Bailey pulled onto the graveled shoulder to allow an impatient truck driver to pass. She’d driven up and down the state road five times and still hadn’t spotted the turn into Eleanor’s place. She read the directions again and tried to ignore Chelsea’s voice in her head, admonishing her for not having a GPS system that displayed and voiced directions as you drove. Chelsea had one installed in her car as soon as they became the fashion; Bailey had stubbornly refused.
She glanced at her surroundings and spotted an old mailbox perched between two tall oak trees. She pulled back onto the road, inched forward, and squinted at the numbers on the rusted metal.
“Ah ha! Didn’t need a damn GPS to find the place anyway, Chels.”
She turned into the gravel driveway. Oak trees that, judging from their size, had to be at least three hundred years old, created a canopy of branches over the long, winding drive.
“Jesus. How far back does this go?”
The lush lawn on either side of her Jeep reflected meticulous care. Bailey heard the low rumble of an engine and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, shirtless young man on a riding lawnmower. She faced ahead in time to see a chubby squirrel dart in the path of her Jeep.
“Shit!” Bailey slammed on her brakes. Gravel flew up from her tires. A cloud of dust filled the inside of her Jeep, and Bailey coughed. The squirrel ran up the nearest tree and chattered at her from the branch above, probably scolding her for the near miss. She allowed a moment for her pounding heart to slow before continuing to her destination.
Another fifty yards rolled by. The trees ended abruptly and parted to reveal a stunning Spanish-style home aglow from the sunlight bouncing off the white stucco. The modern appearance of the home was an anomaly compared to the old farmhouses Bailey had passed along the state road.
She eased the Jeep to a stop in the circular paved drive in front of the home. A small pond nestled inside the circle. Bailey got out of the Jeep and paused to watch multicolored koi swim in lazy rings in the water. She grabbed her tape recorder and notebook from the back of the Jeep and walked through the arched entry. Flowers of multitudinous hues adorned the walkway. Chelsea would know what those are, Bailey thought, as she drew nearer to the huge wooden door. She wondered if she’d even make a noise when she knocked, but then she spotted the doorbell and rang it. It played a vaguely familiar tune. From an old movie—an old Daphne DeMonet movie if Bailey’s memory served her well. A Sheltered Heart? In between packing, she’d watched some of DeMonet’s films for her research.
At length, the door opened. Bailey almost gasped at the sight of the gray-haired beauty before her. The woman stood about Bailey’s height, five-six, maybe an inch taller. She’d styled her hair in a short cut, feathered away from her face. She wore blue jeans and a light blue, short-sleeved cotton blouse. Her flawless skin held only slight wrinkles, nothing belying her age. Her thin nose angled to a point, drawing Bailey’s gaze to her sensuous lips. The blue of the blouse brought out the woman’s startling blue eyes that appeared amused at Bailey’s reaction.
My God, this woman must have been gorgeous when she was young, Bailey thought. Hell, why am I qualifying it? She’s still gorgeous. Bailey found her voice.
“Eleanor Burnett?”
“You must be Bailey. I don’t think you’re the other woman with whom I spoke. I remember voices and inflections. Your voice is much huskier.”
“Yes, I’m Bailey Hampton. As I told you over the phone, I’m here on behalf of Joanne Addison, the biographer.”
Eleanor stepped aside to allow her to enter.
“Let’s go to the back where we can enjoy my gardens while we talk. You do realize that it’s tea time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What did I say about formalities, Bailey?”
“I apologize, Eleanor.”
“Better. Pretty soon, my name will flow freely off your tongue.” Eleanor laughed, a light laugh that reminded Bailey of champagne glasses clinking together. “Now, when I say tea time, I don’t mean iced tea. I hope you’re aware of that.”
Bailey followed Eleanor through the home. They passed by simple, yet elegant, furniture in the spacious living room. When they neared the fireplace, Bailey stopped dead in her tracks.
A large oil painting of Eleanor and Daphne DeMonet hung above the mantel. They both looked to be middle-aged, with Daphne’s hair slightly grayer than Eleanor’s. But what struck Bailey was that they were nude. The artist had posed the women in a way that allowed the viewer’s imagination to take flight.
Eleanor sat in front of Daphne with her knees cradled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her breasts pushed against her thighs. A slight smile creased her lips, and a faint blush tinged her cheeks. Daphne sat behind Eleanor, her long legs straddling Eleanor’s body. Her arms draped around Eleanor’s neck, with her fingers tantalizingly close to Eleanor’s cleavage. Her salt-and-pepper hair brushed her shoulders. She sported a wicked grin, her dark brown eyes staring down at Bailey as if she knew a secret no one else would discover.
Bailey was unable to move. Eleanor’s voice behind her nudged her from her trance.
“A gay artist friend of ours in Hollywood painted it for us. I never would have posed like that for someone straight. It was Daph’s idea, of course.”
Bailey turned to Eleanor who stared at the painting with a wistful expression.
“She suffered her first stroke right after Douglas finished it, although we didn’t know it was a stroke at the time.”
Bailey looked up at the painting again. “How old were you?”
“I was forty-five when we had this done. She was fifty-three, just shy of her fifty-fourth birthday.”
“Eight-year age difference,” Bailey said, almost to herself. “So young to suffer a stroke.”
“It might have been an eight-year age difference when we first met, but I eventually caught up with her.” Eleanor winked. “Let’s continue. Niles will bring the tea out to us on the patio.”
They walked to the back of the home. The patio’s speckled tile stretched out for several feet, ending at the foot of a large fountain. A flower garden flourished to the left. The lawn continued on for several yards to a privacy fence separating Eleanor’s property from her neighbors’.
“Come. Sit.”
Bailey settled into a cushioned wooden chair across from Eleanor. The sliding glass door opened behind them, and a well-dressed, elderly gentleman brought out a silver tray. On it, a teapot, sugar bowl, creamer, and three cups and saucers sat next to a plate of cookies. Obviously, the third cup was for the other interviewer who would join them. Bailey wondered about her.
As if sensing her thoughts, Eleanor said, “The other woman should arrive shortly. She phoned to say she was delayed at school.”
“School?” Bailey thanked Niles after he poured the tea. He stepped back inside.
“Cream?” Eleanor pointed at the creamer.
“Please.” Bailey held up her cup for Eleanor.
“One lump or two?” Eleanor asked, motioning toward the sugar bowl.
“None, thank you.”
Eleanor dropped two sugar cubes into her cup. “I believe the young woman said she was a professor at Indiana University.”
Bailey almost spit out her first mouthful of tea.
“Beautiful voice. She sounds very much like she might have been a singer at some point in her life.”
The doorbell rang before Bailey’s runaway thoughts had a chance to careen off the track.
“That should be her, I think,” Eleanor said. “Excuse me for a moment, won’t you?”
“No, no, no,” Bailey said under her breath after Eleanor left. “This can’t be possible. It has to be someone else.”
Voices drifted in through the slightly opened sliding glass doors.
“We’re drinking our tea out here. I hope that’s okay with you, Professor…”
“Parker. But you can call me Chelsea. I noticed a Jeep out front with Colorado plates…”
Blood rushed to Bailey’s head when Chelsea appeared behind Eleanor. Bailey stood up abruptly, as if that would somehow help her state of mind. But it only made her more lightheaded.
The expression on Chelsea’s face was a mixture of surprise and sadness. Then, as if someone had flicked a switch, an impenetrable veil lowered over her eyes.
“Bailey.” Chelsea shifted in place.
“Chelsea.” Bailey wanted to tell her she was still beautiful. She wanted to embrace her and smell the shampoo Chelsea had used that morning as she had so many days of their time together. She wanted to feel Chelsea’s body against hers. But she didn’t move.
Eleanor looked back and forth between the two women. “You know each other?”
Chelsea nodded and noticed Bailey doing the same.
“Let’s sit down, and you can tell me how.” Eleanor motioned them to the chairs.
Chelsea scooted her chair closer to Eleanor’s before sitting down.
“Tea, Chelsea?” Eleanor asked.
“No, thank you.” Her heart pounded in her ears. She hadn’t prepared for this. How could she have? She didn’t think Bailey had, either, if her bouncing knee was any indication.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like tea, especially an afternoon tea.”
“I’m... ah... sorry,” Chelsea stammered.
“When we spoke earlier, I mentioned sharing tea while we chatted. You didn’t disagree.” Eleanor’s voice held a note of challenge. The sun creeping through the lattice above the patio bathed her gray hair in a bright light, giving her an imposing appearance.
“I have to admit I wanted the interview, which is why I agreed.” Chelsea hoped she hadn’t offended her.
“Well, in ancient England, we might have taken you to the center of town and had you hanged and quartered for that offense.” Eleanor shuddered. “We won’t stoop to that barbaric act. Instead, I’ll ask you, what do you drink?”
“Water is fine.” Chelsea gripped her briefcase against her chest as if it could protect her from her swirling emotions.
Eleanor picked up a small porcelain bell and rang it. Bailey flinched at the sound.
“Madam?” Niles appeared at the sliding glass door.
“Ice water for Professor Parker, please.”
After he left, Eleanor took a sip of her tea and stared at them over the rim of her cup. “So. Who’s going to tell me first?”
Chelsea shot a quick glance over at Bailey whose bouncing knee had hit a frenzied rate.
“Bailey and I… we… well, we…”
Eleanor finished her sentence. “You were lovers.”
“Yes,” Chelsea answered.
“How long?” Eleanor asked.
“How long…” Chelsea grew more uncomfortable with the questions. Who was interviewing whom here?
“How long were you together?”
Chelsea was about to answer, but Bailey interrupted.
“Nine years, three months, and thirteen days.”
Chelsea swallowed the lump in her throat in an attempt to stave off her tears.
Niles brought out a bottle of water and a glass of ice. After he left, an awkward silence shrouded the table.
“Interesting,” Eleanor said. “Very interesting. And how long apart?”
Chelsea answered this time. “Eleven months.”
“How did you meet?” Eleanor shifted back in her chair and crossed one ankle over her knee. With the move, the heel of her sandal drooped down from her toes.
“We met in Bloomington at a coffee shop. There wasn’t an empty table. Bailey sat alone with her laptop, so I walked over and asked if I could sit with her.”
“Of course you answered yes,” Eleanor said, addressing Bailey. “How could you not? Professor Chelsea Parker is quite beautiful.”
Bailey smiled. “Yes, she is, as she was then.”
The lump in Chelsea’s throat made another appearance. She opened her water bottle, poured it into the glass, and took a long drink.
“I take it you were both in school at Indiana University?”
“I was in grad school,” Bailey said. “I received my undergrad degree from Hanover, a college located a little farther south.”
“I’ve heard of it.” Eleanor turned back to Chelsea. “And you?”
“I was working on my dissertation.”
“Ah, that’s right. Of course you would have earned a Ph.D. I should call you Doctor Parker.”
“Chelsea’s fine.”
“All right. Here’s the big question. Why did you separate?”
Bailey tapped the side of her cup with her index finger.
When it was clear Bailey wasn’t about to respond, Chelsea answered. “We got too busy with our work and grew apart.”
Eleanor’s sharp laugh echoed in the backyard.
“That’s it? You were busy and grew apart?”
“Well…” Chelsea tried to think of something else to say but was at a loss.
Eleanor waved her hand in the air. “Don’t try to justify it with any more words. I get the picture.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Chelsea wondered whether she’d lost the interview before it had even begun.
“Upset me?” Again, Eleanor laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’m not upset. I’m angry. There’s a difference.”
“What did I say wrong? I didn’t mean anything by my words.” Chelsea gave Bailey a pleading look.
Bailey leaned toward Eleanor. “We were both at fault.”
“You most certainly were. How could you let a nine-year—what did you say? Nine-year, three-months and—”
“Thirteen days,” Chelsea said.
“Right. If you both can remember the exact time you were together, how could you now be apart? It makes no sense. None.”
Eleanor rose to her feet and stomped off toward the garden.
Chelsea watched her leave and then whirled toward Bailey. “What is this? Why are you here?”
“Hi, Bailey. How’ve you been? I’ve been fine, Chelsea, how about you?” Bailey rolled her eyes. “Why do you think? For the same reason you are.”
“Let me guess. Joanne Addison thought because you’re gay, Eleanor Burnett would talk to you.”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
“And you came anyway, knowing I’m here teaching?” Chelsea’s voice continued to rise.
“Why are you mad? It’s not like you have the right to an exclusive.” Bailey stood and shoved her chair back. It teetered and then settled on all four legs.
Chelsea rose to her feet to avoid Bailey towering over her. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”
Bailey looked like she was about to say something more. Instead, she marched toward the direction Eleanor had taken.
“Wait!” Chelsea hurried to catch up with Bailey’s long strides. “I’m not done.”
“I don’t have to listen to this anymore, remember?” Bailey’s jaw was tight.
Chelsea stumbled and began to fall forward, but Bailey caught her under the elbow. When she did, Chelsea fell into her arms. They stared at each other, both breathing heavy. Bailey’s gaze dropped to Chelsea’s lips. Then she blinked, pulled away, and continued toward Eleanor who stood in the distance.
I almost kissed her, Bailey thought. I can’t believe I almost kissed her. What is wrong with me?
She caught up with Eleanor who was weeding the daffodils.
“Ms. Burnett…” Bailey started to say.
Eleanor raised her head and glared at Bailey.
“I’m sorry. Eleanor. Please don’t let our former relationship keep you from talking to me.”
“To us,” Chelsea chimed in as she moved beside Bailey.
Eleanor straightened and brushed the dirt from her hands. “Tomorrow morning. Seven o’clock sharp.”
Bailey and Chelsea spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry?”
“Excuse me?”
“Seven o’clock in the morning. You Yanks are capable of arising that early, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” they answered together.
“I see some habits are hard to break. I bet you still finish each other’s sentences, too. Return tomorrow at seven and we’ll talk. I’m tired. It’s time for my afternoon nap. You can find your way to the front by following that path.” Eleanor gestured at a dirt path lined with stones and strode back to the house.
“That was interesting,” Bailey said, but Chelsea was already walking down the path. “Hey, wait, Chels. I still don’t know why you’re so angry.”
Bailey caught up with her as Chelsea reached the Outback. She was about to open the door, but Bailey pressed her palm against it and waited for Chelsea to face her.
“Talk to me.” Bailey reached out to touch Chelsea’s shoulder but let her hand drop to her side.
Chelsea spun around, her face wet with tears. She wiped at them in jerking motions.
She’s that angry, Bailey thought. No. Wait. She’s hurt.
“I can’t believe you came out here thinking there was no chance we could meet. Are you that desperate for a job?”
Bailey bristled. “Now, hold on. My job is as important to me as yours is to you. Or have you conveniently forgotten that and twisted history?”
“What do you mean, ‘twisted history’?”
“Seems like the only one you’re thinking about is you. Just like when…”
“Just like when, what, Bailey? When I was the brave one and actually acknowledged we couldn’t go on the way we were? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I didn’t say it.”
“You didn’t have to. I know how you think, and right now the only one you’re thinking about is you.” Chelsea poked her in the chest with her index finger. “You could have told Joanne no.”
“Well, I didn’t. So grow up and accept it that we’re both here to do our jobs.”
Chelsea opened her mouth to say something but stopped.
“What?” Bailey asked.
“It’s too damn soon.” Chelsea reached behind her, opened the door, and got inside, not looking up as she started the engine and drove around the circular drive to the gravel road.
“It’s not like I planned it!” Bailey shouted at the dust left behind by the Outback. She tramped to her Jeep. She buckled her seatbelt and was about to pull away when she noticed a curtain in the front of the house move aside before dropping back into place.
“Crazy old broad,” Bailey muttered as she drove back to the main road. “Thanks a lot, Joanne.”
* * *
After she arrived at her hotel room, Bailey called Denver.
“Pick up the damn phone.” She flopped onto her bed with her cell phone pressed to her ear.
“I hope you have good news from the Eleanor Burnett front.” Joanne sounded chipper, which annoyed Bailey even more.
“Here’s some news for you. Remember how you said the chance of Chelsea and me meeting up was slim to none?”
“Uh-huh.” Joanne’s tone mellowed noticeably.
“Remember how I told you that you were full of shit?” Bailey’s voice rose.
“Yeah…”
“Guess what? I was right.”
“Oh, crap. Where did you see her? At a store? A restaurant?”
Bailey snorted. “Try again.”
“Don’t make me play twenty questions.”
“You know the reason I’m in Bloomington?”
“Yes.” Joanne drew the word out.
“Guess who also gets a quote, unquote, exclusive interview?”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I wish.”
“Well, that’s just not going to work.”
Bailey heard the all-too-familiar clicking sound of a lighter and the exhalation of smoke. It was times like these where she seriously considered taking up the bad habit.
“I’m sorry. Do you think I have some control over this?”
“What do you mean?” Joanne asked.
“Eleanor Burnett is one formidable old woman.”
“You mean to tell me you couldn’t convince her that one person writing a biography on Daphne DeMonet was enough?”
“Trust me. You only need to meet her to know the answer to that one. This is all beside the point. I’m not sure I can stay here and do the interview.”
“Come on, Bailey. You can’t sit in the same room with Chelsea and do your job?”
Anger flowed through Bailey’s veins. “Did you hear what you just asked me?”
“Jesus. Calm down. At least tell me how it was meeting Eleanor Burnett.”
Bailey pictured Eleanor sitting out on the patio. “She’s beautiful and strong-willed. I can see what attracted Daphne DeMonet.”
“You sound smitten.”
Bailey couldn’t help but smile. “I can imagine what she was like in her twenties when they first met.”
“Were you able to get in any questions today?”
“No. She’s asked us to come back at seven in the morning. I’m not sure what she has in mind.”
Joanne sighed. “This is very hard for me to say, but if you think you’re incapable of being around Chelsea, then give me the word. I’ll send out Lois on the next plane.”
Bailey cringed as she thought about the abrasive researcher who was often her rival for projects. And how she and Eleanor would mix like oil and water.
“Lois Charleton? Ugh.”
“You don’t have much say in this if you’re out of the picture.”
Bailey noticed the smug tone. “You’re doing this to irritate me, aren’t you? And to goad me into staying.”
Another inhalation and puffing out of smoke. Bailey had no trouble picturing Joanne’s self-satisfied grin, knowing she was getting exactly what she wanted.
“Sometimes, I really don’t like you, Joanne Addison.”
“And your answer is…”
“Fine. I’ll stay. But if it gets uncomfortable, you’ll be getting another phone call from me.”
“I have no doubt that your professionalism will win out.”
“You don’t need to lay it on that thick. I said I’d do it.”
“Good. Keep in touch.”
Bailey snapped the phone shut and stared at the far wall for five minutes. She grabbed the TV remote and flipped to the channel that played classic programs. She tried to get lost in an episode of Gunsmoke. Chelsea used to tease her about her affinity for the old program. Thinking of Chelsea immediately brought up the memory of their argument outside Eleanor’s house.
Bailey turned off the TV and grabbed her keys. Sitting around the hotel room and lamenting about their failed relationship wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon. She’d have a beer and get a bite to eat. And then try to convince herself that seeing Chelsea again hadn’t seriously messed with her mind.