Winter Affair (8 page)

Leda sipped her wine for the first time, wetting her dry lips. He watched her. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

“How could your colleague have gotten away with your plans, the results of your research?”

He exhaled slowly, and Leda realized that he had been waiting to see whether her next words would indicate interest or dismissal. He leaned forward and looked into her eyes.

“Easy. With me in jail and your father dead, who would stop him from packing up the lab and walking away with it? He couldn’t have counted on what happened to your father, but I’m sure he took full advantage of it.” He searched her face. “Prescott had planned to discredit me and then move on, probably waiting awhile to use my plans until the whole affair had died down and your father had retired. Your dad was close to doing that anyway. But when he died, it was a windfall for Prescott, and he used it. No one but your father knew enough about what we were doing to catch on to the piracy.” Reardon dropped his eyes and sat back. “I’m sorry about your father. The whole thing was like a nightmare, and when your father died, I guess I sort of gave up.” He looked over her shoulder, staring at a point in space. “I don’t remember much of what happened after that too well. But I’ve had years to think while I was locked up, and the only thing that kept me going was planning to come back here and clear my name.” His eyes shifted back to hers. “I want the rights to my formula returned to me and I’m going to get them.”

“It must have been difficult for you to come back to Yardley,” Leda said.

He played with the cocktail napkin on the table. “That’s where it happened. The answers must be there too.”

Leda studied his spare, grim features. “How can you stand the way people treat you?” she said quietly.

He lifted one shoulder. “I learned in prison that you can get used to almost anything. What I have to do is more important.” His lips curled slightly. “I used to be sort of a hothead, rash, impulsive, you know the type. I had to get over that real fast in jail if I wanted to survive. Now I just let the world go by, as much as I can, unless I’m backed into a corner.”

“Were you backed into a corner that night at the Phelps hangar?” Leda asked.

He regarded her levelly. “I thought I was.” He turned his head and pressed his lips together. “I couldn’t stand the way they were humiliating me in front of you. I can take a lot when I’m alone, but for you to see it...” His voice trailed off into silence.

“I didn’t think any less of you,” Leda responded, swallowing hard. “I thought less of them. I could see that you were trying very hard to control your temper but they wouldn’t let up on you.”

“You’d be surprised how many people think an ex-con is fair game. Especially in your town, when the con is me. I’m not exactly Yardley’s most popular resident.”

“It must be like walking around with the mark of Cain on your forehead. People won’t give you a chance.”

“People like your aunt?” Reardon inquired, raising his brows.

“You recognized her at the grave,” Leda said.

“She’s a hard lady to forget. She was my most outspoken critic during the trial, and I don’t imagine she’s changed her opinion much.”

“She hasn’t.” Leda narrowed her eyes. “What were you doing at my father’s grave that day?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what to do. The flowers were stupid, they were probably dead ten minutes after I left them.”

“I don’t think that bringing the flowers was stupid,” Leda replied. “But you startled me. We didn’t see any car and we thought no one was there.”

“I didn’t have a car. I walked.”

“You walked all the way from town to the cemetery? That’s a long trip.”

“I don’t mind walking, and I like the cold air. It clears my head.”

The waiter came back, but Leda declined another round. Her glass was still half full. Reardon waved him away.

“You walk everywhere?” Leda asked.

“Not anymore. I just bought a car.” He smiled, a real smile for the first time. It lit his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “If you can call what I bought a car. It makes the Edsel look like a triumph of automotive engineering.”

Leda laughed, and so did he, a full throated chuckle, low key but infectious. As Leda sobered she was surprised to feel the sting of tears behind her eyes.

“I think it’s a long time since you laughed like that, Mr. Reardon,” she said with slight catch in her voice.

“Kyle,” he said. “You called me Kyle back at the theater, when you wanted to stop me.”

“Kyle,” she repeated, smiling at him. He smiled back.

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s a long time since I had a drink with a lady, or laughed. You’re helping me back into the world, Leda.”

“Thank you. I hope so.”

“Your father once told me how he picked your name. He always used to talk about you, when you were away at school. I think he wanted you home.”

“Monica insisted on boarding school. She wanted me to be refined.”

“You are. But your father wasn’t convinced that he’d done the right thing. There’s some poem about swans, he said you were named after the girl in it. He used to recite it, and show all of us your pictures.”

Leda winced. “Not those pictures I sent from school. They were awful.”

“No, they weren’t. I liked to see them.” He grinned. “I remember one with you in pajamas. You had your arm around another girl, a redhead.”

Leda groaned. “I can’t believe he was showing that to people. That was taken at a slumber party. We both hadn’t slept all night and we looked it.”

“I thought it was cute.” His expression became serious. “I knew who you were right away when I saw you in the cemetery. I think I would have known you even if I hadn’t seen the photos. You resemble your father.”

Leda nodded slowly. “Yes. That’s what everybody says.”

The grandfather clock in the entry hall of the inn chimed eleven. Reardon looked surprised, as if he had lost track of the time.

“I’d better take you back to your car,” he said abruptly. “I have the midnight to eight shift at the hangar.”

Leda looked puzzled. “Then why were you working when I was there last week?”

“Oh, I’m switching shifts, filling in whenever they need me.” He stood and walked around to her chair, pulling it out for her.

“That’s a difficult schedule to keep,” Leda commented, going with him to the hall.

“I was lucky to get the job at all, I can’t be choosy about the hours.” He paid the bar tab and walked back to the table to leave a tip. Leda stood by while he got their coats and helped her into hers. She thought his hands rested on her shoulders a moment longer than was necessary, but she wasn’t sure.

“Where are you parked?” he asked, hunching his shoulders against the cold, which clutched at them the second they stepped out the door. Leda shivered, and he put his arm around her as he guided her across the street.

“In the lot behind the theater. What about you?”

“I came late, had to park in the street, about a half mile down the road,” he answered.

“Then go. I don’t want you to be late. I can get back to my car by myself.”

He looked at her. “Would you rather I left?” he said. He had become tense again, withdrawn.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, confused by his response to her innocent statement.

He paused. “Are you afraid of me?” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and regarding her soberly.

“No, of course not. I just went to the inn with you, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the same thing as a dark, empty parking lot. There were a lot of people there, and you would feel safe.”

“I feel safe right now,” she replied softly. “I feel safe with you.”
 

“You’re sure?” he insisted.

“I’m sure. Now let’s go, or you will be late for work.”

They hurried through the freezing air to the almost- deserted lot, and Reardon waited while Leda unlocked the door of her car. She got in and started it, then left it running to warm up while she got out and stood next to him in the feeble light from the arc lamps overhead.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said. “I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” he asked, as if he needed reassurance.

“Of course. And I’m glad you came to see my show.” She laughed suddenly. “I’m especially glad you came tonight. A few days ago we had a real disaster and you’re lucky you missed it.”

“I like to see you laugh,” he said softly, touching her cheek. “It reminds me of what my life used to be like, before everything went wrong.”

Leda froze, all her awareness concentrated on the sensation of his warm fingers on her skin. He withdrew his hand quickly, as if he had exceeded some boundary he’d set for himself.

“I really appreciate the way you listened to me,” he added.

She started to speak, and he held up his hand.

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe every word of it or not,” he said. “Just to have somebody listen, and not dismiss me or shout me down, meant a lot.”

Leda didn’t know what to say.

“Good night,” he said quietly.

Leda wanted to ask when she would see him again but held her tongue. “Good night, Kyle,” she replied instead, and got into her car. He shut the door, and thumped it once with his palm, as if to send her on her way. She watched him walk back toward the street, resisting the impulse to call after him and tell him that she would give him a ride to his car. He liked to walk in the cold, she reminded herself. It cleared his head. She wished she knew something that would clear hers. It seemed to be filled constantly with thoughts of the man who had just left her.

* * * *

The next evening Leda received two dozen white roses at the dressing room of the theater. Anna took the box at the door and hovered nearby, crowing when Leda unwrapped the green tissue paper to reveal a profusion of dewy, long-stemmed blossoms inside.

“Who is it from?” she demanded, almost ripping the card out of Leda’s hand. The heady perfume from the flowers filled the room.

Leda didn’t answer, her expression absorbed. She stroked a rose with a thoughtful forefinger.

“Thank you for last night,” Anna read aloud. “I never expected understanding from you of all people, but it’s obvious that you share your father’s kind nature. Gratefully, Kyle Reardon.”

“Flowers like these cost the earth,” Leda said softly. “He doesn’t have that kind of money. He hardly has any money at all.”

“Good taste is what he has,” Anna said admiringly, returning the card to the box. “Look at those beauties.” She bent over the flowers, inhaling, and then tapped Leda on the shoulder. “‘Thank you for last night’?” she quoted, raising her brows.

“We had a drink, Anna, that’s all. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Two dozen roses for a drink? You must have made quite an impression.”

“I hope so,” Leda said, almost to herself. In a louder tone she said, “Do you always regard gifts from men as payment for services rendered?”
 

It was a line from a terrible play they’d both been in, and Anna laughed. “Kyle Reardon is that guy you left with after the show, right? The tall dark one with the crummy jacket?”

“The jacket isn’t crummy. It’s just...old.”

“Yeah, well, its owner isn’t. I’d say he’s just about the right age, wouldn’t you?”

“Anna, don’t you have some lines to go over with Peter? You’d better catch him while he’s still vertical.”

“All right, all right, don’t ever say I can’t take a hint.” She picked up her script book and swept from the room.

Leda found a vase in the prop closet and filled it with water, arranging the roses into a spray from her vanity table.

He’ll call me, she thought. He’ll call me soon.

* * * *

He didn’t call. Leda waited for almost three weeks and heard nothing. She looked for him in vain everywhere, but as Christmas approached she realized that he had no intention of getting in touch with her again.

Chapter 5

“Look out!” Clair yelled as the tree they were carrying swung around and barely missed Leda’s head. She ducked, and they propped the Douglas fir against the wall.

“I swear this thing grew in the trunk on the way home,” Claire muttered, wiping her brow.

“Come on, Claire, stop grumbling and help me move it inside,” Leda urged, getting a better grip on the trunk.

“You insisted on buying the hugest tree in the place,” Claire protested.

“I like a big tree.”

“Do you like to carry a big tree?” Claire demanded rhetorically, panting as they maneuvered the greenery into the designated corner. They let it rest there and retired, gasping, to the adjoining windows.

“Look at that monster,” Claire moaned when she had caught her breath. “It belongs in Rockefeller Center.”

“Just think how much fun it will be to decorate,” Leda said, standing back and admiring the view.

“Kind of like decorating the Yosemite National Forest,” Claire replied, but she was smiling too.