The Dream (Crosslyn Rise Trilogy) Read online

  “You were worse than that.”

  “Okay, I was worse than that, but I’m a different person now. I’ve been through a whole lot that you can’t begin to imagine. I’ve lived through hell and come out on the other side, and because of that, I appreciate some things other people don’t. Crosslyn Rise is one of those things.”

  Jessica wished he wasn’t sitting so close or regarding her so intently or talking so sanely. Either he was being utterly sincere, or he was doing one hell of an acting job. She wasn’t sure which, but she did know that she couldn’t summarily rule him off the project.

  “Do you think,” she asked in a tentative voice, “that my idea for Crosslyn Rise would work?”

  “It could.”

  “Would you want to try working up some sketches?”

  “We’d have to talk more about what you want. I’d need to see a plot plan. And I’d have to go out there. Even aside from the fact that I haven’t been there in a while, I’ve never looked around with this kind of thing in mind.”

  Jessica nodded. What he said was fair enough. What wasn’t fair was the smooth way he said it. He sounded very professional and very male. For the second time in as many minutes, she wished he wasn’t sitting so close. She wished she wasn’t so aware of him.

  Clutching her purse, she stood. “I have to be going,” she said, concentrating on the leather strap as she eased it over her shoulder.

  “But we haven’t settled anything.”

  She raised her eyes. He, too, had risen and was standing within an arm’s length of her. She started toward the door. “We have. We’ve settled that we have to talk more, I have to get you a plot plan, you have to come out to see Crosslyn Rise.” Her eyes were on the doorknob, but she felt Carter moving right along with her. “You may want to talk with Gordon, too. He’ll explain the plan he has for raising the money for the project.”

  “Am I hired?” He reached around her to open the door.

  “I don’t know. We have to do all those other things first.”

  “When can we meet again?”

  “I’ll call you.” She was in the corridor, moving steadily back the way she’d come, with Carter matching her step.

  “Why don’t we set a time now?”

  “Because I don’t have my schedule in front of me.”

  “Are you that busy?”

  “Yes!” she said, and stopped in her tracks. She looked up at him, swallowed tightly, dropped her gaze again and moved on. “Yes,” she echoed in a near-whisper. “It’s nearly exam time. My schedule’s erratic during exam time.”

  Her explanation seemed to appease Carter, which relieved her, as did the sight of the reception area. She was feeling overwhelmed by Carter’s presence. He was a little too smooth, a little too agreeable, a little too male. Between those things and a memory that haunted her, she wanted out.

  “Will you call me?” he asked as he opened the door to the reception area.

  “I said I would.”

  “You have my number?”

  “Yes.”

  Opening the outer door, he accompanied her right to the elevator and pushed the button. “Can I have yours?”

  Grateful for something to do, she fumbled in her purse for a pen, jotted her number in a small notebook, tore out the page and handed it to him. She was restowing the pen when a bell rang announcing the elevator’s arrival. Her attention was riveted to the panel on top of the doors when Carter said, “Jessica?”

  She dared meet his gaze a final time. It was a mistake. A small frown touched his brow and was gone, leaving an expression that combined confusion and surprise with pleasure. When he spoke, his voice held the same three elements. “It was really good seeing you,” he said as though he meant it and surprised himself in that. Then he smiled, and his smile held nothing but pleasure.

  That was when Jessica knew she was in big trouble.

  3

  Carter had enjoyed seeing Jessica, though he wasn’t sure why. As a kid, she’d been a snotty little thing looking down her nose at him. He had resented everything about her, which was why his greatest joy had been putting her down. In that, he had been cruel at times. He’d found her sore spots and rubbed them with salt.

  Clearly she remembered. She wasn’t any too happy to see him, though she’d agreed to the meeting, which said something about the bind she was in regarding Crosslyn Rise. Puzzled by that bind, Carter called Gordon shortly after Jessica left his office.

  In setting up the meeting, Gordon had only told him that Jessica had wanted to discuss an architectural project relating to the Rise. Under Carter’s questioning now, he admitted to the financial problems. He talked of putting together a group of investors. He touched on Jessica’s insistence on being in command. He went so far as to outline the role Carter might play, as Gordon had broached it with Jessica.

  Though Carter had meant what he’d said about preferring to leave Crosslyn Rise as it was, once he accepted the idea of its changing, he found satisfaction in the idea of taking part in that change. Some of his satisfaction was smug; there was an element of poetic justice in his having come far enough in the world to actively shape the Rise’s future.

  But the satisfaction went beyond that. Monetarily it was a sound proposal. His gut told him that, even before he worked out the figures. Given the dollar equivalent of his professional fees added to the hundred thousand he could afford to invest, he stood to take a sizable sum out of the project in two to three years’ time.

  That sum would go a long way toward broadening his base of operation. Malloy and Goodwin was doing well, bringing in greater profit each year, but there were certain projects—more artistically rewarding than lucrative—that Carter would bid on given the cushion of capital funds and a larger staff.

  And then, working on the alteration of Crosslyn Rise both as architect and investor, he would see more of Jessica. That thought lingered with him long after he’d hung up the phone, long after he’d set aside the other issues.

  He wanted to see more of her, incredible but true. She wasn’t gorgeous. She wasn’t sexy or witty. She wasn’t anything like the women he dated, and it certainly wasn’t that he was thinking of dating her. But at the end of their brief meeting, he had felt something warm flowing through him. He guessed it had to do with a shared past; he didn’t have that with many people, and he wouldn’t have thought he’d want it with anyone, given the sins of his past. Still, there was that warm feeling. It fascinated him, particularly since he had felt so many conflicting things during the meeting itself.

  Emotions had come in flashes—anger and resentment in an almost automatic response to any hint of arrogance on her part, embarrassment and remorse as he recalled things he’d said and done years before. She was the same as he remembered her, but different—older, though time had been kind. Her skin was unflawed, her hair more tame, her movements more coordinated, even in spite of her nervousness. And she was nervous. He made her so, he guessed, though he had tried to be amenable.

  What he wanted, he realized, was for her to eye him through those granny glasses of hers and see the decent person he was now. He wanted to close the last page on the book from the past. He wanted her acceptance. Though he hadn’t given two thoughts to it before their meeting, that acceptance suddenly mattered a lot. Only when he had it would he feel that he’d truly conquered the past.

  * * *

  Jessica tried to think about their meeting as little as possible in the hours subsequent to it. To that end, she kept herself busy, which wasn’t difficult with exams on the horizon and the resultant rash of impromptu meetings with students and teaching assistants. If Carter’s phone number seemed to burn a hole in her date book, she ignored the smoke. She had to be in command, she told herself. Carter had to know she was in command.

  She wasn’t terribly proud of the show she’d put on in his office. She’d been skittish in his presence, and it had showed. The most merciful thing about the meeting was that he had waited until she had a foot out t
he door before smiling. His smile was potent. It had confused her, excited her, frightened her. It had warned her that working with him wasn’t going to be easy in any way, shape or form, and it had nearly convinced her not to try it.

  Still she called him. She waited two full days to do it, then chose Thursday afternoon, when she was fresh from a buoying department meeting. She enjoyed department meetings. She liked her colleagues and was liked in return. In the academic sphere, she was fully confident of her abilities. So she let the overflow of that confidence carry her into the phone call to Carter.

  “Carter? This is Jessica Crosslyn.”

  “It’s about time you called,” he scolded, and she immediately bristled—until the teasing in his voice came through. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

  She didn’t know what to make of the teasing. She’d never heard teasing coming from Carter Malloy before. For the sake of their working together, she took it at face value and said evenly, “It’s only been two days.”

  “That’s two days too long.”

  “Is there a rush?”

  “There’s always a rush where enthusiasm and weather are concerned.”

  She found that to be a curious statement. “Enthusiasm?”

  “I’m really up for this now, and I have the time to get started,” he explained. “It’s not often that the two coincide.”

  She could buy that, she supposed, though she wondered if he’d purposely injected the subtle reminder that he was in demand. “And the weather?” she came back a bit skeptically. “It’s not yet May. The best of the construction season is still ahead.”

  “Not so, once time is spent on first-draft designs then multiple rounds of revisions.” Carter kept his tone easygoing. “By the time the plans are done, the investors lined up and bidding taken on contractors, it could well be September or October, unless we step on it now.” Having made his point, he paused. “Gordon explained the financial setup and the fact that you want sole approval of the final plans before they’re shown to potential investors.”

  Jessica was immediately wary. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “It depends on whether you approve what I like,” he said with a grin, then tacked on a quick, “Just kidding.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  “Sure I am,” he cajoled. “A client pays me for my work, I give him what he wants.”

  “And if you think what he wants is hideous?”

  “I know not to take the job.”

  “So in that sense,” she persisted, not sure why she was being stubborn, but driven to it nonetheless, “you ensure that the client will approve what you like.”

  “Not ensure—” he dug in his own heels a little “—but I maximize the likelihood of it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the only sensible way to operate. Besides, the assumption is that the client comes to me because he likes my style.”

  “I don’t know whether I like your style or not,” she argued. “I haven’t seen much of it.”

  She seemed to be taking a page from the past and deliberately picking a fight. As he’d done then, so now Carter fought back. “If you’d asked the other day, I’d have shown you pictures. I’ve got a portfolio full of them. You might have saved us both a whole lot of time and effort. But you were in such an all-fired rush to get back to your precious ivory tower—”

  He caught himself only after he realized what he was doing. Jessica remained silent. He waited for her to rail at him the way she used to, but she didn’t speak. In a far quieter voice he asked, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, “but I don’t know why. This isn’t going to work. We’re like fire and water.”

  “The past is getting in the way. Old habits die hard. But I’m sorry. What I said was unnecessary.”

  “Part of it was right,” she conceded. “I was in a rush to get back. I had another appointment.” He should know that he wasn’t the only one in demand. “But as far as my ivory tower is concerned, that ivory tower has produced official interpreters for assorted summit meetings as well as for embassies in Moscow, Leningrad and Bonn. My work isn’t all mind-in-the-clouds.”

  “I know,” Carter said quietly. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything more for a minute, hoping she’d tell him he was forgiven. But things weren’t going to be so easy. “Anyway, I’d really like to talk again. Tell me when you have free time. If I have a conflict, I’ll try to change it.”

  Short of being bitchy, which he’d accused her of being as a child, she couldn’t turn her back on his willingness to accommodate her. She looked at the calendar tacked on the wall. It was filled with scrawled notations, more densely drawn for the upcoming few weeks. Given the choice, she would put off a meeting with Carter until after exams, when she’d be better able to take the disturbance in stride. But she remembered what he’d said about the weather. If she was going to do something with Crosslyn Rise, she wanted it done soon. The longer she diddled around with preliminary arrangements, the later in the season it would be and the greater the chance of winter closing in to delay the work even more. Instinctively she knew that the longer the process was drawn out, the more painful it would be.

  “I’m free until noon next Tuesday morning,” she said. “Do you want to come out and walk through Crosslyn Rise then?”

  Carter felt a glimmer of excitement at the mention of walking through Crosslyn Rise. It had been years since he’d seen the place, and though he’d never lived there, since his parents had always rented a small house in town, returning to Crosslyn Rise would be something of a homecoming.

  He had one meeting scheduled for that morning, but it was easily postponed. “Next Tuesday is fine. Time?”

  “Is nine too early?”

  “Nine is perfect. It might be a help if between now and then you wrote down your ideas so we can discuss them in as much detail as possible. If you’ve seen any pictures of things you like in newspapers or magazines you might cut them out. The more I know of what you want, the easier my job will be.”

  Efficient person that she was herself, she could go along with that. “You mentioned wanting to see a plot plan. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one. Where would I get it?”

  “The town should have one, but I’ll take care of that. I can phone ahead and pick it up on my way. You just be there with your house and your thoughts.” He paused. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “See you then.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  * * *

  Jessica couldn’t decide whether to put coffee on to brew or to assume that he’d already had a cup or two, and she spent an inordinate amount of time debating the issue. One minute she decided that the proper thing would indeed be to have it ready and offer him some; the next minute it seemed a foolish gesture. This was Carter Malloy, she told herself. He didn’t expect anything from her but a hard time, which was just about all they’d ever given each other.

  But that had been years ago, and Carter Malloy had changed. He’d grown up. He was an architect. A man. And though one part of her didn’t want to go out of her way to make the Carter Malloy of any age feel welcome in her home, another part felt that she owed cordiality to the architect who might well play a part in her future.

  As for the man in him, she pushed all awareness of that to the farthest reaches of consciousness and chose to attribute the unsettled feeling in her stomach to the nature of the meeting itself.

  Carter arrived at nine on the dot. He parked his car on the pebbled driveway that circled some twenty feet in front of the ivy-draped portico. The car was dark blue and low, but Jessica wouldn’t have known the make even if she’d had the presence of mind to wonder—which she didn’t, since she was too busy trying to calm her nerves.

  She greeted him at the front door, bracing an unsteady hand on the doorknob. Pulse racing, she watched him step inside, watched him look slowly around the rotundalike foyer, watched him raise his eyes to the top of the broa
dly sweeping staircase, then say in a low and surprisingly humble voice, “This is … very … weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Coming in the front door. Seeing this after so many years. It’s incredibly impressive.”

  “Until you look closely.”

  He shot her a questioning glance.

  “Things are worn,” she explained, wanting to say it before he did. “The grandeur of Crosslyn Rise has faded.”

  “Oh, but it hasn’t.” He moved toward the center of the foyer. “The grandeur is in its structure. Nothing can dim that. Maybe the accessories have suffered with age, but the place is still a wonder.”

  “Is that your professional assessment?”

  He shook his head. “Personal.” His gaze was drawn toward the living room. The entrance to it was broad, the room itself huge. Knee-to-ceiling windows brought in generous helpings of daylight, saving the room from the darkness that might otherwise have come with the heavy velvet decor. Sun was streaming obliquely past the oversized fireplace, casting the intricate carving of the pine mantel in bas-relief. “Personal assessment. I always loved this place.”

  “I’m sure,” she remarked with unplanned tartness.

  He shot her a sharper look this time. “Does it gall you seeing me here? Does it prick your Victorian sensibilities? Would you rather I stay out back near the gardener’s shed?”

  Jessica felt instant remorse. “Of course not. I’m sorry. I was just remembering—”

  “Remembering the past is a mistake, because what you remember will be the way I acted, not the way I felt. You didn’t know the way I really felt. I didn’t know the way I really felt a lot of the time. But I knew I loved this place.”

  “And you hated me because I lived here and you didn’t.”

  “That’s neither here nor there. But I did love Crosslyn Rise, and I’d like to feel free to express what I’m thinking and feeling as we walk around. Can I do that, or would you rather I repress it all?”