Undaunted

Not that there’d been many visitors lately. Connor had been famous for his lake parties when he was sighted, Marie commented a few days later. The house had been alive with light and music and the sound of conversation.

“I guess he knows a lot of important people,” Emma said as she chopped fresh herbs for the omelet Marie was making them for supper. They had light meals since Connor wasn’t in residence. Marie did the cooking, a chore she’d shared with Connor’s chef, Edward, who stayed in France at Connor’s other home on the Riviera. Emma loved omelets, for any meal. This one had lots of herbs, with tiny muffins to accompany it.

Marie heard the wistful note in her voice and glanced at her. “Too many, it seems sometimes. You know, I always felt that he hid in people, in droves of people, to keep from facing his personal demons. The house was full, but he was alone, even then.”

“He told me about his wife,” she confessed.

Marie’s eyebrows lifted. “He did? My goodness, he never speaks of her to anyone, that I know.”

Emma laughed softly. “People tend to confide in me. It’s always been that way.”

“It’s because you listen. You really listen,” Marie emphasized. “Most people want to talk about themselves. They aren’t quiet enough to listen to what other people say to them, they’re thinking ahead to what they want to say next.”

Emma grinned. “I never thought of it that way.”

Marie laughed softly. “Mr. Sinclair’s women don’t listen, they talk,” she said.

Emma groaned inwardly at the reminder of his women. Of course he had women. She’d seen the glittery woman who made soufflés. She’d almost blurted that out to Marie. It would be fatal, if she ever said such a thing to Connor and he made the connection. He’d remember that the woman who’d blinded him had seen the woman at the lake house. She’d almost let that slip to him, the night before he’d left the lake house.

In a way, she was sorry that she’d taken this job so impulsively. Her motives had been noble, at the time, but they would lead her to tragedy if she wasn’t careful. Mamie had told her how dangerous Connor was, how vindictive. Mamie wasn’t the only person he’d hounded relentlessly for crossing him. If even the memory upset Mamie, it must have been very bad.

“All right, dump them in,” Marie cut into her thoughts.

It took Emma a moment before she remembered that she was helping with supper. She tossed the herbs into the bowl where Marie was whisking the eggs.

“How did you come to work for Mr. Sinclair?” Emma asked.

Marie smiled. “My husband died and I had nowhere to go. We’d lived on a poultry farm for years, ever since we first married. When he died, I didn’t want to do the job alone, so the company he worked for wanted to move another family in. I came here, to the lake house, on a whim, because a friend said there was an eccentric millionaire who needed a local cook. I was scared to death of him. You know, I have a thick Southern accent, I’m a countrywoman, all that. He didn’t mind at all, despite his very French and very elegant chef, Edward. Barnes is sort of like me, too—he’s local, so you could never say that the boss was biased toward people who don’t have money.”

Emma laughed as she pictured poor Marie on her first interview. “I was scared of him, too, when I first came here,” she confessed.

“It was only supposed to be for a few months a year, while he was here. But he liked me, so I stay year-round. Usually by myself—” she grinned “—since he takes Barnes with him when he goes overseas. We have temporary people come in to help out when he throws parties, but there’s just me and Barnes when he’s alone. When he leaves, it’s just me and the telephone, really. It rings constantly when he’s not here. Reporters looking for a confidential story, rivals tracking his movements overseas, business associates trying to track him down. And women.” She groaned. “I didn’t understand why he lived on the Riviera for several months a year. Now I do,” she added wryly.

“What does he do there?” Emma wondered.

“He swims. He sunbathes. He has house parties. Or he did,” she added quietly. “Now—well, I’m not sure.” She turned up the heat on the front ceramic burner of the stove and placed the pan to warm before she added the eggs. “You know, I often thought that he needed people the way some people need alcohol.” Emma knew all too well some people’s need for alcohol. “He doesn’t like his own company.”

“He hasn’t had people here since I came to work for him.”

Marie added eggs to the pan and began to move the mixture to the center as the edges bubbled. “He doesn’t seem to need other people when you’re around, Emma,” came the soft reply. “He’s like a different person with you, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s at peace. Yes,” she added, turning the eggs. “That’s the word I wanted. He’s at peace.”

Emma didn’t say another word. She felt a kind of quiet pride. At least she was of some worth to Connor, even if she was a dead loss as an amorous substitute.

Perhaps that was why he’d gone away. To find a woman who’d do for him what Emma wouldn’t. The thought depressed her beyond words. She finished her supper, made some excuse about a book she wanted to read and went to bed early.

* * *

Emma wandered the shoreline, tapping tall autumn weeds lightly with a twig she’d found. It had been a whole week since Connor had left. She’d done what little work he left her, helped Marie, brooded in his office, haunted the lakeshore where she’d spent so much time with him when they weren’t working. Nothing helped. It was like being separated from an arm or a leg. Funny, how much he’d come to mean to her in the short time she’d worked here.

She wondered if he missed her, then laughed out loud. Sure he missed her. He was probably drowning in attractive brunettes, helping him enjoy whatever casino was nearby wherever he’d gone. He liked glitz and glamour. And she’d heard that conventions were breeding grounds for all sorts of wild behavior.

The thought of that big, muscular body with a woman in a bed drove her crazy. She hated the thought of him with other women.

She told herself for the hundredth time that she was never going to have any permanent place in his life. She worked for him. Yes, he’d kissed her, but he was only curious. He’d said so. He wanted to see how she tasted, and she’d better hope that she tasted like bad medicine, or she was going to be in big trouble very soon.

She stared across the lake, enjoying the cool breeze that ruffled her hair, the nip of autumn giving it a flavor all its own. She closed her eyes and smiled. Such a simple thing, to bring such pleasure.

“Emma! Where the hell are you?”

Her heart jumped. Connor was home! She turned back toward the lake house, running in her joy. “I’m here!” she called back, laughter in her voice.

The man standing on the deck didn’t smile. He stiffened as if a bullet had hit him. He’d gone away to forget that she went to his head like alcohol, that he wanted her with an obsession he’d never felt in his life. And here she was, laughter in her voice, excitement in her steps he could hear clearly as she approached.

She stopped in front of him to catch her breath. But the joy she felt at his return wasn’t shared. He was as cold and unreachable as he’d been the first day she’d talked to him, when he’d chewed her out about speeding in Mamie’s boat. This wasn’t the kind, mischievous, teasing companion of recent weeks.

“Come with me. We have work to do,” he said coldly, and turned back toward the door.

He reached toward a chair that had been moved and almost lost his balance. “Who moved my chair?” he demanded as he stopped in his tracks.

“We have a woman who comes in to do the heavy cleaning—”

“Hell, I know that! I want to know why it wasn’t moved back!” he said curtly.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He breathed slowly, deliberately, while he got his temper under control. “Get Barnes,” he said shortly. “I’ll need help to get to the office.”

“Sir, I don’t mind...” she began, putting a soft hand on his arm.

He shook it off violently. Pale eyes looked in her general direction. “Don’t touch me!” he snapped. “Get Barnes! Now!”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was shaking from the aggression in his voice. “Yes, sir,” she said. Her voice shook, too. She hated that.

He heard it and his body tensed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was getting too close. He couldn’t let her. He had nothing left to give.

* * *

Barnes led Connor to his office. Emma, her face flushed with embarrassment and grief, followed slowly along behind, because he hadn’t told her what to do, now that he was home.

“Thanks,” he told the other man.

“Anytime, sir,” Barnes said politely. He looked at Emma’s disturbed face and grimaced, then tried to smile.

She nodded and didn’t meet his eyes. He went out, closing the door.

“Are you in here, Emma?” Connor snapped as he sat down behind his desk.

“Yes, sir.” She sounded calm again, thank goodness, even though she wasn’t.