Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

Just then a man at the table across the aisle made an audible remark about Leigh being “a very merry widow,” and she dropped her hands, sobering.

  “I’ll be taking care of you myself tonight, just like you wanted,” Frank said. “I’ll tell your aunt you’re here.” He turned to leave, but Michael said something to him in a low voice, and he nodded.

  Leigh watched him walk away; then she looked at Michael. “The ‘Billy’ in those stories was Trumanti’s nephew, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t Frank know how he died?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, I don’t understand why Frank would bring Bill up, when he clearly has a deep affection for you.”

  “That’s why he does it,” Michael said, anxious to move to another subject before her mood was irreparably darkened. “It’s his way of proving that he has no doubt that what happened between Bill and me was an accident. Put differently, Frank thinks that the act of hiding something implies guilt—or in his case, a belief in the guilt of another.”

  “That makes a kind of sense—” Leigh began; then she faltered as she noticed two waiters marching down the aisle carrying a large piece of lattice about four feet wide and eight feet high that was covered with silk ivy. They deposited it on the floor directly beside the table of diners across the aisle who’d been talking about Leigh moments before. It completely blocked the group’s view of Leigh, but it also crowded the other table enough to make one of the men complain that he couldn’t move in his chair.

  “Is that better?” Michael asked.

  Leigh tore her gaze from the ivy-covered barrier he’d just had installed, then she looked at the man who’d arranged for it without a qualm or concern for the paying customers’ rights or comfort. It hit her then why there were still two empty tables on either side of theirs, even though at least fifty people were still waiting to be seated. She had no doubt that Michael had provided the money for the restaurant, and that if Logan had been in Michael’s position, he, too, would have felt bad that she was uncomfortable. However, he would never have done anything that might have had negative financial repercussions, including offending four customers. She looked at her self-appointed protector and felt a surge of gratitude and poignant tenderness that she didn’t attempt to hide. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Michael looked into those candid, long-lashed eyes and marveled anew that fame and success hadn’t changed or hardened her one bit. She could walk past a battalion of reporters with the poise and grace of a queen, but when he’d joked about their pictures on the front page of the Daily News, she’d hidden her laughing face against his chest and clung to his lapels. Seated across from him wearing a sophisticated black sheath and expensive gold choker, she was still as artlessly provocative as she’d been in blue jeans, chasing oranges. He smiled at the memory and said, “You’re very welcome.”

  Leigh registered a new, subtle change in his voice, but instead of recognizing it as intimacy, she chose it as a topic. “I can understand why I didn’t recognize your face when we met at the party, but I still can’t believe I didn’t recognize your voice. I should have begun to realize who you were while we were speaking. You had—have—a very distinctive quality to your voice.”

  “What kind of quality?”

  She glanced away, trying to describe it for him, oblivious of any double meaning he might infer from her choice of words. “Very smooth. Very . . . sexy. Very, very deep.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Michael let his eyes drift over the elegant curve of her cheek and the soft swell of her breasts, his finger slowly stroking the curve of his wineglass.

  NEARLY TWO HOURS LATER, Leigh declined dessert while Mrs. Angelini again urged her to have it. “I can’t swallow another bite of food,” Leigh told her. “I really can’t.” The meal had been wonderful and so had Michael. He didn’t try to make her forget her problems, but he made her feel as if she were completely safe from them—as if nothing could wound her or touch her because he wouldn’t let it. It was more than a feeling, it was a fact. Leigh knew it was, as surely as she knew she did not want to examine the reasons for any of it.

  Mrs. Angelini leaned down and gave her an impulsive hug. “It is so good to see you smiling. Michael knows how to make you happy, and you know how to make him happy. Life is good.”

  During their meal, she had appeared at the table several times, hovering over them as if she could not tear herself away. She hesitated again, knowing they were leaving. “Long, long ago, when Michael went to see you in that play, I told him he should tell you how he felt.”

  With her senses delightfully dulled by fine wine, rich food, and cozy candlelight, Leigh’s only reaction was one of surprise that Michael had seen her in a play “long, long ago.” “What play did you see?” she asked.

  “Constellations.”

  Stunned, Leigh burst out laughing, and looked from Mrs. Angelini’s happy face to Michael’s unreadable one. “I don’t have to ask him how he felt about that play; it was awful! That was my first professional appearance as an actress.”

  “The play was bad,” he said impassively. “You weren’t.”

  The odd timing finally hit Leigh. “But—but that was back when you were working at the store. I didn’t know you liked the theater. You never said you did. Of course,” she added with an accusing smile, “you never said you didn’t, either. In fact, you never said much of anything to me, period.”

  Mrs. Angelini looked up at a signal from a waiter and nodded. “I must go in a moment,” she told Leigh. “You must stop in the store tonight before you leave.”

  “We already did. I should have bought pears there,” Leigh added. “There’s only one other place in New York that has pears as good as yours always were, but they’re very expensive.”

  “Dean and DeLuca?” Mrs. Angelini asked.

  “Yes, that’s right—”

  She nodded. “That is where your pears always came from.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every week, Michael went to Dean and DeLuca to buy your pears.” She shook her head, remembering. “He was going to school, and he had no money, so he stretched every penny like this—” She made a motion as if she were pulling on a rubber band. “But he wanted you to have the best pears. For you, only the best would do.”

  Leigh’s gaze bounced to Michael, who was leaning back in his chair, an indescribable expression of resignation and amusement on his face, then she said good-bye to Mrs. Angelini and watched her leave.

  When she looked at Michael again, he was still lounging back in his chair, but now his gaze was leveled on her, his fingers on the stem of his wineglass, slowly turning it in a circle.

  “You went to Dean and DeLuca and bought pears for me?” she uttered.

  He nodded imperceptibly, his inscrutable gaze unwavering.

  Leigh could not believe the only explanation that came to mind: He’d bought her those pears, and gone to see her in Constellations. He remembered their first meeting in the store, right down to where it had occurred and what she had been wearing. Fourteen years ago, he’d rescued her from an attack on the street that he shouldn’t have been able to see from inside the store—unless he’d gone to the door to watch her. Or watch out for her? She’d always wondered about her amazing good fortune that night. And now he’d come to her rescue again, at the worst time of her life.

  Her heart gave a little lurch at the only possible explanation, but she tried to spare them both embarrassment by pretending confusion when she looked at him. She was, after all, an actress.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  His deep voice was quiet, but his reply forbade further pretense from either of them. “I think you do.”

  “No, I’m not sure—”

  He didn’t like her continued attempt to evade the issue, and he made it clear by putting his napkin on the table and saying, “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Michael, please!” She felt admonished, ashamed, wro