Summer on the Cape (11 page)

In her quick mind, subject ideas were already forming. Cape Cod from the Pilgrims’ point of view. The empty, unsettled, beautiful land as seen by the approaching voyagers. She couldn’t wait to get back to those sandy stretches, to the cranberry bogs and the scrub pine. Now she was eager to return to that bare and spacious terrain, to see again the boats in the harbor and the little green-and-white towns and the beautiful old houses in the woods.

But could she return to all that and also avoid seeing Zach?

Inevitably, she recalled their last encounter. Why would he have thought she was spying? What was there for her to be spying on? Why was he so angry with Adam? That’s what Adam was supposed to be explaining to her.

“Adam, what is Zach Eliot’s involvement with this project? Why is he so angry with you?”

Adam stirred a bit of cream into his coffee.

“I’m really not at liberty to say very much for a few more days, but I can tell you this much now. There’s a lot of money involved. And when a lot of money is at stake, people frequently do things they wouldn’t otherwise do.” Adam’s smile had an edge of cynicism that caused a chill to run along the back of Allie’s neck. “Let’s just say that Zach Eliot has an interest in certain aspects of the plan. It appears that his interests and mine are not exactly compatible.”

“But why would he accuse me of spying, of all things?”

“That’s not as bizarre as it may seem. You’ve heard of industrial espionage? Corporations’ efforts to learn each other’s secrets?” Allie nodded. She understood the competitive pressures that were a part of any commercial enterprise. And targeted companies went to great lengths to establish tight security around their activities. “Well, I guess Zach thought something of that sort was going on. He may be worried that he’s the target of some kind of covert investigation. I’m sure you can understand how it must have seemed to him. He knows I’m associated with the project. He knows you’re associated with me. And there he was, really early in the morning, the sun was just barely rising over the horizon, and he looked out of his window, and there you were. Allie Randall, girl private eye.” The idea apparently tickled him, and he grinned wickedly at her. “I’d have loved to have been a fly on that wall when he collared you. Allie the cat burglar. Or Peeping Tom. Or whatever it was you were up to when he caught you red-handed. That must have been a funny scene.” Adam finished the last bit of soufflé. “You should have heard him raving at me over the telephone. He was sure I’d put you up to it.”

“What did you tell him?” Allie was not yet ready to be amused by the whole thing. Maybe in about forty years.

“I made up something simple. I told him you were probably looking for a good spot to set up your easel. Maybe you wanted to paint an authentic old Cape Cod house. I told him you were just an innocent young artist, taking advantage of the Cape’s beautiful light and historic ambiance.” Adam brushed an invisible crumb off the tablecloth. “He told me to go suck eggs.” Adam’s face registered his amusement.

“I wish I’d thought of something simple, like saying I was looking for a subject to paint. It never occurred to me. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly enough.”

She remembered the power of Zach’s grip, dragging her roughly away from that table of photographs, through the darkened room and into the kitchen, practically throwing her into a chair. She touched the place on her arm where his hand had gripped her.

“It’s just that he surprised me, and I panicked. And he was so angry.”

“I can well imagine how angry he was. As I said, there’s a lot of money involved. And what could he think, finding you there on his property? But that’s all put to rest now, and we can just forget about it.” With his napkin, Adam patted the last crumb of dinner from his lips and then sat back expansively.

“By the way, as we’re speaking of Zach Eliot,” Adam added drily, “there’s an amusing follow-up to the whole thing. Just this morning, my secretary took a call from Zach. Of all things, seems he’s interested in buying a painting you did of his boat. She set up an appointment for next Wednesday morning.” Adam’s smile was disgracefully self-satisfied. “I imagine it must have been pretty hard for Zach to make that call, after all his wild accusations at me that morning.”

Allie felt her heart thump. She could barely swallow.

“Will you meet with him? Do you think you’ll sell it to him?”

“Sure. You know, Allie,”—he was suddenly very serious—“I really don’t want to have Zach Eliot for an enemy. We’ll be happy to sell the picture to him. I’ll still be able to make a good presentation to the Matsuhara people without it.”

Allie felt a rush of pride, knowing that Zach wanted to own her painting. She thought of
Sea Smoke
’s “portrait” hanging in that lovely old house. It really did belong there. She even thought of suggesting to Adam that he go easy on the price, but then she remembered the Jag in Zach’s garage and she held her tongue. Maybe Zach Eliot really could afford to buy one of her paintings. But she also wondered if Zach could afford to get tangled up in opposition to one of Adam’s schemes. She was preoccupied with these thoughts; in the last hour, her life had taken a couple of curious turns, and now she was merely toying with her dessert, not really noticing it at all.

But Adam, on the other hand, noticed everything. He noticed that Allie was not paying attention to what she was eating. Nothing very unusual about that. She rarely paid attention to what she was eating, although the food here at the Silver Dove could generally be counted on to attract attention.

He had also noticed that there was something unfamiliar in Zach’s voice during that odd phone call the other day. What had Allie been doing, hanging around Zach’s house? And why had Zach been so anxious to buy that picture? Adam watched Allie absentmindedly poking at her dessert.

Interesting, he thought.

Chapter Eight

T
here are days in New York that are as bright and as blue and as crystal clear as they are anywhere in the world, and on this Wednesday morning New York was having one of those days. Allie had been cooped up all morning at the gallery, getting pictures ready for the opening that was scheduled for seven o’clock, and now she was ready for a lunch break, eager to get out into the sunshine for a while. The gallery’s director was urging her to go, go get a cup of coffee, take a walk in the park, sit in the sun.

“We don’t need you here at all, dear. We’ll get it ready just fine without your help.”

As far as Leslie Smucker was concerned, artists were an unavoidable hazard that went along with running a gallery. They got underfoot and had temper tantrums and interfered with business negotiations with clients. And she certainly didn’t need this little protégée of Adam Talmadge’s around, getting in her way, having opinions about the lighting of pictures and the placing of this or that on the walls.

“You just run along, dear. Go home. Take a bath. Rest up for the opening tonight.”

Allie knew that the Whiscombe staff really did know what they were doing and she could safely leave the few remaining details in their very competent hands. As it was, openings frazzled her nerves enough without taking on the formidable Leslie Smucker as well, so Allie accepted the invitation to disappear. She gathered up her shoulder bag and some samples of the brochures that had been printed for the show, planning to review them on her way home in the subway. As she headed for the big plate glass doors that fronted on Madison Avenue, Ms. Smucker called after her.

“We’ve put one of your watercolors in the display window out front. You might want to take a look at it on your way out.”

Muttering to herself about “that old buzzard,” Allie went through the doors and turned south on Madison toward the big brass-framed windows where the Whiscombe Gallery displayed selected items from its current showings.

She was surprised and delighted to see that it was her painting of
Sea Smoke
that had been selected for the display window, and she paused for a minute to stand there in the bright sunshine and examine her watercolor. She could not help feeling a special attachment to the painting of the beautiful boat, gleaming in the sunlight. Despite the fact that Zach had practically chased her off the boat that day, the memory of her visit on board stirred something in her that she could not identify, something elusive and mysterious.

Behind her, a voice.

“It’s a damned good painting, Allie.”

She practically jumped out of her skin.

The voice was, of course, unmistakable. And so were the blue eyes, squinting against the sun, and the wavy black hair with the gray strands glinting silver in the brilliant light. There he was, Zach Eliot, looking perfectly at home on Madison Avenue, in light gray flannel slacks and a navy blue blazer. He wore no tie, the button-down collar of his oxford-cloth shirt was open at the throat, and the pale blue of the fabric made a soft contrast against his deeply tanned skin. Surprised, she realized that Zach fitted in smoothly on this busy city street with its stream of people flowing past them, his manner comfortably urban, totally at ease in the crowd. He came around next to her and peered into the window, studying the painting, which had been beautifully framed and placed on a display easel in the Whiscombe’s show window.

Allie needed a moment to adjust to his being there, so unexpectedly, his sudden closeness bringing with it an acutely sharp memory of their last meeting. It had been almost two weeks ago that she had made her high speed “escape” from his house on the hill, but her sense of embarrassment and the fear of his anger were as strong here in the bright sunshine on Madison Avenue as they had been that morning in his kitchen. With an effort, she kept her voice steady.

“I’m glad you like the painting. Adam told me you might want to buy it.”

She spoke with some trepidation. She had learned that the mere mention of Adam Talmadge’s name raised Zach’s hackles, and she braced herself for his reaction. She was not surprised to see his black brows draw together angrily and his lips tighten against his teeth. He didn’t take his eyes off the painting and she knew he was working hard to keep a lid on his temper.

“I already have bought it,” he said very evenly. “I’ve just come from Adam’s office. We had a number of things to talk about. One of them was your picture.”

“What else did you and Adam talk about?”

“Business, mostly.” He barely got the words out through clenched teeth. Obviously Zach was not going to disclose any real information to her.

“Did you get things settled between you?”

“Not at all.” Zach snorted in disgust. Then he turned toward her, his face hard, his eyes slightly narrowed, boring into her. “And you can stop quizzing me, Allie. Adam assured me he’s told you what you need to know. And if he was lying to me, I think I’ll know it soon enough.”

“Oh?” It seemed to Allie these men were pretty high-handed about what she should and shouldn’t know. “And just how are you going to find out what I know? Are you planning to hang me by my wrists until I confess?”

A short laugh burst from Zach’s lips. “I guess that would be one way.” His eyes ran over her as though he were giving the idea serious consideration. “But I had something a little less violent in mind.” Abruptly, he took her arm, turning her away from the display window. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “Let’s take a little walk. I want to talk to you.” He started down Madison Avenue, drawing Allie roughly along with him.

Outraged, Allie yanked her arm out of his grip, coming to a quick stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Stop hauling me around!” she snapped angrily. “Just who do you think you are?” Passersby turned their heads briefly to note the commotion and then continued to walk on.

Zach faced her squarely, his eyes flashing.

“Hell, I’m the guy who just paid twelve thousand dollars for an Allie Randall watercolor. Maybe that entitles me to ask a few questions.”

“Like hell it does! Twelve thousand dollars entitles you to take that picture home and hang it on your wall, and that’s all it entitles you to!” Allie yanked the strap of her bag into place on her shoulder and turned away from him sharply, stalking angrily down Madison. “For the price of the painting,” she added, as he caught up with her, his long stride easily overtaking her, “you sure don’t get to drag the artist around the streets of New York!”

“Hold on a minute, Allie!” Again he grabbed her, stopping her in her tracks, his strong hands gripping her arms, turning her to face him. For a long minute, he glared into her eyes while his brain raced to catch up with his impulsive moves.

I’m doing it again
, he thought.
Why does my mind come unhinged when I’m around this woman? Damn it, Eliot, just slow down. Stop pushing her around.

He realized she was struggling to pull out of his grip and he lifted his hands away from her.

“All right,” he said, trying to calm himself down, trying to calm her down. “All right. Fair enough, Allie. Let me try again.” He took a deep breath. “Let me invite you to take a walk with me, so we can talk for a while.” He saw that she was at least listening. “Does my twelve thousand dollars at least allow me to invite the artist to lunch?”

She was in no mood to give him even an inch of leeway, but the invitation surprised her. And the commanding power of his probing gaze, searching her face, and the hard set of his mouth, carried a force of their own. It wasn’t the first time she felt shakiness at the back of her knees when she looked into Zach’s eyes.

“Well—”

“Come on, Allie. I have a couple of hours before I have to catch my plane back to the Cape. And they probably don’t need you back at the gallery.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” she confessed drily. “They’ve been trying to get rid of me all morning.”

“Good. Then that’s settled. There’s a place just a couple of blocks from here, on Sixty-ninth Street,” he said, pointing downtown, “where we can get lunch and talk quietly, without being disturbed.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to stop shoving me around long enough for a walk in the sunshine and a quick lunch?”