Love under contract (8 page)

Zara gathered her books together, and an application to a doctoral program at Harvard fell out of the pile. Before she could push it out of the way, Gregor snatched the form. “You want to go back to Harvard?” he asked. She was ambitious, which he already knew. It impressed him more than he would have liked, and his heart began to beat significantly faster.

She took the piece of paper away from him. “That’s none of your business!” What was he doing here anyway, where was his girlfriend, he should be taking care of her, since she obviously needed a lot of care and was so hungry – for a lot more than food.

“I always thought that you were happy being an attorney,” he said then. He had an inkling that she wanted to leave because Goodmann had clipped her wings in the case against him, which she didn’t comprehend or didn’t want to, and in a way he could understand.

He picked up one of the heavy books again. Strangely, bound books always reminded him of his childhood. His parents’ house was always full of books. Books were everywhere; they were even scattered in the kitchen because his father was often very absent-minded and left them lying around all over.

Zara noticed how pensive he became as he was looking at the book. “Is your father really religious?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine such a thing, as she saw him sitting there half naked, with a great tan.

Gregor looked up and gazed at her, reflective. “Yes, very, in fact. My father is a rabbi, as was my grandfather. He teaches in Germany.” Why is he telling her this, he asked himself, immediately upon saying the words.

Zara leaned against the side of the boat, and he could see that she was taken aback, probably because he looked nothing like what she imagined a rabbi’s son should.

“Shocked?” he asked and had to smile. She couldn’t have been more disconcerted than he had been earlier. “That’s why you also speak Hebrew,” Zara murmured. Gregor smiled but said nothing. This girl had two faces and there it was again, this feeling, this pounding heart, when he looked into her serious green eyes. He didn’t have this strange feeling with Catherine, with any woman.

“Your father must have been disappointed when you became a model,” Zara said finally, and tried to imagine him as a little Jewish boy, which she found difficult.

“More than that, believe me.” Zara took the book from him, lightly touching his hand, and he flinched. “Or would you like to read it?” Gregor shook his head and grinned, “No, that’s not for me.”

Zara stuffed her Notebook into her bag. “Antonio is cooking pasta – we should go.” She got up and looked down on Gregor, who remained seated and seemed to be lost in thought. “Don’t you want to eat?” Zara asked again. What was going on with him?

Gregor thought about his parents who now lived in Jerusalem, and he always had a guilty conscience because he had the feeling that they would not approve of the life that he had chosen. They’d probably have contempt for it, as if all that he had done had been a failure, and everything he had achieved was nothing in their eyes. But a woman like Zara would certainly not understand that.

The next day Zara avoided Gregor until late in the afternoon when the storm-warnings came and everyone began to prepare frenetically, except Catherine. Zara remembered the sailing-trip with Marc and panicked a little, but kept her feelings to herself. She only gave Marc a look -- he had also become a little pale, and was feverishly searching the nautical chart in an effort to locate the closest island, but found none.

Catherine only noticed that bad weather was arriving as the boat was noticeably rocking and Zara handed her a life-jacket. “Why do I need this?” she asked, frightened. Zara laughed. “In case we drown!” “You have to have it,” Gregor interrupted and looked at Zara accusingly. She really mustn’t cause Catherine to panic.

“What?” Catherine looked at Gregor, frightened. “Oh, her highness is exaggerating.” Zara laughed and shrugged her shoulders. She had changed her clothes in the meantime, and had Capri-pants and a T-shirt on, with her boat shoes and life-vest within reach nearby.

Gregor took Catherine into the cabin and calmed her down. When he returned, Zara was standing in front of the radio equipment and had accessed some kind of weather station which gave her information regarding the direction the storm was taking. “That was really unnecessary. Catherine has never been sailing before and becomes easily frightened anyway,” he said reproachfully when Zara had ended her conversation. Zara laughed. “I have tranquilizers in the cabin, perhaps we should give her some. The Coast Guard has just told me that it’ll be pretty severe.” Gregor sighed. “That’s just great – I’ll never get her on another sailboat!” But he also had to laugh. “And you’re not afraid?” he asked Zara, who was looking at the turbulent sea and watched the black on-coming clouds.

“Hey, I’m a descendent of warriors who were at the front of the brigade, leading it into war. And you?” Gregor looked at her. “My ancestors were cut down by such warriors, your ancestors, and I don’t see fear the way you do!” Zara pressed her lips together and said quickly: “They were Huguenots, not Jews!” Gregor laughed; she had an answer for everything.

“But not only,” he added. Did he always have to have the last word? she asked herself. “You really don’t want to argue with me about the sins of my ancestors here and now, do you?” she asked. This little girl, who just about came up to his shoulder, really always wanted to have the last word.

The boat was tossed back and forth thoroughly, the waves pounded higher and higher, and Zara was afraid, really afraid, as the first wave sloshed over the boat, but she didn’t show it, she was too proud. Catherine was asleep, she had taken the pills, which everyone thought was better for her; otherwise, she would probably have suffered a nervous breakdown.

The storm and the bad weather lasted the whole night through and despite the great amount of coffee she had drunk, she fell asleep, practically on her feet, at some point. Antonio wanted to carry her to her stateroom, but Gregor took her from him and smiled. Antonio understood. He wasn’t blind; he had noticed for some time how Gregor looked at his step-daughter when he thought she wasn’t looking.  And he seemed to enjoy the arguments with his step-daughter more than they annoyed him.

Gregor took her in his arms and lifted her up. In her sleep, she put her arms around his neck. She was wet from the saltwater, and strands of her hair had come loose and now curled around her face.

She was so light, he thought. He laid her on her bed and covered her with a blanket, and she murmured something, but slept on. He couldn’t resist bending over, to stroke her hair and to gently caress her lips with his finger. How soft her lips were! He had always liked challenges, otherwise he wouldn’t have become so rich and successful, and this was by far not the end, he wanted much more. He saw her sleeping, those beautiful girlish features that magically attracted him, and he knew that she was a part of what he still wanted. She was such a challenge! He wanted her and  admitted it to himself here for the first time.

Other women were easy to get, much too easy; with the usual tricks he got every one that he ever wanted. But this young woman was different, completely different, he just didn’t know yet how he would do it, but she would lie in his arms. Not just for one night; with this woman he could imagine much more. Since he had known her, she attracted him like a magnet, even if he shielded himself against it.

Zara had not slept so soundly or so long for quite some time. When she awakened, the sun was already shining, and as she looked out of the porthole, she saw an island. There were still a few dark clouds in the sky and the ocean was still somewhat restless, but it was no comparison with last night. How did she get to her cabin? She was still wearing her Capri-pants.

Antonio found her in a good mood at breakfast. “Antonio, how did I actually get to bed yesterday?” she asked. “I brought you there,” he said and bit into a piece of toast. He wanted to avoid unnecessary questions, because he sensed that she would become upset if she knew who had really brought her to her cabin.

Catherine came out of her cabin wearing a pretty summer dress and sat down next to Antonio. “Well, the storm wasn’t all that bad,” she said, and looked at them both. Antonio laughed. “No, it wasn’t.”

The island actually was just a small fishing village, with a couple of bars and and several brightly painted houses. In the evening everyone went to one of the bars that served fish, but prepared only one way.

Catherine and Marc were hungry and made it known quite loudly. Zara thought that the two would soon burst if they continued to eat so much every day.

The sun set on the horizon and after the meal a bottle of rum was placed on the table. Catherine, who was sitting next to Zara, looked at it. “I don’t like this stuff,” she mumbled. Even the thought of drinking it disgusted Zara too.

Catherine leaned over and gave Gregor a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to take a little walk.” She got up and took Zara by the hand. “Come with me – let’s get into a little trouble.” Zara smiled. Better than sitting here with a group of men drinking.

The two women disappeared into the darkness; Antonio shouted after them, “Don’t go anywhere with strange men!”

Gregor watched them as they left. Catherine wore a tight white dress and high-heeled sandals, Zara had on flat ballerinas and a red dress, vintage 1950’s, with a petticoat and fitted bodice. She really looked like a young girl. Gregor knew that Catherine was ten years older than Zara, and sometimes one could really tell by looking at her.

As they walked through the village, Catherine held Zara’s hand. She liked her, quite a lot, actually, even if she wasn’t sure what the glances Gregor was tossing in her direction were supposed to mean. While they were walking through the darkness, past the poorly lighted colorful wooden houses, they were quiet for a time, then Catherine suddenly said, “Maybe we can find a place to dance somewhere?” Zara laughed. “Well, then, we’d be very lucky. In this fishing village?!”

They heard music in the distance. “There you are!” Catherine said, and steered her in that direction. “Better than sitting at a table with a group of drunken men.” “One is your boyfriend,” Zara threw in. Catherine shrugged her shoulders. “As always.” Drunk is drunk, Catherine thought.

They stopped in front of a bar in which there were a few couples actually dancing and, accompanied by a guitar, a group of old men sang in a French dialect. Catherine and Zara found two stools that were free and sat down. Without saying anything, a young man put a drink in front of them and smiled. He realized immediately that they had to have come from the harbor; sometimes tourists wandered up here.

“What is that?” Catherine asked Zara. She shrugged her shoulders and tasted it. “Strong, sweet . . . undefinable . . . and it’ll make you drunk.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Catherine asked, curiously. “I don’t have any time for that . . .” “And that senator?” she added. Catherine read the society columns, of course, and had learned that the senator who was possibly the next American president was engaged to Zara. Consequently, she was more than floored that she said she didn’t have a boyfriend. Zara didn’t want to talk about it; she actually had a guilty conscience when she thought about Robert, and so she made a face and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, he’s probably not the right one,” Catherine said; her gestures suggested as much to the actress. She had of course noticed that the subject made Zara uncomfortable.

“Exactly – and is your relationship serious?” Let’s see if it’s all about sex, or not, Zara thought.

Catherine’s face became serious. “On my side, it is . . .” She smiled dreamily. “He is the first man with whom I’d like to have children, with whom I’d like to grow old.” “And so?” It shouldn’t be very difficult to become pregnant with all the sex they were having, Zara thought. “I know, but I think he’s looking for something entirely different,” she said, a little disappointed. “Oh, nonsense, one can bring about decisions,” Zara said, and took a sip of the sweet drink.

Catherine lifted her eyebrows. “Do you really think so?!” Perhaps Zara was right; maybe she should simply confront him with the decision and become pregnant. As a sex-symbol, she should be able to do that!

Antonio, Gregor and Marc drank the native rum – and unfortunately too much of it. Gregor drank because he wanted to forget these women for a while, both Catherine and Zara.

She, the little aristocrat, who always looked at him so arrogantly and who confused him so and made him crazy, and Catherine, who didn’t let him think about anything other than passion and her body.

Antonio drank the rum for another reason, namely his fear of aging, especially when he looked at Gregor, who was almost ten years younger than he. Lately he hadn’t been offered any roles, let alone good ones, and unlike Marc, he didn’t have the charm to play the drunken loser, philosopher, or labor leader, and probably not the ability either, if he were honest with himself. He had always been the Latin lover, and what is an old Latin lover? A tragic figure!

And Marc drank because he enjoyed drinking, because he savored life, and he had already realized that he had drunk the other two under the table and would have to bring them back to the boat with great effort, since the two women had already taken off.

Catherine and Zara were the only ones on the boat who had had enough sleep the next morning. Marc, whom alcohol didn’t bother too much, was, as always, in a good mood, fixed breakfast and made the necessary preparations so that the boat could leave the harbor.

Gregor came to see him in his cabin, pale, and not with just a headache. He regretted having had so much to drink; his stomach hurt; and he hoped that the sea would remain calm. Marc couldn’t stifle a laugh when he saw him, and handed him a glass of water. “You look terrible,” he said. “Thank you, I noticed that too,” Gregor mumbled, took a pill for his headache and washed it down with the water.

“The ladies are already in the sun.” Marc pointed to the deck and Gregor saw the two in their bikinis through the window. “What are they talking about all this time with one another?” Gregor asked loudly. “Probably gossip and fashion, which women usually talk about,” Marc answered. Gregor hoped that Zara wasn’t giving his lovely Catherine any dumb ideas. He believed that the little bitch was capable of anything.