The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove Page 6

  Four

  His Majesty, also known as Mr. Rex, was inarguably the most renowned expert in beauty and fashion among the wealthy women of Virginia. His Richmond salon even drew the elite from Washington. On many occasions he’d been brought to Audubon’s estate to tend a guest’s coiffure. As far as Audubon was concerned, the only worthwhile reason to hire Mr. Rex was his fierce code of silence. He never talked about his clients to anyone, and neither did his well-trained staff.

  “His Majesty’s here,” Clarice announced to Audubon when the housekeeper, Bernard, called downstairs with the news. “Bernie’s cleared a place for him in the garden room because he insists on lots of natural light. Guess he’d get moldy in normal light. Ms. Petrovic has been brought to the throne room and is now being studied by His Majesty’s court. Bernie says His Majesty shrieked when he saw her. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

  As Audubon stepped onto the main floor, eager to see Elena after spending a long morning in his underground office, he heard Rex shouting at an assistant. The perpetually exasperated voice echoed down the marble-tiled center hall from beyond the whitewashed arch that led to the glass-enclosed piazza across the back of the house.

  “Use the cream facial, you twit! I said her skin was dry, not oily!”

  Lost in his dark mood, Audubon couldn’t manage even a disgusted smile as he strode toward the beauty battlefield. Winning Elena’s trust and pampering her—if Mr. Rex’s attention could be called pampering—would have been pure pleasure except for his ultimate goal.

  He had never let personal feelings interfere with his decisions before, but now two separate dilemmas had become tangled into one large, distracting worry. There was Elena, a woman like no other, and the first in years who made him want to rediscover life beyond his work. And there was Kash Santelli, his adopted son, who might be in trouble on an assignment. Their futures depended on Audubon … and possibly on each other.

  Audubon forced a smile as he entered the sprawling room filled with plants and white wicker furniture. In the center of a cleared circle, where antique wicker and lush greenery had been pushed aside as if to form an arena, Elena’s tall, slender body was sunk into a special beautician’s chair that Mr. Rex carted along on private appointments.

  In Clarice’s huge pink housedress she resembled an oversized bell with two slender clappers. Her bare legs stuck out from the knees down. They were propped on pillows atop the chair’s padded footrest, and her toes, decorated with red polish on the nails, were separated by chunks of cotton. Her willowy arms lounged on pillows along the chair’s armrests, and her fingers were also pried apart with cotton. Their nails bore no color—yet.

  “I’ve seen cats do that with their claws.” Audubon commented, halting nearby with his hands clasped behind him and his chin up. “You look as if you’ve just been startled by a puppy.”

  “A wolf,” she said deadpan. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” He was struggling not to chuckle. Then her line of vision, which had been blocked by Mr. Rex and a female assistant’s fussy maneuvers around her head, swiveled toward him and locked. Audubon felt a surge of excitement through his nerves, his blood, his thoughts. She was studying him with less wariness and more hope this morning, and in the hope there was also the pure, elemental trading of unsatisfied questions, fears, and desires.

  Troubling thoughts about the future tore at him. If he were forced to trade her to the State Department in return for favors in Kash’s situation—and if she were as important as he suspected—the State Department would tuck her away someplace for safe keeping, with a new identity and government supervision. He might never see her again.

  Well, what if you married her? You could trade her, but get her back later.

  Marriage? He had let the M word cross his mind in reference to a woman he hardly knew, had just met a few days ago? He, the man whose feelings toward marriage were sarcastic, at best? Audubon rubbed his aching forehead and consoled himself with the knowledge that she’d never accept his proposal, anyway. A woman who talked of nothing but freedom wasn’t likely to tie herself to the first American who offered.

  “Do you have a headache?” she asked in her husky, quiet voice. There was a hint of challenge in it, but also sympathy. Mr. Rex’s assistant was giving her a manicure, working now on her right hand. Elena lifted the left and waved the fingers at Audubon ever so slightly. I could help your headache, the gesture promised. Teased, a little. I know where you hurt.

  Audubon smiled but shook his head. Her rich blond hair was set in tight marching regiments of permanent-wave curlers, and her face was an owlish mask of chalk-colored cream, leaving holes around her blue eyes and the tentative smile on her small, lush mouth. The warm light of the sun pouring through the glass ceiling bathed both of them in its intimate glow, as if they were alone in the room, in the world.

  But they weren’t. A slew of people and problems stood between them. He took a deep breath and looked away, trying to regain his composure. It was even more unsettling to be hypnotized by a woman who, at the moment, resembled a member of some primitive tribe who’d decorated herself for a chastity dance. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

  “I am being tortured,” she replied dryly.

  Audubon stepped closer, nodding hello to Mr. Rex, whose pompadour of auburn hair, beaked nose, and bright Hawaiian shirt made him resemble a colorful, flapping parrot. “She’s such a dream under all that ragged hair,” Mr. Rex gushed. “I cut about four inches off of it. I can’t wait to see her unrolled and fluffed.”

  “This is safe, this unrolling and fluffing?” she asked solemnly.

  Audubon sighed. “Only if you cooperate.”

  Mr. Rex flung his hands up in delight. “Oh, and just wait until we get rid of those tacky clothes and start trying on some of the gorgeous things on the racks my people are setting up in the main living room. My darling ladies are going to have such fun dressing you. They’ll treat you like a Barbie!”

  She had never taken her eyes from Audubon, even as she listened to the ever-talking Mr. Rex. Her gaze continued to draw Audubon’s concentration, even surrounded by ten tons of white goo. Now he watched her eyes narrow in thought. “What is a Barbie, and how do Americans treat it?”

  “It’s a classic and beloved doll for children,” Audubon assured her.

  “I hope you’re not shy about being stared at in your lacies,” Mr. Rex interjected, squirting a foul-smelling solution on her curlers.

  “What are lacies? Clothing that has laces in it?”

  “Lingerie,” Audubon explained, and found himself imagining her in ‘lacies’ with a vividness that made the unflattering pink housedress disappear. “But we can certainly get you some kind of lingerie that laces up, if you’re interested. You might need help getting out of it every night, though.”

  “Oh, my,” Mr. Rex said, chortling.

  She looked away, undone by Audubon’s counterattack, and laughed. “I’ll have to learn your slang very quickly, so I won’t get into trouble.”

  “Well, we have lots of respectable underthings for you to try on,” Mr. Rex continued. “And the ladies won’t make you feel like a striptease artist while they help you choose, I promise.”

  “I’m used to being examined—I mean, I’m not shy about having people look at me,” she said. Audubon saw the cosmetic mask pucker between her eyes as she frowned. She stared at the cobblestone floor as if lost in memories, unpleasant ones. His stomach twisted with a quiet, deep need to comfort her, though she hadn’t asked for comfort.

  “Well, you’re certainly a good sport about sitting here like this,” Mr. Rex said cheerfully, as he covered the curlers with a plastic cap. “Most women would be screaming if dear Mr. Audubon had ventured into this room.”

  She shot Audubon a troubled glance, then set her gaze on a white, wrought iron baker’s rack filled with African violets. “I’m sure that Mr. Audubon likes to startle his women.”

  There was enough humor in her vo
ice to show she wasn’t too bothered by his scrutiny. She ought not to affect him, dammit! And she didn’t seem to care whether she had to parade naked in front of a small army of female strangers who would tamper with her from head to toe in pursuit of fashion perfection.

  Audubon loved her sensible lack of discomfort at the same time that it worried him. For some reason he was reminded of Kyle Surprise, a former agent who’d been hurt badly during an assignment. Audubon had visited him during each of his hospital stays for plastic surgery. Kyle had grown so resigned to having his entire body exposed to the scrutiny of medical personnel that by the last hospital stay he had sat in bed naked, chatting unconcernedly with Audubon, while a doctor and several interns studied his scars. It was as if he’d learned to check his dignity at the admissions desk.

  Kyle was doing fine now, despite the scars that even surgery couldn’t conquer. His strength of character and the love of his new wife and daughter had pulled him through. Audubon frowned, wondering why Elena’s reaction to this undignified but hardly unpleasant situation would make him think of Kyle’s stoicism.

  “Mr. Rex, give me a minute alone with your noble victim, please. She and I have something to discuss. It can’t wait.”

  Mr. Rex sighed. “Only a minute. I wouldn’t want her perm to fry.”

  “Fry?” Elena repeated, her voice rising.

  “You’ll be fine,” Audubon told her. After Mr. Rex and his assistant left, Audubon pulled a wicker chair close to hers. He sat down while she straightened in guarded reaction. Leaning toward her, he put a hand on her arm and squeezed gently as he held her shuttered gaze. “You said you were one of Kriloff’s research subjects.”

  She nodded, and her proud shoulders never flinched. “One of many, yes.”

  “Since you were five years old?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you lived at the institute—you had no choice?”

  “That’s right. He tries to make his people believe they’re partners in his work, but in effect, they are only prisoners. I was never allowed to leave the institute without supervision.”

  “What about school, a social life?…”

  “Tutors were brought in. I had classes with several other children like me. They were also my playmates.”

  “Like you? Paranormals?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  Her fingers curled and uncurled in between the cotton packing. Despite her ridiculous appearance, she radiated dignity that took his breath away. But she seemed to be reconsidering her openness. “Why are you asking me these questions now?”

  “I want to know what happened to make you so casual about your body.”

  “Casual?”

  “You act as if you’re accustomed to having people touch you, look at you, do things to you that others might find very embarrassing.”

  She shifted in the chair, looked at him hard for a second, then shut her eyes. “I am accustomed to it all.”

  He winced. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know more, but he was driven to understand her. “I’ve read about the doctor’s theories. He says that paranormal powers are simply an exaggerated form of the electromagnetic energy all of us produce.”

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes swiftly. “We all share such powers. Some people, like me, have more than normal energy, and can focus it. But I’m impressed you know that.”

  “And so he studies the physical and mental aspects as well as the psychic.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means …” He stopped, an ugly taste in his throat. Her arm was icy under his hand.

  “Which means,” she continued for him, speaking slowly and with emphasis, “that I’ve undergone every medical test imaginable, been studied inside and out routinely all my life, and learned to give up the privacy of my body as well as my mind. Yes, I’m accustomed to being naked in front of groups of impersonal strangers, and yes, I learned many years ago to accept whatever was done to me in the name of science. I had no choice.”

  She ducked her head and stared at her lap. He was glad she wasn’t looking at him any longer. He had tears in his eyes. “You’ll never be treated that way again,” he said hoarsely. “I swear it.” Her gaze rose to his face as he continued headlong into his reckless promise. “I’ll die before I let you go back to that kind of life.”

  A small shocked and anguished sound of amazement burst from her lips. “Audubon,” she whispered. “Audubon.”

  Mr. Rex emerged from a doorway to another garden room. He called, “I really am sorry to intrude, but I have to check a test curl. I don’t want her to frizz.”

  “I wouldn’t want to frizz,” she murmured, tears sliding into the white goo as she continued to gaze at Audubon.

  “Absolutely not.” He cleared his throat roughly and stood up. Suddenly her arm warmed beneath his hand. “So you have excess electromagnetic energy,” he said, his voice gruff and distracted. “That hardly explains how miracles happen.”

  “Kriloff believes miracles can be pinned to a display board, like strange insects, then dissected.”

  “He’s a fool.” Audubon drew his fingertips off her skin, and the heat seemed to follow him. His head swam; it was all he could do to stop himself from chasing everyone out of the house and locking him and her in together, alone, so that they could talk and touch and share all the mysteries of their lives.

  “Well talk more, later,” he told her, stepping back shakily. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  She ordered up a small, trembling smile. “Yes. It will be interesting to see what you think of me after all of this … this fixing is done.”

  “I think you’re magnificent already.” He left the garden room on rubbery legs.

  The phone console buzzed. Clarice turned toward her rosewood desk and answered the phone. Her side of the conversation intrigued Audubon so much that he found himself leaning forward on the edge of his chair. She tossed the receiver back onto its rest and hooted with disgust. “Mr. Rex has been sniffing a bit too much hair spray, I’d say.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. He admits he was the only one who saw it. Elena was staring after you at the time.”

  Audubon grasped the edge of his desk. “What did he see?”

  Clarice slapped her silk skirt and laughed. “He said one of the African violets ‘exploded’ into bloom.”

  She was a different person now, and not just because she’d finally escaped from Kriloff. Everything she knew about herself, about her responses as a woman, about her fears and goals for every part of her life, was confused because of Audubon.

  Freedom was still her guiding light; she’d never jeopardize the chance to have it—to go where she wished, have a job, make her own living, make her own decisions. But wasn’t it possible she could have Audubon, along with the rest? Did he think of her as someone he wanted to know better—not as a project, but as a friend and lover?

  Elena looked at the transformed person in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in her suite’s bath and wasn’t certain what she was becoming. Whatever it was, it felt strong and optimistic. But it felt dangerous also. Freedom—or at the least the prospect of it—was a heady thing.

  Downstairs, the evening sun glinted through the beveled glass of the open French doors. The stalwart Bernard, dressed in his housekeeper’s uniform of patent shoes, black slacks, and a crisp white shirt with a gold tie, ushered her onto a patio by one of the pools, set in natural stone with a man-made waterfall at one end. Tall lamps with Victorian fixtures were beginning to flicker into life. She realized they were some modern wonder that responded to the setting sun.

  She felt the same way, her excitement growing brighter as she waited for Audubon to reach her personal horizon.

  Bernard stood patiently beside her, watching her wide-eyed appraisal of the place. He had a small team of maids and valets who scurried around during the day, doing the menial chores; he seemed to be a general, and she tried not
to stare at him in awe too. He was graying and dignified and very much like a picture she’d seen of Sir Laurence Olivier.

  “You look absolutely lovely, Miss Petrovic,” he said sincerely, guiding her toward a table set with linen, crystal, and a spray of white orchids in a short, porcelain vase.

  “Thank you. I am overwhelmed by the change myself.” The patio was surrounded by beds of tulips; draping willow trees whispered, as their green tresses swayed in a hint of breeze. The sunset’s golden light bronzed the pool’s surface. Elena’s senses were already drunk with stimulation, and Audubon hadn’t even arrived yet.

  She touched Bernard’s arm as he pulled a chair from the table and nodded toward it politely. “Please, I’m too nervous to sit down right now. May I ask you some questions about Mr. Audubon?”

  “Certainly.” He smiled, but she read the polite restraint in his expression. This man, like everyone else who worked for Audubon, belonged to his loyal inner circle of trusted allies. They wouldn’t reveal anything Audubon didn’t want revealed.

  “Have you worked for Mr. Audubon a long time?”

  “Ah! Since the Sphinx was a pebble! I came to work at Grace Hall when Mr. Audubon’s father was a young man, years before Mr. Audubon was born.”

  “Grace Hall?”

  “The original Audubon estate. A magnificent Southern mansion. It dated from seventeen eighty-two. It’s located not far from here.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “Mr. Audubon sold it to an international investment group twenty years ago. It’s become a country club.”

  “But … it had such tradition, such sentiment. Why did he sell it?”

  Bernard’s cordial expression stiffened a little. “I’m sure Mr. Audubon would prefer to answer these questions himself. It’s a … tragic story.”

  “His parents are dead?”

  “Yes, for many years,”

  “They had no other children?”

  “There was a younger child, a sister to Mr. Audubon, but she died in a ski lift accident in Switzerland when Mr. Audubon was only twelve.”