Secrets on Cedar Key (13 page)

I
pulled into the parking lot of the Flying Biscuit and glanced at Chloe.

“So you think I was smart to accept Worth's offer to stay at his apartment?”

“Of course I do. You would have been silly not to, for a few reasons.”

We got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant. “Like what?” I asked.

Chloe waited till we got inside and were seated to answer me. “Well,” she said, picking up her menu and giving it a quick glance. “For one, at the rate you were going with accommodations, it wasn't looking very promising.”

I nodded. “Hmm, true.”

“And for another, come on. I doubt that many women would find it a hardship staying with a handsome man like Worth in an apartment in Paris.”

“God, you make it sound like a rendezvous. I had no idea he owned apartments in Paris, much less that he'd be there part of the same time.”

“Exactly,” she said, a grin on her face. “Consider that a bonus.” She looked up at the waitress who had approached our table. “The omelet for me, one of your famous biscuits, and coffee, please.”

I glanced down at my menu and realized that even though I'd skipped breakfast before we left the island, I didn't have much of an appetite for brunch, but I mumbled, “I'll have the same.”

When the waitress walked away, Chloe looked at me and shook her head. “Don't look so uptight. This trip is supposed to
decrease
your stress, not increase it.”

“I know, but God . . . I haven't shared living arrangements with anybody since I married Andrew.”

“Worth said the apartment has two bedrooms. You enjoy his company. He's so familiar with Paris, I'm sure he'll point out some of the out-of-the-way places that you might otherwise not see. Go with an open mind, Marin, and enjoy yourself.”

I could have sworn I heard her say, “And with an open heart,” under her breath, but I let it go.

After we finished eating we headed to the mall, which was the purpose of our drive to Gainesville. I hadn't bought any new clothes in ages and thought perhaps a few new items for my upcoming trip might be in order. I invited Chloe along for company and moral support. I was never sure what looked good on me and what didn't.

Chloe suggested we hit Coldwater Creek first. “I love their clothes. For classy, mature women,” she said. “And not girls in their twenties.”

I hoped that didn't translate to dowdy. As soon as we walked into the shop, I discovered it didn't.

Two hours later I was certain that I'd tried on just about every item in the store, with Chloe running back and forth acting as my personal fitter. But it had been a very successful shopping spree, as my credit card could attest to.

Driving back to the island, I began to have doubts about some of the items. “You don't think that black dress might be a little too . . .”

“Sexy?” Chloe inserted. “Of course it is. That's the purpose. And those killer heels you got to go with it? Perfect. You know that Worth will take you out to dinner at least one evening, and you have a very stylish outfit to wear. You'll have a coat, but don't forget to take along that gorgeous, black cashmere shawl you knitted in case it's chilly in the restaurant.”

Good thinking,
I thought. And I never thought I'd be wearing
that
shawl to Paris.

“Do you think the bathrobe is appropriate? Not that I plan to be parading around the apartment in it, but I like having my coffee before I hit the shower and get dressed.”

“Very appropriate,” Chloe confirmed. “It's a full-length, soft flannel robe. You could greet the UPS driver at the door wearing that and not feel underdressed. Plus, it's a great shade of blue.”

I nodded and kept driving. The slacks, blouses, and jacket that I'd bought I didn't have to question.

“By the way,” Chloe said. “Do you think you'll meet his daughter and grandchildren while you're over there?”

I hadn't given that any thought. “Oh, I don't think so. I mean, this is family time for them. I'm sure Worth won't want me intruding.”

“Don't be so sure,” she said, and I glanced over to see a grin on her face. “With all the excitement about Paris, have you given up your idea about Maybelle's house?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all. Victoria knows that I'm very interested. We spoke on the phone the other day and she agreed to show me the inside the day after she gets here.”

“Oh, that's good. I'm sure you'll enjoy having your own place again, so I hope it works out for you. Has your mother taken to the idea any better?”

“Not really, and I just can't figure it out. It seems that it's that house in particular and not the fact that I'll be moving out, because she mentioned that there's a lot of other houses for sale on the island. Has she said anything to you?”

“Not a word, and I agree that's odd. Do I dare ask? Any decision about Fiona?”

I approached the blinking red light at US 19, looked both ways to cross over to SR 24 for the final twenty-minute drive to the island, and let out a deep sigh. “None whatsoever. My plan is to tell the boys about her when they come for Christmas. Beyond that—nothing. I'm hoping when I'm in Paris, alone, with time to think, I'll be able to decide what would be the best thing to do.”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah, but since she already said she wanted to meet you and the boys, there's no doubt she'd like to learn about her father.”

“That's just the problem. I can't forgive Andrew for what he did. So I don't think I'd be a very good candidate to be the one extolling his virtues to his daughter.”

“She already knows what he did, Marin. I'd bet anything she just wants to find out what kind of person he was.”

“Exactly,” I said and heard the edge in my tone. “A cheating husband would cover it pretty well.”

 

I arrived home to find my mother sitting on the patio, a glass of wine on the table beside her and an old photo album in her lap.

“How'd the shopping go? Get yourself a glass of wine and join me. Meatloaf is in the oven and dinner's in about an hour.”

“Sounds great,” I said, heading back inside to pour myself a glass of cabernet before sitting in the lounge across from my mother. “Shopping was great. Chloe was a huge help and I got some nice things for my trip.”

“That's good, but I have no doubt you'll be doing some shopping in Paris too.”

“I'm planning to get some Christmas shopping done, but I might pick up one or two things for myself.”

“That was so generous of Worth to offer you his apartment, and it'll be nice to have his company there for a few days.”

I nodded. “It
was
nice of him, and I'm getting excited about going.”

“Oh, before I forget. Jason called you a few hours ago. I told him you were in Gainesville shopping, and he didn't want to bother you on your cell so he said to call him when you get a chance.”

“Did you tell him that I'm going to Paris?”

“No. I think you should tell him, but I know he'll be happy for you.”

And he was. I called him later that evening, and after a few minutes of getting his news, I said, “By the way . . . since you and John won't be home for Thanksgiving . . . I've made plans to fly to Paris for a couple weeks.”

“Wow! Really, Mom? That's great. You've always wanted to go back there. Who's going with you?”

“Nobody.” Well, technically nobody was going
with
me. I just neglected to add that Worth would be arriving a week later. “I'll be going on my own, and I think this might be a good thing.”

“Oh, I agree,” my son said. “You've never taken off alone. All of our vacations were family vacations with me, John, and Dad. Remember when I went to Germany the year after I graduated college? I went alone and I really enjoyed it. I think this will be good for you.”

I smiled. “Thanks. You're still coming home for Christmas, right?”

“Absolutely. And I'll want to hear all about your Paris trip, so take lots of pictures. Which hotel are you staying at?”

“Actually, I'm not staying at a hotel. A . . . ah . . . friend of mine. Well, he's a friend but he's also the one that's doing the work for the needlepoint shop. I was having a terrible time trying to book a hotel, and he owns an apartment in Paris . . . so . . . he's offered to let me stay there.”

“Boy, you lucked out, didn't you? Staying in an apartment, rather than a touristy hotel, you'll really be able to soak up the Parisian lifestyle. Didn't you rent an apartment the last time you went?”

“I did, with my two friends, and you're right. We got to experience so much more than if we'd stayed in a hotel.”

“Well, I think that's great, Mom. I'm glad you're going.”

“And you're still going to be with October and her family for Thanksgiving?”

I heard Jason's chuckle come across the line. “Her name's September, Mom, but yes. We're still going.”

“Sorry about that. Okay, if you speak to John, you can tell him about my travel plans, but I'll be giving him a call over the weekend.”

When we hung up, I couldn't help but wonder if Jason married September and they had a daughter—was there a chance I could end up with a granddaughter named after a month, or even a day of the week? I felt a grin cross my face. Yes, I suppose there was that chance.

T
he following Sunday afternoon I was sitting on the patio at Worth's home watching him toss a ball to Suzette in the yard while steaks sizzled on the grill. He had invited me over to have an early dinner and discuss my Paris trip. I took a sip of my coffee and smiled. Worth seemed to take pleasure in the smallest things—like playing catch with his dog. He turned around, caught me staring at him, and shot me a smile. I had quickly discovered that Worth was one of those men who smiled not only with an expression, but also with his eyes. Somehow that seemed even more meaningful.

“Okay, Suzette,” he hollered as he returned to the grill. “That's it for now.”

He turned the steaks over and adjusted the flame, which caused me to jump up.

“What can I do?” I said. “I feel bad enough that you're doing the cooking for me again.”

He laughed and came to join me at the table. “Don't be silly. I'm sure you've done your share of cooking over the years, but come on. You can help me bring out the dishes and get the table set.”

I followed him into the kitchen, where he began placing plates and silverware on a tray. “You can grab some napkins and place mats out of that drawer,” he said, indicating an oak hutch.

I opened the drawer to find an array of nicely pressed linen napkins in various colors along with matching place mats. I chose a set of the blue ones and added them to the tray. Worth placed a salad bowl on another tray before putting rice pilaf into the microwave to heat.

“Okay,” he said, looking around. “That should do it. If you'll take this out and get the table set, I'll be right out with the rest.”

As I arranged the two place settings, I knew that the china, silverware, and napkins were all top quality. No doubt about it. Worth's deceased wife had had very good taste.

“Here we go,” he said, depositing the bowls, a bottle of wine, and two glasses on the table before going to remove the steaks from the grill.

Sitting down across from me, he shot me a smile.
“Bon appétit.”

“Merci,”
I said. “I guess I'd better start practicing my French.”

“As long as you know the basics, you'll do just fine.”

I accepted the salad bowl he passed me and helped myself to some rice. “Yeah, I remember I did okay my first time there, and actually, by the time I'd left I had learned even more words and phrases.”

“Exactly. And besides, more Parisians can speak English than Americans realize. If the American is at least trying, even if they're butchering the French language, they usually discover the French person understands English.”

I laughed before taking a bite of my steak. “Right. I think the French just like to know that we've made some effort to speak the language of the country that we're in, which only stands to reason, because Americans tend to get pretty annoyed when people from other countries come here and don't speak English.” The steak was juicy and cooked to perfection. “Oh, this is delicious, Worth. I can't remember the last time I've had such a good steak.”

“Good. I hope you'll enjoy it.”

We were both silent for a few minutes as we focused on the food. I realized that once again I had skipped breakfast, making me extra-hungry later in the day.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you,” he said. “When you arrive at the apartment building, you can go to the concierge and she'll give you a key. I could give you one of my spare ones, but I'd like you to meet Madame Leroux when you arrive.”

“Oh?” I questioned, thinking that was an odd request.

“Her apartment is on the first floor, just above mine. Very easy to find. I'll let her know to expect you. How are you planning to get from the airport?”

“I thought I'd take the RER. I'll only have one piece of luggage.”

Worth smiled. “You already sound like a true Parisian. And your flight arrives at eight-thirty Tuesday morning?”

I nodded.

“Then I'll let Madame Leroux know your arrival time and that you'll be at the apartment before noon. She's pushing ninety, and except for severe arthritis, which limits her mobility, she's in very good health. Both mentally and physically. She's an extremely interesting woman to talk with. She was a young wife and mother living in Paris during World War II. I think you'll enjoy meeting her, and my reason for having you get the keys from her is my way of an introduction.”

“I'm intrigued,” I said, and I was. “She does sound interesting, and I'm sure I'll love meeting her.”

“She also doesn't get much company, and most of her family are gone, except for her niece, who tries to visit often. So maybe if you get a chance in the afternoon, you could pop upstairs for coffee and a chat with her. She speaks perfect English, so that wouldn't be a problem.”

For some reason, this seemed important to Worth, and I smiled. “Of course I will. I'd love to.”

He returned my smile, reached for my hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Good.”

We had just finished clearing the table and filling the dishwasher, and we were about to enjoy our after-dinner coffee when the phone on the patio table rang. Worth glanced at the caller ID screen and said, “Sorry. It's my daughter calling from Paris.”

I waved a hand in the air. “Not a problem. Go ahead, take it,” I said, thinking he'd get up and go into the house, but he answered and continued to sit with me.

“Caroline,” I heard him say. “Nice to hear from you. What's up?”

There was a pause before he said, “Tuesday, the third. I left a message on your recorder last week.”

I sipped my coffee and glanced up to see a frown forming on Worth's face.

“No, you didn't inform me of that. Had I known, I would have planned my dates accordingly.”

Another brief pause before he said, “Well, I'm sorry . . . and I think Christophe will understand that.”

He let out a deep sigh before saying good-bye and flipping his cell phone closed.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“Everything okay?”

“Just typical of my daughter. She's always much too busy to check her phone messages and then insists that she told me something when she didn't. Apparently Christophe has a Christmas play at school on the Sunday before I'm scheduled to arrive. Had she told me before I booked my flight, I would have flown over the week before.”

I could tell that he was annoyed. “I'm sorry. Will Christophe be terribly disappointed?”

He waved a hand in the air and smiled. “Oh, no. Knowing my grandson as I do, I'm sure he'll be fine with it. He sent me an e-mail the other day and he knows when I'm due to arrive. This is all about Caroline. It usually is.”

“Oh. Can she be difficult?”

Worth nodded. “Very much so. I'm afraid she got more of Claire than I would have liked. Don't get me wrong. She's my daughter and I love her . . . but yes, at times she can be downright difficult. I'm afraid Roland gets the brunt of it, but every now and again it flows over to me.”

I wondered if Worth got the
brunt
of it when he was married to Claire.

“Okay, enough about her,” he said, reaching for the coffeepot to replenish my cup before standing up. “Something else I wanted to discuss with you about your trip. I'll be right back.”

I watched him walk into the house and realized that his minor display of irritation toward his daughter was certainly justified, but it was the first time he had shown an emotion other than upbeat and happy, bringing to mind Andrew's frequent bouts of moodiness. Funny, when one lives with it all the time, maybe one becomes immune to it, but recalling the unpleasantness of Andrew's episodes made me realize that both Claire and Caroline were pretty darn fortunate to have a man like Worth around—and yet, they probably took him for granted.

“Here we go,” he said, coming back to the patio and interrupting my thoughts.

I looked down at the table, where he had placed a cell phone, and looked up at him questioningly.

He laughed before saying, “It's an international cell phone. I want you to have it while you're in Paris. You don't need to worry about minutes on it or anything like that. It's all set.”

“What? Why would you give me a cell phone?”

“Because,” he said, looking at me in a way that made me feel our relationship had definitely notched up from only friendship. “I want to be able to talk to you during the week that you'll be there and I'll be here. I'm going to miss you. A lot.”

He reached for both of my hands, bringing me up to stand in front of him, where I was inches away from his handsome face.

“I like you, Marin,” he whispered before placing his lips on mine, at first gently, teasingly, and I felt an emotion that I thought I was long past ever experiencing again—that breathless, excited feeling of desire. When his hands cupped my face, his kiss became deeper, more passionate, and I allowed myself to simply
be
.

When we pulled away, we were both breathless, staring into each other's eyes. I blew out a breath of air and nodded. “I like you too, Worth . . . and I'm very glad our paths have crossed.”