A Love that Endures 3 Page 10

  The line between private investigation and crime can be rather thin at times.

  “So,” Mick began, looking around to make sure that no one outside of their circle was standing close enough to hear. “If this works, what you goin’ to say to the princess? Thought about that any?”

  David toed the asphalt with his slightly-too-big boots. “A tad, yes.”

  Mick looked incredulous. “A tad? Not sure a tad of convincing is all you’re going to need, lad.”

  David shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. But I’m not sure I can really prepare myself, you know? You can’t script out something like this. I feel like it has to come from the heart.”

  Though there were a few points David needed to hit: I’m innocent; I still love you; I’ll always love you; you’re the one for me; your parents lied to you; no, I don’t have any solid evidence, but I’m working on it.

  He knew it wasn’t a perfect spiel by far. But a big part of the plan was relying on the fact that Katy might not be happy with her impending marriage, that she might have doubts about David’s guilt. After all, he’d never had a chance to explain his side, and he knew she was the type of person to listen carefully before she judged. He’d always trusted that part of her, and he was hoping that it wasn’t gone after everything that had happened. Perhaps if he could remind her of who he really was, remind her of the love that had been so strong between them, then she’d be willing to hear him out.

  At least, that’s what he was hoping.

  “So, what about Cassie?” Rufus interjected. He’d gotten the rundown on the truth behind David’s story and was now eager to help, if only because he might finally get justice against the woman who had cost him his palace job and, subsequently, his home.

  “I’m still not sure how involved she is,” David replied. “But she’s involved somehow. And that means I’ll need to avoid her at all costs.”

  “’opefully a pair of specs will be enough to prevent her from recognizing you,” Mick mused.

  David was nervous about that part of the plan, too. Somehow, he doubted Mick’s statement; glasses wouldn’t change his face that much. But why would Cassie give any of the butlers a close inspection, as long as they stayed out of her way and kept their noses down? If her attitude toward staff was anything like her reputation, she wouldn’t look twice at the help unless they personally got in her way.

  “So now we just wait until you set up your interview?” Rufus asked.

  Giles looked up from his flask as well, curious as to David’s answer.

  “Actually, well . . . I’ve got some errands to run first.”

  * * *

  Every other day for the past month, David had been taking six-minute-tops showers at the homeless center. He hadn’t been ungrateful, certainly, but it wasn’t a ritual he much looked forward to. The center provided only single-use packets of watery, unscented soap, meant for both hair and body. As his hair got shaggier, the six-minute maximum got even more pressing. But without money for a haircut, he hadn’t had any other option.

  Until today.

  “Pleased to meet you,” David said nervously, outstretching his hand for a shake. But the stylist didn’t take it.

  “Calder, is it?” she asked in an obvious way. David wasn’t sure if Mia had let the woman in on it or if she’d just figured it out herself, but she definitely knew exactly who he was. He just nodded, caught between feeling grateful and feeling undeniably skeevy.

  “Well, Mr. Rhines, I’ve been instructed to do a thorough job. Hair, beard, nails, wardrobe. The works.”

  David frowned. Mia had probably passed him a couple hundred pounds back in her private car, but that couldn’t be enough to pay for what the woman was insisting. He’d been nervous enough upon entering the nondescript storefront and finding a luxurious space complete with chandeliers inside.

  The woman picked up on his concern. “I assure you, Calder. If Mia passed you any money for this experience, it was meant to be a tip. She has already paid in full.”

  David breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for telling me that. And . . . I appreciate it,” he replied. But he appreciated Mia even more. He’d have to remember to pay her back every dime if the plan worked.

  The stylist clapped her hands, and soon there were half a dozen men and women at David’s side. One poured a drink while another measured his inseam. One was touching the damaged ends of his hair while another examined the grime under his nails.

  Behind him, another tried to discreetly spritz him with cologne. He was not as discreet as perhaps he might have hoped.

  “Let’s start with a bath, steam, and shave, shall we?” the main stylist offered. But it sounded like more of an order. “Then we can dispose of these clothing . . . things . . . and get you into a clean robe.”

  Before David could ask questions or argue his modesty, he was being led away by the parade of coiffured assistants.

  * * *

  “Good evening to you.”

  David’s brow furrowed. Had the middle-aged woman selling flowers to tourists from a cart just . . . spoken? To him? Or had he imagined it?

  Uncertainly, he nodded in return and then continued his walk. Surely she hadn’t been talking to him. No one but fellow prisoners and tramps had spoken to him out of anything but necessity over the past few years, though police officers and disgruntled cashiers had talked at him when forced to.

  Before he could even process the first instance, it happened again. “I like your hair,” a younger woman in a thin blouse said as they passed each other on the sidewalk.

  David didn’t even manage to reply but turned back with his mouth slightly agape in surprise. Certainly she had spoken to him!

  The woman was looking back in his direction too, her lips curled into a flirty smirk.

  He almost tripped over his brand-new, correctly sized boots.

  Passing a store window, David paused and looked at himself out on the street for the first time, away from the hot, bright lights of the salon where he’d felt more like a science experiment than a new man. But he still didn’t recognize his reflection. The person David felt like was a sad felon who lived in a carboard box in a London car park. He had dirty clothes that were always a bit too big in the waist and short on the legs. His hair and beard had gotten wild and unkempt, scaring off tourists and locals alike.

  But the man in the window was none of those things. That man was svelte and polished, with a dark, trim beard and closely cropped hair (leaving a bit extra on top, to display his curls). The man in the window wore fitted jeans, a crisp white button-up, and contacts that turned his eyes from blue to brown, and he was carrying a bag full of new clothes, including a tailored suit as fine as any David had ever seen before. The man in the window looked rich, aloof, and in control. The kind of man who walked into a job interview without a doubt, knowing he would nail it.

  So this was Calder Rhines.

  The phone in David’s pocket rang. He knew of only two people who had this number.

  “Hello?” he said, and even the voice coming out of his mouth sounded stronger and firmer than it had in years.

  “Hello! This is Martha Greer. Is this Mr. Rhines?”

  David smiled. “It is.” He was almost shocked at the voice that came out of his mouth, as though he really did own his borrowed confidence.

  “Mr. Rhines! Richard Giles and I spoke about you this morning. I’m sorry for calling so late in the day, but palace staffing has been . . . a bit hectic recently.”

  I wonder if Cassie has been working overtime.

  “But I received your résumé, and everything looks wonderful! You came highly recommended.”

  “Thank you for saying so,” David—that is, Calder—replied warmly.

  “Yes. Well, normally this would be a longer process. Phone interviews and reference checks and all that drudgery. But with the need we currently have, I was wondering if maybe you could just come in for an interview tomorrow? Say, two o’clock?”

 
; David felt his heart begin to thump wildly. “Yes, that would work perfectly.”

  “Great,” Martha replied. “You know where we are, obviously. Ask for me at the gate, and they’ll see you through. I look forward to meeting with you!”

  “Thank you for the opportunity,” David replied.

  An interview at the palace. A tailored suit. A new sense of hope. Everything seems to be falling into place!

  David could barely contain his excitement. So he was almost at camp before he realized that he had missed a text from Mia.

  “Can’t have you getting those new clothes dirty. Room 302 at the Wych Elm. Enjoy your stay, Señor Rhines.”

  David’s eyes bulged slightly at the text. The Wych Elm was one of London’s most expensive and exclusive hotels. The prospect of ever paying Mia back was looking more and more difficult.

  David tucked the phone back into his pocket with a little sigh. Mia was right about the clothes. And for this to work, he would need access to a hot shower and luxury soap before tomorrow’s interview. But his friends weren’t in the Wych Elm; they were under Huntington Bridge, in shanty homes and lean-tos.

  And so he continued walking to the camp. The Wych Elm would still be there in a few hours.

  Feeling strangely confident after his walk through London as a normal person, David was surprised to notice that his coiffured look had the opposite effect on tramps. People seemed to be afraid of him here. People with whom he often exchanged a few words suddenly scurried out of his way as he walked through the camp.

  Charles even shied away. But beside him, Tina smiled seductively at David’s approach.

  “Lookin’ for a spot o’ fun?” In her lawn chair, she’d parted her knees slightly, sending an unmistakable message.

  David stopped and furrowed his brow at her. It was beginning to dawn on him now. They didn’t recognize him at all. “Tina.”

  Her eyes went wide. “David? Holy hell, mate, what happened to you?”

  “That’s David?” Mick turned around from where he had been awkwardly standing with his back turned to David, obviously trying to avoid him. He walked over with a puzzled look. “Whoa.”

  Charles laughed uncomfortably. “We thought you was a reporter or something.”

  “Reporter?! I thought he was pullin’ a Jack the Ripper out ‘ere.” Mick laughed. “Ain’t no one coming to this camp dressed like you is unless they have criminal plans. Look right polished.”

  David chuckled and shook his head.

  “You clean up real nice,” Giles offered, seated a few yards away.

  David smiled. He was touched by the words of confidence, though he was surprised to find that he wasn’t completely relieved to suddenly stick out in the homeless camp. These were his friends. Maybe he had never felt like he belonged, per se, but he didn’t want to feel like a stranger among the people he cared about.

  “But, uh,” Mick said, interrupting his thoughts. The wiry man made his way over to David and then leaned forward to whisper. “You got somewhere to stay? ‘Cuz you’re goin’ to get mugged ‘ere for sure.”

  14

  Katy

  David’s hands were strong and warm on Katy’s flesh. They started at the base of her neck, holding her close as his mouth lowered over hers. But as his mouth picked up the pace, his hands slowly but determinedly moved downward, over her thin blouse, to her waist. They stopped there, giving Katy just enough time to catch her breath.

  Her own hands, which had hung in limp shock by her sides, finally rose to touch David’s handsome face. Then they wrapped around the back of his neck, pushing into the little curls of his dark hair, as she pulled herself up against him.

  He tugged her closer, more roughly now, his tongue ravishing her soft mouth, before his hands began to roam downward again . . .

  Somewhere behind them, a siren was blaring. David didn’t pay it any attention, but Katy’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Something was wrong. Maybe many things were wrong. And, as desperately as she wanted to stay there with him forever, disappointment flooded her, then a bone-deep sadness. Without knowing how or why it had happened, Katy was left alone in her bed once more.

  The alarm clock blared. It was seven in the morning.

  “Ugh,” Katy groaned. She threw one forearm over her face to shield her eyes from the sunlight peeking through the tall windows. With the other hand, she fumbled on her nightstand for the alarm. With a good whacking, it finally fell silent.

  Oh, but why did that dream have to end? Maybe if I just tried to close my eyes again, I could be back there with . . .

  Katy opened her eyes. What was she saying? What was she thinking? Having improper dreams about her vilified ex, while her loving, supportive fiancé was only a few rooms away. Dreams that opened up a well of longing and confusion that she knew she could drown in.

  Are you going to let one phone call undo years of burying this pain and doubt?

  Katy took a deep breath and then sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the humongous bed.

  Where is my head? This must be due to that raunchy bachelorette party yesterday. My hormones are all out of whack due to those tawdry toys that Cassie gave me, and . . .

  Katy remembered with a start and looked down to see the weekender bag Cassie had filled with Katy’s wedding night gifts, still there where she’d hastily stuffed it beneath the bed. A lacy white negligee was peeking out of the top.

  She jumped down and dropped to her knees, shoving the bag and all of its contents under her bed as far as she could. Even then, it barely reached the midpoint section of the mattress. If she was lucky, the cleaning staff would neglect the space. Or, at the very least, keep Katy’s dirty little secret to themselves.

  A knock on the door startled her. She jumped up, feeling unreasonably guilty, and rushed to the powder room.

  “One moment!” she called over her shoulder, grabbing a robe off the bathroom hook and throwing it over her thin nightgown.

  Once she was proper, she steadied her breathing and walked to the door. Morning tea was certainly early today.

  But when the door opened, Katy was surprised to see, not a servant with a silver tray, but a familiar face.

  “Oliver,” she said, her voice a little higher pitched than normal. She instinctively clutched the neck of her robe to hide the shallow V of flesh that had been exposed.

  “Katerina. I hope I didn’t wake you,” he started sheepishly, averting his eyes at her obvious discomfort. “If you’d like, I can come back when you’re dressed.”

  Katy loosened her grip. She didn’t necessarily feel underdressed—she felt more exposed. As if Oliver could somehow see into her emotions, peek into her mind, see the confusion in her heart and David’s hands touching her in her dreams . . .

  “No, it’s fine. I was just, uh, about to get ready for the day,” Katy replied. She stayed in the doorway, unconsciously keeping Oliver out.

  “That’s why I’m here, actually. I know you like your morning strolls in the garden, and I was hoping to, um, accompany you. In the garden. Today.”

  At the awkward sentence, they both looked down briefly.

  He’s just as uncomfortable right now as I am. Why are we stuttering like nervous children when we’re really just incompatible adults?

  Katy looked back up. She didn’t have an excuse not to invite him. And it broke her heart, seeing her fiancé trying desperately to win her affections when her heart was busy running back to a felon and avowed scoundrel.

  Presumably.

  “Of course you can accompany me,” she finally replied. It wasn’t what she wanted, and it definitely didn’t feel right. But Oliver was her fiancé. David . . . David was just a whisper on the winds of her past.

  And so her dance between moving on and falling backward continued. But little harm could happen among the koi ponds and rose trellises . . . right?

  Oliver patiently waited while Katy brushed her teeth, combed her blonde hair back into a low bun, and slipped on a pastel sheath dres
s with a matching cropped jacket. She forlornly put on her nude heels and slipped her cell phone into a clutch.

  As she stepped out into the hallway, ready at last to meet him for their outing, Oliver smiled hopefully.

  “You look beautiful. Even without a trace of makeup.”

  Katy nodded politely in response, knowing that he meant it. “You look nice as well, Oliver.”

  It was a long walk between the staterooms and the rose garden, and Katy and Oliver spent most of it in an uncomfortable silence. In the quiet, Katy’s insecurities loomed.

  He probably knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. What you’ve been fantasizing about! Has the world ever known a worse fiancée?

  But by all accounts, as she stole glances over at him, Oliver was happy-go-lucky, if a bit nervous. It would’ve been endearing, if Katy were in love with him. But . . .

  “Lovely weather,” he said finally as they stepped outside together. Katy practically sighed in relief. She could barely stand the silence any longer.

  “Yes, lovely indeed,” she replied.

  Good talk! Guess that’s all. Perhaps we can call it a day? And I’ll just see you at the wedding in a year or so?

  But even with her doubts, Katy dutifully walked to the garden beside Oliver, as she had agreed to. As they meandered through the topiaries, he tried to start conversation again.

  “My home in Esserby doesn’t look like this,” he remarked.

  Katy could’ve rolled her eyes. Yes, she knew that Oliver didn’t like the pruned bushes and non-native flowers. Yes, she knew that in Esserby she’d need to learn to be grateful for the rugged beauty of sheepherding and overgrown grasses. They’d already had that conversation, in fact, several times.

  “But it could. If you’d like.”

  Katy stopped and turned to Oliver. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that.