Snowflakes on the Sea Page 6

  Mallory stooped to recover the toy kangaroo that had been one of Nathan’s gifts to her and then held it close. She could hold her own against a flesh-and-blood woman any time. But how could she compete with thousands of them? How could she hope to prevail against the tidal wave of adoration lavished upon Nathan McKendrick every time he sang his soul-wrenching compositions?

  Still clutching the stuffed kangaroo, she sank to the sofa in dejected thought. Obviously the physical passion between her and her husband was as formidable as ever. Still, Mallory knew that a lasting marriage required more than sexual compatibility, more than romance.

  She sensed, rather than saw or heard, Nathan’s return to the room. He stood behind her, and though Mallory knew he wanted to touch her, he refrained. His voice was a low rumble and caused tremors in Mallory’s heart like some kind of emotional earthquake.

  “I’ve got to go to Angel Cove for a little while, Mallory,” he said. “Diane is doing one of her numbers again. Do you want to come with me?”

  Mallory did not turn to face her husband; she simply shook her head.

  “Babe—”

  Mallory held up both hands. “No—I’m all right. Just go and straighten everything out.”

  “We’ll talk when I get back,” he muttered, and Mallory could tell that he was already turning away. “Pumpkin, there is so much to say.”

  Yes, Mallory thought, there is so much to say, and it is all so painful. “I’ll be here,” she said aloud, wishing that she could crawl inside the pouch of the toy kangaroo and hide there forever. “Nathan?” she whispered, on the off chance that he was still near enough to hear.

  He was. “What?” he asked, somewhat hoarsely.

  “I love you.”

  He came to her then, bent, brushed her temple with his lips. A moment later, he was gone, and the glistening beauty of the decorated room was a mockery.

  Mallory sat very still for a long time, absorbed by her own anguish and confusion. It was only the smell of burning turkey that brought her back to her senses.

  She took Nathan’s awkward attempt at culinary competence from the oven before wandering into the bedroom to dress. When the telephone rang, she was standing in the kitchen, trying valiantly to salvage at least a portion of the incinerated fowl.

  “Hello!” she snapped, certain that the caller meant to make yet another impossible demand on Nathan’s time.

  “It’s me,” said Pat, Nathan’s sister, in a placating tone. “Mall, I’m sorry if I’m intruding—”

  Mallory loved Pat, and regretted the tart way she’d spoken. “Pat,” she said gently. “No, you’re not intruding. It’s just—”

  “That plenty of other people are,” Pat finished for her with quiet understanding.

  “Right,” agreed Mallory, who had learned never to try to fool her astute sister-in-law. At twenty-two, Pat was young, but her mind was as formidable as Nathan’s. “Shall we start with the band, and progress to Diane Vincent, press agent extraordinaire?”

  Pat sighed heavily. “Please,” she retorted. “I just ate.”

  Suddenly, inexplicably, Mallory began to cry in the wrenching, heartbroken way she’d cried after losing her parents.

  Pat drew in a sharp breath. “Mallory, honey, what is it? How can I help?”

  The warmth in Pat’s voice only made Mallory sob harder. She felt stupid, but she couldn’t stop her tears, and she couldn’t manage an answer, either.

  “Sit tight,” Pat said in brisk, take-charge tones. “I’m on my way.”

  Mallory sank into one of the kitchen chairs and buried her face in her hands. The telephone receiver made an accusing clatter as it bounced against the wall.

  It was a full fifteen minutes before Mallory regained her composure. When she had, she dashed away her tears, marched into the bathroom, ran a tubful of hot water and tried to wash away all the questions that tormented her.

  Was Nathan’s casual dislike for Diane Vincent really part of some elaborate ruse designed to distract Mallory and everyone else from what was really taking place?

  “Diane is doing one of her numbers again,” Nathan had said just before he dashed off to handle the situation.

  Mallory slid down in the hot, scented water to her chin, watching the slow drip fall from the old-fashioned faucet. Diane wasn’t really the issue, she reminded herself. It was just easier to blame her, since she was so obligingly obnoxious in the first place.

  Grimly, Mallory finished her bath and, wrapped in a towel, walked into the adjoining bedroom. As she rummaged through her drawers for clean clothes, she regretted not asking Pat to stop by the Penthouse for more of her things.

  Once dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft yellow sweater, Mallory went to the bedroom window and pushed back the brightly colored cotton curtains to look outside. The snow was still falling, already filling the tracks left by Nathan’s car.

  Mallory returned to the bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair and apply a touch of makeup. Unless she was on camera, she needed nothing more than a dab of lip gloss. Her eyelashes were thick and dark, requiring no mascara, and, normally, because of her fondness for the outdoors, her cheeks had plenty of color. Now, staring at herself in the old mirror over the bathroom sink, Mallory saw the pallor that had so alarmed her friends and co-workers of late. Because she hadn’t brought blusher from the penthouse, she improvised by pinching her cheeks hard.

  In the living room, the lights on Nathan’s Christmas tree were still blazing, and with a sigh, Mallory flipped the switch. The glorious tree was dark again, and the tinsel dangling from its branches whispered in a draft.

  Mallory closed the door leading into the living room as she went out. The January Christmas was a private thing, and she did not want to share it with anyone other than Nathan—not even Pat.

  In the kitchen, she sliced off a piece of turkey and gave it to an appreciative Cinnamon, but she had no appetite herself. She cleaned up the mess Nathan had left behind and put the half-charred bird into the refrigerator.

  Mallory was brewing fresh coffee when she heard the sound of a car motor outside. Knowing better than to hope that Diane’s crisis, whatever it was, had been resolved so soon, thus freeing Nathan, she didn’t bother to rush to the window and look out.

  The visitor was Pat. Her trim camel’s hair coat glistened with snowflakes as she rushed into the kitchen, shivering. “Good Lord,” she complained, hurrying to stand beside Mallory at the stove. “It’s cold out there!”

  Mallory laughed, somewhat rawly, and began to divest her sister-in-law of her coat and knitted scarf. When the things had been put away, the two women sat down at the kitchen table to sip coffee and talk.

  Pat’s shimmering blond hair was swept up into an appealing knot on top of her head, and she looked slim and competent in her tailored black suede suit and red silk blouse. Her blue eyes searched Mallory’s face as she warmed her hands on her coffee mug.

  “You were pretty shook up when I called, Mall. Are you okay now?”

  Mallory nodded. She was tired of all the solicitude, and besides, there was really nothing Pat could do to help. In any case, she had no intention of complaining about Nathan’s demanding life to his sister. “I—I’m all right, Pat—honestly. And I’m sorry if I frightened you. C-couldn’t we talk about something mundane—like the weather?”

  Pat gave her a cynical look, but she wasn’t the type to pry; that was one of her most endearing qualities. “You and Nathan assured me,” she said, arching one golden eyebrow, “that the weather on Puget Sound was mild. Do you realize that it has been snowing for almost a week?”

  Mallory shrugged, grinning. “What can I say in our defense? Every few years somebody up there forgets that it isn’t supposed to snow much here, and we get buried in the stuff. Seattle must be wild.”

  Pat rolled her eyes. “We are talking blatant insanity here!” she cried. “When I drove onto the ferry, I was amazed that I’d made it through town in one piece. People are slipping and sliding
into each other over there, with and without cars.”

  “You like Seattle, Pat,” Mallory challenged kindly. “You’re not fooling me one bit.”

  Suddenly Pat was beaming. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled, and her face glowed. “You’re right,” she confessed. “I love it! The water, the mountains, the trees—”

  Mallory laughed. “Not to mention the fresh raisin bagels they sell at Pike Place Market.”

  Pat shook her head. “I’ve sworn off bagels, along with lottery tickets and cigarettes.”

  “How about Roger Carstairs?” Mallory teased. “Have you sworn off him, too?”

  Pat seemed to shine like the Christmas tree hidden away in the living room at the mention of the handsome young attorney she’d met while acquiring property for Nathan’s growing corporation. Since then, Roger’s name came up a lot. “No way. I don’t make a habit of swearing off hunks, Mallory.”

  Mallory’s green eyes danced with mischief. “Patty McKendrick, you’re in love!”

  The guess was correct; Pat blushed slightly and nodded her head. “Don’t tell Nathan, though. I don’t want him doing one of his Big Brother numbers—demanding to know Roger’s intentions or something.”

  Mallory laughed. That would be like Nathan; he was fiercely protective of his sister, partly because their parents, like Mallory’s, were no longer living. “I promise not to breathe a word!”

  “Good,” Pat said. “How is Nate, by the way? He looked pretty undone at the penthouse the other night.”

  Mallory laid her hand on Pat’s, quick to reassure her. “He’s fine.” I’m the one who might have to be carted off in a padded basket.

  Like her brother, Pat could be uncannily perceptive at times. “Mall,” she began cautiously, “I love you, but you really look like hell. Have you told Nathan that you’re thinking of dropping your contract with the soap?”

  Mallory’s eyes strayed to the window, and she pretended an interest in the incessant snow. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Cinnamon came to lay her head in Mallory’s lap and whimpered sadly. Probably she was feeling abandoned, since Nathan had left her behind this time. Her mistress patted her reassuringly. “I’m not sure how he’ll take it, Pat.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not sure how he’ll take it? You know he hates the demands the show makes on you, and, well…” Pat paused, and when Mallory glanced back at her sister-in-law, she saw a reluctant look in her eyes. “Mallory,” she went on at last, “it hurts him that you don’t use his name anymore.”

  “I know,” Mallory nodded, thinking back to Diane’s visit the day before, when she had announced her intention to drop “O’Connor” and call herself Mallory McKendrick again. She hadn’t had a chance to explain her decision to Nathan—or was it that she hadn’t had the courage? Now, she wasn’t sure which was really the case. “I guess, in the back of my mind, Pat, I’m afraid that taking back my married name isn’t going to matter to Nathan. His life is so fast paced, and I’m not sure I can keep up anymore.”

  “Talk to the man, Mallory. Make him listen, even if you have to throw a screaming fit or insult his band to do it!”

  It was the only sensible course of action, and Mallory knew it. Too many times, all during her marriage to Nathan, she had stepped aside when other demands were made on him, however intrusive and unreasonable, content to wait her turn. A hot blush of anger crept up from her collarbone into her cheeks, and she drew a deep breath.

  Her turn had come.

  “I see I’ve gotten through,” Pat said, rising purposefully from her chair. “He’s over at the other house, I assume?”

  Mallory nodded, the high color of outrage still pounding in her cheeks.

  Pat collected her coat and scarf from the hall closet and came back into the kitchen. “I’ll spend the night over there, since I can’t quite face fighting my way through downtown Seattle tonight. And you, Mrs. McKendrick—you get Nathan on the phone and tell him to get over here, in no uncertain terms!”

  Mallory felt some of her determination drain away. Nobody told Nathan McKendrick to do anything, and Pat knew it as well as she did. “But if he’s busy—” she wavered, hating herself all the while. Busy doing what? taunted a voice in her mind. Holding Diane’s trembling hand? Soaking in the hot tub?

  Pat pressed her lips together in undisguised annoyance. “Stop with the peasantlike awe, will you, Mallory?” she snapped. “Nathan is a man, not a god. It’s high time he turned some of his energy into his marriage, and if you don’t tell him that, I will!”

  Mallory bit her lower lip, but she was already making her way to the telephone when Pat left the house. Her hands trembled a little as she dialed the number that would connect her with her husband.

  One of the band members answered in a lazy drawl. “Yeah?”

  “This is Mallory,” Mrs. McKendrick said bravely. “I would like to speak to Nathan, please.”

  “Oh—Nate. Yeah. Well, he’s not around right now.”

  Mallory felt a growing uneasiness quiver in the pit of her stomach. “Where is he?” she asked stiffly.

  There was a long, discomforting pause. “Diane was freaking out, so he took her back to Seattle.”

  Mallory drew a deep breath and let her forehead rest against the kitchen wall. “What do you mean, ‘Diane was freaking out’?”

  “I don’t know—like, she was just losing it, you know? Really coming undone.”

  “There must have been a reason,” Mallory insisted.

  Another pause. “Like, I’ll have Nate call you when he gets back, all right?”

  “Don’t bother,” Mallory snapped. And then, without pausing to give the matter further thought, she left the telephone receiver dangling, strode into the bedroom and began flinging the few things she’d unpacked back into her suitcases.

  Twenty minutes later, with Cinnamon sitting happily in the back seat, Mallory drove her sleek black-and-white Mazda onto the passenger ferry that would carry her back to Seattle.

  The huge vessel, capable of transporting both pedestrians and motorists, had always reminded Mallory of an old-time riverboat, with its railed decks and dozens of windows. Normally she loved to stand on the highest deck, watching the magnificent scenery pass and feeding chunks of snack-bar cinnamon rolls to the gulls, but today it was bitterly cold and she didn’t even bother to get out of the car and climb the metal stairs leading to the lower deck. She simply sat behind the wheel, Cinnamon patient behind her, and stared beyond the other cars parked in the bowels of the craft to the water ahead.

  The snow was still falling, and Mallory watched in aching silence as the huge, intricate flakes, so beautiful and perfect, came down to the salty waters of Puget Sound and were dissolved. The snowflakes, like the love she and Nathan shared, were at once breathtakingly beautiful and temporal.

  Mallory lowered her head to the steering wheel, and she didn’t lift it again until the great horn sounded, announcing that Seattle was just ahead. When the ferry docked, Mallory collected her scattered emotions and concentrated on the task of driving. Navigating in the storm-plagued city would require all her attention.

  Pat had certainly been right about the traffic conditions, and the next half hour was harrowing. Mallory was pale with exhaustion when she finally drew the small car to a halt in front of the expensive apartment complex in the city’s heart and climbed from behind the wheel.

  The doorman, George Roberts, rushed toward her. “Ms. O’Connor! I thought you were on the island—”

  With an effort, Mallory returned the man’s warm smile. She saw no need, the way things stood, to correct his use of her name. “Is Mr. McKendrick at home?” she asked, hoping that the vast importance of the matter didn’t show in her face.

  George shook his head, and wisps of powdery snow flew from the brim of his impeccable visored hat and shimmered on the gold epaulets stitched to the shoulders of his coat. “No, ma’am, he isn’t,” he answered, stealing an unreadable look at Cinnamon, who w
as whining to be let out of the car.

  Mallory turned her head to take one more look at the busy, storm-shrouded Sound. Snowflakes on the sea, she thought, aching inside.

  4

  Mallory hooked Cinnamon’s leash to her collar and flipped the seat forward so that the dog could leap out onto the paved driveway and wriggle in the joy of sudden freedom. “If you would?” she said to George, indicating the car.

  George Roberts nodded, smiling. “I’ll have it parked for you, Ms. O’Connor. Is there any luggage?”

  Mallory was already leading a delighted Cinnamon toward the well-lighted, posh lobby of the building. “There is,” she called over one shoulder. “But please don’t worry about it now. I’ll get it in the morning.”

  No one inside the building looked askance at Mallory and her canine companion, and no comments were made during the elevator ride either, though there were a surprising number of people crowded inside. Mallory liked to think that they were being kind—pets other than birds or tropical fish were strictly forbidden by general agreement—but she knew the real reason was simply deference to Nathan. After all, he owned the building.

  On the top floor, Mallory fumbled with the keys for several seconds, her hands numbed by the cold outside, and then managed to open the double doors leading into the penthouse. She paused in the lighted, marble-floored entryway, her eyes rising to the polished antique grandfather clock opposite the door. It was still very early—what was she going to do with the rest of the evening?

  Mallory sighed as Cinnamon whimpered beside her; in her turmoil she’d forgotten how very inconvenient the high-rise apartment building would be for the poor creature, who was used to roaming the island at will. With glum resignation, Mallory locked the penthouse again and pushed the button that would summon one of the two elevators serving the building.

  The doorman raised a curious eyebrow when Mallory and Cinnamon stepped out into the snowy night so soon after going in. But he said nothing.

  Mallory walked Cinnamon until she could bear the stinging cold no longer, and then went home again. After feeding the dog two cans of liver pâfaté in the enormous kitchen, Mrs. Nathan McKendrick marched down the hallway to the plush master bedroom and began shedding her clothes.