To Dream Again (19 page)

"You mean you already knew what the result of my cost analysis would be? You made that wager with me, knowing the outcome."

He heard the accusation in her voice. "I told you, I guessed. I didn't know for certain. Would you have been satisfied with one of my guesses?"

"No," she admitted bluntly. "But how could you make such a guess? There are so many factors that go into something like this."

He leaned forward and murmured, "Maybe I know what I'm doing."

Mara stared at him. Ever since she'd met this man, she'd thought him a bit touched. A man who reached for things way beyond his grasp, who dreamed about things that couldn't possibly happen. And yet, perhaps she'd misjudged him. He was odd, he was different, he seemed oblivious to convention, but he had an unerring way of knowing the truth. "Maybe you do."

His smile widened into a grin, and he began to chuckle. The sound rumbled from deep inside him until he could no longer seem to contain it. He threw back his head and laughed aloud, a lusty combination of joy and triumph.

Mara watched him, trying to maintain a stern demeanor, but it was futile. His exhilaration was infectious, and she found herself laughing with him.

They just might be able to make this happen. Crazy visions danced through her mind. Green-painted trains with brass wheels proudly displayed in shop windows. Enough money in the bank to pay the bills. A white house with blue shutters and window boxes of red geraniums. Her house.

She was building castles on clouds, higher and higher. But what would happen if she fell? How many times had she sat at a table in some remote corner of the world, building castles of dreams with James? Dozens. Hundreds. Where were all those castles now?

Their laughter slowly faded away. Her castles crumbled and her clouds disintegrated and she was back in a factory in Whitechapel. She looked down again at the order from Harrod's. "This is on consignment," she said flatly.

"Of course it is," he answered, surprised. "That's standard practice with a new product from a new company. You know that as well as I do."

She stared down at the order, not meeting his eyes. "If people don't buy the trains, he can return them. Then what do we do?"

"The trains will sell."

He sounded so confident. She knew confidence wasn't enough. But they'd had a bet, and he had won. "It's growing late. I should go."

She heard his heavy sigh, and she knew her sudden withdrawal somehow disappointed him. He pushed back his chair. "Of course."

She gathered her notes and put them back in her portfolio, then stood up, disentangling the kitten from beneath her feet.

As they went downstairs, Nathaniel noticed the kitten following them. "I think you've made a friend," he said. "Have you come up with a name for him yet?"

"I didn't think it would become a pet."

He grinned. "You're feeding him. What did you expect?"

They left the kitten in the factory. But instead of turning toward the lodging house, he took her arm and turned in the opposite direction. She had no choice but to accompany him. "Where are you taking me?"

Before she'd even finished asking the question, Nathaniel came to a halt before the coster's cart on the comer. "Hullo, Henry," Nathaniel greeted the old man leaning against the street lamp behind the cart.

"Evenin', guv'nor." The coster nodded in Mara's direction. "Ma'am."

Nathaniel pointed inside the cart. "How are the peaches?"

"A treat, guv'nor," the coster pronounced, but in the melancholy tone an undertaker might have used. "Sweet as sugar, but not too ripe."

Nathaniel selected one from the basket inside the cart and glanced at her. "What would you like?" he asked.

Mara looked up at him and opened her mouth to refuse. But Nathaniel took a bite of the peach, and gave a low sound of appreciation. She swallowed hard, watching him slowly lick peach juice from his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and a sudden pang that was not hunger at all hit her in the belly. She caught her breath and stared at him.

"Delicious," he said and took another bite, rubbing a trickle of juice from his chin with the back of his hand. His voice jarred her out of her embarrassing reverie.

"I'll have one," she said abruptly and plucked a peach from the basket. She bit into her peach and waited as Nathaniel paid the man.

"I've brought that ointment I promised you, Henry," Nathaniel said. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a tiny jar and handed it to the coster, along with tuppence to pay for the peaches.

The man took the offered jar, and Mara suddenly noticed the lower half of the man's left leg was gone, replaced by a wooden peg. "It's not too bad this evenin'," Henry said. "But it's been achin' for days now."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Nathaniel took another bite of his peach. "But the ointment should help."

"I do appreciate it, thank ye."

"No trouble," Nathaniel assured him. He turned away with a nod, and Mara fell in step beside him. Slowly they walked back to Mrs. O'Brien's, eating their peaches in silence. Mara thought about the old man on the corner, and she wondered if anybody else had ever offered him something to help ease the pain in his leg. Probably not.

"Algernon."

Mara paused in the act of taking another bite and glanced up at Nathaniel, bewildered. "What?"

"For the cat," he said. "Don't you think that's a good name for a cat?"

"I was thinking of something simple," she replied and bit into her peach. "Like George."

He sighed. "No imagination," he murmured and tossed his peach pit behind him as they started up the steps of the lodging house. "If I had to come up with the dullest name imaginable, George is what I would choose."

She gave him an unamused glance, tossed aside the pit of her own peach, and entered the lodging house. When they reached her room, she unlocked the door and slipped inside, then turned to face him. "I suppose you win," she said, finally making the admission of defeat, and closed the door.

Leaning her back against it, she waited for him to leave, but instead she heard his low reply through the door.

"No, Mara, we both win. If you don't see that, you see nothing at all. We both win."

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he ascended the stairs to his own room. "I hope so, Nathaniel," she whispered the words like a prayer. "I hope so."

Adrian slammed the ball with his racquet, sending it flying over the net. The ball sailed past his opponent, hit the wall of the squash court, and bounced out of reach before Baron Severn could return the volley.

"Point and match, Severn," he declared, out of breath but smiling with satisfaction as he ducked under the net for the customary handshake.

"I never thought you'd do it, Leyland," the baron told him as they turned to walk off the court together. "You were so far behind."

"I don't like to lose." Adrian caught sight of his secretary standing by the doors and glanced at Severn. "Go on. I'll meet you at White's later."

The baron nodded and went through the doors leading into the changing area of the club, leaving him alone with his secretary.

"Yes, Mr. Barrett?"

Charles handed him a telegram. "This arrived from San Francisco, my lord. It came in late last night, and they delivered it this morning."

Adrian shifted his squash racquet to his left hand and took the slip of paper. He scanned the telegram from Foster, smothering an exclamation of frustrated surprise. "London," he muttered. "He actually had the gall to come back here."

Crumpling the telegram in his hand, he looked at his secretary. "I want my brother found, Mr. Barrett. Employ more detectives, do whatever needs to be done. I want to know what he's doing, where he's living, everything."

"Yes, sir." Charles gave a nod and departed, but Adrian did not. He remained on the court for several more minutes, wondering why Nathaniel was in London. Ten years after he'd managed to rid himself of his little brother, Nathaniel was back. He didn't like that news. He didn't like it at all.

***

Mara rested the box in her arms against one hip, tilted her head to one side, and studied her desk. "No," she said, "Turn it the other way."

Boggs and his son lifted her desk and turned it around so that it faced the room rather than the window. She nodded. "Much better. Mr. Boggs, please bring up my bookshelf and place it over here. Also, move all my ledgers up here and place them in the bookshelf."

Boggs nodded. "Very good, ma'am."

He and his son departed to carry out her instructions. Mara set the box on her desk and moved her chair behind it. She sat down and began removing items from the box, placing them back on her desk in the exact places they had been an hour before.

As she worked, Mara couldn't help glancing over her shoulder from time to time to verify that there was indeed a door behind her. A silly thing to do. She'd already gone up and down that fire escape twice this morning to reassure herself that it was as sturdy as it looked. It was.

She turned back to her desk and reached for her pencil case, but her hand stilled as she stared at the desk directly opposite her own.

Was he right? Or was he just crazy? Doubt nagged at her. The man had a way about him, that was certain. He could charm birds out of trees with that smile of his. He could twist all her ideas around until she didn't know where she was. He could make her believe things that all her experience told her weren't true. She was afraid to believe him. But, suddenly, desperately, she wanted to. And what frightened her the most was that his crazy ideas were actually beginning to make sense.

She hadn't seen him at all this morning, and she wondered what he was doing at this moment. His laughter from the night before echoed through her mind, and she wished she could be as jubilant as he. She wished he would come up those stairs with all his brash confidence and talk nonsense and smile that smile that told her everything would be well. She wished...

"Mrs. Elliot?"

Mara glanced up to find Percy standing in the doorway, and the sight of him reminded her there was work to be done. She firmly pushed all her wistful thoughts to the back of her mind and reprimanded herself. Daydreaming was a wasteful and foolish pastime. "Yes, Percy, what is it?"

"Mr. Chase sent me to find you. He and Michael need you downstairs."

"Why?" She rose and crossed the room to follow the secretary. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't think so," Percy replied as they started for the

stairs. "They're discussing some changes they want to make for production. I think they want your opinion."

She followed him down the stairs, moving aside for Boggs and his son carrying her bookcase.

Michael and Nathaniel were standing in Mara's old office, leaning over a table, the only piece of furniture that remained. "I won't do it, Michael," Nathaniel was saying as she paused in the doorway. "You know how I feel about giving speeches."

"The employees need to be told what we're doing."

"I agree," Nathaniel said, studying the diagram on the table. "But you're the supervisor now. You tell them."

Michael sighed. "It would be better coming from you."

"I won't do it," Nathaniel repeated. Mara was watching him, and she saw his jaw tighten stubbornly. For a moment, she thought there was a hint of apprehension in his handsome profile. It was so unlike Nathaniel, who never seemed worried about anything.

He glanced up at that moment and saw her over the rims of his spectacles. The flash of apprehension she'd seen disappeared instantly.

"Good morning," he greeted her.

There it was. That smile. But it didn't give her the assurance she craved. Instead, it did strange things to her insides, making her feel more nervous than before. She drew a deep breath. "Good morning. Percy said you wanted to see me?"

He nodded. "We're discussing some ideas. Tell us what you think."

Mara had the feeling whatever they wanted to discuss with her had nothing to do with Nathaniel giving speeches to the employees.

"Michael and I have been talking about putting assembly back here," Nathaniel told her, pointing to the diagram on the table. "We can put Michael's and Percy's offices up on the mezzanine and put assembly down here."

She stared down at the diagram he'd drawn of the ground floor and watched his hand move across the paper, scarcely hearing what he said. He had fine, strong hands. She remembered the feel of them on her waist.

Her face grew warm, and she kept her head lowered. She forced herself to focus on what he was saying. By the time he finished his explanations, she had pushed her wayward thoughts firmly aside. "It has some advantages, but we'll have to tear out these walls," she said, pointing to the drawing of the room in which they were standing. Her hand brushed his, and through the leather of her glove, she could almost feel the warmth of his skin. She jerked her hand back.

"That's not a problem," Michael interjected. "Only two of the walls along this corridor are bearing walls. We can take the rest of them out."