The Promise (19 page)

Chapter 28

She had just gotten to the beach and was setting up her tripod when she suddenly saw the figure approach. His determined step puzzled her until she realized who it was. Michael, damn it He walked down the beach and over the small dune, until he stood in front of her, blocking her view.

“I have something to say to you.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“That's tough. Because I'm going to tell you anyway. You have no right to pry into my private life and tell me what kind of human being I am. You don't even know me.” Her words had tormented him all through the night. And he had found out from her answering service where she was. He wasn't even sure why he had come here, but he had known he had to. “What right do you have to make judgments about me, damn you?”

“None at all. But I don't like what I see.” She was cool and removed as she changed lenses.

“And just exactly what do you see?”

“An empty shell. A man who cares about nothing but his work. A man who cares about no one, loves nothing, gives nothing, is nothing.”

“You bitch, what the hell do you know about what I am and do and feel? What makes you think you're so almighty together?” She stepped around him and focused on the next dune. “Damn you, listen to me!” He reached for her camera and she dodged him, turning on him in fury.

“Why don't you get the hell out of my life?” Like you have for the last two years, you bastard…

“I'm not in your life. I'm trying to buy some work from you. That's all I want. I don't want your pronouncements about my personality, or my life, or anything else. I just want to buy some stinking photographs.” He was almost trembling, he was so angry, and all she did was walk past him to the portfolio that lay on a blanket on the beach. She unzipped it, looked into a file, and pulled out a photograph. Then she stood up and handed it to him.

“Here. It's yours. Do whatever the hell you want with it. Then leave me alone.”

Without saying a word he turned on his heel and walked back to the car he'd left parked in the road.

She never turned to look at him, but went back to work until the light began to dim and she could work no longer. Thai she drove back to her apartment, scrambled some eggs, heated some coffee, and headed for the dark room. She went to bed at two in the morning, and when the phone rang, she didn't answer it. Even if it was Peter, she didn't care. She didn't want to speak to anyone. And she was going back to the beach at nine the next morning. She set her alarm for eight and fell asleep the moment she hit the bed. She had freed herself of something back there on the beach. And she had to be honest with herself: even if she hated him, at least she had seen him. In an odd way, it was a relief.

She showered and dressed in less than half an hour the next morning. She was wearing well-worn work clothes, and she sipped her coffee as she read the paper. She left the apartment on schedule, a few minutes before nine, and she was already thinking of her work as she hurried down the steps with Fred. It was only when she reached the foot of the steps that she looked up and gasped. Across the street was an enormous billboard mounted on a truck, driven by Michael Hillyard. He was smiling as he watched her, and she sat down on the last step and started to laugh. He was really crazy. He had taken the photograph she had given him, had it blown up and mounted, and then driven it to her door. He was grinning as he left the truck and walked toward her. And she was still laughing when he sat down next to her on the step.

“How do you like it?”

“I think you're a scream.”

“Yeah, but doesn't it look good? Just think how your other stuff would look blown up and mounted in the medical center buildings. Wouldn't that be a thrill?” He was a thrill, but she couldn't tell him that. “Come on, let's go have breakfast and talk.” This morning he wasn't taking no for an answer. He had cleared his morning schedule just for her. And she found his determination touching as well as amusing. She just wasn't in the mood for another fight.

“I should say no, but I won't.”

“That's better. Can I give you a ride?”

“In that?” She pointed to the track and started laughing again.

“Sure. Why not?”

So they hopped into the cab of the truck and headed down to Fisherman's Wharf for breakfast. Trucks were a familiar sight there, and no one was going to walk off with a photograph that size.

Surprisingly, it was a very pleasant breakfast. They both put aside the war, at least until the coffee.

“Well, have I convinced you?” He looked very sure of himself as he smiled at her over his cup.

“No. But I've had a very nice time.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for small favors, but that's not my style.”

“What is your style? In your own words.”

“You mean you're giving me a chance to explain myself, instead of your telling me what I am?” He was teasing, but there was an edge to his voice. She had come too close to home with some of her comments the day before. “All right, I'll tell you. In some ways you're right. I live for my work.”

“Why? Don't you have anything else in your life?”

“Not really. Most successful people probably don't. There just isn't room.”

“That's stupid. You don't have to exchange your life for success. Some people have both.”

“Do you?”

“Not entirely. But maybe one day I will. I know it's possible anyway.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe my incentive isn't what it used to be.” Her eyes grew soft at the words. “My life has changed a great deal in the last few years. I didn't wind up doing any of the things I once planned to. But … I've had some damn nice compensations.” Like becoming president of Cotter-Hillyard, but he was embarrassed to say it.

“I see. I take it you're not married.”

“Nope. No time. No interest.” How lovely. Then it was probably just as well they hadn't married after all.

“You make it sound very cut-and-dried.”

“For the moment it is. And you?”

“I'm not married either.”

“You know, for all your condemnation of my way of life, I can't see that yours is all that different from mine. You're just as obsessed with your work as I am with mine, just as lonely, just as locked away in your own little world. So why are you so hard on me? It's not very fair.” His voice was soft but reproachful.

“I'm sorry. Maybe you're right.” It was hard to argue the point. And then, as she thought over what he had said, she felt his hand on hers, and it was like a knife in her heart. She pulled it away with a stricken look in her eyes. And he looked unhappy again.

“You're a very difficult woman to understand.”

“I suppose I am. There's a lot that would be impossible to explain.”

“You ought to try me sometime. I'm not the monster you seem to think I am.”

“I'm sure you aren't.” As she looked at him, all she wanted to do was cry. This was like saying good-bye to him. It was knowing, all over again, what she could never have. But maybe she would understand it better now. Maybe she would finally be able to let go. With a small sigh she looked at her watch. “I really should get to work.”

“Have I gotten any closer to a yes in answer to our proposal?”

“I'm afraid not.”

He hated to admit it, but he would have to give up. He knew now that she would never change her mind. All his efforts had been for nothing. She was one very tough woman. But he liked her. He was surprised just how much, when she let down her guard. There was a softness and a kindness that drew him to her in a way that he hadn't been drawn to anyone in years. “Do you suppose that I could talk you into having dinner with me, Marie? Sort of a consolation prize, since I don't get my deal?” She laughed softly at the look on his face and patted his hand.

“I'd like that sometime. But not just now. I'm afraid I'll be going out of town.” Damn. He had really lost this one, round after round.

“Where are you going?”

“Back east. To take care of some personal business.” She had made the decision in the last half hour. But now she knew what she had to do. It was not a question of burying the past, but unburying it. In a way, Peter had been right. And now she was sure. She had to “heal it” as he had said.

“I'll call the next time I'm in San Francisco. I hope I'll have better luck.”

Maybe. And maybe by then I'll be Mrs. Peter Gregson. Maybe by then I'll be healed. And it won't matter anymore. Not at all.

They walked quietly back to the truck, and he dropped her off at her apartment She said very little when she left him. She thanked him for breakfast, shook his hand, and walked back up the steps. He had lost. And as he watched her go he felt an overwhelming sadness. It was as though he had lost something very special. He wasn't quite sure what. A business deal, a woman, a friend? Something. For the first time in a long time, he felt unbearably alone. He shoved the truck into gear, and drove grimly through Pacific Heights and up the hill back to his hotel.

Marie was already on the phone to Peter Gregson.

“Tonight? Darling, I have a meeting.” He sounded flustered, and he was in a hurry between patients.

“Then come after the meeting. It's important. I'm leaving tomorrow.”

“For where? For how long?” He sounded worried.

“I'll tell you when I see you. Tonight?”

“All right, all right. Around eleven. But that's really foolish, Marie. Can't this thing wait?”

“No.” It had waited two years, and she had been crazy to let it sit for that long.

“All right. I'll see you tonight.” He had hung up in a hurry, and she called the airline to make a reservation, and the vet to make arrangements for Fred.

Chapter 29

Marie had been lucky. There had been a cancellation that afternoon, so now she found herself sitting in the familiar, comfortable room she had not visited in months. She sat back against the couch and stretched her legs toward the unlit fireplace, as though by habit, staring absently at her feet in delicate sandals. Her thoughts were so far away that she didn't hear Faye come in.

“Are you meditating or just falling asleep?”

Marie looked up with a smile as Faye sat down in the seat across from her. “Just thinking. It's good to see you.” Actually, she was surprised how good it felt to be back. There was a feeling of homecoming in just being there, an ease about fitting back into an old and happy groove. She had had some good moments in that room, as well as some difficult ones.

“Should I tell you that you look marvelous, or are you already tired of hearing it?” Faye beamed at the girl, and Marie laughed.

“I never get tired of hearing it.” Only with Faye would she dare to be that honest. “I guess you want to know why I'm here.” Her face sobered as she looked into the other woman's eyes.

“The question certainly crossed my mind.” They exchanged another rapid smile, and then Marie seemed to get lost in her own thoughts again.

“I've seen Michael.”

“He found you?” Faye sounded stunned, and more than a little impressed.

“Yes, and no. He found Marie Adamson. That's all he knows. One of his underlings has been hounding me about my work. Cotter-Hillyard is doing a medical center out here, and they seem to want my photographs blown up to enormous proportions as part of the decor.”

“That's very flattering, Marie.”

“Who gives a damn, Faye? What do I care what he thinks of my work?” But that wasn't entirely true either. She had always basked in the warmth of his praise, and even now there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that she had caught his attention again, with her work. “Anyway, his mother was out here a while back, and I told her the same thing I'd been telling them. No. I'm not interested. I won't sell to them. I won't work with them. Period.”

“And they've pursued it?”

“Ardently.”

“That must feel good. Do any of them realize who you are?”

“Ben didn't But Michael's mother did. I think that's why she set up the meeting.” Nancy fell silent and stared at her feet. She was a long way away, back in that hotel room, the day she had seen Marion.

“What did it feel like when you saw her?”

“Terrible. It reminded me of everything she'd done to me. I hate her.” But there was more in her voice, and Faye heard it.

“And?”

“All right.” Marie looked up with a sigh. “It made everything hurt all over again. It reminded me of how much I had once wanted her to like me, to love me even, to accept me as Michael's wife.”

“And she still rejected you?”

“I'm not sure. I guess so. She's sick now. She seems different. She seemed almost sorry about what she'd done. I gather Michael hasn't been particularly happy in the last two years.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“Relieved.” She said it with a soft, tired sigh. “And then I realized that it doesn't make any difference how he's been. It's all over for us, Faye. All of that was years ago. We're different people now. And the fact is that he never came back to me. He probably wouldn't even be running after me for my work now, if he knew who I really was—who I used to be. But I'm not Nancy McAllister anymore, Faye. And he's not the Michael I knew.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw him. He's callous, hard, driven, cold. Oh I don't know, maybe there's something there. But there's a lot of new stuff too.”

“How about pain? Loss? Disappointment? Grief?”

“No, Faye, how about betrayal, abandonment, desertion, cowardice? Those are the real issues, aren't they?”

“I don't know. Are they? Is that how you still feel when you see him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was hard again now. “I hate him.”

“Then you must still care for him a great deal.” Marie started to deny it, but then she shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes. She looked at Faye for a long time without speaking. “Nancy, do you still love him?” She had purposely used the old name.

The girl sighed deeply and let her head fall back against the couch before answering, and when she did, she looked at the ceiling and spoke in a monotone. “Maybe Nancy still loves him, what little bit of her is left. But Marie doesn't. I have a new life now. I can't afford to love him anymore.” She looked up at Faye with sorrow.

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn't love me. Because that's not real. I have to let it go now. Totally, completely. I know that. That isn't why I came here today, to cry on your shoulder about still being in love with Michael. But I needed to tell someone how I ful. I can't really talk to Peter about it; it would upset him too much, and I needed to get some of this off my chest.”

“I'm glad you did come, Marie. But I'm not sure you can just decide to let something go as simply as that, and have it fall away from you from one moment to another.”

“In truth, it fell away from me two years ago, I just didn't let go until now. I told myself I had, but I hadn't. So …” She sat up straight again and looked squarely at Faye. “I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow to attend to some business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Letting-go business.” She smiled for the first time in an hour. “There are some things I left unfinished back there, some things that Michael and I shared. I've let them stand as a monument to us, because I always thought he'd be back. Now I have to go back there and take care of it.”

“Do you really think you're ready to handle that?”

“Yes.” She sounded sure of herself, even to Faye.

“Is that what you really want to do?”

“Yes.”

“You don't want to tell Michael who you are, or rather who you were, and see what happens?”

Marie almost shuddered. “Never. That's over. Forever. And besides,” she sighed again, and looked down at her hands, “that wouldn't be fair to Peter.”

“You have to think about being fair to Marie.”

“That's why I'm going to Boston tomorrow. But I keep thinking, too, that maybe after this I'll be free to make some kind of real commitment to Peter. He's such a nice man, Faye. He's done so much for me.”

“But you don't love him.”

It was frightening to hear someone else say the words, and Marie instantly shook her head. “No, no, I do!”

“Then why the problem making a commitment?”

“Michael always stood between us.”

“That's too easy, Marie. That's a cop out.”

“I don't know.” She paused for a long time. “Something always stopped me. Something isn't … there. I guess I haven't really let myself be there. In some ways I was waiting for Michael, and in some ways it just hasn't felt… I don't know, it just doesn't feel right, Faye. Maybe it's me.”

“Why do you think it doesn't feel right?”

“Well, I'm not sure, but sometimes I get the feeling that he doesn't know me. He knows me, Marie Adamson, because that's the person he helped create. He doesn't know the person I was or the things I cared about before the accident.”

“Could you teach him about that, Marie?”

“Maybe. But I'm not sure he wants to know. He makes me feel loved, but not for myself.”

“Well, there are a lot of other fish out there, you know.”

“Yes, but he's a good man, and there's no reason why it shouldn't work.”

“No. Unless you don't love him.”

“But I do love him.” She was getting agitated as they spoke.

“Then relax, and let that problem take care of itself. You can come back here and discuss it with me, if you like. First, let's deal with your feelings about Michael.”

“I just want to get this trip east over with. Then I'll be free.”

“All right, then do that, but come and see me when you get back. Sound okay to you?”

“Very okay.” In a way, she was glad to be back. It was a relief.

With that, Faye looked at her watch regretfully and stood up. It had already been an hour and a half, and she had to teach at the university in an hour. “Will you call for an appointment when you get back?”

“The minute I do.”

“All right then, and be good to yourself when you go back there. Don't torment yourself about the past. And if you have any problems, call me.”

It was comforting to know that she could do that, and as she left, her mood felt lighter than it had all afternoon. Their conversation was going to make it easier for her to explain her decision to Peter.