Deceptions by Judith Michael Read Free Book Online Page A

gloried in her own brightness and Stephanie had to escape, to find her own. I won't stop her from doing that, she thought. I won't make it any harder than it already is. I've done enough tonight to hurt her.
    So she sat beside Stephanie on the couch and swallowed the tears welling in her throat. 'What a lot of talking we'll do on summer vacations!' she said brightly. They sat together, not touching, their hands in their laps like proper

    young ladies. I love you, Sabrina said silently to Stephanie, and began that moment to live her life alone.
    Chapter 4
    The audience in the opera house stilled as the lights dimmed. Spotlights came up on heavy gold curtain, the conductor swung down his baton and the sensual Spanish music of the overture wove through the hall, its gypsy lilt making Stephanie want to dance. She looked at Dena. 'Thankyou,' she whispered, grateful for everything: New York at Christmas, shopping, theaters and the Cardozos' box for her favorite opera. Sighing happily, she let the music catch her up as the curtain majestically parted on a crowded scene of brilliantly dressed dancers and soldiers in bright red uniforms.
    A commotion broke the spell; behind them, someone pulled open the door of the box, then stumbled against a chair. Stephanie and Dena swung about. 'Sony,' a voice said. In the shadows Stephanie saw a tall man with dark hair trying to close the door and tug off his coat at the same time.
    'Are you in the right box?' Dena asked.
    He nodded and sat in the armchair behind Stephanie. Dena waited, but he said nothing more. She studied him for a moment, then looked at Stephanie, shrugged and turned back to the stage, 'Rumpled,' she murmured.
    Stephanie gave a small laugh at Dena's swift judgment. Whoever he was, he was respectable, even though his jacket needed pressing. And he was self-confident enough to offer a single apology and then stop.
    In the next minute she forgot him. On the stage. Carmen was singing with slow, taunting sexuahty to the infatuated young soldier, Don Jos6, and the song flowed through the audience like molten gold. Stephanie leaned forward, feeling its power. But she was distracted, aware of something besides

    the music. She turned around and met the eyes of the stranger, watching her.
    She was the one who turned away, flushed from the steadiness of his gaze. He was older than she, with a strong face and a more direct look than she was used to in the men at colleges near Bryn Mawr. Turning her head slightly, as if she were looking at the side of the stage, she saw from the comer of her eye that he was still looking at her. He's missing the whole opera, she thought, and felt her hps curve in a smile. For the first time she wondered who he was and how he had a ticket for the Cardozos' box.
    'Excuse me,' he said. 'Did you drop this?' Stephanie turned to look at the program in his outstretched hand and shook her head, her lips curving again. He knew she hadn't dropped it; he could see her program on her lap. 'pieir eyes held for a moment and then she turned away again. But for the remainder of the first act, she could see him at the edge of her field of vision, watching her.
    'Garth Andersen,' he said, holding out his hand as the lights came up at intermission. Dena reached out quickly to take it.
    'E>ena Cardozo. Are you a friend of the Bartons?'
    He chuckled at Dena's protectiveness, making her feel young and uncertain. He shouldn't do that, Stephanie thought, and as if he realized it himself he said quickly, 'We're old friends. And I apologize for my noisy entrance. The Banons neglected to tell me they shared the box and then I was late; I forgot the time at work and was afraid I'd miss the overture.' He held out his hand to Stephanie. 'We haven't met.*
    Stephanie Hartwell.' She fit her slender hand to his long, thin one. A musician, she thought. Or an artist.
    'What work?' Dena asked. 'Research,' he answered briefly and invited them to the lobby for a drink. He wondered why Dena