Where You Belong by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online

after I’d hit it with my finger, the room was bathed in a lambent glow. I glanced around, my eyes taking in everything.
    Although I knew this room so well, it always gave me pleasure whenever I looked at it. My grandfather had put it together, created the decorative scheme, and his choices in furniture, all gifts from him to me, were superb. Even the lamps and paintings had been his selections, and the room had a cohesion and a quiet beauty that was very special.
    Janine, the wonderfully efficient and motherly Frenchwoman who looked after the apartment—and me when I was in it—had been very visible all day yesterday. She had cleaned and polished and fussed around in general, and had even arrived bearing a lovely gift . . . the masses of pink roses that she had arranged in various bowls around the living room.
    And tonight the room literally shone from her efforts. The antique wood pieces were warm and mellow in the lamplight, gleamed like dark ripe fruit; how beautifully they stood out against the dark pink walls, while the silk-shaded porcelain lamps threw pools of soft light onto their glistening surfaces.
    Like the rest of the apartment, the floor in the living room was of highly polished wood and left bare, as the floors in the other rooms were. The latter were decorated more simply, since I’d done them myself; it was Grandfather’s room, as I called it, that looked the best.
    After admiring it from the doorway for a moment longer, I then stepped inside, went over and straightened a few cushions on the deep-rose linen-covered sofa near the fireplace before bending over to sniff Janine’s flowers. For once they had a perfume, which was unusual these days. Most bought flowers had no scent at all.
    I went into the kitchen, checked that there were bottles of white wine in the refrigerator, and returned to my bedroom. For a minute or two I studied myself in the long mirror on a side wall, thinking that I looked much better than I had for days. Healthy, in fact. But that was merely an illusion, one very cleverly created by my artifice with cosmetics; a golden-tinted foundation camouflaged my deathly pallor, hid the dark smudges under my eyes. The latter I’d enhanced with a touch of eye shadow and mascara, while a hint of pink blush and pink lipstick helped to bring a little additional life to my wan face.
    The real truth was that I’d looked quite ill for the past week, haggard, white-faced, and red-eyed from crying, and I hadn’t wanted Jake to see me looking that way tonight. He worried enough about me as it was.
    I wasn’t sure where we were going to dinner, so I’d chosen one of my basic outfits, composed of black gabardine pants, a white silk shirt, and a black blazer. My blond-streaked hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and, as I regarded myself objectively, I thought: plain Jane and then some.
    Turning around, I went to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out a pair of small pearl earrings. I was putting them on, when the doorbell rang.
    I hurried into the hall, eager to see Jake, who had been gone for the past week.
    â€œAren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawled when I flung open the door to let him in.
    â€œLikewise,” I answered, and we stood there, staring at each other.
    Then he reached out eagerly and pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in a tight bear hug. And he held me so close to him, I was momentarily startled.
    V
    When Jake finally let go of me, he gave me an odd little smile that seemed a bit self-conscious to me. Then he abruptly swung around and closed the front door.
    For a moment I believed that he, too, was startled by the fervor and length of his embrace, and then I changed my mind. He was my best friend and we had been close for years, so why wouldn’t he hug me excessively when he’d just returned from a trip? And especially under the circumstances.
    â€œIt’s not raining,” I murmured.
    â€œNo, it’s