She sensed that her answer irritated him, but his voice was calmly unemotional. "If there should be any consequences, I want you to let me know. Don't try to face it alone. Will you promise to let me know?"
Lauren was too embarrassed to speak. She nodded, and he opened the car door for her. By the time she put the car into reverse, he was already striding back into the house.
Lauren glanced at the clock on the dashboard as she drove through the long stretches of Indiana farmland. "If there should be any consequences, I want you to let me know." Let me know … The last three words revolved continuously in her brain.
Yesterday, when they'd been talking about her move to Detroit, she had managed to casually impart the information that she would be back in Detroit on Friday, and that in the meantime the phone was being connected in her name. Nick could reach her on Friday simply by picking up the telephone and asking the operator for her new number, and he knew it. Why had he made it sound as if they wouldn't be talking to each other unless she needed to reach him to tell him she was pregnant?
In a way Lauren felt like something that had been used and then thrown away. They had laughed together and gotten to know each other; she felt so close to him—surely he felt close to her too. Surely he couldn't intend to just walk away and forget about her.
She loved Nick, and she knew he liked her. Perhaps he had already begun to love her… Perhaps that was why he had become so withdrawn and impersonal this morning! After thirty-four years of independence, and after being shunned by his own mother, Nick wouldn't like feeling dependent on a woman for his happiness. The more he felt himself caring, the more he would probably fight it, Lauren decided.
The sky was streaked with a pink sunrise as Lauren drove across the Mississippi River into Missouri. She was weary, but optimistic. When she got back to Detroit on Friday, Nick would call her. He might even hold out until Saturday or Sunday, but surely no longer.
9
« ^ »
Lauren's optimism stayed with her through the busy days of packing, and blossomed into excited anticipation on Thursday morning as she waved goodbye to her father and stepmother and started for Michigan.
With the directions Philip Whitworth had given her she had no trouble locating the elegant suburban community of Bloomfield Hills that night. She did have a little trouble believing that she was actually going to live there. One magnificent home after another flashed by. Spectacular stone-and-glass ranch houses were set well back from the tree-lined street, partially obscured by careful landscaping; splendid tudors sprawled beside immense white-pillared Georgian colonials.
It was ten o'clock at night when she pulled to a stop at the gates of a breathtakingly lovely Spanish-style condominium complex. The gatekeeper came out and peered at her through the open car window. When Lauren told him her name, he said, "Mr. Whitworth drove in half an hour ago, miss." Then he directed Lauren to the proper street, respectfully touched his fingers to the visor of his cap, and added, "I understand you're a new resident. If I can be of help, just let me know."
Lauren forgot her weariness as she pulled to a stop before a lovely courtyard with an arched entryway displaying the number 175. Philip had promised to meet her here and show her around, and his Cadillac was parked in the driveway leading to the private garage.
"Well, what do you think?" he said a half hour later as they completed the tour of the luxurious apartment.
"I think it's wonderful," Lauren said, carrying one of her suitcases into the bedroom, where an entire mirrored wall concealed closet space. She opened a closet door and her gaze swung back to Philip. "What should I do with these clothes?" It and every closet she opened was filled to capacity with wonderful suits and dresses of linen, silk and crepe. Lauren recognized some of the designer labels, while other garments looked as if they were Paris originals. Most of the things still had tags on them and had obviously never been worn. "Your aunt certainly has very youthful tastes in clothes," Lauren commented.
"My aunt is a compulsive shopper," Philip explained disinterestedly. "I'll phone some charity and have them come over and take all this stuff."
Lauren ran her hand down a gorgeous wine velvet blazer, then she glanced at the tag hanging from the sleeve. Not only did the woman have very youthful taste in clothing, she also wore the same size Lauren did. "Philip, would you consider letting me buy some of these clothes?"
He shrugged. "Take whatever you want and give the rest away; you'll save me the trouble."
He had started down the stairs to the living room below, and Lauren turned off the lights and followed him. "But those are very expensive clothes—"
"I know what they cost," he interrupted irritably, "I paid for them. Take whatever you want—they're yours."
After helping her carry in the rest of her things from the car, he turned to leave. "By the way," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "My wife doesn't know I bought this place for my aunt. Carol feels that my relatives impose on me financially, so I've never mentioned it to her. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it either."
"No, of course I won't," Lauren promised.
After he left, she looked around at the luxurious apartment that was now her home, at the marble fireplace, valuable antiques and gracious silk-upholstered furnishings. The condominium looked as if it had been decorated for a magazine layout. A vision of the alluring clothes hanging in the upstairs closets superimposed itself in her mind. "My wife doesn't know I bought this place for my aunt; so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it…"
A knowing smile slowly dawned on Lauren's face as she glanced again at the beautiful room and wryly shook her head. Not his aunt—his mistress! At some time in the recent past, Philip Whitworth must have had a mistress. Lauren shrugged the matter aside; it was none of her business.
She walked over to the telephone, sighing with relief when she heard the dial tone. The phone was working. Tomorrow was Friday, and Nick might call.
Early the next morning she sat at the kitchen table, making out her grocery list. Besides all the essentials, she needed two special items for when Nick came over: bourbon and Grand Marnier. Picking up her purse, she glanced at the telephone. The thought that he might never call her pushed forward in her mind, but she shoved it aside. Nick had wanted her very badly in Harbor Springs; he had made that obvious. If nothing else, sexual desire would bring him to her.
Two hours later she carried in the groceries she'd bought. She spent the rest of the day sorting through the clothes in the closets, trying them on and separating those that fit from those that had to be altered. Nick hadn't called by the time she went to bed, but she consoled herself with the thought that he would surely call tomorrow, which was Saturday.
She spent the next day unpacking and staying close to the phone. On Sunday she sat down at the desk and worked out a budget that would enable her to send home as much money as possible. Both Lenny and Melissa were helping too, but each of them had mortgages and other financial obligations she was free of.
The $10,000 bonus Philip had promised her was certainly tempting. If she could only find out the name of that spy, or else learn something that would be of real value to the Whitworths' company. Lauren shied away from the latter alternative. If she gave Philip confidential information, she would be no better than the spy she was trying to unmask.
Apart from her parents' debts there were her electrical bill, phone bill, groceries. She had a car payment to make and automobile insurance… There seemed to be no end to the list of obligations.
On Monday she saw some silver-gray yarn the color of Nick's eyes in a store, and she decided to buy it and knit a sweater. She told herself she would make it as a Christmas present for her stepbrother, but inside she knew she was knitting it for Nick…
The following Sunday night, as she laid out the clothes she would wear for her first day at work, she told herself that tomorrow he would call—he would call her at her new job to wish her luck.
10
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"Well, are you ready to quit?" her new boss, Jim Williams, joked at five o'clock the next afternoon. "Or do you think you want to stay on?"
Lauren sat across the desk from him, her shorthand notebook loaded with dictation. Nick hadn't called to wish her good luck on her first day, but she'd been so busy that she hadn't had much time to be miserable about it. "I think," Lauren said, laughing, "that you're like working with a whirlwind."
He grinned apologetically. "We work so well together that after you'd been here an hour, I forgot you were new."
Lauren smiled at the compliment. It was true, they did work well together.
"What do you think of the staff?" he prodded, and before Lauren could answer, he added, "It's the consensus among the men here that I have the most beautiful secretary in the corporation. I've been answering questions about you all day."
"What sort of questions?"