TALL DARK AND HUNGRY Page 0,118

you, I could have done so countless times while you were staying with me in New York, but I didn't. I don't bite. Now, please just come to lunch and let me maybe make more sense of this for you. That way, you can at least make an informed decision." Terri hesitated then nodded. "All right."

"Bastien, you aren't listening to me," Marguerite Ar-geneau accused.

"Yes, I am, mother," Bastien said, a tad impatiently. He didn't bother to lift his eyes from the file he was reading.

"Then what did I say?"

Bastien set down the papers he'd been going through, and sat back in his chair to give her his un¬divided attention. Not that she noticed; she wasn't looking at him at all, but was pacing back and forth in front of his desk with agitation. Sighing wearily, he recounted, "You said that you received a letter from someone this morn--"

"From Vincent," she cut in.

"Fine, from Vincent," he repeated dutifully, then paused to frown. "Why would Vincent send you a letter? He's staying in the penthouse with us. Why didn't he just--"

"Good lord, you really are out of it," Marguerite interrupted. Pausing in front of his desk, she scowled at him over her crossed arms, then heaved a sigh and reminded him, "Vincent is back in California."

"Is he?"

"Yes. He is. He flew home a week ago."

"What about his play?" Bastien asked with a frown. "Dracula, the musical?"

She gave a discounting wave and began to pace again. "The production closed down two weeks ago."

"Already?" His eyes widened. "I should have gone to see it on opening night, but I didn't know it had opened. Did I?" he asked, not at all sure that he hadn't been told and either not paid attention or just let it slip his mind. Many things had slipped his mind since Terri left.

Marguerite stopped her pacing to say with exag¬gerated patience, "It never made it to opening night, Bastien,"

His eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"They had to close down. Too many of the cast and crew dropped out due to illness."

"What kind of illness?" Bastien asked, his eyes narrowing.

Marguerite hesitated. "They weren't sure."

He couldn't help noticing that his mother was sud¬denly avoiding his gaze. "Mother," he said in warn-ing tones.

Sighing, she admitted, "They weren't sure, but ap¬parently it was some sort of contagious anemia."

"Contagious anemia," Bastien echoed with disgust. There was no such thing as contagious anemia. Now he knew where Vincent had been doing his feeding since arriving in New York. He shook his head in wonder. "The man ate himself out of his first lead role in a play. Dear Lord! How did he manage that? What was he thinking?"

"I don't think he was," Marguerite said with a sigh. "Thinking, that is. I suspect he was so nervous about his lead role that he just--"

"He didn't seem nervous," Bastien snapped. He had known the man for four hundred years; nothing made him nervous.

"That's true," his mother allowed reluctantly, then her expression cleared. "Well, of course!"

"Of course, what?" Bastien asked, suspecting he didn't want to know.

"Well, it was probably comfort eating."

"Comfort eating?" he repeated incredulously.

"Mmm." Marguerite nodded. "Well, there were Etienne and Lissianna, happy with their life mates, and Lucern marrying his, and you with Terri... He was probably lonely, suddenly aware of his solitary status, and overfeeding because of it."

"Dear Lord." Bastien sank back in his seat and shook his head.

"The poor boy," Marguerite murmured.

"Yes, poor boy," Bastien said dryly. He rolled his eyes. His mother had always had a soft spot for Vin¬cent; he was her favorite nephew.

"Perhaps I should go visit him," she murmured thoughtfully.

Bastien perked up at this suggestion. "Perhaps you should. Understanding as you are, you might be able to help him."

"Yes." Marguerite picked up her purse off his desk. "A trip to California would be nice this time of year."

"I hear it's lovely," he agreed encouragingly.

"Yes. I think I will." She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then paused to peer at him. "You know I love you and wouldn't run off to California to tend Vincent if I didn't already know your little problem was taken care of, don't you?"

Bastien's head jerked slightly. Her comment caught him by surprise. "I don't have a problem," he growled, then added, "And what do you mean it's been taken care of?"

Marguerite ignored the question. Whirling away from the desk, she headed for the door. "Well, I'm off to California. Vincent will no doubt insist I stay with him, so ring me there if you have any...