Cassandra's Song. Carole Gift Page

grew solemn, the sea-blue of his eyes deepening. “In fact, I would prefer that there be no more matchmaking efforts on my behalf. Is that understood?”

      “But, Daddy,” protested Cassie.

      “No buts, Cassie. I’m very happy with my life just as it is.” An unexpected tenderness softened his voice. “I had a wonderful life with your mother. She was the love of my life, and I don’t expect to find another woman I could love that way again. So, please, promise me, no more conniving to get me to the altar again. Promise?”

      “Promise, Daddy,” Frannie agreed.

      Brianna looked reluctant, but finally acquiesced. “Promise.”

      Cassie turned away, silent. There was no way she could make such a promise. She knew what her father needed even if he didn’t…an extraordinary woman who would love him with the kind of passion and devotion that would erase the grief and loneliness she saw in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking.

      Somewhere in this vast, wide world there had to be such a woman.

       Chapter Three

       O n Saturday morning—a balmy, early autumn day—Frannie poked her head inside Cassie’s door and whispered, “You awake, sleepyhead?”

      Cassie rolled over and burrowed her head under the pillow. “No, go away. After last night’s fiasco, I want to sleep till noon!”

      Frannie slipped inside the room and curled up on a corner of the four-poster bed. “It wasn’t so bad. We actually had fun, didn’t we? And Dad was a good sport, don’t you think? So it all turned out okay. As long as we don’t try playing matchmaker again.”

      Cassie pulled her tousled head out from under the pillow and looked at her youngest sister through bleary eyes. Frannie was sitting cross-legged in her PJs, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders to the middle of her back. “Fran, did you wake me up just to rehash last night?”

      “Of course not.”

      “We’re not having more dinner guests tonight, are we?”

      “No. Not at all.”

      “Good!”

      “But I, uh, have a favor to ask.”

      Cassie fluffed her pillow under her head and closed her eyes. “Your timing is lousy, sis. Whatever it is, no!”

      “Then you won’t go?” Frannie’s tone was petulant.

      Cassie opened one eye, her curiosity rising in spite of herself. “Go where?”

      “To the concert tonight.”

      “What concert?”

      “At the university.”

      “San Diego State?”

      “Of course. What other school is there?” Frannie drew in a breath and rushed on. “Antonio Pagliarulo is performing.”

      Cassie sat up and forked back her mop of unruly hair. “Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

      “Antonio Pagliarulo. A fantastic tenor. He teaches music at the university. You teach in the music department. Surely you know him.”

      “I’m part-time faculty. I go, teach my two classes, and disappear again. Full-timers don’t mingle with part-timers.”

      “Well, I’m only a teacher’s assistant, and I’ve heard of Antonio Pagliarulo.”

      “Okay, so I’ve heard of him. They say he’s a recluse, a loner, a snob. Lives in a mansion overlooking the ocean and never socializes with anyone.”

      “So?” countered Frannie. “They say he’s as handsome and mysterious as an old-time matinee idol and has a voice like Pavarotti.”

      Cassie swung her long legs over the bed. “Okay, you win. I’ll go with you to the concert.”

      “Oh, I’m not going,” said Frannie quickly.

      “Not going? You just invited me!”

      Frannie’s blue eyes flashed. “I want you to go so I can stay home.”

      Cassie covered her ears. “Oh, no, I don’t want to hear this!”

      Frannie sat up on her knees and seized Cassie’s hand. “Please, sis,” she implored, “just do this one favor for me and I’ll never ask again. I’ve got a date to the concert with Gilbert Dooley.”

      “Gilbert Who-ley?”

      “He’s very nice. He teaches at the university.”

      “And I’m to fill in for you? No way. You always come up with some oddball—”

      “He’s not odd at all. He’s a professor, a brain like you, like—”

      Cassie managed a teasing smile. “Then what is he doing dating you?”

      “We’re not dating. It’s purely platonic. He teaches physical science. We bump into each other once in a while. He said he got the last two concert tickets, and in a moment of weakness I agreed to go with him.”

      “Then go.”

      “I can’t. I’ve got to stay home and finish my sculpture before the clay hardens. If I don’t, Amelia Earhart will end up looking like Daffy Duck!”

      “Amelia Earhart is dead.”

      “I know, but I’m bringing her back to life…in clay. Please, Cassie.”

      Cassie sank back on the bed with a weary sigh. “All right, I’ll go. But you owe me, Frannie. You owe me big!”

      Later that afternoon, as Cassie swirled her saffron hair into a French twist, she was already sorry she had given in. She had no desire to go on a blind date with anyone, least of all some science professor who would probably talk theorems all evening. Or was that math? Whatever.

      Hoping for a look that was simple, elegant and tastefully understated, she slipped into a black crepe dress with a tunic top and ankle-length skirt. Good, it was just the look she wanted—classic but certainly not provocative.

      Gilbert Dooley arrived at the stroke of six, as he had promised. After his initial surprise, he seemed to take the date switch with surprising aplomb and civility. Or maybe he was a better actor than Cassie suspected. One thing for sure, he was definitely not Frannie’s type. Nor Cassie’s! Tall, middle-aged and balding, he was as lean as a windlestraw, with pale-white skin and faded gray eyes behind enormous bifocals.

      On the way to the concert hall in Gilbert’s antediluvian sedan, he kept up a steady stream of conversation, enlightening her as to the laws of thermodynamics, time dilation and universal gravitation. But he became most impassioned when speaking of his favorite topic, the superconducting supercollider.

      “Can you imagine, Cassandra?” he enthused. “It has the potential of being the world’s largest particle accelerator. Think of what it will tell us about the Big Bang!”

      “I can only imagine,” Cassie mumbled. In her mind she was plotting ways she would get back at her youngest sister. She could spike her oatmeal with raisins—she hated the chewy little beasts—or she could tie her socks in knots or put ice cubes in her bed. No, she hadn’t pulled those pranks since she was ten. There had to be some suitable, but harmless, pranks for grown-up sisters to play on one another.

      Cassie and Gilbert arrived at the concert hall with ample time to spare. She cringed a little when two of her students passed by and rolled their eyes as she and the professor walked down the aisle to their seats. She wanted to call out, He’s not my date! I don’t even know what I’m doing here!

      At least they had good seats, center section, four rows from the stage. Cassie had performed enough concerts of her own that she always felt a heart-pounding excitement when the house lights lowered and a white-hot