down behind the desk. I smiled. So far, life with Courtney had been anything but dull.

Chapter Thirteen

A good man would have called Rachel right away. I dialed Michael as soon as Jonathan closed the door. My brother picked up on the first ring.

“Where the hell have you been?” Michael sounded irritated.

“I’m sorry, Mike. Getting the phone around here isn’t easy. What’d you find out?”

“Well,” he began. “It doesn’t look like Courtney was a suspect in any of those deaths.”

I sighed. “Thanks, Michael.”

“But there’s more,” he added. “A lot more.”

“Okay, Mike. What’s going on? Are you going to tell me she really is a witch?” I forced a laugh.

When he didn’t answer, I cleared my throat.

“My friends are MI-5, Rob. They deal in facts.”

“And?”

“They had to call their connections in the West Country—constables, country folks, the locals. They put more stock in rumor and folklore.”

“Come on. Is this twenty questions?”

“They’ve come up with some things. My friend’s doing me a big favor and still making calls. Can we meet sometime?”

I thought of Courtney and how much I wanted to see her. Who knew how long this star-crossed relationship would last. If it turned out to be our last chance to spend an evening together, I couldn’t miss it.

“Okay, just not tonight. Please.” I looked at my watch. “I know it’s asking a lot, but is there any chance we could meet sometime today? Maybe this afternoon?”

A long silence. “All right. How about 3:00? I’ll make it easy for you. There’s a place halfway between us called Boone’s Bar and Grill, on Route 302. It should only take you twenty minutes to get there. I’ll tell you what I have, and you’ll be back by dinner.”

I stared at the phone and hung up.

I checked my watch, played with Jon’s brass letter opener, studied the plaques and mementos on the walls, then finally picked the receiver up to wait for the operator. When prompted, I mumbled Rachel’s number into the phone.

After a short silence and a series of clicks, it rang. Once…twice…three times. I thought I might be spared the task of bending the truth. As I was about to replace the handset, she picked up.

“Hello,” she said, sounding as if she’d been running.

I pictured Rachel: tall and stunning, blond hair hanging loosely in natural ringlets to her neck, piercing blue-gray eyes, always perfectly lined, her generous figure, concealed by an impeccably tailored outfit. She was the most striking woman I had ever met—until Thursday evening.

“Hi, Rach.”

“Robbie.” Her voice sounded soft, sensual.

“Sorry about your call. I went to Michael’s last night and got a little tipsy.”

She laughed. “I know how you guys love your beer. It’s fine, Rob.”

“Well, here I am, a little the worse for wear.”

She laughed again. “I just don’t want you to forget me.” Her voice was sultry. I could feel the heat through the phone.

I said nothing for a long minute. Too long.

“Robbie,” she whispered.

I cleared my throat. “Don’t be silly. I could never forget you. I’ve just been busy.”

“Gretchen told me. Ferrying around some little English girl who’s lost her mother.”

“That’s right.” I felt the blood rise in my cheeks.

Silence again.

“Robbie, how old is this
little
English girl?” I sensed tension in her voice.

“Twenty.”

I could hear her breathing. Her mind was working overtime.

“Twenty!”
A long pause. “Robbie, should I be worried?”

“Don’t be silly,” I lied.

“You’re driving around the countryside with a twenty-year-old girl. I don’t think I’m being silly.” Her tone turned icy. “Please tell me she’s overweight, wears thick glasses, and is ugly as sin.”

I looked around the room as my conscience brought the walls closer. “Not exactly.”

“Look, I hate to leave this discussion up in the air, but I have to go.” I heard her breathing into the phone. “Let’s pick this up later.”

“That’s fine. I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow.”

“All right,” she said in clipped tones.

“All right,” I whispered back.

“Robbie, is everything all right…with us?”

“Everything is fine
.”

“Really?” She sounded concerned, pausing for a moment. “Love you,” she added, kissing the receiver.

“Me, too,” I assured her and hung up. I’d never felt so guilty.

Later, the kitchen staff put together just what my empty stomach craved: bacon, scrambled eggs, and a tall stack of buttermilk pancakes smothered in butter and maple syrup.

After inhaling them I headed back to my room to get my swim trunks. I looked at my watch: 11:30. I arrived at the pool, scanning the area.

No Courtney.

But her absence was acceptable, perhaps even preferable, I mused as I thought about the strained dialogue with Rachel.

An overweight, balding man with coke-bottle glasses sat on a lounge chair. I smiled, watching him concentrate as he thumbed through the July issue of
Life
magazine. I recognized it. The edition showed the summer’s new bathing suit collection, including a provocative two-piece style named after an island chain in the Pacific: a bikini. His wife, petite and dark-haired, was engrossed in Laura Hobson’s
Gentlemen’s Agreement
, the new runaway best-seller. They smiled.

“I’ve heard they’re making that into a movie.” I nodded at her novel.

“I’ve heard that, too,” she agreed with enthusiasm. “Gregory Peck’s going to star in it. I love him.” She swooned and resumed her reading.

I debated heading to the beach, opting for the courtyard and pool. I told Courtney I’d be there after lunch. I took a large towel from a stack near the pool house and flipped it over my shoulder.

Spreading the plush towel over a chaise lounge I lay down in the sun. As I relaxed on the overstuffed cushion, I tried putting my feelings for Courtney in perspective. After the phone call to Rachel, guilt consumed me.

But no matter where I let my mind wander, it was futile. Courtney was always there.

I inventoried the reasons I cared for her. The list was endless: she was lovely, bright, humorous, desperately vulnerable… I stopped at four, knowing I could find a dozen more.

I also knew that no matter how many pluses I found, two negatives outweighed every piece of logic, compassion, and desire: Courtney was cloaked in mystery and Rachel waited for me in Boston.

My mind needed a rest. The problem would have to keep.

I pulled out a magazine, opened to an article on the Red Sox and in minutes, my heavy eyelids drooped as I drifted into a deep sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

I recalled being shaken, hearing the voice that haunted my dreams. Her voice. “Robbie. Robbie,” she called softly. I smiled, fighting desperately to stay in the dream. I sighed as her hands touched my shoulders.

“Wake up, sleepy head.” Her voice sounded real. “You’re getting red. You need to go inside.”

I opened my eyes. I must have turned onto my stomach. This was no dream. Courtney stood above me, wearing a frown. “Hello there.” She nodded, sitting down next to me. Something was different about her. “This will never do, Robert. You’re pink as a freshly caught lobster.”

I turned over and sat up clumsily, rubbing my hand across my eyes. “What time is it?” I looked for my watch.

“Almost one-thirty.” She reached over, handing me the watch. She touched my chest. Her hand was soft, cool, and welcome. “You simply must get out of the sun.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Courtney’s hand touched my right shoulder. “Fascinating,” she said as she studied my birthmark. Her eyes narrowed. “Just like the new moon,” she paused. “I’ve only seen one other.”

“My mother told me my father had one just like it.”

“But you never saw it?”

“No.” Interesting. I never thought about it till she asked.

“Fascinating,” she repeated, as she continued to study the birthmark.

“You’re right. I should probably go in,” I offered, remembering I had to meet Michael at three. “I can feel the sun. I didn’t expect to fall asleep for that long.”

“Punishment for your behavior last night.” She nodded, smiling as she retrieved something from her shoulder bag. “Here, this may help. Has something in it called aloe. Get you feeling chipper by dinnertime,” she said, laying a tube of cream next to me. “I’m expecting a proper companion at my side.”

“Your hair.” I suddenly realized. “That’s what’s different. It’s your hair.”

She threw her head back and laughed.

“Bravo.” She held out her hands, palms up. “It’s about time. I thought you’d never notice.” She tilted her head to one side, playing with her lower lip. “Do you like it?” she asked, raising her eyebrows

Her hair had been trimmed. It was much shorter, several inches above the shoulder, framing her face to perfection. It hung, flowing and bouncing with every move. She now had bangs that stopped just above her large eyes.

“I love it,” I told her

“I’m so glad. I was afraid you might not…dear.” Her face flushed.

The term of endearment took me by complete surprise but sounded so effortless, so perfect.

“Go. Get out of the sun,” she ordered, repeating her warning.

Courtney took off her light cotton robe. She wore a black bathing suit with off-white woven into the silky material. It was simple and conservative, fitted in the bodice with a tiny skirt at the waist.

She caught me staring. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“It looks wonderful,” I confessed.

“I’m glad you think so.” She ran to the water, diving in with grace. Seconds later, she bobbed up in the center of the large pool, urging me in.

She pushed her wet hair aside as she waved.

I stood, knowing I’d become aroused—extremely aroused. I pulled my large towel around me, hoping to hide the evidence.

“Hello, Robert,” she called in frustration. “Where are you going?”

“You said I need to get out of the sun.” I explained. “I’m going back to my room—got a quick errand to run.” I turned away. “I’ll see you at dinner.” I turned and strode across the courtyard toward the guest house. I smiled weakly and waved. Looking back, I saw her, hanging on the lip of the pool, head tilted.

“Stay—for just a moment longer,” she implored.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” Closing the door, I threw myself on the bed, waiting for my condition to disappear. I turned on the radio, hoping for something to take my mind off Courtney. Just as I was beginning to relax, I heard a tap on my door. I got up and walked to the window. I pulled back the sheer curtains.

It was Courtney, tube of cream in hand. “Robert,” she whispered, looking around. “Open up.”

“I can’t. I’m not dressed.”

“Well, at least open the door so I can give you this. I promise it’ll do wonders for your sunburn,” she insisted.

I grabbed my robe, pulling it on and headed for the door. I opened it a crack, sticking my head out. She left the cream in front of my door, then crossed the courtyard. Watching her sleek, supple movements was a sight I could never grow tired of. She turned, grinning.