The Promise (14 page)

She nodded quietly and followed him back to the car, but her expression wasn't as somber as his, and when they reached her apartment, she turned and looked at him with a smile. “I have something else for you, Peter. I'd like you to come upstairs if you have time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She walked up the stairs ahead of him in silence, and when she opened the door of the apartment, she didn't turn on the lights. She walked straight across the living room, turned her easel away from the window, and then turned on the light. What he saw was her landscape with the boy sitting partially hidden in the foliage of a tree. She had finished it for him before she left on her vacation, but she had been saving it for this day, if not for this moment. He looked at her now as though he didn't understand.

“It's for you, Peter. I started it a long time ago. And I … I finished it for you.”

“Oh darling—” He walked toward it with bright eyes and a gentle look on his face, as though he couldn't believe what she'd done for him. It had been a day filled with emotion and surprises. For both of them. “I can't take that I already have so much of your work. You give it all to me, and then you have nothing left to exhibit.”

“You have photographs, Peter. This is different. This is a sign of my rebirth. It's the first time I've painted again. And… this painting used to mean a great deal to me. I want you to have it. Please.” There were tears in her eyes now, and he walked toward her and took her into his arms.

“It's exquisite. Thank you. I don't know what to say. You've been so good to me.”

“You don't have to say anything.” And then she kissed him in a way that said it all, and this time he was sure, too. He didn't need to ask. He simply walked into the bedroom with her and, trembling with desire, slowly slipped off her clothes. And in the soft light of twilight, with the music of the foghorns bleating softly in the distance, they made love.

Chapter 20

“Darling, can you zip me up?” She turned her graceful ivory back to him, and he kissed her shoulder.

“I would much rather zip you down than up.”

“Now, now, Peter, we don't have time.” Marie looked at him warningly and they both laughed. He was wearing a dinner jacket, and she had just put on a beautifully cut black dress with soft dolman sleeves and a narrow waist in a fabric that allowed one to see her silhouette but nothing more. It was a striking dress, and Peter was suitably dazzled.

“I hate to tell you this, my love, but no one is going to be looking at your work. They're all going to be looking at you.”

“Oh yeah?”

He laughed at her obvious disbelief and straightened the tie he wore with a soft blue shirt and his dinner jacket Together they made a very striking couple.

“Did they hang everything the way you wanted them to? I never got time to ask you.” When he had awakened at eight that morning, she was already gone. But late that afternoon he had arrived at her apartment, and an hour in bed had shown them that they had only begun to feed their hunger for each other. Then they had shared a half hour in the bath, catching up on each other's day. It was almost as though they had lived this way for years.

She smiled at him as she watched him finish dressing. “Yes, they put everything up exactly the way I wanted. Thanks to you. I get the feeling you told them to do it my way ‘or else.’ You or Jacques.” The gallery owner was one of Peter's oldest and closest friends. “I feel thoroughly spoiled. The complete
‘artiste.’”

“That's how you should feel. Your work is going to be very important, darling. You'll see.”

And indeed she did. The reviews in the paper the next day were spectacular. They sat around in her apartment over morning coffee, and grinned at what they read.

“Didn't I tell you?” He looked even more pleased with himself than she did. “You're a star.”

“You're crazy.” She plunked herself on his lap with a grin and rumpled the paper.

“You wait. You'll have every photographer's agent in the country calling you by next week.”

“Darling, you are out of your mind.” But he wasn't too far off. She was getting calls from Los Angeles and Chicago by the following Monday. She couldn't get over it, but she was thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. And she was amused by every phone call she got. Until the call from Ben Avery. It came on a Thursday afternoon, when she was developing some film. She heard the phone ring and she wiped her hands and walked into the kitchen to answer it. She assumed it was Peter. He had said he would call to let her know what time he could see her that evening. He had some kind of meeting scheduled for late afternoon. But she had plenty of darkroom work to keep her busy; there was a veritable avalanche of orders coming in as a result of the show.

“Hello?”

“Miss Adamson?”

“Yes.” She didn't recognize the voice, and the smile she had been wearing for Peter rapidly faded.

“I don't know whether we've met or not, but I met a Miss Adamson the last time I was here. At I. Magnin's. I was doing some Christmas shopping…. I bought some luggage, and …” He felt like a total ass, and for what seemed like an eternity she said nothing.

So it was Ben. Damn. How had he found her? And why had he bothered to?

“I … was that you?”

She was tempted to say no, but why lie? “I believe it might have been.”

“Good. Well, at least we've met. I'm actually calling you because I've just seen your work at the Montpelier Gallery on Post Street. I'm enormously impressed, as is my associate, Miss Townsend.”

Marie was suddenly curious. Was that the girl he had bought the luggage for? But she didn't feel she could ask. Instead she sighed and sat down. “I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Avery.”

“You remember my name!”

Oh, Jesus. “I have a memory for those things.”

“How fortunate for you. I have a memory like a sieve, and in my business that's no asset, believe me. In any case, I'd very much like to get together with you to discuss your work.”

“In what sense?” What the hell was there to discuss?

“We're doing a medical center here in San Francisco, Miss Adamson. It's going to be an enormous project, and we'd like to use your work in every building as the central theme of the decor. We're not quite sure how, but we know we want your pictures. We'd like to work it out with you. This could be the assignment of your career.” He said it with tremendous pride, and he was obviously waiting for a gasp at the other end of the line, a shriek of enthusiasm, anything but what he heard.

“I see. And what firm are you representing?” She waited, holding her breath, but she already knew the answer before he said the words.

“Catter-Hillyard, in New York.”

“Well, no thanks, Mr. Avery, it's just not my speed.”

“Why not?” He sounded stunned. “I don't understand.”

“I don't want to get into it with you, Mr. Avery, but I'm not interested.”

“Can we get together and discuss this?”

“No.”

“But I've already spoken to… I—”

“The answer is no. Thank you for your call.” And then, very quietly, she placed the receiver back into the cradle and walked back to the darkroom door. She wasn't going to do business with them. That was all she needed. She was through with Michael Hillyard. He didn't want her as his wife; she didn't want him as her employer. Or anything else.

The phone rang again before she had closed the darkroom door. She knew it would be Ben again, but she wanted to settle the matter once and for all. She strode back to the phone, picked it up, and almost shouted into it. “The answer is no. I already told you that.” But the voice on the other end was not Ben's, it was Peter's.

“Good God, what have I done?” He was half laughing, half stunned, and Marie felt herself relax at the sound of his voice.

“Oh Christ. I'm sorry, darling. I just had someone call me with an annoying request.”

“As a result of the show?”

“More or less.”

“The gallery shouldn't be giving out your number to crackpots. Why don't they take the messages there?” He sounded upset.

“I think I'll suggest that to Jacques.”

Peter was disturbed at the thought of some crazy calling her. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” But she sounded shaken, and he could hear it.

“Well, I'll be there in an hour. Don't answer the phone till I get there. I'll handle it if anyone calls after that.”

“Thank you, my love.”

They exchanged a few more words and then hung up, and she found herself feeling guilty for not telling him the truth about the call. Ben Avery was no crackpot, he just worked for Michael Hillyard. But she didn't want to tell Peter that that was what had unnerved her. He didn't need to know how shaky she still was on the subject of Michael But she was getting better every day. And fortunately Ben didn't call again that night. He waited until the next morning. And then surprised her again as she got ready to go to work.

“Hi, Miss Adamson. Ben Avery again.”

“Look. I thought we got this thing settled last night. I'm not interested.”

“But you don't even know what you're not interested in. Why not have lunch with my associate and me, we'll talk? It can't hurt, can it?”

Oh yes it can, Ben, oh yes it can. “I'm sorry, I'm busy.” She wasn't giving an inch, and sitting in his hotel room, Ben rolled his eyes at Wendy. It was hopeless. And he couldn't understand why. What the hell did she have against Cotter-Hillyard? It didn't make sense.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Look, Ben … Mr. Avery … I won't do it. I'm not interested. And I don't want to discuss it with you, your associate, or anyone else. Is that quite clear?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I think you're making a huge professional mistake. If you had an agent, he'd tell you just that.”

“Well, I don't. So I don't have to listen to anyone but myself.”

“That's your mistake, Miss Adamson. But we'll keep in touch.”

“It's nice of you to be interested, but really, don't bother.”

“All right, all right. But I'll drop you a card. If you change your mind, call me. Here or in New York. I'll be at the Saint Francis till the end of the month, and then back at my office in New York. There's still plenty of time to discuss this.”

Maybe for you, but not for me. It's two years too late. “I'm afraid I don't agree.” And once again, she hung up. This time she left the phone off the hook when she went back to the darkroom.

Chapter 21

It was a freezing February day as Ben Avery huddled turtlelike in his coat, and ran all the way from the subway exit to his office on Park Avenue. There would be snow by the end of the day—he could feel it in the air—and it seemed as though daylight had barely emerged. It was not quite eight o'clock in the morning. But he had an enormous amount of work to do. This would be his first day back from the coast, and the big meeting with Marion was scheduled for ten thirty that morning. He had mostly good news for her.

There were already a number of people in the lobby of the building and the elevator was almost full as he rode upstairs. Even at that hour, the business world was bustling. After the slower pace of San Francisco, and even Los Angeles, it was a shock to be back in the mainstream again. In Mecca, people started early. But at least there seemed to be no one else at work on his floor when he walked down the long, beigecarpeted, wood-paneled hall to the office Marion had given him when he'd joined the firm. It was smaller and far less handsome than Mike's office, but it was well put together. Marion spared no expense on the offices of Cotter-Hillyard.

Ben looked at his watch as he shrugged out of his coat and rubbed his hands together for a moment to get warm. There was no getting used to the freezing winds and damp cold of New York. Some winters he wondered if he'd ever get warm, and why he put up with it when there were cities like San Francisco, where people lived in a temperate dream world all year long. Even his office felt icy cold. But he had no time to waste. He emptied the contents of his brief-case on his desk, and began to sort through the papers and reports. Everything had gone splendidly. With one minor exception. And maybe something could still be done about that. He looked at his watch again after a few moments, grew pensive, and then decided to give it a try. It would be a major coup if he could come into the meeting with that one last piece of good news.

Ben had brought home a few samples of Marie Adamson's work; he had had to buy them at the gallery. But he had been sure they were worth the investment; once Marion and Michael got a look at her style, and saw just how good she was, Marion herself would probably get into the act, and talk the girl into signing. He smiled at the thought that would have sent shivers up Marie's spine.

He dialed her number and waited. It was an insane thing to do. In San Francisco, it was five fifteen in the morning, but maybe if he could get her half asleep …

“Hello?” She sounded groggy when she answered the phone.

“Uh … Miss … Miss Adamson, I'm terribly sorry to do this to you, but this is Ben Avery in New York. I'm going into a meeting this morning with the head of our firm, and I want more than anything to tell her that you'll work with us on the medical center. I just thought that-—” But he already knew he had done the wrong thing. He could sense it in the silence that overwhelmed him from the other end, and then suddenly she came alive.

“At five o'clock in the morning? You called to tell me about your meeting with … for Chrissake, what kind of crazy business is this? I told you no, didn't I? What the hell do I have to do? Get an unlisted phone number?” As he listened to her, he closed his eyes, partially in embarrassment, and partially because of something else. The voice. It was strange. He didn't know why, but it sounded familiar. And it didn't sound like Marie Adamson. It was higher, younger, and different enough to strike a chord of memory that bothered him. Whom did she sound like? But he couldn't remember. “Haven't you gotten the message yet, for Chrissake?”

Her angry words brought him back to the present and the reality that he was indeed speaking to Marie Adamson, and she was far from pleased with his phone call. “I'm really sorry. I know this was an insane thing to do. I just hoped that—”

“I told you. No. I will not listen to, discuss, consider, ponder, or further speak to you about your lousy medical center. Now leave me alone.” And with that she hung up on him again, and he sat there with the dead phone in his hand, smiling sheepishly.

“Okay, guys. I blew it.” He said the words to himself, or thought he did. He hadn't seen Mike leaning easily in the doorway.

“Welcome home. What did you blow?" Mike didn't look particularly concerned. He looked very pleased to see his friend as he sauntered into the room and sat down in one of the large, comfortable leather chairs. “It's good to see you back, you know.”

“Nice to be back. But it's damn cold in this town. Jesus, after San Francisco, I may never readjust.”

“We'll be sure to keep you on the Southern route from now on, O delicate one.” He grinned at his friend. “And what was that phone call about?”

“The one and only hair in my soup on this trip.” He ran a hand through his hair in irritation and sat back in his chair. “Absolutely everything went the way we wanted. Your mother is going to be in ecstasy over the reports. With one exception. Granted it's a minor problem, but I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“Should I start worrying?”

“No. I'm just pissed. I found an artist. A girl. A marvelous photographer. I mean really a huge talent, Mike, not just some kid with a Brownie. She is brilliant. I saw her current show in San Francisco, and I wanted to sign her for the lobby decor in all the main buildings. You know, the photographic motif we all okayed at the last meeting before I left.”

“And?”

“And she told me to drop dead. She won't even discuss it.” He looked beaten as he said it.

“Why? Too commercial for her?” Mike looked unimpressed.

“I don't even know why. She went into a tailspin from the first time I called her. It just doesn't make any sense.”

But Mike was smiling at him with an expression of cynical amusement. “Of course it makes sense, my naive friend. She's just holding out for big money. She knows who we are, so she figures she'll play hard to get and hit us up for a fat contract. Is she really that good?”

“The best. I brought you some samples of her work. You'll love them.”

“Then maybe she'll get what she wants. Show me later. First, there's something I want to ask you.” Mike looked momentarily serious. This was a subject he'd been meaning to bring up for weeks.

“Anything wrong?” Ben was quick to pick up on his mood.

“No, in fact I feel like a horse's ass even asking you. It shows how out of touch I've been. But… well… is there something between you and Wendy?”

Ben searched his face for a moment before answering. Mike looked curious, but not hurt. Of course, Ben had known about Wendy's affair with Mike. But it was no secret that Mike had never cared about her. Still, Ben found it a little odd picking up his old friend's castoff. This had been the first time it had happened, and he had never been quite sure how Mike would take it when he found out. And the truth was, he and Wendy were in love. They had spent an incredible month together on the business trip to the coast. Wendy had teasingly called it their honeymoon.

“Well, Avery, what's up? You haven't answered my question.” But now there was a small smile playing around Mike's mouth. He already knew.

“I feel like a jerk for not telling you sooner. But the answer is yes. Does it bother you, Mike?”

“Why should it? I'm embarrassed to admit that I … well, I haven't exactly kept up with things. I'm sure Wendy told you how wonderfully attentive I was.” He sounded bitter at the last words, but Ben's tone was gentle in reply.

“She never said anything, except that she thought you weren't a very happy man. That doesn't exactly come as a shock to either of us, pal, does it?” Mike nodded silently. “I didn't move in on your scene with her, Mike. I want you to know that You two had stopped going out for a while. And to tell you the truth, I always did have kind of a soft spot for her.”

“I suspected that when you hired her. She's a hell of a nice girl. Better than I deserved.” And then he smiled again. “And probably better than you deserve too. Hey, wait a minute.” There was pure mischief in his eyes now. “Is this serious by any chance?”

Ben grinned at his friend and then nodded. “I think so.”

“Jesus. You mean it? You're thinking of getting married?” He was stunned. Where had he been? Why hadn't he noticed? Of course, Ben had been away for a month, but still … he hadn't paid attention to things like that in two years. “I'll be goddamned. Married, Avery. Jesus. Are you sure?”

“I didn't say that. But we're thinking about it. I'd say the odds are all for it. Do you have any objections?” But they both knew he was only teasing. The awkward moment was already past.

“No objections whatsoever.” He sat there shaking his head, with a grin on his face. “I feel like I missed a page here and there. Or have you been particularly discreet?”

“No, not at all. You've just been particularly busy. All work and no play. It will make you rich and celebrated in your field, but totally out of touch with office gossip.” Ben was only half teasing, and Mike knew it.

“You could have told me, you jerk.”

“You're right and I'm sorry, and when there's big news to report, I will. Speaking of which, will you be my—” And then he could have bitten off his tongue for what he had started to ask. He had been acting as Mike's best man the night of the accident, and now he had almost asked Mike to be his. “Never mind. There's plenty of time.” Mike stood up, nodded, and went to shake hands with his friend, but there was something dark and hidden in his eyes again. He knew only too well what Ben had been about to say.

“Congratulations, old man.” The smile was genuine, but so was the pain. “And don't worry about the photographer in San Francisco. If she's really as good as you say we'll hit her with a fat contract and a good deal, and she'll give in. She's just playing games.”

“I hope you're right.”

“Trust me. I am.” Mike saluted smartly and then disappeared as Ben mused over what they had said. He felt better now that Mike knew. He was only sorry for his own stupid tactlessness. Even after all this time, any reference to Nancy caused explosions of agony in his friend's eyes. He hated himself for bringing it up, but it had seemed a natural question to ask and he hadn't thought first. He shook his head with regret and then went back to the work on his desk. He had barely an hour before the big meeting with Marion. And it seemed like only moments later when Wendy knocked on the open door and beckoned him with a smile.

“Come on, Ben. We have to be in Marion's office in five minutes.”

“Already?” He looked up nervously from his desk, and then smiled as he looked at her. She was just exactly what he had always wanted. “By the way, I told Mike this morning.” He looked pleased with himself.

“Told him what?” Her mind was on the medical center in San Francisco and the meeting with Marion. Meetings with the great white goddess of architecture always scared the hell out of her.

“I told him about us, silly. I think he was actually pleased.”

“I'm glad.” She didn't really care, but she knew it meant something to Ben. She really didn't give a damn about Mike anymore, one way or the other. He had been unkind and unfeeling, absent from every moment they had ever spent together. It was almost as though nothing had ever happened between them. “Ready for the meeting?”

“More or less. I tried the Adamson girl again this morning. She told me to go to hell.”

“That's a shame.” They talked about it quietly as they walked down the hall to the private elevator that led to Marion's ivory tower in the penthouse. Everything on that floor was the color of sand, even the elevator, which was entirely carpeted, floor, ceiling, and walls. It was like traveling upward in a soundless, plush, creamy-beige womb, until suddenly you reached the floor which housed Marion's office with its spectacular view. Wendy could feel her palms grow moist on the file she was carrying. Marion Hillyard always made her feel like that, no matter how pleasant she was: Wendy had seen what lay beneath the poise and the charm.

“Nervous?” Ben whispered it softly as they walked around a bend to the chrome and glass door to Marion's conference room.

“You bet.” They laughed with each other and then quietly took their seats in the long, plant-filled room. There was a Mary Cassatt on one wall, an early Picasso on another, and ahead of them lay all of New York, a magnificent view that always made Wendy feel almost dizzy as she sat there on the sixty-fifth floor. It was like taking off in a plane, except for the silence. Marion always seemed to move surrounded by a hush.

There were twenty-two people seated at the long smoked-glass conference table when Marion finally walked into the room flanked by George, Michael, and her secretary Ruth. Ruth carried an armful of files and George and Michael were engaged in an earnest conversation. Little by little George had been turning over the reins over to Michael, and was surprised to find it a relief. Only Marion seemed interested in the group, and she looked around at the faces, making sure everyone was there. She looked the same sandy color as her decor today, but Wendy assumed it was simply New York pallor. She had grown so accustomed to seeing tanned faces on the West Coast that it was a bit of a shock to come back to New York and realize how pale everyone still was in the dead of the Eastern winter.

But Marion looked as chic as ever in a dress that appeared to be Givenchy or Dior, of simple, heavy black wool, relieved by four rows of very large, perfectly matched pearls. Her nail polish was dark, and she seemed to be wearing very little makeup. Even Michael thought she looked unusually pale and was probably working too hard on this project, and ten other projects as well. His mother had her finger in every pie baked by the firm. That was just the way she was. And Michael was following in her footsteps. She admired the total dedication of his work for the past two years. That was how successful empires were kept healthy, infused by the life's blood of those who nurtured them. Sacred guardians. Keepers of the holy grail.

Marion was the first to speak. She reached over for the first folder in front of Ruth and began questioning the group, department by department, discussing the various problems that had come up in the last meeting, and checking up on their solutions. All went well until she got to Ben, and even there she was immensely pleased with what he and Wendy had to say. They explained their progress in San Francisco, the results of their meetings, all the new developments, and she checked off a list in front of her and looked over at Michael with pleasure. The San Francisco job was taking shape splendidly.