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“The sample books.”
“In… in the hallway, I guess.”
He nodded and rapidly strode across the terrace and around the corner of the house. She took Rayburn’s proffered arm and they walked toward the dowager house. She liked that silly name. He opened the door for her as they stepped inside. Though it wasn’t air conditioned, there was a large ceiling fan circulating the air and making the small apartment cool. The drone of the fan would be nice to sleep to, Camille thought. The main room wasn’t large, but as promised, very comfortable. The furnishings and appointments were old-fashioned and dated themselves, but Camille wouldn’t have traded them for the sterile environment of a hotel room. The bed was a lovely rosewood four-poster. The deep fringe of the ecru chenille spread draped to the floor. White sheer curtains were all that covered the windows, and Camille was glad to see that there were window shades that could be pulled down for privacy at night.
“Is it all right?” Rayburn asked anxiously. His eagerness to make her feel welcome was touching.
She rested a hand on his arm and answered, “It’s lovely, thank you.”
He smiled down at her. “The small kitchen is there”—he indicated a corner—“though we expect you to take all your meals with us in the main house. The refrigerator is stocked with juice and cold drinks. If you need anything else, ask Simon. The bath is through there, and this is the closet.” He crossed the room and opened the door. A fragrant smell permeated the room. Camille followed him and peeked over his shoulder. He laughed.
“It’s a cedar closet. My mother-in-law had it put in when she furnished the apartment.”
He closed the closet door and took both of her hands again, holding them between his calloused palms. “I’m glad you’re here, Camille. You can’t know how much I want to do this project. Zack thinks it’s the fanciful indulgence of an old man and that I’m doing it for myself, but I’m really doing it for him. I had hoped that Zack would marry and raise children in this rambling old house. I’ve just about given up hope of ever seeing my grandchildren. I wish that by having the house restored, he’ll start thinking about a family. I’ll feel better about… leaving… if I know he’s settled. Of course, this is our secret.” He winked at her.
“Of course,” she strangled out.
He patted her hands. “Now, I must go so you can rest before dinner. It’s at eight o’clock. Zack will be along shortly with your luggage. Make yourself at home.” He smiled at her one more time before he shut the door behind him.
Camille made a cursory inspection of the small kitchen and bathroom. The fan made flickering shadows on the pastel walls as it rotated lazily. The sheer curtains billowed into the room with a small breath of breeze. Camille kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse onto the rosewood chest of drawers. She placed her watch and bracelet beside it and was removing her earrings when one of them dropped out of her hand and rolled under the bed. She scrambled after it, falling to her hands and knees, her back to the door. She was squinting into the darkness under the bed with her cheek resting on the floor when she heard Zack say behind her, “Nice view.”
She jumped up quickly and turned to face him, pushing errant curls away from her flushed face. “A gentleman would have knocked before coming in,” she raged.
He shrugged, not in the least disturbed by her anger. “Alas, my hands were full.” He held a piece of luggage in each of his hands.
“That’s no excuse. You could have called out.”
“Yes, I could have,” he admitted unrepentantly. He smiled at her wickedly and Camille wished she didn’t feel so isolated and unprotected here with him. She watched him warily as he placed her large bag near the closet and then took her smaller one into the bathroom, guessing correctly that it contained her cosmetics. Well, he certainly makes himself at home, doesn’t he? She was jealous of his apparent calm when inside she was in turmoil. His casual cotton shirt was opened to the middle of his chest, and as he handled the heavy bags, Camille didn’t fail to notice how the muscles of his shoulders and arms rippled under the fabric. The fan overhead stirred the sun-bleached brown curls on his head.
“Service with a smile, ma’am,” he drawled as he came back from the bathroom and tossed her keys onto the chest. “I can’t help but wonder who carried your bags that night you ran away from Snow Bird. They must have been heavy, packed as they were with all of your ski clothes. Were you in such a hurry to leave that you managed them on your own? I would have thought you would have been too tired for that much exertion.” He was smiling, but his voice was bitter, his eyes blue ice.
“Please, Zack, for all our sakes, let’s not refer to when we… met before,” she pleaded. “It will be better for everyone.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be better for you, coward that you are. You were about to run again, weren’t you? Out there on the terrace, you were preparing to make a nice little speech declining my father’s commission.”
“Yes,” she confessed. “The possibility that Mr. Rayburn Prescott was related to… to you… never crossed my mind. I thought… hoped… I’d never see you again. I didn’t feel like I should stay under the circumstances, but I can tell the restoration is important to him. And I had already agreed to do it.”
“Well, for whatever your reasons, I’m glad you decided to stay.” He said the words grudgingly, as if not wanting to credit her with having done anything good or noble.
Ignoring the sharp pain that came with knowing what he must truly think of her, she asked, “Is he ill, Zack?”
“Yes,” he answered succinctly. He turned away from her and stared out the wide windows. “He had a heart attack last year and he’s never been completely well since. The doctors don’t give him a very good prognosis. When he started talking about wanting to restore the house, I encouraged the idea. He needs a project and this place means so much to him. Whatever amount of money it takes to get it back in shape for him, I’m more than willing to spend.”
It’s a legacy for you, Zack, she wanted to tell him, but of course, she couldn’t.
Zack continued. “He told me about hiring a decorator in Atlanta. He spoke very highly of your professional abilities and his impressions of you as a person. He never told me your name. I never thought to ask it. It didn’t seem important as long as he was pleased.” He remained with his back to her as he added slowly, “I was as surprised as you when I saw you today and heard your audacious scolding of me in my own house.” He turned back to her then and shrugged, a twi
sted smile on his face.
“I’ll do a good job for him, Zack, I promise. In spite of our former… relationship.” She whispered the last word, embarrassed at the intimacy it implied.
His stern face seemed to soften, or it could have been only the play of shadows across it. He muttered, “Thank you, Camille,” before he left hurriedly.
Two
Camille showered and slipped into a light robe. She didn’t pull down the window shades for fear of blocking out what little breeze there was, but she lay down on the bed hoping that anyone passing by wouldn’t be able to see into her room. The sheets on the bed were cool and fragrant. She stretched, pointing her toes and constricting each muscle in her body. She relaxed them slowly, enjoying relief from the tension that had been building since she arrived and saw Zack Prescott in the hallway of the main house.
She never, even in her wildest imaginings, had expected to see the man again. His being owner and resident of Bridal Wreath, which she had been commissioned to restore, put her in an untenable situation. How was she going to handle it? It would be easy to run away, as Zack had shrewdly guessed she was planning to do. That had been her first instinct, but now she knew she couldn’t take so drastic an action. For one thing, deserting an important job like this wouldn’t be good for her career. She needed a major project like this to use for future reference. The money she would make was too much to ignore. Rayburn Prescott had trusted her and obviously thought well of her, and she didn’t want to disappoint him, especially in light of the fact that he was seriously ill. How would she explain declining the commission to her mother? Certainly not by telling her the truth. And if she were honest with herself, she didn’t want Zack to have the satisfaction of driving her off. He would love to gloat over the fact that she had run away again. He would assume that she couldn’t take the pressure, that she had retreated from an adult situation. No! She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure. I’m going to stay and do my work and ignore him as much as possible.
