Summer's End (30 page)

“Were you asleep?” Her voice sounded intense even across six thousand miles.

“Almost. I just woke up.” Ben settled back in bed with a smile. “When are you coming home?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and fought back tears in answer. “Soon.”
With Marc—and his baby.
She felt a sob lodge in her throat. “I miss you terribly.” The tears started to roll, silently, down her face.

“Not as much as I miss you, darling.” He listened, trying to hear. There was something she wasn’t saying, something he didn’t understand. “Are you all right?” He knew she would still be distraught over Pilar, but she sounded as though there was something more. “Are you? Answer me!”

She was saying nothing, only standing in the booth, in silence, in tears.

“Deanna? Darling? … Hello?” He listened intently. He was sure she was still there.

“I’m here.” It was a sad little croak.

“Oh, darling….” He frowned and then smiled. “How about if I come over? Any chance of that?”

“Not really.”

“How about next weekend in Carmel? It’s Labor Day weekend. Think you’ll be back?”

It was light years away. She was about to say no, then stopped. Next weekend in Carmel. Why not? Marc would be in Greece. If she left tonight, they would have until the end of the weekend, and maybe even one more day before he got back. Together. In Carmel. And then it would be over, as they had foreseen. The end of the summer would have come. Her mind raced. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“You will? Oh, baby … what time?”

She made a rapid calculation in her head. “About six o’clock tomorrow morning. Your time.” She stood in the booth, suddenly beaming through her tears.

“Are you sure?”

“I certainly am.” She told him the airline. “I’ll call you if I can’t make that plane, but otherwise, count on it.” And then as she laughed into the phone, she felt tears sting her eyes again. “I’m coming home, Ben.” How long it seemed since she’d left. It had only been a week.

That night she left a note for her mother-in-law. She explained only that she had been called back to San Francisco, that she was sorry to leave in such a rush. And, incidentally, she had felt an irresistible need to reclaim her portrait of herself and Pilar. She was sure her mother-in-law would understand. She instructed the maid to tell Marc, when he called, that she was out. That was all. That would buy her a day at least. But there was nothing he could do. He had to finish up in Greece. She thought about it on the plane on the way home. Marc would leave her alone for a week. There was no reason why he should not. He would be annoyed that she had flown home from Paris, but that was all. She was free now. For one more week. It was all she could think of.

An hour before they landed she could hardly sit still in her seat. She felt like a very young girl. Even the occasional waves of nausea didn’t dampen her mood. She would just sit very still for a few minutes and close her eyes, and the nausea would pass. She kept her mind on Ben.

She was one of the first off the plane in San Francisco, after it had seemed to drift down through the clouds, racing the sun as everything around it turned pink and gold. It had been a splendid morning, but even that wasn’t enough to take her mind off Ben. He was all she could think of as the plane finally ground to a halt at the gate, and she waited impatiently to be released from her seat. She was already wearing a half-smile, as she shrugged on the black velvet jacket over white slacks and a white silk shirt. Her ivory face and ebony hair added to the portrait in black and white. She looked considerably paler than she had when she had left, and her eyes told a multitude of tales, but they danced and sang too as she inched her way toward the door.

Then she saw him, standing there, alone in the terminal at six
A.M.
, waiting for her beyond the customs barrier, with a jacket slung over his arm and a smile on his face. They rushed toward each other as she came through the door, and she was instantly in his arms.

“Oh, Ben!” There were laughter and tears in her eyes, but he said nothing, he only held her close. It seemed an eternity before he pulled away.

“I worried about you terribly, Deanna. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“So am I.”

He searched her eyes but wasn’t quite sure what he saw. One thing he knew was there—pain, but more than that he couldn’t tell. She only reached out to him and held him tightly.

“Shall we go home?”

She nodded, her eyes filled with tears again. Home. For a week.

23

“Are you feeling O.K.?” She was lying back in his bed, with her eyes closed and a small smile on her face. She had been back home for four hours, and in bed with him the whole time. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, but she hadn’t slept all night on the flight from Paris. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the effect of the long flight that he was seeing, or if the week of Pilar’s death had taken an even greater toll than he’d thought. She had shown him the painting when she’d unpacked. “Deanna? Are you O.K.?” He was watching her when she opened her eyes.

“I’ve never felt better in my life.” Her smile told him she meant it. “When do we leave for Carmel?”

“Tomorrow. The day after. Whenever you want.”

“Could we go today?”

There was a tiny thread of desperation woven in there somewhere, but he had not yet discovered where. It troubled him. “We might. I could see what I can work out with Sally. If she doesn’t mind taking on the gallery single-handed while we’re gone, then it’ll be all right.”

“I hope she can.” It was softly spoken, but earnestly said.

“As bad as that?” he asked. She only nodded, and he understood. He went to make breakfast. “Tomorrow it’s your turn.” He sang it out to her from the kitchen, and she laughed as she walked across the room, naked, and stood in the doorway watching him. It didn’t matter now if they made love with Marc-Edouard’s child in her belly. They had been doing it all summer, and she didn’t care. She wanted to make love to Ben. She would need that to remember. “Deanna?”

She smiled and cocked her head. “Yes, sir?”

“What’s wrong? I mean other than the obvious … Pilar. Is there something else?”

She started to tell him that that was enough, but she couldn’t lie to him.

“Some things came up while I was in France.”

“Anything I should know about?” Like Marc, he was suspicious of her health, she just looked too frail. He eyed her carefully from where he stood.

Slowly, she shook her head. He didn’t need to know about the baby. It would have been different if it had been his.

“What kind of things came up?” His eyes smiled a little as he asked, “Fried or scrambled?”

“Scrambled would be nice.” The thought of fried eggs turned her green, but she could manage scrambled, as long as she didn’t get too strong a whiff of his coffee. “No coffee.”

“How come?” He looked shocked.

“I’ve given it up for Lent.”

“I think you’re six or seven months early.”

Seven months … seven months.
She pulled her mind away from the thought and smiled at his attempt at a joke.

“Maybe so.”

“So? What’s up?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She came into the kitchen and put her arms around him, leaning into his back. “I don’t know … I don’t know. I just wish my life were a little bit simpler.”

“And?” He turned in her grasp and faced her as they both stood naked in front of his kitchen stove.

“I love you, that’s all.” Dammit, why did it have to be now? Why did she have to tell him so soon? Her eyes filled with tears, but she forced herself to look at him. She owed him that. “And … things aren’t going to work out as easily as I thought.”

“Did you really think it would be easy?” His eyes never left hers.

She shook her head. “No. But easier than it is.”

“And how is it?”

“I can’t leave him, Ben.” There. She had said it. Oh, God, she had told him. She looked at him for an endless time, tears filling her eyes.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t. Not now.”
And not even later, not once I’ve had his child. Call me in another eighteen years….

“Do you love him, Deanna?”

Once again, she shook her head. “I thought I did. I was sure of it. And I know I did once. I suppose I still love him in a way. He has given me something for eighteen years, in his own way. But it’s— it’s been over for years. I just didn’t understand that until this summer. I understand it even better now, after this week.” She paused for a breath, then went on. “There were even times, with you, when I wasn’t sure if I should leave him or not. I didn’t know. It seemed as though I had no right. And I also thought that maybe I still loved him.”

“And you don’t?”

“No.” It was a small choking sob. Finally she looked away and wiped her face with her hands. “I only realized it a few days ago. Something happened … and I knew.”
Because I don’t want his baby, Ben, I want yours!

“Then why are you staying with him? Because of Pilar?” He was strangely calm as he spoke to her, almost like a father speaking to a child.

“That and other reasons. It doesn’t matter why. I just am.” She looked at him in agony again. “Do you want me to go?” But he only stared at her, then silently left the room. She heard him in the living room for a moment, and then heard him slam the bedroom door as hard as he could. She stood in the kitchen for a time, wondering, stunned. She knew she had to leave now. There would be no Carmel. But all her clothes were locked up with him, in his room. She had no choice except to stay until he came out. At last he did, an hour later. He stood in the doorway, looking red-eyed and distraught. For a moment she wasn’t quite sure if he was insanely angry or simply upset.

“What exactly were you telling me, Deanna? That it’s over?”

“I… no … I… oh, God!” For a moment she thought again that she might faint, but she couldn’t, not now. She took two deep breaths and sat down on the edge of the couch, her long, slim, bare legs hanging gracefully to the floor. “I have a week.”

“And then what?”

“I disappear.”

“Into that lonely life again? Into a life by yourself? In that mausoleum you lived in, and without even Pilar now? How can you do that to yourself?” He looked tormented.

“Maybe it’s just what I have to do, Ben.”

“I don’t understand.” He was about to walk back into his bedroom, but he stopped, turning to face her. “Deanna, I told you … I said it could just be for the summer and … I’d understand. That was what I said. I have no right to change that now. Do I?”

“You have every right to be furious, or very, very hurt.”

She saw tears well up in his eyes and felt them well up in her own, but he never wavered as he watched her.

“I’m both. But that’s because I love you very much.”

She nodded, but she could no longer speak. She only walked back into the circle of his arms. It seemed hours before either of them let go.

“Shall we go to Carmel today?” He was lying on his stomach, looking into her face. She had just awakened from a three-hour nap, and it was almost five. He had never gone to the gallery—he had explained that he’d be gone all week and Sally would have to hold her own. “What do you really want to do?”

“Be with you.” She said it solemnly but with a small happy smile in her eyes.

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Then let’s go to Tahiti.”

“I’d rather go to Carmel.”

“Seriously?” He ran a finger down her thigh. She smiled.

“Seriously.”

“O.K., then let’s go. We can have dinner down there.”

“Sure. It’s two o’clock in the morning, Paris time. By the time we have dinner, I’ll be ready for breakfast.”

“Jesus. I wasn’t thinking about that. Do you feel half dead?” She was looking very tired but she seemed to have more color now.

“No, I feel fine, and happy, and I love you.”

“Not half as much as I love you.” He took her face in his hands and pulled her closer. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and touch her, and have all of her that he could for the few days they had left. Then he thought of something. “What about your work?”

“What about it?”

“Will we still work together at the gallery? Will we still represent you—will I?” He wanted her to be incensed, to answer “of course,” but for a long moment she said nothing. Then he knew.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to see.” But how could they? How could she go to see him at the gallery in a few months, when she would be swollen with Marc-Edouard’s child?

“It’s all right,” he said. “Never mind.”

But the look of pain in his eyes now was too much for her to bear. She burst into tears. She seemed to be doing that a lot.