Daring to Dream Page 12

  to do for either of them.

  "She's afraid and full of guilt and worry. It's only going to get worse for her." She pressed her lips together but couldn't settle herself. "Her home is broken, and whether you can see it or not, so is her heart. It's time you paid back some of what she's always given to you, and help her mend it."

  "Why do you think I'm here?" Margo tossed back. "I dropped everything I was doing and flew six thousand miles to help her."

  "A noble gesture." Ann's sharp, accusing eyes pinned her daughter. "You've always had a knack for the grand gesture, Margo, but holding fast takes something more. How long will you stay this time? A day, a week? How long before you're too restless to stick it out? Before the effort of caring for someone else becomes an inconvenience? Before you rush back to your glamorous life, where you don't have to think about anyone but yourself?"

  "Well." Because her hand was unsteady, Margo set the cup down. "Why don't you get the rest of it out, Mum? Sounds like you've stored plenty."

  "Oh, it's easy for you, isn't it, to come and go on a whim? Sending postcards and presents, as if that made up for your turning your back on everything real you've been given."

  Ann's own worries acted as an impetus for resentments harbored for years. They spewed out before she could stop them, splattering them both with bitterness.

  "You grew up in this house pretending you weren't the daughter of a servant, and Miss Laura treated you always as a sister. Who sent you money after you'd run off? Who used her influence to get you your first photo shoot? Who was there for you, always?" she demanded, stacking slices of bread like a irate cardsharp. "But have you been there for her? These past few years when she's been struggling to hold her family together, when she's been lonely and sad, were you there for her?"

  "How could I have known?"

  "Because Miss Kate would have told you. And if you hadn't been so wrapped up in Margo Sullivan, you'd have listened."

  "I've never been what you wanted," Margo said wearily. "I've never been Laura. And I can't be."

  Now guilt layered onto weariness and worry. "No one's asked you to be someone you're not."

  "Haven't you, Mum? If I could have been kinder, more generous like Laura, more sensible, more practical like Kate. Do you think I didn't know that, didn't feel that from you every day of my life?"

  Shocked and baffled, Ann shook her head. "Maybe if you'd been more satisfied with what you had and what you were, instead of running away from it, you'd have been happier."

  "Maybe if you'd ever looked at me and been satisfied with what I was, I wouldn't have run so far, and so fast."

  "I won't take the blame for how you've lived your life, Margo."

  "No, I'll take it." Why not? she thought. There was so much on her debit side already, a little more would hardly matter. "I'll take the blame and the glory. That way I don't need your approval."

  "I've never known you to ask for it." Ann strode out of the room and left Margo to stew.

  She gave it three days. It was odd. They had never actually lived together in the house as adults. At eighteen Laura had gotten married, Margo had run to Hollywood, and Kate, always struggling to leap over that single year's age difference, had graduated early and bolted to Harvard.

  Now they settled in. Kate used the excuse that she didn't have the energy to drive back to her apartment in Monterey, and Margo claimed to be marking time. She decided her mother had been right about some things. Laura was coping. But the difficult situation was only going to get worse. Already visitors were dropping by. Mostly the country club set, Margo noted, sniffing for gossip on the breakup of the Templeton-Ridgeway merger.

  One night Margo found Kayla camped outside Laura's bedroom door because she was afraid her mama might go away too.

  That was when she stopped believing it would settle down and she would go back to Milan. Her mother was right about something more, she'd decided. It was time for Margo Sullivan to hold fast and to pay back what had been given to her. She called Josh.

  "It's six o'clock in the morning," he complained when she tracked him down at Templeton Stockholm. "Don't tell me you've become that monster of civilized society, Margo—the morning person."

  "Listen up. I'm at Templeton House."

  "That's all right then. It's the shank of the evening there. What do you mean you're at Templeton House?" he demanded when his brain cleared. "What the hell are you doing in California? You're supposed to be putting a business together in Milan."

  She took a moment. It would be, she realized, the first time she'd said it aloud. The first time she would acknowledge the loss of one part of her life.

  "I'm not going back to Milan. At least not anytime soon." As his voice exploded in her ear with questions, accusations, she watched one dream fade away. She hoped she could replace it with another. "Just be quiet a minute, would you?" she ordered with a snap. "I need you to do something, whatever it is that needs to be done, to have my things shipped here."

  "Your things?"

  "Most of it's boxed up anyway, but the rest will have to be packed. Templeton must have a service for that kind of thing."

  "Sure, but—"

  "I'll pay you back, Josh, but I don't know who to call and I just can't handle the extra expense just now. The plane fare cut into my resources."

  Typical, Josh thought and jammed a pillow behind his back. Just typical. "Then why the hell did you buy a plane ticket to California?"

  "Because Peter was diddling his secretary and Laura's divorcing him."

  "You can't just go flying off whenever—What the hell did you say?"

  "You heard me. She's filed for divorce. I don't think he's going to fight it, but I can't imagine the whole thing is going to be friendly, either. She's trying to handle too much of it on her own, and I've decided I'm not going to let her."

  "Let me talk to her. Put her on."

  "She's asleep." If Laura had been wide awake and standing by her side, she wouldn't have handed the phone over. The icy violence in Josh's voice stabbed over the line. "She had another session with the lawyer today, and it upset her. The best solution all around is for me to stay here. I'm going to ask her to help me find the right location for the shop. It'll take some of this off her mind. Laura's always better at worrying about someone else than she is at worrying about herself."

  "You're going to stay in California?"

  "I won't have to worry about the VAT tax or Italian law, will I?" She felt hateful tears of self-pity sting her eyes and ruthlessly blinked them back. To ensure that her voice remained brisk and steady, she set her teeth. "Speaking of law, can I give you power of attorney, or whatever it's called? I need you to sell my flat, transfer funds, all those little legal details."

  Details of what she was planning ran through and boggled his mind. Had he thought typical? he mused. Nothing about Margo was ever typical. "I'll draft one up and fax it there. You can sign it, fax it back to me at Templeton Milan. Where the hell is Ridgeway?"

  "Rumor is he's still at the penthouse."

  "We'll soon fix that."

  Personally, she appreciated the cold viciousness in his voice, but… "Josh, I'm not sure Laura would want you rousting him out at this point.'

  "I outrank Laura in the Templeton feeding chain. I'll take care of the shipment as soon as I can. Are there any surprises I should be prepared for?''

  Her American Express bill had arrived just before she'd left. She decided he didn't need another shock just then. "No, nothing worth mentioning. I'm sorry to dump this on you, Josh. I mean that, but I don't know how else to stay here with Laura and get this shop up and running before I'm shipped off to debtors' prison."

  "Don't worry about it. Chaos is my business." He imagined her leaving everything in that chaos to rush off to support a friend. Loyalty, he thought, was and always had been her most admirable quality. "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm good. And still untouched," she added. "Are you alone in that bed?"

  "Except for
the six members of the all-girl Swedish volleyball team. Helga's got a hell of a spike. Aren't you going to ask what I'm wearing?"

  "Black Speedos, sweat, and a big smile."

  "How'd you guess? So, what are you wearing?" Slowly, she ran her tongue around her teeth. "Oh, just this little… very little… white lace teddy."

  "And stiletto heels."

  "Naturally. With a pair of sheer hose. They have little pink roses around the tops. It matches the one I'm tucking between my breasts right now. I should add I've just gotten out of the tub. I'm still a little… wet."

  "Jesus. You're too good at this. I'm hanging up." Her response was a long, throaty laugh. "I'm going to love driving that Jag. Let me know when to expect the shipment." When the phone clicked in her ear, she laughed again, turned, and found herself nearly face to face with Kate. "How long have you been standing there?"

  "Long enough to be confused. Were you just having phone sex with Josh? Our Josh?"

  Carelessly, Margo brushed her hair behind her ear. "It was more foreplay really. Why?"

  "Okay." She'd have to give that one some thought. "Now what is this about getting a shop up and running?"

  "My, my, you do have big ears, don't you?" Margo tugged on them hard enough to make Kate yelp. "Well, sit down. I might as well tell you the master plan."

  Kate listened, her only comments the occasional grunt, snort, or mutter. "I suppose you've calculated start-up costs?"

  "Ah—"

  "Right. And you've looked into licenses, fees, applied for a tax number."

  "I have a few details to iron out," Margo muttered. "And it's just like you to toss cold water in my face."

  "Gee, and here I thought it was cool common sense."

  "Why shouldn't I make a business out of selling my things?" Margo demanded. "What's wrong with turning humiliation into an adventure? Just because I hadn't thought about applying for some stupid tax number doesn't mean I can't pull this off."

  Sitting back, Kate tapped her fingertips together. It wasn't an entirely insane idea, she mused. In fact, it had some solid financial merit. Liquidation of assets tied to old-fashioned free enterprise. Kate decided she could help iron out some of the details if Margo was truly set on giving capitalism a try. It would be risky, certainly, but then Margo had always been one for taking risks.

  "You're going to be a shopkeeper?"

  Eyes bland, Margo studied her manicure. "I'm thinking of it more as a consultant position."

  "Margo Sullivan," Kate marveled, "selling used clothes and knickknacks."

  "Objets d'art."

  "Whatever." Amused, Kate stretched out her legs, crossed them at the ankles. "It looks like hell has finally frozen over."

  Chapter Nine

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  Margo stood in front of the storefront on busy Cannery Row and knew this one was it. The wide display window glinted in the sun and was protected from the elements by a charming little covered veranda. Its door was beveled glass decorated with an etched bouquet of lilies. Old-fashioned brass fittings gleamed. The peaked roof was topped by rows of Spanish tile softened to pink by time and weather.

  She could hear the tinny tune from a carousel, the harsh cry of gulls, and the busy chatter of tourists. Scents of cooking from the stands and open-air restaurants of Fisherman's Wharf carried on the strong breeze flying off the water. Bicycles built for two clattered by.

  Street traffic was a constant snarl, cars desperately seeking a parking spot they were unlikely to find in this busy tourist haven. Pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks, many with children who were either all eyes and grins or whining crankily.

  There was movement everywhere. People and noise and action. The little shops lining the street, the restaurants and attractions, drew them day after day, month after month.

  All the other buildings, the narrow storefronts, the empty storage rooms she'd viewed had just been steps, she thought, leading to this.

  "It's perfect," she murmured.

  "You haven't even been inside," Kate pointed out.

  "I know it's perfect. It's mine."

  Kate exchanged a look with Laura. She had a pretty good idea what property rented for in this location. If you're going to dream, she thought, dream big. But then, Margo always had.

  "The realtor's probably inside by now." Arriving late was part of Margo's strategy. She didn't want to appear too eager. "Just let me do the talking."

  "Let her do the talking," Kate muttered and rolled her eyes at Laura. "We're going to have lunch after this one, right?" She could smell the frying fish and spicy sauces, aromas wafting down from Fisherman's Wharf. Dull, nagging hunger pangs attacked her stomach. "This is the last one before lunch."

  "This is the only one." Shoulders squared for battle, Margo stepped up to the door. She had to force herself not to snatch the For Rent sign away. Little frissons of possession were already sprinting along her spine. She didn't question them, or the fact that she had certainly walked past this building countless times before and felt nothing.

  She felt it now, and that was enough.

  The main room was wide and empty. Scars were dug into the hardwood floor where counters and display cases had been ripped out. The paint had faded from white to something re sembling old paste and was pocked with small holes where the previous tenant had hung wares.

  But she saw only a lovely archway leading into an adjoining space, the charm of a set of iron tightwinder stairs spiraling toward the second level, the airy, circling balcony. She recognized the signs in herself, the quickening of her pulse, the sharpening of vision. She often felt the same when she walked into Carder and saw something that seemed to be waiting just for her.

  Sensing trouble, Laura put a hand on her arm. "Margo."

  "Can't you see it? Can't you just see it?"

  "I see it needs a ton of manual labor." Kate wrinkled her nose. The air smelled of… incense? Pot? Old candles? "And fumigating."

  Ignoring her, Margo walked over to a peeling door and opened it. Inside was a tiny bathroom with an aging pedestal sink and chipped tile. It thrilled her.

  "Hello?" The voice echoed down from the second floor, following by the quick tap of high heels on wood. Laura winced.

  "Oh, God, not Louisa. Margo, you said your appointment was with a Mr. Newman."

  "Well, it was."

  The voice called out again, and if there had been anywhere to dive for cover, Laura would have used it.

  "Ms. Sullivan, is that you?" The woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was all in pink from her flowing swing jacket to her clicking heels. Her hair was the careful ash blond that hairdressers often chose to hold off gray, and it was styled ruthlessly into a helmet that curved around pink cheeks. Gold rattled on her wrists, and an enormous sunburst pin exploded over her left breast.

  Mid-fifties, Margo estimated with an experienced eye, and holding desperately on to forty. Very decent face-lift, she mused, smiling politely as the woman picked her way down the circling stairs, chattering all the way. Regular aerobic classes to keep her in shape, possibly aided by a tummy tuck and lipo.

  "…just refreshing my memory," Louisa continued, bubbling like a brook. "I haven't been in here for several weeks. Dear Johnny was supposed to show you through, but he had a teeny little accident with his car this morning." When she reached the bottom, slightly out of breath, she offered a hand. "So delighted to meet you. I'm Louisa Metcalf."

  "Margo Sullivan."

  "Yes, of course you are." Her raisin-colored eyes glinted with interest and carefully applied bronze shadow. "I recognized you right away. I had no idea my one o'clock was the Margo Sullivan. And you're just as lovely as all your photographs. They're so often touched up, aren't they? Then you meet someone whose face you've seen just hundreds of times and it's such a disappointment. You've led such an interesting life, haven't you?"

  "And it's not over yet," Margo said and had Louisa tittering with laughter.

  "Oh, no, indeed. How f
ortunate to be so young and lovely. I'm sure you can overcome any little setback. You've been in Greece, haven't you?"

  "Hello, Louisa."

  She turned, laying a hand over her heart. "Why, Laura dear. I didn't see you there. What a delightful surprise."

  Knowing the routine, Laura met her halfway and the women exchanged quick air kisses. "You look wonderful."

  "Oh, my professional mode." Louisa smoothed her jacket, under which her bosom was heaving happily in anticipation of gossip. "I so enjoy dabbling a few days a week in my little hobby. Real estate takes you into such interesting places, and you meet so many people. With Benedict so busy with his practice and the children grown, I have to have something to do with my time." Those glinting eyes sharpened. "I don't know how you manage, dear, with those two lovely children, all your charity work, the social whirl. I was just telling Barbara—you remember my daughter, Barbara—how amazing I thought you were. Managing all those committees and functions, raising two children. Especially now that you're going through such a trial. Divorce." She whispered it as though it were a dirty word. "Such a heartbreak for everyone involved, isn't it? How are you bearing up, dear?"

  "I'm fine." More out of desperation than manners, Laura tugged Kate forward. "This is Kate Powell."

  "Nice to meet you."

  Kate didn't bother to tell her that they'd met at least half a dozen times before. Women like Louisa Metcalf never remembered her.

  "Are you interested in the building, Laura?" she continued. "I understood that the caller was looking to rent, but if you're wanting an investment now that you're on your own, so to speak, this would be perfect for you. A woman alone needs to think about her future, don't you agree? The owner is willing to sell."

  "Actually, it's Margo who—"

  "Oh, of course. I do beg your pardon." She pivoted toward Margo like a cannon bearing to aim from the top of a tank. "Seeing an old friend again, you understand. And the two of you have been friends for years, haven't you? So nice you can be close by during our Laura's time of trouble. It's a wonderful building, isn't it? A clever location. You wouldn't have the least trouble finding a suitable tenant. And I can recommend a very reliable management company."

  Buy it? To own it. Margo had to swallow the saliva that pooled in her mouth. Afraid that Louisa might see the territorial light in her eyes, she turned away and wandered. "I haven't actually decided whether to rent or buy." She rolled her eyes gleefully at Kate and Laura. "Who were the last tenants?"

  "Oh, well, that was a bit unfortunate. Which is why the owner is considering selling out. It was a New Age shop. I don't understand that business myself, do you? Crystals and odd music and gongs. It came out that they were also selling drugs." She whispered the last word, as if saying it might addict her. "Marijuana. Oh, my dear, I hope that doesn't upset you, with your recent troubles."

  Margo sent her an arch look. "Not at all. Perhaps I could see upstairs."

  "Certainly. It's quite roomy. It's been used as a little apartment and has the most adorable doll's house of a kitchen, and of course the view."

  She picked her way back up, chattering about the delights of the building while the others trailed after her.

  "You can't be serious," Kate hissed, grabbing Margo's arm. "You couldn't afford the rent in this location, much less the purchase price."

  "Just shut up. I'm thinking."

  It was hard to think with Louisa's incessant chirping, so Margo shut it out. Shut out everything but sheer delight. It was roomy, surprisingly so. And if the banister circling the second level was shaky, so what? And the pentagram painted on the floor could be removed.

  Maybe it was hot as a furnace, and the kitchen alcove was only big enough for one of the Seven Dwarfs. But there were quaint eyebrow windows peeking out, offering teasing glimpses of the sea.

  "It has wonderful potential," Louisa went on. "A bit of cosmetic work, some pretty paper or paint. Of course you know that property in this area rents by the square foot." She opened the briefcase she'd left on the narrow kitchen counter, took out a file. "This building has six hundred and twenty-eight." She offered papers to Margo. "The owner has kept the rent very reasonable, considering. Of course, the utility fees are the responsibility of the tenant."

  Kate turned on the tap, watched gray water sputter out. "And the repairs?"

  "Oh, I'm sure something can be worked out there." Louisa dismissed Kate with a wave of her hand and a jangle of bracelets. "You'll want to look over the lease, of course. I don't want to pressure you, but I feel obliged to let you know we have another interested party coming through tomorrow. And once it's officially known that the building's for sale, well…" She let that lay, smiling. "I believe the asking price is only two hundred seventy-five thousand."

  Margo felt her dream pop—an overinflated red balloon. "That's good to know." She managed a shrug, though her shoulders felt weighted. "As I said, I'm not sure