Summer in Eclipse Bay (14 page)

“Glad I could serve in a useful capacity.”

“You were
extremely
useful.” She pushed her glasses up more firmly on her nose and cleared her throat. “Since we're having this conversation, I should probably take the opportunity to apologize for that unfortunate little scene last night as you were running out the door. Let's just chalk it up to two years' worth of celibacy, the storm, and the last remnants of my weird emotional condition.”

“A nice tidy list of reasons.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “And for the record, I was not
running
out the door. It was late and I had to pick up Carson and get back to the cottage.”

“Of course.” She glanced at her watch. “I'm glad we've got that settled. You'll have to excuse me. I need to get back to the gallery.”

“Now who's running?”

Her mouth tightened. “I've got a business to see to and you've got a missing painting to investigate.”

“Sure.” He wished he could see her eyes behind those damn sunglasses. “Would you like to come out to my place and have dinner with Carson and me tonight?”

She hesitated. “Thanks, but I'm afraid I'm busy this evening.”

The chill returned to his gut. “Seaton?”

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he said grimly.

“He wants me to look at some of his paintings.” She turned away to start back toward the gallery. “He has never exhibited his work and he wants me to give him a professional opinion on whether it might have commercial possibilities.”

“Bullshit. He wants to talk you into bed.”

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Would you like to tell me what it is between you two?”

“What the hell. I never told anyone else.” He wrenched open the driver's side door of the BMW and got behind the wheel. “Might be
therapeutic
for me.”

“Nick, wait—”

He slammed the door and looked at her through the lowered window while he started the engine. “Seaton hates my guts because he thinks that I had an affair with his ex-wife while they were still married.”

Her mouth opened but no words emerged. Her speechless condition gave him some satisfaction, but not much.

“One more thing,” he added, snapping the car into gear. “What happened last night between you and me wasn't therapy. It was great sex. There's a difference.”

He drove out of the marina parking lot, leaving her standing there in her bright purple jumper and ridiculously sexy shoes.

“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Sullivan snarled into the phone. “I'm trying to put together a merger here.”

“Hate to break this to you,” Mitchell growled on the other end, “but my grandson and your son don't need any help putting the finishing touches on the Madison-Harte merger. Both of 'em have been running their own companies for years. They know what they're doing. You're just gumming things up, hanging over their shoulders there in Portland. Leave 'em be and pay attention to the larger issues.”

“Larger issues? Never heard you use a fancy phrase like that before, Mitch.”

“Must have picked it up from one of you silver-tongued Hartes. Look, we've got a problem here in Eclipse Bay.”

Sullivan cranked back in the chair and contemplated the view from the window of the temporary office his new son-in-law, Gabe Madison, had provided for him. The headquarters of Madison Commercial, soon to become Madison-Harte, were located on the top floors of a Portland office tower. From his perch he could see the boat traffic on the Willamette River.

The summer afternoon was sunny and warm. The weather reporters claimed that it was hot down there on the city streets, but he spent most of his time in Phoenix these days. He knew hot, and this was not hot.

“Seems to me that
you
have a problem, Mitch,” he said, stalling for time while he considered the
larger issues.
“Not me. You're the one who decided to take on the job of looking out for Claudia Banner's great-niece.”

“This problem we're discussing involves your grandson,” Mitch shot back. “I told you I wouldn't stand by and let him—”

“Shut up.” Sullivan got up out of the chair very suddenly.

Phone in hand, he went to stand at the window. “Don't say it again.”

“Don't say what?” Mitchell asked innocently. “That I won't let Nick sucker Octavia into an affair and then dump her when he decides he wants to replace her with some other lady?”

“This is my grandson you're talking about.” Sullivan's hand clamped fiercely around the phone, but he managed to keep his voice level. “He is not a philanderer, damn it.”

“That so? Then why hasn't he found himself a good woman sometime during the past four years and settled down again? That's what you Hartes do, isn't it? Get married and stay married?”

“Yes, Mitch. Unlike the sterling example of family values you set for your grandsons with your three or four wives and God only knows how many affairs, we Hartes are real big on family values.”

“You leave my grandsons out of this.”

“Hard to do that, given that they're married to my granddaughters.”

“There's not a damn thing wrong with Gabe's or Rafe's family values and you know it. Lillian is Gabe's passion and Hannah is Rafe's. Nothing comes between a Madison and his passion. Those two boys are married for life.”

“So was Nick,” Sullivan said quietly.

Silence hummed on the line.

“That's the real problem, you see,” Sullivan continued. “Nick figured he had married for life. He hasn't adjusted to the loss of Amelia. He's not heartless, he's just trying to protect himself.”

“Look, I know folks here in Eclipse Bay like to say that losing her broke Nick's heart.” There was a note of gruff sympathy in Mitchell's voice. “Expect it's true, what with him being a Harte and all. But that ain't no excuse for him playin' fast and loose with a nice girl like Octavia. She's had a rough time of it, too, damn it. But unlike your grandson, I don't think she's tough enough to protect herself.”

“So you've decided to do it for her?”

“Someone's gotta do it. Not like she's got any family around to take on the job.”

Sullivan hesitated. “All right, you've made your point.”

“Got another one to make while I'm at it,” Mitchell said grimly. “Your grandson spent last night at her place.”

That gave Sullivan pause. “The whole night?”

“Well, maybe not the
entire
night—”

Sullivan relaxed slightly. “Didn't think so.”

“But it's pretty damn obvious those two are foolin' around.”

“Obvious to you, maybe.”

“Yeah, obvious to me. You should have seen the way Octavia jumped to Nick's defense this afternoon when I cornered him down at the marina.”

“What the hell do you think you're doing, cornering my grandson?”

“I was just makin' sure he understands he can't have his way with Octavia.”

“Damn it, Mitch—” Sullivan broke off abruptly and backtracked to the other part of Mitchell's comment. “What did you mean when you said Octavia jumped to his defense?”

“She claimed he's sort of working for her.”

“Nick? Working for Octavia Brightwell? Doing what, for crying out loud?”

“Playing private detective, I hear. Like that fellow in his novels.”

Sullivan struggled valiantly to hang onto the few remaining wisps of logic that still dangled from the conversation. “Why does Octavia need an investigator?”

“Long story. That painting Thurgarton left to A.Z. and Virgil and the Heralds got stolen from her shop last night.”

“What was it doing in her gallery? Never mind. I assume she notified Valentine?”

“Sure. But he's got his eye on the Heralds and she doesn't think he's looking in the right place. Neither does A.Z. or Virgil.”

“So she hired Nick.” Sullivan sank down onto the corner of his desk and digested that information. “And he agreed to investigate?”

“Appears that way.”

“This is bizarre.”

“Like I said, we've got a situation here, Sullivan. I hate to admit it, but I think I'm gonna need some help straightening this one out.”

“Now, just a minute—”

“I'll keep you posted.”

Mitchell cut the connection.

Very slowly Sullivan reached across the desk and punched in another, very familiar number. He needed advice from the one person whose insight he had come to trust the most over the years.

His wife, Rachel, answered on the second ring.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Why do you say that?” he grumbled.

“Because it's the middle of the day and you're supposed to be deep into the intricacies of the merger of Harte Investments and Madison Commercial.”

He could hear birds. Somewhere in the background, water splashed. He knew that she was out by the pool of their desert home with his daughter-in-law, Elaine. The two women were holed up together in Phoenix, keeping each other company, while their menfolk worked the merger details with Gabe Madison.

Sullivan summoned up a vision of Rachel in her swimsuit, her body sleek and wet.

She was still the only woman for him, he thought. There had never been another since he had met her all those years ago in the wake of the financial disaster of Harte-Madison. He had been a driven man in those days, completely obsessed with the task of rebuilding his business empire.

But he had learned the hard way that the great strength in the Harte genes was also a potentially devastating flaw. It was the nature of a Harte to be goal-oriented and so focused that other things, important things, sometimes got pushed aside. If Madisons were driven by their passions, Hartes were sometimes inclined to be cold-blooded and relentless in their pursuit of an objective.

Rachel had quietly acted to counter his single-minded obsession with Harte Investments. She had centered him, given him a sense of connection. During the long, hard years when he had thrown himself into the struggle to create H.I., Rachel had been there, sometimes going toe-to-toe with him to remind him that he had other priorities, too. It was Rachel who had taught him the meaning of family. It was Rachel who had saved him from going down a path that would have left him a hollow shell of a man.

“Gabe and Hamilton don't need my help,” he said. “They've shunted me off to a corner office on the floor beneath the CEO's suite and made it clear they'll call me if they need me.”

“I take it they don't call often?”

“Nope. I'm getting a little bored here, to tell you the truth. I'm thinking of going over to the coast for a couple of days.”

“What's wrong in Eclipse Bay?” she asked instantly.

“Nothing's wrong.”

“Nick and Carson are there.”

“So? Thought I'd spend a little time with my great-grandson. Carson's got a lot of me in him. Going to run an empire one of these days. He needs my guidance during his early, formative years.”

“You still haven't told me what's wrong.”

The problem with being married to a woman like this for so many decades was that she could read a man's mind.

“Just had a call from Mitch,” he said carefully. “Seems like Nick and Octavia Brightwell are involved. Sort of.”

“Well, well.”

“What, exactly, does that mean?”

“It means it's about time Nick finally got serious about a woman.”

“That's the problem, according to Mitch,” Sullivan said. “He doesn't think Nick is serious about Octavia.”

“Surely Nick wouldn't have an affair with her?” Rachel sounded genuinely concerned now. “Not there in Eclipse Bay. Think of the gossip.”

“It's the thought of Mitch trying to manage the situation on his own that worries me.”

“Honest opinion, Octavia.” Jeremy looked at the five pictures propped against the walls of the bedroom he was using as a studio. “I can handle it. Really. I think.”

She gazed into the depths of the painting in front of her. It was a portrait of Jeremy's grandmother. It showed Edith Seaton seated in her antiques shop, a small, purposeful figure surrounded by the clutter of the past. There was an almost surrealistic quality to the old dishes and small relics housed in the glass cabinets and displayed on the tables.

The painting showed a room crowded with a lifetime of memories. Edith's face was a rich tapestry of emotions and determination layered on each other with such a strong, clear vision that it was possible to see the personality of the woman in every stroke.

“It's really quite wonderful, Jeremy.” She did not look up from the painting. “When you said that you wanted to show me some pictures, I had no idea they would be of this quality.”

Jeremy visibly relaxed. He looked pleased. “I did that one of my grandmother from a photo I took last year. You know, she's lived her whole life in this town. Hardly ever traveled even as far as Portland. Eclipse Bay is her whole world.”

“How long has she been alone?”

“Let's see, Granddad died eight, maybe nine years ago. That's him in the framed picture hanging behind the counter. They both grew up here. Got married the day after they graduated from high school. They were together for nearly sixty years.”

She studied the picture-within-a-picture and was able to make out the features of a man with the thin shoulders that often accompanied age. There was a certain self-confident, almost rakish quality to the tilt of the man's head. The viewer got the impression that at one time the senior Seaton had been a good-looking man and knew it.

“Sixty years is quite a marriage,” she said. “No one in my family ever managed to stay together that long.”

“Mom told me once that Granddad ran around a bit in his younger days. But Grandmother pretended not to know about his little escapades.”

“Your grandfather had his affairs right here in town?”

“I guess so. He lived here all of his life and didn't do any traveling to speak of.”

She shuddered. “Must have been hard on your grandmother.”

“I'm sure it was. She's got a lot of pride in the Seaton name.”

“Marriages are always mysterious when viewed from the outside.” She turned away from the painting. “I'd love to give you a show, Jeremy. But as I explained, to be important to your career, it would have to be held at the Portland gallery, not here in Eclipse Bay.”

“I know. Eclipse Bay isn't exactly on the art world's radar screen.”

“No, and I'm afraid that I'm booked solid in the city. I've got shows scheduled every month until the end of summer there and then I plan to sell both galleries.”

“I understand,” he said.

“But I can certainly hang a couple of your pictures in my gallery here in town and see if they sell. I have a hunch they will. You've got a real commercial talent. What do you say?”

“I'll go with your intuition. You've got the eye, at least when it comes to art.”

“Meaning that I don't have it when it comes to other things?”

“Okay, okay, I admit that I have some strong reservations about you seeing Nick Harte.”

“I thought so.” She folded her arms and propped one hip on the edge of the table. “He told me that you think he had an affair with your ex-wife.”

Jeremy looked stunned. Then his expression darkened and his face tightened with suppressed anger. “I can't believe that he actually talked to you about that.”

“He didn't discuss it in detail. He just made the statement that you thought your ex-wife had had an affair with him while you were still married.”

Jeremy's hand closed into a fist. “So, he admitted it,” he said softly.

“No, he did not admit it. He just said that was what you believed.”

“It's not a guess, you know.” Jeremy looked hard at the painting of his grandmother. “Laura told me she'd been with him.”

“Where is Laura now?”

“Getting ready to marry again, I hear. A lawyer in Seattle.”

“When did she meet him?”

“How the hell should I know? I don't keep track of her private life these days.”

“You and Laura,” she said cautiously, “I assume the two of you were having trouble for a while before you split up?”

“Sure. We argued a lot toward the end. That's usually what happens before you get a divorce, isn't it?”

“That's certainly the way it went in my family.” She watched him intently. “Were the quarrels bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“The kind of arguments in which both people say things that are calculated to hurt the other person as much as possible?”

Jeremy glanced at her, frowning. “Sometimes. Look, I really don't want to rehash the events surrounding my divorce, okay? It's not my favorite topic of conversation.”

“I understand. But I can't help wondering if maybe Laura told you that she'd had an affair with Nick because she knew it would hit you harder than if she said she'd fallen in love with a man you'd never met. Also, it could have been a way of protecting the man she really was seeing at the time.”

“What is this? You think you have to defend Harte? Don't waste your time.”

“What a terrible position to be in, trying to figure out whether to believe your lifelong friend or your spouse. No one should have to make that kind of decision.”

“Look, I'm not after sympathy here,” he muttered. “It's over. I've moved on, like they say, okay?”

“Tell me something, did you ever ask Nick directly if he'd slept with Laura?”

“I told him once that I knew about them, yeah,” Jeremy growled.

“You accused him. You didn't ask him.”

“What's the difference? He denied it.”

“Did Nick ever lie to you in the past about anything else that was important?”

“What does the past have to do with this?”

“Did he?” she pressed gently.

“No. But, then, maybe he never had any reason to lie to me in the past.”

“You've been acquainted with him since you both were children. Have you ever known him to cheat or steal or betray a friend?”

“Things are different when it comes to sex,” Jeremy said with ominous certainty.

“Do you think so? I don't. Cheaters cheat and liars lie. It's what they do whenever things become inconvenient for them or when they can't get what they want in any other way. Most of the people I've known who can lie to your face have had some practice. Aunt Claudia always said that scamming people was an art form that required skill and precision.”

Jeremy looked grim. “Your aunt would have known, from all accounts.”

“Yes. The only thing I can say in her defense was that she came to regret a lot of the damage she caused. But we're not talking about her. Tell me about Laura. Looking back, can you recall occasions when she lied to you?”

Jeremy started to say something but he closed his mouth before uttering a word. He just stood there, gazing at one of the landscapes he had painted.

“How long did you know her?” she asked.

“We were married three months after we met. She thought she was—” He stopped.

“She thought she was pregnant?”

Jeremy nodded. “It was okay by me, although my family was a little put off by the rush, and Grandmother was mortified. She's a little old-fashioned, you know.”

“Yes. I know.”

Jeremy grimaced. “She became my biggest supporter, however, after she found out that Laura came from a socially prominent family in Seattle. But as far as I was concerned, I was excited about starting a family. It felt right, you know? Nick had little Carson and I…Well, it didn't happen for Laura and me. Turned out she wasn't pregnant, after all.”

“She lied about it?”

He shoved his fingers through his hair, looking hunted. “To tell you the truth, I don't know. I've sometimes wondered. She said it was a mistake at the time. The test didn't work properly or something.”

“How long were you married?”

“Eighteen months. Like I said, her family was old Seattle money. Lots of connections. Her parents were never particularly thrilled with me. They felt she could have done better. Once or twice I got the feeling that maybe she'd married me just to defy them and then…”

“Came to regret her decision.”

“Things got worse in a hurry when I told her that I was thinking of moving to Eclipse Bay. I said it would be a good place to raise a family. She hated the idea so I put it off.”

“You like it here. Don't you?” Octavia asked.

He regarded the painting of his grandmother for a while. “It's strange, but I do kind of like it here. Feels like home, you know?”

A wistful feeling drifted through her. “Yes. I know.”

Sometimes feelings for places were wrong, she thought, but there was no need to go off on that tangent. Her intuition told her that Jeremy was, indeed, at home in Eclipse Bay. Like the Hartes and the Madisons, he had several generations of family history here.

She had made the mistake of believing that she belonged in Eclipse Bay, too, but that had been wishful thinking on her part. She knew that now. Her search for home was still ongoing.

“Just out of curiosity,” she continued, “did Laura have a problem with you spending time on your painting?”

Jeremy jerked slightly, clearly startled by the question. His mouth was a thin, hard line. “She called it ‘playing artist.'”

“One last question. Did you see much of Nick while you and Laura were married?”

Jeremy was quiet again for a while. Eventually he shook his head. “No. Things change when you get married, you know? Laura had her own set of friends. We hung around with them for the most part.”

“Yet she still found time to have an affair with Nick?” Octavia spread her hands. “Get real, Jeremy.”

“What the hell is this? You think you can just walk into this situation and analyze it without knowing all of the people involved?”

“I know something about Hartes. Lord knows, they've got their flaws, but I honestly can't see any of the Harte men fooling around with another man's wife.” She straightened away from the desk. “And after looking at your paintings, I know a bit more about you, too. You can see a person's personality and character clearly enough to translate it onto a canvas. Try looking at Nick with your artist's eye. Ask yourself how you would paint him.”

“Hell, you really have got it bad for him, don't you?”

“My feelings for Nick have nothing to do with this discussion.” She dug her car keys out of her shoulder bag and went toward the door. “But I will tell you one thing, Jeremy. I won't let you use me to punish him for what you think he did with Laura.”