Who Is Deborah?. Elise Title

you want more dope on Nick. Sure, I can understand that. Let’s see. Did he always write horror stories? I’m not sure. The horror genre is certainly where Nicholas made his name. He did confess to me on a couple of occasions that he’d like to try his hand at something else, something altogether different, but…it’s difficult. His fans would be terribly disappointed if they didn’t get their Nicholas Steele ‘horror’ fix each year.”

      The voices of the two women in Gus’s came to mind.

      “Was I a fan?”

      “Sure, you were. Oh, I don’t know that you read all his books, but what I’m saying is…you supported him.”

      “And he, in turn, supported me?”

      Greg gave me a teasing, lopsided smile. “In the style to which any woman would love to be accustomed.”

      I flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I meant…my work. My painting.”

      To avoid answering my question, Greg turned all of his attention to driving carefully on the narrow, curving road. I realized then that he’d done that once before, when he’d failed to answer my question about whether there had been any gossip about me. It’s no wonder she ran off like she did. Had that been pure rumor? Had an innocent shopping jaunt and my disappearance gotten distorted into something hinting of menace and treachery?

      “You’re going to be blown away when you see Raven’s Cove. It’s really something.” He gave me a warm smile. “I suppose it will be like seeing it for the first time all over again.”

      “Was I…‘blown away’…when I saw it before for the first time?”

      Greg laughed. “I’m the wrong one to ask about your first impressions of the place. You’ll have to ask Nick that question. When the infatuated groom brought you home, he didn’t want anyone else around.”

      Infatuated. I experienced a fluttery sensation. “Even his cousin?” I asked innocently.

      “Lillian? Oh, she doesn’t count. She’s part of the woodwork up in Raven’s Cove.”

      I doubted Lillian, or anyone for that matter, would appreciate such an unflattering, even callous description. I was a little disappointed in Greg for saying it, but then I told myself no one was perfect and I was probably being hypersensitive. Was it any wonder? We were nearing the top of the mountain, nearing the awesome Raven’s Cove. Despite Greg’s enthusiasm about the place, I couldn’t help imagining a dark, foreboding mansion that would come looming out of the clouds like a portentous apparition, like something from one of Nick’s own horror novels.

      I looked out at the lush, wild terrain, suddenly aware that in the whole drive up the mountain I hadn’t spotted a single other home or building of any sort.

      “Doesn’t anyone else live on the mountain?” I asked Greg.

      “Not very likely. Nick owns the whole kit and caboodle. Bought it so he could protect his privacy.”

      He gave me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry. You won’t be completely alone. I drop in at Raven’s Cove a lot.” He smiled at me. “You’ll probably get to thinking I’m a pest.”

      “No I won’t,” I assured him so quickly that I flushed. “I mean—I think you’re…very nice.” My amendment, I was sure, only served to deepen the pinkness in my cheeks, but then I spotted something reflected in Greg’s features that made me wonder if I’d always thought Greg nice. Had there been times when I had considered him a pest? Or, were there times when I’d felt he was too nice? Those disturbing thoughts led me back again to the nature of my relationship with my husband.

      “Greg, were we—Nick and I—happily married?”

      When he didn’t reply right away, my heart started to race. “Tell me. You…you must,” I said in a shaky voice.

      “Deborah, listen to me.”

      Listen? I was hanging on his every word.

      “I pride myself on being an expert observer of people,” he went on. “That goes with being a private investigator. And I’m very successful at my work.”

      I didn’t question that. He’d found me, hadn’t he?

      He pulled the car to a stop and turned to face me. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you have always been in love with Nick. From the first moment I saw you two together to that last day when you took off, you loved him. Trust me on that.”

      I stared at him. “It wasn’t just a shopping trip, was it?”

      Greg closed his eyes and then opened them again slowly. “You got a little miffed at him. Even the happiest of married couples have their spats. You and Nick were no exception.”

      “What did we fight about?”

      “I thought if I told you that you’d left in a huff that day, you wouldn’t…come back. And I felt I owed it to Nick and to you to bring the two of you back together. When…When your memory comes back, Deborah, I know the two of you will smooth things out.”

      “What things?” I asked stiffly.

      He rubbed his eyes. “You sometimes got on Nick’s case about not…paying you enough attention. I told you when he’s working on a book, he pretty much closes himself off from the outside world. You resented it at times. It was only natural. And you were young, wanted to have fun, go places. Sometime you got lonely, bored, and craved a little more attention from Nick. Anyway, you’d planned this sailing trip. Just you and Nick. A kind of second honeymoon, I guess. And then Nick told you at the last minute that he had to cancel because of some revisions he felt he needed to do on his book. You got pissed—”

      “You were there?”

      He looked away. “For part of the row. I left before you did.” When he turned back to me, there was a pained expression on his face. “Maybe if I’d stuck around I could have…calmed you down. Knowing Nick, the angrier you got, the more…restrained he got. You probably ended up good and frustrated—”

      “You’re telling me I walked out on Nick?”

      “It wasn’t like that, really. We both knew you’d be back, probably with a pile of new clothes and a new hairstyle. If nothing had…happened to you.”

      “And how did Nick feel about all this?”

      Greg’s lips compressed. “Nick isn’t one for sharing his feelings. Or showing them, for that matter. If you ask me, I think he’s actually very vulnerable and kind of puts up a wall to protect himself. Not that I claim to be Freud or anything.”

      “What did he say when you told him you’d found me? That you were bringing me…home?” The word home nearly stuck in my throat.

      Greg sighed. “He said he’d wait supper for you.”

      We stared at each other in silence. It was Greg who broke it. “Give him a chance, Deborah. Give yourself a chance. And know one thing for certain. I’ll always be there for you. You knew that in the past. And I want you to know it again now.”

      But I didn’t know what I knew in the past—about Greg, about Nick, about anything. And I was equally, if not more so, in the dark about the present. As for the future—it was impossible to even consider.

      The house was nothing like I’d conjured up in my mind. It wasn’t the dark, ominous, Victorian-style mansion I’d fantasized. Raven’s Cove, nestled into the crest of the mountain like it had been carved into the granite, was a wonder of modern architectural design. All glass and cedar, the house was built on several levels jutting down the cliffside, each level having access through sliding-glass doors to its own landscaped terrace. While it inspired no memories for me, I couldn’t help but be captured by the visual if stark beauty of the place. My spirits managed to lift a bit. Maybe Nick would even greet me with open arms—the prodigal wife returned; the girl of his dreams. Maybe his love would be