Seven Year Itch (7)

Lucas opened the door to the waiter, Bonnie opened the door into the drawing room, inserting herself into the hostess role again. She'd overdone that earlier, possibly offending his wife then, though there'd been no overt sign of it at the time. Nevertheless, he'd have a word to Bonnie about toning down her officiousness, especially in front of his wife.

The bathroom door remained ominously shut. Behind it taps were still running.

The waiter lifted a loaded tray and proceeded to the drawing room, where Bonnie supervised the laying of the table. Lucas knocked on the bathroom door.

"Rowen, breakfast is here, and the croissants are warm. You could leave having your bath for a while—"

"No." An emphatic cry, then in two choppy bursts. "I'm not hungry. Thank you."

Leaving no room for argument. He wanted to ask if she was all right but suspected that question would get short shrift, too. Nothing productive was going to be said through this door. He tried the handle. The door was not only shut, it was locked.

As he stood contemplating what that meant, nothing good, Bonnie saw the waiter out of the apartment. Since she was the only person who might give him answers, he moved into the drawing room, ready to settle himself at the table as soon as she returned.

"Your wife not joining us?" she asked.

"No. Not hungry."

"Well, she does have the choice of eating at any time."

Not like us, her eyes said.

Lucas bridled against the togetherness Bonnie was projecting, even though it was perfectly reasonable in the circumstances. There was a complacency in her attitude that implied Rowen's presence was not required. Not desired, either. Superfluous baggage they could well do without.

Had she made Rowen feel that this morning?

While he was contemplating, Bonnie had pressed a button on her phone. Before placing it back down. Her mind was screaming all sorts of profanities at the person in front of her. Her heart truly hated this man and wished all sorts of torture upon him. Every time she looked at him she is reminded of their awful marriage and how he had constantly one-sided blamed her.

'I've reconsidered the suggestion you made about separate accommodation, Ms.Knight,' he said. 'In fact, I'll call the desk right now and see if another apartment is available for you.'

Bonnies eyes widen in surprise and triumph.

He had only a brief glimpse of her response before he turned to reach for the telephone on the side table behind him, but Lucas didn't care for what he saw. He'd thought of Bonnie as a subtle player.

It took several minutes to make the arrangements. He was in luck. A one-bedroom suite would become available later today. Ms. Knight's luggage could be transferred for her then.

Bonnie was delighted with the news. Whether she'd be equally delighted at being left to herself outside of business hours was another matter. Lucas didn't care. Ms.Knight held no rights to his private life. She assured him it would be no trouble to repack before they left this morning. She hadn't taken much out of her suitcase, anyway. Being an experienced traveler, she did not carry an extensive wardrobe with her.

"Did you make any plans with my wife this morning?" he asked, hoping to draw out the information he needed.

"No. How could I? I'll be busy with you, Lucas." A touch of smugness there.

"Was that all you talked about?"

"What else?" She gave him an archly innocent look. "I did remark that the bathroom was free. She looked as though the long flight was catching up with her."

He looked at Bonnie's smooth face and bland expression and knew he didn't trust her.

That was a shock, too.

His brain buzzed with the realization he'd put this woman in a position of trust and she could do him a lot of damage if he wasn't very, very careful. God only knew what damage she'd already done with Rowen.

When Bonnie went to her bedroom to pack, Lucas returned to the bathroom door.

He knocked. "Are you okay in there?"

A pause, then flatly, "Yes. It's a nice, deep bath."

"Mind if I come in for a minute, Rowen? I'll be leaving soon."

A longer pause. "I'm in the middle of washing my hair, Lucas. I don't want to get out. You just go on and have a successful day."

It sounded reasonable. He wished he could believe her. The door was solid. She wasn't going to unlock it, and the macho impulse to break it open could only end in futility. Thumping it wasn't going to do any good, either. It would draw Bonnie, and Rowen would probably die before revealing her feelings in Bonnie's hearing.

He hated leaving her in a negative mood her first day in Paris. He had a strong urge to hang in here, send Bonnie on ahead to the meeting. On the other hand, time could often sort out the more distorted shapes of a problem.

"Rowen, I'm having Bonnie moved to another apartment," he said, hoping that information would help. "A porter will come and collect her luggage once the guest who's leaving has checked out. It should be done by lunchtime. We'll have this apartment to ourselves. Okay?"

There was some muffled sound

He could call her later, let her know he cared. He wanted her to know he was thinking of her and she was important to him. Of prime importance to him!

"I'll leave numbers where you can reach me on the notepad beside the phone in our bedroom," he called through the door. "Don't hesitate to use them if you want me for anything. Any time of the day, Rowen. Just ask for me. I'll leave instructions for you to be put through wherever I am."

No response. "Rowen?"

"Yes?" her voice Reluctant.

Lucas hated feeling helpless. He gathered determination. "We'll talk tonight," he said, conveying unshakable purpose. He meant it. With good communication they could resolve most things.

The silence on the other side of the bathroom door was disappointing. Lucas could only hope Rowen would be in a more receptive and responsive mood tonight. He pondered what else he could do while he waited for Bonnie to be ready. Inspiration didn't strike until they were in the lift.

"Would you order some flowers for me?" he asked the woman on the reception desk.

"Of course, Mr. Reid," came the obliging reply.

"A basket of red roses. Three dozen. To be delivered here and set on the dressing table in the master bedroom of my apartment."

"Certainly. I'll see to it." The woman made notes.

"I'd like to, leave a message to be attached to the basket."

"Would you like to write it yourself, Mr. Reid?" The woman opened a drawer, took out a classy note card with matching envelope and offered them to him, smiling encouragement.

"Thank you."

He thought for a moment, then wrote, 'looking forward to being with you tonight. I love you. Lucas.'