Storm's End Page 8

  That brought her up short. How had it happened? she asked herself in astonishment. Only recently she had been engaged to Duane, had believed herself to be in love with him, yet now it was another man who occupied all her thoughts, who had somehow crept beneath her defenses.

  But it wasn't love, she told herself firmly. Far from it. Blaise had been kind to her and that had lowered her resistance against him and, admittedly, he was a sexually appealing man. But that was all it was… simple physical attraction, nothing deeper.

  Julie closed her eyes and tried to relax. Now that she understood her feelings for Blaise, it would be easy to guard against any sort of repeat of what had occurred tonight.

  She slept at last, a deep, almost druglike sleep, a reaction against the intensely draining emotions that had devastated her. And when she awoke the next morning, Julie was stunned to see that the bedside clock read nine-thirty. It seemed impossible that she could have slept so late.

  She pulled on her robe and slippers and went out into the hall. The apartment was in total silence and instead of heading straight for the bathroom as she had intended, she went through the living room into the kitchen.

  On the table she found Blaise's note. It was very brief and to the point. "Have taken a cab to the airport." The only signature was his bold initials. Beside the paper were his car keys for her use.

  Julie's feelings were mixed. In one way, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Blaise was gone. But as that day stretched itself into another and then a week and finally a month, she secretly acknowledged to herself that she missed him. Except for her twice-daily visits to the hospital, she was completely on her own and desperately lonely. It was difficult not to remember the sunny days while he had been there, cajoling her into eating what and when she should, making a fun adventure of even a mundane jaunt to the grocery store, or making a holiday out of a day's outing as though they were ordinary tourists.

  She did her utmost to conceal her loneliness whenever she visited her mother, but she could not help but feel a little wistful at the knowledge that Blaise telephoned Ruth regularly while to her, his wife, he maintained a chilling silence.

  And yet, if he had called, she chided herself one day, what was it she would have had him say? After what had passed between them, there was nothing more to say. It had all been done in one awful night.

  Although she was heartily fed up with a constant dose of only her own company for the better part of each day, with each passing day Julie dreaded more the time when she would have to return to her grandfather's house. When she had to see Blaise again. And how in God's name was she going to get through three whole years of living in the same house with him? There were only two things that gave her any comfort at all. One was the fact that for a few months more, at least, their marriage could remain a secret. At least for a while she would be spared the necessity of playing the part of a happy bride, and the other was that no one else was aware of what a complete fool she had been that one humiliating night.

  Finally, on a hot day toward the end of July, Ruth was released from the hospital at last. She was put on a plane for the brief flight to Baton Rouge as the doctors agreed the drive would be too long and tiring for her, so Julie was alone as she set Blaise's Chrysler onto I-10, heading East.

  It was after seven in the evening when she turned into the drive of Magnolia Way. It looked far different today from her first view of it, when it had been raining. Now the late afternoon sun still warmed the day and only the inky blue shadows beneath the magnolia and moss-draped oak trees gave an illusion of coolness. The house itself glowed in bright, crimson glory beneath the golden light of the day, and it seemed to welcome her.

  Tired after the long drive and flexing stiff muscles, Julie mounted the front steps and rang the bell. A moment later Mrs. Landry opened the door to her. Her pleasant face crinkled as she smiled.

  "Come in, come in, chérie. Your mother made the trip just fine and the nurse insisted she take a little nap before visiting with the family, but right now everyone is in her room."

  Julie tensed as she headed down the hall toward her mother's room. She could only hope that 'family' had not included Blaise. She was hot and tired and rather unkempt after her trip and she did not feel equal just now to facing those cruelly accusing eyes.

  Her mother's bedroom did indeed seem quite crowded when she reached the open doorway. There was Bobby, sitting on the bed; a woman who could only be the private nurse in the white uniform she wore stood nearby; Andrew Barclay was seated in a chair and Blaise stood beside a window. The room was further crowded by masses of flowers everywhere… vases of gladiolas, roses, marigolds, pansies and daisies, while the ceiling was festooned with brightly colored streamers and balloons. An enormous painted sign hung above the bed, obviously Bobby's work, which proclaimed, "Welcome Home, Mom!"

  Julie stood hesitatingly as she surveyed the happy scene. There was no doubting her mother's pleasure because there was a delighted smile on her face, but now that she was here, somehow Julie felt she didn't belong.

  "Julie, darling! You've arrived!" Her mother exclaimed when she happened to glance in her direction and saw her standing there.

  "Come on in and join the party!" Her grandfather invited with a cordial smile.

  "Hi, Julie," Bobby said excitedly. "How do you like the sign? I made it myself."

  Before she could speak or move, Blaise had left his post near the window and swiftly crossed the room toward her.

  "Welcome home yourself," he greeted. There was a sternly warning light in his eyes that was at odds with the warm smile on his face. "I've missed you," he added in a clear, carrying voice. Then, before she could have any suspicions of his intentions, he bent his dark head toward her and kissed her lightly on the lips. Julie stiffened with outrage but as the kiss ended, Blaise added in a harsh whisper that could reach only her ears, "We're supposed to be falling in love, remember?"

  Impotently, Julie could only bear it and went forward toward the curious stares of the others, the smile she forced to her lips was the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life.

  Chapter Five

  Julie awoke to the sound of singing, loud singing, and, as she opened her eyes, for a full minute she was completely disoriented. She had supposed herself back in the apartment in Houston, for it was Blaise's voice she heard above the spray of water in the shower. But her surroundings were unfamiliar and only slowly did it dawn upon her that she was in her bedroom at Magnolia Way.

  But why did Blaise's voice sound so close? Julie frowned over the puzzle and then with a blinding flash of illumination, she knew. He was in the bathroom adjoining her bedroom. She stared at the door that led into it with mingled astonishment and slowly growing anger. When she had been given this room on her very first night here weeks ago she had been slightly disgruntled that her room was to be across the house from her mother and Bobby, but even so she had not given any thought to where Blaise slept. Now she knew with certainty. His was the room that opened off from the other side of the bathroom. Obviously Andrew Barclay's arrangements, that the two of them should share quarters in a part of the house that was isolated from the others.

  The sound of water stopped and so did the singing.

  Julie lay very still and quiet, wishing she could go back to sleep, but by now she was wide awake. She propped her arms behind her head and surveyed the room.

  It was far different from the tiny room she had occupied back home. Much larger, too, than the room she had had in Houston. It was spacious and sunny. The furniture was a cheery white with apple green draperies and bedcovering. A comfortable green and white chaise longue occupied a spot near the wide windows where one could curl up for a nap or a relaxing hour with a book; along the wall next to the door leading to the bath was a wide closet with white-painted louvered doors. The floor was cushioned with a thick carpet of the same apple green as the drapes. It was a beautiful room, Julie decided grudgingly, a happy room, and it was really too ba
d that she was in no mood to appreciate it.

  A few minutes later she heard the other bathroom door open and close and she knew that Blaise had returned to his own room but, even so, for a long time she waited before getting up. She had no fears that he would walk in upon her while she was taking her own shower, but she wanted to give him plenty of time to get downstairs and have his breakfast before she went down herself.

  "Coward," something inside her said, and Julie knew it was true. She did not want any repeats of the act that had taken place last evening in her mother's room and, most of all, she did not want to have to be around him when circumstances might leave them alone together. After the awful scene that had passed between them that last night in Houston, some sense of self-preservation told her it was safest to keep her distance from him as much as possible.

  By the time she did make her way downstairs, over a half-hour later, wearing Levis and a white knit shirt trimmed in red, with her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, she found the breakfast room just off the kitchen, unoccupied.

  There was a buffet laden with covered, heated dishes and she helped herself to scrambled eggs, toast and coffee.

  Julie had just seated herself and begun to eat when Mrs. Landry entered the room. "Good morning," she greeted. She glanced at Julie's plate and nodded complacently. "I see you found everything all right."

  "Yes, thank you," Julie replied. "Has everyone else already eaten?"

  "Only Bobby and Blaise. Mr. Barclay hasn't come down yet. The new nurse, Miss Lejeune, came to the kitchen a few minutes ago and got a tray to carry to your mother."

  "Where is Bobby?" Julie asked.

  Mrs. Landry smiled. "He's outside with Amiee and her puppies. He told me to give you a message that he'd like for you to meet him after breakfast." She gave an indulgent chuckle. "The way Bobby acts about those pups, you'd think they were his."

  Julie laughed. "I'll be sure to brag them up, then."

  Mrs. Landry went away and, a moment later, Andrew Barclay came through the doorway.

  "Good morning, Julie." He nodded his gray head in her direction as he went toward the buffet.

  "Good morning, sir," she answered. By now she had finished her breakfast and was about to get a second cup of the strong, Louisiana coffee, but now that her grandfather was here, she lost the desire. She pushed back her chair and was about to stand up, but he waved a hand at her, indicating she should stay.

  "Don't go," he told her in a voice that brooked no defiance. "I want to talk to you."

  Julie suppressed a sigh. She was in no more of a mood for her grandfather's oppressive company than for Blaise's but, having no choice, she subsided in her chair and waited.

  Now he did not seem in such a hurry to speak. He lifted the silver coffee pot from the trivet on the table, poured his own coffee and, without asking, refilled Julie's cup also, then busied himself buttering his toast and adding a layer of jelly. But suddenly, just as she had decided he didn't intend to talk until after he had eaten, the penetrating gray eyes were focused on her.

  "I trust your stay in Houston was comfortable?" he said mildly.

  "Yes, it was." The magnitude of the expenses he had recently incurred on behalf of her family made Julie add grudgingly, "Thank you for all you have done for us."

  The old man shrugged his shoulders. "It's no more than I should have done," he said negligently. "Tell me, are you and my stepson hitting it off?"

  The question brought a bitter gurgle of laughter to Julie's throat. "Hardly," she answered in a dry, brittle tone.

  "Hmm, and yet yesterday when you arrived, he kissed you in front of us and you didn't seem to object," he pointed out.

  "Well, what was I supposed to do, slap his face?" Julie snapped. "If you want to know the truth, he did it for Mother's benefit, the object of the exercise being that she will think we're falling in love, isn't it?"

  Andrew Barclay sighed heavily. "I was afraid that was it. I told Blaise a few days ago that I'd like for this marriage to be brought out into the open as soon as practical. I realize when Blaise was in Houston with you, Ruth was extremely ill so you could hardly play your game, but now that you're back I'd like for it to move forward."

  "What's the big hurry?" Julie's voice was far from enthusiastic.

  "I just want it all settled," he told her. "As it is, Clive still thinks I'm the principal stockholder in the company, so I can hardly tell him to refer all his ideas or requests to Blaise. Besides, the sooner your marriage is announced, the better off we'll all be. I hate deceiving your mother."

  "Oh, do you?" Julie said sarcastically. "You didn't mind it when you insisted upon this marriage in the first place. You didn't mind when you deceived my father all those years ago."

  A slash of pain crossed the old man's face, and all at once Julie was ashamed of herself. She could not like this man who was her own flesh and blood, but that gave her no right to deliberately hurt him by bringing up the past. In doing so, she was proving that she was no better than he was.

  "I'm sorry," she said hollowly. She gazed down at her hands in her lap. "I shouldn't have said that."

  "It doesn't matter," Andrew Barclay told her quietly. "You haven't said anything that I haven't said to myself many, many times." He was silent for a moment, then he asked, "Tell me, Julie, do you find my stepson unappealing?"

  Julie was surprised by the question and her gaze locked with his across the table. "No," she said honestly. "I don't find him unappealing, but we don't get along and I doubt whether we ever will."

  Andrew Barclay shook his head sadly and laid down his fork on his plate as though he had lost his appetite. "I was afraid of that," he admitted softly, "but still, I had hoped… It was my dearest wish that…"

  "That what?" Julie was suddenly angry again. "That we would fall into each other's arms, madly in love?" She shook her head vigorously. "You're trying to play God and it just won't work! You can't force people into the mold you want, don't you realize that?" Now she did push back her chair and stand up. She sucked in a deep breath in an effort to control the emotions that were vibrating through her. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?" she asked unsteadily.

  He shook his head and pushed back his own chair. "No. I'm about to go up to visit your mother for a few minutes. Would you like to come along?"

  "No, thank you. Bobby's waiting outside for me. I'll see Mom later."

  Outside on the patio, she paused before going to look for her brother. What an impossible man was Andrew Barclay! He manipulated people, backed them into corners and then actually had the audacity to expect them to be happy about it! He had pinned an incredible amount of hope to that kiss yesterday on the basis of nothing more than his own orders to Blaise that the marriage should be announced as soon as possible.

  But Julie knew that she would delay that day as long as she could, because then she would be required to do a lot more play-acting than she was doing already. With her mother living right here in the house, it would be a constant ordeal trying to behave as though the marriage was a normal one.

  It would be just as hard on Blaise, too, she thought wryly. Last night after his big show of greeting her, he had not hung around long. Pleading an important engagement, he had soon excused himself. Julie was certain the "important engagement" had been with the possessor of the husky voice, and quite frankly she was beyond caring. When they had first met, Blaise had made no pretense about the fact that he cared for this other woman. While the scene between them in Houston had been hurtful to her merely because she was apparently not sophisticated enough to share a man with another woman, it had altered nothing. Blaise might be married to her, but his heart was elsewhere and she would never allow herself to forget that vital truth again.

  Julie set out across the green of the lawn in the direction of the garage. It was a clear summer morning, already promising to be a very hot day. The air was humid and after only a few minutes she began to feel sticky. But even her disgruntled mood could n
ot stop her from wholly appreciating the beauty that met her eyes. The wide expanse of emerald green lawn stretched down a slope where she caught a glimpse of a bayou winding its way through feathery green trees she assumed were cypress. The yard itself was a garden lover's paradise with luxuriant camellia bushes in pink, red and white blossoms; there were azaleas too, along a fence line, but their blooms were already gone; there was a crepe myrtle tree with a panoply of soft pink blossoms and rose bushes in every color of the rainbow. Along one edge of the house was a thick tropical bed of elephant ears and the patio boasted a profusion of lush hanging potted plants of every imaginable variety. Much of the lawn was shaded by lovely oaks draped with gray Spanish moss and Julie could not help but fancy that there was something mysterious and haunting about them in their serene beauty.

  She found Bobby in the garage along with another boy about his age. Both boys sat on the concrete floor with several lively puppies squirming over them and around them. The mother, a gorgeous collie, lay in a basket as she kept a stern eye on both her offspring and her visitors.

  "Hello," Julie greeted.

  Bobby turned to grin at her and held out the wriggling bundle of fur in his arms. "Want to hold one?"

  "Sure." Julie accepted the puppy, at the same time lowering herself to sit cross-legged beside her brother. "So this is Amiee and her puppies," she commented as she cast a wary eye in the direction of the former. "I hope she's friendly?"