"I'm leaving," he announced.
"What's your hurry?" Cheryl asked.
"I've got some reading to do. Try to have a quiet night, please."
"We'll do our best. See you around."
"You won't see me around until Tuesday or Wednesday. I have to go out of town for a few days."
"Oh. Well, have a nice time."
"Thanks. You coming, Tony?"
"I think I'll stick around for a while," Tony said comfortably.
Mark nodded and wandered out.
Karen didn't offer to accompany him. He seemed totally preoccupied with some absorbing problem. Perhaps he was worrying about the job that lay ahead of him that weekend. Greatly as she had resented his efforts to watch over them, Karen had been conscious of a strange, flat feeling when she heard him say he would be gone for several days.
She was getting sleepy, but she hated to suggest that Tony leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself-elbows on the table, his face relaxed and free of care. He needed an interlude like this one even more than most people.
It was Cheryl who finally yawned loudly and declared she was too tired to talk any longer, even about real estate. She was kind enough to add, "You've been a big help, Tony. Karen and I will have another look at the Poolesville place tomorrow."
"I can't," Karen said. "I promised Julie I'd work tomorrow."
"Oh, damn, so you did. I guess you have to."
"It's the least I can do. I should have asked her to spend the night here-or offered to go to her…"
Tony got up. Taking Karen's hand, he raised her to her feet. "You're a nice person, Karen. Don't worry about that one, she's a survivor. Come on, walk me to the door. Night, babe."
"Mmm," said Cheryl, returning to her fact sheets.
"I'm sorry I had to cancel tonight," Tony said, when they were outside the room.
"For heaven's sake, you couldn't help it. That's part of your job."
"Want to try again Monday night?"
"Why… Sure, I guess so."
"Such enthusiasm." His teeth flashed in the light, and one hand lightly touched her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Tony. I feel…" She raised her hands in a small, bewildered gesture. "Unreal. So much has happened the last few days, and then this, tonight…"
Somehow her hands settled on his chest and his arms were quick to respond, circling her shoulders and waist. There was strength and support rather than passion in their grasp and she pressed against him, grateful for the warm strength of him under her hands.
"You're one tough little lady, Karen. What you've been through would have floored most women. Most people," he amended hastily, and she laughed and leaned closer.
"I'm not so tough," she said.
"I meant it as a compliment."
He was just the right height-tall enough so that she had to raise her face for his kiss, not so tall that the long, lingering caress put an intolerable strain on her muscles. His lips were warm and softer than she had expected; not so much tentative-for he knew exactly what he was doing, and how to do it-as inquiring. Is this what you want? How do you feel about it? And this…
Her lips parted and all individual sensation-the warmth of his body against her breasts, the movements of lips and tongue and hands, were swallowed up in an overwhelming wave of sheer physical pleasure. She was only vaguely aware of a voice somewhere in the background, but Tony responded to it, releasing her, reaching for the door.
"See you Monday," he said, and was gone, with a last lingering brush of fingertips across her lips.
Cheryl called again. "Yes, I'm coming," Karen called back.
But she didn't move immediately. Tony was already out of sight, lost in the darkness. The air was steamy, sticky, and hot, but it didn't warm her; for a few blissful moments she had been enveloped in comfort, like wrapping herself in a warm coat on a winter day, and now she was cold again.
There had been more to it than that. How much more she was unable to assess. She realized she was reluctant to face Cheryl. It was as if Tony's kiss had left a luminous imprint no observer could miss.
IT rained during the night. Karen didn't hear the rain, or anything else; she slept heavily and woke later than she had planned. When she went downstairs she found Cheryl dressed to go out while the radio announcer burbled happily about the weather. "… sunny and warm, lower humidity, unseasonably mild…" From the pride and pleasure in his voice one would have thought he had produced the lovely weather by praying, or casting spells.
Karen poured coffee and sat down. She felt rumpled and disoriented; though she could not remember the details of her dreams, she knew Tony Cardoza had played a prominent part in them. She was not sure what she wanted to do about Tony-or whether she had any choice in the matter.
"I thought I'd let you sleep," Cheryl said. "After the awful day you had yesterday."
"Your day was the same as mine. At least nothing happened last night. What do you have on the agenda?"
Cheryl's curls were pinned high on her head, in an attempt to make her look businesslike. She glanced at the paper in her hand. "I'm going to see a realtor in Alexandria. There was an ad in the paper this morning that sounded interesting, so I called and made an appointment. I want to check out a few yard sales and get back early to do some mending."
Her handwriting was as compact and as neat as printing. Karen wondered whether there was some connection between neat handwriting and a neat, well-organized mind. Probably. Her own writing was barely legible, even to her.
"Very good," she said respectfully.
"You might be thinking about a logo," Cheryl went on, making a precise check by one of the items on her list. "We need something eye-catching that we can use on signs and ads and business cards and promotional literature. You're the artistic half of this partnership, so that's your assignment for the day."
"Logo, my eye," Karen said. "We need a name! They go together, don't they? At least they should."
Cheryl looked at her rather blankly and then burst out laughing. "My gosh, that's right-we haven't got a name yet. That's your department too, you're the smart one."
"I don't know why you keep saying that. I have some skills you don't have, but the reverse is certainly true-and yours are a lot more useful than mine."
"I don't believe it, but I sure love to hear it," Cheryl said.
"You can't get out of it that easily. We'll both think about a name and a logo. It will distract me from Julie's moaning," Karen added. "I really do feel sorry for her, but I'm not looking forward to this afternoon. I wish I could go with you. It looks like a gorgeous day."
"It is." Cheryl got up and opened the back door, admitting Alexander, who paused to sniff at Karen's foot before heading for his bed. "They say it will be nice tomorrow too. We'll spend the whole day rambling around."
Karen was a few minutes early, but she found that the shop was already open. At first she saw no one within and assumed Julie was in the office. Then something moved behind the desk in front, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Karen saw Julie's pale face. It seemed to hang bodiless in mid-air, a pale oval lifeless as a mask. The parted lips and wide eyes were like an exaggerated artist's rendering of startled fear.
Then Julie let out a long, quivering sigh. Karen saw that her eyes were red-veined and her garish clown's makeup was less than perfect.
"I didn't think you'd come," Julie said.
"I told you I would. I'm sorry about Rob."
"You never liked him," said a flat voice she scarcely recognized as Julie's.
"I didn't dislike him."
"Yes, you did. And with good reason. He was a two-timing, cheap bastard." A single tear rolled down Julie's cheek, trailing a black slime of mascara. It was an obscenely pitiful sight, all the more so because Julie's frozen look did not alter and she made no attempt to wipe her face.
"I'm sorry," Karen repeated-but this time she meant it. "I didn't realize you were-that you had-"
"I wasn't," Julie said. "But I had." A ghost of her old mocking smile touched her lips. "Along with half the other female inhabitants of D.C. and suburbs. Maybe some of the males too. Oh, hell." She got up from her chair and went to the mirror. "What a mess," she said in a more normal voice, and reached for a tissue.