Part 1 (2/2)

”When it's between my mother and a Hollywood Casanova a dozen years younger than she, I have a different name for it.” Gwen's face flushed with the pa.s.sion of her words. She stood rigid. The humor faded from Luke's face. Slowly, he tucked his hands in his po ckets.

”I see. Would you care to tell me what you'd call it?” ”I won't glorify your conduct with a t.i.tle,” Gwen retorted. ”It should be sufficient that you understand I won't tolerate it any longer.” She turned, intending to walk away from him.

”Won't you?” There was something dangerously cold in his tone. ”And your mother has no voice in the matter?”

”My mother,” Gwen countered furiously, ”is too gentle, too trusting and too naive.” Whirling, she faced him again. ”I won't let you make a fool of her.”

”My dear Gwenivere,” he said smoothly. ”You do so well making one of yourself.”

Before Gwen could retort, there was the sharp click of heels on wood.

Struggling to steady her breathing, Gwen moved down the hall to greet her mother.

”Mama.” She embraced a soft bundle of curves smelling of lilac.

”Gwenivere!” Her mother's voice was low and as sweet as the scent she habitually wore. ”Why, darling, what are you doing here?”

”Mama,” Gwen repeated and pulled away far enough to study the rosy loveliness of her mother's face. Her mother's skin was creamy and almost perfectly smooth, her eyes round and china blue, her nose tilted, her mouth pink and soft. There were two tiny dimples in her cheeks.

Looking at her sweet prettiness, Gwen felt their roles should have been reversed. ”Didn't you get my letter?” She tucked a stray wisp of pale blond hair behind her mother's ear.

”Of course, you said you'd be here Friday.”

Gwen smiled and kissed a dimpled cheek. ”This is Friday, Mama.”

”Well, yes, it's this Friday, but I a.s.sumed you meant next Friday, and...

Oh, dear, what does it matter?” Anabelle brushed away confusion with the back of her hand. ”Let me look at you,” she requested and, stepping back, subjected Gwen to a critical study. She saw a tall, striking beauty who brought misty memories of her young husband. Widowed for more than two decades, Anabelle rarely thought of her late husband unless reminded by her daughter. ”So thin,” she clucked, and sighed. ”Don't you eat up there?”

”Now and again.” Pausing, Gwen made her own survey of her mother's soft, round curves. How could this woman be approaching fifty? she wondered with a surge of pride and awe. ”You look wonderful,” Gwen murmured, ”but then, you always look wonderful.”

Anabelle laughed her young, gay laugh. ”It's the climate,” she claimed as she patted Gwen's cheek. ”None of that dreadful smog or awful snow you have up there.” New York, Gwen noted, would always be ”up there.”

”Oh, Luke!” Anabelle caught sight of him as he stood watching the reunion. A smile lit up her face. ”Have you met my Gwenivere?”

Luke s.h.i.+fted his gaze until his eyes met Gwen's. His brow tilted slightly in acknowledgement. ”Yes.” Gwen thought his smile was as much a challenge as a glove slapped across her cheek. ”Gwen and I are practically old friends.”

”That's right.” Gwen let her smile answer his. ”Already we know each other quite well.”

”Marvelous.” Anabelle beamed. ”I do want you two to get along.” She gave Gwen's hand a happy squeeze. ”Would you like to freshen up, darling, or would you like a cup of coffee first?”

Gwen struggled to keep her voice from trembling with rage as Luke continued to smile at her. ”Coffee sounds perfect,” she answered.

”I'll take your bags up,” Luke offered as he lifted them again. ”Thank you, dear.” Anabelle spoke before Gwen could refuse. ”Try to avoid Miss Wilkins until you have a s.h.i.+rt on. The sight of all those muscles will certainly give her the vapors. Miss Wilkins is one of my visitors,” Anabelle explained as she led Gwen down the hall. ”A sweet, timid little soul who paints in watercolors.”

”Hmm,” Gwen answered noncommittally as she glanced back over her shoulder. Luke stood watching them with sunlight tumbling over his hair and bronzed skin. ”Hmm,” Gwen said again, and turned away.

The kitchen was exactly as Gwen remembered: big, sunny and spotlessly clean. Tillie, the tall, waspishly thin cook stood by the stove. ”h.e.l.lo, Miss Gwen,” she said without turning around. ”Coffee's on.”

”h.e.l.lo, Tillie.” Gwen walked over to the stove and sniffed at the fragrant steam. ”Smells good.”

”Cajun jambalaya.”

”My favorite,” Gwen murmured, glancing up at the appealingly ugly face. ”I thought I wasn't expected until next Friday.”

”You weren't,” Tillie agreed, with a sniff. Lowering her thick brows, she continued to stir the roux.

Gwen smiled and leaned over to peck Tillie's tough cheek. ”How are things, Tillie?”

”Comme ci, comme ca,” she muttered, but pleasure touched her cheeks with color. Turning, she gave Gwen a quick study. ”Skinny” was her quick, uncomplimentary conclusion.

”So I'm told.” Gwen shrugged. Tillie never flat tered anyone. ”You have a month to fatten me up.” ”Isn't that marvellous, Tillie?” Anabelle carefully put a blue delft sugar and creamer set on the kitchen table. ”Gwen is staying for an entire month.

Perhaps we should have a party! We have three visitors at the moment.

Luke, of course, and Miss Wilkins and Mr. Stapleton. He's an artist, too, but he works in oils. Quite a talented young man.”

Gwen seized the small opening. ”Luke Powers is considered a gifted young man, too.” She sat across from her mother as Anabelle poured the coffee.

”Luke is frightfully talented,” Anabelle agreed with a proud sigh.

”Surely you've read some of his books, seen some of his movies?

Overwhelming. His characters are so real , so vital. His romantic scenes have a beauty and intensity that just leave me weak.”

”He had a naked woman in one of his movies,” Tillie stated in an indignant mutter. ”Stark naked.”

Anabelle laughed. Her eyes smiled at Gwen's over the rim of her cup.

”Tillie feels Luke is single-handedly responsible for the moral decline in the theater,” Anabelle continued.

”Not a st.i.tch on,” Tillie added, setting her chin.

Though Gwen was certain Luke Powers had no morals whatsoever, she made no reference to them. Her voice remained casual as instead she commented, ”He certainly has accomplished quite a bit for a man of his age. A string of best-sellers, a clutch of popular movies...and he's only thirty-five.”

”I suppose that shows how unimportant age really is,” Anabelle said serenely. Gwen barely suppressed a wince. ”And success hasn't spoiled him one little bit,” she went on. ”He's the kindest, sweetest man I've ever known. He's so generous with his time, with himself.” Her eyes shone with emotion. ”I can't tell you how good he's been for me. I feel like a new woman.” Gwen choked on her coffee. Anabelle clucked in sympathy as Tillie gave Gwen a st.u.r.dy thump on the back. ”Are you all right, honey?”

”Yes, yes, I'm fine.” Gwen took three deep breaths to steady her voice.

Looking into her mother's guileless blue eyes, she opted for a temporary retreat. ”I think I'll go upstairs and unpack.”

”I'll help you,” Anabelle volunteered, and started to rise.

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