All-American Baby. Peg Sutherland
was young and foolish in London.”
“And now you’re old and cranky?”
“Something like that.”
In London he’d been mesmerized, hopelessly bewitched by the woman he knew as a winsome American student. Mel Summersby had shown him what it was like to be carefree and normal for the first time in his life. They ate fish and chips and rode one of those silly double-decker buses like all the other tourists, something he’d never deigned to do in all his many trips to London. They walked in the bleak drizzle of early March and didn’t care if their hair was plastered to their heads or their shoes squeaked with rain. And they made love in the little attic room at the bed-and-breakfast in Parsons Green.
For two weeks, three short months ago, Ash Thorndyke had tasted everyday life. And he’d discovered that he had an unfortunate appetite for it.
“What are you going to do with me now that you have me?” she asked.
“What I’d like to do is dump you in the middle of town and be out of this mess,” he said. It wouldn’t take her long to find some poor sap to dupe, he supposed.
“Fine,” she said. “How about that corner? They look like nice people.”
He glanced at the women posturing on the corner, wearing vinyl boots that covered their knees and stretch miniskirts that barely covered their fannies. “What they look like is hookers. Women of ill repute, Your Highness.”
“You know, you really should be nicer to me. I could land you in plenty of hot water, if I wanted to. My father—”
“Your father had his goons lock you up.”
She laughed lightly, but he detected a hollow sound to it. “So you were rescuing me?”
“Something like that.”
“I suppose the next thing you’ll be telling me is that you’re a man of honor.”
“No. I wouldn’t claim that.” He couldn’t after the way he’d left her in London, without a word of explanation, without a backward glance. It hadn’t been his finest moment. But he’d never been that scared before. Funny how a healthy dose of fear could make a man violate every principle he’d ever believed in.
The alluring young woman he’d known as Mel Summersby had him thinking about going straight. Starting a family. Getting a... Even now, the blasphemous idea elevated his blood pressure. Getting a job.
“I think we should leave town,” she said.
“I think we should have a plan before we do anything.” He’d had a plan, of course. Get the heiress out of the house, meet the feds—the so-called feds—at the Embarcadero, get a good night’s rest at the Ritz-Carlton and head for the East Coast, where Bram Thorndyke would soon be the recipient of clemency in exchange for tonight’s little escapade. That had been Ash’s condition for participating.
“If we don’t get out of town now, we may not have another chance,” she said. “They’ll be looking for me very soon. Every highway out of town will be covered. Plus, we have a stolen car. A very ostentatious stolen car.”
She was right about the all-out search, of course. “So you’ve done this before.”
“Well, not quite this dramatically.”
“So you must have plenty of aliases. Aside from Mel Summersby.”
She was silent. And he’d been feeling guilty for dumping her. What a chump. She’d probably been twenty minutes away from doing the same to him. Apparently dalliances with the working class were a way of life for the rich and famous Melina Somerset.
“The highway to Big Sur is that way,” she said. “I’ve never been to Big Sur.” There she was, an edge of girlish delight in her otherwise sultry voice. Despite everything he knew, it made him want to give her whatever she longed for. Quite a talent she had. Well, she could find another way to Big Sur.
At the last minute, he made a sharp, tire-squealing turn.
“But don’t get the idea we’re going to Big Sur,” he said. “All we’re going to do is get out of town. Then we’re going to make a plan.”
MELINA ALREADY HAD a plan. The trick, she realized as they left San Francisco behind, was to get Ash Thorndyke to help her implement her plan.
They sprinted along the freeway to the south and Melina sat up and took notice. The highway was lined with precisely what she longed to see. American suburbia. Neon and fast food, billboards and discount stores. Parking lots full of SUVs and minivans.
She was in America. Somewhere there was a place for her, a place where she could belong and blend in and become average.
Ash turned on the car radio, cruising the dial, pausing whenever he landed on a news report.
“It won’t be on the news,” she said softly.
Tom Somerset would never let the world know that his daughter was on the loose. Sometimes it felt to Melina as if she only existed in her father’s imagination. Out of his sight, beyond his control, she ceased to be a real person. Deep in her heart, she knew that wasn’t so. Beneath the anger she felt toward him for completely disregarding her wishes for her life, she loved him as only a child who has already lost one parent can love. But she couldn’t dwell on that. She couldn’t think about how much she would miss him or how much pain this would cause him. He’d left her no alternative. Time and again he’d refused to treat her like an adult
That’s what she had to remember, her anger and her frustration. Not her love or her guilt.
“Hungry?” Ash asked. “I seem to recall that you eat like a workhorse coming off a diet”
She decided not to take offense at the comparison. It was unarguably true. Besides, he must recall more than that. She certainly did. The smell and the taste and the touch of him, all of it unavoidably poignant in her memory. Of course, it had been an adventure for her, one more thing she’d never done in her life.
For him, she supposed, it was just another meaningless romp.
“I want a cheeseburger,” she said. “Two all-beef patties, pickles, the works. French fries.”
“I wouldn’t subject a princess to fast food.”
“I don’t think you have a choice,” she said, not allowing her longing to show. If he knew how much she wanted to go into an American hamburger joint, if he knew how many months and years she’d daydreamed about doing just that, he’d never let her out of the car. “It’ll be fast. We need to keep ahead of them.”
Ten minutes later, they sat in a brightly lit hamburger restaurant, sacks of food on the table in front of them. The place was packed with teenagers and families with young children. Real Americans. Melina’s heart fluttered with excitement. Even when her family had lived in the U.S., they’d never visited a fast food restaurant. They’d had a French chef.
“I think we’re overdressed,” she said, smoothing a paper napkin over the lap of her evening dress and doing her best impression of nonchalance. “Although I do seem to have forgotten my shoes in our haste.”
“Black-tie is never in bad taste.”
Melina caught herself in a laugh—he was hard to resist. But she didn’t want to laugh with him, to get caught up in his easy charm again. She turned her attention to her food. She set the paper-wrapped cheeseburger in front of her, placed the little box of French fries beside it, then put a straw into her milk shake. Perfect. She relished the picture it made before she slowly unwrapped the sandwich. It looked just the way it looked on television.
“Quit staring at it as if you’ve never seen one like it before,” Ash said. “You’re the one who wanted to stop here. This is eat and run, remember.”
If he only knew. The closest