“There's a board meeting my partners say I have to attend, so I thought I'd see how New York looks after all this time, and …well, you know …even the Sea Star gets a little boring.”

“I never thought I'd hear you say that,” she said, beaming.

“Neither did I. Thank God Serena can't hear me.” But he didn't sound as sad now when he talked about her.

“When are you coming?”

“Sunday night.” He'd been wrestling with the idea for weeks, and hadn't said anything to her. He didn't want to get her hopes up. And he was still a little nervous about seeing her. For all his brave words, there was something about her that touched him deeply. “Any chance you want to meet me?” He felt like a kid asking for a date as he said it.

“At the airport?”

“Well, yes, that's usual. I'm not arriving by boat this time. Would that be a nuisance, coming in from Westport?”

“I think it could be arranged.” And then she wondered. “When did you decide this?” She wondered if he had decided on the spur of the moment, or if he'd planned it.

“About a week ago. I didn't say anything, because I wanted to be sure I meant it. But I bought my ticket this morning, so I guess I'm coming. It'll be good to see you, India.” There was something odd about the way he said it, but she decided it was just emotional for him coming back to New York, and staying at his apartment. He had left the day after the funeral and hadn't been back since then. And she still remembered all too clearly how devastated he had looked at Saint Ignatius. But at least he'd had some time to heal in the meantime.

“I can't wait to see you,” she said simply, wondering how long he was staying, but not wanting to ask him. She didn't know if he was coming home for good, or just trying it on for size. She suspected he didn't know either, and didn't want to press him. “I guess I'll have to cancel my date then. The sacrifices we make for our friends …”

“Keep his number. You still might need it.” They chatted for a few minutes, and then hung up. He promised to give her the details of his arrival later. And in Westport, India sat looking out the window for a long time, looking for a sign of spring. But there was none. The trees were still bare, the ground was bleak. But knowing he was coming back made her feel as though something ought to be in bloom again. They had both survived such a long, lonely winter. They deserved some small reward for what they'd gone through. But life didn't always give rewards, she knew by then. There were no prizes for despair, or tragedy, or loss, or courage. There was just more of the same. And now and then, some small flower peeking through the snow, to spur you on, and give you hope, and remind you of better days. To remind you that one day, after the winter, there would be spring, and eventually summer.

But for the moment, there was still no sign of it for her. There were long, lonely days, and nothing more to hang on to but his phone calls. And now he was coming home. But as she walked slowly upstairs with a smile, she told herself it meant nothing. But in spite of that, it would be good to see him.





Chapter 20

INDIA DROVE her station wagon to the airport on Sunday night, after leaving the children with a sitter. There was a light rain falling, and the traffic was bad, and it seemed to take forever. But she had given herself plenty of time for delays, and when she parked the car in the garage, she still had half an hour to spare before Paul got there.

She wandered around the terminal, looked at the shops, and checked herself in the mirror. She had worn a gray pantsuit and high heels, and she was carrying a trenchcoat. She had thought of wearing something more glamorous for him, like her black suit, but in the end, she decided it was silly. They were just friends, and they knew each other so well by now, she would have felt foolish trying to look seductive or sexy. She had worn her hair in a French twist, which was her one concession to dressing up for him, and makeup.

But now as she stood waiting for him, she began to wonder what he expected of her, and why he had asked her to meet him. She wondered if he was afraid to come back to New York, to face his memories there, and she suspected that he would be. It wouldn't be easy for him, even after all this time, especially going back to their apartment. He had hidden in a cocoon for the past six months, cloistered on the Sea Star, and holding her hand, for whatever comfort she could provide, from the distance. But whatever his reason for calling her, she was happy to be there.

She checked her watch repeatedly, and looked up at the board, to see if he'd arrived, wondering if he'd be delayed. And finally the notice to his flight was changed, and told her that he'd landed. But she knew it would still be a while. He had to go through Customs. It seemed interminable to her, standing there, waiting for him.

It was another half hour before passengers began to dribble out, fat grandmothers, and men in jeans, two fashion models carrying their portfolios, and a vast array of ordinary people and young children. She wasn't sure if they were from his flight, but finally she began to hear a flood of English accents, and knew this had to be the flight from London. And then suddenly, she panicked, wondering if she'd missed him. There was an enormous crowd in the terminal, and people were eddying all around her. She hadn't seen him in nearly a year, six months since the funeral, but that had been only a glimpse. The last time she'd had a good look at him was the previous summer. And what if he didn't recognize her? What if he'd forgotten what she looked like?

She was looking around for him when she heard a familiar voice right behind her.

“I wasn't expecting you to wear your hair up,” was the first thing he said to her. He had been looking for her braid, and nearly missed her. And she spun around quickly to see him and all she could remember were Gail's words when she'd come back from Cape Cod, telling her that the press had called him “indecently handsome …and ruggedly alluring.” He was every bit of it as he smiled at her, and then pulled her to him. She had forgotten how tall he was, and how blue his eyes were. His hair was cropped short, and he had a deep suntan from the wind and sun on the Sea Star. “You look terrific,” he said as he hugged her close, and she felt breathless for a moment. This was the voice she had talked to for six months, her confidant, the man who knew everything about her, and had held her hand through the unraveling of her marriage. But suddenly, seeing him again, she felt shy and embarrassed.

“So do you.” She smiled up at him as he pulled away from her to see her better. “You look so healthy.”

“I should. I've done nothing but sit on my boat for the past six months, and get fat and lazy.” But he looked neither. He looked powerful and young and athletic, better even than he had the previous summer. If anything, he was thinner.

“You've lost weight,” he commented about her too, as he picked up his bags again, and they walked slowly toward the exit. He had only brought a small overnight case, and his briefcase. He had everything he needed at his apartment. “It suits you,” he complimented her. He looked so pleased to see her that she was still grinning.

“I was just thinking you have too. How was the flight?” It was the kind of conversation she would have had with Doug, if she'd picked him up. In a way, they knew each other so well, it was almost like being married. But she didn't delude herself, as they walked out of the terminal, Paul was neither her husband nor her boyfriend. He was something very different. But it was wonderful no longer talking to a disembodied voice. He was real and tangible and alive, as he stood next to her, smiling. “I can't believe you're here.” She had begun to think he would be away forever, and she'd never see him.

“Neither can I,” he beamed, “and the flight was dreadful. There must have been two hundred screaming babies, all of whom had been abandoned by their mothers. And the woman next to me talked all the way from London, about her garden. If I never hear about another rosebush again, I'll be happy.” India laughed as she listened. They walked toward where she had left her car, and he tossed his bags into the backseat as soon as they found it. “Would you like me to drive?” he offered, but she assumed he was tired and hesitated.

“Do you trust me?” She knew how some men hated women drivers. Doug had.

“You drive more car pools than I do, and you haven't had three Scotches.” It had been the only antidote to the crying children, he'd decided. But he looked completely sober.

They got into her car, and she turned to look at him for an instant, as her eyes grew serious and he met them with his equally blue ones. Their eyes were almost the same color. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said softly.

“What for?” He seemed startled.

“For keeping me going all this time. I couldn't have gotten through it without you.” But she had done the same for him, and he knew that.

“How's it going now? Is Doug still torturing you?”

“No, his lawyer's taken over for him.” She smiled as she turned the key in the ignition. “But I think we've pretty much settled it.” Doug had offered her enough child support and alimony to live on comfortably, as long as she took a few assignments every year to pad it out a little. He had made her a very decent offer, and she could keep the house for nine years, until Sam went to college, or she remarried. Her lawyer had told her to take it. And she'd be divorced by Christmas. She'd discussed most of the terms with Paul already on the phone, and he had told her he thought it was probably the best she could do. It wasn't extravagant, but it was acceptable, and it still left Doug enough to live on, and even remarry, if he chose to. He made fairly decent money. Not by Paul's standards, but by normal ones. And they had agreed to split their savings, which wasn't an enormous sum, but it gave her something to fall back on.

“I can't believe I'm back, India,” he said, as they watched the skyline appear. She knew it had to seem strange to him, after all this time, and the places he'd been. Turkey, Yugoslavia, Corsica, Sicily …Venice … Viareggio …Portofino …Cap d'Antibes. He had chosen some pretty places to hide in, but they hadn't brought him much joy during his months of suffering. And as she had guessed, he was nervous about going to his apartment. He said as much to India on the way into town, and she smiled gently at him.

“Maybe you should stay at a hotel,” she suggested sensibly. She was nervous for him. She knew about his dreams, and the trouble he had sleeping, although lately he said he was better.

It was so odd to be sitting next to him now, after all their hours on the phone, for months and months, and all the secrets they had told each other. It was odder still putting the voice and the man together. It was something for both of them to get used to. He kept combing her with his eyes, while she was driving, and he looked happy to be there.

“I was thinking about a hotel too,” he confessed. “I'll see how it goes tonight. I need to organize my papers anyway. The board meeting is tomorrow.” His partners had threatened his life if he failed to join them. It had been hard enough making do without him for six months, and he had already missed two board meetings, for the last two quarters. And they felt that this time he had to be there.

“Will it be a difficult meeting?” she asked easily as they sped onto the FDR Drive, next to the East River.

“I hope not. Mostly boring.” And then he glanced at her seriously for a moment. “Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

“Now?” She looked surprised, and he laughed.

“No. I meant tomorrow. It's two o'clock in the morning for me right now, and I'm a little bleary-eyed. But I thought maybe tomorrow night we could go somewhere you'd enjoy. What's your favorite? ‘2G? Cote Basque? Daniel?”

She laughed at the suggestions he was offering her. He was forgetting what her life was. “Actually, I was thinking more like Jack in the Box or Denny's. You forget, I only eat out with my children these days.” And Doug never used to bring her into the city for dinner. They came in a couple of times a year, to go to the theater, and they usually ate somewhere nearby. Doug was not one to take his wife to fancy restaurants, only clients. “Why don't you decide?”

“How about Daniel?” It had been one of Serena's favorite restaurants, but he liked it too. Serena thought Daniel wasn't as showy as La Grenouille and Cote Basque, which was exactly what he liked about it, and she didn't. He thought it was more elegant, and subtler than the others. And the food was terrific.