Within Reach Page 2

  “Oh, God.”

  “Uh-uh. Nothing threatening. I write about the past. They call me a historian.”

  “‘They’? What do you call yourself?”

  He shrugged, eyes twinkling mischievously. “A writer.”

  “Why not a historian?”

  “It sounds too pretentious and I’m not that way.”

  She could see that. She could also see that he looked nearly as cold as she felt.

  “What are you staring at?” he asked.

  “Your ears. They’re turning red.” Though his hair was on the long side and his ears hugged his head nicely, the wind was having a field day.

  “That’s okay. Between my red ears and your blue lips, I’d say we liven up the scenery. Come on. How about that drink?”

  She was smiling now, too. “I can’t. Really.”

  “I’ve got a fire going. It’d warm you up. Your place is probably like a barn.”

  “Mmmm, close.” With workmen running in and out, there seemed to be a steady draft. “But the heater of my car works fine, and I have to be back in Boston before dark.”

  “Your car turns into a pumpkin then, does it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then, I guess you’d better go. I wouldn’t want you stranded on the highway or anything.” He shifted from one foot to another, then cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’ll see you when you come back up next month.”

  “You’ll be here?”

  “Should be.”

  She nodded and took a step back. “Maybe it’ll be warmer then.”

  He nodded but didn’t move. “The beach is nice in April.”

  She took another step. “I’ll bet it is. Well, take care, Michael.”

  “You, too, Danica.” He raised a hand in mock salute as she took a third step. “May the good fairy be with you.”

  She laughed and shook her head as though to chastise him for his silliness, then realized that she loved it. When he winked, she loved it even more. But she had to leave. She had to.

  Michael watched her turn and take several plodding steps through the sand toward her house. She turned back to give him a broad smile and a wave, and he wondered if there was in fact such a thing as love at first sight. Then a gust of wind whipped across the sand and she drew her free hand from her pocket to hold the cloche on her head.

  The last thing he saw as she disappeared into the fog was the wide gold wedding band on the ring finger of her left hand.

  two

  sEVERAL DAYS LATER, DANICA SAT ON THE EDGE of the kingsized bed she shared with her husband and watched him pack.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, but she already knew the answer. It was the same every time. Blake had been a bachelor for better than thirty-five years. He would either pack for himself or have Mrs. Hannah, their maid, do it. Danica knew she should be grateful; Blake coddled her, asking of her only the social amenities required of the wife of a man of his position. Any number of women would die to be in her shoes. Yet, rather than privileged or pampered, she felt superfluous.

  “All set, I think.” He didn’t look up, but concentrated on setting his dress shoes at just the right angle in the bottom of the bag.

  “Are you going with Harlan?” Harlan Magnuson was the head of the computer division of Eastbridge Electronics, Blake’s corporation. He was young, brilliant and aggressive, and often accompanied Blake on business trips. From what Danica could gather, the combination of Harlan’s daring and Blake’s solid business sense was a potent one.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “No more than three days. I’ll be back in time for the cocktail party Friday night.”

  “That’s good. The Donaldsons would never forgive us if we missed it.” She absently rubbed the edge of the suitcase. They had bought it as part of a matching set four years ago when they’d been headed for Italy. She recalled that trip with a smile. Blake had business in Florence, but from there on they simply relaxed, spending several days in Milan en route to the villa they had rented on Lake Como. It seemed so long since they’d taken a vacation like that. Or rather, she amended, it seemed so long since they’d had fun like that. Sighing, she looked at the bag. For all its use—and Blake used it often—it appeared to be wearing better than her marriage. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  Taking underwear and socks from the drawer, Blake returned to the bed. “You know I do,” he said. She wished she could have said that she heard regret in his tone, but she just wasn’t sure, which seemed to be a recurrent problem lately. She couldn’t read Blake; perhaps she’d never been able to but had simply deluded herself.

  “You do so much traveling. I tell myself that you’ve got to, but it doesn’t help sometimes. You won’t reconsider and let me come along?”

  He straightened and spoke quietly. “I really have to be free this time, Danica. With the exception of a dinner tomorrow night, it’ll be business all the way.”

  “I know. But it’s so quiet here when you’re away.” Saying the words, she realized that it wasn’t the quiet that bothered her but the fact that she felt widowed. Twenty-eight years old and widowed.

  Stifling the thought, she watched him carefully coil and pack two leather belts. Her gaze slowly climbed to his face and she was struck, once again and for the umpteenth time, by how handsome a man he was. The very first time she had been so struck she’d been nineteen and attending a fund-raiser for her father. Blake Lindsay had been impressive then, tall and dark and immaculately groomed. Now, nine years later, he was no less attractive. The years had barely touched him, it seemed. His forty-three-year-old body was firm and well toned, but then, he believed in exercise, jogged regularly, played squash several times a week and watched his weight. That he prided himself on his appearance had been obvious to Danica from the start. Unfortunately, between exercise and work, he seemed to have little time for much else, let alone her.

  “You have plenty to keep you busy, haven’t you?” Pivoting, he went to the closet, selected several ties from the rack, then moved toward the window to scrutinize the possibilities in daylight.

  “Oh, yes. There’s a board meeting at the hospital tomorrow and I have an appointment with the printer on Thursday to order our invitations.”

  “Plans are going well for the party?” He sounded distracted, which was no wonder, Danica decided, since he faced the monumental task of choosing between two blue and gray silk ties, the stripes of which varied infinitesimally in width. She could no more understand how he could choose one over the other than she could why he owned two such similar ties in the first place, but then, perhaps he felt the same way about her blouses or panty hose or belts.

  “The caterer’s all set. So’s the florist, and I’ve booked the chamber music ensemble from the conservatory. That pretty much does it until after the invitations are printed. Have you decided whether or not to invite the group from SpanTech?”

  Having somehow decided between the two ties, Blake put the loser back in the closet and returned to lay the others carefully in his suitcase. “SpanTech? Mmmm…not sure yet.” He rubbed his upper lip, then set off for the bathroom. When he returned, he carried a case containing his grooming needs. After fitting it into the space he had purposely left, he returned to the dresser for shirts.

  “It’d be easy enough, Blake. Another ten or twelve people won’t make much difference as long as we notify the caterer in time. It certainly won’t mean any more work for me, if you think it’d be worthwhile to invite them.” She knew that Blake had been negotiating to bring in SpanTech, outstanding for its research in microelectronics, as a division of Eastbridge.

  He sent her a brilliant smile, which flared, then was gone. “Let me think about it a little more, okay?”

  She nodded. When a silence fell between them, she searched for something else to say. “Did I tell you Reggie Nichols called?”

  “She’s in town?”

  “Mmmm. She’s seeing
some guy, I guess.”

  “Isn’t she playing the circuit?”

  Reggie Nichols had been top-rated in women’s tennis for more than a decade. She and Danica had been friends since Danica’s own tennis-playing days when the two had trained under the same coach.

  “Sure. But I guess she needs the break. From what she said on the phone, things have been rough. Every year there are younger faces. I think it’s getting her down.…My Lord, Blake, you’ve got six shirts there.” She had been watching him place them one by one, starched and cardboard-backed, in the suitcases, and couldn’t resist teasing him. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

  “I’d rather have extras, just in case,” he answered in dead earnest, which Danica found to be all the more amusing, since Blake Lindsay never spilled, rarely sweated, barely wrinkled.

  “Anyway—” she was smiling “—Reggie and I are having lunch on Saturday, unless you want to do something, in which case I’ll cancel.”

  He had finished packing the shirts and was reaching for his suit bag. “No, no. Don’t do that. I’ll be at the club.”

  It was either that or at work, so Danica had known she would be safe making the lunch date with Reggie. Until recently she had spent her own Saturdays waiting for him to come home. Perhaps in her old age she was wising up. Then again, perhaps not. More than once it had occurred to her that though she had convinced Blake to buy the house in Kennebunkport as a hideaway for the two of them, it was going to be something else getting him there. Last week was a perfect example. He had promised he would take the day off to drive up with her, then had been besieged by a handful of last-minute emergencies, that demanded his attention. She didn’t quite understand why a man who headed his own company couldn’t get subordinates to do the work.

  “Is something wrong, Pook?” he asked gently.

  Her head came up. “Hmmm?”

  He sent her that same ephemeral flash of a smile as he threaded hangers through the slot at the top of the suit bag. “You look angry.”

  She realized that she felt it, but the last thing she wanted was to sound like a shrewish wife, so she forced herself to relax and spoke with measured calm. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking of Maine.”

  “Any more word from the decorator?”

  “She called yesterday afternoon to say that the cabinets are set to go in.” They had been special-ordered in a white oak that Danica had fallen in love with, but she had debated the decision for days, since using the white oak had sent a number of other dominoes toppling—namely countertops, ceiling fixtures and flooring, all of which were now in the process of being changed. But Blake had said to go ahead, so she had. “When I was there last week, the kitchen was barren.”

  Blake laid the suit bag on the bed, straightened the lapel of the tuxedo he had put in last and drew up the zipper to close the bag.

  Taking a breath, she forged cautiously on. “Once the cabinets are in, the refrigerator and stove will be hooked up. At least then we’ll be able to have something to eat or drink. I mean, the place won’t really be livable until May or June, but it’s getting there. I was hoping to go back up next month to check on things. You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

  “If I can.”

  “You haven’t been there since we first looked at it. I’d really like you to see what’s been done. If there’s anything you don’t like—”

  He was doubling up the suit bag and fastening the straps. “You have wonderful taste.” His smile was on. “I’ll like it.”

  “But I want you to see it, Blake. This was supposed to be a joint venture, a place where we could be alone together.”

  Blake made a final scan of the room. “All in good time. When it’s finished, we’ll spend the time you want there. Things must be pretty primitive now. Did the decorator say anything about those kitchen cabinets you wanted?”

  Danica opened her mouth in reproach, then shut it tight. He hadn’t been listening. That was all. His mind was on other things.

  “Next week. They’ll be in next week,” she murmured, rising from the bed and heading for the door. “I’ll send Marcus up for the bags,” she called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. But Blake was soon beside her, putting his hand lightly on her waist. It bobbed as they descended; their steps never quite matched.

  “You won’t forget to RSVP to the Hagendorfs, will you?” he asked. Danica could almost see his mind’s eye going down the list headed Remind Danica. It came right after What to Pack and right before Names (and Wives’ Names) of Business Associates in Kansas City, which was where he was headed this week.

  “I’ve already done it,” she said evenly. Patience was a virtue; so read the tag on her tea bag that morning.

  “And the charity ball at the Institute?”

  “They’re expecting us.”

  “Good. You could give Feeno a call and see if my new tux is ready. If it is, have Marcus pick it up.” They rounded the second-floor landing and made their way toward the first. Blake dropped his hand from her waist. Danica slid hers along the lustrous mahogany banister. “Oh, and Bert Hammer mentioned something about your serving on the nominating committee.”

  “For the Institute?”

  “They need younger faces. Are you interested?”

  “Sure. You know I love art.”

  Blake chuckled, more the indulgent parent than the amused mate. “This would have very little to do with art, I’m afraid. It’d mean sitting at a table, tossing around names of the most popular and up-and-coming Bostonians. They know you’re in the social mainstream. They’d be picking your brain.”

  Danica gave a small smile. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel useful. And besides, I know three women who would each give her right arm for an entree to the board; two of them would be fantastic.”

  “Not the third?”

  “Uh…Marion White?”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat and tried not to grin. “Yes, I think you’re right.” They’d reached the street floor, where Marcus Hannah stood waiting. “The bags are by the bed,” Blake instructed in a voice of quiet command. “I’ll be in the library when you’re ready.”

  Marcus nodded and headed up the stairs while Blake disappeared, leaving Danica standing alone by the front door. She walked slowly back toward the library, but when she heard Blake talking on the phone, she reconsidered and took refuge in the den.

  It hurt that he should be calling the office, which he’d left no more than ninety minutes before, when he might be talking with her. After all, he was going to be away for three days, and though she knew he would call her at least once or twice during that time, she also knew that he would call the office much more often. She wished she could say that he worked too hard, but he looked wonderfully healthy and seemed perfectly happy with his life. If he was busy, it was by choice. Perhaps that was what hurt most. He did choose.

  At a sound in the hall she looked up to see Marcus, bags in hand, heading back through the lower pantry toward the courtyard where the car was parked. On cue Blake emerged from the library, set his briefcase on the floor by the closet and reached for his topcoat. By the time he retrieved the briefcase, Danica was by his side.

  “Behave while I’m gone,” he said with a bright grin, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. For an instant she was tempted to throw her arms around his neck and hold him there, but she knew she would be grasping at straws. Blake would no more be swayed by an emotional appeal than her father would have been. They were so alike, those two, so alike. Disturbed by the thought, she slid her hands into the pockets of her skirt and put on a smile. Her father would have approved.

  “I’ll behave.” She followed Blake to the back door, watched him cross the cobblestone courtyard and climb into the Mercedes’s rear seat. It was a scenario that had grown all too familiar to her, as had the accompanying sadness. But the sadness had altered in nature over the years, she realized. It wasn’t so much Blake’s departure that affected her now, for she saw little en
ough of him when he was home. Rather, the sadness she felt was a more general one dealing with love and happiness and promise.

  Blake looked up once to smile when Marcus backed the car around. She waved, but his head was already lowering. He was opening his briefcase, she knew. She suspected his mind was miles away by the time the car disappeared from her view.

  “Ahhh, Mrs. Lindsay. Mrs. Marshall is already seated. If you’ll come this way…”

  Breathless, Danica smiled. “Thank you, Jules.” She was a graceful figure breezing after the maître d’, her blond hair looking stunningly windblown, her calf-length silver-fox fur undulating gently as she let herself be led to the corner table the Ritz always held for her when she called.

  “Mother!” She leaned down to press her cheek to the woman whose eyes lit up at her approach. “I’m sorry! Have I kept you waiting long?”

  “Not more than a minute or two, darling. How are you? You look wonderful! Your cheeks are so pink.” Eleanor Marshall frowned at her only child. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”

  “Sure. I cut through the Public Garden. It’d have been silly to drive, and besides, I love the fresh air.”

  Eleanor eyed her daughter reprovingly. “Danica, Marcus is paid to drive you, silly or not. The Public Garden isn’t the safest place in the world.” She paused to place her order for a vermouth cassis to Danica’s kir.

  “I’m all right, Mother. Here, safe and sound. And you look pretty fine yourself! New earrings?”

  “They were a gift from the family we stayed with in Brazil last year. They’re topaz, a little too much for some occasions, but I thought you’d appreciate them.”

  “I do. You wear them well.” Which was one thing Eleanor did do. Though far from being beautiful, she dressed to play up the best of her features. At fifty-two, she was a stylishly attractive woman, though she rarely turned heads unless she was with her husband. “Is it ethical for Daddy to accept gifts like that?”

  “Your father says it is,” Eleanor answered with quiet assurance. “He usually knows.”