Writ on Water (30 page)

“What do you think is going to happen if Morag sees us?” he asked with amused exasperation. “Are you worried that she'll figure out what's going on and say something to MacGregor? Do you think he'd fire you? Or disinherit me?”

“No. I don't think MacGregor would mind a bit that we . . . um . . . that we're seeing each other.”

“ ‘Seeing each other?' ”
Rory smiled and shook his head at her choice of euphemisms, but didn't press for further explanations. “You could always climb up on the roof and go in my window. That would avoid the first floor entirely.”

Chloe dropped his hand and stepped back to
get a look at the low roof that covered the veranda. Holding Rory's hat with one hand as she tilted her head, she eyed the columns and slender white rails for footholds.

“I guess we could climb up the trellis by the parlor door. It might hold your weight.”

Rory started laughing.

“
We?
No thanks. You need to learn when I'm joking. I'll go open the side door. Be right back—and stay off of the roof. You're no good to me if you break a leg.”

“Ha!” she said to his back as he disappeared around the front of the house. “I knew you only wanted me for one thing.”

He glanced back.

“Maybe. But it's a really big, important thing.”

“I've seen it,” she retorted, not daring to raise her voice too far. “And it looks a lot more
big
than important.”

“Ha! Only a woman could say that. Every man knows it's the most important thing in the world. That's why we all want a sex slave, someone so besotted with us that she will do our every bidding.”

A besotted slave
. Chloe began to laugh. She wondered if Rory noticed that it held a note of hysteria.

It is with true love like it is with ghosts;
everyone talks of it, but few have seen it.
—La Rochefoucauld,
Maxims

Rory and Chloe returned to the hospital that afternoon bearing a bowl of the garden's magnificent roses as a gift for the vigilant nurses. No plants were allowed in the patients' cubicles in the intensive care unit, but the place had seemed so sterile that Chloe insisted that they bring something cheerful into the wing. It was also a nice way to say thank you to the nurses who were serving as watchdogs against the police and reporters.

As she had feared and half-expected, the same nurse was on duty when they returned, and Rory discovered that Chloe was now being welcomed into his father's room. The announcement was cause for a lifted brow, but he didn't question the beaming nurse about the change in hospital policy.

Deciding to implement her new guiding principle
of telling the truth whenever possible, Chloe leaned over and whispered into Rory's ear.

“MacGregor told them that I was his daughter-in-law, and I went along with it.” She pulled back and paced slowly, waited for his reaction to this announcement.

“He would. The old cuss is as unbending as tempered steel,” Rory said in fond exasperation as they paused outside the curtain. He brushed a stray
Veilchenblau
petal from her sleeve and then looked her in the eye. “So, did you talk with him earlier?”

The question made her squirm a little after her earlier reticence, but she answered truthfully. “Yes.” She hoped she wasn't blushing. It was hard to be brazen about lies—even ones of omission—when one's own skin gave you away.

“What did he say?” Once again Rory's eyes were watchful. Too watchful for the man she had just made love with. This was not casual interest.

Chloe's heart sank a little. It was like receiving confirmation from the doctor that one did indeed have an illness. And a truthful answer would either kill or cure their relationship.

“He thought I was your mother. He wanted her to understand about . . .” Chloe took a deep breath and lowered her voice another notch. “About what happened in the cemetery. About you helping Claude to get away from the police.”

Rory blinked. The rest of his face remained passive, but she could almost hear the gears of
thought grind to a halt, re-mesh and start to turn in another direction.

As the silence went on, Chloe wondered if she had made a mistake in being honest. Maybe Rory simply wasn't ready to trust her. Or to have her trust him. Such faith did imply a rather high feeling of intimacy on her part, and they hadn't known each other very long.

“He told you that we helped Claude get away from the police?”

“Not in so many words . . . but yes. That you were hiding him.” Deciding to make a clean breast of things, she added: “Look, I already guessed about the break-in. The
weberi
moss in the cemetery was the giveaway. I guess Claude put it there to cover up where Isaac was trying to break into the tomb.”

She waited for Rory to comment, but he didn't say anything.

“I know you planted the gun in the cemetery. It wasn't there when I . . . when I found the body.” She stopped. Surprisingly, she still couldn't tell him about the film. Her statement got another slow blink as it was assessed. “And I know about the damned car in the river.”

Chloe exhaled slowly and started to turn away, glad to have the confessions over with, even if it upset Rory.

“Wait.” Chloe might be done confessing, but Rory was not through with the conversation, and he reached out a hand to stop her. “Where are you going?”

Chloe looked at the lavender blossom lying on the speckled tile floor, enjoying the feel of his hand on her waist even it was there for the wrong reasons, and said wistfully, “I'm going to the cafeteria while you see your father. Rory, damn it! I wish you would trust me. I told you before that I wouldn't say anything about the cemetery. MacGregor might not have known who I was when we were talking, but the same rules of confidentiality apply.
He
trusts me—and I am more a stranger to him than to you. Why don't you have a little faith?”

It was Rory's turn to exhale. He pulled her gently into his arms and laid a cheek against her still damp hair. That was much better.

“Sorry, love. I didn't mean to seem distant and untrusting. I have to tell you that I would far rather that you didn't know anything about this, but since you do . . .” His shoulders lifted in what was almost a shrug. “All I can say is
thank you
. I don't know many people who would be so loyal to their word.”

Chloe wrapped her arms around Rory and kissed the midline of his chest.

“Well, I'm sorry if I shocked you, but I'm glad that I told you. Now we don't have to keep walking around each other, playing guessing games.”

Rory shook his head. “Around each other, no, we don't. But remember that no one else knows about MacGregor
hiding
Claude. It would be better if you could put it out of your mind and didn't speak of it
again. Not even to MacGregor. Claude is a fugitive and it is safer if we don't know
anything.
”

Chloe looked up into Rory's somber face and nodded.

“You are probably right. We won't talk about it anymore. Hopefully your dad has it all out of system now that he's confessed to Nancy, and he won't say anything either.”

“It's for the best that we all forget about it.” Rory kissed her nose. “Shall we go see MacGregor now?”

“Okay.” Chloe reluctantly dropped her arms. She felt cold without Rory pressed against her.

“Let's tell him the happy news.” Rory sounded mischievous.

“What news?” Chloe asked suspiciously.

“That he really almost has a daughter-in-law. I'd rather tell him before Morag does.”

“
What?
” They were still conducting their conversation in whispers, but her gasp was loud enough to draw the nurse's attention.

“Well, almost-daughter-in-law sounds better than
lover
or
girlfriend
. A few lurid details about our afternoon might get the old ticker going again. He's been worried that I don't like females, you know. Maybe you could put in a good word for me, testify to my heterosexual nature.”

“You say one word about being lovers and we will
never
share a shower again. And don't you dare mention marriage. MacGregor will hound us mercilessly.”

Rory's eyes twinkled. “It might be fun to watch MacGregor hound you. Are you sure I can't say just a tiny word or two? 'Cause I really am the type who likes to kiss and tell my father every last detail about my love life.”

Chloe relaxed. “Everything has its price. You blab and you go without,” she warned him, her tone severe even as she worked to suppress a smile.

“You're a hard woman, Chloe Smith.”

“You have no idea.”

MacGregor was awake and appeared quite lucid when he turned his eyes upon them. Chloe prayed that he hadn't heard anything that had passed between her and his son out in the hall.

“I hate all the damn whisperin' in this place. It's bloody gloomy,” he complained. “The women are all ugly and stubborn—even worse than Morag. I want to go home.”

“The doctor says maybe tomorrow or the next day if your heart stays stable and you don't have any more attacks.”

MacGregor glowered at his son for a moment and then turned his attention to Chloe. His expression at once softened and he asked kindly: “Well, at least there is one pretty woman who comes to see me. How are you, girl?”

“I'm fine.” Chloe smiled back at MacGregor and went over to take his hand. In spite of her warning to Rory about not saying anything to his father she found herself offering him some indirect
encouragement. “You need to get better and come home. Morag is being mean to me.”

“The old trout! And what is she doin' to you, girl?” MacGregor's voice was stronger than it had been that morning, but still not robust.

“Glaring. For some reason she thinks I have designs on your son.”

“Does she now?” MacGregor smiled. “Well, good. It would be perfect if he had some designs on you.”

“Well, I expect he does, the cad—but probably nothing honorable.” Chloe watched Rory from the corner of her eye. He shook his head but was smiling slightly.

“Sadly, girl, that is the way of men. They see, they lust. If you are lucky, they wake up one morning and decide to make a good thing permanent.”

“I'll tell you a secret.” Chloe leaned closer and lowered her voice. “It works that way with women too. Sometimes.”

“And you lust after my son? Are you sure that you couldn't do better?” MacGregor asked, enjoying this game. Chloe sent a quick glance at Rory, who stood at the back of the room, perfectly content to let her be the one to speak to his father. It was sad that even in this situation the two Patricks weren't able to really talk to one another, but at least she could be a temporary bridge.

“Well, Rory's okay,” she temporized. “But I really have designs on Riverview—specifically the Limoges dinnerware we used the other night.
And the rose garden. And I want Oleander, of course. I'd even be willing to keep you around since you can sing. So, as a package deal, it seems like a good bargain.”

MacGregor laughed, and the monitor beside the bed began showing greater activity. Chloe glanced at the climbing numbers and hoped that this wouldn't bring the nurse in to scold them.

“I am going to step out for a breath of air,” Rory said. “Please feel free to plan my life without me.”

“Okay, but it won't be the same,” Chloe replied, smiling warmly. “You are so much fun to tease.”

Rory smiled back and then slipped out the door.

“You are good to us, girl. We're not deservin' of your generosity, but I am grateful for it. And Rory is too.”

Chloe waved a shooing hand, not wanting to talk about indebtedness.

“The nurse said you were here earlier.”

“Yes, for a while.”

“I don't remember seeing you, just my wife. They had given me something for pain and it made me imagine things, didn't it?” He sounded wistful.

“I think that your Nancy is probably always close by.” Chloe gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“But it was you I talked to this morning, wasn't it?” MacGregor's eyes bored into hers, demanding the truth.

Her policy of veracity was certainly getting a workout that afternoon. Chloe sighed. “Yes, it was.”

MacGregor nodded. “I thought so. My Nancy would have been less sweet about things. She had a bit of temper about some matters.” MacGregor looked down at the thermal blanket, but he didn't release her hand. Chloe had a feeling the catechism wasn't over. “And did you understand what I was talking about—with Claude?”

“Mostly.” Chloe also looked at the blanket and tried not to fidget. This was like getting quizzed in the principal's office.

“And does Rory know?”

“That we talked? Yes. I told him just before we came in.”

“Good.” MacGregor nodded. “You'll see that he leaves Claude there then. There is no need to move him. He's with family and—” MacGregor stopped and closed his eyes. His face screwed up with pain.

“What's wrong?” But she already knew.

“Damn it to hell and back and again,” he gritted out. The bedside monitor burst into panic mode, the lights jumping into the red and the alarm going off.

“Get a doctor!” Chloe shouted at the curtain. Her instruction was unnecessary; there were already feet rushing about in the hall. “Hang on, MacGregor. They'll be here in just a second.”

A strange nurse pulled back the curtain and dragged a cart into the room.

“You'll have to leave now.” Her voice was more than brisk.

Chloe looked down at the hand that still gripped hers tightly. The nails were tinged with blue. “MacGregor?”

“Yes—leave, girl.” It took an effort but he forced his fingers to unclench. His lips also looked vaguely azured. “Find Rory and look after him—and don't forget what I told you. You leave Claude be!”