Winter Affair (14 page)

“I’ll make some coffee too,” he added as he pulled the fire screen across the open hearth.

“Now there I draw the line,” Leda announced, getting up and putting her arms around his waist from behind. He smelled of warmth, and sleep, and her.

“You make terrible coffee,” she whispered into his ear, and he turned to grin at her as she made her way to the kitchenette, trailing her makeshift robe behind her.

It’s Christmas Day, Leda thought as she rinsed the pot under the tap. And I certainly got what I wanted for Christmas.

Chapter 7

“I hate to leave you alone,” Leda said at the door as Reardon helped her on with her coat.

“Forget it, Leda. I know you have to go to your aunt’s house.”

“But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s just another day to me. I’m always alone, I’m used to it. Go on, now. I’ll meet you at your place later.”

“What time?” Leda asked, fingering the collar of his shirt.

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“Let me see. I’ll get away as fast as I can. How does six o’clock sound?”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

Leda squinted through the door as he opened it, trying to see if anyone was outside. She hesitated, peering down the block. The morning sunlight was blinding.

“What’s the matter with you?” Reardon asked. “You’re acting like you’re under surveillance by the FBI.”

“Almost. Sara Master is probably crouched behind her curtains with a telescope.”

He grinned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a very dull tenant. If the old lady has been counting on me for entertainment she’s been terribly disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Leda responded archly. “Do you know she’s been monitoring the return addresses on your mail and reporting on them to my aunt Monica?”

He pulled her back inside and shut the door. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Leda said, rearranging the scarf he had used as a lever. “Do you think I’m exaggerating now? If she sees me hotfooting it out of here it will be all over Yardley by tomorrow.”

Reardon’s face closed and he turned away. “I see. And you wouldn’t want anyone to know you were socializing with the criminal element, right?”

Leda moved around him to make him face her. “How can you say that to the woman who kissed you in front of the entire crew of Phelps Aircraft not one month ago? I’m merely trying to avoid trouble for you, Kyle. You’ve had enough to deal with already.” She touched his arm, smiling at him. “I want to tell my aunt about us myself first, that’s all.”

He regarded her seriously. “What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know. I have to think about it. But I want you to take me to the New Year’s Eve bash at the country club, so it will have to be in the next few days. Her charity group is sponsoring the party.”

Reardon’s mouth opened. No sound emerged.

“What’s wrong, Kyle? Cat got your tongue?”

“Leda, you’ve lost your mind. I can’t take you to some fancy party with all your aunt’s friends. She’ll kill me and then commit you to a mental institution.”

“No, she won’t. She’ll accept the situation, and you, because she has to.”

“So that’s your plan to put me on the road to reinstatement? Drag me along to this shindig so you can force your ex-con boyfriend down everybody’s throats? Swell idea, Leda. That’s going to make both of us real popular.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Leda countered. “Sneaking around in back alleys under cover of night until somebody finds out anyway? We have nothing to be ashamed of, and I refuse to act as if we do. Now I already promised my aunt I would go to this party, and I’m not going to bring anyone else but you. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear, all right,” he said, unconvinced. “Stupid, but very clear.”

“Kyle,” Leda said gently, “I can’t take time to fight about this now, I’m late already. I have a ton of presents to wrap, and I told Monica I’d be there before noon to help with the dinner. I’ll see you at my place at six, okay?”

He eyed her warily, his expression dubious.

“Okay?” she repeated, louder.

“Okay, saddle shoes,” he finally conceded, bending to kiss her. “It’s your family,” he added, straightening and opening the door again.

Leda smiled at him broadly, proud of herself for winning the point. She breezed through the doorway out to the porch.

“Look out for Sara,” Reardon hissed in a dramatic stage whisper. “She may have the driveway bugged.”

He shut the door with a bang.
 

It’s entirely possible, Leda thought, muttering to herself as she made her way through the soft new snow to the street. She glanced back at the house as she reached the curb. The empty windows of the first floor stared back at her. Leda’s eyes moved higher and she saw Kyle standing at his window, watching her departure. He lifted his hand in farewell and Leda walked on.

Her car, when she reached it, was frosted with two inches of snow. Leda got the brush out of the trunk and cleared it off, spraying the glass with de-icer to improve visibility. She paused in her labors to inspect the damage to her fender, which looked no worse than it had the previous night. Leda got in and turned the key in the ignition, wondering if it would start. She hoped the cold hadn’t killed the battery. It turned over on the first try, however, and she drove back to her apartment, thinking about the marvelous changes that had taken place since she was last in the driver’s seat.

When she got back to her house she hurried inside and showered quickly, changing into the green velvet dress she had purchased to wear for the holiday. She wrapped her remaining gifts and checked the messages on her answering machine. There were two: one from Chip, restating his plea for her to attend Anna’s party, and the other from Monica, reminding her bring her mother’s punch bowl set to dinner. The first required no action, since the party was over and she hadn’t gone, but she groaned when she heard the second one. Leda had forgotten about the punch bowl, which was on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard, accessible only to giants and normal human beings standing on step ladders. She dragged the ladder to the closet and retrieved the set piece by piece until she had assembled the whole thing. Then she packed all the parts in a cardboard box, carefully wrapping the tiny cups and the ladle in tissue paper. She taped the box shut and glanced at the clock. Damn. Monica would be tapping her foot in the entry hall, one eye on her watch. She revered punctuality the way the Borgias had revered power, and Leda wanted to keep her aunt in a good mood. Leda grabbed her burdens and fled, buttoning her coat as she raced out the door. She had to make two trips to the car until she had everything stowed inside it, and then drove off, feeling like Kris Kringle getting a late start from the North Pole.

Leda was, of course, the last to arrive. Her cousin Martha answered the door, making a jovial comment about the person who lived closest always showing up late, and Leda smiled weakly, handing her the punch bowl. The rest of the relatives were in the living room with Uncle Matt, the brother of Monica’s late husband, who was telling a story about his days on the Boston police force. Leda went quietly into the kitchen, depositing her burdens on the way. Cousin Martha trailed in her wake.

“It’s about time,” Monica greeted her, turning from the stove.

Leda sighed. “Merry Christmas, Aunt,” she said, going to kiss Monica on the cheek. “I brought the punch bowl set,” she added, gesturing to Martha.

“Good,” Monica replied, nodding. “The egg nog is in the refrigerator. You girls get started on that and take it in to the others. After that Leda, I want you to come back out here and help me with this soup.”

Leda and Martha exchanged glances. It was clear that Monica was well into her annual holiday foodathon, during which she produced all her standard delicacies on a rotating basis, complete with orders for distribution and consumption. Leda and Martha silently set up the punch bowl and took it into the living room, where they were greeted by a chorus of cheers. The celebration was under way.

Christmas was the longest day of Leda’s life. She usually enjoyed the holiday, but every time she thought of Reardon waiting for her she wanted to ditch the family scene and bolt out the front door. But she stuck it out to a decent hour and was rewarded by the comments of several of her relatives, who told her how well she was looking. Her night with Reardon was showing. Uncle Matt even told her that a theatrical career must be agreeing with her because she seemed very happy. Leda smiled to herself. That she was.

She lasted through coffee and dessert, and the opening of the gifts, before she started making noises about leaving at five-thirty. She endured the standard protests, saying that she had work to do at home. This led to speculation about what that work might be, since everybody knew all actresses had to do was look pretty for the audience. Such comments usually irritated her, but she was in such a transcendent mood that she nodded and smiled, edging ever closer to the door. She finally departed at ten minutes to six, amidst a flurry of hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch. She was richer by an assortment of gloves and scarves and books, as well as a cashmere sweater from Monica, which Leda had admired while shopping with her aunt but had dismissed as too expensive. Leda felt guilty about her comments to Kyle concerning her aunt. Monica loved her and was doing her best, which was all anyone could do.

Leda forced herself to drive slowly back to her apartment. She wanted to race through the snow laden streets, screeching around corners on two tires, but she also wanted to live to see Kyle again, so she took her time. It seemed an eternity before she pulled up in front of her house.

The street was empty, without another car in sight. Leda swallowed her disappointment as she walked up to her door. Kyle must be late. She got out her keys, wondering where he was.

A figure stepped out of the shadows and she jumped, dropping her key ring into the snow. Reardon caught her against his chest, laughing softly.

“I told you I’d be here,” he said into her ear. “Who did you think it was?”

“I didn’t see a car,” she responded, hugging him and closing her eyes. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting her go and bending to retrieve her keys. He dusted them off and unlocked the door. “I told you I like to walk in the cold.” He pushed open the door and hustled her inside. “But tonight I had enough of it.” He pulled her into his arms again. “I missed you,” he said huskily.

“I missed you too,” Leda said into his shoulder. “I wish that you could have been with me, but showing up with you on my arm would have been too much for Monica’s heart. I have to break it to her gently.”

“That ought to be a good trick,” Reardon said dully, releasing Leda and watching as she took off her coat.

“Now don’t get started on that again,” Leda replied, a warning in her tone.

He shrugged. “All right. But I can understand how she feels. If you were my niece I’d steer you off somebody like me.” He looked around the room. “This is nice,” he said. “Quite a change from the Reardon Arms.”

Leda glanced at his face. He wore the closed expression that meant he was unhappy.

“I don’t care where you live,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck and almost knocking him off balance. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Got the picture?”

He relaxed, and she could feel the tension leave his body as it enfolded hers. “I’ve got the picture,” he said. He held her off and examined her from head to foot. “You look beautiful.”

She pirouetted for him. “Thank you. I should. This dress is a sample I modeled in a show, and I was able to buy it for half price. Otherwise I wouldn’t be wearing it.”

He looked away from her, walking thoughtfully around the room, studying objects but not picking them up, as if he were in a museum.

“Do you do that a lot?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Leda asked, spinning around to look at him. Something in his voice concerned her.

“Model in shows, things like that.” He gazed at her, his gunmetal eyes intent.

She shrugged. “Sometimes. Whenever I can. The money is good and often you can get a deal on the clothes. I can’t do photography, I’m too heavy, but runway modeling is...” She trailed off as she saw his gaze slide away from hers. He turned his back and walked to the other side of the room, where he stared at a picture of her father, framed on an end table. Leda followed, taking his arms and turning him around to face her.

“Kyle, what is it? Tell me.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and then said slowly, “I don’t understand what you see in me. You’re pretty, a model, and smart, you could have anybody. What the hell are you doing with me?”

Leda sighed. “I thought we just cleared that up. What brought this on, anyway, this ‘I am unworthy of Leda Bradshaw’ routine? It’s boring, Kyle.”

“It’s nothing new,” he answered tightly. “I’ve always thought that, from the day we met. You could do a lot better than a grounded pilot with a prison record.”

“Wait a minute,” Leda said, holding up her forefinger. “I know what this is. You sat around all day thinking about me with my family, and how if you were somebody else I could have brought you with me. You convinced yourself that my involvement with you was going to ruin my life. Close?”