Dawn in Eclipse Bay (21 page)

He dressed carefully before he went to see her, wanting to strike precisely the right note. So much hung in the balance. He contemplated the limited range of clothing in the closet. Unfortunately he had left many of his best shirts and ties behind in Portland. He hadn't expected to need them here on the coast. But he was not entirely unprepared. He was never entirely unprepared. He wanted her to know that.

After due consideration he went with a pale-blue shirt that matched his eyes and an Italian knit sweater that made his shoulders appear a little broader. The trousers and loafers worked well with the sweater.

He stood in front of the mirror studying the effect. Not quite right. He took off the sweater and went back to the closet for a tie and the corduroy jacket. The tie showed respect. The cord jacket said he was a deep thinker.

Satisfied, he left the room and went outside to the parking lot. He got into the car and drove the short distance to the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute.

Ten minutes later he was standing in front of her secretary's desk.

“I'm here to see Mrs. Thornley,” he said.

The secretary looked skeptical and apologetic at the same time. It was probably a natural-born talent.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but please give her this card. I think she'll see me.”

The secretary examined the card and the note he had jotted on it. She got to her feet, went to the closed door behind her desk and opened it.

He waited until she disappeared inside before checking his reflection in the highly polished chrome base of her name plaque.

He straightened quickly when the door opened again.

“Mrs. Thornley will see you, Dr. Flint.”

“Thank you.”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for acute disappointment in case he had gotten the wrong impression about her last night. The scene in the restaurant had happened so quickly.

He went through the door, closed it firmly and stood looking at his fate.

She studied him from where she sat behind her desk, a vision in a fitted red knit jacket that was accented with gold buttons and well-defined, padded shoulders. She toyed with the small card he had sent in a moment earlier.

He gave the office a quick once-over, checking the quality of the furnishings. First class all the way. The lady had style and taste. The room was spacious with a view of the town and the bay spread out below in the distance.

There was another door on the far side of the office. It stood open a crack. Someone was moving around in the adjoining room. Probably an assistant or a speechwriter. He heard a desk drawer slam.

“Please sit down, Dr. Flint,” Marilyn said. Cool self-possessed authority rang in the words.

He felt his blood heat. He had not been wrong. She was magnificent. A goddess.

He lowered himself into one of the sleek black leather chairs.

Marilyn rose, crossed the room to the door that separated her office from the smaller one on the far side of the room and closed it very firmly. She smiled at him.

Absolutely magnificent.

“We need to talk,” Anderson said.

“I found out that she had an affair with Trevor,” Marilyn said. She went to stand at the window of the cottage and looked out over the bay. “I could hardly keep her on as my campaign manager after I learned the truth.”

“Guess it would be a little awkward,” Lillian admitted. She glanced at her watch. Another morning's work shot. The last thing she had needed today was to open the front door and find Marilyn Thornley on her front porch.
Why me?
she wondered. She did not relish being a politician's confidant.

“I knew that he was probably screwing someone but I just assumed it was one of his perky little campaign workers. Someone unimportant. Lord knows, it wouldn't have been the first time. Trevor and I had an understanding, you see. As long as he was reasonably discreet about it, I could ignore it.”

Marilyn looked different this morning, Lillian thought. No longer the battlefield general with antifreeze running in her veins. More like a woman who has learned the name of her ex-husband's lover. Hurt. Angry. Resentful.

“I've heard about understandings like that,” Lillian said neutrally.

Marilyn's mouth twisted. “You sound very disapproving.”

“Let's just say I wouldn't want a marriage based on that kind of unwritten contract.”

“You'd rather be married for your family's company, is that it?”

It wasn't easy but Lillian managed to hold on to her temper. “I don't know why you came here this morning to tell me this, Marilyn. It's none of my business.”

“Don't you understand? I had to talk to someone. I don't know anyone else I can trust here in town. Not with something this personal. I certainly can't talk to anyone on my staff. I would look weak and emotional.” Marilyn took a deep breath and exhaled, making a visible effort to compose herself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that crack about being married for Harte Investments. That was uncalled for.”

Lillian lounged back against the counter. “Forget it. Not like you're the first person to leap to the conclusion that Gabe is only interested in me because of Harte.”

“Still, it wasn't right. I apologize. I'm not at my best this morning. The thing is, even though I knew Trevor was sleeping with someone, I never dreamed it was Claire.”

“You're sure it was Claire who had the affair with Trevor?” Lillian asked.

“Yes.”

“How did you find out?”

“Pure accident. I was going through some old expense account statements the other day, gathering data for my divorce attorney. I came across records of some reimbursements Trevor had made to Claire. At first I thought they were legitimate expenses associated with the campaign. Something made me dig a little deeper. Turned out the expenses were incurred at a series of cheap hotels over a period of several months. In each case Trevor and Claire had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Can you believe it?”

“Tacky.”

“Very. Once I started looking, I turned up a few other unusual receipts. When it comes to sex, Trevor has his little, uh, eccentricities. Apparently Claire catered to them.”

“I see. What did Claire say when you confronted her?”

“She denied it, of course. Claimed Trevor must have been with some other woman, not her.”

“But you didn't believe her.”

“No.” Marilyn rubbed her temples in a gesture of weariness that seemed uncharacteristic. “Naturally I had to let her go. Wouldn't you have done the same?”

“If I was absolutely sure of my facts.”

Definitely should not have answered the door, Lillian thought. At the very least, she ought not to have invited Marilyn inside. But it had been impossible to ignore the bleak pain in the other woman's eyes. The sisterhood thing.

“I really shouldn't have come here,” Marilyn said. “I had no right to dump this on you. But I woke up this morning needing to talk to someone and I couldn't think of anyone else. You and I have a common bond.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Gabe.”

“
Gabe?
That's stretching the definition of a common bond a bit far, don't you think?”

Marilyn rested a hand on the windowsill. “Don't worry, I'm not even going to try to take him away from you.”

“Oh, hey, thanks. I appreciate that.”

“I'm a pragmatic woman,” Marilyn said. “I don't waste time beating my head against stone walls. You don't have to think of me as your competition.”

“Well, as a matter of fact I hadn't thought of you in quite those terms.”

“When I saw you two together that night at the old Buckley place I knew that I had no chance of ever resuming my relationship with him. You can offer him something I can't.”

Lillian felt her insides tighten. “I suppose you mean Harte Investments?”

“I'm sure it's not just the company,” Marilyn said. “He probably finds you attractive, too.”

“Gosh. You really think so?”

Marilyn sighed. “You want to know a little secret? I used to blame your family and Harte Investments for the breakup of my relationship with Gabe.”

Lillian stilled. “I see.”

“A part of me will always wonder what would have happened if he hadn't been so obsessed with competing with you Hartes. Who knows? Maybe he and I could have had something lasting together.”

Enough with the sisterhood thing, Lillian thought. She had done her politically correct duty. She straightened away from the counter.

“If you don't mind, I have a lot of things to do this morning, Marilyn.”

Marilyn regarded her with an apologetic expression. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I didn't mean to get into old history.”

“Didn't you?”

“No. I just wanted to talk to someone.” Marilyn blinked rapidly and wiped moisture away from the corner of her eye with a fingertip. “Things have been a little rough lately, what with the divorce and getting my campaign organized and now finding out that my campaign manager had an affair with Trevor.”

Lillian hesitated. “You've been under a lot of stress. Maybe you need to take some time off. Go somewhere quiet and relax before you start your big push for office.”

“I can't afford to take that kind of time. Not at this juncture.” Marilyn squared her shoulders. “I intend to go to Washington, D.C., one of these days, so I'd better get used to dealing with stress, hadn't I? But I shouldn't have come here. It wasn't fair to you.”

“Forget it. That's certainly what I intend to do.” Lillian went past her and opened the front door. “Good luck in the campaign, Marilyn.”

“Thank you.” Marilyn walked out onto the porch and went down the steps to the Mercedes. She paused just before getting behind the wheel. “I hope you'll vote for me.”

Lillian watched her drive away and then slowly closed the door. She walked to the table, picked up her mug and carried it into the second bedroom. She looked at the blank canvas propped on the easel.

For a long time she sipped tea and contemplated the empty white space, trying to get back into that alternate reality where she stood within the vision. But it was hopeless. Too many real-world thoughts barred the way.

“…You want to know a secret? I used to blame your family and Harte Investments for the breakup of my relationship with Gabe.”

After a while she gave up trying to get into the zone. She went into the kitchen and took a bottle of wine and some cheese out of the refrigerator. She put both into a paper sack.

She went upstairs to her bedroom, opened a drawer, selected a nightgown and a change of underwear, and put them into a leather tote. In the bathroom she quickly packed the basics into a small, zippered case and dropped the case into the tote.

Carrying the tote in one hand, she went back downstairs, collected the sack with the wine and cheese inside and a jacket. She left the cottage through the mudroom door.

Outside she was met with a brisk, bracing wind and the roar of the surf down in Dead Hand Cove. The day was already darkening into night.

She walked across the top of the bluffs to the old Buckley place.

Gabe opened the back door just as she raised her hand to knock. He looked at the bulging tote bag.

“Looks like you plan to stay awhile.”

“Thought I'd spend the night if it's okay with you.”

He smiled slowly, emerald eyes warm and sensual.

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

She walked into the kitchen.

“Don't want to push my good luck but curiosity compels me to ask.” He took the tote and the sack from her. “Why the change of heart?”

“Marilyn came to see me today. You know, it's one thing for my mom and your grandfather to mess with my mind. They're family. They got a right, I guess. But having your ex-girlfriend try the same trick is going too far. Got to draw the line somewhere.”

He closed the door and looked at her. “Marilyn paid you a visit today?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“Among other things, she said she needed to talk to someone about the real reason she'd fired Claire.”

“And that reason is?”

“She thinks Claire had an affair with Trevor.”

“She
thinks
that or she knows it?”

“Let's just say she's convinced of it.” She unfastened her cloak. “At any rate she doesn't trust Claire anymore. So she canned her.”

Gabe took the cloak. It spilled from his hand in an iridescent waterfall.

“What's the big deal?” he said. “Marilyn is divorcing Thornley. Their relationship was obviously based on Trevor's electability, not true love. Why worry about an affair with Claire that may or may not have happened?”