Summer on the Cape (23 page)

Davey, who understood very well why he was there, sprang to her side as she crossed the room, ready to take the Nikon from her.

“Here Davey,” she said, handing the camera to him. “Set it up for some close-ups.” While Davey switched lenses, Allie approached the chairman. She waited for him to address her.

“How do you do, Ms. Randall.” She noted that his English was perfect. He held out his hand to shake hers, and nodded slowly at the same time. “I see you have everything under control here.” He walked to his desk and sat down. “Shall we begin immediately?”

Allie observed that Mr. Nakamura was of average height and walked with a quick but constrained motion. At his desk, he held himself quite square to the surface, his elbows and forearms resting on it in perfect perpendicular to his body. Despite the formality with which he presented himself, he appeared to be entirely comfortable, and Allie saw, quite accurately, a genial twinkle in his eye as he quickly, efficiently, conducted an appraisal of his own.

“I have already begun,” Allie said, in response to his suggestion, knowing that an air of super-efficiency would please him. “We’ve done the preliminary camera work and I’ve analyzed the room, the light, and the painting conditions. Now I’d like to discuss your conception of the painting so that we can arrive at a mutually satisfactory approach.” Before he could say anything, she cocked her head a bit to one side, her face becoming almost cameralike itself as she made quick mental images of his features, the expression in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the play of the light across his face, the color gradations of his eyes and skin. She understood that neither time nor words were to be wasted with this subject, and she had already decided to dispense with trying him out in various poses. He had immediately fallen into the one that was most characteristic of him and in which he was most comfortable. “My feeling is that you would be most effectively portrayed exactly as you are now, at your desk, looking squarely forward.”

The twinkle in his eyes deepened, and he knew she’d read him correctly. “You’re a very perceptive young woman,” he said coolly. “I suspected as much when I saw your portfolio of pictures. It is a pleasure to see, as I saw in those paintings, the patience of maturity combined with the passion of youth and the sensitivity of a genuine artist.” His face wore a small smile. “I think it will not be necessary to discuss the painting. I will trust entirely to your judgment, and I look forward to the finished portrait.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, feeling embarrassed by such elegant praise. She went right to her easel. “It won’t be necessary for you to be absolutely still. It will be better, in fact, if we can talk naturally while I work.” Allie wanted to watch his face in motion, get a sense of the way his facial muscles worked, his characteristic mannerisms.

He was apparently happy with the comfortable working arrangement she had established and settled down to chat with her amiably as she set up a stool at her easel, having selected a rather low angle from which to paint him. While she did several quick pencil sketches, analyzing the shadows and highlights of his features, he discussed portrait painting in general, surprising her with his knowledge of the subject.

“But I must tell you, Ms. Randall,” he said, during a pause in her work, “what really impressed us all most significantly were the remarkable seascapes you did at Cape Cod. They capture perfectly the spirit we want, not only for our offices here, but also for the materials that will be prepared in connection with our Pilgrims’ Landing project.” He smiled cordially at her, enjoying the intense concentration on her face while she worked. “I cannot commit our selection committee, of course, and the final decision will be theirs, but the portfolio of pictures you left here on Thursday was very impressive. We also liked especially the little portrait sketches you made on site.”

Allie was ready to switch from pencil to watercolors and Davey was bringing her the jars of water and putting them on the small portable stand that was set up next to her. “That pleases me, Mr. Nakamura. They do make a nice representation of the local community.” She wondered how the chairman would feel about those pictures if he could have seen some of those same faces at the meeting that night. She leaned to one side, adjusting her angle of vision to examine a shadow at the side of the chairman’s ear. “So it appears that the project will go forward. I understood it was not yet certain.”

A small, satisfied smile appeared on Mr. Nakamura’s placid face, a smile that did not escape Allie’s sharp eye. “No project is ever certain until it is fully completed and operating. Obstacles arise daily. However, yes, yes, as of last Thursday morning, it appears we have our financing. A major American backer has signed on with us, so it looks very good for the development of the project.”

“Thursday morning?” Allie asked, surprised by the coincidence of timing.
Thursday morning,
she thought,
when Zach was here.

“Yes. In fact, the same morning you were meeting with the selection committee. We are most pleased, of course, that a substantial portion of the backing comes not only from domestic sources, but in this case, from an individual who has old ties to Cape Cod and knows the area well. It lends credibility and substance to our efforts, although at the investor’s request, the financing must be kept most confidential. However, these matters have a way of becoming known through a very quiet financial grapevine, and if the project is completed, we think the source of our backing will be good public relations for us because of the local connection.”

“Last Thursday morning?” She hoped her face was betraying nothing. She tried to concentrate on cleaning her brushes, getting ready to finish the day’s session, but her mind had traveled far away from her brushes.

“Yes. That is, we concluded our discussions before lunch. Actually, of course, we’d been negotiating for many weeks.” He seemed almost to sigh, but smiled paternally at her, saying, “These things never happen as quickly as one would wish. Fortunately, patience learned early in life is a most useful business skill, and I believe I have become a patient man.”

Allie smiled in return, almost automatically. As she packed everything into her aluminum paintbox, she needed to conceal from the chairman the nature of her thoughts, which preoccupied her entirely.

So that’s what Zach was doing here.

Since last Thursday, she’d been asking herself why Zach had been there in the executive offices of Matsuhara. Now she had her answer. Adam had been right, as he always was. Despite Zach’s pretense of opposing the Mayflower project, he was secretly putting money into it, standing to make a substantial profit out of Pilgrims’ Landing, while convincing all his neighbors he was against it.

Mechanically, she took the camera from Davey. “Just a few shots, if you don’t mind, Mr. Nakamura, mainly for lighting reference while I paint the picture. Then we’ll get our things right out of here.” She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to nine, just time enough to shoot and pack up.

Shoot, indeed. She couldn’t wrest her thoughts away from Zach. He had sat there in her bedroom, perched on the windowsill, so handsome in the moonlight, while she lay in the bed, naked under the sheet, and he had lied to her. And after making love to her so incredibly beautifully. She had never known sex like that, had never known sex could be like that. And then he had sat there, drinking Adam’s Jack Daniels, telling her sad stories of the watery deaths of Cape Cod sailors and fishermen, and all the time he had been lying to her.

Davey had packed up her paints while she shot the last pictures of the chairman from several angles and perspectives. “I’m done, Davey,” she said at last. “Get the lamps down, and we’ll be out of here.” While Davey dismantled the lighting gear, coiling up the thick electric cables and packing the stands into their carrying case, Allie thanked the chairman for his patience and confirmed that the next two sessions would be at the same time tomorrow and the next day.

“I understand we’ve agreed on completion of all the work by the end of summer,” he said. “That means, then, that you’ll be returning to Cape Cod to complete the watercolors. Will you be going soon?”

“I expect to,” Allie said, a touch grimly, trying to hide her feelings. For the second time in several days, she said, “I have to complete work on some unfinished projects.”

I have to hand that man’s head to him on a platter, and then I have to teach myself to forget I’d ever known him.

Chapter Sixteen

A
llie didn’t have to wait until she returned to the Cape. A bronze-colored Jaguar with Massachusetts license plates was parked on Perry Street, across from the entrance to her apartment building in the Village. She couldn’t help spotting it as Davey Rubens turned his van into the short, tree-lined street.

“I’ll keep all the lighting gear locked in the van,” Davey was saying, not seeing that Allie was staring at the parked Jag. “It’ll be safe overnight in my mom’s garage in Brooklyn.” He pulled up to the curb at the entrance to her building and Allie got out, her gaze searching up and down the street, looking for the car’s owner. So Zach was here, she thought, come to see her. But where was he? There was no sign of him on the quiet street.

Davey leaned across the front seat and said, through the open window, “Same time tomorrow morning? Pick you up at six-fifteen?”

She hardly heard him. “That’ll be fine. And thanks a lot, Davey. See you in the morning.” She was barely aware of Davey, her gear, the van, or her appointment to return in the morning to continue to work in Mr. Nakamura’s office. She was barely aware that Davey pulled away from the curb and was headed for his ten-thirty class at Parsons. She was barely aware of the pounding of her heart as she ran up the four flights to her apartment. Zach was here, where she lived, seeking her out. Well, she was ready to confront him with her new information. Confront him, yes, but oh, to be close to him again, to touch him, to be held in those arms! Her emotions were at war inside her, wanting him and ready to do battle with him, all in the same breath, the same thought.

The keys to her apartment had sunk somewhere to the bottom of her cluttered white straw bag, and she was awkwardly fumbling for them outside the door to her apartment. From the dark stairs behind her, a deep, masculine voice reached her. “Good thing you came along. I was getting ready to pitch a tent.”

She whirled and there he was, sitting on the steps that went up to the fifth floor. He was leaning back against the wall, one leg raised on the step he was sitting on. He seemed to be very comfortable. “You must get a very early start,” he said. “I’ve been here since seven.”

“Zach, you’re a fool,” she said sharply, digging awkwardly in her bag. “Suppose I’d been out all day. I often am, you know. Suppose I’d been out all night. What would you have done then?”

“I don’t want to think about that possibility.” He looked at her a bit askance. “You weren’t out all night, were you?”

“No, of course not. I’ve been to a portrait sitting. Have you really been here since seven?” The elusive keys suddenly found their way to her fingers, and she held them up triumphantly. “Here they are!” She turned and unlocked the door to her apartment.

“Well, actually, when you weren’t here, I went out and got some coffee and read the paper in a nice little coffee shop around the corner.” He stood up and followed her into her apartment. “I’ve been here about twenty minutes. A nice lady with a stroller let me in. I guess I don’t look like a hatchet murderer.”

Inside the apartment, she turned to lock the door behind them, and immediately, Zach’s arms went around her, drawing her up close to him, his mouth hungry for hers. She might have meant to stop him, but her intention was derailed by the warmth of his kiss, the force of his arms, the incredibly magnetic strength of his body. All her senses, so finely tuned anyway, came more intensely alive in his arms. His mouth, his kisses, had a masculine taste, his early morning shaving cream still scented his skin, the soft fabric of his dark gray business suit caressed the skin of her arms and her cheek where her face rested against his shoulder. She felt the magic of his presence working its familiar way with her.

She might have forgotten all her anger with him, all her disappointment and suspicions, but the feel of his suit, its soft elegance, reminded her of the way he’d looked the other morning, so sleekly masculine and handsome, when she’d seen him in the Matsuhara offices. Abruptly, she was wrenched back to her determination to confront him.

In a feat of self-denial, she pulled her head back from him, turning aside so that his lips only grazed her cheek. “No, Zach. Not so easy. Not now.” She turned and flipped the lock on her door. “We have things to talk about.”

He looked at her warily, stunned by her sudden coolness. “Allie, what is this? You’re not turning into a coy damsel all of a sudden, are you?”

She was in no mood to be challenged by him. She flung her keys onto the chest that stood near the door.

“Coy? No, Zach. I don’t think ‘coy’ is my style.”

“No, it isn’t, Allie.” He followed her into the living room, where she dropped her bag onto a small chair, covered in a bright chintz fabric. With one hand, he grasped her arm, turning her to face him, his other arm coming around her, pulling her up against him. “What’s the matter, Allie? What’s happened since Wednesday night?” He tried again to kiss her, and this time Allie turned more easily away, slipping out of his arms.

“What’s happened?” she flashed at him. “I think you should be telling me what’s happened.” She walked quickly into her bedroom and went to the dresser, stood in front of it to look in the mirror, pulling the clips out of her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders, putting the clips into a bowl on the cluttered dresser top, next to the hair ribbons and perfumes and unanswered letters. Zach was right behind her, and as she looked at his reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t help seeing how his big frame filled the room, the small, bright room that had been her refuge ever since she’d left school. With him there, everything looked smaller, more fragile. The plants on their stands in front of the window, the night table next to the bed, the bed itself, its flowered sheets and pale yellow blanket still rumpled because she’d left the apartment so early that morning, she hadn’t stopped to make her bed.