The Man Behind the Mask. Barbara Wallace

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      “To better tomorrows,” Delilah repeated.

      They clinked their glasses and Simon tossed back the rest of his drink. Inspired, Delilah took a healthy sip of her own, hoping the crisp dry liquid would help shake off her concerns.

      “Funny how you and Josh Bartlett both went to the same prep school,” she remarked, still in the past but at least changing the subject. “What are the odds?”

      “Better than you’d think. Sadly, the prep school world is surprisingly small.” Either she was imagining things or there was a new edge to his voice. Hard to say since Simon had turned to signal the waitress and she couldn’t see his face.

      “You said you didn’t know him though.” Details of their dinner conversation came back. “Jim mentioned some kind of hazing scandal? Do you know what he was talking about?”

      “It was nothing.”

      Okay, there was definitely a change in tone. A newly acquired clip to his words. “Really? Because the way he spoke...”

      “I said it was nothing,” he snapped. “Stupid kid stuff is all. Certainly not worth the attention everyone’s giving the subject.”

      For nothing he certainly reacted strongly enough. “So, the fact you didn’t know Josh, is that why... Never mind.” The wine, added to the glass and a half she drank at dinner, had loosened her tongue.

      “Finish your thought, Delilah.”

      “Well...” She played with the stem of her glass. “I wondered why you didn’t make a bigger deal out of the coincidence, the two of you attending the school, I mean. Didn’t you tell me the key to good small talk is to find common ground?”

      “I also said to encourage people to talk about themselves.”

      “Wouldn’t this have encouraged conversation? Shared experiences and all that?”

      “There are very few experiences from prep school that I wish to remember.”

      “You didn’t enjoy high school?”

      “Let’s say I prefer to treat high school as though the four years never happened and leave it at that.”

      His comment surprised her. She’d always assumed Simon ruled whatever kingdom he entered.

      Rather than push her luck by asking more, she changed the subject. “I suppose everyone has parts of high school they’d like to forget,” she said. “Personally I wouldn’t mind blocking out the tenth grade ring dance.”

      “What happened at the tenth grade ring dance?”

      “I caught Bobby McKenzie making out with another girl.”

      “Doesn’t sound so horrible.”

      “He was my date.”

      “I stand corrected.”

      The conversation paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. “You seemed to rebound well enough.” Simon continued after the man retreated. “Or are you still carrying a torch for the late great Bobby McKenzie?”

      “Oh, I’m definitely over him.” Hopefully her cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt.

      “Glad to hear it.”

      “Still doesn’t mean I don’t want to forget the humiliation. When you’re fifteen years old, being publicly dumped can be very traumatic.”

      Simon raised his drink, the glass masking both his tone and his expression. “Trust me, there are far more traumatic things that can happen.”

      No kidding, thought Delilah. Try losing your father and having your mother turn into a ghost. If only she could forget those years.

      “Clearly you were never a fifteen-year-old girl. I was certain Bobby was ‘the one.’” That was her mother’s fault, too, in a way. “I spent the whole year practicing my married signature. Delilah McKenzie. Mrs. Bobby McKenzie. Over and over, with little hearts over the i’s. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson...”

      “What lesson?”

      “Did I really just say that aloud?” No need wondering if she was blushing this time. Her cheeks were on fire. She pushed her wine to the side. “No more wine for me.”

      “You still haven’t said what lesson you learned.”

      Not to wear her heart on her sleeve, of course. “If you cover your notebook with stupid doodles, you’ll be forced to look at them all year long. I had to stare at those foolish hearts for six more months.”

      He chuckled in to his drink. “At least you didn’t get a tattoo. You could still be staring at them.”

      “Thank goodness for small favors. Can you imagine? I always wondered what people did when they were stuck with a tattoo they no longer wanted.”

      “They get it removed.”

      Delilah shuddered. “Talk about a painful way of forgetting your mistakes.”

      He turned to look out at the water, leaving her to study his profile. Shadows, cast by the table lantern, flickered on his cheek and highlighted the day’s-end stubble that was beginning to show. “Is there any way that isn’t painful?”

      His eyes glazed over then, and for a second, he disappeared, his thoughts going who knew where. Instinct told her it was some place he shouldn’t be. And that he needed a far better distraction than liquor. “Hey.” She almost reached out to touch him, only to catch herself at the last second. “How about we go for a walk? My legs could use stretching after sitting all day.

      “Or not,” she continued when he didn’t respond. Her spirits sagged to think she wasn’t enough to pull him from his thoughts. “I can go by myself and catch up with you in the morning.”

      “No,” he said just as she got to her feet. “A walk sounds good.” Draining the last of his whiskey, he slammed the glass down, then tossed some bills on the table. “Let’s go.”

      * * *

      The pathway behind their hotel was part of a longer walkway that extended along the entire inner harbor and connected the various docks and piers along the way. On the northeastern end, you had the trade center with its large white cruise ships, while to the northwest you had the naval shipyard, the tops of the USS Constitution’s masts visible at just the right angle. In between, ships of all sizes, from beat-up whale-watch vessels to sleek dinner cruisers and private sailboats, moved about all day long.

      Delilah hadn’t spoken since they’d left the bar, making him wonder if she regretted her invitation. Then again, he wasn’t winning prizes for his conversational skills at the moment, either. The whiskey, while warming his insides, hadn’t relaxed him the way he’d hoped. There was still an elastic band attached from the back of his skull to the base of his spine.

      He couldn’t believe Josh Bartlett went to Bates North. Forget what he told Delilah about the prep school community being small; it was СКАЧАТЬ