The Promise (20 page)

Chapter 30

“Boston? But why, Marie? I don't understand.” Peter looked tired and irritable, which was rare. But it had been a long day and a tiresome meeting. All this non-sense about the new medical center. And he had to meet with the architects in the morning. Why did he have to be on the committee? He had better things to do with his time. “I think you're crazy to make the trip.”

“No, I'm not. I have to. And I'm ready. The past is over for me. Completely.”

“So completely over that when we almost had an accident in the car the other day you had hysterics for an hour. It's not over.”

“Darling, you have to trust me. I'm going to do the only thing I've left unfinished, and then I'll be free. I'll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“It's insane.”

“No. It's not.” Her voice was so quiet and firm that it stopped him, and he sat back on the couch with a tired sigh. Maybe she knew what she was doing after all.

“All right. I don't understand. But I have to hope that you know what you're doing. Will be okay back there?”

“I'll be fine. Trust me.”

“I do, darling. It's not that I don't trust you. It's that … oh, I don't know. I don't want you to get hurt. May I ask you a totally crazy question?”

Oh Jesus. She hoped it wasn't that one. Not yet. But that wasn't what he had on his mind as he watched her carefully from the couch. “Go ahead.” She waited, as though for surgery.

“Do you know that Michael Hillyard is in town?”

“I do.” She was strangely calm.

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes. He came to the gallery. He wants me to do some work for a new project of his out here. I turned him down.”

“Did he know who you were?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you tell him?”

Now was the time for her to tell him about the deal with Michael's mother, but it was too late. It didn't matter anymore. “It didn't make any difference. The past is over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That's why I'm going to Boston.”

“Then I'm glad.” And then he looked momentarily worried. “Does the trip have anything to do with Hillyard?” But he knew it couldn't. He was seeing Michael Hillyard in the morning.

Marie firmly shook her head. “No. Not the way you mean. It has to do with my past, Peter. And it has to do with only me. I don't want to say any more about it than that.”

“Then I'll respect that.”

“Thank you.”

He wanted to make love to her that night, but he didn't. Instead, he left quietly, with a gentle kiss. He sensed that she needed to be alone.

It was a peaceful night, and she still felt that way when she dropped off Fred at the vet the next morning. She knew exactly what she was doing, and why, and she knew it was right.

She caught the plane with plenty of time to spare, and she arrived in Boston at nine
P.M.
local time. She thought about driving out that night, but that was asking too much of lady luck. So she put it off until the following morning. She had already rented the car. All she had to do was drive there, and then drive back. She was taking the last plane home.

She felt like a woman with a sacred mission as she went to bed in the motel that night. She had no desire to see the city, to call anyone, or go anywhere. She wasn't really there. It was all like a dream, a two-year-old dream, and she would relive it only one last time.

Chapter 31

“Dr. Gregson?”

“Yes?” He was still distracted when his secretary came into the room. He had just spoken to Marie at the airport. He still had a queasy feeling about the trip, but he had to respect her feelings about something as personal as this. Still, he would feel better when she got back the next day. He looked up and tried to pay attention to his nurse. “Yes?”

“A Mr. Hillyard here to see you. He says you're expecting him. And there are three of his associates with him.”

“Fine. Send him in.” Christ. That was all he needed now. But why not? At least he'd get a look at the boy. He was actually young enough to be his son. What a miserable thought. He wondered if Marie ever thought of that.

The four men came in and shook hands with the doctor, and the meeting got under way. They wanted to enlist his support to make their new medical center a success. They already had fifteen of the more illustrious doctors on their “team,” and there was no doubt that the buildings would be ideally located and magnificently appointed. It was an easy choice to make. Gregson agreed to take new offices there, and was willing to talk to some of his colleagues. But even though his responses were mechanical, he watched Michael with fascination throughout the meeting. So this was Michael Hillyard. He didn't look like a formidable opponent. But he looked young, and handsome, and very sure of himself. And in an unsettling way, Peter began to realize how much like Marie he was. There was a similarity of energy, of determination, and even of humor. The realization made Peter feel shut out, and suddenly, too, he understood. He sat very quietly for a long time, watching Michael and saying nothing at all. He wasn't even listening to the meeting anymore; he was adjusting to the reality he had avoided for so long. It made him wonder, too, exactly why Marie had gone east that morning. Was it really to destroy the last shreds of the past, or to honor them?

For the first time, Peter wondered if he had a right to interfere. Just watching Michael, he felt as though he were seeing another side of Marie, a side he had no knowledge of. This man represented a part of her life that he didn't even understand, a part he had never wanted to know. He had wanted her to be Marie Adamson. She had never been Nancy to him. She had been someone new, someone who had been born in his hands. But now he recognized there was someone else. All the pieces of the puzzle began to fit, and he felt a sense of resignation as well as loss. He had been fighting an unfightable war, and he had been trying to recapture his own past. Marie was indeed someone new, but there were glimpses in her of the woman he had once loved, the woman who had died…. He had cherished those glimpses of Livia as well as the reality of the girl he had brought to life. Maybe he had no right to do that. He had never before had such free rein with a patient, because Marie had had no one to rely on but him. It allowed him to be everything to her … everything except what he wanted to be now. Watching Michael, he realized that his own role in Marie's life had been very like a father's. She didn't realize it yet, but one day she would.

The meeting was over when they stood up to shake hands, and Michael's three associates were already out of the office, waiting for him in the anteroom beyond. Gregson and Michael were exchanging pleasantries, when suddenly everything stopped, and Michael stared fixedly at something over the older man's shoulder. It was the painting she had been doing two years before … it was to have been his wedding present … it had been stolen from her apartment by those nurses after she died. And now it was in this man's office, and it was finished. Mesmerized, Michael walked toward it before Gregson could stop him. But nothing would have stopped him. He stood there, staring, looking for the signature, as though he already knew what he would see. There, in tiny letters in the corner, were the words. Marie Adamson.

“Oh, my God … oh, my God …” It was all he could say as Gregson watched him. “But how? It isn't … oh, Jesus … God … why didn't someone tell me? What in …” But he understood now. They had lied to him. She was alive. Different. But alive. No wonder she had hated him. He hadn't even suspected. But he had been haunted by something in her, and in her photographs, all that time. There were tears in his eyes as he turned to look at Gregson.

Peter looked at him sorrowfully, afraid of what would come. “Leave her alone, Hillyard. It's all over for her now. She's been through enough.” But even as he said it, the words lacked conviction. Just looking at Michael that morning, he wasn't sure that Michael should stay away from her at all. And something deep inside him wanted to tell him where she was.

But Michael was still staring at him with a look of astonishment. “They lied to me, Gregson. Did you know that? They lied to me. They told me she was dead.” His eyes were brimming with tears. “I've spent two years like a dead man, working like a robot, wishing I had died instead of her, and all this time—” For a moment he couldn't go on, and Gregson looked away. “And when I saw her this week, I never knew. I… it must have killed her… no wonder she hates me. She does, doesn't she?” Michael sank into a chair, stating at the painting.

“No. She doesn't hate you. She just wants to put it behind her. She has a right to do that.” And I have a right to her. He wanted to say the words, but he couldn't bring himself to. But suddenly it was as though Michael had heard his thoughts. Michael had just remembered what he'd heard about Marie having a sponsor, a plastic surgeon. The words suddenly rang in his ears, and just as suddenly the anger and pain of two years was upon him. He jumped to his feet and grabbed Gregson's lapels.

“Wait a minute, damn it. What right do you have to tell me that she wants to ‘put it behind her’? How the hell do you know? How can you even begin to understand what we had together? How can you know what any of that meant to her, or to me? If I get out of her life without saying a word, then you have it all your way, is that it, Gregson? Is that what you want? Well, to hell with you! This is my life you're playing with, mister, and it seems to me that enough people have played with it already. The only person who can tell me she wants this thing finished is Nancy.”

“She already told you to leave her alone.” His voice was quiet, as he looked into Michael's eyes.

Michael backed away from him now, but there was hope mixed in with the anger and confusion in his face. For the first time in two years there was something alive there. “No, Gregson. Marie Adamson told me to leave her alone. Nancy McAllister hasn't said a word to me in two years. And she's going to have a lot of explaining to do. Why didn't she call me? Why didn't she write? Why didn't she let me know she was alive? And why did they tell me she was dead? Was that her doing, or… or someone else's? And as a matter of fact”—he hated to ask the question because he already knew what he would hear—“who paid for her surgery?” His eyes never left Gregson's face.

“I don't know the answers to some of your questions, Mr. Hillyard.”

“And the ones you do have the answers to?”

“I'm not at liberty to—”

“Don't give me that—” Michael advanced on him again, and Peter put up a hand.

“Your mother has paid for all of Marie's surgery, and for her living expenses since the accident. It was a very handsome gift.” It was what Michael had feared, but it didn't really come as a shock. It fitted the rest of the picture he saw now, and maybe in some insane, misguided way his mother had thought she was doing it for him. At least she had led him back to Nancy now. He looked at Gregson again, and nodded.

“And what about you? Just exactly what is your relationship with Nancy?” Now he wanted to know it all.

“I don't know that that concerns you.”

“Look, damn it …” His hands were at the other man's coat again, and Peter held up a hand in defeat.

“Why don't we stop this now? The answers are all in Marie's hands. What she wants, who she wants. She may not want either one of us, you know. For whatever reasons, you haven't contacted her in two years, nor has she contacted you. And as for me, I'm almost twice her age, and for all I know, suffering from a Pygmalion complex.” He sat down heavily in his desk chair and smiled ruefully. “I almost think she could do better than either one of us.”

“Maybe, but this time I want to hear it from her myself.” He looked at his watch. “I'm going over to her place right now.”

“It won't do you much good.” Peter watched him and stroked his beard. He almost wished the boy luck. Almost. “She called me from the airport just before you got here this morning.”

Once again Michael looked shocked. “Now what? Where was she going?”

For a long moment Peter Gregson hesitated. He didn't have to tell him anything. He didn't have to… “She was going to Boston.”

Michael looked at him for one moment, and a shadow of a smile flitted through his eyes as he dashed for the door. He stopped, glanced back, and saluted Peter with a full-blown smile. “Thank you.”

Chapter 32

She was up at dawn. Awake, alive. She felt better than she had in years. She was almost free now. In a few hours she would be. As though that childish promise had held her for all this time. And only because she had let it. Its only power had been the power she had given it.

She didn't even bother with breakfast. She only drank two cups of coffee, and got into the rented car. She could be there in two hours, by ten o'clock. Back at the hotel at noon. She could catch a plane back to San Francisco and be home by late afternoon. She might even be able to pick up Peter at the office and surprise him. Poor man, he had been so patient about the trip.

She found herself thinking about him as she drove along, wishing she had given him more, wishing she had been able to. Maybe after today that would change too. Or was it that … she didn't even let herself finish the question. Of course, she loved him. That wasn't the point.

She drove through the New England countryside, barely noticing anything she passed. The landscape was still gray and dark; the new leaves had not yet emerged. It was as though the countryside too had lain buried for two years. It was nine thirty when she passed Revere Beach, where the fair had been, and she felt a little jolt in her heart when she recognized the place. She followed an old road which wandered along the coast, and then she came to a stop, and got out of the car. She was stiff, but not tired. She was exhilarated, and nervous. She had to do this… had to… she could already see the tree from where she stood. She stood staring at it for a long time, as though it held all the secrets, knew her story too well, as though it had waited for her return. She walked slowly toward it, as though going to meet an old friend. But it was no longer a friend. Like everything and everyone she had once loved, it was a stranger. It was just another marker on Nancy McAllister's grave.

She stopped when she reached it, and then walked the last steps across the sand to the rock. It was still there. It hadn't moved. Nothing had. Only she and Michael had moved, in opposite directions and to different worlds. She stood there for a very long time, as though trying to summon the strength and the courage to do it. And at last she bent down and began to push. The rock moved after a few moments, and quickly, with a stick, she dug under it for what she sought. But there was nothing there. She dropped the rock, breathless, and then with fresh strength, she pushed it again, until this time she could see that they were gone. Someone had already taken the beads. She let the rock slip back into place just as she heard his voice.

“You can't have them. They belong to someone else. To someone I loved. To someone I never forgot.” There were tears in Michael's eyes as he spoke to her. He had waited half the night for her to come. It had taken a chartered jet to get him there before she arrived. But he would have flown on his own wings if he had had to. He held out a hand now, and she saw the beads, still caked with the sand from under the rock. Her own eyes filled with tears when she saw them. “I promised never to say good-bye. I never did.” His eyes never left hers as he stood there.

“You never tried to find me.”

“They told me you were dead.”

“I promised never to see you again if … if they gave me a new face. I promised because I knew you'd find me. And then… you didn't.”

“I would have, if I'd known. Do you remember your promise to me?”

She closed her eyes and spoke solemnly, like a child, and for the first time in a long time, it was the voice of Nancy McAllister, the voice he had loved, not the smooth new one she had learned. “I promise never to forget what lies buried here. Or what it stands for.”

“Did you forget?” The tears were sliding slowly from his eyes now. He was thinking of Gregson, and of the two years that had passed.

But she shook her head. “No. But I tried very hard to.”

“Are you willing to remember now? Nancy, will you—” But then he couldn't speak. He only walked toward her and took her very tightly into his arms. “Oh God, Nancy, I love you. I always have. I thought I would die when you did … when I thought you had. I died the moment they told me.”

But she was crying too hard to speak, remembering the endless days and months and years of waiting foe him, and then giving up hope. She held tightly to him, like a child to a doll, as though she would never let go. And at last she caught her breath and smiled. “Darling, I love you, too. I always thought you'd find me.”

“Nancy … Marie … whatever the hell your name is—” They both laughed like children through their tears. “Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife? This time like civilized people, at a wedding, with everyone there, and music and He was thinking of his mother's wedding only a few weeks before. It was odd how totally free of anger he was. He should have hated his mother for what she had done. Instead, he wanted to forgive. He had Nancy back now.” That was all he cared about. He smiled down at her in his arms, thinking of their wedding. But she was shaking her head, and he thought his heart would stop.

“Do we really have to wait that long? Do all that stuff about music and people and—”

“Are you suggesting—” He didn't even dare say it, but she nodded in his arms.

“Yes. Why not? Now. I don't want to wait again. I couldn't bear it. Every moment I'd be afraid that something would happen again. Maybe this time to you.”

He nodded silently, and held her tight as the surf roared in softly and the pale eastern sun peeked through the clouds. He understood.