Loving (12 page)

"Not a chance, so don't start counting on using that as an excuse."

He went back to his paper, and Bettina went upstairs to get dressed. She had wanted to tell him about her dinner with Anthony, but suddenly it didn't seem quite right. She was always careful not to make him feel jealous, even though they both knew he had no reason to be.

Three quarters of an hour later Bettina was wearing gray slacks and a beige cashmere sweater, brown suede boots, and a silk scarf the same color as her hair. Ivo had just come upstairs in his robe.

"What are you doing today, darling?" She had the urge to slip her hands under his robe. But he was looking at his watch and hadn't noticed the look in her eye.

"Oh, God, I have a board meeting at the paper in half an hour. And I'm going to be late." That took care of the morning.

"And after that?" She looked hopeful.

"Lunch with my fellow board members. Another meeting. And then home."

"Damn. By then I'll have left for the theater."

His eyes were both wistful and tender. "Want to quit the play?" But she shook her head emphatically.

"No!" And then in a childlike voice she explained, "It's just that I miss you so much now that we're back in the States and I'm working. In Europe we were together all the time, and now suddenly it feels like we never see each other anymore." He was touched by the remorseful tone in her voice and he reached out to hold her.

"I know." And then after stroking her hair for a few minutes, he lifted her face up toward his and kissed her lips. "I'll see what I can do about not scheduling so many lunches. Want to take another trip?"

"I can't, Ivo ... the play."

"Oh, for--" There was fire for a moment, and then it subsided with the wave of a hand. "All right, all right." But then he turned to her more seriously. "Don't you think after all these years you've absorbed enough to write something of your own? Really, darling, I have visions of you turning eighty-seven and still hobbling down to work the curtain for some off-off-Broadway play."

"I don't work off-off-Broadway." She looked insulted, and he laughed.

"No, you don't. But don't you think you've done it for long enough? Think of it, we could go away now for six months and you could write your play."

"I'm not ready." She seemed terrified at the thought, and he wondered why.

"Yes, you are. You're just afraid, darling. But there's no reason to be. You're going to write something marvelous when you finally do it."

"Yes, but I'm just not ready, Ivo."

"All right. Then don't complain that you never see me. You're down at that damn theater all the time." It was the first time that he had complained of it, and Bettina was surprised by the quick anger in his tone.

"Darling, don't say that." She kissed him, and his voice was gentler when he spoke again.

"Silly girl. I love you, you know."

"I love you too." They held each other for a moment, but then he had to leave.

At the theater everything was already bustling, people were hurrying everywhere, and the stars of the show had begun to arrive. Bettina saw Anthony walking around backstage in jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and his red cap.

"Hi, Beit." He was the only member of cast or crew who insisted on shortening her name.

"Hello, Anthony. How's everything?"

"Insane. They want to make more changes." It was a new play and last-minute rewrites were to be expected. He didn't look especially perturbed. "I wanted to ask you to dinner again, but I couldn't find you."

She smiled easily. "I brought a sandwich from home."

"Made by your mother?" Bettina laughed but she couldn't very well tell him No, made by our maid. Instead she only shook her head. "Any chance I can induce you to join me for coffee a little later?"

"Sorry, not tonight." She had to get home to Ivo. She didn't want to stay out too late. Only once or twice in years of working in the theater had she gone out after hours with the crew. Last night was enough.

He shot her a disappointed look and disappeared.

She didn't see him again until after the show. He found her setting lights and overseeing the routine house cleanup before she went home.

"What did you think of the changes, Bettina?" He looked at her with interest and sat down on a stool, and she paused for a moment before answering, her eyes narrowed, reliving the scenes in her head.

"I'm not sure I like them. I don't think they were necessary."

"That's what I thought. Weak. I told you, writers are fucking paranoids."

She smiled at him again. "Yeah. Maybe so."

"Can I lure you out now for that cup of coffee?" But she shook her head.

"Maybe another time, Anthony. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Hubby waiting?" He sounded flip as he said it, and she squarely met his eyes.

"I hope so." He looked irritated, and as Bettina put her coat on she was irritated too. He had no right to be annoyed that she wouldn't go out with him. No right at all. It bothered her that he had looked aggravated, but she was strangely afraid that he wouldn't ask again. She picked tip her handbag, jammed on her hat, and walked out the door. Screw Anthony Pearce. He didn't mean anything to her.

She walked briskly down the street toward the corner, feeling the wind whistle past her ears. She hastened toward the waiting limousine, grabbed the door handle, and put one foot inside, only to hear a voice behind her. She turned in astonishment. It was Anthony standing behind her, his collar turned up, the red cap on his head.

"Can you give me a lift?"

Despite the cold, she felt herself flush with embarrassment. He was the first person in six years who had discovered her getting into the car. And all she could think of to say was "Oh."

"Come on, love, I'm freezing me arse off. And there aren't any cabs." There was a fine mist of snow starting to filter into the air. And he had seen her now, so what did it matter? She looked at him for a moment, and then answered tersely.

"All right" She climbed in and he got in beside her, and she turned to him, annoyed at his pushiness. "Where do you want me to drop you off?" He seemed unperturbed by the embarrassment he had caused her. The address he gave her was in SoHo.

"I have a loft. Want to come up and see it?" She grew angry again at how persistent he was.

"No, thank you, I don't."

"Why so angry?" And then with a smile he looked at her admiringly. "But I must say, love, it becomes you."

In rapid irritation she raised the window between the driver and them. And then she looked at him hotly. "May I remind you that I'm a married woman?"

"What difference does that make? I didn't say anything out of line. I didn't tear off your clothes. I didn't kiss you in front of the chauffeur. All I did was ask for a ride. Why so touchy? Your old man must be jealous as hell."

"No, he's not, and that's none of your damn business either. I just ... it's just that ... oh, never mind." She sat in steaming silence as they drove south toward his loft. When at last they reached it, he held out a friendly hand.

"I'm sorry to have upset you, Bettina." His voice was gentle and boyish as he spoke. "I really didn't mean to." And then hanging his head, "I'd like to be your friend."

As she looked at him something about him cut straight to her soul. "I'm sorry, Anthony ... I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that no one has ever ... I felt so awkward about the car ... I'm really so sorry. It isn't your fault."

He kissed her cheek gently--a friendly kiss. "Thanks for that." And then hesitantly, "Will you slap me if I offer you a cup of coffee just one more time?" He looked so earnest, so anxious, that she didn't dare refuse. But she wanted so much to get home to Ivo. Still ... she had been very sharp with the young English actor.

She sighed and nodded. "Okay. But I can't stay long." She followed him up an endless narrow staircase as her car waited downstairs, and at last when she thought they must have walked to heaven, he unlocked a heavy steel door, and on the other side was revealed to her an apartment filled with charm. He had painted clouds on the ceiling, filled corners with wonderful tall, leafy trees; there were campaign chests and Oriental objects, straw mats and small rugs, and huge comfortable chairs upholstered in a soft blue. It was more than an apartment, it was a haven, a piece of country, a garden in an apartment, a cloud riding in a pale-blue summer sky. "Oh, Anthony, it's wonderful." Her eyes widened with pleasure as she looked around.

"Do you like it?" He looked at her innocently again, and they both smiled.

"I adore it. How did you put all this together? Did you bring it from London?"

"Some of it, and some of it I just threw together here." But nothing about it looked thrown together. It was a beautiful place. "Now, cream or sugar?"

"Neither, thank you. Black."

"That must be how you stay so thin." He glanced appreciatively at her narrow and dancer-graceful body as she let herself down in one of the blue chairs.

He was back in a few minutes with two steaming cups and a plate of cheese and fruit.

It was one thirty when she finally ran panic-stricken down the stairs to her car. What would Ivo say? And suddenly, this time, she was praying that he was asleep. As it turned out, her prayers were answered. He had waited till midnight, and then fallen asleep in their bed. Bettina felt a wild pang of guilt as she watched him, and then wondered why. All she had done was have coffee with a member of the cast. What harm could there be in that?

"Did he beat you?" Anthony teased.

"Of course not. He's wonderful and understanding. He doesn't do things like that."

"Good. Then let's have coffee again sometime. As a matter of fact how about dinner tonight before the show?"

"We'll see." She was purposely vague. She wanted to call Ivo. Maybe they could have dinner quickly somewhere nearby. She hadn't even seen him this morning. When she'd woken up, he was gone. He had left her a note that he had an early appointment. She was beginning to feel that they never saw each other and she didn't like it at all.

But when she called Ivo, he wasn't home. Mattie said he had called to say he'd be out for dinner, and Anthony seemed to be waiting behind her to use the pay phone. He heard the entire conversation despite her best efforts to be discreet, and when she hung up, he smiled disarmingly.

"Can I stand in for dinner, Bettina?"

She was going to say no, but in the face of those blue eyes she found herself saying "Sure." They wound up going somewhere for soup and a sandwich, and talking more about the play. And then almost imperceptibly he switched the conversation to her. He wanted to know everything about her, where she came from, where she lived, even where she'd gone to school as a girl. She told him about her father, whose work he knew. He seemed fascinated by every detail she told him. At last they walked back to the theater, and they went their separate ways. But he found her quickly after the performance as she was preparing to leave. She had a feeling he was going to ask her for a lift again, so she hurried out to the car.

At home she found Ivo waiting up. They chatted for half an hour about their respective days, and at last went upstairs. Bettina undressed slowly as they talked.

"I feel as though I've hardly seen you lately." He looked at her with regret, but no reproach.

"I know." She looked mournful, but he was quick to walk to her side. And a moment later he was helping her to undress, and then quickly he followed her to the bed. Their lovemaking was slow and gentle and fulfilling, but as they lay quietly afterward Bettina found herself longing for their first fire. She turned to Ivo slowly, wanting to see a look of fresh passion lingering in his eyes. And instead she found him sleeping, his face turned to her and a small smile on his mouth. She lay on one elbow for a long time, watching him, and gently she kissed him on both eyes, but as she did so she realized her mind had strayed to Anthony, and relentlessly she dragged it back to the man at her side.

The friendship with Anthony continued to flourish as the success of the play went on. They had sandwiches together now and then backstage, and occasionally she had coffee with him in his loft. Several times a week he brought her small bouquets of flowers, but they were always presented to her casually, as though they meant nothing more than that he was her friend. Once or twice she tried to bring it up casually with Ivo, but it somehow never sounded quite right.

It was in the dead of winter when Ivo went back to see the play, as though he also needed to be there, to see, to try to reach out and grasp something that was nagging at the back of his mind. He had timed his entrance into the darkened theater perfectly, sitting anonymously in the next-to-last row. And then, as the curtain rose and he watched him, he thought he knew. Anthony had the grace of a long sleek black leopard, moving hypnotically through the motions of his part. Ivo barely heard the words he was speaking. He only watched him, and then, with a terrible sensation of betrayal and aching, he understood. The betrayal was not Bettina's, but that of the hands of time he had fought for so long.

It wasn't until spring that Bettina looked troubled. She had come home late one night, looking disturbed, and Ivo watched her, not sure whether to ask questions or leave her alone. Something was obviously bothering her, but for the first time in their marriage she didn't want to talk. She stared at Ivo absently, and eventually wandered upstairs alone. He found her staring out at the city from the terrace, frowning, with her hairbrush hanging useless in her hand.

"Something wrong, darling?"

But Bettina shook her head vaguely. "No." And then suddenly she turned to him, with a look of terror in her eyes. "Yes."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, Ivo...." She sat down on a garden chair and stared at him, her eyes huge and luminous in the dark. Behind her was the soft light of the apartment, which caught the rich auburn glow of her hair. He thought that she had never looked more lovely, and he dreaded what she might have to say. All winter he had had a feeling of foreboding, and all winter he had been so dreadfully tired. It made him wonder sometimes if retiring had been a mistake. He had never felt that way while he had still worked.