Winter Affair (7 page)

“Who is this guy?” Anna asked suspiciously. “You’re awfully worked up about his visit.”

“Somebody I just met the other day,” Leda replied, truthfully enough. “He came to see the show tonight.”

“You mean he came to see you,” Anna corrected her.

“I suppose so,” Leda hedged, not even sure why she was trying to keep Anna in the dark about it.

“If not, what’s he doing holding up the wall outside this room? I don’t think he came to see Peter staggering in and out of the wings, do you? Or Chip doing his Richard Gere imitation?”

“All right,” Leda said, trying, and failing, to apply lip gloss and eyeliner at the same time. She put down the lip gloss and concentrated on her eyes. “I saw him in the audience and asked him to wait for me.”

Anna sighed. “When I look out at the audience all I see are my relatives and the members of my mother’s bridge club. Plus a sea of strangers who bear no resemblance to your sexy friend.”

“How do I look?” Leda asked, zipping up her makeup case and replacing it in her purse. “This is the quickest post-performance repair job I’ve ever done. You don’t see any pancake around my hairline, or anything, do you?” She peered into the mirror critically.

“You look fine,” Anna reassured her. “Aside from the fact that you’re still wearing Madge’s pink net bow in you hair.”

Leda pursed her lips and ripped the offending ornament from the back of her head. She hadn’t been able to see it. “Please tell me if there’s anything else,” she said to Anna, tossing the bow onto her mirrored tray.

“That’s all,” Anna said decisively. “You’re a knockout. Strong men will faint when you cross their path.”

“Just as long as I don’t look like I’m coming apart at the seams,” Leda answered, grabbing up her coat.

“Even though you feel that way,” Anna said, grinning.

“I’ll see you later,” Leda called over her shoulder, fleeing for the hall.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Anna demanded, outraged, her hands on her hips.

“Some other time,” Leda replied, and bulleted out the door. If there is another time, she added silently as Reardon turned his head to meet her eyes. He straightened when she came toward him, and his whole demeanor changed as his attention focused on her. Leda felt the pull toward him like a physical thing, the motion of a tide controlled not by the moon but by the force of their mutual attraction. Steady, she thought, taking a deep breath. You’ve handled three unsuccessful commercial auditions in a row, and you can handle this. She smiled at him and touched his arm. “I’m ready,” she said.

“That’s quite a change,” he observed softly. “Like you stepped into a time warp.”

“Did you like the fifties look?” Leda asked, trying to make small talk.

“I liked you in it,” he replied, and Leda let the subject drop. He was not a small talker.

“We can go out by the back entrance,” she said. “Come this way.”

Reardon followed her nimbly down the dim staircase, lit only by the red exit sign above the stage door. The lighting was bright enough, however, to reveal Chip Caswell standing at the foot of the stairs, smoking a cigarette.

Leda heaved an inward sigh. What on earth was he doing there? She had turned down his invitation to go out after the show earlier that evening, and now here he was, just in time to catch her sneaking out the rear door with somebody else. An evil genie was overseeing her fate, there was no doubt about it.

“Hi, Chip,” she said brightly, speaking first to forestall any inquiries. “Good show tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal.”

Chip stepped in front of the door, blocking it. Leda could feel Reardon tense as he stood just behind her, almost close enough to touch her.

“I thought you said you were going straight home after the curtain,” he greeted her frostily, eyeing Reardon.

“My plans changed,” Leda said evenly, praying that Chip wouldn’t choose this occasion for another demonstration of his legendary immaturity. “A friend came to see the show and we decided to go out for a drink.” It was easier to give him an explanation he didn’t deserve than to deal with the consequences of his wounded ego.

To Leda’s astonishment Reardon moved around her and stuck out his hand. “I enjoyed your performance,” he said to Chip. “I’m an old friend of Leda’s father’s, and I thought I’d catch her act. Didn’t I see you on television recently?”

Chip preened, hostilities at an end. “Maybe you did,” he said fatuously. “I’ve done some guest shots on series.”

Reardon snapped his fingers. “That’s it,” he said, nodding. “I knew I recognized you.”

Leda almost laughed at Chip’s expression. He was so lost in his own vanity that he never knew Reardon was manipulating him.

“We’d better go,” she interjected. “It’s getting late.”

“Nice meeting you,” Reardon called back, ushering Leda out the door. “I’ll look for your name in the credits.” They hustled out into the wintry night.

“That was well done,” Leda said to Reardon once they were out of Chip’s earshot. “Thanks for stepping in like that. I think he was about to become nasty.”

“I owed you one,” Reardon said, looking down at her.

“Then we’re even.”

Snow frosted everything, still recent enough to be clean and white. Their footsteps crunched the icy crust as they walked along.

“That guy acts like he has a claim on you,” Reardon observed.

“Only in his imagination,” Leda answered.

She thought she detected the trace of a smile in Reardon’s expression, but it may have been a trick of the streetlight as they passed under it. “He’s good looking . I would think women would find him attractive,” he said.

“Not this woman,” Leda said crisply.

“Why not?” Reardon paused and studied her, waiting for her answer.

Leda tried to think of something innocuous to say. “He wears too much cologne and gold jewelry,” she answered, and then cringed. That sounded ridiculous even to her own ears.

But Reardon didn’t seem to think so. He nodded and walked on as Leda trotted to catch up with him.

“I don’t wear cologne,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“I know.”

He cast her a sidelong glance. “And I have no gold jewelry.”

“Good.”

They looked at each other, not quite smiling. “Where are we going?” he asked, taking in the row of restaurants and shops.

Leda pointed at the Logan Inn across the street. “Right there.”

A Christmas tree glowed in the window of the hotel, and a large balsam wreath on the door of the bar enveloped them in its fresh green scent. When Reardon put his arm above Leda’s head to push the door open, she stopped walking, lost in the memory of his closeness once before. He barged into her, and then grasped her arms to steady her.

“You okay?” he asked, turning her to look into her face.

“Fine,” she responded briskly, tearing her gaze from his and marching ahead of him into the room.

A huge fire blazed in the main lounge, with the tree they had seen through the window sending its branches soaring to the ceiling , dripping with tinsel. Reardon took Leda’s coat and handed it to the check girl, along with his jacket. They found a spot and sat across from each other at a small round table.

“Nice place,” Reardon observed shortly.

“Yes. At this time of year it does a big tourist business, but it’s always busy.”

His light eyes roamed the room. “I used to think about a place like this at Christmas, roaring fire, big tree—” his gaze touched her face “—pretty girl.” Then he shrugged, as if to dismiss the recollection. “What would you like to drink?”

“White wine would be fine,” Leda replied softly, trying not to show her reaction to his statement. How lonely he must have been. How lonely he still was; though out of prison, he carried it with him in his mind.

“White wine for the lady, and scotch for me,” he said to the waiter who had appeared at his elbow. The man nodded and vanished.

“Would you like to go into the dining room for something to eat?” he asked Leda.

“No, thanks.” She smiled. She was usually ravenously hungry after a show, but her appetite had deserted her, along with her customary composure. She felt like a teenager on her first date.

Silence reigned. Finally, Reardon cleared his throat.

“I shouldn’t have come here with you,” he said huskily, raising his eyes from the table to her face. “It was a mistake. I don’t know what to say.”

“Why?” Leda asked gently, touched by his candor.

“It’s not easy coming out of prison and into social life all at once. I haven’t sat down for a drink with a beautiful woman in a long time.” He smiled sardonically. “I guess that must be obvious.”

That isn’t it, Leda thought. It’s me. He’s uncomfortable with me.

“What’s wrong?” she prodded quietly. “You seemed all right when you were outside.”

“You weren’t facing me then,” he answered flatly. “You have your father’s eyes. They accuse me.”

Leda looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“You know what everyone says about me,” he persisted. “You know what they say I did.”

She met his eyes again. “Yes.”

“I thought your aunt would have lost no time in reminding you of the whole story,” he said bitterly.

“Did you do it?”

His gaze flickered, as if he’d been hoping she wasn’t in any doubt. “That’s what they say.”

“I’m asking you. What do you say?”

The waiter brought their drinks, and Reardon watched him leave before he answered. “Why do you ask me that? Don’t you know that every con in prison says he’s innocent?” His expression was closed. He didn’t expect her to believe him.

“Please talk to me,” Leda said, touching his hand where it lay curled on the linen tablecloth. “I want to hear your side of it.”

He eyed her warily, unable to credit her interest. “That’s more than you could say for everybody else in your town.”

“I’m not everybody else. We haven’t known each other long, but I think you can tell that already. Can’t you?”

His fingers enclosed hers, and that was his answer. Leda waited for him to speak.

“I never would have done anything to hurt your father,” he finally said huskily. “I respected him more than anyone else I ever met. He took a chance on me when I was right out of school, without experience, and let me have my head in the lab. He backed up my experiments and never put roadblocks in my way.”

“Until he wouldn’t let you run that fuel test,” Leda said, and then wished she hadn’t. He released her hand and sat back stiffly.

“So,” he said. “You know all the details.”

“I know that you were denied permission, and then ran it anyway. That’s when the people were killed.”

“That isn’t the way it happened!” Reardon burst out, slamming his fist on the table. Several people turned around to look at him, and he subsided visibly, taking a sip of his drink and lowering his eyes.

“How did it happen?” Leda asked calmly.

“That fuel was ready to be tested. The flight was sabotaged.” He took in her reaction, his expression stony.

“Sabotaged!” This was the first she’d heard of such a charge.

“I could never prove it, and it didn’t come out at the trial. My lawyer said he couldn’t raise such a claim if he couldn’t support it with evidence, and I had none. But there was someone working for your father who wanted that test to fail, and I think he made sure it did.”

“Who?”

“Mike Prescott, one of the other flight engineers. He was jealous; he was always jealous from the day your dad hired me. I was younger, newer, with fresh ideas that your father liked. He knew that I was on to something that might fly, and he killed it, for two reasons. He wanted to finish me, which he did, with a vengeance. And he wanted the formula for himself.” Reardon took another deep swallow of the amber liquor in his glass. “I think he took it to another company when your father’s business folded.”

“How do you know that?” Leda whispered.

Reardon shrugged, swirling the scotch in his tumbler. “Makes sense. He’s out in California now, producing some revolutionary new high octane fuel. Sound familiar? And guess who’s out there too. My defense attorney, working for the same outfit.”

Leda stared at his sardonic half smile as the enormity of it sunk in.

“You think they were in on it together?” she asked. “That your lawyer railroaded you in order to skip town with his buddy and your stolen formula?”

“Sounds like melodramatic fiction, doesn’t it?” Reardon asked, seeing her incredulous expression. He looked away. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. It’s just that it’s so...”

“Farfetched?” he suggested, downing the last of his drink. “Ridiculous? The sort of fairy tale a convicted felon would weave to defend the indefensible?” His tone was mild, but the knuckles on the hand that held the glass were white with tension.

“It sounds like something that could be true, but only the person it happened to would believe it.”

He looked back at her, renewed hope in his eyes. “It is true. I swear it.” His voice was deep and steady, filled with utter conviction.