Back on Blossom Street
Page 24

“But, Colette, he has a right to know!”
“I’ll tell him,” she promised and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “Just not yet.”
“The prayer shawl?” Instinctively Alix knew it wasn’t a shawl Colette had been knitting, but a baby blanket.
“It’s for the baby,” Colette said. “Christian’s and mine.”
CHAPTER 17
Colette Blake
Colette prayed she’d done the right thing in telling Alix about the pregnancy. She hadn’t intended to, but it had seemed so natural…. Every day it became more difficult to conceal the news. Her instinct was still to keep the baby a secret for fear Christian would somehow discover her condition before she was ready to let him know.
Embarrassment had kept her from revealing the pregnancy to her family and her in-laws. What could she possibly say to Derek’s parents? Thank goodness they lived in Chicago! At least they wouldn’t find out until she chose to tell them—which she would. Eventually. They were wonderful people who loved their son and loved her. Colette was their last link to Derek and they kept in touch with her. Sooner or later she’d need to tell them the truth.
Then, of course, there was Christian. She expelled him forcefully from her mind. He’d made his choice and she’d made hers. When the time came, whenever that might be, she’d break the news to him. It seemed wrong to tell others and not the baby’s father; that, however, couldn’t be helped.
Discussing her pregnancy with Alix had given her a sense of exhilaration and relief. That old saying about confession being good for the soul—she’d certainly found it to be true.
Her high spirits had continued during her afternoon with Steve Grisham. She’d enjoyed their date, yet she felt something was missing in their relationship. In the beginning she’d assumed it had to do with her and the secret she kept. But after Saturday she realized there was a lack of connection between them. She liked Steve and was grateful for his company, which was pleasant and undemanding. And yet…
It surprised her that he didn’t notice anything amiss. At the end of the evening he’d kissed her tenderly and seemed disappointed when she didn’t invite him into her apartment. He’d asked to see her again and they were meeting for dinner on Friday evening.
“That’s lovely,” Susannah said, nodding at the arrangement of roses Christian had ordered for Elizabeth Sasser. As if to prove he meant absolutely nothing to her, she’d worked doubly hard to make the arrangement as attractive as possible. Roses didn’t need much to enhance their beauty, but she’d carefully chosen a gleaming copper tub and interspersed ferns and baby’s breath among the deep-red blooms.
“Would you mind if I delivered this personally?” Colette asked. She couldn’t explain why she felt the need to meet the new woman in Christian’s life. Elizabeth had apparently made quite an impression on him. Christian’s past relationships had never lasted more than a few months, and yet he’d left his credit card number and instructions for a full year of weekly flower deliveries.
Susannah blinked at the unusual request. “We have a service.”
“I’ll do it on my own time.” That would save Susannah the delivery fee.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Susannah returned, not bothering to conceal her surprise. “If you want to…”
“Thank you.” Colette wasn’t so convinced she’d be thankful after she’d made the delivery, though. Elizabeth was probably beautiful beyond description, talented and rich to boot. Colette’s own shortcomings overwhelmed her. All she could think was that she was setting herself up to feel like a pathetic little waif, insecure and ridiculous. And yet her curiosity overrode common sense.
Then she remembered her most recent conversation with Alix. Her friend had talked about the ugly voices that shouted at her and dragged her into despair. Voices that told her she was worthless. She’d referred to it as “stinking thinking.” Colette was hearing voices like that now. They were just as destructive as the voices Alix had mentioned. Everyone heard them at one time or another, Colette decided. She was determined not to listen.
Before she left Susannah’s Garden, Colette refreshed her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. The other woman might be Hollywood beautiful, but Colette wouldn’t allow that to influence her own feelings about her appearance or self-worth. Or so she repeatedly told herself as she sought out the Capitol Hill address.
When she pulled up in front of the huge three-story house—actually, mansion better described the residence—her confidence deflated faster than a balloon in a sticker bush. The lawn and yard were meticulously groomed. The sidewalk leading to the entrance was lined with blooming roses; their scent readily identified them as antique varieties and not hybrids. How like a man to send dozens of roses to a woman who had a yardful!
It took Colette several moments to find the courage to ring the bell. A full minute passed. Then an elderly woman, dressed in a black uniform with a white apron, opened the massive front door.
“Hello,” Colette said with a friendly smile. “I have a flower delivery for Ms. Elizabeth Sasser.” In all her life, she’d never known anyone rich enough to employ a maid.
The other woman unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, accepting the arrangement with both hands. “They’re especially beautiful this week.”
“Is Ms. Sasser at home?” Colette asked, while she still had the courage.
“Doris? Who’s at the door?” The voice was that of an older woman.
“Flowers, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Again?” A woman in her seventies or early eighties made her way into the entry, walking slowly but without a cane. Her silver hair was piled on top of her head and she wore a light pink pantsuit with a diamond brooch pinned at the collar.
“You’re Elizabeth Sasser?” Colette blurted out.
The older woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Colette. “Doris, invite the young woman in for tea.”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth.”
“We’ll take our tea in the library,” she said, before turning away from the door and disappearing.
The other woman nodded. She set the copper tub of roses on a round marble-topped table that stood in the entryway.
Colette stepped inside the house and immediately noticed the scents of lemon and polished wood—and roses. The floors gleamed and a wide, sweeping stairway curved toward the second floor. There were two doors off the entry, one to the left and the other to the right. She could see that the one on the right led to a formal dining room with tables and chairs and a huge sideboard.
The door on the left apparently led to the library. Built-in mahogany bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling on three sides. A marble fireplace dominated the fourth wall. Two leather chairs, creased with age, sat facing the fireplace. The room enchanted Colette, who suppressed the urge to run over and examine the leather-bound volumes that filled the bookcases.
“You may have a seat.” Elizabeth Sasser gestured toward the leather chair next to her own.
“Thank you.” Colette self-consciously sat and placed her hands in her lap. She had no idea what to say. But since Ms. Sasser had invited her, Colette decided to let the older woman ask the questions.
“We’ll have tea presently.”
“That sounds very nice.” Colette glanced down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap like those of a schoolgirl called to task. With a determined effort she forced herself to relax.
“Christian sent you?” the woman asked.
“No…I mean, yes, in a manner of speaking. He ordered the flowers and I delivered them.”
“I see.”
They were briefly interrupted by Doris, who carried in a tray with a china teapot, creamer and sugar, two ornate teacups with saucers and a plate of delicate French cookies. “Madelines,” Elizabeth pointed out when Doris had left. “I’m sure you recall your Proust.”
“Remembrance of Things Past,” Colette said dutifully. She didn’t add that she’d always meant to read the books.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I’ll ask you to pour. My hands aren’t as steady as they once were.”
“I’d be happy to,” Colette said. She went over to the library table and carefully followed the other woman’s instructions about sugar and lemon. After both cups were ready, she set a cookie on each saucer and brought the first to Elizabeth. She took the second for herself and reclaimed her seat.
“You know my great-nephew?” Elizabeth quickly returned to her questions.
“Yes.” Colette didn’t elaborate, but she was pleased that the mystery of the older woman’s relationship to Christian had been revealed.
Elizabeth raised the cup to her lips and sipped her tea. “It’s my understanding that in previous weeks the flowers have been brought to the house by a delivery service.”
“That’s correct.”
“Was the service unable to make the delivery this week?”
The moment of truth had arrived. Colette could easily lie and save face. Admitting that she’d been curious about the woman in Christian’s life would tell Elizabeth more than Colette was comfortable sharing. If she lied, she’d be on her way in a matter of minutes and out of this embarrassing situation.
“Actually I asked to deliver the flowers,” Colette murmured, deciding on the truth. “I work for Susannah’s Garden, the flower shop on Blossom Street.”
“Was there any particular reason you felt it necessary to bring them yourself?”
“I…I wanted to meet the woman Christian loved.”
A smile spread across the older woman’s face. “How clever of you. Now that you recognize it’s an old woman, you must be amused—or disappointed? I’m his great-aunt and one of his only surviving relatives.”
Colette wasn’t disappointed at all. If anything she was baffled. As Christian’s former assistant, she was shocked to discover he had family she knew nothing about. “He’s never mentioned you.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Elizabeth commented drily. “I’m afraid he prefers to forget he has family.”
Colette frowned.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, the older woman said, “It’s a long story and one better saved for another day.”
“I worked with Christian for five years. I never knew he had family.”
“Five years?” Elizabeth repeated. “And in all that time he never mentioned me. I find that insulting.” She made a soft huffing sound. “There are times I’d like to box that young man’s ears.” She muttered something under her breath Colette couldn’t hear.
“What about his mother?” Colette asked. She didn’t want to appear inquisitive or nosy, but she hungered for information. For the sake of her child it might prove important, even necessary. She’d assumed his mother was dead but now she no longer knew.
“The dear girl died in childbirth when Christian was eight. A terrible loss. One doesn’t hear of that often these days. Still, it happens. Elliott lost both his wife and his infant daughter. And Christian lost more than his mother, I’m afraid. He lost his security.”