The Elliotts: Secret Affairs. Susan Crosby
When he finally redialed fifteen minutes later, he got her voice mail.
“Ms. Elliott,” he said, starting from the beginning. “This is John Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me a week from Saturday. Here’s my private line.” He recited his phone number. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
He’d barely hung up when his private line rang.
“It’s a good thing I came into your life,” Scarlet said. “Has that method worked in the past?” She said method as if it were something that stank.
“What method?”
“Leave a message for a woman asking her on a first date?”
She sounded either shocked or disgusted.
“I asked for more than a week from now.”
“You asked her answering machine.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Which is apparently the wrong thing to do. I’ll start over,” he said, hanging up before she could. Normally he would’ve been frustrated by that kind of game by now, but he found it stimulating. She challenged him. The trick would be to challenge her in return.
He lifted the receiver, then hesitated. She would be expecting him to call back.
“Not this time, Ms. Elliott,” he said as he flipped through his Rolodex. He wanted an A on his first homework assignment.
She’d gotten him thinking outside his normal box. He wanted her to see what he’d already learned.
* * *
“Somebody likes you,” a woman said as she rounded Scarlet’s cubicle.
She smelled the flowers before she even looked up from her computer and spotted the bouquet, not something neat and tidy like a dozen roses, but an exotic bundle of baby orchids in a variety of deep colors. Her heart did a little dance at the sight. She hadn’t been sent flowers in a long, long time. Even so, she resisted the temptation to bury her face in the blossoms as the vase was set down in front of her by Jessie Clayton, the vivacious twenty-three-year-old intern assigned to work with her.
“Shall I read the card?” Jessie asked, green eyes sparkling behind trendy glasses as she snagged the tiny envelope and held it over Scarlet’s head.
“I write your performance reviews.”
Jessie laughed and handed Scarlet the card. “I don’t suppose you’re going to read it out loud.”
“Good guess.”
Alone, Scarlet held the envelope to her lips for several seconds before opening it. Inside was a phone number. No flowery sentiment. No invitation to dinner. Just a phone number.
She smiled, slowly. Score one for John.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“John Harlan.”
She heard expectation in his voice, maybe because he was trying to cover it. “Nice move.”
“Who’s calling?”
She grinned. “Let me start over.” She hung up and redialed. After he answered, she said, “The flowers are exquisite. Thank you.”
“So you remember me?”
She slipped into the role. “Of course. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
“You were wearing a green dress the color of your eyes,” he said.
Her breath caught, even though they were talking about an imaginary occasion. He made it sound real, as if he’d seen and admired her in that dress. “You were wearing a suit and tie,” she countered.
“Lucky guess. I hope you’re wondering why I sent the flowers.”
“I’m curious, yes.”
“I’d like to get to know you. Would you have dinner with me? Maybe a week from Saturday?”
“I’d love to.”
“May I pick you up, say, at eight o’clock?”
“That would be perfect.”
“I’ll call you during the week to reconfirm.”
“Okay.”
He said goodbye and hung up, and she was left wondering if he meant they wouldn’t talk to each other or see each other until he picked her up. Was that how far the role-playing would go? Or would they have a separate life, continuing what they’d started?
For now she would let him lead the relationship. She would go to The Tides for the weekend to visit Gram and Granddad, as planned; attend the Spring Fling at the country club; and make herself unavailable to John, letting absence do its work.
Which was crazy, since nothing long-term could come of this relationship, anyway. But for the month that Summer would be out of town, Scarlet would indulge herself with the man who should be most forbidden to her and make herself a memory.
Five
Since the tragic day when Scarlet and Summer were orphaned, Scarlet had never spent an entire weekend at The Tides without her sister. It was strange now to be in her own bedroom and know that Summer wasn’t just a few feet away in hers, or sharing a room as they got ready for a special occasion. The tomblike quiet was eerie.
Scarlet took a final look in the mirror and gave herself the okay sign, something Summer would’ve done. Once upon a time, Gram would have come in to share in the fun, too, but her arthritis prevented her from climbing the stairs easily anymore. She and Granddad had moved downstairs. Why they hadn’t installed an elevator was a mystery to Scarlet.
Her heels tapped softly as she descended the long marble staircase to the first floor. She looked forward to the evening, even though she was dateless. She would know many of the guests, however, and would surely be asked to dance.
She was glad she hadn’t told John where she was going. He might have decided to show up, and she wasn’t sure she could pretend not to notice him.
Scarlet headed toward the back of the house to the living room, beyond which was her grandparents’ suite. As Scarlet neared, her grandmother came out her bedroom door, carrying herself with the grace of a queen, a far cry from the seamstress she’d been when Patrick had first met her in Ireland and swept her off her feet, bringing her to his home in America. Her face barely showed age or tragedy, even at seventy-five and having suffered the loss of several children through miscarriage or death.
“Aren’t you enchanting, colleen,” she said as Scarlet hugged her. “And dressed to stop lungs from pulling in air, I’m thinking. Your own creation?”
“Brand-new.” Scarlet did a quick pirouette, showing off the snug violet-and-fuchsia sheath with the flounce that would swirl just above her knees when she danced. Three-inch heels brought her to six feet in height. She loved the additional height, which gave her a sense of power. “You’re looking beautiful yourself, Gram.”
Maeve wore a simple lavender beaded gown on her petite frame. Her makeup was applied deftly, a few freckles visible on her gorgeous Irish skin. She’d worn her white-and-auburn hair in an elegant updo for as long as Scarlet could remember, and it was no different now. As usual, too, a gold locket hung around her neck, rumored to hold a picture of her daughter Anna, her secondborn, who had died of cancer when she was seven. Scarlet wondered if the locket also contained a picture of her thirdborn, Stephen, Scarlet and Summer’s father.
“Looking to turn a few heads, are you?” Patrick Elliott boomed from behind them.
In her heels Scarlet met her grandfather eye to eye, yet another reason she liked wearing them.
At seventy-seven Patrick was still a sight to behold. His fit body, thick gray hair and blue eyes continued