One Night With You

“Say, wait a minute,” he said. “Don’t put that food in serving dishes. I can serve myself right from the pots and pans. Remember, I’m the one who’s cleaning up.”

“But—”

“But nothing. If I’m cleaning up, what I say goes.”

She handed him a plate. “Two of those burgers are yours. I can only eat one. I’ll peel the potatoes.”

“You can peel yours. I eat the skin. All I need for this potato is some butter and black pepper.”

“Butter is not good for you,” she said, “so you’re getting a substitute that tastes like butter and has no trans fats.”

The expression on his face was that of one thwarted in the course of a satisfying act. “But—”

“But, as your hostess, I have the responsibility to protect your arteries, and that’s what I intend to do.”

He filled his plate and headed for the dining room. “I don’t suppose I can argue with that. What did you do with the wine?”

It dawned on her that he behaved almost as if they had known each other for a long time, and save for the minutes she’d spent in his arms, she felt about the same. Or maybe he didn’t put on airs. After she said grace, he opened the wine, tasted it and poured half a glass for her. “I hope you like it. Say, why don’t we drink to…” He got up and walked over to her, hooked his right arm through hers and said, “Let’s drink to us. What will be, will be.” He sipped the wine as he gazed into her eyes. “You like it?”

“What?” she asked him, thoroughly discombobulated. “Oh, you mean the wine. Stop knocking me off balance. I never did that before. I love this wine.”

He returned to his seat and his meal. “This is the first wine I’ve purchased in almost seven years. Philip always provided wine for the help on weekends, but not during the week. He didn’t allow any alcohol on the estate except in his house, and I soon got out of the habit of washing my dinner down with the best wine I could find.”

“I’m learning that you were very wealthy.”

“I was, and if I ever get back there, I’m going to live differently. I’m going to keep the friends I’ve made during the last six years, people who care about me, not people who loved what I could do for them.”

“Did any of them stick with you?”

“Naah. It’s like Billie Holiday said in that song. ‘Money, you got lots of friends hanging ’round your door, but when the spending ends, they don’t come ’round no more.’”

“I’ve never had a lot of it,” she said, “so I don’t know, but I’m not surprised.”

“This is the best burger I ever ate, and I love burgers. Kendra, this is a wonderful meal right down to my butterless potato.” Her head went up sharply. “Just kidding.”

“The dessert is simple,” she said when she brought the sliced strawberries that had been marinating in a mixture of raspberry jam and cognac. “If I’d made this last night, it would be better, but I did it after we talked this afternoon.”

He tasted it. “It’s delicious. Sit down and eat yours.” He was good at giving commands, a habit that he would have to unlearn if they were to be friends.

“I told you about my first day on the job, Reid. How was yours?”

“Thank you for asking. It went smoothly, without a wrinkle. I got my supplies, a company credit card, a key to one of the company station wagons and, most of all, a key to an office one place removed from the senior partner. I know that last part doesn’t mean much, but eventually it will. I’m satisfied, so far.”

“Does the management know your story?”

“Yeah. They know about the trial and who I was before that, and I’m glad they do. It’s all in the open.”

She reached over, patted his hand and immediately wished she hadn’t done it, for the static electricity shot through her again. With a grudging smile, he trans formed his face into the picture of sweetness. “Wondering what it would be like if we really touch has begun to boggle my mind,” he said.

She wasn’t about to comment on that. “I wonder if I can get away with walking down to the water,” she asked him, as if he hadn’t alluded to the possibility of their making love. “I haven’t done that yet, and I love the water.”

He seemed pensive for a moment. “Ordinarily, I’d say, why not? But all things considered…Look. I’ll walk down there with you Saturday morning. It’s very lonely, and you hardly ever meet anyone, so…”

“Okay. Will we go before or after I do my marketing?”

“After. It’s cold out there early mornings. Let’s say…about eleven.”

She looked at him while he savored the dessert with obvious relish, and her gaze focused on his long and tapered fingers, smooth hands that seemed so strong when they held her. “Do you play the piano or any other string instrument, Reid?”

“Piano and guitar. How’d you happen to ask?”

“Your hands are perfect for both. Nice hands.”

“Thanks.”

He stopped eating and gazed at her until she said, “Would you like some more?”

“I don’t have any more space, or I’d love more. It was delightful.” He still looked at her as if he wanted to find something in her, something that he hoped was hidden there.

“You make it very comfortable for a man, and you do it without trying. Thanks for the dinner.” He leaned back in his chair and focused upon her so intently that she squirmed. And he realized it because he said, “I’m sorry. I’d better go. See you Saturday morning at eleven.” He wrote something on the label of the wine bottle and said, “Call if I can be of help.”

He stood, patted his pockets for his keys and, as if he suddenly remembered, took the dessert dishes to the kitchen, and was soon heard moving around there and whistling as if he were at home. He didn’t ask for help or information, and she didn’t offer any. It appeared that an architect followed some logic in the kitchen and the arrangement of its contents, and well that was, because she didn’t dare go in there. Both of them were sitting on kegs of sexual dynamite, starved for affection.

He came back in about twenty minutes. “It’s good as new. See you Saturday.” As usual, he left without saying goodbye, and one day she would ask him why.

Talking about quicksand, Reid said to himself as he raced across Albemarle Heights. He knew himself and he knew that if he touched her, he’d want it all. She thought she was dressing down when she put on those jeans, but in them, she was sex personified. She hadn’t wanted to give him the wrong impression, but he couldn’t change what happened to him when he first saw her.

She’s between me and what Brown and Worley owe me. If their attorney learns that she and I are friends or even close acquaintances, I’ll lose that case before it starts. I think I’d better make myself useful around here and get the people of Queenstown on my side. Kendra’s right, because this is the jury pool.

Who would call him at nine o’clock at night? Certainly it couldn’t be Kendra. He didn’t know what he would do if she even hinted that she wanted him to go back there. He shrugged and rushed to the phone. She wouldn’t do it. The woman had strength as well as guts.

“Maguire speaking. Good evening.”

“Hey, Reid. This is Philip. How’s it going?”

“Philip!” He sat down in the nearest chair. “It’s great to hear from you. How’s your dad?”

“Dad’s fine. We’re anxious to know how it’s going with Marks and Connerly.”

“So far, so good.” He gave Philip the same information that he had given Kendra a little earlier. “It’s a chance. I’ll see the location for the airport terminal tomorrow and adjust my sketches accordingly. I like what I’ve seen of Jack, and I think we’ll get along.”

“You don’t know how much it pleases me to hear that. Do you think you can come down to the barbecue Easter Sunday? If so, we’ll be glad to see you. I’ll let them all know I’ve spoken with you.”

Reid hung up, gathered his laundry and put it in his laundry bag. He would drop it off at Royal Laundry—half the establishments in Queenstown had either royal or crown as a part of their name. He’d wash his socks, but he would gladly pay someone else to do the rest of it.

He got up early the next morning, made a cup of instant coffee, showered, shaved and dressed in an Oxford-gray business suit. How good it felt to be going to work as an architect again. If he wasn’t careful, he’d feel tears sliding down his face. He got into the station wagon, adjusted the seat to fit his height and headed for Caution Point. He’d driven twenty miles before the pangs in his belly reminded him that he hadn’t ingested anything that morning but instant coffee.

He pulled into a roadside restaurant, had a breakfast of melon, waffles, country sausage and perked coffee, and continued his journey. Remembering that he’d promised Marcus Hickson to get in touch with him when he went to Caution Point, he took out the cellular phone that he had bought the previous weekend and telephoned his old friend.