CHAPTER THREE

Claire left Brooke setting the table when the doorbell rang. “Must be Lorraine. I’ll get it.” Claire left the kitchen and went to the front door. She tried to smile when she saw her friend. “Hi, Lorraine.”

“Hello, Claire.” Lorraine greeted her. She was a tall, striking woman. In her late fifties, she had a smattering of gray in her layered auburn hair. She wore a big white shirt with screen-print roses and red capri pants. Like Brooke, Lorraine had an innate sense of style and, despite her wealth, she was unpretentious and friendly.

“Glad you made it all right.” Claire stepped back.

“You gave excellent directions.” Seconds after Lorraine stepped over the threshold, she lifted her face and inhaled deeply. “Whatever that scent is, I love it.”

“Pear vanilla,” Claire informed her, and closed the door.

Lorraine glanced at the living room and dining room flanking the entrance foyer that led to the family room in the back of the house. “Claire, your home is lovely. So warm and vibrant.”

Claire flushed with pleasure. “Thank you. Yellow was my mother’s favorite color. Now it’s mine.”

“It’s so peaceful and natural.” Lorraine cast appreciative glances as she followed Claire through the great room.

“Mother believed less was better and kept the space open with scatter rugs on the hardwood flooring throughout the house. We all liked walking on the beach and the neutral furniture can take it and no one had to worry about tracking in sand,” Claire said as she entered the kitchen to see that Brooke had finished setting the table.

Introductions were quickly made and in a matter of minutes the women were sitting down to a dinner of spicy spaghetti with thin slices of link sausage and homemade spaghetti sauce. Claire was thankful she’d already made the pound cake for the meeting. She topped it with ice cream and plump strawberries. At least she could offer her two friends a decent meal. Finished, they cleaned up the kitchen, put away the food together, then sat around the small table sipping coffee and talking.

“I hope the book club members like the little gifts.” Picking up a medium-sized red gift bag, Claire handed it to Lorraine. “These are for you.”

“Claire, thank you.” Smiling, Lorraine pulled out a bar of rose-shaped soap, a jar candle, and potpourri. “They smell wonderful.” She touched a manicured nail to the satin ribbon on the potpourri. “And look too beautiful to use. This is too much.”

Claire was already shaking her head as Lorraine tried to give the items back. “You encouraged me to join the book club, had meetings in your home when it was my turn because you knew I couldn’t afford to feed them, and helped me after Mama died. I wish it was more.”

“You certainly know my weakness.” Lorraine sniffed the scented soap and candle. “Smells like a mixture of peach blossoms and vanilla. I love candles, and bath and body products.”

“Me, too.” Brooke sat across from them at the small table. “I can’t believe Claire made them.”

Lorraine’s attention snapped to Claire. “You made these?”

Claire folded her hands in her lap and repeated what she’d told Brooke, then finished by saying, “This is the first time since Mama died that I felt like making them.” A bit embarrassed by the way Lorraine was staring at her, she shifted in her seat. “I just wanted to give the women something special for letting me be a part of the book club.”

“She made them all perfumed soap.” Getting up from the chair, Brooke returned with the sweetgrass basket and set it on the table. “If it wouldn’t be rude, I’d accidentally misplace one in my bag.”

“I made some extra if you want one,” Claire said.

“I’ll take one.” Brooke quickly accepted with a smile. “Since I’m not in the book club, I’d like to pay you.”

“Mama would be ashamed of me if I charged my friends. I’m just glad you like them.” Claire glanced from Brooke to Lorraine, still finding it difficult to believe that two such sophisticated women, who were used to the best, liked her products.

Lorraine picked up a bar of soap in the nylon bag and brought it to her nose, then inhaled and closed her eyes for a moment. “Hmm. The women are going to go crazy over the soaps. You’re sure you won’t come?” She turned to Brooke. “You’re welcome as well.”

Both women quickly declined. “Please explain and tell them that I’ll try to make it next month,” Claire said.

“No trying. I’m letting you miss this time, but next month I want you there.” Lorraine smiled across the table at Brooke. “There’s always room for one more.”

Brooke shook her head and picked up her glass of sweetened iced tea. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass.”

“If you change your mind about tomorrow night, or joining, please feel free to contact me. Claire knows the phone number.” Lorraine stood. “Do you want me to take the soap in the basket and return it?”

The coiled basket had been made by her great-great-grandmother. It was one of the few things that had passed from one generation to the next. “I’ll pick it up.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Lorraine said firmly. “I’ll bring it by one day next week.”

“Thank you.” Claire walked her friend to the door, fervently hoping by then she’d have a job.

*   *   *

What am I going to do?

Claire had pondered the question all night, and as she watched the sun slowly rise, turning the Atlantic into a sparkling blue jewel, she still had no answer. Her severance pay was for only two weeks, and her unemployment check wouldn’t come even close to paying the mortgage payment. She couldn’t lose the house. She’d promised her parents. They were proud that they owned land that served as an entry point for their ancestors. The house would be the beginning of a legacy that would be handed down through her to her children and her children’s children.

At least that was her parents’ hope. But there were no children, and it didn’t appear as if there would be any.

There was no man in her life, and never had been. She’d always been shy and a loner. One of the reasons she had chosen to major in Computer Science was that she dealt with machines better than with people. She had viewed working overtime and on holidays as a way of reaching her goal of being financially independent by the time she was fifty. Marriage and family would come, but she was too busy trying to rise in her profession to date. Now, at thirty-nine, she had done neither.

Getting up from the bed to go into the kitchen, Claire caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser in her bedroom. Everything about her was ordinary: her face, her eyes, her mouth, and her nose. She’d never stop traffic the way Brooke did and she certainly didn’t have the air of confidence or poise that Lorraine possessed. She didn’t have that sparkle, that zip.

For some odd reason, she thought of Brooke’s comment about her missed opportunity with Gray. It would be laughable if it weren’t so implausible. By the time he turned thirteen and was almost six feet tall, girls were after him. He could have had his pick. The daughter of the cook and the chauffeur wasn’t even in the running … not that she wanted to be.

Annoyed with herself for letting her mind wander to something so totally off base, she left her bedroom and headed for the beach. Perhaps a walk would clear her head.

*   *   *

Her hand clenching the cell phone, Brooke paced the floor and waited for Randolph to pick up. It was barely ten minutes after four on Saturday morning. This was her third time trying to reach him since she’d set her alarm clock for four AM. Last night she kept getting his machine. Every time she’d think he might be out with another woman, she’d glance at her gold bracelet on her wrist. He must have been too tired to check his messages last night and simply forgotten this morning.

Randolph cared about her. He’d told her numerous times. Once she talked to him everything would be all right. Perhaps he’d even ask her to marry him now and she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a new job at all. She’d be too busy planning her wedding.

“Peterson.”

Hearing Randolph’s voice, Brooke felt tears sting her eyes. She blinked them away. Randolph didn’t like emotional women. “Randolph, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”

“I had a lot of work to do and I had the machine on. I was trying to finish this morning, but the phone kept disturbing me,” he grumbled.

Brooke tried to remember how Randolph hated being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but something terrible has happened.”

“You’re dumping me?”

Brooke blinked. “No, honey, you know I love you … it’s something else. Yesterday I was laid off.”

“What! What did you do?”

She was almost as shocked by his second question as she was by his first. “I didn’t do anything! It was my supervisor, Opal Severs; she’s always had it in for me. Because Middleton is going through restructuring, she probably put my name at the top of the list to go. The hag.”

“Restructuring doesn’t work that way, Brooke. Upper management has some say-so in the leveling process, but consultants usually have the final say on the positions that are expendable.”

Her hand tunneled though her hair in rising irritation. Randolph could be so … so analytical and logical at times. “Randolph, we’re talking about my job. They only gave me two weeks’ severance pay.”

“You’ll find another position. You’re smart, savvy, and gorgeous. I can think of several companies that would snap you up.”

She perked up. “Which ones? Can you call them?”

“You don’t need me to do that, dear. One of the reasons I’m so crazy about you is your resourcefulness. You’ll find another job and be back in management before I get home. Now, I have to run. These reports are due Monday morning and I want to make sure they’re on time and correct. The bank president and the board will be there. I need to make a good impression.”

“But Randolph—”

“You’ll do fine. I really must get back to those reports. I’ll call later. Bye.”

“But…” Brooke’s voice trailed off as she realized he’d hung up on her. How could he have done that to her? Cell phone in her hand, her mind reeled with confusion. She’d thought he’d be sympathetic, offer encouragement. He’d done none of those things. She tried to hang on to his promise that he’d call later. Laying down on the bed, she snapped out the light, put her arm over her eyes and wished she could call her mother.

*   *   *

Randolph hung up the phone and turned. She was still there. He went from semi-aroused to full arousal in the next breath. She wasn’t as beautiful as Brooke, but she was more exotic, more alluring in an openly sexual way. She’d proven it last night. There wasn’t any sex act she wasn’t willing to do.

He didn’t feel the least bit ashamed that he was being unfaithful to Brooke. He might care for her, but he wanted a wife who was on an upward career path. Having a beautiful, intelligent woman as his wife would be a great business asset. But in the meantime, there was no reason to deprive himself of sexual pleasures.

A real man couldn’t be expected to remain celibate the way a woman did. His father certainly had his little affairs. Women on the side were almost an honored Southern tradition. And this one he’d picked up at a party at the American Embassy last night was stunning. A jet-setter, she was in between husbands and beds. Randolph couldn’t believe his luck.

A half smile on her mouth, she walked over to him. Red nails trailed along his chest, down his stomach, over his groin. The contact was just short of pain. Air hissed through his teeth, then he forgot all about the pain as she dropped to her knees and expertly took him into her mouth.

“J-Jan-aa,” he moaned raggedly, forgetting everything but the woman in front of him. He’d heard she could sap a man’s soul. He was more than willing to let her try.

*   *   *

Claire fixed a breakfast she didn’t want, because she had a guest. However, seeing Brooke’s unhappy face Saturday morning around ten, Claire wasn’t sure the younger woman was hungry either. “You still can’t reach Randolph?”

Brooke’s lower lip trembled, then she pulled out a wrought-iron chair and sat down at the table. “We spoke briefly. He was working on a report. He’s going to call later.”

Claire wasn’t sure how to respond. Wouldn’t a man in love with a woman want to comfort her at a time like this and put her first? “Did you give him this number?”

Brooke, who had been looking down at her hands in her lap, lifted her head. Misery swam in her teary eyes. “He has my cell.”

“Of course.” Claire hated that Brooke, who always was so lively and self-assured, was so unhappy. “Have you spoken with your parents yet?”

Brooke swallowed. “I think I’ll wait.”

A change in subject was definitely in order. “The biscuits are homemade and so are the peach preserves. I’ll be offended if you don’t eat. Afterwards we can take a walk along the beach and I can show you around Sullivan’s Island.”

Brooke picked up a biscuit and put it on her plate, but she made no attempt to eat. “I think I’ll stay in my room and wait on the call from Randolph.”

“He can reach you just as well while you’re out,” Claire said, opening the preserves and putting a heaping tablespoon on Brooke’s plate. “I feel a scream coming on and I might need a reference in case they try to arrest me.”

Finally, Brooke looked at Claire. “What if I’m screaming just as loud as you?”

“We’ll be in the cell together until Lorraine springs us,” she said, happy at least that she could find a smile and that she had a loyal friend like Lorraine.

Brooke picked up her fork and cut into her ham. “Works for me.”

*   *   *

It was close to five that afternoon when Claire pulled back into her garage. They’d been gone longer than she had intended, but as the day had worn on and Randolph hadn’t called, Claire had been determined to take Brooke’s mind off him. Claire reasoned that other men might be able to accomplish that goal. She certainly didn’t have any experience getting men’s attention, but thankfully Brooke had achieved that on her own.

Every place they went, Fort Moultrie, the lighthouse, the beach, men noticed Brooke. She resembled Halle Berry and had the same flawless caramel skin and flirtatious smile. The sadness Brooke couldn’t hide gave her a certain vulnerability that had men gravitating to her like metal shavings to a magnet. The straight white strapless sundress with high-heeled sandals probably helped. Claire would have broken her neck in heels half that height.

A couple of them even tried to talk to Claire, but since she had never received that kind of attention before, she was sure the reason was because they were trying to get next to Brooke. Claire hadn’t minded. By the time they were on their way home, Brooke’s smile was back and she had five phone numbers in her little Fendi bag.

“What are you going to do with those numbers?” Claire asked as they entered the house through the garage.

“What I always do.” Brooke took them out of her purse and threw them in the trash beneath the sink. “I used to try and say no thank you, but found it was simpler to just take the number and discard them later.”

Shaking her head, Claire washed her hands in the sink and pulled two glasses from the white glass-front cabinet. She’d definitely never had that problem. “Does that happen when you’re out on a date with Randolph?” Claire could have kicked herself when she saw the shadow return to Brooke’s eyes.

“Yes, but Randolph is the only man I want,” Brooke said firmly. “We love each other.”

Claire wondered if Brooke was trying to convince herself when the phone rang. Brooke, who was closest to the extension on the end of the yellow tiled counter, reached for the phone, then abruptly stopped. Claire knew she had remembered that Randolph didn’t have Claire’s home phone number.

“I think I’ll go lay down for awhile.”

Watching her friend leave, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped, Claire felt a distinct dislike for the absent Randolph. She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“You’re a hit.”

Claire frowned on hearing the excitement in Lorraine’s voice. “A hit?”

Laughter flowed through the line. “Your bath products. The ladies went nuts over the soaps.” She laughed again. “I think a few of them were a bit jealous when they saw the candle and potpourri you had created for me.”

“I’m glad they liked them.” Claire’s mind wandered to Brooke.

“Like is too mild a word. We agreed, hands down, that yours were the nicest mementos of any book club meeting.” Lorraine’s voice became subdued. “They felt guilty in accepting the gifts when I told them your situation.”

“I didn’t want their pity or for them to feel sorry for me,” Claire said, a bit defensively.

“I know. I was shameless I’m afraid, and told them if they couldn’t accept your gracious gift I’d be happy to donate it in their name to the women’s shelter Monday when I go to volunteer.” Amusement returned to her voice. “There were no takers. They were still talking and sniffing when they left fifteen minutes ago. I’ve been trying to call you ever since.”

“Brooke and I went out for a while.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know you’re definitely a hit and your talents are appreciated.”

Just not in the right way. Claire shook off the thought. There would be no self-pity. “Thanks. Is Hamilton home?”

“He called this morning. He’ll be home tomorrow.” Excitement rang in Lorraine’s voice. “Hopefully he’ll be home for a while this time.”

Claire knew Lorraine’s husband was a certified turnaround expert. It suddenly hit Claire that he might have had something to do with Middleton. Even if he hadn’t worked on Middleton, there were others just like her that he had caused to lose their jobs. They were names, not people with hopes and dreams, to him.

“Claire, is everything all right?” Lorraine asked as the silence lengthened.

“I was just remembering what Hamilton did for a living.”

A sharp intake of breath came clearly through the phone.

“But I remembered something else that’s even more important. You and your friendship. I’m glad we’re friends and nothing will ever happen to change that.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Thankfully she heard the relief in Lorraine’s voice.

“Let’s stop before we get soppy. Thanks for the call. I’m going to run out and get an early Sunday paper to check the want ads.” She wasn’t giving up. Monday morning she planned to be ready to hit the ground running.

“Good luck.”

There were those two words again. “Thanks.” Claire hung up and added. “I’ll need it.”