“Hello?”
“Micki?”
The well-modulated sound of Darrel’s voice left Micki weak with relief and, contrarily, a bit disappointed.
“Yes, Darrel. How are you? I was planning to call you this afternoon.”
“Where?”
His query stopped her for a moment. What did he mean, where?
“At your apartment, of course,” she finally answered. “Where else would I call?”
“Since yesterday afternoon”—Darrel’s voice held a smile—”my mother’s summer place in Cape May.”
“You’re calling from Cape May now?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” He laughed indulgently. “I’m glad I finally found you at home.” No laughter or even a tinge of a smile now. “Did you have a good time last night?”
Something—was it censure—about his tone annoyed her, so she answered over-sweetly. “Yes, I had a wonderful time.” Well, she had, for the most part anyway. Her answer met a short silence. When he spoke again, his tone conveyed a worried mixture of anger and hesitation.
“How—nice.” Again there was a tiny silence. “Micki, mother’s having a small dinner party this evening and she expressly asked me to bring you. Will you come?”
Expressly? I’ll bet. Micki’s mouth curved wryly. She was very well aware that his mother did not consider her nearly good enough for her precious son. Should she go? Why not? she asked herself. Mrs. Baxter would know before too long that Micki posed no threat to her plans for Darrel’s future.
“I’d love to,” she lied blandly. “What time should I come?”
“I was hoping you’d agree to my coming up there now,” he said quickly. “Then we could have some time alone together before returning here for dinner. Also it would afford me the opportunity to meet your father and stepmother.”
Don’t bother, pal, you ‘re on your way out.
The outrageous thought skittered into Micki’s mind, only to be swept quickly out again. Whatever was the matter with her? Why was she feeling so bitchy? It’s all Wolf’s fault, him and his damn phone call after telling her he wouldn’t call. The fact that there was no sense at all to her reasoning didn’t bother her in the least.
“Micki? Are you there?”
“Yes, yes, Darrel,” Micki assured him. “I was just trying to remember if I’d made any commitments for the day.” Liar. “As I can’t remember any, yes, you can come up. Say, in an hour?”
“Good, I’ll be there.”
“How should I dress?”
“Oh, casually I’d say. See you in an hour.”
After she had replaced the receiver, Micki stood staring at the instrument, the wry smile back on her lips. Oh, casually, the man said. Oh, sure. As casually as labels that read Prada or Versace and that ilk. In other words, girl, she told herself as she left the room, you had better dress casually—to the teeth.
Micki spent the entire hour on her appearance, choosing carefully everything she put on down to the shade of polish she brushed on her nails. On opening the door for Darrel, she counted the time well spent by the expression on his face.
“You’re so lovely,” he said softly. He took one step, his arms reaching for her, then, realizing where he was, he stopped, placed his hands lightly on her waist and bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”
“And I’ve missed you,” Micki replied, trying in vain to infuse conviction into her tone.
After making the introductions, Micki stood aside watching Darrel charm her father and Regina. No one she had ever met could be quite as charming as Darrel. Intelligent, handsome, urbane, his athletically slim body encased in perfectly tailored clothes, he was every parent’s dream of a good catch. By both her father’s and Regina’s reaction, they were not any exception.
After a two-week separation, her own reaction to him surprised her. Watching him, listening to him, she heaved a silent sigh of relief that she had decided not to marry him. He was almost too perfect. Too good-looking, too well turned out, too charming. How, she wondered, could she have ever lived up to that, or with it, twenty-four hours a day? A picture of her own jean-clad, barefoot, tousle-headed form, as she usually was when around the house, rose in her mind, and she had to fight the grin that tugged at her lips. While working, Micki always looked like she’d stepped off the cover of a high-fashion magazine. But when she was at home, well, that was a different story. To her own way of thinking she was more real when she was at home.
After they had left the house and were in his car—a custom-made black Lincoln—driving south, Micki continued with her train of thought. Studying him and the situation objectively, she was convinced that had she married him she would have lost her real self, the essence that was Micki Durrant.
With a small jolt of surprise Micki suddenly realized that Darrel had seen her only in her workday facade. What, she mused, would he think of the tomboyish Micki who could still scamper up a tree with the best of them? Or, the curves revealed by a bikini notwithstanding, become joyfully covered with gritty particles as she erected a sand castle of enormous proportions? She did not have to witness his reaction to know it. Again an impish grin tugged at her lips, more successfully this time.
“What amuses you?” Darrel’s tone held just a touch of the petulant child left out of a secret. Yes, indeed, she decided, Darrel would be very hard, if not impossible, for her to live with.
“Life,” Micki answered, her bright-blue eyes dancing. “And its funny little twists and turns.”
“I find very little amusement in twists and turns,” Darrel intoned. “I like my life well planned and ordered. After we’re married”—he seemed unaware of Micki’s small gasp—”you’ll have no more twists and turns, and I’m sure you will find life less unnerving.”
Not to mention a lot less exciting,
Micki thought scathingly. How was it possible, she asked herself, for a man to be so charming one minute and so pompously dull the next? She didn’t even try to work out the answer to that one, as having already rejected him in her mind, she proceeded to do so in fact.
“But we’re not going to be married.” Although her tone was gentle, it was also flat with finality.
“Not going to be—!” The big car swerved slightly before Darrel’s white-knuckled hands gripped the wheel and straightened it. “But I thought it was settled.”
“I don’t know why you should have thought that,” Micki said quietly. “The only promise I made to you before I left Wilmington was to think about your proposal. I have, and I’ve reached the conclusion that it simply would not work.”
“But of course it would work,” he insisted. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“In the first place,” Micki replied calmly, “your mother does not approve of me. And—”
“You’re wrong,” Darrel interrupted sharply. “At least she no longer objects to the union. She has reconciled herself to the—”
“And in the second place,” she cut him off forcefully, “I’m not in love with you.”
“But you would learn to love me.” He was actually pleading! “I could make you love me.”
“No, Darrel, you could not,” she assured him gently, but firmly. “Of that I am very sure.”
“There is someone else?” His eyes had left the road for a moment as he asked the question. Micki’s momentarily unguarded expression was all the answer he needed. “Yes,” he sighed, glancing back at the road. “I can see there is.”
“I’m sorry.” The words sounded inadequate, even to her own ears, yet they were all she had to offer.
“Sorry? Sorry?” His tone held an anger she’d never heard from him before. “What good is sorry? Why didn’t you tell me at once? When I first asked you to marry me?” His voice died away, then came back more strongly. “Why the hell did you let me hang like that when you knew the answer was no all along?”
“But I didn’t—” Micki began then stopped, aghast at what she was admitting to him.
“You didn’t know?” he finished for her. “You mean it’s some man you’ve met within the last two weeks?”
“Yes—no!” Micki cried.
“What do you mean, yes—no?” Darrel demanded. “For God’s sake, Micki, make up your mind. It’s either one or the other.”
Having arrived at their destination, Cape May’s charmingly quaint shopping mall, Micki was allowed a few minutes to form her answer while Darrel searched out a parking space.
The second the car was motionless, he turned to face her, his expression grim.
“Well?”
“Well,” Micki began slowly, “both yes and no are correct.” At his look of disbelief, she hurried on. “Yes, really Darrel.” Micki hesitated, wet her lips before admitting, “I met, and fell in love with, him some years ago. I was very young.” Again she moistened her dry lips, looked in every direction but his. “I had hoped, was sure, that it was all over.” She paused to draw breath and he grabbed the opportunity to question her.
“That’s why you really came home, wasn’t it?” His voice was heavy with accusation. “To see him.”
“No, it was not,” Micki denied. “I never expected to see him again. When I ran into him, purely by accident, I—I realized nothing had changed for me.”
“For you?” Listening carefully, Darrel had caught the inflection in her last two words. “He doesn’t love you anymore?”
“He never did.” It wasn’t easy but she managed to lift her head and meet his penetrating glance. “All he ever wanted was an affair. He still does.”
“And you’ve agreed to this?” he exclaimed, astonished. No man knew better than Darrel exactly how cool and unresponsive Micki could be.
“Of course not,” Micki snapped icily.
“Well then,” he argued, “if there is no future for you with him, why not—” That was as far as he got before Micki trod on his words.
“I’ll tell you why not. Very simply, I can’t marry or sleep with one man while loving another.” She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Darrel, but that’s not my style.”
“Yes, I know.” Darrel’s smile matched hers for sadness for several minutes before he shrugged. “I suppose, under the circumstances, dinner at mother’s would not be a good idea. She was halfway expecting an announcement of our engagement” His shoulders moved again. “I’ll call her and tell her we can’t make it, and face the questions tomorrow.” The sadness left his smile, replaced by all the charm he was capable of.
“
Youwill have dinner with me, won’t you?”
“No pressure?” Micki asked warily.
“No pressure,” he vowed. “I may not know you all that long, but I know you well enough to be sure no amount of pressure would change your mind.”
Micki had a sudden urge to cry. The words
no amount of pressure
brought home to her more than anything else how very vulnerable she was. It would, she knew, take very little pressure from Wolf to turn her into a pliant, shivering love slave.
How very little we know each other,
she thought sadly. She was considered very strong-willed and near frigid by most, if not all, of her friends. What would Darrel’s reaction be, she wondered, if he were exposed to a tenth of the passion that had consumed her while on Wolf’s boat? A conjured picture of Darrel’s shocked visage exchanged the hovering tears for a fleeting smile.
“What are you thinking?” he probed. “You’re so quiet, and for a second there I wasn’t sure if you were going to laugh or cry.”
“For a second there, I wasn’t sure either,” Micki laughed softly. “I wanted to cry for what might have been. Darrel, would you do something for me?”
“Of course,” he answered at once. “Anything. What is it?”
“Would you buy me a sandwich?” Her eyes bright with the recent moisture teased impishly. “I just realized I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m starving.”
Up until then the car’s engine, which he’d left on to run the air-conditioner, had purred softly. As he turned to shut off the engine, he shook his head ruefully.
“You’re unbelievable, Micki.” As if against his will, he smiled. “To use a very trite phrase, how can you think of food at a time like this?” His smile deepened and grew into a grin. “But now that you mention it, I could eat a sandwich myself.”
They left the cool confines of the car to brave the fierce assault from the sun and the waves of heat rising from the sidewalk. Strolling along the perimeter of the shopping mall, they came upon a restaurant with a low-walled patio. On the patio were a half dozen umbrella-shaded tables surrounded by wooden deck chairs. Only two of the tables were occupied, and the waitress, looking somewhat forlorn, cast them a hopeful look.
“What do you think?” Darrel laughed softly. “The patio? Or would you prefer the air-conditioned dining room?”
“Oh, the patio,” Micki grinned. “I don’t think I have the courage to bypass that waitress.”
Chatting pleasantly, the waitress took their orders of grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches and iced tea before reluctantly disappearing through a door at the far end of the patio.
“Well,” Darrel sighed, pushing back his chair. “I may as well find a phone, face the music, and get it over with. I’ll be back in a minute, if I’m lucky.”
“Take your time, I’ll be fine.” Micki waved him away. “Please convey my regrets to your mother.” A low grunt was the only reply she received.
A mild breeze ruffling her hair, Micki leaned back in the chair and let her gaze roam over the surrounding area. Moving lazily, her eyes passed a glare of red, then, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips, her eyes honed in on the flame-colored car.
With something akin to panic, Micki watched as the sports car was maneuvered into a small parking space. Even without a good view of the man behind the wheel, Micki knew who was driving that brazenly painted, rich man’s toy. She very seriously doubted there were two cars like that on the whole of the south Jersey coast.
A growing ache gripping her throat, Micki watched as Wolf stepped out of the car, walked around to the other side to assist his passenger in alighting. Hating herself, yet unable to tear her eyes away, Micki studied the woman as she stepped onto the street and straightened up. At that distance Micki could only get an impression of the woman. That impression was tall, willowy, her platinum hair gleaming in the sunlight, her face partially concealed by overlarge sunglasses, her teeth flashing whitely in a crimson mouth.
“Here’s your tea.” The waitress’s lilting voice drew Micki’s attention. “Your sandwiches will be along in a moment.”