Miss Fortune (11 page)

Naturally, hed not wanted to disturb her in the middle of whatever it was she was doing, but he really didnt want to sit out in the car like some pervert, either.

While he was debating it, however, Rachel suddenly popped up, turned off the telly, and disappeared into the back. Flynn got out of his hired car, put on his trench coat but then she had reappeared, carrying an enormous book of some sort, put it down, disappeared again, and just as quickly reappeared with an armful of candles. Something told him to wait. Something told him to get back into the car.

He watched, fascinated, as she lit the candles, let down what looked to be a mane of gorgeous, wavy hair from that odd poodle-ear arrangement, and opened that enormous book. She knelt in front of it, studying it for what seemed an eternity, and, he thought, she laughed once or twice.

Suddenly, she was up on her feet.

He couldnt quite make out what she was doing, and she disappeared from his sight for a moment, stooping to the floorbut after a moment, she stood again, with a cloth draped across her shoulders. And then she lit something, another cloth, it looked like, dropped it onto a plate, and began to move in a circle, swinging something over it.

Flynn drew a long and soft breath. Perhaps hed been running on fumes so long that hed lost his mind, but then again, he could swear the bird was doing some sort of witchcraft.

He was so fascinated by it, in fact, that when she had finished her strange little dance and moved to the back part of the house, he did, too, stealing into the darkened area between houses.

Certainly he knew what he was doing was not only lewd but unlawful, and really, he could lose his job and be booted back across the pond were he caught He knew all that, but the man in him was far too intrigued to pay much mind to the laws of this country, and standing between the neighbors rubbish bins as he was, he watched her emerge in a towel from a candlelit bathroom, watched her with that large book again, watched her do some sort of dance around two of those candles, her lovely back exposed, before disappearing into the bath again.

At that point, Flynn regained some of his sensesprecious few, really, but enough to make him move back to his car.

He sat in the drivers seat, staring blindly at the windshield, imagining her, naked, in her bath, doing some sort of witchcrafty thing.

That had been remarkable. That had conjured up all sorts of images of Wiccan-like sex (whatever Wiccan-like sex might be, but at the moment he was beyond randy and ready to entertain any number of theories). That had cast this enticing young woman in a whole new light.

A light that was, strangely, a lovely shade of lavender.

AN hour later, Flynn met Joe at the coffeehouse where the locals liked to read poetry. Joe was seated in the very back, in the shadows. So deeply shadowed, in fact, that Flynn had a difficult time finding him. He sat, asked the girl who followed him for a cup of hot tea, then turned and smiled at Joe.

Any luck? he asked.

Flynn shook his head.

Joe groaned. Youre starting to make me think Im gonna have to do it for you, pal.

Flynn laughed, straightened his tie. The day I need you to do it for me is the day I will bloody well kill myself, thank you.

Joe laughed, clapped him cheerfully on the back. If it comes to that, you have my word well ship you home in one pieceat least no more than two. Scouts honor, dude.

RACHEL was beginning to get a little depressed.

It wasnt her temporary job, which, incidentally, was not typing medical transcripts as she had been led to believe, but in fact, a backlog of autopsy reports (DOB 8-16-39. Subject a fully developed Black adult male. Legs unremarkable. Arms unremarkable. Torso unremarkable) .

It was enough to depress anyone, and while reading about peoples unremarkable body parts was not exactly ego-boosting, it wasnt that which had Rachel down. And it wasnt her weight-loss program, either, which, if anyone was interested, wasnt working for shit, regardless of her trips to the gym and general state of poverty. All right, it had only been a couple of weeks or so. But still .

Nor was it the fact that she had just received her utility bill, which was now officially forty-five days delinquent. That came to $175 plus fines and penalties.

It was that Flynn had disappeared. As in, off the face of the earth. As in, one day, she was seeing him all over the place and the next day it was like he never existed. Which, Rachel thought, was not exactly out of the realm of possibility. In spite of Dagnes assurances to the contrary, she was nearing the end of her one-week experiment in really believing , and no Flynn.

It was more likely, given her thirty-one years of experience thus far, that Flynn, just like shed feared, really had been horrified, and worse, he really did think Myron was her boyfriend. Okay, all right, so Myron had been her boyfriend once, but he wasnt her boyfriend now , and seeing him through Flynns eyes, well she thought she might as well crack open the cookie dough and mainline it, because Flynn wasnt coming back.

Except that, thanks to her new status as pauper, she didnt have any cookie dough.

She checked her horoscope in the paper instead. Some ideas seem new and interesting but are better left unexplored .

Great. That made her feel so much better about the witchcraft thing. Not .

With a sigh of resignation, Rachel tossed the horoscope aside and went to dress for her weaving class.

She donned a black, ankle-length skirt and a tight-fitting, low-cut gray sweater that made her look thin, she thought, bound her hair up in a massive knot at her nape, put on the amethyst earrings she had picked up on the Isle of Skye during a research trip that had quickly gone nowhere, and her brand-new Donald J. Pilner embroidered boots.

Okay, so shed charged brand-new, extremely expensive boots at a point she was desperate for money. But she had the autopsy job, and if push came to shove, she could borrow the money from Robin or Rebecca. At least, she hoped she could. But she really needed those boots to make her feel better.

Then she draped the lavender shawl she had made Saturday around her shoulders. At least her dabble in witchcraft wasnt a complete lossshe had a beautiful shawl to show for it. But she wasnt giving up. Not yet, anyway. And in an act of semi-desperation, she dabbed a little Mexican vanilla behind one ear. Really stupid, but it wasnt like anyone was going to be sniffing around and asking if her perfume came in a bottle with the Pillsbury Doughboy on the label. Besides, she found the smell of vanilla to be very calming.

When she arrived at class with the box of yarns she would discuss, most of her students were already gathered. Sandy was regaling a very shocked-looking Mr. Gregory with her latest bout of diverticulitis, Chantal and Tiffinnae were arguing about the progress Tiffinnae had made on their weaving thus far, which was pretty close to none, given their penchant for talking and bothering others who were trying to weave, and Jason was sitting quietly with a stack of what Rachel supposed was travel brochuresshe made a mental note to mention them to the class.

She said hi, walked to the front of the class, and put down her box. There was a message taped to the chalkboard for herit was from a school secretary and it said Dave and Lucy were running late, and one new student had signed up for class.

WOO -hoo , girl! Chantal said as Rachel read the note. Dont you got it going on! Rachel looked up. Chantal was mimicking some sort of bird walk, going round in a little circle, dipping her head as she admired Rachels shawl.

You like it? Rachel asked proudly, and very theatrically tossed one end over her shoulder. I made it this weekend.

You made that? Tiffinnae exclaimed.

I mean, I sewed the edges and the fringe.

What is that? Silk? Tiffinnae asked.

Chenille, Rachel said. Im going to talk a little bit about it and all the different threads and yarns and how theyve evolved through the years.

Neither Tiffinnae nor Chantal looked very thrilled by the prospect, and Mr. Gregory actually groanedat her or Sandy, she couldnt tell.

Rachel arranged her visual aids and notes, and while she was reviewing her remarks, she heard the door open and glanced up; it was Dave and Lucy. She smiled, gave a little wave at the same time she looked away.

When at last she was ready, she glanced up at the classroom clock, saw that it was time to begin, and took her place behind the podium. Only then did she look up, smiling at the class and felt the hard leap of her heart.

It worked !

It was nothing short of a miracle that she stopped herself from dancing a little end zone dance. Hot damn, there he was, sitting in the back row next to Jason, wearing a navy blazer and a starched white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. On his feet was a pair of very European-looking boots. His hair, nice and thick, just brushed the top of his collar, and his smile, which was brilliantly white, made his skin look bronzed. No, really bronzed . And even more interesting, he appeared, at least from where she was standing, to have a black eye.

Looks like we got us some new blood, Chantal observed.

He must have come in behind Dave and Lucy, but never mind that; the whole class was looking at her, then looking at Flynn.

Ah! Rachel exclaimed brightly, silently cursing the little shake in her voice, not to mention the brilliance of her vocabulary.

Chantal twisted in her chair (as best she could, seeing as how she was a couple of sizes larger than the chair) and peered at Flynn. Whats your name?

Flynn, he said cheerfully, leaning forward on his desk. Flynn Oliver.

Whered you get that shiner?

Beg your pardon?

The black eye, she means, Tiffinnae helpfully clarified.

Ah. A bit of a contretemps, Im afraid.

Chantal blinked and looked at Tiffinnae. Both of them looked at Mr. Gregory, who shrugged. Then Chantal asked, You from England?

Yes, as a matter of fact. As Chantal kept staring,

Flynn cleared his throat a little. Ah London, actually. But I, ah was bom reared, as it were in ah, in Butler Cropwell.

Dave, perhaps feeling a little sorry for Flynn, jumped right into the opening. Is there some rule where the new guy gets the third degree? he asked laughingly, and glanced over his shoulder at Flynn. Im Dave. This is my wife, Lucy.

How do you do, Flynn said politely, and Chantal and Tiffinnae dipped their heads together to snicker.

Thats Chantal and Tiffinnae, Dave continued, taking on the role of host. And Sandy and Mr. Gregory. And thats Jason sitting next to you, he said.

Flynn looked at Jason, who did not look up from his intent study of the table next to the loom.

So youve decided to tackle weaving? Dave continued with a laugh.

If its quite all right with the instructor, yes.

Everyone looked at Rachel. Of course! she said, a tad too enthusiastically. Welcome to our class! But wait what was he doing here? As in, how could he have possibly known she taught a weavingright, right she had told him she taught a class the night of the tampons. Not a weaving class, but but everyone was staring at her. All righty, then! she said, and looked down at her notes, shook her head a little. With a smile plastered on her face, Rachel lifted her head. Before we get to work on the looms, Im going to talk a little more about yarns.

Sandy instantly responded by sitting up in her seat, pen and paper ready to take notes. Flynn settled back, that ever-present smile on his lips.

Last week, we talked about the origins of weaving, and how far back we could trace it.

Mr. Gregorys hand shot up. He was very enthusiastic about history, Rachel had learned. Yes, Mr. Gregory?

You said no one actually knows when the process began, given that few remnants survive, but that there is evidence of cloth being made as early as seven to eight thousand B.C., and that the earliest evidence of large tapestries being woven in Europe is just before the twelfth century, of which, by the way, you promised a picture.

Damn, he was good. I have it right here, she said, and fished a picture of a tapestry out of her box and handed it to Chantal, motioning for her to send it around. So who knows what tapestries were typically used for in medieval Europe?

Rugs? Dave tossed out.

No, but close, Rachel said.

Furniture coverings? Sandy guessed.

Smaller tapestries were used over furniture at times. But Im talking about the large tapestries that depicted romance and gothic themesthere was a more common use for them.

The students stared at her blankly. Rachel glanced at Flynn. Ah perhaps our new student knows the answer?

That suggestion seemed to surprise Flynn. He sat up a little straighter and glanced around. Tapestry? he repeated.

Rachel nodded.

Right. Of course. They were bed coverings.

Well Rachel winced inwardly at having put him on the spot. I suppose they could have been. But they were actually wall hangings. Weavers would create these gigantically thick tapestries to hang along the walls of big old castles to keep drafts out of the rooms.

How we supposed to Enow that! None of us ever been in a castle! Chantal groused, and glanced at Flynn over her shoulder. You ever been to a castle?

Ah actually, my mum took me to visit Windsor Castle when I was a lad.

Windsor. Thats where the queen lives, Tiffinnae informed them all.

No she doesnt, she lives in Buckingham! Mr. Gregory said with a sniff of disdain.

Actually, Rachel said, I believe she travels between

Buckingham and Windsor, and even up to Balmoral in Scotland, and a few other places. Is that right, Flynn?

Now everyone was looking at him, and Flynn flashed a perfectly charming smile. Ah actually, I havent had access to her itinerary, so I cant really say for certain.

You sure you English? Chantal demanded.

Excellent question. I shall inquire of my parents once more.

That earned a laugh from everyone in the roomexcept Jason, naturally.

Perhaps if I talked a little about tapestries, Rachel suggested, and launched into her notes.