But she was very sure that if there were a problem with his business he would be living at his office twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week while he worked to fix it. He would not take a month off and head for the coast in the face of impending disaster.
“Things are fine at M.C.” Gabe ate more curry.
“But?” Rafe prompted.
Gabe swallowed, put down his fork and leaned back in his chair.
“But, nothing,” he said. “I need a little time to concentrate on something else, that’s all. I hate to admit it, but Mitchell might have a point. Maybe I have been a little too focused on business for the past few years.”
“Burnout,” Lillian said quietly.
They all looked at her. Gabe and Rafe had the baffled, blank expressions that were common to the male of the species when psychological explanations for behavior were offered. But Hannah nodded in immediate agreement.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Makes sense. Lil’s right. Sounds like burnout.”
“Sounds like psychobabble to me,” Gabe said. “What’s this about burnout?”
“Think about it,” Lillian said patiently. “You’ve expended an enormous amount of physical and mental energy on Madison Commercial for years. It’s no secret that you’ve driven yourself very hard to make your company successful. That kind of intense focus over a long period of time takes its toll.”
“How would you know?” he asked. The words were spoken in deceptively silky tones. “From what you’ve told me about your checkered job history, you haven’t stuck with anything long enough to burn out on it.”
The blatant rudeness crackled in the solarium like sheet lightning. To Hannah and Rafe, the sharp retort must have appeared to come out of nowhere.
Afraid that Rafe was going to say something to his brother that was probably better left unsaid, Lillian moved to defuse the situation.
“You’re right about my job history,” she said to Gabe. “Guess some of us are just born to be free spirits. Funny, isn’t it?”
“What’s funny about it?” Gabe asked.
“Most people would have assumed that you would have been the one who wound up with the spotty employment record.”
“Because I’m a Madison?”
“Yes.” She gave him a steely smile. “Whereas I am a stable, steady, long-range planning Harte.” She turned to the others. “I suggested to Gabe that he might want to hire me into an executive position at Madison Commercial, but he declined on the basis of my erratic résumé.”
Gabe rested an arm along the back of his chair. He did not take his eyes off Lillian. “That wasn’t the reason I said I wouldn’t hire you.”
“What was the reason?” Hannah asked curiously.
“She pointed out that within a very short time she would probably be trying to tell me how to run my company. I said if that happened, I’d have to fire her. We both agreed there was no point even starting down that road, given the foregone conclusion.”
“As you can see,” Lillian said, “the decision not to hire me at M.C. was mutual. The last thing I need is another short-term position on my résumé.”
The tension that had cloaked the dining room lightened, as she had hoped. Hannah took her cue and shifted deftly to the new topic.
“But you are looking for a new job, I take it, now that you’ve closed Private Arrangements?” she asked.
“Well, no,” Lillian said.
“You’re going to apply for unemployment? That’d be a first for a Harte,” Gabe mused.
“I’m not going on unemployment.”
Rafe raised one brow. “Accepting a position with Harte Investments?”
“Never in a million years. It’s not just that I can’t work for my father. The main problem is that I’m not the corporate type.”
Gabe sat forward and folded his arms on the table. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you going to do next?”
“Paint.”
“You’ve always painted,” Hannah replied.
“I’m going to do it full time now. I’m turning pro.”
All three of them contemplated her as if she had just announced that she intended to go to work in a carnival sideshow.
Hannah groaned. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve closed Private Arrangements so that you can devote yourself to art.”
“I’ve closed Private Arrangements so that I can devote myself to art.”
“Mom and Dad are going to have a fit.” Hannah flopped back in her chair. “To say nothing of Granddad.”
“I know,” Lillian said.
Rafe reached for the coffeepot. “Got any reason to think you can make a living painting?”
“I’ll find out soon enough whether it will work. Octavia Brightwell is going to put on a show of my work in her Portland gallery in a few weeks.”
Rafe smiled wryly. “I’d give you the standard advice about not quitting your day job. But I guess it’s too late.”
“Much too late,” she agreed.
Gabe stood at the rail of the inn’s broad front porch and watched the taillights of Lillian’s car disappear down the drive. Rafe leaned against a nearby post. Winston was stretched out at the top of the steps, his paws dangling over the edge, ears and nose angled to take in the sounds and scents of the night. Hannah had disappeared back into the warmth of the kitchen.
“If you’re going to be here in Eclipse Bay for a whole month, maybe I’d better fill you in on some of the local news,” Rafe said after a while.
“Save your breath. I’m not real interested in gossip.”
“This concerns Marilyn Thornley.”
Gabe took a moment to rummage around in his memory for some images of the woman he had dated for a time in those first years after college. She had been Marilyn Caldwell in those days, the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the region. The Caldwells’ home was in Portland but, like the Hartes, they had always kept a second home in Eclipse Bay. They also had a third in Palm Springs.
Marilyn had excellent instincts when it came to selecting winners. Gabe knew that while she had viewed him as having long-term potential, Trevor Thornley had looked like more of a sure thing. She had taken a long, hard look at the two men and chosen to cast her lot with Thornley.
There had been no hard feelings on his part, Gabe reflected. He certainly couldn’t fault her decision. It had been a sensible, businesslike move. Trevor had been on the fast track in the political world. It was obvious even back then that he had the charisma, the glibness and the looks required to grab and hold the media’s and the public’s attention. It was clear that, barring some major disaster, he would go far, maybe all the way to Washington, D.C. All he required was money. Lots of it. Marilyn’s family had supplied the missing commodity. Everyone had agreed that it made sense to invest in a son-in-law who was on his way to becoming a major political powerhouse.
There had been an unexpected bonus for Thornley in the arrangement. Marilyn had proven to be a brilliant campaign strategist. With the help of the politically astute staff of the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute, she had orchestrated every step of Trevor’s career. Under her guidance, he had moved up steadily through the political ranks. Last fall, he had announced that he was making a bid for the U.S. Senate.
To everyone’s surprise, he had pulled out of the race shortly before Thanksgiving. The only explanation Gabe had seen in the papers was the ubiquitous personal reasons.
“What about Marilyn?” Gabe asked.
“Haven’t you heard? She and Thornley have filed for divorce. She moved into her folks’ summer place here in town last month. She’s got an office at the institute.”
“A staff position?”
Rafe shook his head. “She’s getting set to launch her own career in politics.”
“Huh. Doesn’t surprise me. She was born for politics.”
“Yeah. Just one problem.”
“What’s that?” Gabe asked.
“Word is she burned through a big pile of her f
amily’s money financing Thornley’s career. Apparently her folks have declined to invest any more cash in politics for a while. Rumor has it they won’t be backing her. At least not until she’s proven that she can win.”
“In other words, she needs money.”
“Yeah. Lots and lots of it,” Rafe said knowingly. “I mention this because it occurs to me that you have what she wants. Expect you’ll be hearing from her as soon as she learns that you’re back in town.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. But don’t worry about it. One thing I can spot real quick is a woman who’s after my money.”
Rafe looked out over the dark bay. “The two of you were once an item.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Sure.” Rafe shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Consider yourself forewarned.”
“Okay.”
There was another pause. Gabe could feel his brother shifting mental gears.
“You really rented the old Buckley place for an entire month?” Rafe asked after a while.
“Yes.”
“Got to admit, it does seem a little uncharacteristic for you to do something like that. You think maybe Lillian is right? You burned out or something?”
“Madisons don’t do burnout. You ever heard of a Madison burning out?”
Rafe thought about that. “No. Heard of one or two exploding. Couple have imploded. Of course you’ve got your occasional cases of spontaneous combustion in the family. But never heard of any burnout.”
“Right.”
“What’s with you and Lillian, anyway?”
“What makes you think there’s anything between us?”
“I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most sensitive, intuitive, perceptive guy around.”
“Course not. You’re a Madison.”
“But even I could see that every time you looked at Lillian tonight you had the same expression you get when you’ve got a major deal going down at Madison Commercial.”
“Like you said, you’re not real sensitive, intuitive, or perceptive.”
“I’m not real stupid, either,” Rafe reminded him. “I’ve never seen that particular look when you were with any other woman.”
“Lillian’s not a business deal.”
“Hold on to that thought, because I’ve got a hunch that if you treat her like you would an M.C. investment you’re gonna have some serious problems.”
Gabe looked at Winston. “My brother, the advice columnist.”
Winston cocked his head and looked intelligent. It was an expression he did very well.
Rafe contemplated the empty drive. “Always figured you’d go off the rails someday.”
“Being a Madison and all.”
“Probably inevitable. Question of genetic destiny or something. You know, I’m a little sorry Hannah and Winston and I are leaving town tomorrow. Would have been interesting to see it.”
“What?”
“The train wreck.”
chapter 5
The storm came and went during the night. The morning dawned bright and mild for the time of year. The temperature was somewhere in the high fifties.
Gabe came to a halt at the top of the small bluff and looked down into Dead Hand Cove. The tide was out, exposing the five finger-shaped rocks that had given the cove its name. There were a number of dark holes and voids in the base of the cliffs. They marked a series of small caverns and caves that nature had punched into the rock.
He saw Lillian perched on one of the carelessly strewn boulders near the water’s edge. The winter sun gleamed on her dark hair. The keen edge of expectation that shafted through him heightened all his senses. He felt the now-familiar tightness in his lower body.
She wore a pair of snug black leggings that emphasized the neat curve of her calves and trim ankles. The neckline of an orange-gold sweater was visible above the collar of a scarlet jacket. Her hair was coiled into a knot at the back of her head.
She was bent intently over an open sketchbook propped on her knees.
Last night at Rafe and Hannah’s he had learned the terrible truth. She wasn’t just an arty type. She was a for real artist.
He watched the deft, economical movements of her hand as she worked on the drawing. There was a supple, controlled grace in the way she wielded the pencil that fascinated him. A sorceress at work on a magical spell.
A gull screeched overhead, breaking the trance that held him still at the top of the short cliff.
He pulled the collar of his black-and-tan jacket up around his ears and went down the pebbled path, moving quickly, perversely eager to get closer to his own doom. Probably a Madison thing, he thought.
She became aware of his presence when he reached the rocky patch of ground that formed the tiny sliver of beach. Lillian looked up quickly, turning her head to watch him. She seemed to go very still there on the rock. Sorceress caught in the act. He could sense the cool caution in her.
Maybe she was right to be wary of him. He sure as hell didn’t understand what was happening here, either. He forced himself to move more slowly as he neared her perch, trying for the laid-back, easygoing, nonthreatening look.
“How long were you standing up there spying on me?” she asked.
“You sure know how to make a man feel welcome.”
“I thought I was alone. You startled me.”
“Sorry. I usually work out in the mornings. There’s no gym in the vicinity so I thought I’d take a long walk, instead.”
“You just decided to walk in this direction?”
He smiled. “Is it me or do you always wake up in this charming mood?”
She hesitated and then returned his smile. “My turn to apologize. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’ve been feeling a little edgy lately.”
“What a coincidence. So have I.”
“I’m not surprised.” She looked wise and all-knowing. “Probably the burnout.”
“You’ve got me all analyzed and diagnosed, don’t you?” He lowered himself onto a nearby rock. “Are you on edge because I’m here in Eclipse Bay?”
“No,” she said.
“Liar.”
She shot him an irritated look. “It’s the truth. I’m on edge for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with you.”
“Such as?”
“You want a list?”
“Let’s hear it.”
Her mouth firmed. “Well, let’s see. There’s the fact that I’m not currently employed because I just closed my business.”
“Your own fault.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I’m also nervous about how well my show at the gallery will be received.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say to that so he let it go.
“Also, I had a couple of rather unpleasant scenes before I left Portland. I’ve been worrying about them. Wondering if I handled them properly.”
“What kind of scenes?”
She looked out toward the five finger rocks. “Anderson came to see me. He did not take it well when I told him I didn’t want to work on his book.”
“I’ll bet he didn’t. Did you mention that you had seen him in his red underwear?”
“Of course not.”
“Just as well. I wouldn’t worry too much about that scene, if I were you. What was the other one?”
“A man named Campbell Witley stopped me on the street to tell me that I had no business messing around in other people’s lives.”
Something in the tone of her voice made him look at her more closely. “This Witley guy scared you?”
She hesitated. “Maybe. A little.”
“Who is he?”
“The disgruntled ex-boyfriend of one of my clients. He didn’t like the fact that I had matched her with someone else, even though it’s obvious that Witley and Heather were not meant for each other.”
He searched her face. “Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“I’ll have him checked out.” He reache
d for the cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. “Madison Commercial keeps an investigation agency on retainer.”
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I had Townsend Investigations run a quick background check. Witley has no history of violence or abuse.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. It’s okay, really. Nella Townsend knows what she’s doing. The guy was just mad. I think what bothered me the most is that he had a point.”
“Bullshit.”
“He accused me of messing around with people’s lives and that’s exactly what I did. As a professional matchmaker I assumed a massive responsibility. What if I had made a terrible mistake? I could have seriously impacted someone’s future negatively.”
“Stop beating yourself up over this. You were a consultant. People paid you for advice. You gave it. They made their own decisions. A simple business transaction. You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty.”
She was silent for a moment, considering his words. Then her voice brightened.
“You do have a way of boiling things down to the bare essence, Madison.”
“One of the things I’m good at.” He leaned a little to get a look at the drawing on her lap. “Can I see what you’re working on there?”
She handed the sketchpad to him without comment.
He examined the drawing for a while and discovered that the longer he studied it, the more he wanted to look at it.
It was a picture of Dead Hand Cove but it was the cove as he had never really seen it, at least not consciously. There was a riveting intensity about Lillian’s rendering of this small chunk of nature—a dark promise of potent, primordial power. It called to something deep within him—made him aware that he was forever linked on the cellular level to these wild forces of life.
Damn. All that in a simple sketch. It was worse than he had thought. She was good. Very, very good.
“One thing’s for sure,” he said finally. “You were wasting your time in the matchmaking business. You’re an artist, all right. This is your calling.”
“Doesn’t mean my work will sell,” she said.
“No.” He handed the sketchpad back to her. “It also doesn’t change the fact that this is what you were born to do. Can I ask you a question?”