Chapter 6
The next morning, Lindsay got to her desk promptly at nine. At five minutes after nine, a hand dropped from out of nowhere onto her stack of papers. A large, square-cut diamond ring flared at her.
She looked up from the hand into Jeanne’s face, which was also sparkling.
“What—!” Lindsay stood and sent her chair rolling backward. Her eyes went from the flashing ring to Jeanne’s face one more time. “Brad?”
Jeanne nodded, still beaming. “Guess he decided not to cheap out for Christmas after all.”
“Congratulations!” Lindsay crunched her friend into a hug, still trying to take it all in. She’d only met Brad once or twice, and he wouldn’t have been her first choice, what with his penchant for televised sports, cheap burgers, and sudden arguments. But if Jeanne was happy, so was she.
Lindsay wondered, fleetingly, if the big, chunky stone was cubic zirconia, then stomped the thought down. As long as Jeanne’s happy, she reminded herself.
She pulled back, allowing her friend to breathe. “Tell me how it happened! Were you expecting anything like this?”
Jeanne shook her head, still smiling from ear to ear. “Not in a million years.”
And Lindsay saw it. Or she thought she did. A shady flicker, just beneath the brightness in Jeanne’s eyes. Lindsay felt a chill of recognition as Jeanne continued.
“We were on our way out to dinner,” she said. “He just fished into his pocket and brought out this black velvet box. . . .”
The details faded from Lindsay’s hearing. Because when someone surprised you with a box containing a diamond ring, she knew from experience, there was only one answer that came easily.
“—and what else could I say?” Jeanne finished, with the same big smile firmly in place. The longer Lindsay saw it, the more she sensed the underlying effort behind it. That flicker of doubt.
She could be imagining it.
“I’ve never been so surprised in my life,” Jeanne added.
No. It wasn’t her imagination.
Lindsay kept her own smile in place as well. She didn’t know what else to do.
It hounded her through the morning. Not just the vision of Jeanne bringing drinks and chips to a couch potato who wouldn’t even say “Thank you”—because, after all, Lindsay didn’t know that was the way Jeanne’s marriage would turn out. She just strongly suspected it.
What really bothered her was the nagging suspicion that Jeanne knew, deep down, that she was making a mistake. A mistake Jeanne didn’t want to admit to anyone, least of all herself. The same mistake Lindsay had nearly made with Steven ten years ago, before she returned his ring and ran out on him.
She’d solved her problem, all right. In a way that guaranteed Steven would never want to see her again. A shabby end to a pleasant four-year relationship.
Pleasant. Now, there was a bland word. Had that been the problem all along?
Lindsay tried to think back on her time with Steven as she slogged through her morning’s work. Four years together, and she couldn’t remember a single argument. He’d been considerate and dependable. They’d griped about the same teachers, seen the same movies together, and, more often than not, they’d helped decorate each other’s Christmas trees. Pleasant. What was so wrong with that?
Lindsay thought of the little current that had passed between her and Fred, just from the brush of his finger on her cheek. Then the relaxed contentment of gazing at the tree with his hands resting on her shoulders. Making fudge, walking together on a snow-flanked sidewalk . . . surely all of that was pleasant, too. But it was something more.
Now she was comparing Steven with an Englishman who’d appeared in her life out of thin air. As if anything real could come out of that.
Even if she was right about Jeanne, who was Lindsay to give advice?
Lindsay sighed and looked at her watch. Nearly lunchtime. She wouldn’t be going out for Thai food today; that was a rare splurge, and Jeanne was meeting Brad for lunch to celebrate. Lindsay pulled open her drawer and eyed the sandwich she’d brought yesterday, but day-old peanut butter looked far less inviting than a chance to get out of the office for a while. Maybe a change of scenery would help her get away from thoughts of ex-boyfriends, glittering diamond rings, and that hint of dimness in Jeanne’s smile.
Lindsay went to the food court at the mall nearby. She could grab some fast food, and maybe she’d manage some quick Christmas shopping after she gobbled her chicken nuggets.
Predictably, this close to Christmas, the food court was thick with people. As Lindsay stood in line, she went through her gift list mentally: Jeanne, Phil, Evelyn, Matt . . . what could she come up with that she hadn’t already given them before? It got harder every year to find new inspiration. And every year, it seemed like she got a little closer to the wire. Maybe this was the year she should just buy gift cards and get it over with.
The mall’s Muzak reached her ears, singing about growing a little leaner, a little older, a little sadder . . . a little colder.
Great. Now even Johnny Mathis was picking on her.
Lindsay got through the line, turned to search for a seat, and her food tray nearly collided with a familiar charcoal-black overcoat.
Fred steadied the tray as Lindsay staggered off balance.
One glance told him this wasn’t the same woman he’d left sitting contentedly on her couch last night. Her eyes—that clear, light gray that usually reminded him of snowflakes—were more like storm clouds today, troubled and shadowy. Fred felt his own mood dim slightly, and that was a foreign sensation to him. But he didn’t like seeing her so disquieted.
Lindsay barely looked up at him. “Not now, Fred,” she said, and started to pull the tray away.
Not good. Not good at all. She didn’t even seem surprised to see him. Either she was getting very blasé about this whole thing, or something was truly distressing her. He tried not to dwell on how much her mood unsettled him, or what his own reaction might mean.
He held firmly to the tray. “Not so fast. What’s wrong?”
She tugged at the tray again. “Fred, seriously. I’m not in the mood.”
“I can see that. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
This could be a splendid opportunity, as good a glance into Lindsay’s inner demons as he was ever likely to get, but that wasn’t what kept his grip so tenaciously on her tray. He didn’t like that cloudy look in her eyes, as if she really weren’t seeing him at all. That troubled crease between her eyebrows. Laugh lines were fine, but that crease didn’t belong there. He yearned to rub it away, as if he could erase it with his thumb.
He held on to her gaze as firmly as he could. “Let’s sit down.”
Her eyes regained a little of their focus, and she relinquished the tray. Good. He’d reached her, at least a little.
Finding a seat in this mass of humanity could be a trick. The food court resembled a parking lot of tables, with little more space between them than so many parked cars. But that was a problem much more easily solved than Lindsay’s troubled mood.
A few feet away, Fred glimpsed two young women lingering needlessly over two nearly-empty drink cups, and kept his eyes there; a moment later they both stood, still chatting, never consciously aware of his gaze. Fred held one of the newly vacated chairs out for Lindsay, then took his seat across from her.
She preoccupied herself arranging the items on the brown plastic tray in front of her. Then her eyes flicked up. “How’d you find me here?”
Unimportant details again. “Maybe because you needed me. I’m here for you, remember?”
Light brown eyelashes lowered. A sure sign she had something to say, and didn’t want to say it.
He fought off the temptation to reach for her hand. “So, what’s this thing you don’t want to talk about?”
She bit into one of the strange-looking breaded chunks from her tray a little more fiercely than seemed necessary. “I just found out Jeanne’s getting married.”
“And?”
She stared at the remaining bit of breaded food in her hand, as if she too wondered what it was. “I think maybe she’s making a mistake.”
“How so?”
Lindsay shrugged. “I just don’t think he’s right for her, that’s all.”
“How would you know that?”
She met his eyes for the first time since they’d sat down. “Fred, this is the guy she was afraid was going to break up with her just to save money on a Christmas present. He wasn’t even with her at the company party. Probably home watching a football game.” The rest of the morsel met the same violent fate as its predecessor.
“I don’t understand. You’re upset because your friend is throwing her life away on a monster who watches sports programs? Sounds like the fate of half the women in America to me.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Are British men any better?”
“You’re forgetting. I’m not really British, or American, or anything else. And you’re changing the subject.” Rather smoothly, he had to admit. “Although I don’t have much use for television. Now, if I could figure out how to make the thing work, why then, there might be trouble.”
She cracked a smile. Better. “It’s nice to make you smile,” he said, before he thought.
Confusion crept into her face, and he remembered his abrupt visit to Headquarters last night. He had to be more careful what he said. And not let her distract him from the matter at hand, whether with that smile, or her little changes of subject.
“Lindsay, what’s really bothering you about this? Could it have anything to do with the fact that Jeanne is getting married and you’re not?”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re way off.”
“Methinks thou dost protest too much.”
The stormy look in her eyes turned to utter frost. Fred rather admired the spirit behind that glare. Anything was better than the vacant, preoccupied look she’d worn when he first ran into her. He searched her chilly gaze without backing down, trying to ascertain what lay behind it. Begrudge a friend her happiness? No, it didn’t sound like the Lindsay he knew. But then, emotions weren’t always rational, and if Lindsay did feel jealous, she might also feel guilty about it. That could account for her mood, and her defensiveness about it. Fred studied her, weighing her expression as best he could.
No. It was the obvious reaction, but it didn’t feel right. He said softly, still holding her gaze, “What is it then?”
The troubled crease between her brows deepened. She ducked her head to take a drink from her cup. As her lips pursed around the straw, Fred couldn’t help imagining how a good kiss would help them both forget all this nonsense. He shouldn’t be thinking this way, and he knew it. He couldn’t remember ever—
“She’s my friend.” Lindsay’s eyes drifted past his shoulder, almost as if she were speaking to someone else. “I think she’s doing the wrong thing. But it’s not for me to say.” She toyed with her straw. “I don’t think she’s really in love with him.”
Fred stayed motionless, almost afraid to speak out loud. “What makes you say that?”
Lindsay shook her head, light brown waves of hair swaying slightly around her face. “Just a feeling.”
“Then why would she say yes? There’s not that much social pressure on a woman to get married these days, is there?”
“More than you think. There’s the whole biological clock thing. And there’s just something about a diamond ring—” Her eyes remained fixed over his shoulder. “Just the fact that someone would give it to you.”
She sat up straighter, drawing farther back from him. Her tone changed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a little jealous.” She searched out another breaded chunk of food from her tray.
“You know, I don’t believe you’ve ever lied to me before.”
Her eyes came up to meet his. Her lips parted, as if to deny it, but nothing came out.
He was close to something here. So close, he could practically step on it. But if he stepped too hard, he might crush it.
“All right,” Fred said. “Here’s a harder question.”
She looked at him warily over her cup.
He said, “What are those things in front of you?”
She plucked up one of the breaded bits. “They’re chicken nuggets. I guess they take chicken and—”
He frowned. “Grind it up? And cover it with bread? I thought this was a civilized society.”
It had the desired effect. It made her laugh, and for the moment that troublesome line between her brows disappeared. “I don’t understand you, Fred. You know who Bing Crosby is, but you don’t know what chicken nuggets are?”
“Need-to-know basis, remember.”
“So, what, is there a manual or something?”
“Not really. It’s sort of like the way . . . Can you remember the first time you heard ‘Silent Night’? You know it because you’ve always known it. I know who Bing Crosby is the same way I know”—he cast around in his mind for an example, shrugged—“that Gone with the Wind is a film about the Civil War, where someone says a four-letter word at the end.”
Lindsay buried her face in her hands. Had he said something wrong?
Then she brought her hands partway down and peered at him over her fingers. Her eyes brimmed, not with tears, but with mirth, and he loved the fact that he’d put it there. He didn’t care one whit whether the joke was on him. “Oh, Fred. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Enlighten me.”
She lowered her hands, shaking her head. “I can’t. It’s a three-hour movie.”
“Maybe we could watch it together.” He bit his tongue. As he’d been so recently reminded, time was short. A three-hour movie with Lindsay just wasn’t in the offing. And she had him sidetracked again. Still, it seemed to him that this light, meaningless conversation did her more good than poking away at things she obviously found painful.
Apparently not. He had his orders. Even as he sat considering them, he saw the laughter fading from those light gray eyes, back toward her customary serious expression. How could Lindsay’s best interest run so contrary to his own instincts?
Somewhere along the line, she’d demolished all but one of the chicken bits. Lindsay edged her chair backward. “I’ve got to go. If I hurry I might be able to get some Christmas shopping done before I have to get back to work.”
“There you go again. If you hurry. Your thinking is all wrong. Besides which, you’re going to chase your way to an early coronary before you reach thirty.”
“I’ve got too much to do.” The crease between her brows reappeared.
“Come shopping with me tonight. I promise you’ll get twice as much done.”
“I really need some time alone.”
At least that was honest. “Understood. Just one thing, before you go.”
Lindsay looked at him quizzically, halfway out of her seat. He held her eyes with his until she settled back into her chair.
Fred leaned across the table, resting his fingers lightly against her temple. “Close your eyes.”
She hesitated, then did as he asked. Fred extended his thumb to rub at the fine little crease between her brows, willing away that tension, trying to get at the source of it. He could feel it, but he couldn’t see it. After a moment it eased, and Lindsay’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He lowered his hand. “That’s better. You’ve had this little frown between your brows all afternoon and it’s been driving me out of my mind.”
She opened her eyes. She looked more relaxed, more like the woman he’d left on her couch last night. “What did you do?”
“Nothing major. Just getting rid of some of the tension. You could pay someone a lot of money to rub your neck and shoulders for the same result.” He frowned, trying not to take it personally. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were twin gray mirrors of confusion.
Fred reached up again and gave in to something he’d wanted to do for some time. He sank his fingers into that light brown hair of hers, gently smoothing it back from her temple. It was softer and lighter than he’d imagined, softer and lighter than the scarf he’d given her. He searched for more tension to soothe away, but this time he found himself caught in his own web. A sense of warmth, of peace, descended on him, made him want to stay there indefinitely. It had its effect on Lindsay, too. She closed her eyes again, like a cat being stroked.
“Don’t worry.” He let his voice caress her along with his fingers. “I can’t hypnotize you and I can’t read your mind, more’s the pity. My work would be a lot easier if I could.”
At the mention of work, her eyes opened again. Drat. Why had he put it that way? Probably for the best, he decided. Better for all concerned if Lindsay thought his feelings for her were purely professional.
He broke the contact and did his best to make his tone more matter-of-fact. “So, I’ll leave you alone for the afternoon. But you and I have an appointment to go shopping this evening. Understood?”
She nodded, like someone slowly awakening, and stood with her tray. “It’s a deal,” she said, and moved away. Fred tried to keep his eyes from following her as she dumped the contents of her tray into a waste bin and walked away. That preoccupied look stole over her face again—whether because of her friend Jeanne, or the overwhelming task of buying Christmas gifts, he didn’t know.
He’d help her tonight. He grinned at an image of himself struggling under a stack of hatboxes. Or was that only in the movies? His cultural references were muddled, formed out of vague impressions that weren’t even memories. No wonder the poor girl was confused.
Fred sat back in his chair, lingering in the food court to sample the bustling atmosphere of the mall around him. Some of it was happy. Much of it was frantic. The low rumble of voices nearly buried the Christmas music playing over the sound system.
He thought of Lindsay and her talk about deadlines. How had mankind managed to turn the birth of a savior into this?
Only one way to find out. Jump into the thick of it. And he knew the perfect way to do it. While she was still at work, he’d go shopping himself, and find Lindsay a Christmas present. But not with the help of any special skills. He’d do it her way—the hard way—and take a walk in her shoes.
After two hours, he began to understand what Lindsay was up against.
Producing the perfect striped scarf at a moment’s notice was child’s play compared to finding the right gift at a shopping mall. A hundred stores under one roof, and everything seemed either too personal, or not personal enough. And all of them, somehow, far too ordinary for Lindsay. Though money wasn’t a consideration—if he found the right thing, he would find himself with the right amount of money—he didn’t want to choose something too cheap, or too expensive. The value of a gift implied an underlying meaning, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.
So. Fred dropped his shoulders, momentarily at a loss. He’d take this exercise one step further, and ask for help. Not from a salesperson, though. His eyes fell on a woman with a stroller, who’d paused to rest on a bench in front of one of the mall’s little fountains. She looked about Lindsay’s age, and with a baby in tow, she wasn’t likely to misunderstand his motives for approaching her.
As Fred walked up, the baby kicked and squealed under powder-blue blankets, and her mother rolled the stroller back and forth, trying to shush her.
“Are you giving your mother a rough time of it, young lady?”
Both heads turned toward his voice. From the light in the mother’s eyes, it appeared he’d already scored a point.
The woman smiled. “Usually people think she’s a boy, especially when I take her out in the blue blanket.”
“Unthinkable.” Fred regarded the little face in the stroller. About six months old, at a guess, with sparkling eyes and a barely visible tuft of blond hair. Enchanting. “I’ll bet she already has her father wrapped around her little finger.”
A faint shadow crossed the woman’s face, but it didn’t dim her curiosity. “Where are you from?”
“Camden. It’s an older part of London. But I think I’m as lost in this mall as I’ve been anywhere since I got here.”
She laughed, and her brown eyes lightened. “I’ve lived here two years, and I still get that way.”
“I was hoping you might be able to shed some light for me. I’m trying to find a Christmas gift for a young woman. I haven’t known her very long, but I’d still like to make it special, and I wasn’t sure what would be appropriate.”
She frowned, apparently more than willing to tackle a shopping question. “So, probably not jewelry.”
“Probably not.”
The baby jabbered excitedly. Fred frowned at her with mock sternness. “You’re interrupting, young lady.”
She kicked her legs with glee. And was quiet.
The woman tweaked the baby’s chin, and a teasing gleam rose in her eyes. “Is this something you’d like to turn into . . . more?”
“Not in the cards, I’m afraid.” To his surprise, the words came out with some difficulty. “I’ll be . . . out of the country again in a few days. But I’d still like it to be something she’ll remember.”
The realization blindsided him with the force of a freight train. He’d just told her more than he knew himself.
“Hm,” she said. “That’s a toughie.”
Fred’s heart twisted. He tried to shake it off, the best way he knew how. “How about you? What do you want most for Christmas?”
Some color came into her face. “A date with my husband.”
“Really? And I would have guessed he was the one who thought you were too caught up in the baby.”
Her color deepened. “I’ve been afraid to leave her with someone else so soon.”
“Oh, she’s ready. See that gleam in her eye? It says, ‘I’ve got two helpless adults at my beck and call.’ Do you have family in town?”
“My sister,” she admitted.
“It’s definitely time. Invite your husband out. I promise you he’ll be thrilled.”
Well, that handled things for one of them.
A few minutes later, with no new inspiration, Fred wished the woman a merry Christmas, and continued on his fool’s errand.
He had a problem a lot bigger than finding the right gift. The only reason why he, the holiday expert, should be at such a sudden loss. Because it was so important. In a few days he’d be gone, and he wanted something for Lindsay to remember him by.