Part 1 (1/2)
The Right Path.
by Nora Roberts.
Chapter One
The sky was cloudless-the hard, perfect blue of a summer painting. A breeze whispered through the roses in the garden. Mountains were misted by distance. A scent-flowers, sea, new gra.s.s-drifted on the air. With a sigh of pure pleasure, Morgan leaned farther over the balcony rail and just looked.
Had it real y only been yesterday morning that she had looked out on New York's steel and concrete? Had she run through a chil April drizzle to catch a taxi to the airport? One day. It seemed impossible to go from one world to another in only a day.
But she was here, standing on the balcony of a vil a on the Isle of Lesbos. There was no gray drizzle at al , but strong Greek sunlight. There was quiet, a deep blanketing stil ness that contrasted completely with the fits and starts of New York traffic. If I could paint, Morgan mused, I'd paint this view and cal it Silence.
”Come in,” she cal ed when there was a knock on the door. After one last deep breath, she turned, reluctantly. ”So, you're up and dressed.” Liz swept in, a smal , golden fairy with a tray-bearing maid in her wake.
”Room service.” Morgan grinned as the maid placed the tray on a gla.s.s-topped table. ”I'l begin to wal ow in luxury from this moment.” She took an appreciative sniff of the platters the maid uncovered. ”Are you joining me?” ”Just for coffee.” Liz settled in a chair, smoothing the skirts of her silk and lace robe, then took a long survey of the woman who sat opposite her. Long loose curls in shades from ash blond to honey brown fel to tease pale shoulders.
Almond-shaped eyes, almost too large for the slender face, were a nearly transparent blue. There was a straight, sharp nose and prominent cheekbones, a long, narrow mouth and a subtly pointed chin. It was a face of angles and contours that many a model starved herself for. It would photograph like a dream had Morgan ever been inclined to sit long enough to be captured on film.
What you'd get, Liz mused, would be a blur of color as Morgan dashed away to see what was around the next corner. ”Oh, Morgan, you look fabulous! I'm so glad you're here at last.”
”Now that I'm here,” Morgan returned, s.h.i.+fting her eyes back to the view, ”I can't understand why I put off coming for so long. Efxaristo,” she added as the maid poured her coffee.
”Show-off,” Liz said with mock scorn. ”Do you know how long it took me to master a simple Greek hel o, how are you? No, never mind.” She waved her hand before Morgan could speak. The symphony of diamonds and sapphires in her wedding ring caught the flash of sunlight. ”Three years married to Alex and living in Athens and Lesbos, and I stil stumble over the language. Thank you, Zena,” she added in English, dismissing the maid with a smile.
”You're simply determined not to learn.” Morgan bit enthusiastical y into a piece of toast. She wasn't hungry, she discovered. She was ravenous. ”If you'd open your mind, the words would seep in.”
”Listen to you.” Liz wrinkled her nose. ”Just because you speak a dozen languages.” ”Five.”
”Five is four more than a rational person requires.”
”Not a rational interpreter,” Morgan reminded her and dug wholeheartedly into her eggs. ”And if I hadn't spoken Greek, I wouldn't have met Alex and you wouldn't be Kyrios Elizabeth Theoharis. Fate,” she announced with a ful mouth, ”is a strange and wonderful phenomenon.”
”Philosophy at breakfast,” Liz murmured into her coffee. ”That's one of the things I've missed about you. Actual y, I'd hate to think what might have happened if I hadn't been home on layover when Alex popped up. You wouldn't have introduced us.” She commandeered a piece of toast, adding a miserly dab of plum jel y. ”I'd stil be serving miniature bottles of bourbon at thirty thousand feet.”
”Liz, my love, when something's meant, it's meant.” Morgan cut into a fat sausage. ”I'd love to take credit for your marital bliss, but one brief introduction wasn't responsible for the fireworks that fol owed.” She glanced up at the cool blond beauty and smiled. ”Little did I know I'd lose my roommate in less than three weeks. I've never seen two people move so fast.”
”We decided we'd get acquainted after we were married.” A grin warmed Liz's face. ”And we have.” ”Where is Alex this morning?”
”Downstairs in his office.” Liz moved her shoulders absently and left half her toast untouched. ”He's building another s.h.i.+p or something.”
Morgan laughed outright. ”You say that in the same tone you'd use if he were building a model train. Don't you know you're supposed to become spoiled and disdainful when you marry a mil ionaire-especial y a foreign mil ionaire?”
”Is that so? Wel , I'l see what I can do.” She topped off her coffee. ”He'l probably be horribly busy for the next few weeks, which is one more reason I'm glad you're here.” ”You need a cribbage partner.”
”Hardly,” Liz corrected as she struggled with a smile. ”You're the worst cribbage player I know.” ”Oh, I don't know,” Morgan began as her brows drew together.
”Perhaps you've improved. Anyway,” Liz went on, concealing with her coffee cup what was now a grin, ”not to be disloyal to my adopted country, but it's just so good to have my best friend, and an honest-to-G.o.d American, around.”
”Spasibo.”
”English at al times,” Liz insisted. ”And I know that wasn't even Greek. You aren't translating government hyperbole at the U.N. for the next four weeks.”
She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. ”Tel me the truth, Morgan, aren't you ever terrified you'l interpret some nuance incorrectly and cause World War I I?”
”Who me?” Morgan opened her eyes wide. ”Not a chance. Anyway, the trick is to think in the language you're interpreting. It's that easy.” ”Sure it is.” Liz leaned back. ”Wel , you're on vacation, so you only have to think in English. Unless you want to argue with the cook.” ”Absolutely not,” Morgan a.s.sured her as she polished off her eggs.
”How's your father?”
”Marvelous, as always.” Relaxed, content, Morgan poured more coffee. When was the last time she had taken the time for a second cup in the morning?