West Wind (5 page)

* * *

Several days passed with out any clues on the
lost Zephyrus sailboat. She created accounts for all the major
Internet sailing forums and read comment threads. She placed
classified ads in several New England newspapers and even hired a
private investigator, hoping that he could find some records, any
that hadn't been destroyed in the fire.

Rose, who agreed to stay in the hospital
temporarily, monitored her granddaughter's search. "You should look
in the attic. I kept several boxes of Don's paperwork that he
stored at home. Maybe you can find an old invoice."

Sabrina needed the breakthrough. She located
the boxes and after opening one, inhaled the aroma of cherry
tobacco, Old Spice and paper. She recognized the carved mahogany
pipe that her grandfather clenched between his teeth in every old
photograph. She held an old handkerchief to her cheek, reveling in
the cologne that still clung to the linen fabric.

She created piles, sorting the papers into
stacks of invoices, receipts, lists and business correspondence.
The earliest invoice for the selling price of a Zephyrus, $5,000,
was dated March 1969, paid in full by someone named Blair.

It's a start
, she thought, and tucked
the invoice into her pocket. Later, again on the Internet, she
searched the online telephone directory for any Blairs living in
Rhode Island. She quickly narrowed her search to those living along
the coast. She assumed that anyone with a boat needed a place to
put it.

She found forty listings and printed the
list.

She started with the Blairs (she assumed it
would be a man) who lived closest to Warren, where the Zephyrus had
been built. On her seventh call, she reached an elderly man. Having
polished her speech, Sabrina launched into a quick
introduction.

"Hello, my name is Sabrina Windham. My
grandfather, Don Windham, designed the Zephyrus sailboat. I'm
trying to locate a Mr. Blair who may have purchased one. Do you
know anything about this boat?"

She paused. After a second or two, the
querulous voice responded. "Sailboat? Eh? You looking for Don
Windham's sailboat?"

Finally a lead in her quest. Sabrina's heart
raced. "Yes, do you know anything about a Zephyrus sailboat?"

"Sailboat, eh? Yes, I have one. It's in sorry
shape, girly. You don't want this one."

Excited, Sabrina paced the sitting room
ignoring his comment about the boat's condition. "You have a
Zephyrus? May I ask you, which year?"

"Eh? Speak up, girly. I don't hear so
well."

"Sorry," she raised her voice. "What year was
the boat built?"

"Why, the first year, girly. Don Windham owed
me money for a truck and trailer, so he traded me a new boat for
it."

Sabrina pumped her fist excitedly.

"Mr. Blair, I would like to visit you and
look at this boat. Is that okay? Will you allow me to see it?"

"Sure; I don't mind. She's been sitting by
the barn for nearly twenty years now. Put 'er in storage after I
retired. Kids didn't want it, and I'm too old to sail a fast
boat."

Sabrina confirmed his address and told him
she would be in Rhode Island on Saturday. Again using the Internet,
she made a hotel reservation near Mr. Blair's zip code. Then she
hurried to the hospital to update Rose.

"I don't know, Grandmother. This could be
it," she said, her cheeks flushed.

Rose raised a weak hand, which Sabrina
grasped.

"I hope so, dear. Mr. Blair? I don't remember
him, but I do remember Don coming home one night with a dreadful
truck and trailer. The thing was a rust bucket; it had a dragging
muffler and it backfired when he revved the engine."

Rose closed her eyes and smiled, as if
reliving the joy of an argument with her long-gone husband. "Don
had just started building boats, and he said he needed a truck to
move them to the dock. I don't remember if he traded the first one
they built."

"I'm going to see Mr. Blair this weekend. He
lives near Warren, Rhode Island.

That's where you and Grandfather lived, isn't
it?"

Rose nodded. "Yes. It's a small town on the
Warren River, north of Narragansett Bay. Not many people lived
there, but it was close to Providence, as well as Newport and
Bristol. And, we could afford the rent."

"May I use your car, Grandmother?"

"Certainly, dear. I'm not going
anywhere."

* * *

Friday approached and she decided to keep her
dinner date with Robert Hall. She felt a bit guilty, going out
while Rose lay in the hospital, but the old woman insisted.

"I don't want you rattling around in that
old, drafty house every night," Rose cautioned.

Sabrina acquiesced, but pointed out the
obvious. "You rattle around in it and have for decades."

"That's different. I'm an old woman and I
deserve to live with my ghosts. You, on the other hand, are young
and beautiful and it would be a waste of your spirit. Now go," she
said, squeezing Sabrina's hand. "Robert Hall is quite a catch."

"I'm not looking for romance," Sabrina said,
blushing at Rose's gentle teasing.

"That's exactly when it looks for you," the
old woman warned.

* * *

Early Friday evening, she stood before the
cheval glass mirror in her bedroom, critically examining her
outfit. She hadn't brought many clothes with her but at the last
minute, she tucked her dressiest cocktail dress in a suitcase. The
blue charmeuse strapless gown featured a sweetheart neckline with
pleated bodice. The casually tossed matching shawl complemented the
tea length gown, wrapping around her long neck and trailing softly
down her back. She styled her long dark hair casually, letting it
flow over her bare shoulders. She applied a slick of lipstick and
then blinked her eyes, making sure the blackened lashes were dry.
No need to look like a raccoon.

She felt a thrill of panic when the doorbell
rang. It had taken nearly ten years, but Robert had arrived.

His eyes measured her as she stood in the
open doorway. Did he find her lacking, she wondered. He raised a
corsage for her to inspect, and lifted her left hand. He slid the
small, white rosebud onto her wrist and stepped back. Sabrina gazed
at the delicate flower, attached to a diaphanous bracelet of thin,
stretchy ribbon. Then her eyes lifted to measure Robert.

No, he did not lack. He wore a hand-tailored
black suit, lavender shirt and hand-painted silk tie. His short
dark hair and smooth cheeks completed the image of a male model.
Sabrina leaned toward him and inhaled. He even smelled like power,
his tantalizing cologne stirring her senses.

"You look lovely tonight, Sabrina," he said.
"Shall we go?"

Sabrina nodded and shut the door behind her,
locking it and dropping the house key into her small evening bag.
Robert's hand barely touched her elbow as he guided her to a sleek
Audi sports car.

"Now this is lovely," she said,
breathless.

"Do you like cars?" he asked.

"Well, I like this one."

As she sank into the luxurious interior, she
caressed the butter-soft leather seats, admired the simple artistry
of the expensive machine.

Robert slid behind the wheel, turned the
ignition and the formidable motor growled. "It's only a few blocks,
so we'll take it easy. But if you like, after dinner, we can take a
drive to Breakthrough Lake. I'll show you how fast it can go."

Sabrina gripped her lower lip between small,
white teeth. They practically glowed against the dark red lip.
Robert noticed and thought about her lush lips opening beneath
his.

Unaware of his tension, she continued to
worry her bottom lip. "I'm a bit of a conservative, Robert," she
admitted. "I don't think I would care to drive too fast."

Robert let the topic drop and within a few
minutes, he parked in front of the town's best Italian restaurant,
Dante's. Sabrina waited for him to open her door, then she swept
long legs out of the car, took his hand and stood. She flipped the
matching shawl back in place, the teal band encircling her slender
neck, the ends snaking down her bare back.

Oblivious to the feral look in his eyes,
Sabrina clasped her hands and purse in front of her. "I'm
famished."

As they walked through the restaurant towards
Robert's reserved table, he paused at a booth where a couple sat
intimately sipping wine and whispering.

"Erica?"

Sabrina stopped abruptly, nearly plowing into
Robert. She peeked curiously around his wide shoulders at the
couple and saw the friendly young woman from the bookstore.

"Robert! How nice to see you," Erica
said.

He looked pointedly at the man sitting next
to her.

Erica caught his message. "Oh, excuse me.
This is Clay Knight. Clay, this is Robert Hall."

The man stood, nodded at Robert and extended
his hand. They shook and exchanged brief greetings.

"Nice to meet you."

"Same here."

Robert, always suave and polite, stepped to
the side and slid a possessive arm around Sabrina's waist. "Erica,
you recall Sabrina Windham. From the bookstore," he said.

Erica nodded and smiled engagingly. Clay
extended his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Sabrina."

Robert frowned, then subtly pulled Sabrina
towards his chest. "Please, enjoy your dinner," he said curtly.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Erica."

Then he escorted Sabrina to his table where
first the restaurant owner and then the waitress fawned over
him.

As she studied the menu, Sabrina realized
that Robert Hall led an extraordinary life, surrounded by people in
awe of his breathtaking good looks and elegant style. He seemed to
expect it, as if he considered it his due.
It must be
difficult
, she thought,
to be so beautiful. It's as if
everyone wants a piece of him, wants to touch him, to taste
him
. She recalled seeing his younger sister, Katrina Hall, and
having the opinion that both were so startling beautiful, they were
almost unreal. She wanted to lay a comforting hand on his, but then
she would be like all the rest of them. Wanting to touch him.

As dinner progressed, her heart continued to
lighten under his compliments and admiring glances but strangely,
all she could think about was leaving for Rhode Island in the
morning. Her quest to find the Zephyrus took priority over her
companion's charms.

Declining his offer of a late-night drive
along the lakefront, Sabrina soon found herself back on her
doorstep, her house key in her hand. Spending time with Robert was
everything she dreamt of as a young girl, but her trip to New
England dominated her thoughts. He took her hands in his, brushed
his lips against her cheek and said goodnight. "Please give Rose my
best wishes. Perhaps I'll see you again while you're in town?"

She nodded distractedly. "I will, and yes,
perhaps. Thank you for a lovely evening, Robert." Then she slipped
inside, closing the door on her youth.

* * *

Sabrina rose at six, packed her suitcase and
headed East on I-80. She estimated it would take at least six hours
to get to Rhode Island, and she wanted to leave herself enough time
to eat lunch and freshen up before driving to Mr. Blair's house.
Her stomach twisted nervously. This kind of impetuous behavior
wasn't normal for her. She left spontaneity and reckless impulse to
her parents, Norman and Marta.

She turned on the radio, hoping the
distraction would settle her anxiety. Unaccustomed to driving in
traffic, she was a bundle of nerves by the time she crossed the
Tappan Zee Bridge in New York. "It's all downhill from here," she
told herself. Then she hit the Connecticut traffic on I-95.

"Where do all these people come from? It's
not even rush hour," she snarled.

Instead of six hours, the drive took eight.
She pulled into Warren around two o'clock, her stomach rumbling
from hunger. She drove south on Route 136, Market Street, looking
for a café. She didn't want fast food; she needed to sit in a booth
and eat slowly, waiting for the roar in her ears to subside. She
drove past a cheery blue-and-white wooden sign with a sailboat and
arrow. It read "Warren Boatyard." In the distance, the Warren River
twinkled. She spotted piers and white boats behind many houses.
Finally, she found a small coffee shop and pulled in. The
Cadillac's large engine hissed when she turned off the
ignition.

Sabrina closed her eyes, savoring the quiet.
She drove straight through, stopping only once at a rest area in
Matamoras, Pennsylvania. It was a nerve-wracking experience for a
city girl whose jaunts were measured in blocks.

For a Saturday afternoon, the small town was
quiet. A young couple walked their terrier down the sidewalk, and a
lone man sat outside the coffee shop reading a newspaper. Sabrina
picked up her purse and got out of the car. She wasn't sure if she
should lock it.

Silly; this isn't Baltimore
, she
thought.

Inside the small restaurant, she told herself
she chose wisely. She selected a fresh garden salad, a bowl of
mushroom barley soup, a multi-grain roll, and a strawberry smoothie
from the surprisingly eclectic menu. "This is wonderful," she
gushed, spooning the last of the soup into her mouth before the
waitress could clear the dishes. "I haven't had soup like this
since … um, never."

"It's a specialty of ours. We make the best
soups in town. No kidding. You should try the fudge, too. Killer,"
the waitress said, winking.

"I will. Thanks," she said. "Is it always
this quiet? I'm visiting from out of town."

"Well, it's too late for the lunch crowd but
it's not normally this deserted," she said, looking out the large
front window.

Sabrina paid her bill, left a large tip and
took along a serving of fudge for later. She drove by the hotel
and, since it was after three o'clock, checked into her room. She
stashed her suitcase beside the bed and took few minutes to wash
her face, freshen her makeup and brush her hair.