The woman flashed a whimsical smile. “Yes, I may do that. So you have never met Mr. Pagliarulo?”
“I’ve seen him come and go in the fine arts building, but we haven’t met.” Cassie lowered her voice confidentially. “I’ve heard he is something of a recluse. A loner. Not easy to know. Does he strike you as snobbish or arrogant?”
Juliana’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, is that how he seems to you? A snob?”
“No, not really. Not when he was onstage. He was absolutely wonderful. But I’ve heard others say—”
Juliana wriggled her stockinged feet back into her shoes and stood up with a jaunty shake of her head. “Come! Let us go see if this Antonio Pagliarulo is an arrogant, unsociable man.”
Flustered, Cassie handed Gilbert her plate and cup and followed Juliana across the hall. “I didn’t mean…Juliana, wait, please.” Gilbert caught up with them, dropping the paper plates and cups into a trash receptacle. Juliana briskly carved a path for them through the remaining cluster of fans.
And suddenly Cassie found herself face-to-face with the handsome, mysterious Antonio Pagliarulo. He gazed down at her with shrewd, dark eyes, a smile playing at the curve of his lips. In person, up close, he seemed even more imposing than he had onstage. Larger than life, his very presence was stunning, unnerving. She found herself feeling as tongue-tied as a schoolgirl.
Gilbert spoke up, his voice taking a shrill high note. “Tonio, I’d like you to meet my date, Cassandra Rowlands.”
Cassie offered her hand, even though it was trembling and her palm was moist. “Mr. Pagliarulo, I—I enjoyed your performance immensely,” she breathed.
He clasped her hand in both of his. His touch was warm, electric, his solemn gaze riveting. “How do you do, Miss Rowlands?”
Cassie turned to Juliana. “Mr. Pagliarulo, I’d like you to meet—”
With a little burst of laughter, Antonio sprang forward and gathered the dark-haired Juliana into his arms. Cassie stared in mute astonishment as the two embraced. “Antonio, you were marvelous this evening,” Juliana enthused.
Antonio held her at arm’s length and boomed, “You always say that, Mama.”
The terrible truth dawned. Cassie gaped at the two. Of course! Mother and son! They even possessed the same striking features, the same coloring, the same bright buoyancy of spirit.
Good heavens, thought Cassie. What awful things did I say to Juliana about Antonio? That he was reclusive, a snob…oh, why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut!
Juliana tucked her slim arm in Antonio’s and smiled in gentle amusement at Cassie. “Antonio, Miss Rowlands was very impressed with your music. So impressed that she has invited us to see her perform tomorrow night at her church. Are we free?”
Antonio flashed a quizzical smile. “Are you a singer also, Miss Rowlands?”
“No, I—I’m a pianist.”
He studied her with an intensity that left her feeling weak inside. “You look familiar, Miss Rowlands. Have I seen you perform?”
She struggled to find her voice. “No. I teach a couple of piano classes here at the university. We’ve passed each other in the fine arts building or on campus.”
“Ah, yes, that’s it. I knew I had seen you before. I would never forget such a lovely face.”
Cassie’s cheeks grew warm with a dizzying mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. “You’re very kind, Mr. Pagliarulo.”
“Call me Antonio, please. After all, we are colleagues.”
“Then please call me Cassandra. Or Cassie.”
“I prefer Cassandra. It has the lilting ring of music. Now tell me about your performance tomorrow evening.”
Cassie groped for words. What was there about Antonio Pagliarulo that left her feeling so rattled and unsure of herself? “It’s—it’s not a big production really,” she stammered. “Just a little church cantata at—at Cornerstone Christian in La Jolla. I happened to invite your mother, but I didn’t realize…I mean, I’m sure a musician of your stature must have other obligations.”
Antonio clasped her hand reassuringly. “Not at all, Cassandra. Mother and I reserve our Sundays for worship. We would be pleased to come hear you perform at your church tomorrow night. It would be a treat to be in the audience for a change instead of onstage.”
“Wonderful,” said Cassie, her smile so tight she feared her teeth might break. What had she gotten herself into? She would be a basket case performing before this man. Had she somehow taken leave of her senses? Until this evening Antonio Pagliarulo had been a stranger to her; now suddenly his opinion of her mattered more than anything she could imagine.
Chapter Four
A ndrew Rowlands was sitting in his squeaky rocker by the bay window in his bedroom, listening to the clock strike midnight and wondering why his oldest daughter hadn’t come home yet. Usually this was his favorite place for studying the Bible and thinking and praying. And, at times like this, worrying. How could he sleep well until he knew all of his daughters were safely in for the night?
Still, he chided himself for fretting. Cassie had gone to a concert with a man who seemed harmless enough—a mild-mannered fellow who looked like a bookish and absentminded professor. He was surely not Cassie’s type, but then, who on earth was Cassie’s type? Except for that one unfortunate incident years ago, she had never been serious about any man. And to make matters even more frustrating for Andrew, she didn’t even appear to be looking for a suitable young man. At this rate she would surely end up an old maid.
All right, they didn’t call them that anymore. Old maids. These days there was no stigma attached to being unattached. Unmarried. Lots of young women preferred the single life.
But that’s not what Andrew wanted for his daughters. He wouldn’t be around forever to look after his girls, and after he was gone, who would be there for them? Sure, they had one another, but they each needed a strong, capable, trustworthy man to be there when the road got tough.
“Mandy, what are we going to do about our girls?” Andrew said aloud in a soft, husky voice. He gazed out at the full moon hanging in the dark heavens like a beacon light. That pale white globe was always comforting, reassuring. That familiar moon had remained steady and bright in the night sky, sometimes full and brimming, sometimes little more than a fingernail, but so often there through his long nights of grieving.
It was as if God had personally given Andrew the moon and stars for his own private comfort. They were reminders that God Himself was there, never changing, always ready to console. Andrew couldn’t have made it these past five years without God’s sweet solace.
“Lord, I’m concerned about my girls,” he said, rubbing his hands thoughtfully. “I want them to have husbands and families of their own, but they still seem perfectly content to stay here at home with me. As much as I enjoy having them around, I think it’s high time they stop fussing over me and establish their own lives and homes. What do you think, Lord? I’m right, aren’t I?” He shook his head ponderously. “But I can’t tell them to move out. It would break their hearts to think I don’t need them anymore. And to be honest, Lord, I do need them.”
Andrew gazed off into the shadows of his room for a moment. He had prayed this prayer often in recent days, but he still didn’t have an answer to his dilemma.
In the old days his dear Mandy always knew what to do. She was the perfect mother with just the right balance of love and discipline. He still remembered how she would check on the girls each night. Like a fragile wraith in her long white cotton nightgown, her red hair twining around her shoulders, she would flit from room to room, peeking in the door to be sure her daughters were slumbering peacefully. Andrew hadn’t realized what an arduous task and