Grand Passion

  After the restless night she'd just spent, she needed to clear her head with the crisp, cold sea air. Perhaps later in the day she would go to the meditation center at Cosmic Harmony. Unfortunately there wasn't time to do that this morning. Cleo wanted to be at the inn when the morning rush started in the kitchen. As Jason had once observed, there was no substitute for close supervision in a small operation such as the Robbins' Nest Inn.

  Cleo felt a twist of sorrow at the memory of her friend. She eased it aside as she stepped into a pair of jeans and put on a blue oxford cloth shirt. Jason would not have wanted her to dwell too long on his passing, she reminded herself as she laced up her gold sneakers. Jason Curzon had believed in living for the future, not the past.

  She grabbed her hunter green down parka on the way out the door. She made her way downstairs and walked through the still slumbering inn. Gentle snores from the vicinity of the office told her George was still on duty and as alert as ever.

  She let herself out through the door at the back of the kitchen. Andromeda, Daystar, and the morning crew from Cosmic Harmony had not yet arrived. And the guests would certainly not be stirring for a while.

  The chilled air hit her like a tonic when she stepped outside. The night was giving way slowly to the gray light of the new day. The biting cold made Cleo abruptly aware of the fact that she had forgotten her gloves. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and started off along the bluff overlooking the sea.

  She wanted to think about a lot of things this morning: the dream, Benjy's disappearance, Trisha's problems. She needed to deal with all of them. But her mind resisted her efforts to concentrate on any of those issues. No matter what she did, it kept spinning back to the one, single event that had dominated her thoughts for most of the night: Max's kiss.

  It was the first time she had kissed a man since her parents' death and not felt the subtle sense of wrongness that had tainted every other relationship she'd had.

  All she had experienced with Max last night was a wondrous sensation of exultant joy. She had wanted him, really wanted him.

  The passion that she had known lay buried inside her had awakened and responded to the touch of a real man at last. Relief soared through her at the realization that she had found the one who could help her free herself.

  The man in the mirror had finally walked into her life.

  But to Cleo's chagrin, things were not as clear as she had expected them to be if and when she found the right man. There were so many unknowns about Max Fortune, so many uncertainties.

  One of the factors that troubled her the most was that he did not seem to be responding to her in the same way that she was responding to him. She had been so sure that if she ever encountered the man in the mirror in the real world, she would not only recognize him immediately; he would also recognize her. She knew from the things her mother and father had said that they had known they were meant for each other from the first moment they met.

  But when Cleo had looked into Max's eyes last night, she had seen not just sexual desire, but a disturbing element of calculating control. She sighed unhappily at the thought. She had to face the fact that although her response to him had been instantaneous, pure and unfettered, Max Fortune apparently had his own agenda.

  That made him dangerous. Theoretically it should have set off her finely tuned alarm system.

  So why wasn't she getting that old, familiar feeling of wrongness about him? she wondered.

  She recalled the way he had put the red satin ribbon around her throat and drawn her to him in a perfect imitation of a scene in chapter three of The Mirror.

  A little too perfect, she thought wryly. She'd be willing to bet that Max actually had read that chapter before seeking her out last night.

  The feeling that she no longer had the dawn to herself made Cleo turn her head and glance back over her shoulder. She managed a polite smile of greeting for Herbert T. Valence, who was striding briskly along behind her.

  Valence was nattily dressed as always in an expensive-looking camel coat, paisley print silk scarf, and a pair of taupe leather shoes. Whatever brand of mousse or spray he had used to anchor his silver locks into place was impervious to the snapping breeze. Not a single hair was moving in the brisk breeze. The diamond on his pinky sparkled in the early light.

  She appeared to be inundated with spiffy dressers these days, Cleo reflected, amused. The combined sartorial elegance of Max and Herbert T. Valence was definitely elevating the inn's image this weekend.

  “Good morning, Ms. Robbins.” Valence bobbed his head with birdlike speed.

  “Good morning,” Cleo said. “I didn't hear you coming up behind me. Out for a morning walk before your next seminar session?”

  “I make it a point to walk one mile every day,” Valence informed her. “Proper aerobic exercise is essential to a successful attitude.”

  “It's always nice to meet someone who practices what they preach.”

  “I have a reputation to maintain, Ms. Robbins. I can only do that if I live by my own five basic rules of success.”

  “What are your five rules, Mr. Valence?” Cleo asked curiously. “Or don't you hand those out for free?”

  “As we have a professional relationship, I don't mind giving you my five rules.”

  “How kind of you.” Cleo wondered if the list would include clicking his pen exactly five times before replacing it in his coat pocket and always staying in the same room at the inn. During the course of her so-called professional relationship with him, Cleo had had occasion to observe a long list of such eccentricities in Valence.

  Valence held up his hand and pointed to his thumb. “The first rule is to concentrate on the objective.” He pointed to the next finger. “The second rule is to prepare a plan to meet that objective. The third rule is to resist the impulse to deviate from the plan. The fourth rule is to pay attention to every detail and to make certain it is covered before proceeding with the plan.”

  “And the fifth rule?” Cleo asked.

  “The fifth rule is to always think in terms of success, never in terms of failure.”

  Cleo considered that. “But what happens if one does fail, Mr. Valence?”

  Valence tilted his chin at a proud angle. “Failure is not an acceptable outcome for those who orient their lives toward success. I assure you that I did not acquire my reputation by making mistakes, Ms. Robbins.”

  “Must be kind of tough having to live up to that kind of reputation,” Cleo mused.

  “The rewards more than outweigh the effort involved,” Valence said. “You should know what I'm talking about, Ms. Robbins. Look at what you've accomplished at your age. You're the owner and proprietor of one of the most successful inns on the Washington coast. How did you talk a bank into loaning you the kind of money it must have taken to open Robbins' Nest?”

  Cleo looked out over the steel gray sea. “I had some money of my own.”

  “Ah, I see. Family money, then.”

  Cleo thought of the trust fund she had inherited after her parents' death. “Yes.”

  “I apologize for my questions,” Valence said a bit gruffly, as if he had suddenly realized he might have intruded on Cleo's privacy. “Didn't mean to pry. The thing is, I'm always interested in success stories. I guess you could say I collect them.”

  “You collect them?”

  “Yes, indeed. Whenever I find an interesting one, I like to dissect it. Find out how it happened. I learn things from it that I then incorporate into my seminars.”

  “Well, there's not much to my story, Mr. Valence,” Cleo said. “I bought the inn with my inheritance. With the help of some good friends, I've made it work. That's all there is to my tale.”

  Valence bobbed his head again. “You've certainly got an unusual group of employees. Your kitchen staff all look like they're from some New Age commune, and that new one, the man with the cane, doesn't dress or act like hired help.”

  “Well, he is hired help,” Cleo said shortly.
“But I don't know how long he'll be staying.” That realization made her catch her breath. The thought of Max leaving sent a flash of pain through her. She realized she did not want to lose the man in the mirror now that she had finally found him.

  “In my opinion, his manner is far too arrogant for his position.”

  Cleo smiled to herself. “I'll speak to him about it.”

  “I suggest you do that.” Valence glanced at his chunky gold watch. “I should be getting back to my room, I suppose. I want to go over my notes. Before I bid you good day, however, Ms. Robbins, there is something I wish to discuss.”

  Cleo stifled a groan. “What's that, Mr. Valence?”

  Valence gave her a disapproving look. “I trust there will be no more upsetting occurrences such as the loss of electrical power that I was obliged to endure yesterday afternoon.”

  Cleo smiled wryly. “I'm afraid that sort of thing is beyond my ability to control, Mr. Valence. We'll do our best, but I can't guarantee anything, especially during a storm.”

  “If you cannot promise a reliable power source, I may be forced to select another location for my seminars,” Valence warned.

  “As I said, Mr. Valence, we'll do our best to keep you up and running.”

  Valence grunted a rather dissatisfied response. “Well, that's that, then. We shall just have to see, won't we?”

  “I guess so,” Cleo said. “Have a good day, Mr. Valence.”

  “Thank you. Same to you.”

  Valence stopped, made a neat one hundred and eighty degree turn, and started back toward the inn.

  Cleo watched as he tucked his chin into the warmth of his expensive coat and leaned resolutely into the crisp breeze. Then she continued on her way along the bluffs. She thought about what she had just told Valence about Max. I don't know how long he'll be staying.

  An excellent reason for being extremely cautious, Cleo thought. Max was definitely an unknown quantity, even if she did have the distinct sensation that she had been waiting for him all of her life.

  * * *

  Cleo delayed the family meeting on Trisha until after the last of the crowd of seminar attendees had checked out the following day. She held it during the lull that ensued in the afternoon before preparations began for the evening meal.

  Andromeda, Daystar, Trisha, Sylvia, and Cleo sat down on the benches of the kitchen nook. Trisha looked at the others and burst into tears.

  “There now, dear, don't fuss so.” Andromeda handed her a napkin to blot her eyes. “You aren't the first woman to find herself in this sort of situation, and you won't be the last. The important thing to remember is that you aren't alone.”

  “I thought he loved me,” Trisha whispered.

  “I think he does,” Cleo said gently. “But Benjy's confused about a lot of things.”

  “Too confused to use any birth control, apparently,” Daystar muttered. She gave Trisha a severe look. “I seem to recall mentioning the subject to you a while back, young lady. What went wrong?”

  Trisha started to sob heavily. “I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. You don't know what it's like.”

  “Don't I?” Daystar snorted. “I'm sixty-two years old, my girl, and I didn't spend those years in a box. Believe me, I know what it's like. Passion is no excuse for stupidity. A woman has to use her head. She has to stay in control of the situation.”

  Trisha cried louder.

  Cleo glared at Daystar. “For heaven's sake, this is getting us nowhere.”

  Andromeda gave her friend a scolding look. “Cleo's right. There's no point lecturing poor Trisha now. The damage is done. We have to go forth from here. As that Mr. Valence has been telling everyone all weekend, we have to think positive. Problems should be looked upon as opportunities.”

  “You're right. I'm sorry.” Daystar patted Trisha with gruff affection. “Don't worry, Trisha. We're going to survive this.”

  “It was all my fault,” Trisha wailed.

  “It takes two,” Cleo said firmly. “Benjy had just as much to do with this as you did.”

  “The difference is that Benjy can walk away from it,” Daystar said bluntly. “Trisha can't.”

  “You know,” Andromeda mused, “I'm surprised that Benjy did walk away. I thought that boy was finally getting his act together, as they say. He was working hard here, attending classes at the community college part-time. He was even starting to talk about the future in a positive manner. I really believed he was going to make it.”

  “He was trying,” Trisha said loyally. “I know he was.”

  “I agree,” Cleo said. “And I know he cares for Trisha. I imagine he's feeling pretty scared at the moment.”

  “Maybe we should have gotten some professional counseling for the boy,” Andromeda said.

  Daystar shrugged. “Don't know if that would have done any good.”

  Cleo decided to take charge before the discussion degenerated into a what-went-wrong-with-Benjy session. “I've been doing some thinking. We've known Benjy for a year and a half. He's a good kid, and I can't believe he's really run out on his responsibilities. I'll bet he's just gone off someplace to think for a while.”

  Trisha looked up from the napkin. There was a tiny flicker of hope in her eyes. “Do you really believe he'll come back?”

  Cleo pursed her lips in thought. “I'm sure Benjy is very confused and shaken at the moment. He probably needs someone to talk to.”

  “Well, why didn't he talk to one of us?” Daystar demanded. “We're his family.”

  Cleo grimaced. “Have you noticed that with the exception of Sammy, we're all female? Poor Benjy probably felt we'd be so busy sympathizing with Trisha that we wouldn't understand what he was going through.”

  Sylvia's brows rose. “That's a possibility, I suppose.”

  “It's important to remember that Benjy does have a responsibility in this, whether he wants it now or not,” Daystar said. “A financial responsibility.”

  “I agree,” Sylvia said. “Benjy may not be able to handle his moral and emotional commitments yet, but he can and should be required to handle his financial responsibilities. At least Doug still sends some child support once in a while. Benjy should do the same.”

  Cleo held up her hand. “Before we start pressuring Benjy to honor his financial obligations, I think we should try another tactic. I think we should convince him to come home where he belongs.”

  Trisha gave her another desperate look. “But he's gone. I don't know where he is. How can we find him?”

  “Maybe Max can find him,” Cleo said slowly.

  “Max?” Trisha stared at her. “But how can Max find him?”

  “Max says he has a friend who runs an investigation firm,” Cleo said. “I don't have much faith in private investigators, but Max seems to think his friend is very good. Benjy hasn't been gone long, and he probably isn't trying to hide.”

  Trisha bit her lip. “Do you think Max's friend can find Benjy?”

  “I suggest we find out.” Cleo got to her feet with sudden resolve. As soon as the idea had occurred to her, she had sensed it was the right approach to the problem. “Stay here, I'll be right back.”

  She whirled around and headed for the door. She did not look back, although she was aware of the others staring after her in bemusement.

  Cleo went down the hall to the lobby. There was no sign of Max. She tried the parlor next. It was empty except for three guests who were reading quietly in front of the fire. In the hallway she encountered one of the maids who came in on busy days and was helping clean up after the seminar guests.

  “Darleen, have you seen Max?”

  “I think he's in the solarium with Sammy,” Darleen said.

  Cleo changed direction and went down another hall. A moment later she walked into the solarium. Rain was beating pleasantly on the glass roof. The steady patter and the gurgle of the fountain were the only sounds in the room.

  Max was seated in a fanback wicker chair, his left leg propped on a matching wicker
footstool. His cane was leaning against the wide arm of the chair.

  It struck Cleo that Max looked oddly at home in the exotic surroundings. Something about the scene made her think of an elegant pirate who had retired to a South Pacific island. She winced when she saw that he was reading The Mirror.

  Sammy was seated beside Max in the miniature wicker chair that Cleo had bought him for Christmas. He had Lucky Ducky and a picture book in his lap. He had his thumb stuffed contentedly in his mouth and seemed as intent on his reading as Max was on his.

  “Hi,” Cleo said softly.

  Sammy took his thumb out of his mouth. “Hi, Cleo. Me and Max are reading.”

  “So I see.”

  “Max says books are special. He's got lots and lots of 'em. He keeps 'em in a secret room in his house where no one can see 'em except him.”

  “Is that right?” Cleo wondered what else he kept in that secret room. His heart, perhaps. She crossed the tiled floor. “Max, I wondered if you would mind joining me and the others in the kitchen.”

  Max looked up warily from The Mirror. “Why?”

  Cleo cleared her throat cautiously. “We, uh, wanted to ask you to help us.”

  He gazed at her with a brooding stare. “Help you do what?”

  “Find Benjy.”

  “Damn,” Max said very softly.

  Sammy yanked his thumb out of his mouth again. “You're not supposed to say words like that around me.”

  Max looked down at him. “I apologize. I don't know what came over me.”

  Sammy nodded. “It's okay. Just don't tell Mommy.”

  “I won't,” Max promised.

  Cleo waited hopefully. “Do you think you could find him, Max?”

  “Max can find anything,” Sammy announced. “He even found Lucky Ducky.”

  “O'Reilly might be able to locate him,” Max said carefully. “What do you intend to do with Benjy if you do find him?”

  “I'm not sure,” Cleo said. She gave him her most winning smile. “But I think I'd like you to talk to him.”

  Max looked completely taken aback. “You want me to talk to him? I don't even know the guy.”