Текст книги "Truth "

Chapter 13

The final slam of the cottage door muffled Sophia’s sigh. On the other side of the wooden barrier was their home, life, and private haven. With a turn of the bolt and the closing of heavy shutters on creaky hinges, she’d successfully closed it tight –storing everything away for a season.

Sophia’s mind swirled with memories of their first home: late nights slipping out of bed, making her way upstairs to her studio, while Derek slept – light brown hair disheveled, mouth slightly open. She relished the security of knowing when sleepiness overtook her creativity; she could crawl back into their bed and be enveloped by his warmth. Leaning against the door, she remembered the first time Derek made a fire in their fireplace but forgot to open the flue. Once the smoke cleared, they laughed until they cried. And the way the golden sunshine streamed into her studio in the late morning. It was her favorite time to paint; the colors looked so real. These recollections made her smile despite her heavy heart.

Begrudgingly, she allowed herself a window of self-pity. That being said, as soon as she was once again face-to-face with her husband, she vowed to keep her true feelings hidden. After all, this was Derek’s big break. Sophia wanted to be the supportive wife. She kept telling herself, if the roles were reversed, he’d support me.

Undoubtedly, the uncertainty added to her unease. They didn’t know when they’d be back to Provincetown or who’d be returning. It could be both of them or only Sophia. It all depended on Shedis-tics.

Since graduating high school, Sophia controlled her life. Having the people of Shedis-tics dictate her living arrangements, travel plans, and everything else, made her anxious. Yes, she’d submitted to the occasional investor, agreed to show her work, or attended a private wine-and-dine session; but, all at her discretion. She’d always had the option to say no.

Sophia knew marriage meant collaboration, a partnership. She’d watched her parents successfully share a similar arrangement her entire life. When she said I do, Sophia willingly accepted her role as half of a whole. However, now she questioned her percentage. Was she in fact half? Or was she less? Was Derek still half? Or was he more? Perhaps Shedis-tics was now part of the equation?

Originally his new job was scheduled to begin May 1^st. Nevertheless, they called him out to Santa Clara only two days after her father’s accident, over four weeks early.

Little did Sophia realize, when Derek said he couldn’t take more than two nights in her childhood bedroom, he’d meant it literally. Truthfully, Derek hadn’t known either. As he explained, when the company president calls and invites you to meet with parent company executives, you don’t say, No Thank you.

Lingering on the stoop of their cottage, she looked toward the Harbor, inhaled the salt air, and listened to the soft din of the sea. The sound of the surf created a continual soundtrack for life in Provincetown. While something she rarely thought about, she knew she’d miss it terribly.

Yesterday, she closed her studio on Commercial Street. The sign in the window read: Closed for an Undetermined Amount of Time. The neighboring businesses promised to keep a watchful eye on everything. Sophia knew nothing would physically happen to her personal slice of cramped heaven. It was the emotional toll that concerned her.

On her way to the airport, Sophia took a detour and found herself at the shore enjoying the calm water rippling beneath the crystal clear blue sky. Tears streaked her cheeks as she bid ado to Provincetown Harbor. Through her blurred vision she saw the Cape across the sea. Sophia absorbed the scene, savoring it – preserving it. If she kept it safely sealed within the recesses of her mind, it would never completely be gone. In times of need, she’d will it forward, out of the depths of her memories, and into her thoughts.

Recognizing the inevitable, she made her way to the small Provincetown airport. From there she’d fly to Boston. In Boston she had tickets for a first class flight to San Jose, the closest airport to Santa Clara.

Even with a short layover in Denver, she anticipated feeling Derek’s strong arms by four o’clock, Pacific Time. When she did, she planned to melt into his embrace and show him why they should never be apart again. Then, she reasoned, the world would once again be right.

*****

When the elevator doors opened Phillip just about lost it! She entered almost sixty seconds earlier and should have been to her floor, not still within the golden mirrored cubical. Practicing his covert skills, Phil Roach assumed a calm passive persona and spoke casually to his number one assignment, Claire Nichols. This hadn’t been his plan. Nevertheless, now that they’d conversed and she hadn’t recognized him, she might be his lifesaver.

Anthony Rawlings was suspicious and becoming increasingly untrusting. Phil did a good job for a few days giving generic reports and letting Mr. Rawlings assume his ex-wife was vacationing alone in San Antonio. However, the lack of specifics and pictures were beginning to spark too many questions.

The per diem and generous expense account made it difficult for Phillip Roach to confess he’d lost his assignment. Claire Nichols flew to San Antonio with Phil on the same flight. He knew of her hotel reservation and followed her to the Hotel Valencia. It was late; he assumed she was sleeping safely within her room until the next day. However, when he returned to the Riverwalk later the same night, Ms. Nichols was AWOL. Her car was gone, she was gone, and her cell phone continued to send signals from her suite. Phil panicked knowing he’d been duped!

He also knew Claire’s reservations at the Hotel Valencia extended until Sunday morning. Having no idea where to look, he continued his surveillance of the hotel on the famous Riverwalk. When he saw Ms. Nichols enter the lobby Saturday afternoon, it took all of his self-control to not hug her. Thank God she was alive and safe – if something had happened to her in a place he hadn’t reported her being. Phil didn’t even want to consider the consequences. It didn’t matter; she was all right.

She wasn’t just all right. She was relaxed, tan, and happy. He was sure she’d been with a man, but who? He’d confirmed Harrison Baldwin’s presence in Palo Alto during the last four days. There was no doubt Mr. Rawlings would want answers. Phil’s exuberance at her presence could be blamed for the unplanned meeting in the elevator. However, as he reviewed the encounter, he assured himself no harm no foul!

Currently, she was settled into her room, presumably for the night. Phil had watched her for almost three weeks. She wasn’t the wild and crazy kind. Room service was a 99.9% assured outcome. Rarely was Phillip Roach wrong.

The electronic sensor startled him back to reality. It was a non-conspicuous devise attached to her suite door. As long as the door remained closed the devise remained silent. When the door opened and separated the connection, an alarm sounded in his room. Immediately, Phil jumped to the peep hole, expecting to see a waiter delivering room service.

Instead, stepping from her suite, dressed to kill was Claire Nichols. No wonder Mr. Rawlings was so interested in this women, she’s frig’n hot! Phil thought as he watched the petite frame in the flowing white sundress and high heels. Although his view was somewhat distorted due to the domed glass peep hole, the woman he saw looked more like the woman in the pictures. She looked like Mrs. Rawlings.

Phil grabbed his sport coat, combed back his hair and splashed his face with water. 57 seconds after Claire left her room, Phil double stepped it down the stairs to the lobby, only eleven floors down.

The firm soles of his shoes hit the marble floor of the main lobby. Phil inhaled and exhaled, regulating his breathing as he walked toward the large glass entry. Being Saturday night, the hotel as well as Riverwalk bustled with people, most paired and appropriately adorned for evening revelries. It was after all, a five star establishment. The magnitude of private conversations created a dim drone as Phil scanned the open foyer. The ceiling towered many stories above, the enormous fireplace blazed, and the tile floor echoed with the clicks of stiletto heels. An occasional whiff of food cooking in the distance reminded Phil that Citrus, the hotel’s finer restaurant, was nearby.

His tenacity was rewarded as Phil passed the glistening, metal, beaded, chain curtain separating the ultra-sleek Vbar from the Hotel Valencia. Just beyond the semi translucent drape, he saw the beautiful outline of Claire Nichols. Her white dress shone like a beacon within the dimly lit tavern.

Phil followed the piano music and entered the posh lounge. The low lights, red carpet, and intimate groupings, created a chic romantic atmosphere. He watched from afar as her face, illuminated by a flickering red candle, smiled and spoke to the attentive waiter. Using his phone he casually snaped a few photos. Walking nonchalantly through the busy lounge Phil positioned himself on a leather stool at the shiny black bar. Each time he raised his head Ms. Nichols sat directly in his field of vision. He ordered a Blue Moon and waited.

Fifteen minutes passed; no one joined his assignment. She didn’t seem worried, wasn’t fidgeting with her phone; yet, her attire screamed date. He waited, but no one joined her, perhaps no one was coming. Phil contemplated the woman he’d spent the last three weeks getting to know. Many women sitting alone in a bar would be self-conscious. Ms. Nichols looked completely content, composed, and confident. She sipped a glass of red wine and gazed around the room. Suddenly, their eyes met. Phil fought the urge to look away. He reminded himself, they’d met on the elevator. His mind wheeled as she smiled and tipped her glass his direction. Could this be an invitation? Perhaps if I talk to her, maybe I can learn where she’s been? 

Phil smiled and raised his mug in response. The bartender broke their trance, “Sir, would you like another beer?”

Phil became aware of his near empty mug. Maybe the stress of the last four days had gotten to him. “Yes. And could you please send the lovely lady in the white dress another glass of wine, with my compliments.”

“Certainly, sir.”

He covertly watched as the waiter gallantly delivered the wine to her table. He couldn’t hear their conversation but read her body language: surprised, pleased, and appreciative. When she turned toward him, she lifted the new goblet and mouthed thank you. Phil bowed his head. When he looked up, her gaze was no longer his. Had he expected an invitation? Fifteen more minutes, she remained alone. Phil puffed his chest, exhaled, and eased himself from the tall leather stool.

Lost in thoughts she didn’t acknowledge him until he was directly in front of her. “Thank you, for the wine.” If he’d startled her, there was no reflection in her voice. He assessed, she is either considerably calm or an ice princess. Her vitality penetrated the calm veneer. Energy sparkled in her emerald eyes. Phil became consumed by the fire he observed in those amazing eyes. An ice princess would never be able to conceal that kind of heat. She’d surely melt.

“You’re welcome.” He remained standing while she lounged gracefully in the soft high backed chair.

“I suppose I should’ve been the one to buy you a drink.”

He smiled, “And why would that be?”

“Well, you’re the gentleman who saved me from remaining within the confines of the elevator, forever.”

“I do believe you would’ve rescued yourself. After all, didn’t you find your key as we began to ascend?”

Claire smiled acknowledging his affability. “Thank you, again.”

Phil gestured toward the empty chair in Ms. Nichols’ grouping. “Would you mind if I sat and joined you for a while?”

Abashed, “Oh, of course, I’m sorry I didn’t offer sooner. Please, help yourself.”

Phil lowered himself onto the plush cushion and pursued their conversation. “Hello, I’m Phil.” He extended his right hand.

Accepting his hand Claire responded, “Hello, my name is Claire.”

He couldn’t help notice how her green eyes glistened in the candle light. If only he could take her picture now. It would make Mr. Rawlings forget the absence of information during the last four days. “I couldn’t help notice your tan. Did you get that here at the pool?”

“Texas sun is quite intense.”

“I’ve been here since Tuesday. I find it hard to believe I’ve not seen you during the last four days…” He continued to fish for information. Unfortunately, Ms. Nichols stayed true to her story. She’d been here at the Hotel Valencia for the last four days enjoying the local sights including the Alamo and a boat ride on the river. It was a well-deserved retreat which included sleeping late, bedding early, and the completion of two novels. They’d been talking and laughing for about thirty minutes when Claire received a text message.

“I apologize, this is rude. It’s just that I’m expecting some very important information.”

“Please, go ahead and check your phone.” Phil wondered if he called the number he’d given to Mr. Rawlings if the phone in her hand would ring. He doubted it. The glow in her eyes and the obvious smile indicated her satisfaction with the information in the text.

Still holding her phone, Claire took her wine goblet and slowly sipped the red liquid. Setting the glass upon the small table she looked directly into his eyes. “Phil?”

“Yes?”

“I believe given the circumstances, I’d feel more comfortable addressing you as Mr. Roach.”

His back straightened. He hadn’t told her his last name. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, Mr. Roach,” she paused for effect. “I mean, I don’t really know you, not as well as you know me – since you’ve been following me for the last month.” She allowed her lips to linger upon the glass’s rim teasing the liquid. Her eyes stayed on his.

He contemplated his options: lie, act ignorant, or come clean. “I’m not sure what you’re talking…”

“Let’s cut to the chase Mr. Roach. You were hired by my ex-husband to keep tabs on me. You’ve done your job quite well, that is until you lost me last Monday. Now, the way I figure it, you have two choices: be honest with Mr. Rawlings, tell him you don’t know where I was, or lie and give him just enough information to keep him pacified?” She sat the glass down. “How am I doing?”

“I assure you, I don’t know…”

“Given your inability to be honest with me – I’d assume you chose deception with your employer as well.”

“Ms. Nichols, I’m not sure how you’ve reached your conclusions.”

“For starters, I never offered you my last name.” She waited, he remained silent. Claire continued, “I decided to confront you tonight – or should I say to have you confront me – for this discussion. Mr. Roach, I do not wish my where-a-bouts for the last four days to be known. Let’s both say I’ve been here in San Antonio alone, and you’ll confirm that, as the truth.”

“Ms. Nichols, tell me why I would possibly agree to this?”

Her broadening smile made her sun kissed cheeks rise. Without saying a word, Phil knew she had a plan. “Let me show you the text I just received. Actually it’s a multi-media attachment.” Claire extended her hand, with her iPhone angled for his maximum viewing pleasure.

Phil looked down onto the small screen and saw a picture of him standing near her table. She brushed the screen and another photo appeared; him sitting across the small table from her. She brushed the screen again; they were leaning toward one another across the small void.

“I don’t understand,” he confessed.

“Come now, Mr. Roach. You infringe upon people’s privacy for a living. That information is often used in less than scrupulous ways. Surely you recognize the same being done to you.” She waited; he remained silent. “You haven’t divulged the truth to Mr. Rawlings over the last four days. He’s suspicious and asking questions. I’d be glad to forward these pictures to the press. They do seem to enjoy writing about me. Or, perhaps I could send them directly to my ex-husband with information regarding our secret rendezvous.”

His mind spun. Shit! This isn’t happening. “Why would you do that?”

“To get you fired Mr. Roach. I don’t appreciate having a shadow everywhere I go.”

“I’d deny everything; explain that I was only talking to you for information.”

“That sounds plausible. However, I presume you were instructed to keep me in sight, not to make contact.”

She was right. That was his instruction. He bowed to her manipulation. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to report exactly what I told you. I’ve spent the last four days relaxing in sunny San Antonio and enjoying the sights.”

“Why haven’t I sent photos?”

“You were having problems with your computer, or your SD Card, or your camera… I don’t care. Tomorrow I’ll gladly don different clothes and allow multiple staged photos… adjust the date on your camera, and your story will be complete.”