Save the Slow Dances for Me

By Beverley Andi

We all go through life second-guessing ourselves. Should we have gone left instead of right? Should we stay in this job or find another? Or should we have taken the road less travelled as Carl Sandberg had suggested?

Looking down at Central Park from her apartment window, Amy felt something was missing. She had achieved everything she wanted except a lasting relationship. She thought of her first love, a man she spurned abruptly. She had been so young and naïve. What if she had made a mistake? Could she change the hero in the middle of the story? Could she ask after eight years for a do-over like in a child’s game? Amy knew she couldn’t rest until she found Peter again.

When she found him in London, she found a successful gentleman but a broken person. She didn’t recognize the bitter man that rebuffed her. Nothing had prepared her for the roller-coaster ride she was to take or the consequences that followed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverley Andi
• Release date: Jun 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301955640

Beverley Andi

Beverley Andi is a native New Yorker, born and raised in the city but spending most of her adult life living and working in Westchester County, NY. Her career stretched from the field of public education to designing educational programs for historical sites and art museums. Searching for Mr. Darcy was her first romantic novel; the sequel, Mrs. Darcy and the Scotsman, her second. She is completing a humorous epistolary novel between, Amy Pasqua, a young museum director in New York City and, Peter Hobbs, a museum archivist in Cambridge, England. The book gives a peek into the hilarious disasters that go on behind the scenes in “places of learning.” Look also for her charming novella entitled, A Kachina Dance, a love story between a New Yorker on vacation in Arizona and a Native American artist on a red motorcycle. Now residing in Durham, North Carolina, the author is a member of both the Romance Writers of America and Heart of Carolina Romance Writers.

Book preview

Save the Slow Dances for Me

by

Beverley Andi

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, localities and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to events, real locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Kim Blake

*****

Save the Slow Dances for Me

Smashwords Edition

*****

Copyright 2013 by Paintbox Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted in any for or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author/publisher.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Where there is great love there are always miracles.

Willa Cather

Contents

Chapter 1 London

Chapter 2 Another Attempt

Chapter 3 A Gentleman Calls

Chapter 4 A Nightmarish Dinner

Chapter 5 An Evening to Remember

Chapter 6 Lily

Chapter 7 The Rendezvous

Chapter 8 Breakfast with Heartache

Chapter 9 Confession

Chapter 10 Manhattan

Chapter 11 Luke

Chapter 12 Dinner for Two

Chapter 13 The Gift

Chapter 14 Regrets

Chapter 15 A Romantic Get Away

Chapter 16 Company

Chapter 17 A Teapot

Chapter 18 Appointments & Good-byes

Chapter 19 The Mail Arrives

Chapter 20 Victim of Circumstance

Chapter 21 Unexpected News

Chapter 22 The Vigil

Chapter 23 A Frightened Child

Chapter 24 Ever Yours

Epilogue

A Note from the Author

About the Author

Chapter 1

London

Amy handed the porter a tip as he turned to leave. Thank you, Madam that is most generous. If there is anything else you should need, please don’t hesitate to call the desk.

Yes, I will. She closed and locked the door behind him and let out a long sigh. Looking around the elegant room done in pale blue walls and gold-leaf French furniture, she was sure there was little she would need. It had been years since she was in London. She smiled at the lovely arrangement of lilies scenting the room on the dresser. There was even a bowl of fruit on the coffee table. She walked to the open window where the sunlight shown through the sheer curtains blowing in the breeze. She peered out at the busy street hearing the noisy traffic and thought back to her last visit to England. She was then a graduate student at the University of Cambridge, taking a summer class. Peter’s face immediately flashed across her vision. There he stood tall, young and lean, with blond hair, blue eyes and a gentle smile that could always melt her heart. He was the settled archivist at the Fitzwilliam Museum, moonlighting as a TA for some extra money. She was an immature 26-year-old New Yorker still wet behind the ears. Somehow, through some clever letter writing, she got him to respond and they started a correspondence. The letters blossomed into a friendship until the dreadful accident.

Her thoughts were broken as the phone rang. She walked to pick it up unbuttoning her suit jacket as she did.

Hello

Ms. Pacqua, this is Mark Bender. I just wanted to see if you had a good flight.

Yes, Mark, I just got in. The flight was delayed but it was fine. Everything OK with you?

Yes, ma’am, I got here yesterday and have things set up for my presentation. I’m sorry you’re not with us at this new hotel. It’s convenient to be where the conference is being held. Too bad you didn’t book sooner.

On the contrary, Brown’s is quite elegant. It once was the finest men’s club in England. No, Mark, this suits me. The room is done in Louis the XVI; it’s lovely. I’m only a short walk away. The exercise will do me good.

I’m going to go to a pub with some of the English colleagues I met today. We’re going for dinner about 8:00, would you like to join us?

Amy chuckled, Mark that’s really sweet but you don’t have to baby-sit me. In fact, there’s a friend I’m hoping to get in touch with tonight.

They made arrangements for meeting before the conference and then disconnected. Amy slipped off her navy jacket, kicked off her buff pumps, stood, and slipped off her skirt. She felt exhausted and the bed looked so good. She should unpack. She walked to the closet and hung up her designer suit. The heavy gold jewelry was next to come off and placed on the dresser. Then her silky, cream blouse and underwear fell off as she headed to the bathroom. She turned on the bathtub tap and threw some soap into the water to suds up. Turning, she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. She slowly unpinned her long black hair and watched it fall around her shoulders. She remembered how Luke loved to watch her do this. She smiled again, she would always love Luke but they had to go their separate ways.

Looking in the mirror again, she thought, for a woman of 34 she was keeping herself in good shape. With yoga, exercise, and a vegan diet she would hang on to her looks as long as possible in a very competitive world. Didn’t Mark, her assistant, who was only 25 years old, treat her like she was ancient already?

She slipped into the bath and thought about Peter again. Did she have the nerve to call him after Luke? Wasn’t that why she had come to England to finally apologize to him? She closed her eyes and wondered how she would ever find him. He no longer worked at the Fitzwilliam Museum and had moved from his apartment in Cambridge long ago. She had tried to locate him a year or so ago when she found his old letters. For all she knew he might not even be living in England.

She was putting all her hopes on this conference of museum professionals meeting over the next week. Staff from the most prestigious museums around the world would be attending to discuss the latest methods in museum procedures. She was hoping he would be there and they would finally have closure.

She dried herself and decided the bed looked too good to pass up. Under the soft sheets she closed her eyes and once again saw Peter standing before her. She hoped he would be more than polite. She wanted more; she wanted to see him smile. She hoped that they could be friends again. Was that too much to ask of him? His hurt had been acute; she still remembered his final phone call. Amy opened her eyes and sighed deeply. He didn’t deserve to be treated so badly and yet she had done just that. She closed her eyes and sleep finally came.

Amy awoke suddenly with her heart pounding. She looked around bewildered and then remembered where she was. From the slanting rays of sunlight she knew she had slept longer than she intended. The dream that woke her was of Peter standing in the middle of a road with deep concrete steps. He was frantically calling to a car. Amy was in the car, driving recklessly fast heading straight for him. No car could go down those steep steps. They were both going to be killed.

She sat up in bed and shook herself. Slowly she remembered another part of the dream; like in a fairy tale, she was dressed as a bride and Peter a groom and they were kissing in a white open carriage. The kissing seemed to go on forever.

Amy got out of bed and sat thinking about the dream. When she noticed the room was turning a dusty gray, she walked to the window, closed the drapes and turned on a light. Why had she come to England? It had nothing to do with the museum conference or Mark’s presentation. No, it was all about Peter. She had hesitated for weeks about coming but now she was in London. She felt a chill and realized she was naked. Walking to her suitcase she opened it and began unpacking. With a deep sigh she wondered if she should have come after all. Why was she so fascinated in seeing him again? It was crazy to expect he’d be the same man she had once loved.

***

So did you have dinner with your old friend? Mark asked across the large breakfast table. His blue eyes and short-cropped hair made him look like a poster child for the American Boy Scouts. His smile was broad and his teeth even.

No, I couldn’t find his number or address. I settled for tea and scones at Brown’s and a walk in the park. I was hoping he might be at the conference this week. When I knew him he worked at the Fitzwilliam Museum.

Did I hear someone mention the Fitz? said a young female voice across the table.

Jane, let me introduce you to my boss, Amy Pacqua. Ms. Pacqua, this is Jane, one of the colleagues I went to dinner with last night.

Amy smiled at the pretty young blond across from her and realized that most of the other people at the table were probably all of Mark’s ‘new colleagues’ save for one older gentleman.

So, Jane, do you work at the Fitzwilliam?

Well, I used to but now I’m with the British Museum, she said smartly.

Would you happen to have known a Peter Hobbs? He was an archivist.

Naw, he must have been there before me. She smiled coyly at Mark.

Hobbs? Hobbs…Peter Hobbs…where have I heard the name? said the older man sitting a chair away from Amy. It seems to me I was only reading about him. Hobbs…

Amy’s heart began to race. The younger people spoke amongst themselves as Amy concentrated on the face of the distinguished-looking man. Resembling the actor Christopher Plummer, he wore his dark suit and flamboyant silk hankie in his breast pocket with flourish.

His full name is Peter Jilles Hobbs. Jilles is spelled with a J, Amy said to him.

Ms. Pacqua, we’re going in to the ballroom to get our seats for the keynote address. Should I save you a seat? Mark asked getting to his feet. Jane stood beside him with a grin.

Before she could answer, the gentleman took the now empty seat next to Amy and said, No, Ms. Pacqua will be joining me in the reserved section. When the group had left they both chuckled. I hope I wasn’t too impertinent, after all we haven’t been introduced as such. I usually sit with the older folk but I happen to have overslept and I found this table of pretty faces. I am David Addison, the current director of the Robert Adam Trust. He held out his hand.

Amy gasped and extended her hand. "The Robert Adam?"

The same.

Very impressive as you noticed by my gulp. I, sir, am Amy Pacqua, head curator of the Museum of American Antiquities in Manhattan.

"Pacqua. What an unusual sounding name? It resonates like an Indian tribe."

Actually, I have Lakota descendants. However, we are no longer called Indians but Native Americans.

Sorry, all this new terminology does muddle me up. So your striking black hair and eyes and your long frame come from the Lakotas.

Possibly, but being an American I also have Italian, German and Irish blood, too.

Ms. Pacqua, you have been given the best of each, for you are a beauty. He leaned too close for comfort Amy felt.

Thank you, Mr. Addison. I think we should go into the ballroom and find our seats. Please try to remember where you heard Peter’s name again.

***

Amy was about to leave David Addison whom she was beginning to feel uneasy near as the keynote speech ended. She wondered if he knew or had heard of Peter at all. However, as he introduced her to several noted friends, he did ask if any had heard of Peter.

Oh sure, he’s the head of that big private library, what’s the name of it? You know the place it’s right here…a few blocks away. It’s practically around the corner, said someone named John.

Oh, dear, you can’t be looking for that cold SOB? asked Millicent, a very stylish woman in a gray Ann Taylor suit.

As far as I know, no one would ever describe Peter as a cold SOB, maybe it’s the wrong Hobbs? Amy smiled.

Is he in his 40s, with a bad limp?

Ur…well, hmm, he’s about 39 and had a slight limp.

Oh, it’s Hobbs, dear. Take my word for it; he’s brusque, disagreeable, and walks with a bad limp. He cut my museum out of a large grant. No one likes him," said the lady with silver hair done in an upsweep.

Will someone give me the name and address of the library? I can’t believe what you’re telling me. I must go and see him and congratulate him at least. Amy frowned.

A fellow named Ian, who looked remarkably like Albert Schweitzer, rolled his eyes. You Americans are so gung-ho. He’ll bite your head off as soon as he’d shake your hand. A very disagreeable chap, I agree with Millicent. He’s an SOB if there ever was one. But if you insist on seeing him, he’s the Director of the Stevenson Library. It’s about five blocks from here.

I’d be happy to take you over, Amy. We could go for cocktail afterward, David said with leering eyes.

Thanks, just the same but I’m going to skip lunch. I think I’ll take a walk over and see for myself. After writing the address on the back of a card, Amy excused herself. She next attended a session with Mark.

The two hour grant writing session, a subject Amy usually absorbed herself in, left her flat. Her mind persistently fixed on Millicent’s description of Peter: he’s brusque, disagreeable, and walks with a bad limp. No, she wouldn’t believe any of it. A cold SOB? Not, Peter. Obviously, this woman had an ax to grind over losing the grant. Ian must have a peeve, too.

As the session broke up Amy excused herself from Mark. Claiming she had a headache, she went out for some needed air. Smirking, she made a beeline to the library. She was going to prove to all those stuffy people how wrong they were. Peter Hobbs was a gentleman; he was chivalrous beyond words.

She found the building easily. It was one of the few steel and glass buildings in the area. She located staff offices without any trouble. Yet when it came to seeing the director, his executive assistant made it clear, Mr. Hobbs, sees no one without an appointment.

Yes, I can well appreciate that. However, I am a friend from New York. I’m here for the International Museum Conference this week. I’ve lost touch with Mr. Hobbs over the years and I just want to say a quick hello. I wouldn’t take more than five minutes of his time. I work on a schedule, too. I understand the procedure.

I’m sorry, rules are rules, said the stern looking woman with platinum hair, smartly attired in a gray frock with a designer scarf at her neck.

All right, would you at least give him my business card? I’ll write the hotel and my room number where he can reach me on the back. I’d appreciate it if you could give it to him.

I will but he’s tied up in business meetings all day. He won’t get it until tonight when he leaves which is usually late. She took the card and read it. A slight smile crossed her face, I’m sure Mr. Hobbs will talk to you soon. I’ll put your card on the top of his phone messages.

Thank you. I’d really appreciate it.

Amy walked toward the elevator feeling defeated but at least she had some hope. She pressed the elevator button and watched as the lights moved down from one floor to the next and suddenly stopped then started up again. She waited and nothing happened. She pressed the button and