Sooner or Later (17 page)

Her cane tapped on the polished terra-cotta tiles as she walked slowly through the lobby, nodding good afternoon to people she knew. The tall, dark-haired man caught her eye as he hurried past, and she swung round, staring after him.

It was him again, the one she couldn’t remember. A frown creased her brow; when a man wore a mustache, it was so hard to tell what he really looked like. Perhaps she should have introduced herself, asked who he was? But, of course, a lady didn’t do that sort of thing.

Buck was smart in a blue suit and an expensive tie. His pale blue shirt was immaculate, his tasseled loafers
gleamed and his newly dark hair was carefully combed. He caught up to Ellie on the steps.

“Well hello again.” He reached out, caught her arm. “We seem to make a habit of bumping into each other.”

“Mr. Jensen.” Ellie turned, surprised. “I didn’t know you lived here.”

“I only wish I did.” He gave her a sincere smile. “It’s like a little oasis of peace and quiet, after the whirlwind of Miami.”

Ellie smiled, understanding. “My great-grandfather felt exactly that way about it and he never went back east again. He bought his land, built his house, and here he stayed.”

“Lucky man.” Buck hesitated, as though he were reluctant to bring the subject up. “Actually I’m in property development,” He fumbled in his pocket, then handed her his business card. “As a matter of fact, I’m looking for a house here, and I heard a rumor there’s a wonderful old mansion for sale. Then they told me it belonged to you.” He smiled warmly at her. “Such a coincidence. But then, I’m a great believer in fate.”

“That old rumor again”—Ellie sighed—“it’s been going round for years. But: Journey’s End belongs to my grandmother, Mr. Jensen, and anyhow, it’s not for sale.”

“To be honest, my health is not what it used to be.” He put a hand on his heart, grimacing, and Ellie gazed sympathetically at him. “What I’m really searching for is the home I was never fortunate enough to have as a child. Now the grown man wants a
true
home. I’m looking for a place I would love and live in, until my own Journey’s End. You would make me a very happy man, if I could just see it,” he said persuasively. “Who knows, one day you may change your mind and decide to sell. Then at least, you’d know it would pass to someone who loved it, the way you do.”

Ellie eyed him, uncertainly. He was polite, charming, a gentleman, it couldn’t just be a pickup line. Remembering his ashen face last time she’d seen him here, her heart went out to him. Besides, he was right, one day she would have to sell, though it wasn’t something she really wanted to think about now.

Impulsively, she agreed. “Why not come by at five, and I’ll give you a quick tour.”

Buck beamed, pleased with himself. It had been so easy. He still knew how to turn on the charm. Shaking her hand warmly, he said, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be there at five.”

While they were speaking Dan had driven up to the hotel and handed the keys to the valet, then suddenly he saw her. “Ellie,” he called, surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you until later.”

“Dan Cassidy!” He was walking toward her with that macho loping stride that had first set her thinking that he was sexy. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Her face lit up with that special smile and Buck’s eyes turned to stone. Flinging an icy glare at Cassidy, he said quickly, “Goodbye, Ellie. Until later.” As he walked away, he wasn’t even sure that she had heard him. She had forgotten he even existed.

Dan’s eyes followed him speculatively for a second, his cop’s antennae bristling. He shrugged it off; he guessed it was just that the guy had been standing too close to Ellie and he was jealous. “Who’s the dark-haired Lothario?” he couldn’t help asking.

She smiled at the description. “Hardly a Lothario—just an acquaintance, interested in buying Journey’s End.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Are you selling, then?”

“No, but people are always asking. I guess they’ve
heard the rumor that Gran’s lost all her money. Anyhow, what are you doing here?”

“I came to pick up a copy of the
New York Times
, they usually have it at the newsstand.”

“And I’m taking Miss Lottie to tea. I know she’d be thrilled if you’d join us. She’ll think I have a boyfriend, at long last, so just ignore her if she starts wanting to know your pedigree and your prospects.”

He laughed. “The answer’s easy. Zero on both counts.”

Miss Lottie spotted Ellie coming into the restaurant, noticing that she was laughing, and she was with a man. A
handsome
man. Miss Lottie perked up.

“Gran, this is a friend of mine, Dan Cassidy. You remember, I told you about him?”

She favored him with a smile as she shook his hand. “Certainly I remember, Mr. Cassidy. I thought your face looked familiar. You’re the star of
NYPD Blue
, aren’t you?”

Dan heard Ellie’s sigh as he said, “Unfortunately not, ma’am, but I was a New York policeman.”

“Ah, that’s it. The homicide detective, I knew I was right.” She waved him to a seat. “I hope you’re joining us for tea?”

“Ellie kindly invited me.”

“Good, good.” Miss Lottie poured tea from a silver pot with a shaky hand. “I hope you like Earl Grey and scones.” Turning to Ellie, she said in a loud stage whisper, “I like his eyes. Trustworthy, like a Labrador’s.” She beamed at Dan again. “Such a pity you weren’t here last Monday, for my birthday. There was a splendid cake. And champagne.”

“Dan bought the Running Horse Winery, Gran,” Ellie reminded her. “He’s working hard getting it back into shape.”

Something clicked into place in Miss Lottie’s faulty mind. “But isn’t there a jinx on that place?” she asked, surprised, and Ellie groaned. “Anyhow, it’s a fool’s game, farming,” she continued, sipping her tea. “Always dependent on the weather and the gods.”

“Ellie’s promised to come out and take a look at it, this evening, Miss Lottie.” Dan was enjoying himself.

“Has she indeed.” She threw a speculative glance at her granddaughter. “Well, you must have something about you, Dan Cassidy, if you can prise my granddaughter away from that cafe. All she ever does is work.” She glanced at Ellie again. “You’ll have to bring your young man to visit me at Journey’s End, Ellie. Then we can talk more about what he does.”

Ellie rolled her eyes at Dan in an I-told-you-so look, and he grinned back at her.

Across the room, Buck drained his glass and signaled the waiter to bring another Jim Beam. Jealousy turned into anger as he watched them laughing together. He was locked out of their world. Gulping the bourbon, he reminded himself that in a little while, he would be with Ellie. He smiled, that secret little smile. Phase two of his plan was in motion.

E
LLIE WAS WAITING ON THE STONE-COLUMNED PORTICO
when Buck drove up, promptly at five. She had changed into jeans and a white polo shirt, and her hair was caught back loosely in a blue ribbon.

Buck caught the clean, sharp scent of her as she came down the steps to meet him. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” He handed her the enormous bunch of roses he had brought. They were big and pink and perfect, with no scent. She thanked him, surprised.

He stood for a moment, looking at the garden, taking in the balustraded terraces, the enormous fountain spouting water musically from the mouths of bronze dolphins; the formal Italian gardens with the reflecting pools, and the ancient shade trees dotting the emerald lawns. Shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe its beauty, he said, “This place is paradise.”

Ellie smiled, pleased. “I think so, but then I was brought up here, and to me it’s the best place in the world.” She glanced covertly at her watch as they walked up the steps, already regretting inviting him. She was
meeting Dan at six and she wanted to get the house tour over with as soon as possible.

Buck felt that electric buzz of power as he stepped through the door of Journey’s End, an invited guest in the house from which men with guns had dragged him screaming in a straightjacket.
You’ve done it
, the voice in his head yelled triumphantly. Y
ou’re back in control again.

Exhilaration had him on the balls of his feet, ready for action. Whistling “Dixie” under his breath, he followed her into the house.

Taking off his dark glasses, he stowed them carefully in the top pocket of his jacket, then smoothed back his hair, looking round.

Nothing had changed. The same Savonnerie rugs, the same beautiful Venetian antiques, the Flemish tapestries. And Waldo Stamford’s enormous full-length portrait dominating everything. Even the white roses in tall crystal vases could be the same, and the peachy scent of potpourri.

Ellie had given the house tour more times than she could remember. They often had groups round: the historical society, antiquarians, magazine writers, newspaper columnists. By now, she was as expert as a museum do-cent on the history and contents of the house. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, she whizzed him through at top speed, not allowing him time to linger.

“The hall floor is limestone,” she told him briskly, “from a quarry near Bordeaux. It was chosen by my great-grandfather specially for its warm, slightly pink color. The oak staircase is Jacobean, from an English manor house, and the great baronial fireplace was carved right here, on site, by Italian artisans working from photographs of a seventeenth-century Venetian one. There would always be a huge log fire in it on Christmas Eve,”
she added, smiling fondly at her memories, “with garlands of fresh bay and holly swagged around the walls and along the banisters. And an enormous tree stood right here, at the foot of the stairs, piled with presents underneath, and Miss Lottie would serve hot spicy punch and Christmas cake to the local carolers.”

Buck’s eyes were everywhere, taking in every detail. He thought how easy it would be to break a pane in the French windows and slip the old-fashioned catch. Everything depended on how efficient the alarm system was, and what kind of security they had now.

He said inquisitively, “It must take an army of servants to keep up this place.”

She shook her head. “It’s impossible to do that now. There’s only Maria, the housekeeper, and the ladies who come in a couple of times a week, just to try to keep up the house. You’ll need to bear in mind, Mr. Tensen, that when you finally do buy a large house, the upkeep might ultimately cost more than the purchase.”

He laughed, pleased with the information she’d given him about Maria. “I’ll certainly do that.”

They were out on the terrace, walking toward the old lady. Quickly, he put on the dark glasses.

“Gran,” Ellie said gently, “this is Mr. Jensen. I’m just giving him a tour of the house.”

Buck stood in front of his persecutor, the woman who had taken twenty years of his life away from him. He had no fear she would recognize him.
Look at her
, the mocking voice in his head said triumphantly.
See how old she is, how frail and weak. Now you are in charge. Now it’s your turn.

Miss Lottie had been dozing. Startled, she sat up too quickly. Her head swam, her glasses slipped down her nose, and the book she’d been reading slid to the floor. The dog lumbered to his feet, barking loudly.

“Good to meet you, ma’am.” Buck was in his role of polite gentleman.

“I didn’t know we had visitors,” Miss Lottie said, flustered, as Buck bent to retrieve her book then placed it on the little table next to her. The dog growled softly in the back of his throat.

“Bruno, stop showing off,” Ellie said, astonished, but he growled louder.

Buck took a quick step back and Miss Lottie shook her head, puzzled. “I think I must have been dreaming.”

Ellie handed her her spectacles. “Then we won’t disturb you any longer, Gran. Come on, Mr. Jensen, let’s finish the tour.”

Miss Lottie’s eyes followed him as he swaggered confidently back into the house. There was something about the way he walked; she could swear she knew him from somewhere. Her eyelids drifted down and in a minute she was dozing again. It had been a long day.

Ellie threw open the door to the library. “When I was a child, this was my favorite place.” She ran a hand over the smooth polished wood of the Chinese chair near the door. “I used to sneak in here at night when I was supposed to be in bed. I thought Miss Lottie didn’t see me, but of course she knew. I would sit here and watch her at her desk, writing letters. How big the chair seemed then, it almost swallowed me up.”

Buck remembered the little red-haired child, her mouth open in a scream, terror in her eyes.

“There’s a pair,” Ellie went on. “They’re seventeenth-century Chinese, made from elmwood. We always call them the Mandarin’s chairs because they came from a wealthy Mandarin’s estate, in Shanghai. The inlaid rosewood desk is Italian, and the rug is eighteenth-century Turkish, badly faded now from the sun, but still beautiful.”

A pulse ticked nervously in Buck’s cheek. Swept back into the past, he walked to the desk, and stood looking at the place where they had held him down. The musty smell of the rug was in his nostrils again; its red colors filled his eyes like blood, he was screaming, cursing her. And Charlotte Parrish was standing over him. Tall, icy, unafraid. Mistress of all she surveyed. He took a deep breath. Now he was master of
her
fate.

With an effort, he jolted back to the present. Ellie was saying, “Come and sec the ballroom, Mr. Jensen. We had such wonderful parties there. My great-grandfather welcomed two presidents and their wives to this house, as well as William Randolph Hearst and Marion Davies, of course; and Ronald Colman and Charlie Chaplin.”

Buck followed her through the main rooms, seeking access, and opportunity. He remembered the alarm system, it was the same antiquated one as before. It must have been there for thirty years and he’d bet it was never used now.

Ellie glanced at her watch. “I’ll just show you the kitchen before you leave, Mr. Jensen. They simply don’t make them like this anymore.”

The enormous kitchen looked exactly the way it had since the sixties with a black-and-white tiled floor, white-painted cabinets, massive steel stoves and a range of ovens. Tall windows were set high in the wall, and, on a hook next the back door, Buck spotted a large brass ring with a bunch of keys, each with a label.