The Season Of Love: Beloved

Simon would think she went on a lover’s holiday with Charles. Well, why shouldn’t he? He believed she was a murderess and a flighty, shallow flirt and suicidal. Let him think whatever else he liked. She couldn’t be any worse in his eyes than she already was.

“Give a dog a bad name,” she murmured.

“What?” Mrs. Lester asked.

She dragged her mind back to the subject at hand. “Yes, of course, it’s perfectly all right that you told him, Mrs. Lester,” Tira said quietly. “I had a wonderful time in Nassau.”

“Did you good, I expect, and Mr. Percy is a nice man.”

“A very nice man,” Tira agreed. She got to her feet. “I’m tired. I think I’ll lie down for a while, so don’t fix anything to eat for another hour or so, will you?”

“Certainly, dear. You just rest. I’ll have some coffee and sandwiches ready when you want them.”

Would she ever want them? Tira wondered as she went slowly toward her bedroom. She was empty and cold and sick at heart. But that seemed to be her normal condition. At least for now.

Chapter Four (#u8b1915eb-ffc9-5a5a-bc51-76b583047e90)

It was raining the day Tira began taking her sculptures to Bob Henderson’s “Illuminations” art gallery for her showing. She was so gloomy she hardly felt the mist on her face. Christmas was only two weeks away and she was miserable and lonely. Only months before, she’d have phoned Simon and asked him to meet her for lunch in town, or she’d have shown up at some committee meeting or benefit conference at which he was present, just to feed her hungry heart on the sight of him. Now, she had nothing. Only Charles and his infrequent, undemanding company. Charles was a sweetheart, but it was like having a brother over for coffee.

She carried the last box carefully in the back door, which Lillian Day, the gallery’s manager, was holding open for her.

“That’s the last of them, Lillian,” Tira told her, smiling as she surveyed the cluttered storage room. She shook her head. “I can’t believe I did all those myself.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Lillian agreed, smiling back. She bent to open one of the boxes and frowned slightly at what was inside. “Did you mean to include this?” she asked, indicating a bust of Simon that was painfully lifelike.

Tira’s face closed up. “Yes, I meant to,” she said curtly. “I don’t want it.”

Lillian wisely didn’t say another word. “I’ll place it with the others, then. The catalogs have been printed and they’re perfect, I checked them myself. Everything’s ready, including the caterer for the snack buffet and the media coverage. We’re doing a Christmas motif for the buffet.”

Media coverage. Tira ground her teeth. The last thing in the world she wanted to see now was a reporter.

Lillian, sensitive to moods, glanced at her reassuringly. “Don’t worry. These were handpicked, by me,” she added. “They won’t ask any embarrassing questions, and anything they write for print will be about the show. Period.”

Tira relaxed. “What would I do without you?” she asked, and meant it.

Lillian grinned. “Don’t even think about trying. We’re very glad to have your exhibit here.”

Tira had worried about Simon’s reaction to the showing, since he was a partner in Bob Henderson’s gallery. They hadn’t spoken since before his close call in the courtroom and she half expected him to cancel her exhibit. But he hadn’t. Perhaps Mrs. Lester had been mistaken and he hadn’t been angry that Tira hadn’t phoned to check on him. Just because she hadn’t called, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t worried. She’d had a few sleepless nights thinking about what could have happened to him. Despite her best efforts, her feelings for him hadn’t changed. She was just as much in love with him now as she had been. She was only better at concealing it.

The night of the exhibit arrived. She was all nerves, and she was secretly glad that Charles would be by her side. Not that she expected Simon to show up, with the media present. He wouldn’t want to give them any more ammunition to embarrass him with. But Charles would be a comfort to her.

Fate stepped in, however, to rob her of his presence. Charles phoned at the last minute, audibly upset, to tell her he couldn’t go with her to the show.

“I’m more sorry than I can tell you, but Gene’s had a heart attack,” he said curtly.

“Oh, Charles, I’m so sorry!”

“No need to be. You know there’s no love lost between us. But he’s my half brother, just the same, and there’s no one else to look after him. Nessa is in shock herself. I can’t let her cope alone.”

“How is he?”

“Stabilized, for the moment. I’m on my way to the hospital. Nessa’s with him and he’s giving her hell, as usual, even flat on his back,” he said curtly.

“If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thanks for your support. I’m sorry you have to go on your own. But it’s unlikely that Simon will be there, you know,” he added gently. “Just stick close to Lillian. She’ll look out for you.”

She smiled to herself. “I know she will. Let me know how it goes.”

“Of course I will. See you.”

He hung up. She stared at the phone blankly as she replaced the receiver. She looked good, she reasoned. Her black dress was a straight sheath, ankle length, with spaghetti straps and a diamond necklace and earrings to set it off. It was a perfect foil for her pale, flawless complexion and her red-gold hair, done in a complicated topknot with tendrils just brushing her neck. From her austere getup, she looked more like a widow in mourning than a woman looking forward to Christmas, and she felt insecure and nervous. It would be the first time she’d appeared alone in public since the scandal and she was still uncomfortable around most people.

Well, she comforted herself as she went outside and climbed into her Jaguar, at least she didn’t have to add Simon to her other complications tonight.

The gallery was packed full of interested customers, some of whom had probably only come for curiosity’s sake. It wasn’t hard to discern people who could afford the four-figure price tags on the sculptures from those who couldn’t. Tira pretended not to notice. She took a flute of expensive champagne and downed half of it before she went with Lillian to mingle with the guests.

It didn’t help that the first two people she saw were Simon and Jill.

“Oh, God,” she ground out through her teeth, only too aware of the reporters and their sudden interest in him. “Why did he have to come?!”

Lillian took her arm gently. “Don’t let him know that it bothers you. Smile, girl! We’ll get through this.”

“Do you think so?”

She plastered a cool smile to her lips as Simon pulled Jill along with him and came to a halt just in front of the two women.

“Nice crowd,” he told Tira, his eyes slowly going over her exquisite figure in the close-fitting dress with unusual interest.

“A few art fans and a lot of rubberneckers, hadn’t you noticed?” Tira said, sipping more champagne. Her fingers trembled a little and she held the flute with both hands, something Simon’s keen eyes picked up on at once.

“Nice of you to come by,” Lillian said quietly.

He glanced at her. “It would have been noticeable if I hadn’t, considering that I own half the gallery.” His attention turned back to Tira and his silvery eyes narrowed. “All alone? Where’s your fair-haired shadow?”

She knew he meant Charles. She smiled lazily. “He couldn’t make it.”

“On the first night of your first exhibition?” he chided.

She drew in a sharp breath. “His half brother had a heart attack, if you must know,” she said through her teeth. “He’s at the hospital.”

Simon’s eyes flickered strangely. “And you have to be here, instead of at his side. Pity.”

“He doesn’t need comforting. Nessa does.”

Jill, dressed in red again with a sprig of holly secured with a diamond clip in her black hair, moved closer to Simon. “We just stopped in for a peek at your work,” she said, almost purring as she looked up at the tall man beside her. “We’re on our way to the opera.”

Tira averted her eyes. She loved opera. Many times in the past, Simon had escorted her during the season. It hurt to remember how she’d looked forward to those chaste evenings with him.