Mother Knows Best Page 3

  He raised his hand and her car keys glittered in the waning sunlight. "Can't get too far without these."

  "I'm not usually like this," she said, accepting the keys from him. "You may find this hard to believe, but I'm normally one of the most well-organized people you'd ever meet."

  "You're right." Fortunately, his expression was masked by glare. "I do find it hard to believe. You were having a hell of a time back there. In fact, if those kids didn't look so much like you, I'd swear you'd kidnapped them."

  Diana smiled and said nothing. If she launched into an explanation about Paula and Art and the great pre-Labor Day mothering experience he'd probably call the police and have her put away on the grounds of insanity.

  "Thank you yet again," she said finally, praying he'd let her slink off into the sunset. "We're just fine. You can finish closing up or whatever it was you're doing."

  "All closed up. All I have to do now is leave."

  "You don't have to wait around for me. It takes a while to get the girls in their car seats and Ignatius in his carrier."

  "Ignatius?"

  She shrugged. "It's a long story."

  "If I were named Ignatius, I'd leave town."

  "Don't give him any ideas."

  She opened the door of the station wagon and lifted the girls into the back seat with him still watching. While they clambered into position she bent down to grab a besotted Ignatius only to be greeted with a furious hiss and a display of claws that a Bengal tiger would have been proud of.

  The man grinned and swooped Ignatius into his arms. "Where do you want him?"

  "You don't really want to know."

  "I'll overlook that."

  "The cat carrier will do fine."

  He had Ignatius safely locked away in an instant and still he didn't leave.

  "Look," Diana said in exasperation, "I appreciate everything you've done for us, but if you have any other ideas, I'm not interested."

  "Glad to hear it, because the only thing I am interested in is getting out of here."

  She followed his gaze. "The Corvette belongs to you?"

  He nodded.

  "And I'm blocking you in."

  He nodded again.

  The whole afternoon had been such an exercise in absurdity that -- despite the heat and the humidity and the fact that she looked like bloody hell -- Diana started to laugh. "You must feel like tossing me into the Atlantic out there, feet first."

  His brow furrowed. "The Atlantic?"

  What on earth was the matter with him? He'd seemed quite an intelligent man on first acquaintance. "I mean, that is the ocean I smell, isn't it?"

  His frown deepened. "No, actually it isn't."

  "Right. And I don't suppose this is the way to East Hampton either, is it?" He shook his head and she was sure the theme song from The Twilight Zone blossomed all around them. "Very funny. I probably deserved it. Which Hampton is this: Bridge-, South-, West...?"

  "Not even close."

  "I don't think I want to hear this." She sagged against the open door of the station wagon as Paula's warning about the Riverhead exit came back to haunt her. "Don't say it. I've lost my sense of humor. I'll never live this down."

  "This is Southold," he said, obviously not a man afraid to bear bad tidings, "and, lady, you've got a long way to go."

  Chapter Three

  "Okay, I know I deserve that," Diana said, looking up at him. "I come barging into your store at closing time with two cranky toddlers in need of a bathroom and I don't even have the decency to buy a stick of gum. That's against all rules of polite behavior and I apologize."

  "You can apologize all you want to, but it's not going to change a thing."

  "This isn't East Hampton?"

  "This isn't East Hampton."

  "Am I close?" Please tell me I'm close.

  "Define the term 'close.'" Diana's stomach lurched. It was even worse than she'd thought. "Am I in the right state?"

  "New York." That infernal grin of his reappeared. "The Empire State. Home of Radio City, the New York Yankees, Wall Street, Fifth Avenue -- "

  "Those I can find. It's the Hamptons that are giving me trouble." Maybe they were a figment of some over-zealous press agent's imagination, conjured up to bring glamour to the bucolic eastern end of Long Island, and not real at all. "Will you stop looking at me. I'm not a human time bomb about to explode."

  "Could've fooled me."

  "Look," she said, meeting his eyes, "I could spend a great deal of our valuable time telling you that I don't usually look like this or sound like this or act like this but I doubt if you'd believe a word I had to say and I don't blame you. Now if you would just point me in the general direction of East Hampton, I'll thank you and be on my way."

  He leaned against the fender of her station wagon. "Now you've got me curious: how do you usually look?"

  "Cleaner, and that's just for starters." She was dismayed at how dreadful the apple juice and chocolate stains looked on her delicate garden party dress. The heat inside the car had sent her makeup running down her cheeks and she could only imagine the tumble her hair was in because the entire front seat was littered with the tiny pins that had once held her upsweep in place. The fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous while Diana looked like she hadn't mastered the first basic rules about personal grooming suddenly infuriated her. "I'm sweaty, frazzled, and over-stressed and I think I'd better find East Hampton before I run out of either diapers or patience."

  "I've heard of 'kill the messenger,' but this is ridiculous." The tips of his Nikes pressed up against the delicate front of her strappy white sandals. "It's not my fault you have two kids, no air conditioning, and a lousy sense of direction. The least you can do is be polite." He stormed back to his Corvette, gunned the engine, then waited impatiently for Diana to move the station wagon so he could leave.

  All right, be that way. She slid behind the wheel and unfolded her map of Long Island, ignoring the vroom-vroom of the vintage Corvette's mighty engine. It would be dark soon and she'd be darned if she ended up stranded on some forgotten country lane with two little girls and a spoiled Abyssinian for company.

  Okay, there was Riverhead right where Long Island's fish-tail split into the North and South forks. Somehow her brilliant decision to venture off the Expressway and onto local roads had taken her far afield. The Peconic and Gardiner's Bays separated north from south and short of sprouting water wings on her station wagon it seemed she had no choice but to retrace her steps, even though she wasn't entirely sure what those exact steps had been.

  Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome popped up at her open window. "Having trouble or are you meditating?"

  "I'm taking a moment to plot my course."

  "You should have thought about plotting your course a few hours ago."

  "And have been deprived of the pleasure of your company? Perish the thought."

  "Look, as far as I'm concerned, you can stay here all night. Just move your station wagon so I can leave."

  In the back seat the girls giggled as Ignatius loosed another horrendous yowl.

  "Is he your alter ego?" the man asked.

  Despite her foul mood, Diana softened. "I deserved that, didn't I?"

  "You could say that."

  "I don't know what came over me. The minute you said that wasn't the Atlantic Ocean I turned into Rambo. I apologize."

  His answering smile was incendiary. "Apology accepted."

  She started the engine. "I'll move out of your way."

  His smile widened. "I'd appreciate that."

  Diana hazarded a glance in her rear view mirror and shuddered. No wonder he was so anxious to see her leave. She looked like the Don't in a beauty magazine. With her foot on the brake, she shifted into reverse. "You're sure that's not the Atlantic Ocean I hear?"

  "Positive."

  She sighed. "Hope springs eternal, et cetera, et cetera." With a glance over her shoulder to make certain the girls were securely strapped into their car seats, she gave him a s
alute. "Thanks again. Now it's on to East Hampton." I hope.

  She waited politely for him to step away from the open car window but he didn't. "You sure you know how to get to Riverhead?" he asked.

  "Follow this road back where I came from. According to the map I can't miss it." The level of the girls' crying went up another two decibels. Ignatius, naturally, matched them and more. It was going to be a long and ugly drive.

  "According to the map, you couldn't miss East Hampton either."

  "Another crack about my sense of direction and I'll pull out of here with you as a hood ornament." He leaned against the car door and she caught the beguiling scent of soap and sea air." Why don't you follow me. I'll get you on the yellow brick road to the Hamptons."

  Diana wasn't a New Yorker born-and-bred for nothing. Suspicion was part of her makeup and she frowned at him. Mass murderers often came in very attractive packages. For all she knew he'd lured many hapless females into his quaint general store and used their bodies for compost to fertilize his tomato plants. "That's very kind, but what's in it for you? Why would you want to go out of your way for a stranger?"

  "Because I'm starting to think it's the only way I'll ever get out of this damned driveway, that's why." That friendly smile hid a shimmer of solid steel. This was a man used to having his own way. "Besides, I have an office in Amagansett and I -- " He stopped himself short. "Do you want help or not?"

  "Yes, but -- "

  "Back out of the driveway, pull off to the side, then follow me."

  "This is very kind of you."

  "It's not kindness; it's self-preservation. Another hour or two and there'll be a new batch of wet diapers and this whole thing will start over again."

  "And you don't want to be around for it."

  "Now you get it."

  "I'll back out of the driveway."

  "I'd appreciate that."

  It took a while but, after a stop at a gas station, they were rolling westward on Route 25A, heading back toward Riverhead. Diana had no trouble understanding why the Island was called Long; the drive seemed endless. Vineyards and farmlands slowly gave way to small shopping centers and other signs of civilization as they neared Riverhead. The black Corvette clung to the narrow roads with an almost jaunty sense of assurance and Diana knew its owner must have wished he could shift into higher gear and leave her in the dust. To the man's everlasting credit, he maintained his regal pace and Diana had no difficulty keeping him in view, even through the vicious glare from the setting sun.

  They swung around through Riverhead and onto Montauk Highway headed east, and Diana breathed a sigh of relief as the sun moved behind her. Ignatius had finally settled his bulk down to take a nap in his much-hated cat carrier and the girls had stopped crying and were singing Mr. Rogers's theme song.

  "This isn't so bad," Diana said, switching on the radio. One tiny set back and she'd been ready to throw in the towel. What a wimp! Taking a wrong turn was hardly the end of the world and she'd been foolish to act as if it were.

  "Who's kidding who?" She stopped at a traffic light, right behind the black Corvette. It wasn't the wrong turn or the extra driving or the soggy diapers that had been her undoing; it was that vision of male pulchritude that pushed her over the edge. What a perverse sense of humor had the goddess of single women. Diana knew full well that had she been at her fighting weight, flawlessly made up, and dressed in her red strapless sheath, her savior would have been Woody Allen's long lost twin brother. But add a few extra pounds to her hips, split ends, and a chocolate-stained dress and what do you get? The perfect man. Six feet four inches of taut muscles, tanned skin, and sparkling blue eyes calculated to make any woman's pulse accelerate, even if technically she wasn't in the market for romance for another sixty days.

  Bad timing, that's what it was. Except for the day she took over the Mother Knows Best column, Diana's timing had always been the pits and this was no exception. Come Labor Day her book deadline would be over; she'd be slim and tanned and shorn of her split ends, ready to venture forth and find her perfect mate. By that time she'd be nothing but an anecdote for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome to tell his friends. In fact, he probably couldn't wait to get home tonight and tell the wife and kiddies all about the frazzled and frenzied nincompoop who couldn't tell the Long Island Sound from the Atlantic Ocean.

  Southampton College whizzed by on her left. "What do you think, girls? Can you imagine keeping your nose to the grindstone in a place like this?" "Hungry," Kath announced. "You said pizza."

  "Not much longer, honey. We're almost there."

  Southampton turned into Bridgehampton which turned into Wainscott and she knew they had to be getting closer. A few minutes later, the man in the black Corvette tapped his brakes then motioned her to the shoulder on the right, near a crystal clear pond. She pulled over behind him and he unfolded his length from the sports car and walked over to her.

  "This is it," he said, leaning into the open window once again. "East Hampton, last stop."

  She looked at the bright red sunset reflecting off the shimmering surface of the pond and the poplars and cedars arching over it. "I'm impressed. It's beautiful."

  "Where do you go from here?"

  She fumbled in the glove compartment and removed a sheet of Paula's heavy vellum notepaper. Her sister's precise handwriting filled the top half of the page with instructions on the care and feeding of twins; a map worthy of Rand McNally filled the bottom. "Diapers...life preservers...Sesame Street...there it is. I'm looking for Frigate Alley."

  "Frigate Alley?"

  "You sound surprised. Is there something I should know?" Paula had said Art got quite a deal on the place. Maybe there was a good reason for it. "I know it's only a cottage, but Paula swore it's not a handyman's special."

  "No," he said slowly, "I don't think you have to worry about it being a handyman's special."

  "I don't like that smile on your face. What's wrong? Is Gull Cottage haunted or something?"

  "It's not haunted, but a ghost might be an improvement."

  "You're making me nervous. Maybe I'll check into a Howard Johnson's instead."

  "In East Hampton? Not very likely." He looked at the girls in the back seat, at Ignatius in his carrying case, then back at Diana. "Want me to take you the rest of the way?"

  "I think I'll be fine." She repeated Paula's directions out loud and he nodded.

  "You shouldn't have any more problems."

  "From your mouth to God's ear." She extended her right hand. "Thanks for getting us this far. I might have ended up in Rhode Island."

  Her hand disappeared in his large, tanned one. "You won't get an argument from me."

  She waited for him to release her hand from his grip. "We've taken enough of your time."

  "I was heading this way anyhow."

  "I'm sure you have better things to do."

  "I was only going to go to -- "

  "Pizza!" cried the twins in stereo. "Now!"

  Both Diana and the man laughed and the mood, such as it was, was broken. He released her hand and moved away from the car.

  "Thanks again," said Diana.

  "No problem," said the man.

  It wasn't until Diana was two blocks away that she realized she didn't even know his name.

  #

  Gregory Stewart stood next to his Corvette and watched the station wagon until it disappeared around a curve in the road.

  "Gull Cottage," he said out loud, shaking his head. Laurence McClellan's lavish -- and highly mortgaged -- palace by the sea. Maybe she was a cook or a housekeeper hired to keep the current tenants happy or a high-priced babysitter for Boris the Bad, if he was in residence at the moment.

  Or she could be renting it herself...

  He considered the rented station wagon with the two adorable toddlers in the back seat, the fat cat on a leash, and the woman's general air of chaotic charm. Where was the de rigeur Golden Retriever, the Aprica double baby stroller, and the au pair with the French accent?
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  Renting Gull Cottage herself?

  Not very likely.

  Summer renters only attached themselves to other summer renters. They moved eastward after Memorial Day like some strange kind of migratory animal, traveling in packs from the East Side Highway to the Long Island Expressway to the beaches of East Hampton until the mass exodus back to Manhattan come Labor Day. Same faces; same bodies; same conversation. Add Bain de Soleil and Kahlua and shake well. The only thing that changed was the latitude.

  You could keep it.

  That dizzy blonde in her chocolate-stained sundress was the most interesting woman he'd seen in a long time. With her quirky sense of humor and her sexily disheveled mane of hair, she'd gotten to him quicker than any woman had in longer than he cared to remember.

  Hell, he thought, climbing back into his Corvette. What difference did it make anyway? Those two little girls looked like miniature versions of her. She was probably ten years married with a husband who'd be driving out in their beat-up Chevy come the weekend to help her with the work. The only way he'd be seeing her again was if Boris needed his wings clipped or her fat Abyssinian developed a cold.

  Which, all things considered, struck Gregory Stewart as a shame.

  Chapter Four

  "Big!" said Kath, staring out the car window.

  "Castle!" said Jenny, her blonde head pressed next to her twin's.

  "Gull Cottage?" asked Diana, shell-shocked.

  Cottages were cozy and quaint affairs with thatched roofs and picket fences and two bedrooms at the most. Gull Cottage, on the other hand, had a sharply slanted roof with three chimneys, a curving drive complete with porte cochere, and what appeared to be space enough to sleep the entire population of Liechtenstein with room to spare.

  There had to be some mistake. She checked the street sign then looked down at Paula's map. Both said "Frigate Alley" in bold letters. The name "McClellan" was painted proudly on the weathered mailbox at the end of the driveway. But why on earth was there a moving van parked under the porte cochere and a frantic woman standing in the doorway with worry beads dangling from her hands?