Danielle Steel - Summer’s End

Alone in her bedroom, Deanna slowly pulled off the black dress and stood staring at herself in the mirror. She was still pretty and in some ways still young. The skin on her face was supple and taut her neck had the graceful sweep of a swan, the eyes were large, the eyelids didn’t droop and the chin didn’t sag, the breasts were still firm, the legs thin, the hips small. There was no real sign of age, and yet she looked at least ten years older than that girl tonight. She had had the glow and the glamor and the excitement of a mistress. There was no fighting that. Was that what he wanted then? Did that make the difference? Or was it something else? Was it that she was French, that she was one of his own… or maybe only that he loved her. Deanna wondered as she climbed into her robe. She wanted to ask him all those questions, wanted to hear all the answers from him-if he’d tell her, if he’d ever come home. She didn’t want to wait all night long to ask him she wanted to ask him now, but it had been clear that he and the girl were going out on the town. It might be daybreak before he came home claiming that he had been involved in interminable negotiations and had had a sleepless night. She suddenly wondered how many of his stories had been lies, how long this had gone on. She lay her head back in the chair and closed her eyes against the soft lights. Why did he go on with the marriage, now that Pilar was gone? He’d had the perfect opportunity to leave Deanna in Paris, to tell her they were through. Why didn’t he? Why had he stayed? Why did he want to hang on? And then suddenly she knew. The baby. That was what he wanted. A son.

She smiled to herself then. It was funny really. For the first time in their nearly twenty years together, she had the upper hand. She had the one thing he wanted. His son. Or even a daughter, now that Pilar was gone. But Marc wanted her child. It was mad really. He could have had a baby with that girl, since he appeared to hang on to her too. But for some reason he had not. It amused her. In a way she had him now. By the throat. She could leave him, or stay. She could make him pay. Maybe she could even force him to get rid of the girl. Or pretend to, as he had. He had let her think the affair was over, but it very clearly was not. With a sigh she sat up in the chair and opened her eyes. She had been living with her eyes closed for too many years. Silently she walked out of the room and down the stairs of the darkened house. She found herself in the living room, sitting in the dark and looking out at the lights on the bay. It would be strange not being there anymore, leaving this house-leaving him. It would be frightening to be alone, to have no one to take care of her, or the new child. It would all be terrifying and new. But it would be clean. It wouldn’t be lonely in the same way… It wouldn’t be a lie. She sat there, alone, until dawn. Waiting for him. She had made up her mind.

It was just after five when she heard his key turn in the lock. She walked softly to the door of the living room and stood there, a vision in white satin.

“Bonsoir.” She said it to him in French. “Or should I say bonjour?” The first light of day was streaking pink and orange into the sky over the mirror-flat bay. For once there was no fog. The first thing she saw about him was that he was drunk. Not disgustingly so, but enough.

“You’re already up?” He tried to hold himself steady, but he pitched forward slightly and steadied himself on the back of a chair. He looked uncomfortable to have to be talking to her at all. “It’s terribly early, Deanna.”

“Or terribly late. Did you have a good time?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd. We sat in the board room until four o’clock. And then we had drinks. To celebrate.”

“How wonderful.” Her voice was like ice. He stared at her, as if hoping to find the key. “What were you celebrating?”

“A new… deal.” He almost said “coat,” but caught himself just in time. “A fur trade arrangement with Russia.” He looked pleased with himself and then smiled at his wife. Deanna did not smile back.

She looked like a statue. “It was a very beautiful coat.” The words fell between them like rocks.

“What do you mean?”

“I think we both know perfectly well what I mean. I said it was a beautiful coat.”

“You’re not making sense.” But his eyes seemed to waver from her gaze.

“I believe I am. I saw you tonight with your friend. I gather this is a lasting affair.” She looked wooden as she stood there, and he spoke not at all. After a moment he turned away from Deanna and looked out at the bay.

“I could tell you that she was passing through.” He turned to face her again. “But I won’t. These have been difficult times for me. Pilar… worries with you…”

“Does she live here now?” Deanna was relentless with those enormous green eyes.

He shook his head. “No, she’s only been here for a few weeks.”

“How nice. Am I to accept this as part of my future, or will you eventually make a choice? I imagine she asks you the same questions. In fact right now I daresay the choice could be mine.”

“It could.” For a moment he seemed to be wavering again, then he stood up very straight. “But it won’t be, Deanna. You and I have too much at stake.”

“Really? What?” But she knew exactly what he meant. They had nothing at stake anymore though. After tonight the baby was hers. Not theirs. Hers.

“You know exactly what. Our child.” He tried to look tender but he only glared. “That means everything to me. To us.”

“Us? You know what, Marc, I don’t even believe there is an ‘us.’ There is a you and a me, but there is no ‘us.’ Your only ‘us’ is with that girl. I could see that in your face tonight.”

“I was drunk.” For a moment desperation crept into his eyes. Deanna saw it, but she no longer cared.

“You were happy. You and I haven’t been happy with each other in years. We cling to each other out of habit, out of fear, out of duty, out of pain. I was going to leave you the weekend after Pilar died. If I hadn’t found out I was pregnant, I would have. And now that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“I won’t let you. You’ll starve!” He was angry now, and there was a vicious light suddenly in his eyes. She wasn’t going to take away the one thing he cared about now-the child.

“I don’t need you to survive.” They were words of bravado, and they both knew it.

“What will you do to eat, my darling? Paint? Sell your little sketches to people on the street? Or go back to your own lover?”

“What lover?” Deanna felt as though she had been slapped.

“You think I don’t know, you self-righteous, cheating bitch. You make me speeches about my… activities…” He swayed slightly as he hurled the words at her head. “But you are hardly lily-white yourself.”

She was suddenly pale. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what you think I mean. I left for Athens and you obviously had a little fling. I don’t know with whom and I don’t care, because you’re my wife and that’s my child. I own you, both of you, do you understand?”

Everything inside her raged. “How dare you say that to me! How dare you! You may have owned me before, but you don’t own me now and you never will, and you’ll never own this child. I won’t let you do what you did with Pilar.”

He grinned at her evilly from the stairs. “You have no choice, my dear, the child is mine… Mine, because I chose to accept it, to be its father, to keep you in spite of what you did. But don’t you ever forget that I know. You’re no better than I am, in spite of all your saintly airs. But remember,” his eyes narrowed and he swayed again, “it is I who will keep your child from being a bastard. I’m giving him my name. Because I want him, and not because he’s mine.”

Deanna’s voice was like measured ice. She stood immobile, watching Marc. “The baby isn’t yours then, Marc?”

He bowed awkwardly at her and inclined his head. “Correct.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the woman you resent so greatly is a diabetic, and if I’d gotten her pregnant it could have killed her. I had a vasectomy several years ago.” He stared back at Deanna, satisfied with the disclosure, as Deanna steadied herself unthinkingly on the back of a chair.

“I see.” There was a long silence between them. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I’m tired of lies, and your miserable pathetic face, and your feeling put upon and used and abused by me. I have not abused you, madam. I have done you a favor. I have kept you, and your child, in spite of your appalling behavior. In spite of the fact that you’re an adulteress. And now he’s gone, and you have no one to turn to but me. You are mine.”

“To do with as you choose, is that it, Marc?” Her eyes raged at him, but he was too drunk to see it.

“Precisely. And now I suggest that you take yourself and my son to bed, and I will take myself to bed. I will see you in the morning.” He marched solemnly upstairs, totally unaware of the effect of his admission. Deanna had been freed.

The door to the back of the house, behind the kitchen, had been locked, and she had the key. She had called Kim and asked her to rent a car-a station wagon. She would explain later. She had had the grocery store deliver a dozen boxes. The equipment in her studio went easily into three. Her photographs and albums fit in five. The paintings were all neatly stacked next to the back stairs. Six suitcases waited to be packed. She picked up the phone and asked Margaret for her help. She would not do this alone. She had been working in her studio since six, and it was almost nine. She knew that Marc had probably already left the house. He didn’t follow her to her studio after she left their room, and the silence in the house had been deafening. The end had come quietly, in silence. Now she could put away the past. In a dozen boxes and a few valises. She was leaving him everything else. It was all his. The furniture from France; the paintings; the rugs; and the silver, which had been his mother’s, almost all of it sent from France. All that she had collected over the years was in her studio-art books, brushes, paints, a few trinkets, some bits and pieces that she liked but were worth nothing. She had her clothes. And the jewelry she would take too. She would sell it to eat, until she found a job. She was taking all her paintings, they meant nothing to him, and she could sell those too. All except the one of herself and Pilar. That was not a painting to sell, it was a treasure of a lifetime. The rest he could have. He could have it all.

She unlocked the door at the foot of the studio stairs and hesitantly made her way through the house. What if he was still there? If he was waiting? If he knew what she was going to do and how soon? But it didn’t matter now. He couldn’t stop her. He had told her what she needed to know last night. The baby wasn’t his, it was Ben’s. And he had known all along. But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.

“Margaret, is…?” She wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“He left for the office at half past eight.” Margaret’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Mrs. Duras, you’re not… Oh, don’t leave us, don’t go…”

It was the speech that should have been made by Marc, except that he already knew he had lost and he was too drunk the night before to follow through on his fears. He must have figured that if he slept it off and let her hide in her studio, he could come home with a handsome piece of jewelry, an apology, and a lie, and all would be well again. Not this time. Deanna put an arm around Margaret.

“I have to. But you’ll come and see me.”

“I will?” The old woman looked crushed; Deanna smiled at her through her own tears. She was crying for herself now, not for him.

The doorbell rang as they finished the second suitcase. Deanna jumped, startled, and for a moment Margaret looked like she might panic, but Deanna sped down the stairs and discovered that it was Kim.

“I got the biggest station wagon they had. It looks like a boat.” She tried to smile but saw that Deanna was not in the mood. There were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were rimmed with red. “Looks like it must have been a great night.”

“The baby’s not his.” It was the first thing she could think of to say, and then suddenly she was smiling at Kim. “It’s Ben’s, and I’m so glad.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” For a moment, Kim didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but somehow she felt immensely relieved. Deanna was free. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re leaving?”

“Yes. Now.”

“I had a suspicion it was something like that. Because of the baby?” They were still standing at the door. Deanna started slowly toward the stairs.