“I'm so sorry, Michael.”

He nodded, and then for the first time in a year, he cried, too. The tears just slid slowly down his face as he took her into his arms.





Chapter 15




“Mike, what do you think of that woman running the Kansas City office of … ” She looked over at him, sprawled out on a deck chair in her garden. He wasn't listening. “Mike.” He was staring at the Sunday paper as they sat in their bathing suits, in the hot New York sun, but Wendy knew he wasn't paying attention to the paper either. “Mike.”

“Hm? What?”

“I was asking you about that woman in the Kansas City office.” But she had already lost him. She stared at him in irritation. “Do you want another Bloody Mary?”

“Huh? Yeah. I think I'll go to the office in a while.” He gazed past her at an invisible spot just beyond her left shoulder.

“Wonderful.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He was watching her now, and he wasn't quite sure what he read in her face. If he'd tried a little harder, he would have understood instantly. But he never tried.

“Nothing.”

“Look, the medical center in San Francisco is going to have me working my ass off for the next two years. It's one of the biggest jobs in the country.”

“And if it weren't that it would be something else. You don't need an excuse. It's okay.”

“Then don't make it sound like I'm punching a time clock around here.” He shoved the paper away with his foot and glared at her as she started to steam.

“Time clock? You got here at twelve thirty last night. We were supposed to have dinner with the Thompsons, and you didn't even call me until nine forty-five, Michael. I should have gone out with them anyway.”

“Then why didn't you? You don't have to sit around waiting for me.”

“No, but I happen to be in love with you, so I do it anyway. But you don't even try to be considerate. What the hell is it with you? Are you afraid to be anywhere but at your desk, afraid someone will get their hooks into you? Are you afraid that maybe you'll fall in love with me, too? Would that be so awful?”

“Don't be ridiculous. You know what my work schedule is like. You should know better than anyone.”

“I do. Which is why I also know that half the hours you work aren't justified. You use your work as a place to hide, a way of life. You use it to avoid me. And yourself.” And Nancy. But she didn't say that.

“That's ridiculous.” He got up and strode around the narrow, well-tended garden, the flagstone walk warm under his feet It was September, but still hot in New York. After the first few happy weeks of their romance, he and Wendy had had an erratic summer. He had spent most of it working, but they managed one weekend away, on Long Island. “Besides, what the hell do you expect from me? I thought we cleared all that up in the beginning. I told you I didn't want to get—”

“You told me you didn't want to get too involved, that you were afraid to be hurt. You weren't sure you'd ever want to get married. You never told me you were afraid to be alive, for Chrissake, afraid to care at all, afraid to be a human being. Jesus, Michael, you spend more time with your dictaphone than you do with me. And you're probably nicer to it.”

“So?”

She felt a little shiver run up her spine as she watched his face. He really didn't care. She was crazy to stay with him. But there was something about him, a beauty, a strength, a wildness to him, a sorrow, that drew her like a magnet. And more than that, she sensed how great his pain was, his need. She wanted to reach out to him, to show him he was loved. But the bitch of it was, he didn't really give a damn. She wasn't Nancy. And they both knew it.

Wendy got up silently and walked into the living room so he wouldn't see the tears bright in her eyes. In the kitchen she poured herself a fresh Bloody Mary and stood there for a moment with her eyes closed, trembling, wishing she could reach out to him and find him there. But she was beginning to think he would never be “there” for her. He wouldn't let himself be there for anyone.

She drained the drink with long steady gulps and set the empty glass down on the counter as she felt his hands float softly over her satiny bronzed skin. She spent every weekend in her garden, getting a suntan, alone. She said nothing as he stood there now, just behind her. She could feel the heat from his body, and she wanted him desperately, but she was tired of his knowing that, and of his being able to have her whenever he liked. Damn it, it was time she made it harder for him.

“I want you, Wendy.” Her whole body ached for him at the words, but she wouldn't let herself. She kept her back to him, hating the gentleness of his hands as they traveled smoothly down her back and over her buttocks and then around and up toward her breasts.

“As you said earlier, 'So?”

“You know I can't deal with that kind of pressure.” His voice was as soft and smooth as her skin.

“It's not pressure, Michael. It's love. The sad thing is you don't know the difference. Is that what it was like with her, too?” She felt the hands stop and the arms grow stiff. But she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to hurt him, too. “Were you afraid to love her, too? Is it easier now that she's dead? Now you don't have to love anyone, and you can spend the rest of your life hiding behind the tragedy of how much you miss her. It certainly takes care of things, doesn't it?” She turned slowly to face him now, and there was hatred brewing in his eyes.

“How can you say a thing like that? How dare you?” For a moment he reminded her of his mother, almost as hard, almost as cold. But not quite. No one could equal Marion. “How dare you twist the things I've told you.”

“I'm not twisting, I'm asking. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry. But I'm beginning to wonder if I am wrong.” She leaned against the counter, staring at him, and then he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. “Michael …”

But he said not a word, he only crushed his mouth down hard on hers, and at the same time tore away the top of her bikini, and then pulled hard at the bottom and it came away instantly in his hand. The little gold clasps at the sides had broken. But by the time Wendy reached the kitchen floor in his arms, she hated herself more than she hated him because she knew in her heart that she wanted to be there. At least he was alive, at least he was making love to her, whatever it took. But it took too much, and she knew it. It was costing a piece of her soul.

As they lay there panting and damp, ten minutes later, Wendy could hear the kitchen clock ticking in the silence. Michael said nothing. He only stared out at the garden, looking strangely sad.

“Are you all right?” He should have been asking her, but she was asking him. The whole affair was crazy, and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Sometimes she wondered what would happen when it was over. Maybe he'd have Ben Avery fire her. She almost expected it “Mike?”

“Hm? Yeah. I … I'm sorry, Wendy. Sometimes I'm really an incomparable ass.” There were tears glistening in his eyes.

“Well, I'm not sure I can argue with you on that one.” She looked up at him with a rueful smile and then kissed the tip of his chin. “But I seem to love you anyway.”

“You could do a lot better, you know.” For the first time in months he looked down at her and really seemed to see her. “Sometimes I hate myself for what I do to you. I just …” He couldn't go on, and she put her finger over his lips.

“I know.”

He nodded silently and stood up as she lay looking up at him from the kitchen floor.

“Michael?”

“Yeah?” His face was softer now than it had been half an hour before. She had done something for him after all.

“Do you still miss her all the time?”

He waited for a long moment, and then nodded, with a look of pain in his eyes. And then, without saying anything more, he went into the bedroom to dress. Wendy got up slowly. She didn't bother with the broken bikini. It had seen a good summer's use anyway, and the little gold clips probably couldn't be fixed. She perched naked on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and thought about what she'd seen in his eyes. When he came back to the kitchen a few moments later, he found her still sitting there, lost in her own thoughts. She looked up in surprise, and then regret as she saw him wearing jeans and a white shirt open at the neck. He had his briefcase in one hand and a sweater in the other. The briefcase told her that he was going to the office after all, in spite of the fact that it was Sunday, and the sweater told her that he would be staying late. None of it was good news to Wendy.

“Will I see you later?” She hated herself for the question. She was asking… begging. Damn his hide. And worse yet, he was shaking his head.

“I'll probably work till two or three in the morning and then go back to my place. I have to dress there in the morning anyway.” The brief gentleness of a few moments before was gone. He was Michael again, running away. She had already lost him in the ten or fifteen minutes since they'd made love. The situation was hopeless, yet she hated to give up. That kind of rejection just made her want to try harder and give more.

“I'll see you in the office tomorrow then.” She tried not to sound miserable, even to smile as she walked him to the door, but she was glad when he left her quickly, with a vague peck on her forehead and without looking back, because when she closed the door she was already crying. Michael Hillyard was a lost cause.





Chapter 16




The countryside flew past them as he floored the accelerator of the black Porsche. It was a delicious feeling, almost like flying, and there was no one else on the road. They took a drive almost every Sunday now. Peter picked her up around eleven, and they drove south as far as they wanted. Eventually they would stop somewhere for lunch, and then walk for a while hand in hand, laugh at each other's stories of the past, and eventually drift back toward home. It was a ritual she had come to love. And in an odd way she was coming to love him. Peter was very special in her life now. He was giving her back all her dreams, along with some new ones.

Today they had stopped near Santa Cruz at a little country restaurant decorated like a French inn. They had had quiche and salade niçoise for lunch, with a very dry white wine. Nancy was getting used to meals like this. It was a long way from New England and county fairs and blue beads. Peter Gregson was a man of considerable sophistication. It was one of the things Nancy liked about him. He made her feel wonderfully worldly, even in her bandages and funny hats. But one could see more of her face now. The whole lower half of her face had been finished. Only the area around the eyes was still heavily taped, and the dark glasses covered most of it Her forehead, too, was for the most part obscured. Yet from what one could see, he had not only wrought a miracle, he had done an exquisite job. Nancy herself was aware of it, and just knowing how she was beginning to look had given her an air of greater self-confidence. She wore her hats at a jauntier angle now and bought more striking clothes, of a more sophisticated cut, than she had worn before. She had lost another five pounds and looked long and sleek, like a beautiful jungle cat. She even played with her new voice now. She liked the new person she was becoming.

“You know, Peter, I've been thinking of changing my name.” She said it with a sheepish little smile over the last of their wine. Somehow it had sounded less foolish when she'd discussed it with Faye. Now she was sorry she'd brought it up. But Peter instantly put her at ease.

“That doesn't surprise me. You're a whole new girl, Nancy. Why not a new name? Has anything special come to mind?” He looked at her fondly as he lit a Don Diego from Dunhil's. She had grown fond of their aroma, particularly after a good meal. Peter was introducing her to all the better things in life. It was a delightful way to grow up. “So, who's my new friend? What's her name?”

“I'm not sure yet, but I've been thinking of Marie Adamson. How does it sound to you?”

He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Not bad … in fact, I like it. I like it very much. How did you come to it?”

“My mother's maiden name, and my favorite nun.”

“My, what an exotic combination.” They both laughed and Nancy sat back with a small, satisfied smile. Marie Adamson. She liked it a lot “When were you thinking of changing it?” He watched her through the thin veil of blue smoke.