Intimate Knowledge Page 4

  What if Yvette had set her sights on Simon and was deliberately trying to arouse Penelope’s suspicions? If she let this stuff get to her, she’d be playing right into the woman’s hands.

  Penelope sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right. I do resent the time Yvette spends with Simon, and a part of me can’t help wondering if she’s developed feelings for him. And I wouldn’t blame her if she had. You should see him, Tay. He looks incredible. His color is good and his muscle tone is remarkable. It’s as if he’s just lying there asleep.”

  Her friend shrugged. “That’s not all that surprising, I suppose. I read an article recently about the new procedures they perform nowadays on patients like Simon. They even have a machine that stimulates blood flow and muscle activity with electrical pulsations. It also helps prevent the joints from stiffening so that when the patient comes out of the coma, they can be mobile in a shorter amount of time. Maybe they’re using something like that on Simon.”

  “Maybe,” Penelope mumbled, but she was momentarily taken aback by how little she actually knew about Simon’s recovery and treatment. As next of kin, Allen Decker called all the shots, and he hadn’t seen fit to keep Penelope in the loop. She still didn’t understand his animosity toward her. Did he blame her for Simon’s accident?

  Tay swung her legs off the balcony railing and stood. “Not to change the subject or anything, but let’s go eat. I’m starved, and if we wait much longer, everything will be closed.”

  Penelope nodded, although she didn’t feel the least bit hungry. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t care. Be thinking about what you’re in the mood for while I go freshen up. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

  “Should we call Freddy?”

  “Nah.” Tay waved absently as she headed through the French doors. “He’ll come back when he’s hungry.”

  But Penelope didn’t like the idea of leaving the persnickety cat to fend for himself. She stood at the railing and called down to him.

  He didn’t respond, but for a moment, Penelope could have sworn…

  Oh, come on, she chided herself. You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. There’s no one down there.

  But she suddenly had the strongest sensation that someone was watching her.

  Clinging to the rail, she peered into the darkness, remembering the night of Simon’s accident, when she’d stood on that very balcony calling down to Freddy.

  Someone had been in the courtyard that night, too, and Penelope had been certain that it was Simon. It couldn’t have been, of course, because the accident had occurred hours earlier. She hadn’t known it then, but Simon had been in the hospital fighting for his life at that moment.

  So if not Simon, who had been in the courtyard that night?

  And why had he—or she—come back?

  Chapter Five

  “What happened to you?” Penelope exclaimed the next day when Avery Bennett hobbled into her office on crutches. She jumped up and hurried around her desk to clear a chair for him.

  Her cramped work space was packed to the ceiling with books, magazines and research papers that she kept promising herself she’d sort through and file one day soon.

  But in spite of the clutter, Penelope loved everything about her third-floor office, from the smell of aged books to the old-world charm of the antique furnishings. Except for the laptop on her desk, the whole room might have been lifted part and parcel from the turn of the last century, right down to the creaking wood floor and the unsightly radiator.

  Penelope especially loved the long, narrow windows that overlooked the rear gardens and the eight-foot boxwood hedge maze that—thanks to Avery—had once again become a featured attraction at the Morehart.

  “What happened?” she asked again as she helped him ease into the chair across from her desk.

  “Let’s just say a pitcher of martinis and the stairs at my new condo are not a wise combination.” He stretched out his injured leg while Penelope propped his crutches nearby.

  She winced in sympathy as she returned to her seat. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not unless I forget to take my little white pills,” he said cheerfully.

  Evidently, those little white pills had done more than alleviate his pain. Avery was usually a worrier, but today he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

  A handsome, fortyish bachelor, he possessed the kind of aristocratic features that sometimes gave the impression of a man who’d led a pampered existence; but appearances, Penelope had soon discovered, could be deceiving. At least in Avery’s case. In spite of his penchant for high fashion and high drama, he was a dedicated scholar who knew his stuff, and the Morehart had flourished under his guidance.

  Before he came on board, the pre-Columbian exhibits, which dominated the ground floor, had been a rather lackluster mishmash of ceramics, flaked stone artifacts, and stucco reliefs, many of them a very poor quality. Avery had somehow convinced the trustees to build on the museum’s already impressive collection of dance and ceremonial masks by selling off some of the other relics in order to subsidize new acquisitions. And when that hadn’t generated enough revenue, he’d initiated aggressive fund-raising events and PR campaigns that were already starting to put the tiny museum on the map.

  It had also been Avery who had lured Penelope from her comfortable, though somewhat static, position at the prestigious Museum of Natural Sciences, a decision she hadn’t once regretted.

  “So why aren’t you home?” she scolded. “Shouldn’t you have that foot elevated or something?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just a sprain, I’m told. It’ll be as good as new in a few weeks, but in the meantime, I’m not fit to travel.”

  “Oh dear, and you have that meeting with Manuel Vargas tomorrow.” Penelope chewed the end of a pencil. “We’ll have to cancel, I suppose. Unless…” She trailed off, tapping the eraser against her desktop. “Do you think he’d be willing to come here to complete the arrangements?”

  Avery shook his head. “Not a chance. The man doesn’t fly. Which leaves us with only one alternative, I’m afraid.”

  “And that is?”

  “You’ll have to go in my place.”

  Penelope glanced up in alarm. “Bad idea, Avery. My Spanish isn’t all that great, and you know I’m lousy at negotiations. What if I say the wrong thing?”

  He waved off her concern. “You won’t. The deal is all but sealed, and the language barrier won’t be a problem. Vargas’s English is flawless. All you have to do is deliver the papers he requested, flatter him a little, and the masks are as good as ours.”

  Sounded easy enough, but Avery was a people person, while Penelope was happiest working behind the scenes, researching exhibits and cataloging acquisi tions. She would be expected to make an appearance at the gala and auction on Saturday night, of course, but dealing with the public was an aspect of her job she didn’t particularly relish.

  Nervously, she ran a hand through her hair. “Something could still go wrong, and besides, I don’t like the idea of leaving the country while Simon is still recovering.”

  “Recovering?” Avery sighed. “I don’t mean to sound unsympathetic, but the man’s in a coma. There’s really nothing you can do for him, and it’s time you started thinking about yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have a very promising future here at the Morehart. I’d hate to see you do anything to jeopardize your career.”

  Penelope frowned. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s simply a reality,” Avery said wearily. “There’s no such thing as job security in our profession. You know that as well as I do. We both have a lot riding on this exhibit. We can’t afford to lose those masks.”

  “You’re right,” she said contritely. “And, of course, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “Good. I knew I could count on you.” He struggled to his feet. “I’ve asked Jane to transfer the reservations t
o your name.”

  “Already done,” the woman said as she poked her head around the corner. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might want to know that your flight leaves at seven-thirty in the morning from Bush Intercontinental, Penelope. You’ll change planes in Mexico City, arriving in Manzanillo just after noon, local time. That should give you ample opportunity to settle into the hotel before meeting with Vargas at four.”

  “Thank you, Jane. Efficient as always,” Avery said.

  Jane Baker gave Penelope a wink. “I aim to please, boss. Anything else I can do?”

  “Did the drugstore call about my new prescription?”

  She held up a bag with the name of a local pharmacy stamped across the front. “They delivered it a few minutes ago. Shall I get you a glass of water?”

  “No, don’t bother. I’m headed to my office.” Avery took the bag, then paused at the door to glance back. “Oh, and Penelope?”

  “Yes?”

  “Relax. You’ll do fine with Vargas. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

  “Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath as he hobbled out the door. She glanced up at Jane. “Guess I’m on my way to Manzanillo.”

  Jane lifted a brow. “Most people wouldn’t look so glum about a trip to paradise. Cheer up. It might do you a world of good to get away.”

  Penelope shrugged. “I guess. I just don’t like leaving Simon, that’s all.”

  “It’ll only be for a couple of days.

  “I know, but I worry.” She bit her lip.

  Jane nodded. “I know. You’re worried something might happen while you’re gone.”

  Penelope sighed. It was a relief to have someone to talk to about her feelings. Tay was a good friend, but there was something very comforting about Jane.

  She was older, for one thing, and she’d had plenty of tragedy in her own life. A widow, she was somewhere in her mid-fifties, with a careworn face and a truly gorgeous wardrobe. She always dressed in somber colors, but her suits were exquisitely tailored, and she owned some of the most fabulous pieces of jewelry Penelope had ever seen. She’d inherited a great deal of money from her late husband’s estate, but she’d confided to Penelope once that she’d gladly give it all away if she could have the love of her life back.

  Out of sheer desperation and loneliness, she’d answered an ad in the paper one day for the position of administrative assistant at the Morehart. She’d been hired after only one interview, and had been there now for nearly a year. Penelope sometimes wondered how they’d gotten along without her. She was truly a treasure, and she understood what Penelope was going through with Simon as no one else could.

  “If you want to talk later, my door is always open,” she said.

  “Thanks, Jane. I appreciate that.”

  “And Avery is right, you know.” Jane paused at the door and gave Penelope an enigmatic smile. “You’ll knock ’em dead in Mexico.”

  “WHAT’S ALL THIS?” Penelope asked that night when she opened the door to her sister. Helen, arms draped with glittering dresses, waltzed through the tiny apartment and headed straight for Penelope’s bedroom, where her suitcase lay open on the bed.

  “Mother called earlier,” Helen said over her shoul der, her kitten heels tapping an efficient staccato against the hardwood floor. “She said something had come up at the museum and you have to leave for Mexico first thing in the morning. I didn’t think you’d have time to shop so voilà! I’m bringing the store to you.”

  Penelope trailed the cloud of expensive perfume into her bedroom and reached for a black, strapless number that her sister had tossed carelessly onto the bed. “You don’t really expect me to wear this, do you?”

  Helen shrugged. “Why not? Everyone can wear black.”

  “Yes, but not everyone can wear a size two,” Penelope said dryly. “In case you haven’t noticed lately, you and I are hardly the same shape.”

  “True enough.” At thirty-seven, Helen seemed to grow more beautiful every day, and tonight she looked stunning in a filmy turquoise top and designer jeans that emphasized her unnaturally slim hips and thighs. “I tried to pick out items with a little give—Lycra is a godsend—but you happen to be right about that particular dress.” She reached over and plucked the hanger from Penelope’s fingers. “Very few people can wear Versace.” She discarded the dress and began to rifle through the other outfits. “But don’t worry. There must be something here that suits you.”

  “I appreciate the effort,” Penelope said. “But I don’t need any of this froufrou stuff anyway. It’s a business trip.”

  Helen glanced up. “You’ll still need evening wear. What if someone asks you to dinner?”

  “I’ll politely decline.”

  “You say that now, but what if you get down there and you meet someone who completely sweeps you off your feet? You won’t have a thing to wear.”

  “You’re not listening to me,” Penelope said impatiently. “This isn’t a vacation. I’m going on behalf of the museum. And besides, I’m still engaged, remember?”

  Helen shrugged. “So what? I’m married and you don’t see me letting myself go, do you?” She continued to sort through the expensive dresses, then threw her hands up in despair. “This is ridiculous! I don’t know what I was thinking. None of these are right for you.” She sighed in resignation. “I suppose we’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got in your closet. Let’s have a look.”

  Before Penelope could muster an argument, Helen strode over to the walk-in and began to rummage through the meager contents. Muttering to herself, she kept digging until she finally pulled out a white lace halter dress with the tags still dangling.

  “Hello, what’s this?” she exclaimed in triumph. Penelope tried to snatch the dress away, but Helen backed out of her reach. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she accused. “Why have I never seen you wear this?”

  Penelope sighed. “If you must know…I bought it for my honeymoon.”

  Helen’s tone turned brisk. “It’s perfect for Manzanillo.”

  “That may be, but I’m not taking it,” Penelope said stubbornly. “I’m saving it to wear when Simon gets better.”

  “Oh, nonsense, why waste a perfectly good outfit?” Helen held the dress against her body as she glided over to the full-length mirror, examining her reflection from first one angle, then the other. “Besides, it’ll give you an excuse to buy something new.”

  Penelope knew from experience that it was pointless to quarrel. Helen could be relentless when she set her mind to something. For the sake of peace, Penelope held her tongue, but after her sister left, she would hang the dress back in her closet where it belonged.

  “Oh, by the way.” Helen continued to admire her reflection. “When Alex heard about your trip, he insisted that you stay at his villa.”

  “Alex Salizar?” Penelope asked in astonishment. “How on earth did he find out about my trip? Wait, don’t tell me. This is Mother’s idea, isn’t it? She asked him to keep an eye on me.” That was so typically Athena. She thought nothing of Cassandra traipsing through the rain forest, but God forbid that Penelope could make a quick business trip to Mexico and back without need of a chaperon. Or a keeper.

  Fuming, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Oh, relax,” Helen said. “Mother doesn’t know anything about this. It was Alex’s idea.”

  Penelope’s scowl deepened. “But why would he make such an offer? I hardly know him.”

  “Of course you do. He’s practically family.”

  “He’s barely an acquaintance.”

  Helen gave her a reproachful glance. “Well, obviously he doesn’t feel that way, and I know he’ll be hurt if you don’t accept his offer.”

  Penelope laughed. “Oh, please. If anything, he’ll be relieved. I’m sure he was only trying to be polite. Or else…” She met her sister’s gaze in the mirror.

  Helen’s eyes widened innocently. “What?”

  “You didn’t coerce him into
inviting me, did you?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Penelope’s tone turned suspicious. “Maybe because you’re trying to set me up?”

  “Set you up?” Helen spun to face her. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Not much you don’t. What about that day I saw you and Alex having lunch together? You told me that you were planning a spur-of-the-moment dinner party and you wanted to check and make sure that we were both free. But you got all flustered, and it was obvious you just made that up.”

  Helen looked taken aback. “And you thought I was trying to fix you up? Is that what you were babbling about at lunch the other day with Mother? You think she and I are trying to play matchmaker? With you and Alex?”

  Penelope folded her arms. “Actually, she’s trying to hook me up with Doug Fairchild. Alex is your idea.”

  Helen gave a funny little laugh as she turned back to the mirror. “Trust me, Pen. I’m not trying to fix you up with Alex Salizar. And as for Doug…” She trailed off, her eyes momentarily clouding. “I know Dad thinks the world of him, but…steer clear, okay? I think he has issues.”

  “Issues? What are you talking about?”

  Helen shrugged. “I don’t know. He just creeps me out a little, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t used to feel that way,” Penelope reminded her. “In fact, you two were pretty close before you met Grayson.”

  “We weren’t that close,” Helen said. “At least, I didn’t think so, but he didn’t take the breakup very well. He may look all mild mannered on the outside, but let me tell you something, Penelope. That man has a nasty temper.”

  “He was probably just jealous,” Penelope said. “After all, it’s pretty obvious that he still has a thing for you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Helen said with uncharacteristic modesty.

  “Of course, you do,” Penelope insisted. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and there is no way I’d ever get involved with a man who is still that hung up on another woman. But it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m still very much committed to Simon.”