A Novel Seduction (25 page)

“No,” she said firmly. “If it’s going to get called off, it’ll get called off because of me.”

He considered this, then gave her a short nod.

“So we’re okay?” she said.

His gaze went back to the passing fields for a moment, and he sighed. “I love you, Ellery. Probably always will.”

Her throat started to tighten. “But?”

“But you shut me out. I don’t mean just Lark & Ives or even the Irving article. You certainly have a right to your privacy. But even when we were together, you threw up this wall between me and the stuff that really mattered. When I found out about the job you’re going for, I felt the same thing. I just can’t do it again. Not anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think we should just stick to the article.”

He waited for a reply, but she couldn’t think of anything that would satisfactorily explain why keeping a clear line between her public and private desires made her feel safe, nor did she expect an answer to satisfy him even if she could.

In the end, she said nothing, and he shook his head and left.

Less than an hour outside Edinburgh, the train was barreling down a particularly rough stretch of track, and each hitch of the car thumped Ellery’s hip torturously against Axel’s thigh. As punishments go, it was an unjust one, he considered, stealing a look at her as she typed. After all, he’d only accelerated what would have happened eventually.

They hadn’t spoken since the talk in the vestibule. Oh, they’d exchanged pleasantries—“Could you pass my jacket?” “Is there any water left?”—each trying to show that the words in the vestibule had been forgotten; but they hadn’t
really
talked, and it struck Axel quite forcibly that they might never really talk again. After they’d broken up five years ago and would see each other in the hallway of one publishing company or another, they’d always been able to say what they were feeling, even if what they’d been feeling hadn’t been exactly pleasant. He would hate to lose what they’d been able to re-create these last few days. But he also knew he couldn’t go on
feeling that there were parts of her she’d never share with him.

Part of Axel wanted to steal away to the lounge car to lose himself in one slowly sipped beer, but another part couldn’t bring himself to stand. Would he ever feel her next to him like this again?

He had drunk himself into oblivion the night before. He could have chosen to divert Steinberg with a more moderate amount of alcohol or none at all, but he’d been hurt. Why couldn’t she open up to him?

He rubbed his neck, where the tingling pinched nerve, dormant since Tuesday, had returned. He could feel the microbrewery slipping through his fingers. Who knew what Ellery would or would not write? He growled. Why did everything with her have to be so difficult?

Glancing at his watch, he considered what remained of their assignment. Today was Friday. Once they arrived in Edinburgh, the plan had been to make a quick visit to the sociologist, who lived in a small town on the outskirts of the city, then jump back in the rental car and head to the Highlands for a day of shooting. But Ellery had asked to delay the start of the trip north until Saturday morning, saying she wanted to see Cara’s time portal. This was the first time Ellery had shown the slightest interest in any of the books he’d given her, and while he’d been surprised, he’d been smart enough not to show it.

According to the author, the portal was an ancient burial mound in the Lowlands of Scotland called Cairn-papple. However, as with most ancient spiritual places, it had been as much a place for primitive desires to be sated as it had been for connecting with mystical forces—at
least, according to Jemmie, and who was going to argue with him?

Axel’s father, a churchgoing Scotsman who had emigrated to Canada as a boy, would have pooh-poohed the magic associated with such places. But his mother—a geologist at the University of Toronto—loved that sort of stuff. He remembered her fascination with the petroglyphs in Peterborough and, as they hiked around Baffin Island one summer holiday, how she’d touched each
inuksuk
—those rocks stacked by the Inuit to look like pointing figures. She’d told Axel and his sisters that the piles pointed the way to food or water or shelter for travelers. But it was the way her eyes twinkled each time she added her own pebble to the extended arms that had left Axel with the distinct impression she’d felt their use went beyond the mere practical.

Axel gazed into the distance, considering the idea of ancient connections and crossroads in time. While not strictly a believer, Axel had always felt the world could use a little more magic and, therefore, thought it best to keep an open mind.

Of course, he understood why Jemmie would find the place sacred, given that the woman who’d first upended his life, then fallen in love with him, had emerged from the place. Axel wondered with a rueful smile if that’s why he’d always had such warm feelings for Pittsburgh.

He was already starting to work through the creative issues with shooting Cairnpapple in his head. Would there be enough light? Could he go wide-angle or even three-sixty? Cara’s appearance had occurred during a full moon. Would it be better to shoot it at night?

The conductor was making his way down the rows, letting the passengers know they were reaching the last stop before Edinburgh.

Axel opened
Kiltlander
, trying to remember where he’d left off. Then he remembered why he’d stopped reading. Not only had Jemmie seemed capable of powers beyond those of an everyday mortal, it had dawned on Axel that there was no way this story was going to end happily. No matter how much in love Jemmie and Cara were, they belonged to two different worlds. Axel believed in magic to a point, but the same magic that had drawn them together was sure to pull Cara back to her rightful place, just as Jemmie would be pulled to his. Axel was in no mood to have his heart broken. His cell phone buzzed, reminding him he needed to get a draft of something to Black soon.
Hell.

The conductor stopped next to Axel, smiling at what he assumed to be a happy young couple and jingling the change in his pocket.

“I heard,” Axel said. “We’ll be ready.”

“’Bout forty minutes by my watch,” the conductor said as the train lurched. He looked at Axel and nodded. “Bit of a rough patch. It’ll smooth out before we get there.”

“I hope.”

M8 Motorway, Scotland

The magnificent hill of Edinburgh proper had given way to the gentle rises of the outlying suburbs as the rental car made its journey west. Ellery had never been to Edinburgh before and regretted that her career seemed to bring her within an arm’s length of so many good things without actually delivering them.

Axel checked the rear view before gliding into the next lane. She felt as if she’d been pushed off the edge of a steep cliff and was tumbling in slow motion to the ground. He was here in the car with her—and as always, unerringly polite—but she knew their relationship had changed. She hadn’t wanted him back in her life, and now she didn’t want him to leave. No wonder he’d had it with her.

But surely, after all the time they’d spent in each other’s hearts and each other’s hair, he couldn’t have picked now to say good-bye. She refused to believe it was over.

“Have you ever been to Edinburgh?” she asked hesitantly.

He chuckled, turning the wheel a degree to follow the road’s curve. “Yes. Once. For a crazy week the summer
after my junior year of college. We were backpacking across Europe and decided on a whim to attend the Fringe Festival. Let me tell you, Edinburgh is a town that knows how to party. I should show you the pictures sometime.”

She wondered who the “we” had been, though she’d bite her tongue before she’d ask. She also wondered at Axel’s pronunciation of the city’s name. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Edinburgh.” She knew enough to know it wasn’t pronounced like “Pittsburgh,” with a hard “g” at the end. She’d always said “Edinboro,” putting a “burro” at the end, but Axel’s pronunciation was something even more.

“Edinburgh,” he said, making the “boro” into a “burr” with a rolled “r” and the tiniest bit of an “uh” at the end, like a vocal subscript to the rest of the word.

“Oh,” she said, inexplicably delighted. She didn’t know he could roll his “r’s”—or that he knew what was evidently the preferred Scottish pronunciation.

“My dad was a Scot, remember. ‘Dammit, Ax,’ ” Axel said in a blowsy Scots voice, “‘ye don’t call it “Pittsburg.” John Forbes named the place, and the man was from Dunfermline, for the love of Jesus. It’s pronounced “Pittsburrah.” ’”

Ellery laughed. “I wish I’d known your father.”

“He was quite a character.”

She looked at her phone and shifted.

“Thinking of calling Black?” Axel asked.

“Maybe. It’s too early there yet.” How did he read her mind? If she had a different take on the article or wasn’t going to write it at all, this would be the time to tell her boss.

“Today’s the last chance to catch him before Monday.”

“I know. I have his cell phone number.”

The motorway was busy, and they fell into silence as Axel wove his way through the unfamiliar car brands and the odd, foreshortened British lorries.

“Lark and Ives, huh?” he said when the road cleared. “Impressive.”

He’d said this in an upbeat tone, graciously trying to show that his harsh words on the train were now water under the bridge. Nonetheless, she felt her ears start to buzz.

“Yep. It’s pretty cool just to be asked to interview.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great publisher. Steinberg’s a prick. They’ll never choose him.”

“Right, because no pricks ever get to be publisher.”

They both laughed, and for the first time since the night before, Ellery felt a little better.

“I think it’s great you’re going after what you want,” he said. “I hope you know that.”

“Like you,” she said.

“Like me. Right.”

Yep, each of them pursuing a dream that would leave them with four hundred miles separating them. Couldn’t be better.

After a quarter hour of driving past hedge-trimmed homes, parks and big-box stores, Axel made a turn off the main highway and the countryside spread out before them. This was starting to look like the land of Jemmie Forster.

Axel fumbled with the printed directions, and Ellery took them from his hand. “Hotel first?” she asked. “Or sociologist? What do you prefer?”

“You know I’d never miss a nooner with a sociologist if I have the choice.”

Ellery rang the professor, a Dr. Albrecht, who not only
was indeed ready to see them but was just about to put on tea and asked if they would like to join her.

With a nod from Axel, Ellery agreed, adding to him after she hung up, “Does tea include food?” Her stomach was growling so much, she sounded like one of Jemmie’s hunting dogs.

“God, I hope so. I could use a big English fry-up.”

“It’s almost noon. I doubt she’s going to be offering you breakfast.”

“You underestimate my ability to inspire.”

Ellery might underestimate his ability in a number of areas, but she knew with utter certainty that was not one of them.

They drove past the heart of the town to where the houses were replaced by cottages and fields scattered with sheep. November, railing against the coming winter, had pulled a sunny, warm day out of her quiver, and the gentle hills gave a decent illusion of green.

“There!”

“What?” He slowed the car.

“There’s a sign for Cairnpapple. Look! And there it is.”

“Shall we?” He was already turning into the small car park at the base of the hill. At the far end sat an industrial-looking Quonset hut with a sign that read,
VISITORS’ CENTER CLOSED FOR THE SEASON
.

“Just screams Neolithic, doesn’t it?” Axel parked and they emerged. The field that led to the hill appeared to be part of some farm, for the grass was dotted with dairy cows, and several of them lowed, irritated at the intrusion.