“I have some business to attend to tonight. Maybe another time.” It was a rapid reminder of the meeting with Marion.

“Okay. See ya.” Ben and Jeannette waved and were off, as Nancy stared at Michael.

“You're really going down to see her tonight?”

“Yes. And stop worrying about it. Everything is going to be just fine. By the way, Mother says he's got the Job.”

“Ben?” Nancy looked up questioningly as they started pedaling toward the fair.

“Yes, We start at the same time. Different areas, but we start the same day.” Mike looked pleased. He had known Ben since prep school, and they were like brothers.

“Does Ben know yet?”

Michael shook his head with a secretive smile. “I thought I'd let him get the thrill of hearing the news officially. I didn't want to spoil it for him.”

Nancy smiled back at him. “You're a nice guy and I love you, Hillyard.”

“Thank you, Mrs. H.”

“Stop that, Michael.” She wanted the name too much to hear it bandied about, even by Michael.

“I won't stop it. And you'd better get used to it” He suddenly looked serious.

“I will. When the time is right. But until then, Miss McAllister will do Just fine.”

“For about two more weeks, to be exact. Come on, I'll race ya.”

They sped ahead, side by side, panting and laughing, and Michael reached the entrance to the fair a full thirty seconds before she did. But they both looked tanned and healthy and carefree.

“Well, sir, what's first?” But she had already guessed, and she was right.

“Corn, of course. Need you ask?”

“Not really.” They parked their bikes next to a tree, knowing that in that sleepy countryside no one would steal them, and they walked off arm in aim. Ten minutes later they stood happily dripping butter as they ate their corn, and then they gobbled hot dogs and sipped ice-cold beer. Nancy followed it all up with a huge stick of cotton candy.

“How can you eat that stuff?”

“Easy. It's delicious.” The words were garbled through the sticky pink stuff, but she wore the delighted face of a five-year-old.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” She grinned at him, wearing a faceful of pink candy, and he took out a handkerchief and wiped her chin. “If you'd clean up a little we could have our picture taken.”

“Yeah? Where?” As she gobbled another pink cloud, her nose disappeared again.

“You're impossible. Over there.” He pointed to a booth where they could stick their heads through round holes and have their photographs taken over outlandish outfits. They wandered over and chose Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. And strangely enough, they didn't even look foolish in the picture. Nancy looked beautiful over the elaborately painted costume. The delicate beauty of her face and the precision of its features were perfect with the immensely feminine costume of the Southern belle. And Michael looked like a young rake. The photographer handed them their photograph and collected his dollar.

“I ought to keep that, you two look so good.”

“Thank you.” Nancy was touched by the compliment, but Mike only smiled. He was always so damned proud of her. Just another two weeks and. … but Nancy's frantic tugging on his sleeve distracted him from his daydreams. “Look, over there! A ring toss!” She had always wanted to play that at the fair when she was a little girl, but the nuns from the orphanage always said it was too expensive. “Can we?”

“But of course, my dear.” He swept her a low bow, offered her his arm, and attempted to stroll toward the ring toss, but Nancy was far too excited to stroll. She was almost leaping like a child, and her excitement delighted him.

“Can we do it now?”

“Sure, sweetheart” He put down a dollar and the man at the counter handed her four times the usual allotment of rings. Most customers only paid a quarter. But she was inexperienced at the game, and all her tries fell wide. Michael was watching her with amusement “Just exactly which prize are you trying for?”

“The beads.” Her eyes shone like a child's and her words were barely more than a whisper. “I've never had a gaudy necklace before.” It was the one thing she had always wanted as a child. Something bright and shiny and frivolous.

“You're certainly easy to please, my love. You sure you wouldn't rather have the pink doggie?” It was just like the one Jeannette had had in her basket, but Nancy shook her head determinedly.

“The beads.”

“Your wish is my command” And he landed all three tosses perfectly on target. With a smile, the man behind the counter handed him the beads, and Michael quickly put them around Nancy's neck. “Voilà, made-moiselle. All yours. Do you suppose we should insure them?”

“Will you stop making fun of my beads? I think they're gorgeous.” She touched them softly, enchanted to know they were sparkling at her neck.

“I think you're gorgeous. Anything else your heart desires?”

She grinned at him. “More cotton candy.”

He bought her another stick of cotton candy, and they slowly wended their way back to the bikes.

“Tired?”

“Not really.”

“Want to go on a little further? There's a lovely spot up ahead. We could sit for a while and watch the surf.”

“It sounds perfect.”

They rode off again, but this time more quietly. The carnival atmosphere was gone, and they were both lost in their own thoughts, mostly of each other. Michael was beginning to wish they were back in bed, and Nancy wouldn't have disagreed. They were nearing Nahant when she saw the spot he had chosen at the tip of a land spit, under a lovely old tree, and she was glad they had come this last leg of the trip.

“Oh Michael, it's beautiful.”

“It is, isn't it?” They sat down on a soft patch of grass, just before the narrow lip of sand began, and in the distance they watched long smooth waves break over a reef that lay just beneath the surface of the water. “I've always wanted to bring you here.”

“I'm glad you did.” They sat silently, holding hands, and then Nancy suddenly stood up.

“What's up?”

“I want to do something.”

“Over there, behind the bushes.”

“No, you creep. Not that.” She was already running toward a spot on the beach, and slowly he followed her, wondering what she had in mind. She stopped at a large rock and tried earnestly to move it, with no success.

“Here, silly, let me help you with that. What do you want to do with it?” He was puzzled.

“I just want to move it for a second … there.” It had given way under Michael's firm prodding, and it rolled back to show a damp indentation in the sand. Quickly, she took off the bright blue beads, held them for a moment, her eyes closed, and dropped them into the sand beneath the rock. “Okay, put it back.”

“On top of the beads?”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving the sparkle of blue glass. “These beads will be our bond, a physical bond, buried fast for as long as this rock, and this beach, and these trees stand here. All right?”

“All right” He smiled softly. “We're being very romantic.”

“Why not? If you're lucky enough to have love, celebrate it! Give it a home!”

“You're right. You're absolutely right. Okay, here's its home.”

“Now let's make a promise. I promise never to forget what is here, or to forget what they stand for. Now you.” She touched his hand, and he smiled down at her again. He had never loved her more.

“And I promise … I promise never to say good-bye to you …” And then, for no reason in particular, they laughed. Because it felt good to be young, to be romantic, even to be corny. The whole day had felt good. “Shall we go back now?” She nodded assent, and hand in hand they wandered back to where they had left the bikes. And two hours later, they were back at Nancy's tiny apartment on Spark Street, near the campus. Mike looked around as he let himself fall sleepily onto the couch and realized once again how much he enjoyed her apartment, how much like home it was to him. The only real home he had ever known. His mother's mammoth apartment had never really felt like home, but this place did. It had all Nancy's wonderful warm touches in it. The paintings she had done over the years, the warm earth colors she had chosen for the place, a soft brown velvet couch, and a fur rug she had bought from a friend. There were always flowers everywhere, and the plants she took such good care of. The spotless little white marble table where they ate, and the brass bed which creaked with pleasure when they made love.

“Do you know how much I love this place, Nancy?”

“Yeah, I know.” She looked around nostalgically. “Me, too. What are we going to do when we get married?”

“Take all these beautiful things of yours to New York and find a cozy little home for them there.” And then something caught his eye. “What's that? Something new?” He was looking at her easel, which held a painting still in its early stages but already with a haunting quality to it. It was a landscape of trees and fields, but as he walked toward it, he saw a small boy, hiding in a tree, dangling his legs. “Will he still show once you put the leaves on the tree?”

“Probably. But we'll know he's there in any case. Do you like it?” Her eyes shone as she watched his approval. He had always understood her work perfectly.

“I love it.”

“Then it'll be your wedding present—when it's finished.”

“You've got a deal. And speaking of wedding presents—” He looked at his watch. It was already five o'clock, and he wanted to be at the airport by six. “I should get going.”

“Do you really have to go tonight?”

“Yes. I'll important I'll come back in a few hours. I should be at Marion's place by seven thirty or eight, depending on the traffic in New York. I can catch the last shuttle back, at eleven, and be home by midnight Okay, little worrywart?”

“Okay.” But she was hesitant She was bothered by his going. She didn't want him to, and yet she didn't know why. “I hope it goes all right.”

“I know it will” But they both knew that Marion did only what she wanted to do, listened only to what she wanted to hear, and understood only what suited her. Somehow he knew they'd win her over though.

They had to. He had to have Nancy. No matter what. He took her in his arms one last time before slipping a tie around the collar of the sport shirt he was wearing and grabbing a lightweight jacket on the back of a chair. He had left it there that morning. He knew it would be hot in New York, but he knew, too, that he had to appear at Marion's apartment in coat and tie. That was essential. Marion had no tolerance for “hippies,” or for nobodies … like Nancy. They both knew what he was facing when they kissed good-bye at the door.

“Good luck.”

“I love you.”

For a long time Nancy sat in the silent apartment looking at the photograph of them at the fair. Rhett and Scarlet, immortal lovers, in their silly wooden costumes, poking their faces through the holes. But they didn't look silly. They looked happy. She wondered if Marion would understand that, if she knew the difference between happy and silly, between real and imaginary. She wondered if Marion would understand at all.





Chapter 2




The dining room table shone like the surface of a lake. Its sparkling perfection was disturbed only on the edge of the shore, where a single place setting of creamy Irish linen lay, adorned by delicate blue and gold china. There was a silver coffee service next to the plate, and an ornate little silver bell. Marion Hillyard sat back in her chair with a small sigh as she exhaled the smoke from the cigarette she had just lit. She was tired today. Sundays always tired her. Sometimes she thought she did more work at home than she did at the office. She always spent Sundays answering her personal correspondence, looking over the books kept by the cook and the housekeeper, making lists of what she had noticed needed to be repaired around the apartment and of items needed to complete her wardrobe, and planning the menus for the week. It was tedious work, but she had done it for years, even before she'd begun to run the business. And once she'd taken over for her husband, she still spent her Sundays attending to the household and taking care of Michael on the nurse's day off. The memory made her smile, and for a moment she closed her eyes. Those Sundays had been precious, a few hours with him without anyone interfering, anyone taking him away. Her Sundays weren't like that anymore; they hadn't been in too many years. A tiny bright tear crept into her lashes as she sat very still in her chair, seeing him as he had been eighteen years before, a little boy of six, and all hers. How she loved that child. She would have done anything for him. And she had. She had maintained an empire for him, carried the legacy from one generation to the next. It was her most valuable gift for Michael. Cotter-Hillyard. And she had come to love the business almost as much as she loved her son.