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and she d have lost it completely!
The sun glinted dully off the smoke-blackened windows of Belvoir s main
salon but the sounds of activity echoing from within indicated that repair
and restoration were already under way.
Robespierre was not a sociable cat so it was unlikely he d be anywhere
near the house, but he was a creature of habit and very fond of his
comforts. Cutting across the neglected rose garden, Emily made her way
toward the wall of shrubbery that separated Monique s home from the
Barretts , her neighbors on the other side. Bathed in morning sunlight, it
was reputedly one of Robespierre s favorite basking spots.
Call and coax though she might, however, the cat did not appear, nor was
he prowling in the long, sweet grass growing along the water s edge. That
left only the belvedere, which was situated beyond sight and sound of the
main house and commanded a view of the river as it flowed downstream
and rounded the curve past Roscommon.
From all appearances, the structure had stood abandoned since the summer
Emily had watched and waited so hopelessly for Lucas to come and
declare himself. The ornate wrought iron of its domed roof and trellises
was powdered with rust, its floor littered with leaves and the assorted
debris of many winters.
Once, the curved benches inside had been covered with striped canvas, but
the fabric had long since rotted. All that was left were the crumbling
remains of the cushions, which, judging from the tufts of kapok sticking
out at intervals, had been home to a family of rodents for quite some time.
Not the sort of place a person might want to linger, it was nonetheless
definitely one which presented good hunting opportunities for a hungry
cat. Wrinkling her nose at the musty odor which not even the sweet air of a
northern Californian spring could eliminate, Emily picked her way up the
shallow flight of steps to the shaded interior of the summerhouse.
It wasn t just the smell of disuse that permeated the atmosphere, it was the
aura of dejection accompanying it that resurrected another wave of
memories so pain-filled that Emily s throat ached. Tomb-like in its
privacy, this was a sad place, a place where things had died.
She had come here to count off the days and ultimately face, with sick
dread, the fact that she was nineteen, pregnant and single, with no wedding
plans looming on the horizon to mitigate the situation because the love of
her life was marrying another woman.
Somewhere among the withered leaves crumbling under her feet lay the
forgotten bits and pieces of her heart which she had never quite managed to
put back together again after Lucas had broken it so thoroughly.
She d wanted to die that long-ago summer, but had been too cowardly to
do anything to expedite the matter. She supposed she ought to be glad of
that now, with things between her and him seeming so much brighter.
Except what had he really promised her?
She leaned against a trellis and stared moodily at the peaceful garden. He d
promised her nothing but a lot of maybes that might never amount to
anything. Would never amount to anything if Tamara Golding had her way,
and Emily was far too finely attuned to the other woman s agenda not to
recognize that she was the type who wouldn t easily be put to rout.
 Think about it, she muttered glumly, coughing as little at the cloud of
dust that rose up when she plopped herself down on the rotting cushions of
the nearest bench.  She s pulling out all the stops, parading her
widowhood and worthiness for all the world to see. A sex-starved divorcée
whose career aspirations revolve around other people s soirées and parties
hardly paints an admirable picture by comparison-and you might as well
face it, Emily Lamartine, that pretty well sums up how Lucas perceived
you until you set him straight.
A rustling at the end of the bench startled her into silence. Seconds later,
some sort of field mouse poked, its head out from behind the cushion. A
pretty little thing with big round ears, it stopped halfway out of its nest, its
nose twitching as it sniffed out the danger spelled by an intruder.
Whatever other neuroses she had, Emily had never; been one to squeal
with fright over insects or rodents. To have done so, with the six Flynn
boys living next door every summer, would have spelled endless misery.
 Don t run away on my account, she said now as the mouse pinned her
with a terrified, beady little gaze. "I am as much an outcast around here as
you.
But when even the mouse didn t relish her company and flitted back into
its hole she decided she d wasted enough time feeling sorry for herself and
would be better occupied trying to shape a future more tolerable than the
unhappy past.  A future which doesn t include Tamara Golding s cool,
amused voice and sleek golden limbs, she declared to the scarlet
bougainvillaea climbing up the trellis, and just about screamed with shock
when a voice from behind answered.
 Talking to yourself, Emily? Bruce s pleasant baritone was laced with
amusement.  Doesn t say much for the company at Roscommon, does it?
Unsure how much he d overheard, Emily chose to brazen it out.  Actually,
I was talking to a mouse, she said, standing up and brushing flecks of
kapok from her skirt.  Come in and wait for him to pop out of his nest
again. He s the cutest little thing, with ears like parachutes.
Eyeing the derelict belvedere, Bruce stationed himself against one of the
entrance posts and gave a comical shudder.  No, thanks! I wouldn t have
thought this was your idea of a pleasant place to spend the morning,
either.
 I came looking for Robespierre.
 I think he died a couple of hundred years ago. Bruce s amusement
erupted into laughter that was too infectious to resist.
 Not this one, she said, joining in.  He s my grandmother s fourteen-year-
old cat and he hasn t been seen since the fire. Then she stopped and
looked at Bruce curiously.  But how did you know where to find me?"
 I saw you from the Barretts garden. Is this cat you re looking for a big
male tabby with an unpleasant addiction to clawing the ankles of passing
strangers?"
 You ve found him!
 He s taken up residence under the Barretts front verandah. '
 Oh, my grandmother will be pleased! Can I count on you to help me catch
him?
Bruce bathed her in another endearing grin.  I'd rather tackle California s
most wanted criminal! But if you ll do the trapping I ll show you exactly
where he s holed up.
Robespierre took some persuading but eventually, and with the added lure
of a can of sardines provided by Bruce s hostess, they finally captured him.
Although her grandmother was delighted to have him back again, when she
showed up with him on the patio and found Tamara still holding court,
Emily realized she didn t know the half of it when it came to trapping.
As if cornering 'one man wasn t enough, the moment she set eyes on Bruce
Tamara corralled him, as well.  Oh, wonderful; you ve saved me having to
come looking for you! she exclaimed, then, with one of her charming
little grimaces, added,  Come and join the. discussion that s raging by all
means, but promise me you won t take as long to convince as Lucas.
 Can anyone join in? Emily asked tartly, and was promptly rewarded for
her nastiness.
 Not really, dear, Tamara cooed.  This isn t something that exactly
concerns you--at least not right now.
And, how exactly does it concern you? Emily wondered, quelling the
homicidal urge to choke Tamara for the patronising attitude she dished out.
Monique prevented any sort of retaliation, however, by announcing,
 Emily Jane, I wish to have a few words with you in private. Be so good as
to wheel me to my room.
Once there, she came straight to the point.  You re lusting after that Flynn
creature again, aren t you, Emily Jane? It s as plain as the green in your
eyes every time you look at Madame Golding."
 Yes, Emily said, too discouraged to bother denying what must be
patently obvious to the most casual observer. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]