Chapter Three
Despite her reservations, nothing had ever felt as good as the multiple showerheads rinsing away the soot and dirt, the chill, and, best of all, the stink. The first blast of water had raised a cloud of steam smelling so much like the fire she’d coughed in memory of the billowing smoke. But, after a few moments, the scent of the green-apple shampoo in the dispenser replaced it with its clean, sharp fragrance, and, by the time she rubbed a sponge filled with similar scented body wash over her aching frame, she began to feel alive again.
Of course, clean and warm didn’t fix homeless and businessless—if that was even a word—but it didn’t hurt. Passing the deep tub when she stepped out of the glass-walled shower, she was almost tempted to pause and fill it with warm water along with a liberal dosing of the bubble bath sitting on its rim, but she’d already taken enough advantage of her absent host. Wrapping a huge, soft white towel around her, she tucked one end in and towel dried her hair with another.
The dressing room closet lined one wall, and she folded back the accordion door to reveal a few hanging clothes, dresses, skirts, and a big dresser. She pulled open the top drawer to find folded sweaters and leggings. Blushing, she realized she had no underthings except the panties she’d worn, and they were not wearable, ever again.
She’d have to replace whatever she wore, even if the designer labels indicated the items cost far more than she could afford to spend. Clad in a warm, red hip-length sweater, soft as butter, and gray leggings, she reached back inside to find a pair of red socks and tugged them on as well. A vanity opposite the closet held a brush, and she ran it through her hair, leaving her tresses damp but untangled. With no more primping to do, she headed back through the bedroom and out into the hallway, wondering whether to take the elevator or…no, a broad staircase just beyond the room she’d used had escaped her attention on her arrival. In the state she’d been in, no wonder, but its black marble width and gorgeous red-and-gold runner certainly caught her attention now.
Hand gliding along the railing, she descended one step at a time. What must it be like to live in a home this huge? Did it even feel like a home when you could go days without seeing another person who might live here? Hadn’t Charles said there was just one man here? How lonely he must be. A pang of sympathy replaced her self-pity until she caught a glimpse of the Christmas tree ascending to the thirty-foot ceiling in the great room below her. Red and gold and silver ornaments of all kinds hung from its boughs, and twinkling white lights twisted through them.
A tree like that when he wasn’t even going to be home for Christmas? Just for show. Like everything else in this huge, echoing mansion. The railing under her hand was garlanded, as well, and as she reached the bottom of the staircase, she found herself in a Christmas wonderland. Every table held snow globes and holiday ornaments piled in bows. On the mantel, a carved nativity scene held pride of place.
“There you are.” Charles, no longer in his long coat but wearing gray slacks and a camel-colored sweater, approached, smiling. “I took the liberty of making us a plate of snacks by the fire, and I hope you don’t mind your eggnog with a little something extra.” He was so…comfortable in the elegance, but he must come from generations of servants.
“As long as you’re sure it’s okay?” Hesitantly, she let him take her hand and lead her past the tree whose pine scent filled the room. How much better was that than the reek of smoke of her ruined life?
“Stop worrying about my job. I can assure you, nobody is going to throw me out of here anytime soon.” He settled her in a sofa facing the fireplace and handed her a cut-crystal cup. “I’m just happy to have such a lovely lady to spend Christmas with, although the circumstances are regrettable.”
Noelle took a sip of the eggnog and wrinkled her nose. “You weren’t kidding about something extra. Rum?”
“Brandy. You don’t drink much, do you?”
She shook her head. “No, not much.” She sipped again and sighed. “But this might be the right night to take it up.”
“I can get you a plain one. Or a soda, whatever you like.” He took a sip of his own. “I don’t want to be responsible for your developing a problem. I’ve already rescued you from the gutter once.”
Tipping the glass back, she held it out to him. “Keep ’em coming, bartender. I’ve had a rough night.”
He took it to a table where a small but exquisite punch bowl sat and ladled the glass full again, adding a splosh of rum. Probably less than before, she thought with regret. Sinking down next to her, Charles held his own eggnog toward her.
“A toast then, to strangers in the night. May all your holidays be merrier from this moment on.”
She winced but clinked her glass to his. “Better would be…better. My parents died last Christmas Eve in a car accident. Did I tell you that?”
Charles leaned back in the seat with his arm over the back and almost not quite on her shoulders. “You didn’t,” he murmured. “Then the fire tonight and I almost ran you down. I’m guessing you don’t have much holiday spirit about now?”
“Not really,” she said. “Not at all.”
Poor kid. No wonder she was down. “No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, just me.” Noelle sighed. “I came back here from Georgia to run the restaurant after they died. It was their pride and joy, and I didn’t want anything to happen to it. But I worried about it closing, or about having to sell it to someone who wouldn’t love it. I never thought of its complete destruction a year to the day after their death.”
“Why would you? What a terrible coincidence.”
Setting her glass on the table next to her, Noelle stared into the fire. “I should have sold it when I got the offer. Someone wanted to tear down the whole block and put up a big building with businesses downstairs and condos up.”
Oh no. “Really?” He forced his voice to remain even. “What street did you say your business was on?”
“I didn’t, but it was on Fifth. Bistro Noelle.” Standing, she walked to hold her hands out to the fire. “Most of the other store owners were anxious to make the deal, but I couldn’t let my parents’ restaurant be torn down like an old relic right after their death.”
“So you were the lone holdout?” With her facing the gold-and-orange flames, he didn’t have to worry about her seeing his expression. It would have at least told her he knew more than he admitted. But she spun toward him again, face shadowed but body tense.
“Why would you say that?”
“I assumed.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Most of them were excited, like the used bookstore owner, the doggy boutique owner, and the pizzeria, but a few could have gone either way. I guess I was the holdout. Without me, nobody would have minded all that much. The developer offered them—us—new locations at a very reasonable rent and a more than fair purchase price for our places.”