Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [68]
“Why the sigh, honeybunch?” Ted asked, massaging her toes.
“Just remembering,” she said honestly.
“Don’t, love. It’s a waste of time. We can’t change things. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? What does it matter what happened, how or why? It happened, we’re here, and we’ll make the best of it. As long as I have you then I’m happy. You’re what I need.”
But he hadn’t had that choice. For almost fifty years she’d been able to keep it from him, the truth about their deaths. If he knew what had really happened, if he knew the truth, would he be happy? If he could leave, would he, abandoning her?
She didn’t want to think about it. She glanced around the living room. In the fading sunlight it almost looked like the glory days when she and Ted had entertained the beautiful and the powerful. The Holland covers had been removed, and in the shadowy light the rips in the upholstery weren’t as apparent. The two low-slung sofas faced each other across a large, glass-topped coffee table that had been a more recent acquisition, though Brenda approved of it, and she recognized the tall, tarnished silver candelabra. She’d stolen one of them from the set of her last movie, The Runaway Heiress, and Ted, her director, had stolen the other. She’d always loved those candelabra—it was sheer luck they’d been hidden away during what she tended to call The Occupation. They probably wouldn’t have survived the gypsy hordes—they would have been smashed or sold for drugs.
But they remained, and while no one had bothered to light them yet, their presence was a gentle reminder of the past.
“What do you suppose that boy has in mind? I’ve never trusted him,” Ted said.
“You’re just being homophobic. He’s harmless. He spends all his time at that ridiculous computer. Besides, I do think he’s rather fond of his sisters.”
“The dog doesn’t like him. Neither do I.”
“Hush,” Brenda said, as a tall figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the fading light.
“Don’t be silly, honeybunch. He can’t see us or hear us.”
It was the man from the sofa. The good-looking one, Coltrane. Brenda wiggled her toes appreciatively as he approached their sofa. “Just as well. Do you suppose he’d be embarrassed if he knew we watched him last night?”
Ted looked at him. “Doubt it. He’s a cool customer. And it looks like he’s going to sit down on us.”
“Come on.” Brenda jumped up, pulling Ted with her, just as Coltrane threw himself on the sofa. He glanced around him, an abstracted expression on his face. And then a slow, wicked grin crossed his face.
“Not as cool a customer as you think,” Brenda said, sliding on top of the piano, her negligee swinging around her long legs. “He likes her.”
“He has good taste,” Ted said. “But I don’t think he’s good enough for one of our girls.”
“He’s a step above their usual,” she murmured. “Look at Jilly’s husband. A major creep.”
Coltrane leaned forward and lit the candles, filling the room with a soft, romantic light. He was quite attractive in the candlelight, though Brenda decided not to point that out to Ted. A little jealousy had its uses, but tonight she wasn’t in the mood for games. Ted was right, she was letting the past get to her. As well as the future, when, sooner or later, he was going to find out what really happened. Whether she told him or not.
“Sun’s going down, honeybunch,” Ted said, taking her hand. She slid off the piano, into his arms. “And I want to be alone with you.”
“Sweetheart, you’re always alone with me,” she said with a laugh.
“Humor me. Let’s go up to the rooftops and dance in the moonlight.”
“There’s no music.”
“I’ll sing to you.”
“You’re tone deaf,” she said fondly. “I’ll sing. You just lead.”
Then Brenda caught sight of Jilly and Roofus standing in the arched entryway to the living room. She hesitated for a moment.