Coffee Sonata

© Gun Brooke

Release date - May 2006
ISBN: 1-933110-41-4

Sonata
so·na·ta
Pronunciation: so-na-ta
Function: noun
Etymology: Italian, from sonare to
sound, from Latin:
an instrumental musical
composition typically of three or
four movements in contrasting
forms and keys
Source: Merriam-Webster OnLine

∞

Behind every successful woman...is
a substantial amount of coffee.
Stephanie Piro
Coffee should be black as hell,
strong as death, and as sweet as
love.
Turkish proverb  

Prologue

“What do you mean, you want to cancel the tour, Vivian?” Malcolm Hayes said. “You’re scheduled for concerts in Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Singapore. They’ll claim damages and might damn well get them.”
Vivian Harding turned from the window to her obviously stunned agent. “I don’t care. I can’t do anything about it, Malcolm.” Impatient, she tapped the surface of the Venetian desk in her hotel room with perfectly manicured fingernails. “Just make it happen.”
“But why so late? And so sudden?”
“I…I can’t talk about it now. We’ll discuss it in more detail when I’m back in the States.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t have anybody to water your plants right now?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Vivian pressed trembling fingers to her lids. “I fully intended to honor my contract, Malcolm. All I can say right now is that this is the only course of action.”
“Dear God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Malcolm was also her friend, and Vivian watched with regret how utterly stricken he looked as he sank down on a chair behind the desk.
After a brief silence he cleared his throat and began again. “I’ll take care of it, Viv. I promise.”

Chapter One

The bell above the café door gave a muted ping. As Michaela Stone glanced up from folding napkins behind the counter, she saw a woman she didn’t recognize coming toward her.
Dressed in a casual yet elegant white and navy blue sweat suit, she looked like she’d just stepped off a yacht. Maybe she had. Her blond hair, kept in a loose twist, sparkled like it was alive. Mike found herself imagining how it would look if it were set free.
“Welcome to the Sea Stone Café,” she managed, embarrassed to realize that she was staring. “I’m Mike. What can I get you?”
“Just coffee.” The woman’s voice was so rich and full it reminded Mike of a blend of espresso and smooth Belgian chocolate.
“There’s no such thing as ‘just coffee,’ ma’am.” Mike pointed at the blackboard over the counter with a grin. “We offer ten different beans, and you can have brewed coffee, boiled coffee, ice coffee, cappuccino, latte, macchiato…well, you see over there?”
“Ah…nothing ordinary will do, I see.” Raising her porcelain blue eyes to the board, the woman read through all the coffee varieties. “Okay, a house blend cappuccino.”
“Excellent choice. Coming right up.” Mike abandoned the napkins and walked over to the espresso machine. While her hands automatically created the cappuccino, she thought about the woman waiting for it. It wasn’t tourist season in New Quay, Rhode Island, and even then, she rarely saw anyone who looked like this woman just drop in. It wasn’t just her clothes that suggested wealth and sophistication. The way the blonde carried herself, with ease and elegance, suggested a well-leveled self-confidence.
She placed an extra piece of chocolate on the saucer but stopped just as she was about to serve the coffee. “Would you rather sit at a table?” Not just yet.
“The bar’s fine, Mike. I’m Vivian, by the way.” She waited until Mike had put the coffee down before extending her hand and barely missed the cup. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Vivian.” It was surprisingly easy to call her by her first name. Vivian felt familiar. People never feel familiar this fast. What’s going on? Mike cleared her throat. “Just visiting East Quay?”
“Yes, for a while. I’m on…hiatus.”
Interesting choice of words. “Staying at the Marriott?”
Vivian didn’t appear to mind the third degree. She sipped her coffee and looked relaxed. “No, I’m borrowing my friends’ beach house with my two dogs. It’s their summer home, but I look forward to sitting by the fire this winter.”
“Ever experienced a New England winter? You may be surprised if you haven’t.”
Vivian laughed and the sound rippled down Mike’s spine. “I know they can be brutal. I grew up in East Quay, a thousand years ago. The town has changed a lot, but I’m sure the winters are the same.”
“We get snowed in all the time. As odd as it sounds, that’s good for business.”
“Yes, I bet people are even more interested in hot coffee when there’s a cold wind outside.”
“You got it.”
Mike caught herself staring at Vivian and grabbed a new pile of napkins. She neatly folded one in three, turned it over once, and attached the simple brass napkin ring.
“You work here alone?”
Unexpectedly happy she hadn’t bored Vivian, Mike shook her head. “No, I’ve got three part-time employees. One comes in for the evening rush.”
“You’re the owner?” A surprised smile revealed perfect white teeth when Vivian leaned forward, her fingertips playing with the rim of the coffee cup. “Well, I certainly admire what you’ve done with the place. It was already pretty run down when I was a child.”
“It was condemned when I bought it, been sitting empty for several years. I had to renovate for six months before I could get a license to serve food.”
“And look at it now.”
Mike warmed to the approval in Vivian’s voice, pleased that she appreciated Mike’s hard work. She watched Vivian sip her coffee, closing her eyes as she tasted it, and she looked so sensual Mike wondered if that was how she looked when she made love. Shocked at her thoughts and disturbingly aroused, she stared at the napkin she’d unconsciously wrinkled beyond recognition. Damn, what’s wrong with me?
“How long have you been in business, Mike?”
“Almost six years. I graduated from the University of Rhode Island, and then fate called me to this old marina. I fell in love with its beautiful vintage yachts and this abandoned building begging to become a café.”
“And you listened.” Vivian’s eyes sparkled.
“I did. It’s hard work, but I’ve never regretted that.” What I regret is all the years I wasted before that. Despite Mike’s best efforts, thinking about the past left her feeling naked and exposed. “This is also my home,” she continued, and tried to find the security that thought usually carried. “I live in the basement.”
“In the basement? In this old house? Is that…healthy?”
“Sure.” Pulled out of the mood she hated for a few seconds, Mike laughed, again warmed, this time by Vivian’s apparent concern. “I had it completely restored when the café started to make money. Before that I lived in a small apartment in town. Now I have lots of space. And it’s not as dark as you’d think.” And there’s really nothing wrong with darkness. You can hide well if you stay out of the light.

#

Vivian Harding couldn’t take her eyes off Mike’s face and the shadows flickering in her eyes. She felt like a voyeur as she sat across the counter and wondered what had caused such torment.
The young woman, or perhaps not as young as she’d first thought, was beautiful in the darkest of ways. Her hair was so black that the highlights were blue. They emphasized her blue-black eyes, set deeply under black, full eyebrows. Her features were strong, with sharp planes and angles—a face full of character. “So you’re like me, live and breathe work?”
“I guess that’s true, to some extent.” For a moment, Mike’s expression lightened. She placed a new pile of folded napkins next to Vivian. “I watch a lot of movies and play the drums. Especially if I’m angry. That’s why I started—to get rid of stress in college.”
“Ever play professionally?”
“No. Except for the gigs at college where they paid us in free beer.”
“Beer?” Vivian couldn’t stand the stuff. The smell, the taste; it was all bad. She wasn’t about to insult Mike’s taste, though.
“Yeah, there was a lot of beer, but I stayed away from it. I don’t drink.”
More shadows. Vivian leaned forward so she wouldn’t miss any of Mike’s facial expressions. “I don’t drink much either these days. A glass of red wine on special occasions, that’s all. I’m on, well…some medication, and the two don’t play nicely together.”
“I’d say so.” Mike grimaced, making Vivian laugh. “I knew someone who mixed alcohol with a little bit of everything. Everything but food.”
“Sounds like a careless person,” Vivian suggested cautiously. I bet that was someone close to you.
“To say the least.”
They exchanged another long look, and again Vivian felt something indescribable happen, something she couldn’t grasp, but it was as tangible as the coffee cup in her hands. Mike’s mix of dark wildness, combined with an undeniable vulnerability, stirred something inside Vivian and induced a faint tingle in her stomach. She was amazed at her own interest, and it did take her mind off the issues she was battling. Vivian welcomed the change of focus.
“You said you have dogs.” Mike changed the subject, her eyes now black as thunderclouds. “What kind?”
“Great Danes,” Vivian replied, trying to sound cheerful. She wanted to assure her she had nothing to fear from someone who was almost hiding in East Quay. Mike’s look of relief and the disappearing tremors in her hands were worth the effort. “They’re brothers, six years old, called Perry and Mason.”
Mike laughed aloud and the irresistible sound produced goose bumps on Vivian’s arms. “Perry and Mason! You a Raymond Burr fan?”
“Not really, but somehow the names fit. They’re both nosy and stubborn.” Vivian grinned. “They’re also sweet and well behaved, most of the time. Since I’m alone in that beach house, they make me feel safe.”
“Is your family still here in East Quay, Vivian?”
“No. I moved my parents to a condo near the harbor in Newport as soon as I could afford to. My mother always wanted to live near the water, and nowadays she loves to watch the ships come and go. Especially the QE2.”
“What do you know.” Mike sounded enthusiastic. “I went to Newport once, with a family I stayed with, and we toured the QE2. I was stunned, beyond stunned. I knew one day I’d travel on that ship and visit all the ports she went to.” Leaning forward, she placed her chin in her palms. “I still want to.”
“And you should, cara. You have plenty of time, but the sooner the better.”
“Have you sailed with her?”
Vivian nodded. “Yes, but it was a working voyage.”
“You don’t exactly strike me as a sailor.” Mike winked.
Laughing, Vivian shook her head, covering her forehead and feigning exasperation. “You found me out,” she huffed. “Honestly, I was part of the entertainment.”
“You’re a performer?”
“Yes. I sing.”
“How great. I play the drums and you sing—we have potential.” A fierce blush crept up from Mike’s neck and spread to her pale cheeks like wildfire. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“I know, I know. But I see your point.” Vivian smiled, charmed by Mike’s apparent confusion.
The bell pinged and a young woman poked her head in. “Sorry I’m late for work, Mike! I’ll just park my bike and be right in.”
The mood between Mike and Vivian broke like a dry twig, and they both pulled back. Vivian slid ten dollars beneath her cup. “Well,” she said with some reluctance, “I think that’s my cue. It was nice talking with you.”
“Thanks. The same to you. Do come back.”
A quiet longing in Mike’s voice made Vivian stop and turn. “Of course I will. You make excellent coffee, cara.”

#

“Hey, kiddo, drop what you’re doing.”
Eryn Goddard jumped when her boss’s loud voice sounded just a few inches from her right ear. “Why?” She pivoted on the chair, meticulously preventing her disdain for Harold Mills from showing. He was a short, stocky man, and if his nonexistent social skills weren’t enough, he wasn’t running the local paper very professionally. She resented his lack of objectivity and his obvious pandering to some of the local politicians and merchants.
“Get down to the Marriott, pronto. Hernandez was supposed to go, but his wife’s hatching their fourth.” Harold obviously thought that Mrs. Hernandez should’ve thought better of interfering with business than to expect her husband at her side for the baby’s birth.
“What’s up at the Marriott?” Eryn was already on her feet, eager to get out of her bully of a boss’s way.
“A press conference. The world press is there. Make sure you have your credentials. Security’s bound to be tight.”
“Are you going to tell me what kind of press conference, or will that be a surprise?” Eryn knew she sounded sarcastic and didn’t care. Harold glared, and she felt a little wave of satisfaction.
“Our only freakin’ diva is back for the first time since she skipped town some forty years ago. Do me a favor. Put East Quay on the map for a change. Ask a headline question. Anything.”
Eryn’s mind raced. Only one name came to mind, but was that possible? “Vivian Harding? The opera singer?”
“Bingo.”
Eryn hated when he said “bingo” in that smug tone. Overbearing prick. “All right, I’ll head over there now. When’s the press conference?”
“In forty-five minutes.” He checked his watch. “Make that forty.”
“And that’s cutting it a tad close.” With her teeth clenched around a juicy insult, Eryn headed for the door, pulling her shoulder bag over her head as she strode between the desks in the small office. Nothing like a little pressure!

#

Vivian applied her deep red lipstick with skilled precision. As she put it down, she leaned in closer to examine her reflection. It was important to look impeccable, today more than ever. She gently pressed a tissue to her full lips before applying a second layer.
Something stroked against her leg, and she looked down at the dog. “Do I look the part, Mason? Will I look enough of the homecoming superstar to fool the press?”
Mason sat down and tilted his head as if to ponder the question, making her laugh. His brother joined them and rested his large head on the dresser, reluctant as usual to take his eyes off her.
Vivian returned her attention to the mirror and made sure her hair was secure in its loose twist. She had chosen a red pantsuit over a white sleeveless blouse and her trademark three-inch-heel pumps. Colorful earrings and a matching necklace full of emeralds, topazes, and rubies glittered. I dress the part, and they see what I want them to. So what? That’s how you play the game.
When she heard the cabdriver honk for the second time, she threw a multicolored scarf casually around her shoulders and patted Mason and Perry. “I won’t be long, boys. Behave.” Looking once more into the mirror, Vivian took a deep breath. One last time. Surely I can pull it off one more time?

#

Eryn sat down in the first row, at the far left, and looking around, she realized she was lucky to get this seat. One of the more seasoned reporters, who’d been a close friend to her previous boss, had saved it for her since the conference room was packed. Media people lined all three walls in the large room.
The buzz from the audience rose and fell around her, but Eryn was busy opening her tablet PC and locating the files she needed from her wireless uplink. Many Web sites were dedicated to the world-famous mezzo-soprano, and she’d read reviews of Harding’s performances and recordings before. Vivian Harding was one of the few classic divas in the same category as performers like Birgit Nilsson and Maria Callas.
Eryn wondered how such a talent could have sprung from East Quay. Few people in America, let alone outside the country, had ever heard of this little town. And despite Vivian Harding’s fame, she hadn’t put it on the map. As far as Eryn knew, this was the first time the singer had been back since she’d left East Quay immediately after Malcolm Hayes discovered her.
At the sound of applause Eryn glanced up at the podium, expecting the star of the media circus to appear. Instead a dark-haired woman in a dark blue skirt suit, her chocolate brown hair in a low, snug bun, climbed the few stairs to the dais.
She seemed familiar, and after a second Eryn realized why. Not only was Manon Belmont the owner of the venerated Belmont Foundation and considered East Quay’s first lady, but she was Eryn’s neighbor in the condo she’d inherited from her great-aunt. It was pretty mind-boggling to be living in the same building as the town’s crème de la crème. They’d never actually talked; Eryn had only seen her from afar and doubted if Belmont would even recognize her. Not that it mattered.
Eryn settled back and prepared to take notes when Belmont placed some papers on the table in front of her and looked out over the audience. She had a commanding presence, Eryn noted absently.
“Hello, and welcome. I appreciate that so many of you could attend, and I know you’re eager to meet the woman who made this possible. We’re here for a very good cause, and having our town’s most famous person on board is tremendously exciting.” Her throaty voice easily carried throughout the conference room. Obviously Belmont was used to being in the spotlight. Eryn couldn’t help but appreciate the confident way she carried herself. It was also hard not to notice how attractive she was when an inadvertent movement outlined her full, high breasts and the curve of a hip. “Please, welcome Vivian Harding.”
Belmont clapped, initiating a new round of applause. The door opened again and Vivian Harding emerged, highlighted by the harsh spotlights aimed directly at her. She stopped just inside the door, her hand tucked over the arm of a man. She squinted briefly and hesitated, murmured to him, and he nodded. Then she joined Manon Belmont at the table on the dais, the spotlights dimming as she sat down.
Harding was not what Eryn had expected. She was taller than she appeared on TV and youthfully beautiful. Eryn checked the Web site she had just pulled up to confirm that she was actually fifty-four. She saw no signs of plastic surgery, and though Vivian possessed generous curves, nobody in their right mind would ever call her fat. Her red tailored suit complemented her full figure, and her brilliant blue eyes nearly outshone her dazzling jewelry.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press.”
There it was. The voice. Eryn was no opera aficionado, but no one on the planet who owned a radio or TV set could mistake Harding’s voice for anyone else’s. Eryn knew she’d never forget hearing it in real life, if only speaking and not singing.
“This press conference isn’t just about me.” Harding waved off the applause. “While I realize you’re interested in my life and work, I’m actually here to support an extensive charity project, governed mainly by the Belmont Foundation.” She glanced sideways, a smile on her bright red lips. “Manon Belmont has come up with a plan to raise enough money within a year to build a new wing at East Quay Memorial Hospital. In fact, the construction company is making initial preparations.”
Everyone was silent for a few seconds, since the announcement had taken Eryn and her colleagues off guard.
“In what way are you involved, Ms. Harding?” a man sitting three chairs from Eryn asked.
“I will sing in a benefit concert at East Quay Hall, three weeks from tomorrow, with the proceeds going to the hospital.”
Eryn caught Harding and Manon exchanging a furtive glance.
“The concert will serve a second purpose as well,” Harding continued. “It will also be my farewell performance.”

Chapter Two

After several audible gasps, a volcano of simultaneous questions erupted.
“Are you retiring, Ms. Harding?”
“Why have you returned to your hometown now? Didn’t you once promise never to return?”
“Did Ms. Belmont contact you?”
“Are the rumors regarding you and Peter Ovolov true?”
“Ms. Harding? Over here! Is it true that you’ve fired Malcolm Hayes because of the scandal in Rome?”
Embarrassed, but not surprised, on her colleagues’ behalf, Eryn looked over at Manon, whose expression had hardened.
“One at a time, please.” Vivian Harding was clearly used to being accosted by the press on such occasions. “You in the yellow blouse, in the second row.”
“Amy Torres, the Boston Phoenix. Why are you giving your last performance in a godforsaken little town like East Quay?”
Eryn groaned. What an idiot. Doesn’t she realize her question will alienate every citizen in this town?
“I left this town exactly thirty-eight years ago, and it’s high time I gave something back to it. After all, I went to high school here, and my parents lived and worked here for more than half a century.”
“But why now?” The reporter was insistent, and something impertinent in her voice made Eryn want to muzzle her.
“Why not now?” Harding countered, her expression still friendly, but she spoke with an obvious bite. “This is about closing a circle. I’ve seen and played almost every major opera house in the world. Now I want to finish my career in my hometown where I started out. Or maybe you didn’t do your research well enough to realize this fact, Miss…? I’m sorry. What was your name?”
Ouch. Good for you, Harding. Don’t take that kind of treatment from anyone. Eryn thought she saw Manon nod approvingly before sending the reporter a cold glance. Eryn raised her hand.

#

Manon Belmont could have throttled the Boston Phoenix’s reporter, but she also knew these types of questions were unavoidable. Vivian had assured her that after dealing with the European press, she didn’t consider the U.S. media too bad.
She regarded the next reporter Vivian acknowledged. The woman was young, with stunning red hair in a long braid and a self-assured look about her. When she rose to ask her question, relaxed and confident, Manon leaned forward so she wouldn’t miss her words. She managed to avoid frowning when her pulse quickened at the sound of the woman’s clear, strong voice.
“Eryn Goddard, New Quay Chronicle. Have you collaborated with the Belmont Foundation before, Ms. Harding? You and Manon Belmont look like you know each other.”
Vivian spoke in a low-key tone, unlike the confident onstage voice she had just used to address the other journalist.
“Ms. Goddard. Eryn, was it?” A faint tremor in the elegant hands, probably only visible to Manon, spoke of Vivian’s inner turmoil. “I admire your perception. Yes, I’ve worked with Ms. Belmont on several projects, and we’ve had some success. We became acquainted when she came to Paris and I was performing at Opera Nationale. We spoke after the performance, and when I learned she was one of the New England Belmonts and how dedicated she was to her grandfather’s legacy, the foundation, I was keen to help her raise whatever funds she needed.” Vivian raised her hands, palms up, and gestured toward Manon. “So if you think I’ve done anything remarkable for this town, you should be a thousand times more proud of Ms. Belmont. She is this town’s true daughter. I’m proud to call Manon Belmont my friend.”
Manon was astounded. She’d never expected Vivian to say anything like that. Not that the part about how they met wasn’t true…but the whole daughter-of-the-town business? And Vivian sounded almost regretful. What was that about? Manon glimpsed the reporter, Eryn, scribbling energetically on her computer as a forest of hands stretched toward the ceiling. With the autumn sun from a nearby window igniting her dark red hair, she appeared quite beautiful. Puzzled by the thought, Manon forced herself to focus on the other reporters. Then, to her annoyance, the insolent woman in the yellow shirt now blurted out the next question, without waiting to be acknowledged.
“Why haven’t you let your fans know about your work for charity?”
Manon glanced at Vivian, who appeared remarkably calm. She sounds as if Vivian is obligated to report every move she makes. No wonder she wants to retire.
“It’s quite simple,” Vivian responded. “I’m doing this for personal reasons. Private reasons. I didn’t want that misconstrued as some kind of bid for publicity.”
The woman looked stumped at the reply, and in the back, someone began applauding. The sound grew stronger, and Manon saw Eryn rise to her feet, bringing others with her as the entire assembled press gave a now-flustered Vivian a standing ovation.
“Please, please,” Vivian whispered, her eyes suspiciously bright, despite her brilliant smile. “Enough of this.” She looked at Manon, pretending to despair. “What do I do?”
“Enjoy,” Manon murmured. “You deserve it.”
“Very well. I’ll take a few more questions. You, sir, in the black suit on the first row. It’s Dan, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Dan Casey, New York Times. I’m flattered that you remember me and sad to hear you’re retiring. Usually, at this stage in an opera singer’s career, you’re at the peak of your performance, with a lot left to give, vocally and artistically. Why end it now? Would you like to share any of your reasons with us?”
With no sound, more a faint twitch of leg muscles, Manon felt Vivian began to tremble and watched her press her palms together tightly before answering.
“Mostly the reasons are private, and I do agree with you. I’m not ending my career as a performer for artistic reasons. But I can tell you this. I’ll miss it a lot.” The slight quiver in her smile seemed to quiet everyone. “Even the press, Dan.”
“It’s a tremendous loss for the music world.”
Vivian murmured a thank-you, and then, with a hint of distress, she glanced at Manon, who gave her a reassuring nod and took over.
“I can answer the rest of your questions regarding our charity concert. The town has donated one week’s rent for the concert hall, for rehearsals and the main event. Ms. Harding’s performance will be the main attraction, of course, but we will have a full program, with several other local performers. An itinerary with all the details will be available when you leave…” She heard herself talk about these details with the press, but part of her alternated between making sure Vivian was all right and examining Eryn Goddard’s reaction to what was going on. She was obviously eager to get everything down, since she wrote at an energetic pace and regularly glanced up at Manon and Vivian.
Manon eventually wrapped up the press conference with a sigh of relief and surreptitiously peeked at Eryn one last time. At the same moment, Eryn looked her way, and, to Manon’s great embarrassment, lifted an eyebrow questioningly.
Manon groaned inwardly and quickly averted her gaze. Oh, for heaven’s sake. To be caught staring!

#

The taxi drove away with Vivian, and Manon walked back into the Marriott, intending to pick up her briefcase and talk to the hotel manager before returning to the office. Alone in the corridor, she coughed, her itching throat making her realize how exhausted she was. Damn flu. I thought I was over it. A coughing spell racked her, and she almost cursed aloud as she leaned breathless against the wall.
“Ms. Belmont, are you all right?” someone asked, and placed a hand on her shoulder from behind, startling her.
Manon saw first the green corduroy jacket and tan chinos. Then the red hair, gathered into a long, loose braid; the slightly freckled oval face; and golden butterflies glistening in small, neat earlobes swam into focus. Tipping her head back a little, Manon gazed into large, luminescent green eyes behind thin metal-framed glasses. It was the reporter from the first row, Eryn Goddard. A big leather bag was slung across her right shoulder and hung down to her hip.
“It’s all right. I’ll be fine,” Manon wheezed, and hated how weak her voice sounded.
“You sure? That’s a bad cough.”
Determined not to show just how bad she felt, Manon let go of the wall. “I assure you, I’m fine, Ms. Goddard. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but there’s no need for thanks.” Eryn tossed her braid over her shoulder with her free hand. “Especially since we’re new neighbors.”
“Neighbors? I haven’t seen you in my building.”
“I just moved into the condo below yours.”
“I see.” Manon tried to think of something more interesting to say, but she was still annoyed that anyone, especially a reporter, had seen her in a weakened state. To top it off, Eryn was scrutinizing her unabashedly, her braid swinging slowly off her shoulder like liquid red gold as she tilted her head. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s checking me out.
Manon grew cold and breathless for a totally different reason. She stepped back, hoping the added physical distance would deter Eryn from seeing…too much. “I’d better be going.”
“Okay. Hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you. For your concern.” She winced when she heard her own starchy words. She couldn’t afford to alienate the press. Although she felt ridiculous, Manon began walking toward the door at the end of the corridor.
“Ms. Belmont?”
“Yes?” Manon looked back over her shoulder. Eryn’s eyes glittered as if she was hard pressed not to smile.
“You’re welcome.”

#

As Eryn strolled down the street she wondered why she couldn’t stop thinking about Manon Belmont. The extraordinarily poised Belmont onstage was a distinct contrast to the vulnerable woman she’d just seen in the corridor. Eryn wondered how someone could appear so collected every instant in public. She carried herself impeccably, wore her hair in a tasteful but restrained style, and dressed conservatively, no doubt from the most expensive boutiques in Providence and Boston. However, the woman Eryn had just encountered in the hotel hallway acted almost unsure of herself, as if she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.
A limousine passed her and then slowed. Eryn assumed it was because of the afternoon traffic, but no other cars were in the limo’s lane. It stopped completely, and Eryn halted next to it, curious.
A back window lowered. “Are you on your way home, Ms. Goddard?” Manon Belmont asked in a reserved tone.
“Yes. The cab line was so long—”
“Would you like a ride?”
Eryn hesitated only a moment. “Thanks, if it’s no bother. That’d be super.”
The chauffeur, a distinguished-looking man in his sixties, came around to the passenger side.
“Ma’am.” He politely removed his cap as she entered the car.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Just call me Ben, ma’am.” The corner of his mouth twitched, making his neat mustache quiver.
“Only if you call me Eryn. I’m not used to being ma’amed.” Eryn grinned when he nodded. She already liked the chauffeur.
As they merged into traffic, Eryn turned to Manon, who was busy reading from a folder. She made no attempt to talk to Eryn, only glanced at her and nodded distractedly.
The muted light in the limo softened Manon’s features, making her look different—less strict, younger. Eryn knew she was in her early forties and that she’d never married. In fact, she was supposedly a barracuda when it came to men. With a new man on her arm at almost every function, she teetered on the difficult edge of being envied or called a tramp.
As Eryn studied Manon discreetly she wondered if anyone who actually looked at this class act of a woman could call her a tramp. An aura of quality, of substance, permeated the air around Manon, as if she oozed old money, old values. As if I’d give a hoot for old values. Old values crucify people like me.

#

“Thanks for the ride. Definitely better than a cab.” As the old-style elevator stopped at the fourth floor, Eryn pulled the gate aside and hoisted her heavy computer bag farther up on her shoulder. “This is where I get off.”
“My pleasure.” Manon sounded strange. “And again, thank you for being kind to me.”
“Hey, no problem. Just drink lots of fluids, okay?”
“Thank you. I’ll remember that.” Manon obviously had something else on her mind.
“Yes?” Eryn asked gently.
“You’re a reporter…and in my position, I have to be careful.”
“And you want to make sure this is all off the record.” Irrational disappointment shot through Eryn, making it even hard to speak. Why do I care what she thinks? “I thought we were just chatting.”
“The press hasn’t given me many opportunities to chat, I’m afraid.”
Manon’s reserved stance spoke volumes. Obviously she wasn’t going to encourage any warm and fuzzy heart-to-hearts between neighbors. The muscles in Eryn’s stomach clenched into a tight fist. Manon’s tone of voice, stiff, yet tinged with defeat, bothered her. I wonder what she’s trying to hide. She’s clearly worried about something.
Eryn was annoyed that Manon apparently lumped her in with all the other reporters she mistrusted. And what ticked her off even more was her own reaction, her urge to assure Manon that everything was cool, that she had nothing to worry about.
“I’m sure the media’s given you a lot of attention. That can’t be easy,” Eryn said, and struggled to sound matter-of-fact. “Of course you’re suspicious. But if I ever try to interview you, you’ll know beforehand. Fair enough?” She tried a mischievous grin, which disarmed even Harold once in a while. “After all, we’re neighbors and I may need a ride again.”
A few seconds ticked by, then Manon smiled carefully and unfolded her arms. “You’re right. Neighbors should have an understanding.” She paused and checked her hair with quick, jerky fingers. Eryn wondered if she was that nervous. “If you need a ride and see Benjamin and the car, use it if it’s convenient. Besides, I can tell he likes you.”
And you? Do you like me? Or was that just a clever brush-off?
Eryn shook off her own bit of paranoia and waved to Manon before she closed the elevator gate. As the old monstrosity squeaked on up to the penthouse floor, Eryn stuck her key into her door lock and turned it absentmindedly.
She simply couldn’t figure her illustrious neighbor out and her reporter’s antennae were buzzing. Manon was seen as a scion of the community, but there were suggestive whispers about her private life. She was also aloof, verging on rude. It didn’t add up. What had Vivian Harding said? East Quay’s true daughter? Curiouser and curiouser. I’m going to do a little research and see what I can find out. Eryn knew Manon was bound to be hiding something.
Tired beyond words, Eryn craved a hot bath and some red wine. First things first. Humming, as soon as she entered her apartment she walked over to her CD player and pressed play. You can’t soak in the tub without Eric Clapton.

#

Mike lifted a crate of oranges and started filling the basket next to the chrome juice press. If anyone ordered fresh orange juice at the Sea Stone Café, they could watch the staff squeeze it or they could suck it out of the orange themselves if they wanted it any fresher. Mike grinned and whistled almost inaudibly.
“Mike? Where do you want me to put these?”
Mike gasped at the sound of the unexpected male voice. With her hands in an automatic defensive pose, she jerked around so fast that Edward, one of her employees, almost lost his balance as he backpedaled, juggling a large melon under each arm.
“For crying out loud. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Edward put the melons down on a nearby barrel. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Mike rubbed her bare arms. “Just a little jumpy.”
“A little? Any jumpier and you’d end up in orbit.”
“I’ll send you into orbit,” Martha said, nudging her husband out of the way. “Go out back and make yourself useful. It’s garbage day, and I’ve got four bags for you to tie up.”
“Yeah, yeah. Garbage.” Edward rolled his eyes at Mike over Martha’s head. “I’m going, I’m going.”
Martha carried one of the melons to the area between the bar and the kitchen. When she returned, she put her hand on Mike’s shoulder. “You look frozen. Why don’t you pop down to your place and get a sweater?”
“I’ll be okay. Just a tad chilly for a second.”
“You almost did your karate stuff on Eddie. Not that he wouldn’t benefit from some roughing up, but I’d kinda like for him to keep his teeth. Want to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been somewhat tense lately.”
“I…” Mike forced herself to ignore another shiver. “I can’t talk about it. Not now.”
“Oh, child, it’s okay.”
Mike saw nothing but unconditional kindness in Martha’s eyes. Tears welled up when Mike thought how blessed she was that Martha and Edward had walked through the door and into her life five years ago. They were the parents she’d wished for throughout her teens, and not having any children of their own made it even better. Maybe I should feel selfish for monopolizing them. But hell, I don’t. I need them. I love them.
“I understand. I do. Just so you know you can come and talk to me anytime.”
“Thanks. I will. One day.”
“Good.” Something on the TV caught Martha’s attention. “Oh, my! Look at that! It’s her!”
“Who?” Mike turned around, curious since Martha hated the “dumb-box,” as she referred to television sets.
“I adore her, Mike. Edward and I saw her in Italy when we were on that tour we won. In Milan at La Scala. He didn’t want to go, he hates opera, but as soon as she started singing…he cried like a baby.”
Vivian! Mike felt her jaw lose cohesion. The heavy makeup didn’t hide Vivian’s features, but all the bright colors changed her appearance.
Martha reached for the remote and raised the volume. “Oh, what a beautiful speaking voice.”
“Her name’s Vivian,” Mike said, still under the spell of the woman she’d chatted with the day before. And she’s so damned beautiful.
“That’s right. Vivian Harding.”
“I’ve heard of her. I think,” Mike said dubiously.
“If you know her name’s Vivian, how come you don’t know who she is?”
“She was here yesterday having coffee. We talked some. She was nice.” Seeing Martha stagger and grab for the counter, Mike had to smile, and she felt the shadows around her dissipate. “She promised she’d come back.”
“She did?” Martha pressed a hand to her ample chest. “I hope she does. Soon. Today. No, not today. I look like hell.”
“You look fine. But I don’t think she meant today. If she did, it’s not long till closing time.”
Martha looked reassured. “What did you two talk about?”
“Nothing special. Stuff.”
“Did she enjoy the coffee?”
“Very much.” I think she enjoyed chatting with me. If she wasn’t just slumming, for kicks. It didn’t seem that way, but…you never know.
“You make the best coffee in town. It’s sure worth coming back for. And, sweetheart,” Martha added, circling Mike’s waist with a strong arm, “so are you.”

Chapter Three

Early-morning mist caressed the ocean. As Mike stretched her legs, she glanced at the trees farther up the shore. Soon their leaves would blaze against the azure skies. She loved fall.
Inhaling deeply she jumped off the boardwalk and started her morning run in the cool, crisp air. As she approached the water she shortened her stride. The sand made her work hard as she deliberately stayed on the dry part of it. Eight or ten years ago she couldn’t have guessed she would enjoy such familiar routines. She’d never controlled her time or her life, so making and sticking to her own schedule now empowered her. Back then it had been a struggle to move, to force the same body to obey that now responded so willingly.
Mike could almost hear Josie Quinn advising her not to beat herself up for what she went through before she got her act together. Mike thought fondly of her, the first adult able to reach her in years. At twenty-one Mike had been broken, disillusioned, undernourished, and full of hate. Josie, then in her late forties, volunteered at the Youth Center in Providence, and Mike learned to respect and finally love her mentor in just six months. They had always stayed in touch, but now it pained and worried Mike that she couldn’t track Josie down.
Shaking off her sad thoughts, Mike inhaled deeply. The scent of autumn, my favorite time of year. Good for business too, but without the hassle of the summer crowd. The beach was almost empty. This was just how Mike liked it. She ran for another ten minutes before she spotted someone approaching. A breeze caught the woman’s caramel-colored coat and pushed the morning mist farther out to sea.
As she jogged closer, Mike saw the woman wasn’t alone; two huge dogs flanked her. Mike slowed so she wouldn’t startle the two Great Danes, which she realized had to be Vivian’s Perry and Mason. The breed wasn’t unusual in New England, but as far as Mike knew, no one else in this neighborhood had dogs like that. Closer, she could see Vivian’s long hair fanned out like a fair silken sail on the wind.
Mike slowed to a walk, then stopped next to her and stretched one leg at a time by tucking it up behind her. “Nice to see you again, Vivian.”
Fighting to control the excited dogs and keep her windblown hair out of her face, Vivian looked like she needed a break. “Mike, you’re up early.”
“Habit. I always jog early. I haven’t seen you on the beach before.”
“Perry and Mason insisted on exploring today. I thought we better do it before the beach crowd comes.”
“Smart move. So these are your boys. They’re cute.”
“Cute isn’t the word I’d use, but they’re being good right now. Sometimes they set each other off and can be a handful.” Vivian laughed, eyeing the dogs affectionately.
Mike couldn’t resist smiling. Her laughter. I’ve never heard anything more beautiful. Mike regarded the large dogs respectfully. “They’re…wonderful. May I pat them?”
“Of course. They’re friendly.”
Carefully approaching the dog she thought was Mason, Mike looked into his dark eyes as she extended a hand. To her relief he licked it immediately and then trotted over to her, pressing his body against her hip.
“Good Lord, when I said they’re friendly, I didn’t mean this much. Mason never takes to anybody like that.” Vivian moved closer. “He’s usually very reserved, especially with strangers. Perry is the sycophant of the two.”
“Ah, I know what it is. I smell like fresh pastry.” Mike grinned, surprised at how much this eccentric woman and her dogs charmed her. “He must think I have something yummy in my pocket.”
“That could be it.” Vivian laughed again. As she stepped forward, the other dog moved in front of her and made her stumble. Staggering toward Mike, she fumbled for support but lost her balance. “Merde!”
“You okay?” Mike shoved Mason out of the way and slid her arms beneath Vivian’s, stopping her from falling.
“Yes, yes. Thank you.” Vivian sounded out of breath as she leaned against Mike. “Didn’t pay attention, that’s all.”
Mike had a sudden, almost frightening urge to hold Vivian closer, to shield her.
Another nudge at Mike’s legs made her look down. “Perry seems to like me a lot too,” she said, changing the subject when Mason’s twin sniffed at her pockets. “I’ll have to bring some doggie biscuits in case we run into each other again.”
Still half leaning on Mike, Vivian paused before she answered. “I’m sure we will. I plan to make this a routine for the dogs while I can. I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be in East Quay.”
Mike hesitated but finally let go of Vivian. She didn’t want to start jogging again; instead she just stood there, enthralled by Vivian’s eyes. They reminded her of the ocean and were even bluer out in the open, without the excessive makeup Vivian had worn on TV. “I understand you’re an opera singer.”
“Yes. After I perform for the Belmont Foundation, I’m going to take a break. Believe it or not, it’ll be my first vacation in two years.” Vivian gazed at her gently. “You look like a hard worker too. Something we have in common.”
“I guess so.” Mike’s cheeks warmed under Vivian’s gaze. “Keeping the café profitable takes a lot of effort, so I have to work more or less around the clock. With a break for a short nap now and then.”
The dogs began to pull in the direction Mike had come from. “They’re impatient.” Vivian paused and pointed to a house on stilts about fifty yards from the waterline. “My manager’s house is just over there. Would you like something to drink? Juice or a cup of coffee?”
Mike started to use the café as an excuse to decline but changed her mind. I never go anywhere, and she’ll find out in a flash that I’m not very worldly. But I think she likes to talk to me. And I could sure look at her forever. She returned Vivian’s smile. “Thanks. Some juice would be nice.”
As they walked toward the dunes, Mike realized that though she didn’t know Vivian, she very much wanted to.

#

Vivian unleashed the dogs before she climbed the stairs. Seeing how they had taken to Mike, she smiled. Their reaction was a good omen, since Mike was her first private houseguest, a nerve-wracking prospect. Even though she had entertained her colleagues for years in the opera world, that had been business. But to have a young woman over for an impromptu visit felt more daunting than even her upcoming performance.
Vivian gestured for Mike to sit down on the patio before she hurried into the house and grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. She placed it and a couple of glasses on a silver tray, took a deep breath as she picked it up, bit the tip of her tongue for balance, and carried it out to the patio, hoping she wouldn’t trip or spill anything. Successful, she placed the tray on the cast-iron table. “Here we go.”
“Thanks.” Mike was still patting the dogs. “Perry, Mason, down.”
Vivian stared as her boys obediently lay at Mike’s feet and gazed up at her, as if eager for her praise.
“Good dogs.” Mike’s words were met with adoring looks and wagging tails. “I’m glad you haven’t had their ears cropped or their tails docked.”
“Yes,” Vivian said, her heart warming at this observation. “Personally, I find it unnecessary and unnatural to subject any pet to that kind of treatment.”
“I know what you mean. You mentioned they’re brothers. They look alike.”
“Yes, some people warned me they might become hostile toward each other when they matured, but after six years they still only play.”
“Best friends, huh, boys?” Mike ruffled the dogs’ ears. “They’re great.”
Vivian sipped her juice and motioned for Mike to accept the other glass. She studied Mike—black hair, milky white complexion, and the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen. Tall, at least six feet, and slim, Mike appeared fragile, but the way she jogged suggested strength beneath her smooth skin.
She recognized an unexpected attraction, which was both puzzling and unwelcome. Granted, she’d been acting out of character lately, and with good reason, but she certainly didn’t have time for any mysterious feelings. This called for casual conversation. “So, Mike, did you grow up here?”
“I lived on the other side of town most of my life. Was raised south of East Quay, in the outskirts four bus stops from the depot. Now they’ve built a whole new community there, kind of like a suburb, though it’s silly to think of a town this size having one.”
“Unless you consider the tourist season with all the summer guests.”
“True. Everyone and their dog are here then.” Mike winked at Vivian. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Vivian hoped her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. Maintaining a relaxed façade was more difficult than she’d anticipated. “I know exactly where you’re talking about. I grew up not far from there, a bit closer to town, on Delivery Street, and couldn’t get away fast enough. I hated it with a passion. It was so run down and depressing…” She grimaced. “I guess that’s why—”
“What?”
“I’m shocked that coming back to East Quay is comforting. Like home, you know? It’s odd, because I don’t know anyone here anymore, except my manager and Manon Belmont.”
“You’re not exactly back in the sticks, are you?” Mike cocked her head and glanced around, gesturing at the luxurious interior. “This is definitely the more upscale part of East Quay.”
“Like I said, it isn’t mine.”
“But surely you make more than your manager.” Mike pursed her lips. “If you don’t, you must be gullible or doing something else wrong.”
Vivian tossed her head back and laughed aloud. “God, how true. This isn’t a small apartment above a hardware store, that’s for sure. Returning to ‘the right side of Quay’ and still helping the local hospital by doing what I do best feels okay.”
“And it should. No need to go slumming to prove a point.”
She actually gets it. Vivian wanted to reach out and squeeze Mike’s hand in gratitude, but instead chose to cuddle Perry’s silky ears. If she gets it, perhaps I can really come home. Some of the comments the reporters made during the press conference still stung, perhaps because she believed, deep down, that they were justified. I did abandon this place and didn’t look back, until now, despite every attempt they made to get me to perform here over the years. And now I need these people a lot more than they need me.
“You’re performing for free, right?” Mike interrupted Vivian’s thoughts. “That’s cool and very generous.”
“Yes, I am. And thank you. Those $1,500 tickets should certainly help build the new children’s hospital wing. Manon Belmont expects most of New York’s opera community to turn out.”
“That’s great.” Mike said. “With all the cutbacks lately, our hospital needs the cash.”
“I know.” Vivian let her fingers trace the rim of her glass, creating a delicate, haunting sound that made the dogs prick their ears. “After Manon and I discussed this project, my manager took care of everything. At first he was apprehensive, but I told him since I was going on leave this was a fabulous way to end my tour. Honestly, Mike, I’ve traveled for so long and…”
There’s more than I can handle alone now. She was so relieved to know Malcolm was taking care of things when she had to keep one doctor’s appointment after another. He was more than her manager. Before she met Manon, Malcolm and his wife were her only friends and had been since she was a teenager. The hordes of admirers and fanatical opera fans that constantly surrounded her, as well as her accompanist, makeup artist, and the paparazzi, weren’t a good source of new relationships. And besides, she had always been an ambitious workaholic.
Vivian realized she was drifting and said briskly, “I have to make some changes, so I decided to take a break here. Time will tell if it was the right move.” She sipped her juice again. “Exactly how did you end up owning such a successful café?”
“Martha and Edward helped me turn an out-of-the-way café into a popular place for the yacht crowd and, later on, the locals from East Quay.” Mike sounded cautious. “Lately, we’ve attracted a lot of out-of-towners, thanks to some serious advertising. We couldn’t accommodate a bigger crowd until now. At breakfast and lunch, we have mostly regulars, and in the evenings all sorts of people come in for a meal and some coffee.”
“Sounds like long days for you.”
“Very long days. That’s why my morning run is so important. It gives me a chance to…breathe.”
Watching the careful smile that flickered over Mike’s features reminded Vivian of glimpsing a startlingly beautiful sunrise, only to watch it disappear as fast as it appeared. Uncertain why a mere smile had such an impact, Vivian struggled for something to say.
“I can imagine that. Most people don’t realize what kind of physical effort being an opera singer entails. It’s like being a lumberjack.”
“A lumberjack?”
“Performing for an entire evening is hard on the body.”
“I’m glad I ran into you this morning.” Mike gestured toward the dogs, the glass, and the ocean view. “This was great.”
“I agree. How old are you, Mike?” The question slipped out before Vivian could stop it. Damn, where’s my tact?
“Thirty-four.” Mike sounded unfazed. “You?”
“I’m fifty-three.” Relieved, Vivian liked Mike’s quick return of her frank question. “Actually fifty-four in a few months.”
“You look a lot younger.”
“Thank you, so do you. Age is really just a number. We opera singers aren’t like many theater and screen actors. We can still find parts well into our sixties. Makeup helps, but our performance isn’t about appearance. It’s about the voice.”
“You don’t need any help in either department,” Mike said impulsively.
Embarrassed but pleased, Vivian changed the subject. “I can certainly see why people eat at your cafe. It feels so warm and welcoming. Besides, you’re bound to attract all kinds of coffee lovers.”
“I know. Our Java lovers are very particular about how we grind and brew their coffee.” Mike fiddled with her glass, flustered at the praise. “And being meticulous has paid off. My best investment, not counting Martha and Edward, was our state-of-the-art espresso machine. I stayed up the entire first night staring at it, making cappuccino, café latte, café mocha, and ten other specialties. Edward insists that he found me asleep with my arms around it, but I don’t recall that.”
“Well, you have a new customer to add to your regulars.” Vivian smiled at her sudden commitment, limited though it was. “I love the ambience, and the view is wonderful.”
“Thanks. That’s the idea. When the sun goes down and the sky’s all purple and orange, the marina is a pretty romantic place.” Mike made a wry face. “At least if you believe in romance.”
“And you don’t?” Vivian’s voice was gentle.
“No.”
“Not ever?”
“I don’t actively look for it.” Mike shrugged and appeared a little uncomfortable. “I have a business to run.”
Vivian recognized her own life all too clearly in that sentiment, and it saddened her. They had loneliness in common, it seemed. She watched Mike rise from her chair with Perry and Mason standing at attention. “You have to get back to work?”
“I’d like to stay longer, but…” She patted the dogs, who rose expectantly. “Now, boys, behave and I’ll bring you doggie treats next time, if it’s okay with your mom.” Her cheeks reddened as she glanced at Vivian. “Damn. I didn’t mean to invite myself…”
Wanting to erase Mike’s mortification, Vivian placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just pop by anytime. I’ll be here most of the time, when I’m not rehearsing.”
“Okay, then. See you later!” Mike patted the dogs and stunned Vivian by gently touching her arm, the contact so brief it barely registered. “Have a really good day.” Mike ran down the steps toward the beach and jogged at a steady pace along the water’s edge.
Vivian touched her own arm, which tingled from Mike’s touch. The sky was ablaze, but she resisted the urge to close her eyes. Instead she watched Mike until she disappeared from sight.

Want to read more? Check Bold Strokes Books for where to buy it! Available May, 2006!

 

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