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  The business card Ben had given her was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Cara felt through her coat pockets again to make sure there was no hole in the lining.

  Thinking back, she clearly remembered taking the card, reading it, and stuffing it into her pocket as she made her untimely departure from Ben’s apartment. Could it have flown out during her mad dash down Occidental Avenue? No. She remembered nervously sliding her fingers over its embossed surface as the taxi cab sped north to Madison Park, thinking about the fact that Ben had held that same card in his hand only moments before. Oh, well, it didn’t matter. She knew his name and it would be relatively easy to look him up. She’d call him after work.

  The bus dropped Cara off at the top of the hill that led down to the Vennemeyer’s sprawling compound on the shores of Mercer Island. Michael, Ingrid Vennemeyer’s personal assistant, was waiting in the Land Rover to take her down to the house. On the short drive Cara reflected on how much she enjoyed her new job, a welcome change from the tedious administrative positions she’d held since graduating from the University of Michigan.

  Cara’s mother Louise was the first friend Ingrid had made upon arriving in the United States from Sweden almost forty years earlier.

  She and Louise had quite a history together, sharing some of the most important milestones of each other’s lives. Ingrid was there when Louise first met Daniel, Cara’s father, and was maid of honor at their wedding. Louise was Ingrid’s matron of honor when she married her American sweetheart, Paul Vennemeyer, an engineer in the fledgling industry of home computing. Now, 34 years later, Paul was a vice-president at Emerald Systems, one of the top personal computer and software companies in the world, and Ingrid Gustavson-Vennemeyer had become one of the wealthiest women on the West Coast.

  Although Louise and Ingrid had lost touch over the years, when Cara announced her move to Seattle, Louise immediately thought to call her old friend. Ingrid, always generous to a fault, had hired Cara sight unseen.

  At first, Cara was wary of the situation, afraid that the job was primarily a means for her mother to keep tabs on her from a distance. But Ingrid’s unassuming manner soon put her at ease.

  “I don’t care what you do in your own time,” Ingrid told Cara on her first day at work. “My only suggestion to you is to have as much fun as you possibly can.” She winked at her and smiled, and Cara was astounded at how different she was from her own mother.

  With no children of her own, Ingrid, though a caring and compassionate person, showed no signs of maternal protectiveness. She rarely asked personal questions, and Cara was glad of it.

  She admired Ingrid, who despite her elevated circumstances had remained a level-headed, civic-minded Swede at heart. In addition to running Great Expectations, she was active on various fundraising committees and sat on the boards of the Seattle Art Museum, the Kruger-Kingston Infants’ Hospital and the Scandinavian Cultural Center.

  Thanks to her connections, innate sense of style, and complete willingness to go in and get her hands dirty when needed, she had pulled together some of the biggest weddings, auctions, and gala events in the greater Seattle area. Great Expectations was booked solid for up to a year in advance.

  At the house, Cara took the elevator to the third floor, where she found Ingrid in the large and airy loft she used as her company headquarters.

  As usual, Ingrid was impeccably attired in a trim navy blue jacket and matching skirt, with a cream silk blouse and a single strand of pearls hugging her throat. On her ring finger she wore a giant emerald, surrounded by rubies. It was a 20th anniversary gift from her husband.

  Ingrid’s face and figure had softened and rounded with the years, but it was still easy to see in her the beautiful young woman she had once been. Her hair, still blonde, but now elegantly streaked with grey, was tied back in a loose chignon and skewered by a polished ebony chopstick. Although she could have had any number of procedures done to lift her brow, remove frown and laugh lines and the like, to date Ingrid had chosen to age naturally. Her face, with large, bee-stung lips and startlingly blue eyes, was only lightly made up, and the fine laugh lines that radiated from her eyes revealed a woman of good humor and generous spirit.

  “Oh, darling, there you are. You must come and help me decide between these colors for the ballroom.”

  Cara moved to the work table and the two women bent their heads over several swatches of richly embroidered fabric in magenta, gold, and peacock blue.

  The event they were preparing for was a surprise 60th birthday party for taking place at a downtown movie theater, followed by dinner in the Spanish Ballroom of the Olympic Fairmont Hotel. Dick Fineman, who was throwing the birthday bash for his wife, Ruth, had made his fortune in commercial real estate, buying up much of Seattle’s blighted downtown before the influx of dot-com ventures and startup technology businesses drove Seattle’s real estate prices sky high in the late ‘80s and ‘90s. Friends and family were flying in from across the nation and abroad to attend.

  Cara fingered the rich fabric, trying to envision it as part of the party décor.

  “We are looking for elegance, a touch of flamboyance, but I don’t want to go completely over the top. Do you think the blue is the most understated?” After some discussion, they decided to go with the blue, with accents of gold.

  Cara retreated to her own desk to review her to-do list for the day. She had to deposit client payments at the bank, confirm numbers and quantities for the Fineman event with the caterer, discuss the floral arrangements with the florist, and check on the status of the audio visual portion of the evening with the videographer.

  Together, Ingrid and Cara had come up with a unique event. First, Mr. Fineman would escort his wife to the Cineplex Theatre in Seattle’s artsy Bell Harbor neighborhood, ostensibly to see a new movie release. Actors had been hired to stand in line and act like regular moviegoers. In reality, once they entered the theater, Mrs. Fineman would discover it was filled with all her closest family and friends.

  As the lights went down, a 20-minute video chronicling highlights of Ruth’s life would play on the big screen. Following the show, all 200 guests would be bussed to the hotel for a sumptuous dinner, followed by dancing into the night to the swinging music of the Seattle-based quintet Big Band and the Merry Makers.

  Cara had never organized, let alone attended an event so grand, and she enjoyed ironing out the details to ensure a successful evening. Ingrid gave her staff full freedom to execute their delegated responsibilities as they pleased, a prospect that Cara initially found daunting. But over the past six months she had grown in confidence and her skills at negotiating, time-management, and general organization had improved dramatically.

  Another perk of the job, Cara reflected as she took the elevator to the underground garage of the Vennemeyer mansion, was that she got to drive the company car on all her errands, a brand-new, cherry-red Toyota Highlander Hybrid, fully loaded, with a sunroof. Not that Seattle’s fickle weather had given her much opportunity to use it, she thought, climbing into the cushy leather driver’s seat.

  At the bank, Cara was pleased to see her favorite teller, David. Although his official title was financial manager, David often helped out when the line for regular transactions got busy. He was immaculately groomed, dressed in a white shirt, blue tie and sports coat, his curly brown hair tamed and slicked back with heavy pomade. He had a smooth, boyish face and wide-set brown eyes that lit up when she came in. She walked up to him, placing her deposit slip on the counter between them.

  “Hi David. I’d like to deposit this check in the Great Expectations account, please, and then withdraw money from my personal checking.” David picked up the deposit slip. He had the long, slender fingers of a piano player. She watched as they danced across his computer keyboard.

  “How are you today, Cara?”

  “I’m good. Loving this weather.”

  It had turned warm and sunny overnight, and Seattle was showing off the br
illiant greens that caused it to be named the Emerald City.

  “Me too,” David said. “I just hope it lasts through the weekend. My friend promised to take me out on his yacht if it’s fine. Do you have any plans?”

  He counted the crisp bills into her hand with practiced ease.

  Cara pulled out her purse and stashed the money safely inside. “Nothing big, no. Though I am planning a trip to the mall to buy a new outfit.”

  David raised his eyebrows. “Is there a special occasion coming up?”

  “It’s my birthday next weekend, and I’m going to buy myself a dress. I’m turning twenty four,” she confided.

  “That’s nothing,” David said. “I remember when I turned thirty last year, I thought that suddenly I had to get serious about everything. There was no more time for slacking off.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “At any rate, though, a birthday is a time to celebrate. Are you having a party?”

  “I’m helping to put together a huge birthday bash for someone else, so I will be at a party, only not my own.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I don’t think I’d be comfortable if everyone were making such a fuss about me. This way I can still celebrate, only without a spotlight.”

  “Still,” said David, “it doesn’t seem fair you have to work on your birthday.” He looked at her with frank brown eyes. “How about we meet up for a bite to eat after work tomorrow, to celebrate? Is that low-key enough for you?”

  Cara laughed. “Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.”

  She left the bank, feeling slightly dazed. Was David asking her out, or just being friendly? She had no plans for Friday, and it would be fun to go out after all her hard work during the week. David seemed like a nice guy, and spending a couple of hours with another man would help put the thought of Ben Kilpatrick out of her mind. Not that she’d been thinking about him. Not much, anyway. If only she’d found that business card, she could have called him to apologize, and the whole experience would be over and done with. She would have achieved closure. Cara sighed as she slid behind the wheel and programmed the GPS to direct her to the Fairmont Hotel. Perhaps it was better not to call him, after all. Perhaps losing the business card was a sign that she should put the whole incident out of her mind. No doubt Ben had already written her off as a flaky girl who’d fallen into his life long enough to share a meal before disappearing forever. It would be an amusing story to tell his friends about.

  At The Fairmont Hotel, the caterer informed her that the fresh wild Copper River salmon she had selected for the entrée was out of season, and worked with her to select another option. After lunch, she spent a long time with the florist, attempting to match the flower arrangements to the dining room décor. They finally settled on blue and purple hyacinths and yellow tulips with salal greenery for the tables, arrayed in the restaurant’s own crystal cut vases. An effusive combination of white lilies, purple and yellow iris, and green bells of Ireland would compose the larger displays. Caught up in the minutiae of party plans, Cara happily put all thoughts of Ben and David out of her mind until she was in the car again, on her way to the videographer’s studio. It would be fun to see David after work on Friday. She wondered whether he would let loose a little at the restaurant. He was always so buttoned up and professional at the bank. Perhaps another side to him would be unleashed with the aid of a drink or two. As she pulled into the driveway of the studio, her thoughts turned back to Ben. It was silly, but she couldn’t help feeling that she needed to contact him again. She didn’t want him to think that she disliked him, or that he had offended her. I should just look up his number and call him, she thought. But a warning bell sounded in her head. If she called to apologize and explain her sudden departure from his apartment, what was to stop him from thinking she wanted to see him again? And what if he were right?

  Chapter Four

  Ben applied primer to the oversize canvas with meditative strokes. He had woken at dawn and gone directly to his studio. It took all morning to miter and assemble the 6-foot long frame and staple the thick linen canvas to it.

  Ben always preferred to construct his own canvases when he had the time. It wasn’t the act of painting alone that interested him. The entire process - from initial conception and preliminary sketches to assembling the canvas and mixing the paints - was completely absorbing. Whether working on a painting, a sculpture, or a functional pottery piece, it was the melding of art and craft that Ben found primally satisfying.

  After five years in the Pacific Northwest, Ben had made a name for himself and was working steadily as a professional artist. Although he maintained a teaching position at the Institute of Contemporary Art on Capitol Hill, he no longer had to rely on the supplemental income generated from the part-time job. He kept it because he enjoyed the regular contact with students and faculty, and because he often learned new things by teaching others. Finishing the first coat, Ben set the canvas on the window ledge to dry.

  Today, however, it was more than excitement over the new commission – an abstract painting for a downtown federal administration building – that fueled him. Even as he moved to his drafting board to consult the sketches for the project, the image of the gorgeous woman who had unexpectedly fallen through his front door, before departing with equal suddenness, was foremost in his mind. Who was she, where had she come from, and, most importantly, where had she gone?

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked out onto the balcony.

  The view of the Puget Sound beyond the Alaskan Way Viaduct was inspiring, even with its glory muted by the roar of traffic below. On a sunny day like today, the water sparkled like thousands of cut sapphires, partially enclosed by the green belt of West Seattle curving around to the right, and, further out, the shoreline of Vashon Island. In the distance, he could make out the austere, white-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountain range, only visible on clear days. A seaplane soared overhead above the circling seagulls.

  She was a knockout in the looks department, he thought, taking a gulp of coffee and grimacing at the bitterness. Model-thin, with long legs, small, pert breasts, and a cascade of golden hair. Her face, with its wide-spaced blue eyes, snub nose, and full lips held a childlike innocence. On it, he could clearly read her every emotion, from embarrassment to pleasure to stubbornness. Her vulnerability definitely brought out his protective side. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Which, he reminded himself cynically, usually ended up getting him into trouble.

  At thirty four, Ben no longer wasted his time with women who weren’t straight with him and didn’t know their own mind. Cara, with her half-baked ideas regarding the dos and don’ts of relationships, was the last person he needed to get involved with.

  After the failures of his last two relationships, both with strong-willed career women who put their own needs first at all times, Ben had made the decision to do the same himself. Given the creative and administrative demands of his work, he didn’t have the time or emotional energy to invest in another doomed romance. Sure, he’d dated casually since then. But the moment a woman hinted she was interested in more than an intimate friendship, Ben extricated himself from the relationship as gently as possible.

  Something about Cara’s combination of intelligence, beauty and vulnerability had moved him. The way she appeared, laid out on his welcome mat like a special delivery, made him question whether their encounter was more than chance. Not that he believed in fate or predestination. But serendipity had played an important role in his life on more than one occasion.

  Ben returned to his painting, consoling himself with the thought that if Cara decided she wanted to see him again, she had his card and knew where to find him. He reflected that it was probably for the best that he had no way to get in touch with her, even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t know where she worked or lived. He didn’t even know her last name.

  . . .

  On Frida
y, Cara walked briskly down Madison Street toward The Loft restaurant where she was to meet David. At the entrance, she pushed through the wooden saloon-style doors and surveyed the crowded room. David was already seated at a booth and waved her over. She slid in across from him. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, a khaki polo shirt and blue blazer. He was wearing glasses, which gave him an appealing intellectual look. Cara was glad that she had changed out of her work suit into a pair of brown corduroys and a white sweater.

  “It’s busy here,” she said. “But I see you’ve already been served.” She nodded at the pitcher of beer on the table.

  “They’re very efficient,” he said. “I come here at least once a week with my colleagues. It’s a great place to network. Hope you like Alaskan Amber.” He poured her a glass. “I also ordered us a plate of onion rings.”

  “Great.” Cara forced a perky smile although she hated deep-fried food. It made her face break out. Beer wasn’t exactly her favorite, either; she much preferred white wine. More than one glass of the bloating brew and she’d definitely have to undo the top button of her pants. Still, she reminded herself, it was nice of David to order for them on such a busy night.

  “How long have you worked at the bank?”

  “Since getting my BA in economics from Washington State. I’ve worked my way up over the past seven years. Got my student loans paid off. Bought my car with cash.” David pulled off his glasses and polished them methodically. “Once I get my MBA I expect to be promoted to branch manager. I’m already there, in terms of my experience and ability. Now all I need is the piece of paper to prove it.”

  “So you’re planning to go back to school?”

  “Not planning to. I’m enrolled in the MBA program at the University of Washington. Go there nights and weekends.”