Warm Hearts (42 page)

He liked this place. He'd certainly worked hard enough for it. Plush carpeting, cushiony upholstered sofas and chairs, lacquered coffee tables and wall units bearing unique mementos from one trip or another—a far cry from the cramped duplex his parents had rented all those years. He thought of the pleasant garden condominium he'd recently helped them buy, and smiled. They were comfortable; they deserved it.

In its idle wandering, his gaze tripped over loose pillows of the same rich browns and beiges and grays as the rest of the room before falling on the ancient brass spittoon he'd picked up in Wales. It was a planter now, bearing a small fig tree. Standing, he walked over to finger the oval leaves. It wasn't doing well—it needed sun and warmth. He snorted.
He
needed sun and warmth, but his sun and warmth was Leslie. Did he look as despairing as the poor fig tree in front of him?

The jangle of the phone startled him. His head flew toward the kitchen. It was his private line ringing, not the business phone he kept in the den. In two strides he'd covered the distance and snatched up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oliver, you're back! It's Tony. How did it go?”

“How're ya doin', Tony?” Oliver asked, trying to cover up his disappointment. For a split second he'd hoped it would be Leslie.

“Not bad … but tell me about
you
.” His voice grew cautious. “She wasn't angry, was she?”

“As a matter of fact,” Oliver began with a sigh, “she wasn't thrilled at first. But she came around.”

Tony grinned. “I knew she would. You've got charm, friend. I knew you could handle her. It was a good week, then?”

“Great. You were right. The villa's gorgeous. So's the island. Bright sun every day. It never rained.”

“Come on, Oliver. This is the guy you sweat with on the tennis court twice a month. I don't want a camp letter. I want some of that gut-spilling you guys love to provoke. Was it a good week?”

“It was a great week.”

“And?”

“Any more is private.”

“She's my sister, Ames. I wouldn't have sent you down there if I hadn't had hopes that you two might hit it off.”

“Hit it off.…” Oliver smirked, rather amused by his friend's impatience. “You mean …
make
it?”

“I mean like each other.” Tony grimaced. “The woman's impossible. I've tried again and again to introduce her to men I think she'll like, but she's just not interested. My happening to know the man in the Homme Premier ad was a bolt out of the blue.”

Oliver shot a glance at the ceiling. “So it was a fix-up after all. Strange, I thought it was supposed to be a joke,” he remarked grimly. Of course he'd known better than that. Tony Parish was transparent, at least when he, too, was sweating it out on the courts. But it didn't bother him to string Tony along. He needed someone to blame for the mess he was in.

“You didn't hurt her,” Tony came back more quietly.

“No. I didn't hurt her. At least not yet.”

Once more, deadly calm. “What are you talking about?”

Oliver rested one hand low on his hip and hung his head. “We had a wonderful week together. It was … unbelievable.”

“So?”

“So—” he took a breath “—I think your sister's fallen in love with a man she believes to be a very glamorous male model.”

“Male model? Didn't you tell her the truth?”

“That is the truth … albeit only a tiny part.”

“And you didn't tell her the rest?” came the disbelieving voice.

“No.”

Tony swore softly, then began to pace within the limits of the telephone cord. “You picked a great one to lie to—”

“I didn't lie.”

“Then you picked a great one to be evasive with. Jeez, I don't believe it. I was sure you'd tell her everything within the first day or two. You're almost as straitlaced as she is!” He paced another round. “Do you have any idea what my sister thinks of deception? She's pretty opinionated on that score. Do you?”

“I didn't, then. I do now.”

Tony had paused in his ranting long enough to hear the dejection in Oliver's voice. “Are you all right?” he asked, cautious again.

“No, I'm not!” Oliver exploded, his own frustration needing outlet. “I've got to figure out some way of telling Leslie what I do without having her positively despise me for not having told her in the first place. I'm
not
all right. It's become an emotional issue; she's apt to hate me.”

The voice on the other end of the line was instantly contrite. “And that matters to you?”

“Damned right it matters! Not that I'd particularly want you for a brother-in-law knowing that you concocted this cock-and-bull scheme in the first place…!”

Satisfied, Tony sat down in his chair. “She was the one with the idea, Oliver,” he said indulgently. “I simply set it into motion.”

“Same difference. Damn, it's hard.”

“Can I help?”

“Don't you dare. As a matter of fact, don't you dare repeat a word of this conversation to Leslie! I may have made a mess of things, but it's my mess, and I'll be the one to clean it up.”

“She's got fire in her.”

He gave a wry nod. “Tell me.”

“Think you can handle her?”

“I'll handle her.”

“Okay, pal.” Tony was smiling broadly. “And Oliver?”

“Yeah?”

The smile grew more mischievous. “Good luck.” If anyone could handle Leslie Parish, her brother mused, Oliver Ames could. Despite this minor and surely temporary misunderstanding, things had worked out well indeed.

Oliver wasn't in quite as optimistic a frame of mind when he hung up the phone. Love did strange things to otherwise rational people. It made them lose perspective and overreact. That was what he wanted to avoid.

Back in the living room, he opened the bar and poured himself a drink. Its warmth was the first he'd felt since … since he'd made love to Leslie so early that morning. Just that morning—it was hard to believe. He remembered every sweet moment; even now could feel the fragile shape of her in his hands. She'd been so honest and giving in her lovemaking. She'd lived true to her word. Not for a minute, though she hadn't said it aloud, had she hidden from him the fact of her love. And not for a minute did Oliver believe that he was vainly imagining it. He hadn't asked for love, hadn't gone looking for it. But feeling the all-consuming need he had to be with and share with and do for Leslie, seeing an identical desire written on her face time and again, he knew. Leslie loved him. He loved her. All that remained was for him to tell her what he'd done and why.

Bidden in part by determination, in part by the sheer need to hear her voice, he returned to the kitchen and lifted the phone. Information quickly gave him her number. As quickly he punched it out. The phone rang once, then a second time.

“Hello?” She sounded breathless, as though she'd come running.

“Leslie?”

A smile lit her voice. “Hi,” she said softly.

“You got home all right,” he ventured likewise.

“Uh huh. And you?”

“Fine.” The sound of her voice was an instant balm. Perched atop his high kitchen stool, he felt himself begin to relax. “How are you?”

“Okay. I'm … cold.”

“I know the feeling.” It was only incidentally related to the abrupt change in temperature to which their bodies had been exposed in the past few hours. “Your house was okay? No problems?” She lived in a small Tudor home on a wooded lot, she'd said. He worried about her being so alone.

“Just quiet.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “And lonely.”

“I miss you,” he murmured in lieu of taking her in his arms and kissing her loneliness away.

“Me too.” She paused then and, sensing that she wanted to go on, he gave her time. “Oliver,” she began again and timidly, “when will I see you?”

The utter smallness of her voice cut him to the quick. He could imagine how she'd fought asking. She'd want to be sophisticated and cool and unclinging. He hated himself for having forced her hand, though he found solace in this further evidence of her love.

“That's why I'm calling, sweetheart. I'd like us to spend next weekend together. Just the two of us at my place up north. I could pick you up Friday night and have you back Sunday. How about it?”

“I'd love to, Oliver.” Her voice glowed. In turn he smiled.

“I wish it could be sooner. Friday sounds so far off. But this week will be crammed … after last.”

Her laugh was a light, airy sound that made him float. “What is it this week … say, what
do
you do, other than cologne?”

His bubble threatened to burst. “Oh, clothing and stuff. Have you spoken to Tony?”

“Not yet. I'll have to give him a call to thank him for my … birthday present.” Her voice lowered. “Thank you again.”

“For what?”

“For … taking care of me when I was sick, for making the rest of the week so wonderful, for the necklace.”

“Are you wearing it now?” Closing his eyes he pictured her as she'd stood before him last night, wearing nothing but the moonlight and that strip of gold with its amethyst eye.

“Yes. I'm wearing it,” she murmured shyly.

“I'm glad.” He smiled, then realized that he could sit forever saying small nothings to her. But he wanted to tell her he loved her—and he feared doing that. “Well, then, how does six on Friday sound? We can stop for dinner on the way.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I'll be looking forward to it.” His voice was suddenly lower and faintly hoarse.

“Me too.”

“Take care, Les.”

“You too. And Oliver?”

“Yes?”

“I … I … thanks for calling.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. See you Friday.”

For several minutes after hanging up the phone, he sat where he was, basking in the glow that lingered. She was a wonder … so thoroughly lovable. And she'd had more courage than he. She'd nearly said it. I love you. Why couldn't he say the words? He admitted them freely to himself, had even implied them to Tony. Was it that he'd feel hypocritical telling Leslie he loved her while he knew he'd been less than forthright on other matters? Was it that he feared she might not believe him in
this
when he finally did confess to his deception?

The glow was gone by the time he stood up, replaced by a shroud of concern. He'd tell her this weekend after they arrived at his place. They'd be isolated and, aside from his own car, more or less stranded. She'd be stuck with him. She'd have to hear him out. And he'd have the whole weekend to prove his love one way or the other.

That decided, he returned to the front hall and picked up the thick pile of waiting mail. An hour later he retreated to the den, pushed several buttons on his telephone console and sprawled out on the dark leather sofa with an arm over his eyes to listen to the phone messages for the week.

An hour after that he was ready to return to St. Barts.

*   *   *

Leslie, too, had gone through her mail and then taken to the phone, but in a more active capacity.

“Tony?”

“Les! How are you?”

“Great.” Silence. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Thanks, Tony. It was a super birthday present.”

“Liked it?” he asked smugly.

“Uh huh.”

“I thought you would. He's quite a guy.”

“Uh huh.”

“So.” It was like pulling teeth, in addition to which, he felt decidedly duplicitous. “Will you be seeing him again?”

“Uh huh.” Her pulse sped at the thought. “He's got a place in the Berkshires. We're going up this weekend.”

“Great!” he exclaimed. So Oliver had decided to make his pitch in the Berkshires. Secluded. Romantic.
Good luck, pal.

“How's everything here, Tony?”

“Fine. Busy. Dad's still in Phoenix.”

“Still? I thought he was due back last week.”

“He was.…”

She smiled. “But the golfing was too good.”

Tony chuckled. “Something like that.”

“And the kids are well?”

“Raising Cain in the other room. You mean you can't hear the noise?”

“Why aren't they in bed?”

“Because it's back to school tomorrow. And the law of adolescence says that one positively cannot be awake and aware on the morning following a school vacation. Heaven forbid they should be in condition to learn.”

She laughed. “Perverse little things, aren't they? So why isn't their father laying down a law of his own?”

“Because he's talking with you.”

“Oh. Good reason. Well, then I won't keep you long. I want to give Bren and Diane calls anyway. They're both doin' all right?”

“Brenda's fine. The kids had a ball skiing. She and Larry have about had it with lugging skis and poles and boots back and forth to the slopes, but otherwise Vail was to their liking.” He paused, frowning. “Diane's the one who's got me worried.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm not sure. She's been behaving really strangely. She took off by herself last Monday and Tuesday, had Brad worried to death until he finally found a note buried at the bottom of the mail.”

Leslie, too, was worried. Diane had always been a little high-strung, and it was obvious that she hadn't been happy of late, but she'd never disappeared before. “Where was she?”

“In a hotel.”

“In the city?”

“Uh huh. Just sitting by herself. Thinking, she said. I couldn't get much more out of her. When she came home Tuesday night she was pretty subdued.”

“How have things been going for her at the office?”

Tony sighed. “According to Gaffney, things have been tough. She's difficult to work with and getting worse all the time. Demanding and unpredictable. Very temperamental. Why don't you give her a call, Les? Maybe you can find out what's bothering her.”