Part 29 (1/2)

She could kill them both. She slowed and moved up and down the roads. Fortunately, there was little traffic. ”These machines aren't called devil-wagons for no reason.” He tried to keep his voice calm. ”They don't have horse sense. If you see anyone walking or standing in the streets, sound the horn while you approach. But not at a horse.”

Fearful she might drive into the offices instead of around them to the carriage drive, he told her to park at the curb. Upon entering the lobby, she turned her excited eyes and flushed face to him. Before she could say whatever was on her mind, Mrs. Jessup called to her.

”Caroline. You have a telegram.”

She looked concerned, so he stayed nearby. ”My friend, Lydia.” She looked at him. ”Oh, you know Craven. They married shortly after the . . . incident. They've moved into a house in Manhattan and-”

Her voice trembled. ”They're going to have a baby.” Her expression looked pained. ”That's so wonderful. She's getting on with her life.” She turned from him quickly. ”I must write to her right away.”

He would contact Craven Dowd with his own congratulations, since Craven had asked him to handle the financial affairs of Caroline Chadwick. He would let him know he continued to be of service to her as needed. He almost laughed. Minus any information about the driving lesson.

Armand watched Caroline ascend the stairs with her hand to her face. Perhaps she thought she wasn't getting on with her life.

The following day he took her and Bess to see his plan.

The women seemed to enjoy the short train ride, particularly when they neared Bedford, and they praised the beautiful scenery. Many times he'd walked the several miles from the station to his home simply because he enjoyed it, and he would sing and praise the Lord and feel the peace and be thankful for his blessings.

Today, he rented a carriage and provided them with a view of the lake, stands of trees, and the rolling green landscape. Upon seeing the house, Caroline said, ”It reminds me of Lydia's description of the Long Island place.”

They alighted at the front of the house. Caroline walked up the steps and onto the porch. She placed her hand on the banister and turned to him.

”This is the place you found to rent?”

She shook her head as if to say it wouldn't do, but she hadn't even seen the inside yet. He glanced at Bess, who looked as puzzled as he felt.

”It's one of the most peaceful-looking and beautiful places I've ever seen.” But she reprimanded him, ”I told you I wanted to live like an ordinary person.”

”This belongs to an ordinary person.”

Her eyes questioned. She looked at Bess, whose eyebrows rose.

They both stared at him. He felt color rise in his face, then took a set of keys from his pocket and held them up. Caroline said, ”You don't mean . . . you?”

He must have looked guilty, so he gave a little nod. She said what she should not have ever, ever said, in a saucy tone, ”Armand Bettencourt. There is nothing ordinary about you. I think you are quite extraordinary.”

51.

Caroline adored it. Every room, every nook, every cranny. It was peaceful, serene, and cozy, yet elegant and had everything one could desire. She could hardly fathom this being his home.

It occurred to her that if Armand were an ordinary person, Craven Dowd would probably never have heard of him. Who was this man? He led them into a kitchen that was a cook's dream and motioned for them to sit at the small table positioneed beneath the window.

Bess looked as stunned as Caroline felt. They sat. He proceeded to pour water into a percolator.

”You rent this out?” She watched him reach into a cabinet and bring out a bag of coffee and then dip some out into a little metal holder.

”This is the first time.” He put all the pieces into the pot, set it on the electric stove burner, and turned a k.n.o.b. Was that ordinary? She didn't know how to make coffee. She only knew how to drink it.

He leaned against the island. ”This is my main residence. The apartment is for convenience and bad weather.” He lifted a shoulder. ”Or whim.”

Whim? Who was this man?

”My parents owned the home that is now my law office. They built this house several years ago.” He brushed back the curls that had fallen over his forehead, and his dark eyes surveyed the kitchen. ”Both were pa.s.sed down to me when they were killed. And-”

His face clouded. The coffee made noises, and the liquid danced around in a little gla.s.s bulb on top. He took three cups and saucers from a cabinet and set them on a countertop near the stove. He opened the refrigerator and declared there was no cream. ”Sorry. Sugar?”

She and Bess said ”Yes, please.” Even as the pot continued to perk, he poured the coffee. She wondered what he'd been about to say after and. He brought their coffee to the table and returned to the island. There were two chairs at the table. Who were they for?

He could have brought in one of the dining room chairs, but he seemed uncomfortable, as if he might run rather than sit. He began to talk about the lake house and mentioned his boat, which he liked to take out on the water to fish.

”You take fish out on the water?”

He laughed. ”No. The fish are in the water. I catch them. Trick them into eating a worm and they're snagged.”

”You caught the swordfish?”

”Yes.” He grinned. ”But not in that lake.” He set his cup down. ”Well, ladies, shall we take a look at the backyard?”

They went outside, and the first thing she noticed was a patch of weeds and vines that appeared to have taken over a perfect spot for a flower garden. But her gaze moved beyond it to the green lawn and the serene landscape.

She would love a home like this but couldn't allow it. ”Armand, you've given up your apartment. Now you offer your home. There's no way I can accept.”

Bess walked over to the weeds. Armand glanced at her and back at Caroline. ”Tell me, Caroline. Why do you help the families of the t.i.tanic victims? Why did you help those children you talked about? You mentioned an orphanage in London where you volunteered. Why?”

Her hand gestured. ”You know why I help. They need someone.”

”Exactly,” he said.

She glanced at Bess, who pulled a weed and began tying the stem in knots, as if she were not listening. ”So you'll do this because . . . because . . . ” She scoffed, ”Armand. I am not needy.”

His slow, ”I am,” was almost imperceptible. His eyelids covered his brown eyes as his shoe scuffed at the ground. The silence grew. Neither had anything more to say.

He moved to the back door and held it open. Bess tossed away her knotted weed.

On the return trip she hardly knew what anyone talked about, including herself. Her thoughts were pressing. She helped the needy for two reasons. They needed her. She needed to be needed.

She understood the need to be needed.

But why would he need to do this?

Why and how did he need her?

His office was closed when they returned. He unlocked the door and went inside. At the top of the stairs, before he turned toward the rooms on the left, she said, ”Armand.”

He stopped, but his focus was on the floor. ”I will rent the house on one condition.”