скачать книгу бесплатно
* * *
But he wasn’t far away. Every nerve ending he possessed, every element of caution, was on edge. There was something going on here. He could feel it in the air. He wasn’t sure what it was—but he was going to find out.
Was Torie involved? Undoubtedly. His gaze kept getting pulled back to her, leaving him halfway between bemused and annoyed. Something about her nagged at him—as though there was something he’d forgotten, something he’d filed away and put into the wrong drawer. Something just didn’t compute. Why did she look so familiar?
And where the hell was Carl? A part of him wanted to go looking for him, but then Torie would disappear. Better to stay. Someone had to keep an eye on her.
She spoke to the Texan and laughed at something he said back, but her gaze quickly returned to search him out. What expression did he see on her face? Defiance? Anger? He wasn’t sure what it was, but it only aroused his interest. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She was getting ready to make a move and he wanted to be sure he knew about it when it happened.
But the night was young and Marge had plans for them all.
“Come on, everybody,” she announced, calling them all to gather around the fire pit. “I’ve got Jimmy bringing in more wood. We’ll sit around the fire and tell stories.”
“Ghost stories?” Lyla asked, looking worried.
“No,” Marge said, laughing. “Let’s get back to the reason you’re all here. I think each of you should talk about Shangri-La and what you would do to change it into your own special dream. How about that?”
Torie couldn’t hide her smile. Marge was turning out to be quite a saleswoman. She glanced over at where Marc was standing, a beer in his hand, looking watchful.
Of course, she thought. I’m surely not the only one he’s got his eye on tonight, and that’s obvious.
Marge was trying to perk the party up, to generate some enthusiasm among the people crowding close to the fire, trying to get warm.
“Come on people. Dig deep. Think back. Recall patio parties and fireplace sing-alongs from your early days. Think of the potential here.” She looked at the faces turned her way. “Come on, Lyla,” she said. “What would you do if you owned this place?”
Lyla smiled, looking dreamy, and stepped out into the light. “I see this property as a setting for an entertainment center. I’d set up a stage and put on theatrical performances, drawing audiences down from the Bay Area and up from Los Angeles.”
“Lots of luck on that one,” the Texan chortled. “Both of those are long drives. You’ll get an audience of ten or so per show.”
Lyla shrugged elaborately. “I’ll start with that. But we would grow. Word of mouth...”
“Here’s my plan,” Phoebe chimed in happily. “I would love to have a spiritual retreat for our friends. Some are show-business people, some are politicians. They could come here and be refreshed by nature. I would put in a natural swimming pool right here, with a waterfall and vines hanging over it. I would have Greek statues all around the water.”
“That sounds like Hearst Castle.”
“Yes. I love Hearst Castle.”
“That’s okay if you’re as rich as Hearst was,” the Texan said. “Otherwise, better aim a little lower, I’d say. Stop dreaming.”
“A human must dream,” Andros protested grandly. “We have a dream too, me and Nina. We would make this place into a first-class destination resort for Mediterranean clients, people who want something different. Our restaurant would be the core project, of course. We would make the best Greek restaurant in the world, right here, an old-fashioned supper club. And we would turn the house into a hotel....”
Nina chimed in, telling them about her ancient recipes handed down through the family grandmothers. “Old-country charm supported by modern technology,” she declared. “We have such plans.”
“No way,” the Texan said dismissively. “You’re all aiming to go broke in the first year.”
“Oh yeah?” Frank retorted. “Then what’s your idea, cowboy? A dude ranch?”
“Hell no. I have no interest in drawing other people here. The first thing I’ll do is hire a geologist and a mining engineer and start drilling holes.”
“Holes?”
That got everyone’s attention and they all stared at him raptly.
“Sure. We would tear this place apart. I’m bettin’ on gold, lady. There was a pretty good vein that tapped out in the nineteenth century not far from here. I’m bettin’ we can track it down and...”
“Are you serious?” Marc said, frowning fiercely.
“California gold. That’s what the state is known for. There’s gotta be some somewhere. I’m bettin’ on these here hills.”
“You’re crazy,” Frank said, and four or five other voices joined in, each with a different view of the possibilities of finding gold.
“How about you, Torie?” Marge asked as the argument died down. “What do you and Carl have in mind?”
Torie tried to deflect the question. She didn’t want to get caught up in this. “You’ll have to ask Carl himself for that.”
All eyes were turned her way.
“We’re asking you,” Frank pointed out.
“Me?”
“Sure. Aren’t you involved?”
“Oh. Sure.” She cleared her throat. What the heck could she say? She had no idea what Carl would want. Everyone was waiting. She felt cornered.
But then it came to her—not Carl’s dream, but her own. It was a picture of what Shangri-La had been twenty years before when she’d been a child. She realized now how much she’d loved it, how central it had been to her universe—the core of her being—the place that had molded her identity.
“If I had this place all to myself,” she began, staring off at the moon drifting off over the ocean and leaving a trail of silver behind, “I would build a trellis along the walkway at the top of the cliff and grow wild roses all through it.”
She went on, caught up in the memories, and conjured up every detail of what the place had looked like in its glory days, when she was a child. Just bringing back those pictures made her heart sing. She smiled as she talked and wondered if this was what love felt like.
Marc grimaced as Torie began, tempted to go look for Carl while he knew she was occupied. He had to stop falling for the spell she seemed to weave so easily in his head and in his body. But he hesitated, and once she’d started talking, he was really listening to her words. Frowning, he concentrated. What she was saying sliced through him like a knife. The picture she was painting was one he recognized. It fit his childhood.
She knew this place. She’d been here before.
He looked over to see if his stepmother had noticed, but her attention was wrapped up in smiling at Jimmy. That made his stomach turn and he swore softly, shaking his head. Then he looked back at Torie.
Who the hell was she anyway?
* * *
Torie came out of her reverie and looked around. Everyone was staring at her and she felt her cheeks heating up. What had she said that seemed to have enthralled them all?
Her gaze met Marc’s. He looked as though he couldn’t believe what he’d been hearing, and then he jerked his head in a way that told her he wanted to talk to her privately. Something in the look on his face made her think she might want to comply this time.
She waited until the conversation began to buzz around the fire again. And when no one seemed to be paying any attention to her, she rose and slipped out of the firelight, meeting Marc on the walkway through the palms.
“What is it?” she said as she came up to him.
He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
She drew in her breath and her pulse began to sputter. “I’m...I’m just Torie...”
“Torie who? What’s your real last name?”
She started to speak and he stopped her.
“Don’t give me that Marino nonsense. Your real last name.”
She shook her head, looking away. The masquerade hadn’t lasted very long, had it? “Listen Marc....”
“No, you listen. That little tale you spun out there by the fire was a perfect description of what this place used to look like twenty years ago. How did you know that?”
She tried to smile but his eyes weren’t friendly at all. She had a sinking feeling inside. She wasn’t very good at this deception stuff. She couldn’t possibly tell him everything, but maybe she could let a few things go.
“I used to live here,” she told him frankly.
He stared at her, shaking his head.
“It’s true. I’m Torie Sands.”
“Sands? As in...?”
She drew in a deep breath and came clean. “Jarvis Sands was my father.”
He stared at her. “The butler.”
“Yes.”
“The one who stole the Don Carlos Treasure.”
“No!” she said fiercely. “He never did. He was falsely accused.”
Marc’s head went back. “As I remember it, he went to jail....”
“He was never formally indicted and the treasure was found. He was released.” She shook her head, wishing her eyes weren’t stinging with tears. How could her emotions about that time be so close to the surface when it was so long ago? “It was all a horrible mistake.”
He was frowning, his gaze ranging over her face, studying every feature as though he could randomly rearrange them and get to the truth. “You used to live in the gatehouse.”
She nodded, holding herself together with effort.
“Your name wasn’t Torie though, was it?”
“No. It was Vicki.” She shrugged. “Actually, Victoria.”
He was looking at her in wonder. “You were the chubby little girl who used to throw things at me from the apple tree.”
“I never threw anything at you,” she replied, wishing she didn’t sound as though she were pouting. “But I was that little girl.”
“Vicki Sands.” He nodded slowly. “Sure, I see it now. That was you.” He shrugged as though hardly knowing what to think. “I can’t believe it.” His gaze sharpened. “So what are you doing here, Torie? Why did you come back?”
She searched his handsome face and considered telling him the truth. She wanted to. But was that smart? After all, what she was here for was to prove his family wrong. He wasn’t going to help her do that, was he? The best thing that could come out of this was if she could convince him to leave her alone and let her get on with it. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with him hanging around.
She shrugged and looked away. “Nostalgia, I guess. I thought it would be fun to see the old place again.”
“Really.” His skeptical take on her statement was obvious. “I see.” His head tilted to the side as he considered her words. “So that’s why you went straight for the caves. It had something to do with the Don Carlos Treasure. Of course.”
“No.” She turned, wanting to defend her actions, but she saw the disbelief in his eyes and she was glad she’d kept the truth to herself. “Actually, I went out there because I used to play in those caves and I wanted to see them again. For old time’s sake.”
“Right.”
He didn’t believe her but she tried to get past that. After all, what did she care if he didn’t believe her? All she really wanted from him was to be left alone. Still, there was something she had to say.
“I...I heard about what happened to your father,” she told him. “And despite everything, I was sorry he had to go that way.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, despite everything?”
She blinked at him. Didn’t he remember how it was? His father had been the one who’d had hers arrested. There was certainly cause for her to resent the man. Her father had loved working for Hunt, as they called him, and had felt personally close to him. The way his old friend had turned on him had seemed a complete betrayal. It was a major factor in his taking his own life.
She frowned and turned away, fighting back emotion, but he didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t answered.
“Wait. I’m trying to remember. Didn’t your father die shortly after you moved back down to Los Angeles that year?” he asked her. “I thought my father had told me that.”
She nodded, holding tears back with all the strength she had. There was no way she was going to cry in front of him.
“Yes,” she said gruffly. “My mother always says he died of a broken heart.” She coughed, covering up how her voice was shaking. “But actually...actually...” She turned and looked right into his face. “Actually, he shot himself.”
“Oh God.” His face registered pure compassion for a moment, and he reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Torie. I don’t think I knew that.”
She shrugged, forcing back the lump in her throat and pulling away from his hand.
“Funny,” he said softly. “So both our fathers committed suicide. How strange.”
“Oh!” She stared at him. His eyes looked troubled in the dark. “I didn’t know. The papers didn’t say... I thought...”
“It was an accidental drowning? Yeah, we got that announced and it stuck, luckily. But he left a note. We knew he died on purpose.”
She felt as though she’d been slugged in the stomach. She’d had no idea. She’d spent a lot of time resenting the man, but to hear he’d been tortured enough to want to end it all changed a lot in her heart.
Impulsively, she reached out and took his hand. “Oh Marc, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
He gazed down into her face. Tears still shimmered in her eyes. He looked at her pretty mouth and everything in him hungered to kiss her. Why? Just because she was pretty? Just because she was so close? No matter how much she appealed to him, she wasn’t available. She might not be married to Carl, but that didn’t mean she was free.
Deliberately, he pulled away from her touch.
“Carl,” he said, reminding himself as well as her. “What’s the deal with him? What’s he looking for?”
She shook her head. “I really don’t know. He hasn’t told me.” She hesitated, thinking fast. She needed to keep her cards close to her vest. She shouldn’t tell him too much. “I thought he was interested in buying the place and wanted to check out all the details. And that’s probably all it is.”
