If the Slipper Fits, page 4
“Hmph.” Prin scooped up a lump of butter and rubbed it vigorously along the sides and bottom of a pie plate.
Overhead, the sound of a helicopter thudded into range. Lois and Anne looked up, as if they might be able to see it through the ceiling and the three floors above them.
“There must be the young lord of the manor now.” Prin did not raise her head.
“Why are you so disdainful of him, Prin?” Anne asked. “I thought you liked Connor.”
“How do I know if I like him or not? I hain’t see him in years.”
“But you did like him,” Anne insisted. “I remember. You used to make picnics for us, and one time you even included a half bottle of wine the Emorys hadn’t finished the night before. Boy, were we shocked to see that.” Anne chuckled, remembering their illicit joy.
“Maybe it was you I liked.” Prin pulled at the edges of the now-flattened dough and dragged the sheet of it toward the pie plate.
Anne turned to Lois. “It was Connor. Everyone liked Connor. His parents were awful, but he wasn’t. He could charm a smile out of anyone, Mrs. Walter here included.”
Lois looked impressed. “That’s quite a skill.”
“He was a boy.” Prin pushed the dough into the pie plate. “That don’t mean the man will be the same. You mark my words, Anne Sayer.”
“Oh, Prin, it’s not as if I’m expecting to take up where we left off.” Anne was touched by the old woman’s concern. “In fact, the only thing I’m expecting is to continue on about my business just like I do with any other summer tenant.”
She stood up, straightening her skirt. The sound of the helicopter drew closer, and the tone changed. Landing, she knew from experience. Many of Sea Bluff’s tenants arrived by helicopter, despite the bridge that linked them with the mainland. Not all of them produced the same accelerated beat of her heart, however.
“I’d better go meet him.” Anne headed for the door.
“Give him a kiss from me,” Prin called, with a cackle of glee.
“I’m coming with you.” Lois rose and laid her papers on the little desk Anne used in the corner of the kitchen.
They stepped out the back door, footsteps quiet on the moss-covered walk, and headed up the short hill into the back garden. They wound their way through the landscaping, past walls of boxwoods and beds of dahlias and daffodils, tulips and daylilies. Carefully constructed paths passed through rose-covered trellises and wandered by thoughtfully placed wrought-iron benches in secluded garden coves.
“That Mr. Franklin, for all his oddness, is one helluva gardener,” Lois said as they walked.
“Did I ever tell you about how he started here?” Anne asked, remembering the tale she hadn’t thought of for years. Strangely, she felt as if Connor’s return was bringing back a whole host of memories she’d forgotten.
“No. But if I had to guess I’d say someone turned over a rock one day and there he was.”
Anne smiled. The sound of the helicopter blades was much slower now. It must be on the ground. She gripped her hands together and kept talking. It seemed the only way to keep her heart out of her throat.
“Well, maybe.” Anne pushed a pine branch out of the way and held it for Lois. “He arrived way before I or even my mother did.”
“Jesus, that means he’s been here, what—?”
“About forty years. And rumor has it he came here with no gardening experience at all, just a shovel and some story about how he knew everything there was to know about plants. Connor’s grandfather hired him, and Franklin set about digging holes all over the property. Not planting anything, mind you, just digging holes. When he was asked, he said he was preparing the soil. But it finally came out that he’d heard Leland Emory, the sea captain who built the house, had buried some sort of treasure here.”
“Treasure!” Lois burst with a spike of laughter. “You mean like gold coins or something?”
“Something like that. And Mr. Franklin was dead set on finding it. Old Mr. Emory apparently didn’t care, just told him to for God’s sake at least put some trees in the holes, and Franklin’s been here ever since.” Anne glanced at a hardy thicket of roses climbing up the side of a well-hidden potting shed. “Apparently he’s learned a lot about gardening along the way.”
“Goodness. Who knew the old guy was such an optimist?” Lois laughed. “Believing in buried treasure…”
“Well, I think he’s given up by now.”
They passed under a huge oak tree overspreading the lawn in front of the summer house. This spot had always been one of Anne’s favorites because it was private and silent when someone was not arriving by helicopter. She often came here to relax or figure out some problem or other.
But now, with the advent of Connor Emory and many of her long-buried memories, Anne remembered a night when she’d crept out of her grandmother’s house and met Connor in the deserted place. It had been cobwebbed and musty, but he had cleared a spot in one corner and lit a bunch of his mother’s best dinner candles in cut crystal candlesticks. She could still see his face in the warm glow of light, flames reflected in each of his light gray eyes, and that smile, the tender one that was just for her, was on his lips.
Huh, she thought, the sun may shine on everything during the day, Prin, but at night it’s more particular. She felt again the remembered glow of pleasure that had suffused her so many years ago. The amazement that handsome, charismatic Connor Emory had chosen her, out of all the young girls on the island…
But that was a long time ago.
They passed through a thick stand of conifers and arrived at the edge of the woods near the helipad—the broad, flat field on the cliff overlooking the north shore.
One helicopter door was open, and two young women stooped next to it, grabbing fitfully at their flying hair while reaching for suitcases being handed out by a stout, balding man.
“How much older than you did you say he was?” Lois leaned close and spoke loudly over the drone of the helicopter’s engine.
Anne looked back at her. “That’s not him.” She waved a hand negatively.
“Holy God, are those the daughters?” Lois called, leaning close again.
“Must be,” Anne called back, looking dispiritedly at the pretty girls being helped by their father.
“Jeez, look at them,” Lois said as one of them turned, running away from the swinging blades.
After a second, the other followed. It was obvious to Anne what Lois meant. They looked like movie stars running from the paparazzi, graceful and curvaceous at the same time. Thick dark hair wild in the wind but still curling with old-Hollywood perfection.
Anne squinted toward the group, clutching her sweater around her as the breeze from the ocean combined with the copter’s swirl. She shivered. She should have worn something other than this dull skirt and knit shirt. She should have pitched the sandals and worn stockings to make her legs look better. Higher heels. Shorter skirt. She wished her hair wasn’t so straight.
She should move forward and greet these foreign beauties, but she didn’t want to move. Not before she caught sight of Connor. For some reason—probably the girls—the nervousness that had eluded her before sprang up now like a wall she could not walk through.
How could she not have known how awkward it would be to see Connor again after so much time?
“Maybe he didn’t come,” Lois said, voicing a fear Anne hadn’t even thought of.
But a second later he appeared. Unfolding himself from the cockpit with a box under one arm, Connor reached to take a small carry-on suitcase from the Italian man. The rest of their luggage would be arriving from the airport by car, Anne knew. Then the two of them ducked out from beneath the helicopter’s reach, straightened, and walked toward them.
Anne caught her breath. She could barely focus on his face at this distance, but the way he moved was instantly familiar. Lithe, coordinated, like an athlete in the middle of a game. All warmed up and comfortable in his skin.
His hair blew as the copter rose behind them, tousling it with the Hollywood perfection the Italian daughters shared, and Anne knew at that moment that she was in trouble.
Yes, she had changed. She was no longer the bashful, awkward girl she’d been so long ago.
But he hadn’t. No, Connor Emory had not changed nearly enough.
Connor strode away from the helicopter’s blades, breathing in the brisk salt air, and he knew immediately that returning to Sea Bluff for the summer was the right thing to do. He’d forgotten how invigorating it was. The ocean breeze, the scent of pine, the sense of freedom and wildness.
For a moment he considered telling Marcello he’d meet them at the house. Then he could turn back to the cliff and descend the rocky path to the beach. He even looked back, as the helicopter rose and swept away into the postcard-blue sky, to see if the brushy opening to the beach path was still apparent, but it wasn’t. It didn’t matter anyway; the beach would have to wait.
Connor turned back to see two women standing against the deep green backdrop of pine and spruce. He froze.
One of them was Anne—he knew it the moment he set eyes on her. So much for not being able to pick her out of a lineup.
Two steps later, Marcello glanced back at him, and Connor resumed his pace.
She stood there, her blonde hair bright as a new penny in the sun and her slight figure as straight and graceful as ever, clutching her sweater around her middle in a gesture that seemed at once familiar and strangely comforting.
She hadn’t faded, he could tell as he approached. She wasn’t the pale, retiring figure Sean had led him to expect. She had hardly changed at all, in fact, except her hair was shorter. Cut chin length in a straight shiny style that suited her perfectly.
Damn, he thought, then banished the thought. It didn’t matter to him how she looked. In fact, he was glad she looked good. Glad for her. Happy that she hadn’t become someone pitiable. And he was glad for himself, that he didn’t have to feel melancholy for all the changes that had taken place.
His legs carried him closer. Before he could put together an appropriate expression to greet her with, she approached him.
A smile on her lips, she held out a slim hand. “Connor, it’s so good to see you again.”
Her voice was the same, soft and northern, but it lacked what he used to perceive as hesitancy. Her eyes were the same brilliant blue, but they were more direct than he remembered. Had he remembered incorrectly, or had she changed after all?
For just a second, he wondered what she saw when she looked at him.
He set the suitcase down and took her hand, half expecting some kind of historical jolt, but it was simply warm and firm.
On impulse, he bent and kissed her cheek.
Big mistake.
A whiff of fragrance catapulted him back a hundred years, and his hand automatically tightened on hers. Hers responded. He experienced an intense momentary flashback to the time when he would have scooped her up in his arms and kissed that sensual mouth of hers.
Getting off the helicopter and seeing her was always the first moment of summer.
He drew slowly back, and their eyes met.
Her gaze seemed to glow from her sun-touched face. Her smile grew rich with warmth and intimacy.
He realized he’d stopped breathing.
He inhaled sharply, dropped her hand, and took a step back.
Chapter Four
“Anne Sayer.” He forced a smile onto his face, the broad, automatic one he used with business associates. “Good to see you too. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” she said, a bit breathily. “That is, I’m glad you’re here. Well, I’m glad I’m here too, but I’m always here.” She laughed, her eyes dropping shyly away from him.
Connor barely noticed her discomfort, it paled so beside his own. What in the world was he doing? Hadn’t he just made it clear to Marcello he didn’t want any misunderstandings? Hadn’t he just told himself the last thing he needed was Anne Sayer thinking he wanted to revisit the past?
He hadn’t needed to kiss her hello. That was just plain stupid. The woman worked for him, after all. Was he supposed to kiss the cook too?
“I’d begun to think Maine had seen the last of you,” she said.
Me too, Connor thought.
As the group shifted and headed for the path toward the house, Connor introduced Gabriella and Nicola, who nodded perfunctorily at Anne. Anne introduced him to Lois Marshall, who then led the girls through the trees and out of sight.
“Dill should be along in a moment to get the luggage,” Anne said. “Can I help carry anything now?”
He shook his head. He needed to get a hold of himself. “No, no. I’ll take these. Who’s Dill?”
“Oh!” She laughed again. Her fingers pushed one side of her hair behind her ear, and she glanced up at him. “Dill’s the handyman. You’ll have to remind me if there’s anyone else you don’t know. I keep forgetting how long it’s been since you were here.”
“Eleven years,” he said, then regretted it. It wasn’t as if he’d been counting the days.
A moment of awkward silence passed before Connor realized Anne was looking expectantly beyond him.
Connor turned, something like a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He saw Marcello standing behind them. He’d forgotten all about the man.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You two haven’t been introduced, have you? Anne Sayer, this is Marcello Tucci.”
Marcello moved toward her, casting a sidelong glance at Connor as he passed. He grinned at Anne. “No, we have not had the pleasure.”
He took one of Anne’s hands and held it, looking deeply into her eyes. Connor had seen this performance many times before. While it wasn’t insincere, it was still Marcello’s foolproof way of winning people over. Connor stood back, his right arm suddenly aching from carrying the case of wine.
“You are even more beautiful than I imagined,” Marcello said.
Connor closed his eyes. Now she’d know they’d been talking about her. How had this gotten off to such a disastrous start?
But Anne simply laughed, the sound somehow more carefree than he’d remembered it. Certainly more carefree than he was feeling.
“No one told me that the gentleman accompanying Connor would be so charming,” she said in return.
Which is when Connor realized he didn’t know her at all anymore.
Anne made sure the guests were settled in the appropriate rooms, oversaw the preparation and serving of dinner, then got resolutely into her car and drove home. Though she caught some flak from Prin for staying so much later than usual, she’d stayed only to make sure everything was in order for the owner of the house. She wasn’t hanging around to see Connor. She’d have done the same—perhaps even more—if it had been his parents.
As it happened, she didn’t see much of Connor anyway. He’d taken off for the beach shortly after changing his clothes.
No matter, she told herself. There would be time. The whole summer, in fact. Once he was settled she’d seek him out so they could talk the way they used to. Surely it hadn’t been so long that they couldn’t make their way back to where they’d been. Not if they both really wanted to.
She thought again about the hello kiss he’d given her. It had meant something, hadn’t it? It had to have. Why else would he have kissed her?
But it was just a kiss on the cheek, she reminded herself.
Well, what was he supposed to do? she argued. Sweep her up in his arms? She admonished herself to be reasonable. A lot of time had passed. She knew what her feelings were, but his had to be different. After all, he’d lived the last eleven years believing a lie.
At the nursing home, where she’d arrived just minutes before the end of visiting hours, Anne found her grandmother wide awake and full of questions. Her grandmother knew—as she knew all things that happened on the island—that Connor was back.
“What did he say to you?” Delores demanded the moment Anne walked into her room.
It was not going to be a pleasant conversation, Anne knew, but at least it would be a change from the daily tongue-lashing she’d been receiving about putting her grandmother in the nursing home.
“Did he imply anything about your past?” Delores insisted.
“Who are you talking about?” Anne drew the drapes and turned out a couple of the many lamps her grandmother kept on. Delores insisted on keeping the room lit like a stadium on game night.
“Connor Emory, of course. Don’t play coy with me, Anne Sayer. Everyone knows he came back today. Him and two young women.”
“And the young women’s father.”
“Well? Did he say anything to you? Did he mention anything about what happened between you to anyone?”
“That’s ancient history, Gramma. And it wasn’t that interesting to begin with.”
But her grandmother was on a roll, choosing this moment to employ her selective deafness. “Because it doesn’t do to have new people learn about that childish romance you had with him. People talk, you know. Like mother, like daughter. People will speculate, and speculation only breeds gossip. You should tell people nothing happened, that it was all groundless rumor.”
“If I bring anything up out of the blue as groundless rumor they’re rather more likely to think there’s something to it, don’t you think?” Anne asked, tucking the industrial-grade sheets in tight around her grandmother’s spindly legs the way she liked them. “Besides, Connor is not the type to gossip.”
“Don’t matter. If he says anything about you and him people will start up all over again. ‘Remember what her mother did? Those Sayer girls never could resist a summer boy,’” her grandmother mimicked. “Those Helgas down to the post office will have a field day.”
“Gramma, stop it.” Anne straightened from tucking in the sheet at the bottom of the bed. “What Mother did and what I did are two completely different things.”
