Cast a Pale Shadow(29)

But it was not Nicholas.

"Dr. Edmonds." Her pace slowed with the shock of seeing him and she was unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

"Miss Kirk."

The name brought a quick look of puzzlement to Augusta's face. Trissa guessed he had not used it when he gained admittance to the house. "It's my maiden name, Augusta," she said, "I guess Dr. Edmonds forgot that." She cast a chastening look at Edmonds who seemed oblivious to it.

"You may use the front parlor, if you like, Trissa. I will tell Nicholas where you are when he arrives." With a frown of disapproval at Trissa's visitor, she added, "Which should be any moment now."

"Thank you, Augusta."

"And you look lovely, dear." Augusta relieved her of her coat and purse so she could attend to her guest.

"Thank you."

Like someone used to barging in and thus immune from any criticism of it, Dr. Edmonds strode ahead of Trissa into the parlor. He turned to face her as she crossed the threshold. "She's right, you know. You look very nice. Except for the bruises and abrasions, of course."

"And aside from your stubbornness and boorish behavior, you might be very nice as well. I haven't had much chance to judge that yet, Doctor."

"Please call me Bryant." He studied her for a moment with that odd half-smile-half-frown she remembered from the emergency room, then without being asked, he removed his coat and lay it across a chair. "I'm not here as your doctor."

Simmering with irritation, Trissa snatched his coat from the chair, then realized she had no idea where to take it. Rather than stand stupidly holding it, she took it to the hall and yanked open a door she assumed would be a guest closet. It was the stairs to the cellar. She tossed the coat on the top step and returned to the parlor. With his hands clasped behind his back, Edmonds was strolling the room studying the portraits on the wall.

Trissa cleared her throat to get his attention. "Then why are you here, Doctor? "

"Are these supposed to be relatives of his?"

"Whose?"

"Brewer's. I don't see any family resemblance. The line must be wearing thin." He picked up a candlestick from the mantle and turned it over, examining it. "Silver?"

"What's wearing thin is my patience. Why did you come?"

Two wing chairs upholstered in striped blue damask flanked the fireplace. Edmonds stood behind one and motioned for her to sit. Trissa folded her arms and frowned, sticking her lower lip out like a pouting child. "Why are you here?"

"Sit and I'll tell you."

She hesitated for a moment then flounced across the room, perched on the edge of the seat, and glared at him. He took the chair opposite and settled back, crossing his long legs, ankle over thigh, so that an expanse of sock showed between his scuffed black oxfords and his pants legs. It was white, a rather dingy white at that.

"It surprises me, this house," he said finally. "Brewer may not be the low-life I assumed him to be." Anger snapped like a spark in her, and she opened her mouth then clamped it shut when he continued. "But every family has its black sheep, I suppose."

"All the better to make black socks, I'm sure."

His brow wrinkled for a moment at her answer, but he shook off his puzzlement and went on, "Have you known him long?"

"Longer than you. Look, Doctor, I am sitting and I am listening. But I will not do either much longer. My husband, who you insult so casually in his own home, and I have plans for the evening. So come to the point of your visit or go--"

"I went to see your mother."

"--away. What? My mother?" They were like words from another language to her at first. She shook her head in disbelief until she finally understood what they might mean for her. Then they translated themselves into fury. "Why you arrogant, meddling bastard! How did you even find out where I lived?"

"I copied your address from your suitcase. And I got this address from hospital records." He gave her a smug smile.

She lurched out of her seat and flew at him, grabbing him by the shirtsleeves as if to drag him out of his chair. When she couldn't budge him, she kicked his shin. "You've ruined everything, damn you!" She stepped back, straining to keep her tears in check. Anger was all he deserved from her.

"Easy, easy," he said, rubbing his shin, "I didn't tell her anything. I mean, I meant to, but I saw how she was. You were right to run away from her."

"I'm so grateful for your approval, Doctor."

"Trissa, please, I've gone about this all wrong. Could we start over?"

"Does that mean I have to sit again, sir?"

"It would help me if you would."

Something in his voice, a ragged edge completely foreign to his usually imperious tone, made her do what he asked. She could not erase her indignation for both his rudeness and his interference in her life, but she did sense his discomfort in having to admit he needed her help and it softened her a little.

"I lost a patient last night. A victim of gang violence. She was a bit younger than you and probably a lot tougher. But she fell in with the wrong crowd and she died for it."

"I'm sorry, but--"

"Usually, I can scrub up for the next patient and go on. You have to when you work emergency. You may call it arrogance, but that's what it takes sometimes, a certain godlike disdain for death that allows you to face it down and beat it. She wasn't the first patient I've lost, and she won't be the last. I just -- I just don't want you to be one of them. I don't think I could live with that."

"I don't understand."

"I don't either. No one is more surprised than I that I am here and confessing this -- this weakness to you. But this patient reminded me of you. And well -- all I can say is that something about you has touched me in a way I've never felt before.

"And I don't trust Brewer. I wish you would tell me how you came to be with him. Tell me you grew up with him. Tell me anything I can believe and I'll go away and leave you in peace."

"I trust him. Isn't that enough?"

"No. It's not."

"That's just too damn bad." Nicholas scowled in the parlor doorway.

Edmonds stood to face him, smiling a challenge. "I keep turning up. I warned you that I would, didn't I, Brewer? I'm like a bad penny."

"Or a bad smell."

Trissa slipped between them and took Nicholas' hand. "I missed you."

"It was a long day for me, too."

She kissed him on the cheek wishing she could dare more. "Dr. Edmonds, I'll get your coat. Nicholas will walk you to the door."

Both men obeyed her instructions and by the time she rescued Edmonds' coat from the cellar steps, he already had one foot out the door.



*****



Nicholas took the coat from her and handed it to Edmonds. "I'd ask you to join us for dinner, Edmonds, but we have reservations. For two."

Bryant shoved his arms through his sleeves and stepped out onto the porch. "Goodbye, Trissa," he said, looking past Nicholas to where she stood in the center of the parlor. "May I visit again?"

Trissa shrugged and Nicholas blocked her from view as he joined the doctor on the porch, pulling the door shut behind him. "Come anytime you want. We have nothing to hide."

"Oh? Then tell me one thing, Brewer. Have you consummated the marriage yet?"

In a blind rage, Nicholas took a swing at his nose, poorly aimed, and too clumsily executed. It grazed Edmonds' chin and he caught his wrist and shoved Nicholas back against the door. Nicholas saw the futility of a struggle against this man who outweighed him by a solid fifty pounds, and Bryant held him there at arm's length.

"I see." Edmonds' lips curled in a mocking smile. "If you f*ck as well as you fight, she's got nothing to worry about." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and whistled as he strode down the walk.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Nicholas pounded his fist against the bricks when Edmonds' car disappeared around the corner. "God damn it, where'd you learn to fight, you little piss ant?" he muttered to himself. "At the loony bin? Shit!" He breathed deeply until he felt the heat drain from his face. When he was calm, he straightened his coat and tie and went back into the house to Trissa.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course, I am. Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. That leaving had the look of 'I'll meet you out back, Buddy'."

"Didn't lay a glove on me. What's the matter? Do I look like the loser in some street fight?" He held her chin up and kissed her tenderly on her bruised cheek. "You should see the other guy."

She drew her finger under the lapel of his coat and whispered, "Don't mind him. He wears white socks with black slacks and shoes."