To Tell the Truth (12 page)

"Correction. No one spoke to me." Andrea couldn't keep the bitter hurt from escaping. "You see," she explained, lifting her chin proudly, "John's friends have the same low opinion of me that you do."

"Including my mother?"

"No, not your mother and one or two others who knew my parents," she admitted. "But the others believe that I played on John's sympathy after my father died and tricked him into marrying me."

"Of course your father died penniless, didn't he? A series of bad investments just before his death wiped out the family fortune," Tell mocked. "Isn't that the way those sad tales of the beautiful heroine usually start?"

"There wasn't any money when my father died," Andrea admitted angrily. "I told you all about it before. When I was fifteen, the doctor told us that mother had cancer, There were operations, therapy, drugs, doctor and hospital expenses and a thousand other costly things. Despite everything, she died after nearly three years. Less than a year later, my father's heart simply stopped. But I never regretted one single dime he spent trying to save her."

"Which is why you married the first wealthy man who came along."

"John has more to offer than money." Her fingers nervously gripped the backrest of the mahogany dining chair.

"Such as?" His lip curled in a disbelieving sneer.

"He's strong and kind and understanding. He genuinely cares about me, about my happiness and well-being."

"Even to the extent of making you the main beneficiary in his will," Tell added. "That must have been a moment of real triumph for you."

Andrea let out her breath in one quick sigh and wearily bowed her head. "Why am I wasting my time? You don't want to listen. You don't want me to explain," she said dully.

"I'm curious about something, Andrea. What does John get out of all this? The privilege of having you as his beautiful paid companion?" he taunted, impassively meeting her flashing look of tears and temper. "There can be very little else, with you sleeping upstairs and John down."

She swung at his mocking face and missed as he dodged her open palm. One wrist was caught in a steel grip, then the other, cutting off the circulation to her hands. Andrea struggled in vain to be free.

"You're contemptible!" she hissed at last, no longer fighting his hold. "I don't care what you think of me! Not anymore. Not if you can made such vile accusations against John. He's paralyzed, as you very well know. He didn't marry me to obtain some base satisfaction…and that you think he did disgusts me!"

A muscle twitched along Tells jaw, sternly clenched and unyielding. "When you love someone, Andrea—" his gaze narrowed blackly "—there is incredible joy in just knowing her head rests on the pillow next to yours. You couldn't possibly know the feeling I'm trying to describe. You're much too concerned about your own selfish, material desires to see the beauty and fulfillment in that."

Gasping back a sob of pain, Andrea knew it was something she wished for every night, but Tell wouldn't believe her.

"Excuse me, Andrea." Mrs. Davison's hesitant voice came from the doorway of the serving pantry connecting the kitchen and dining room.

Instantly, her wrists were released and Tell was stepping away. "Yes, Mrs. Davison," Andrea murmured in a choked tone.

"If they don't sit down to dinner pretty soon, that chowder isn't going to be fit to eat," the housekeeper replied.

"Thank you," Andrea smiled tightly. "I'll have the others come in right away."

"It can't be none too soon." And the pantry door closed behind the woman.

Andrea glanced hesitantly at the back of Tell's wide shoulders. "I don't think she was listening."

"And even if she was—" he turned his head slightly, letting the arrogant line of his profile be seen over his shoulder "—you'd be able to come up with some story to convince her nothing is wrong, wouldn't you? You have the servants under your thumb as well as John, I suppose."

Andrea spun away. No matter what she said, Tell would not believe her. He was determined to think the worst of her and there seemed to be no way to stop it.

SLEEPING
PILLS WERE a necessity that night. Even then Andrea lay awake for a long time before they took effect and brought that blessed unconsciousness.

The voices in the hall seemed part of a nightmare she was having in which a horde of accusing voices led by Tell were condemning her to a life of agony for not telling him the truth.

She struggled to raise the weighted lids of her eyes, confident that if she could open them, the voices would stop. They didn't. She tried to shut her ears to the sound. Finally the realization that she was hearing actual people penetrated her drugged stupor.

Clumsily, Andrea pulled on her robe and stumbled to the door. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she used the walls of the corridor for support to lead her to the sound. Near the top of the staircase, she saw Tell, his sister and Mrs. Davison. The two women were in housecoats. Tell was wearing a pair of dark slacks with an unbuttoned shirt covering his bare chest, as though he had put it on in a hurry.

"What's wrong?" she asked thickly, trying to push away from the wall and cover the short distance between them. Her legs wouldn't function properly and she had to sway back against the wall for support.

"For God's sake, what's the matter with her?" Tell muttered.

An instant later, Andrea felt his arms sliding around her, taking her weight against him while his hand closed over her chin and raised her face up for his frowning inspection.

"It's those sleeping pills she takes, I expect," Mrs. Davison answered in her usual low voice of disapproval.

"What does she need sleeping pills for?" Nancy asked curiously.

"To sleep. To sleep and not dream," Andrea responded softly, closing her eyes against Tell's nearness. His arm tightened around her for a second.

"Let's get her back to bed." The harshness of his voice made her wince, then she felt him bodily carrying her back to her room. But it was Mrs. Davison's face she saw as the covers were pulled over her arms and chest.

"Why is everybody up? What's happened?" Andrea asked, trying to sit up, only to have the light pressure of the housekeeper's hand push her back.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, dear," Mrs. Davison said gently. "Mrs. Collins had a slight asthma attack, but she's all right now. You go to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

Andrea wanted to protest, but she felt herself slipping away. The bedside lamp was switched off and she remembered nothing else until the sun streamed into her window heralding the coming of morning.

As usual, her head throbbed dully as she dressed and made her way down the stairs. Her mind had begun to clear, enabling her to separate the dream of last night from the reality of what had actually transpired. In the downstairs hallway, she met Mrs. Davison on her way up with a tray.

"Everyone is in the breakfast room," the housekeeper said, not slackening her step as she hurried by Andrea.

"Mrs. Collins?" She inquired anxiously.

"Much better," was the succinct response.

Reluctantly, Andrea turned toward the sunny breakfast area. She had the strange feeling that last night she had allowed Tell to see another chink in her armor and she was worried how he was going to use it to hurt her more. The first person she saw as she entered the room was John, smiling a greeting and letting her draw strength from his protective presence to meet the guarded look of Tell seated at the table beside him.

"Good morning." Her greeting was directed to all three and returned by Nancy and John. She avoided Tell's inspecting eyes to smile at Nancy. "How's your mother this morning?"

"She's fine," Nancy answered firmly arid with a bright sparkle in her blue eyes that said she was telling the truth. "She gets these attacks every now and then, mostly when she becomes excited or overdoes things."

"I'm sorry I wasn't much help last night." Andrea self-consciously averted her attention to the coffee pot, only to find it in Tell's possession as he poured a cup and handed it to her.

"Tell said that you were a bit out of it," John commented.

"I, er—" she tossed her head back in a nervous gesture, smiling stiffly as she stared at the cup in her hand "—took a couple of sleeping pills before I went to bed last night. You know how they knock me out, John."

"Do you suffer from insomnia, Mrs. Grant?" Tell inquired in a bitingly soft voice.

"Occasionally," she shrugged.

"Quite often in the past few months," John corrected her dryly.

"Really?" A dark brow was arched across the table. "Are you suffering from a guilty conscience?" The question sounded innocently teasing, but Andrea knew better. Tell's arrows were swift and sure of their target.

"I had blamed it on spring fever," she countered.

"Thank heaven, I never have any trouble," Nancy sighed contentedly.

"That's because yours is the sleep of the innocent, kitten," Tell mocked, his remark ricocheting harmlessly off his sister to strike Andrea again.

"Is that why you work so late at nights, Tell?" Nancy teased in return. "You're lucky sometimes to have five hours' sleep out of twenty-four."

"What's your response to that, Mr. Stafford?" Andrea challenged.

"The plea of every man," he answered tautly, meeting her gaze and holding it. "Work, Mrs. Grant."

"Well," Nancy folded her napkin and placed it on the flowered tablecloth, "I'll leave you two to argue over the reasons for sleeping or not sleeping while I see how mother is doing."

"Give her my love," John said, wheeling his chair away from the table, "and tell her how very sorry I am that she wasn't able to join us this morning, but we'll be saving a place for her at noon, and I'm sure we're all hoping she'll be here."

"Knowing mother, she'll be down," Nancy said, laughing.

"I'll be up later," said Tell. When his sister had left, he glanced at the man in the wheelchair. "Would you like some more coffee, John?"

"No, no, I don't think so." The massive chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "If you want me, Andie, I'll be in my study."

When the whirr of the wheelchair faded, an awkward silence settled over the room. Tell poured himself another cup of coffee and rose from the table to walk to the window. A pulse hammered in Andrea's temple, not letting her forget he was still in the room. She spread homemade apple jelly over a slice of toast, trying to concentrate on it instead of the virile figure framed in the sunlight.

"This changes things," Tell said quietly, bending his dark head to stare at the cup in his hand. "You realize that, don't you, Andrea?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow you." Her knife was held poised above the toast, a frozen terror creeping through her limbs.

"I'm referring to mother's attack," he snapped. "It will be impossible for me to leave this afternoon as I'd planned."

"Of course," murmured Andrea, releasing the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Whatever she had been braced for, that wasn't it.

"Only for a couple of days, long enough to be sure she's
all right. Believe me, I won't stay any longer than necessary," Tell muttered.

"There's no need to worry," she said stiffly. "I'm not likely to pretend that you're staying for any other reason than your mother."

Glancing over his shoulder, he glared at her coldly. Without another word, his long strides carried him from the room, leaving Andrea shaken and hurt, her head throbbing more painfully than before.

Chapter Seven

"ARE YOU SURE you don't want to come with us, mother?" Nancy asked again. "We're only driving over to Jacksonville, then into Medford to do some shopping."

"No, you and Andrea go." Rosemary Collins smiled. "I'm sure the two of you will have more fun without me. Besides, John wants me to read the rough draft of his novel so he can have my valued opinion." She glanced laughingly at John as if to say she was hardly a critic to be listened to. "This afternoon will be a good time for that."

"Well, if you're sure." Nancy shrugged and turned to Andrea. "If you're ready, I guess I am."

Touching John's shoulder, Andrea murmured, "We won't be late."

"Have a good time," he winked.

Adding a quick goodbye to Rosemary Collins, Andrea followed Nancy into the hall leading to the foyer. They had just reached the front door when a third pair of footsteps sounded in the hall.

Instinctively, Andrea turned, knowing it was Tell yet unable to prevent herself from looking. She had seen him so seldom in the past few days since his mother's attack. It did no good to remind herself that he was deliberately avoiding her. The bittersweet happiness of knowing he was in the same house and being able to catch an occasional glimpse of him was enough.

"Where are you off to, Nancy?" Tell said, frowning, a brow arching impatiently.

"Andrea and I are going to do some sightseeing and shopping. Why?" His sister's hand remained poised on the doorknob.

"Do I dare ask you to hold off leaving for an hour?" he asked with faint sarcasm.