Husband Potential Page 9

  He cleared his throat. “You already did that the night you befriended me in Zurich, and offered me a place to live. You gave me something intangible—a sense of family which I had lost.”

  “I was grieving for my beloved Gunther when our family met you. You filled a hole in our hearts as well. For that I will always be grateful.”

  Andre eyed her solemnly. “So now that I finally have a way to repay you, we’re even, ja?”

  She let out a heartfelt sigh. “Ja, Mein Schatz.”

  As soon as she left the study, he looked up the address of the magazine.

  For the last five weeks he’d worked around the clock finding a place to live, getting it furnished in time for Gerda’s family. He’d even managed to spend a memorable Thanksgiving Day with Jimmy and his family.

  In all that time he’d tried every technique imaginable to keep thoughts of Francesca at bay. But as he typed her name and address into the computer, it was like opening Pandora’s box. Immediately he was flooded by memories of her stricken face when he told her to get out of the car. Her wounded cry still resounded in his heart.

  Those signs, plus the panic she’d exhibited because they might never see each other again were the small crumbs he’d been hanging on to like a lifeline.

  When he looked down, he realized his hands were trembling.

  So much for his attempts to suppress all feeling!

  Lord.

  “Frannie? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Barney.”

  “Drop what you’re doing and come in my office, will you?”

  If he wanted her right now, it had to be something important.

  She dismissed the idea that this had anything to do with Andre. After five weeks of agonizing introspection, she’d told herself over and over again it was best that he’d gone out of her life for good.

  Maybe her work had been slipping, and Barney was going to tell her that if she didn’t snap out of her depression soon, he would have to let her go.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s the matter?” Paul demanded as she got up from her desk. “You look even worse than you usually do.” He was always teasing these days in an effort to cheer her.

  “Thanks, Paul. Happy holidays to you too.”

  “Frannie, honey? You need to lighten up or you’re going to crack.”

  “Am I that bad?”

  “Only to me. If you want to talk about it, I’m available.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for caring so much.”

  As soon as she entered Barney’s office, he told her to sit down. “I have a surprise for both of us.”

  It was the last thing she had expected him to say. Intrigued, she asked what it was.

  “Well, I know what mine is. Why don’t you open yours and then we’ll compare notes.”

  He handed her a letter that had come in the mail. It was addressed to Ms. Francesca Mallory in care of the magazine. Curious, she opened it as fast as she could and pulled out a computer-generated party invitation. Her eyes scanned the contents….

  Ms. Francesca Mallory and Guest are cordially invited

  to attend a

  Christmas Buffet on Saturday night from seven until

  nine given by Gerda Richter.

  “Gerda Richter?”

  Any reminder of Andre made her pulse race.

  “But I thought she lived in Zurich!”

  “Obviously she’s staying with friends or family in Salt Lake for the holidays. That’s a Federal Heights address.”

  “One of my favorite areas of the city,” she mused. “Those beautiful older homes are classic.”

  “The trick these days is to be able to afford one of them.” He winked.

  “You’re right about that.”

  “Why don’t we make it a foursome.”

  “A foursome—”

  “Come on now, Frannie. Don’t play coy with me. Your invitation says you’re supposed to bring a guest. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy escorting my wife and my favorite female writer, mind you. But don’t you think it’s time you stopped mourning for that man, and got back in the mainstream again?”

  Her face felt hot. “I’m not in mourning.”

  “You could have fooled me. I may not be a doctor, but I’d say you have one of the worst cases of lovesickitis I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “It will pass,” she persisted, her voice throbbing. It has to.

  “Not without help. Isn’t there another man in the cosmos you would enjoy spending a few hours with? The only way to get over a love affair gone awry is to kindle a new one. Otherwise Mr. Benet’s image will remain to torture you like a hairy shirt.”

  In spite of her pain, she couldn’t help but laugh at the awful simile.

  He laughed with her. “That’s the reaction I like to see. Now you know why I run this magazine and let you do the writing.”

  She tapped the invitation against her cheek. It was time to take Barney’s advice. The pain had to stop or she didn’t know how she could go on living like this. If she didn’t make a concerted effort to get over him, Andre would always haunt her.

  At least when she phoned Howard, she could assure him that this time she really meant it.

  “I tell you what. There is a man, and I think he would go with me if some woman isn’t having her baby at the same time.”

  “Wonderful. Plan on meeting Reba and me there. We’ll work out the details later on next week.”

  “That sounds good. You know, Barney, it was very thoughtful of Gerda to have invited you as well. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Even in my short meeting with her, she came across as a kind, generous person.”

  “I’m looking forward to shaking her hand. That particular publication has had the highest sales figures to date this year, thanks to your expertise and her face of course.”

  The compliment thrilled Fran.

  Maybe this could be a whole new turning point for her. She had no idea what was in store where Howard was concerned, but it would be a start in the right direction. No more looking back. Ever.

  Andre finished lighting the last white candle on the wooden crèche pyramid, then surveyed the living room and foyer of his new home with a deep sense of satisfaction.

  Apparently during his travels around the world, he had developed a love for the kind of large, half-timbered houses he saw while driving from Wurzburg to Fussen, an area known as “picturebook” Germany.

  When Andre had done some serious house-hunting with his Realtor, Natalie Cairns—a striking brunette divorcee with two children—he hadn’t realized how exacting his tastes would be.

  Two days of searching had produced nothing. On the third day he began to lose hope of finding what he wanted. He assumed he would have to buy some property and hire an architect. That is until they reached the Federal Heights area with its woods-like feel.

  When she stopped the car in front of an estate which seemed to replicate its German counterpart down to the narrow pitched roof, dark half-timbers and authentic Hapsburg yellow decor complete with window boxes, he knew he’d found the house he wanted to turn into a home.

  The inside proved to be equally enchanting with its high ceilings, dark beams, fireplaces and walnut paneled study which would house the hundreds of books he’d collected over the years. In fact, he’d made many purchases which he’d put in storage, never dreaming that one day he might actually have a place to use them.

  Six bedrooms, five bathrooms. There would be plenty of room for Gerda’s children and grandchildren. They could occupy the upstairs while he took residence in the master bedroom and bath on the main floor.

  To his delight he learned that the surrounding houses made up an exclusive, well-established neighborhood. Since he enjoyed the arts, Natalie pointed out that it was close to the university as well as the opera house and symphony hall in downtown Salt Lake.

  It had all seemed right. He’d given her earnest money on the spot.

  Tonight, as
he took in the white lights of the seventeen-foot fir tree and heard the Christmas carols playing over the stereo, he realized he had created a place of refuge which would bring him years of pleasure.

  The picture of his father—a gift from Francesca—along with a picture of his mother in a matching wood-carved frame, had been given a place of honor over the seventeenth century French escritoire, his Aunt Maudelle’s prized possession. He’d placed several pictures of the two of them throughout the room to honor her memory as well.

  While Gerda and her family were elsewhere taking care of last-minute details, he built up the fire in the hearth, needing something to channel his energy. The guests would start arriving within the next few minutes. If everything went according to plan, Francesca would be one of them.

  Since morning he’d tried to quell the frantic hammering of his heart, but the separation from her had been of too long a duration. He no longer had any control over his emotions.

  “Our first guest!” Gerda cried out from the dining room as the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!”

  Andre stayed put. He had an idea it was Natalie. She’d been dropping by the house so often, it seemed that during the last week it had been on a daily basis.

  From the beginning she’d made it clear that she would like to be more than broker and client. Though he knew the relationship could never go anywhere, he didn’t actively discourage her because he needed her help for so many reasons, and she was an interesting person to talk to.

  But when she hurried into the living room dressed in a stunning red cocktail dress and greeted him with a lingering kiss on the cheek, he saw a hunger in her eyes that made him realize he would have to put a stop to this before she got hurt.

  “This house is fabulous, Andre. I mean really fabulous. The furnishings are breathtaking. I don’t imagine anyone in Salt Lake has a finer collection of old world antiques than you do. I mean look at that gorgeous Russian stove or whatever you call them, not to mention the piano and tapestries.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Approve—” She whirled around to face him. “Is there something wrong with you tonight? You seem so preoccupied.”

  “That’s probably because I am. But thanks to you and all your help, I’m convinced the party will be a huge success.”

  When the doorbell sounded, his heart skipped a beat. “Please help yourself to some hors d’oeuvres, Natalie. At this point I think I’d better start playing host.”

  Within a half hour the house filled with friends, neighbors and business associates. While everyone wandered around raving about the furnishings and eating Gerda’s divine food, Andre contributed to a dozen conversations both in English and German. Yet all the while he kept listening for the bell.

  Each time he opened the front door, he expected to see Francesca’s lovely face. But as the evening wore on and it got to be eight-fifteen, he decided neither she or the owner of the magazine were coming. Andre’s disappointment was so acute, he felt as if someone had just kicked him in the gut.

  Maybe the invitations had gone astray, or possibly they were still lying unopened on some secretary’s desk at the office. Otherwise Francesca or her boss would surely have sent their regrets if they couldn’t come.

  “Andre?” Natalie joined him in the living room and tucked her arm through his. “You’re so quiet I’m convinced you’re not feeling well. After everyone goes home, I’ll stay and help clean up.”

  Before he had a chance to tell her he’d hired a catering service to do that kind of work, the doorbell sounded again. His head jerked around in time to see Harbin open the front door. Suddenly four more people had stepped into the front hallway.

  As Andre’s gaze fell on Francesca, his breath froze in his lungs.

  She’d left her gossamer hair down tonight. It floated like a cloud around her shoulders. In a long-sleeved creation of lustrous pale green velvet which modestly outlined her curves and the thrust of womanly hips, she shimmered like the spun-glass angel sitting on the credenza.

  He started moving toward her. Gerda reached her first. They shook hands, then Gerda gave her a welcoming hug. At that precise moment Francesca’s eyes unwittingly met Andre’s. He was close enough to hear the gasp that escaped her throat.

  “Andre?” she said in a breathless whisper, the green of her eyes darkening in shock.

  By now she had separated herself from Gerda. Andre thought she looked like she was going to faint. Since he knew exactly how she felt, nothing could have pleased him more.

  “Good evening, Francesca.”

  “Y-you came for Gerda’s party?”

  Gerda started to laugh. “Oh, no, my dear. You don’t understand. This is Andre’s new home. My family and I are his guests until we can buy one of our own. Like Andre, we too have decided to make our home in Salt Lake. He was kind enough to let me invite you to his housewarming party. I have to tell you he is like another son to me. I call him mein Schatz. My treasure.

  “Now, why don’t you introduce me to this handsome blond man of yours who is being so patient with us. I don’t remember seeing him with you in Los Angeles.”

  The room reeled for Fran as Andre’s parting words in the monastery parking lot rang loudly in her ears.

  “If we should happen to meet again, just consider it another astounding coincidence.”

  Probably the hardest thing Fran had ever had to do in her life was smile and make introductions while her world had just been turned upside down. Gerda seemed anxious to talk to Barney. Eventually she ushered him and his wife into the dining room, but Fran couldn’t move.

  She stood there in shock trying to absorb the earthshaking revelation that for the last five weeks, while she’d been grieving because he’d probably left America, Andre hadn’t gone anywhere. Instead, he had bought a home in one of the nicest areas of Salt Lake and was living in it. Yet he hadn’t once tried to contact her.

  But why would he? a little voice nagged.

  It was she who had gone to Andre the last time to end things once and for all. She’d even told him there was another man in her life; therefore she had absolutely no right to be hurt by this knowledge. No right at all.

  But she was hurt. In fact she was devastated….

  As for Gerda Richter, Fran couldn’t fathom that she and her family had moved here either, or that her son had been appointed associate professor of German at the university. If it hadn’t been for Gerda wanting to meet her again, Fran wouldn’t be a guest in Andre’s home right now.

  Maybe she was dreaming.

  But the tall, dark, powerful-looking man wearing an expensive navy silk suit with a white shirt and elegant striped tie was no figment of her imagination. His hair had grown a little longer. An urbane sophistication clung to him.

  It was impossible to take her eyes off him, but she had to for decency’s sake. For Howard’s sake! Good heavens. She’d forgotten about him.

  If her heart didn’t stop pounding so hard, she was afraid it might do real damage. She pressed her hand over it as if she could slow it down, but the gesture proved futile.

  “Howard?” she struggled to make conversation. “Andre Benet is the son of Abbot Ambrose, the man I wrote about in my article for the magazine. He was the one who gave me the interview in his father’s place.

  “Mr. Benet, this is Dr. Howard Barker.”

  “I read the piece with great interest and can see the resemblance,” Howard murmured in a mild-mannered voice. “Your father was a remarkable man. I’m sorry to hear that he passed away.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Barker. I just wish I’d had a little more time with him, but it wasn’t meant to be. Are your parents still living?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re very fortunate.”

  “Howard’s father is a wonderful man too,” Fran felt obligated to say something, though she wished the floor would simply open up and devour her. “He’s the pastor of my church,” she added quietly.

  “Is that so?” Andre replie
d, eyeing Howard speculatively. “It seems you and I have quite a bit in common then, being the sons of men who’ve devoted their lives to God. Unlike our parents, both of us managed to go in another direction.”

  Howard’s mouth twitched. “You’re right. In fact I find myself having to apologize for my choice of profession at least once a day.”

  Andre’s dark, penetrating gaze unexpectedly swerved to Fran. “That’s where the good doctor and I differ. When you’ve been a rolling stone for as long as I have, no one knows enough about you to make a comment like that.”

  While Fran tried to remain unaffected by his pointed remark Howard asked, “What is it you do for a living?”

  Fran couldn’t believe both men were carrying on this conversation as if they were enjoying it.

  “Apart from the time I attended university in Switzerland, I spent most of my life at sea. Now I deal in investments of various kinds.”

  What university?

  What kind of investments?

  “Andre?” an unfamiliar female voice jerked Fran from her stupor. She turned her head in time to watch a beautiful brunette woman in a revealing red dress approach him. She took hold of his arm with such confidence, it told its own story. Fran felt as if she’d just been stabbed repeatedly in the heart. “I don’t believe I’ve met your guests.”

  Suavely he said, “This is Natalie Cairns, my Realtor. Without her help I would never have known this home was privately listed, let alone that I would be able to move in this fast. Natalie, may I present Francesca Mallory, a writer for Beehive Magazine, and her friend, Dr. Howard Barker, the newest obstetrician in town.”

  “Really?” Her brown eyes sparkled up at Howard. “Do you need help finding a place to live?”

  “Actually I do.”

  Fran blinked. She could scarcely credit any of this was happening, let alone that Howard would leave himself open like that.

  “I’ve been staying with my parents while I’ve had to see about my practice, but now I’m anxious to find a place of my own, probably a condo. Naturally I’d prefer a home like Mr. Benet’s here. This is an extraordinary house. But I’m a poor, struggling doctor right now, so I won’t be able to set my sights as high.”