A ruling passion : a novel (56 page)

He stood straight and scanned the faces of the guests. Murmurs of amusement and approval ran through the ballroom. Valerie, exasperated, wanting to laugh, but also angry, saw Rosemary watching her. I have to stop this; ifs a circus, she thought. Once again she put her hand on Edgar's arm. But then she pulled it back. She could not do it; she could not shame him before his family and his firiends. And what difference did it make? One way or another, she was going to marry him; if he wanted to propose in the Plaza ballroom before three hundred witnesses, why should that affect her one way or the other?

Edgar's voice, loud and well modulated, rose again, still with that slight quiver, as his eyes met hers once again. "Valerie, I love you. I've loved you, I've adored you, for more than half my life. From the moment I first saw you, I've wanted to take care of you. I intend to devote myself to making you happy; your desires will be mine, your pleasures will be mine, your world will be mine. And my heart will always be yours. Valerie, my love, my dearest most exquisite Valerie, I am asking you to marry me."

The echo of Edgar's dramatic voice rolled across the dance floor and through the swinging doors to the kitchen where the serving staff stood still to listen. In the ballroom, someone began to applaud. Others took it up, the guests stood, and soon the ballroom was filled with applause and congratulations, happy cries and good wishes, and predictions of joy.

Edgar held out his hand and Valerie took it and stood beside him. She looked at the sleek smiling faces all about them. This was her world, familiar, comfortable, predictable, accepting. This was where she was safe.

And decorative.

Well, so what? she thought. If that's what I've been perfecting for thirty-three years, if s what I ought to keep doing. It's what I do best.

The sound of applause was like a rising wind, and for a brief second she recalled the whoosh of the snow and wind on the lake as Carlton landed the plane and they slid through that powdery whiteness to the forest on the far shore.

/ was more than decorative then. I savedpeople^s lives; I saved my own.

In one burst, like a shock wave, all the feelings of that long night returned to her: the cold, her fear, her exhaustion—but also being needed, being depended on, doing something painful and frightening, triumphing over danger, knowing she was involved in something bigger than the fleeting desires of the moment.

/ want it a0ain. As soon as the thought came to her she knew it had been there since she began to recover. The thought that she might never again know those feelings of triumph and being needed was terrible.

But maybe once was all Pm £food for. Maybe at the next crisis Fll fall apart. Thafs what everyone expects of me.

Or Fm a lot better than they give me credit for. Maybe there's a lot more to me than anyone ever thought. Including me.

The guests were crowding around now, and Edgar put his arm around her, holding her close against the crush. She knew he would always do that for her: protect her from whatever approached. He would never do what Carl had done; he would make sure she was never alone against the world.

She leaned against his solid body, feeling the warmth and strength that came not from workouts in his health club, but from his net worth. Edgar would never allow the slightest danger into her life.

But if there's no danger, how can there be any triumph?

Well, there won't be, she thought; at least not the spectacular kind I had that night. Who needs it, anyway? What people really need is security and pleasure.

"You're so perfect together!" someone was saying.

"Wasn't it nervy, proposing that way!" a young girl exclaimed. "Such a brave man, your Edgar! A real hero!"

Valerie looked at her contemptuously. A hero. For proposing in a ballroom.

"Happily ever after," said a woman nearby. "Such a mess, but you landed on your feet, Val. You're a gutsy lady."

Valerie stared at the speaker. A gutsy lady for landing on my feet. Landing a rich husband, you mean.

The crowd of grinning faces pressed around her; mouths stretched until they looked huge and voracious, roaring with laughter, gossiping, already anticipating the fall social season, with Edgar and Valerie Wymper in the center of it. Valerie forced herself to stand still. Security, she reminded herself. Pleasure.

But what about doinff things I never thou£fht I could do? What about being better than everyone thinks I am?

She looked at the grinning faces. They were so sure they knew her. What did they know? Had they ever saved anyone's life?

Her thoughts had taken only a few seconds. They think Fm only good enough to be Edgar's wife. Who are they, to decide what Fm good enough for? Fll show them what I can do on my own ...

Fear clutched her. She had no idea what she could do on her own. Maybe nothing. But she couldn't believe that: that was what everyone else thought. There was a lot she could do. How hard could it be, really? She was young and smart and she knew the top people in the top companies in the world. She'd find something really tough, and then she'd know once again that feeling of triumph, of proving there was more to her than the prize social catch of any season.

She ignored her fear. I'll get over it, she thought; it goes with finding out what I really can do.

She took Edgar's arm from her waist and stepped away from him, one step back, and then another. He turned a look of surprise on her, and she saw it mirrored in the faces of those closest to them. She stood alone, and her low, clear voice rose above the chatter of the guests.

"No," she said.

Chapter 20

a

'' m m j have the perfect job for you," Sybille said

f UJ smoothly. She was in New York for die day, on

i^ ^^r^ business, she said, and had invited Valerie to tea at

f^ ^^T the Carlyle. "You can start right away. You'll have

1^^ I to move back to Virginia, but you do like it there,

and my company is the best place for you right now." "You have a job just waiting for me?" Valerie asked. "As a matter of fact, I do, but if I didn't I'd make one; I worry about you, Valerie. I even feel a little bit responsible for what happened."

Valerie's eyebrows rose. "Responsible?"

"Well, in a way. I ran into Carlton a few times in New York, last fall, and the people he was with seemed awfully peculiar; shady, I thought, not like the men you'd expect to see him with; almost crooked... oh, I shouldn't say that now; what good does it do? But I'm truly sorry I didn't say anything then; you and I might have been able to stop him before he got in so deep he couldn't get out." "Deep in what?" Valerie asked sharply. Sybille shrugged. "How would I know? But if I'd warned you—"

"You're not responsible." Valerie's voice was cool. "You don't have to adopt my problems, Sybille; I can handle them by myself."

Sybille's face froze.

Valerie sighed. "Forgive me; that was rude. I know you want to help, and I do appreciate it. Tell me about the job you want me to take. It's amazing it worked out this way: that you have a production company and I've done all those spots on television."

Sybille sat back, revolving her cup in its saucer. "It is amazing. Remember once, a long time ago, you asked me if I'd give you a job.'' Who would have thought... Well, I can't tell you too much about the job now; I have to work it out with my directors. But you'll definitely have a place, and it will be where you belong. Trust me, Valerie, I know what's best for you. Come to my office in a couple of days, and we'll talk about the details."

Valerie contemplated her cup of tea. She was in a quandary. In the four days since she had refused Edgar, she had overcome her earlier reluctance and called a number of friends, each of whom said he had no job for her at the moment but would call her if anything came up. She had tried to read the help-wanted advertisements, but it was no easier than before. Already, before she had even begun to apply anywhere, she felt helpless and discouraged. Her brief flare of confidence at the party sputtered out like a flame; she couldn't fathom her next step. The words in the advertisements all ran together, like a foreign language, and everything about them was dreary: the word "job" was harsh and gray; when she said it aloud, it groaned. Even if she was anxious to work she didn't have the skills or experience everyone wanted. It was almost enough to send her back to Edgar. But here was Sybille, holding out a job. She took a notebook and a gold pencil fi-om her purse. "Your office is in Fairfax.^" she asked.

And so, the following week, on a brilliant Monday at the end of June when boats skimmed the Potomac and riders galloped in freedom through the hunt country of Virginia, Valerie walked into the offices of Sybille Morgen Productions, wearing a pale-gray suit and crisp white blouse, and reported for work.

She was given a desk, introduced to Gus Emery and Al Slavin, two directors whose desks were near hers, and handed a large basket of mail. She stood beside the desk, reluctant to sit down, and contemplated the stacks of envelopes. All of them were addressed to the Reverend Lilith Grace. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked Gus Emery.

He was her height, handsome in a soft, almost pretty way, with long

eyelashes, pale skin and a startlingly rough voice. "Sort it. Love and adoration in one stack; questions in the other."

Valerie frowned. "Am I supposed to know what that means.>"

"Just do it; you'll catch on. It won't stretch your pretty brain more than it can handle." He turned to go.

"Just a minute," Valerie said coldly. "Take this to someone else; I'm not here to do this kind of work."

"No.>" His gaze moved in leisurely fashion from her feet to her face. "Could have fooled me. Ms. Morgen said you're the new assistant."

"She couldn't have said that. She brought me here to work on camera; I expect to write my own scripts, too. That's what I've done and she knows it. I'll talk to her about it; there's been some mistake."

"Wrong. Ms. Morgen doesn't make mistakes. Okay, Val, we got work to—"

"Mrs. Sterling."

"Wrong again. I call you what I want, Val; it helps my digestion. Okay, enough of this crap. You were hired for me and Al; you belong to us; you're our assistant. This is our assistant's desk; this is our assistant's chair; this is our assistant's basket of mail to sort for the Reverend Lily every morning, rain or shine. There's a big turnover around here—people come and go; lots of'em can't get along with the queen bee—Ms. Morgen to you—but me and Al been here from the beginning and we're staying. That means we do our job and nobody interferes, and we do it with an assistant. Thafs you. I have to be any more specific than that?"

Valerie turned on her heel and strode the length of the room to Sybille's office. "I have to see her," she said to the secretary and kept walking, opening the inner door.

Sybille looked up sharply. When she saw Valerie her face smoothed out. "I can't talk, Valerie, I have a meeting—"

"I just want to clarify something. Gus Emery says you hired me as his assistant."

"His and Al's. I told you that."

"No. You did not. You told me I'd have an anchor job—or interviewing—and write my own scripts."

"I told you, if you recall—really, Valerie, I'm sure I said this clearly —that I'd use you as much as possible on camera, but that you'd be working in production first, until I found a way to use your skills. Isn't that what I said?"

'Tes. You didn't say I'd be anyone's assistant."

"I may have neglected to say that. Are you really so worried about

titles? I want you to learn as much as possible—you're very special to me, Valerie; I want you to be an important part of this company—and Gus and Al are very good at what they do; they can teach you more than anyone. Is that so unreasonable?"

"Who do you think you—"

'T beg your pardon?"

Valerie stood very still. The echo of Sybille's amused, tolerant voice, and the slighdy childish tone of her own complaints, hung in the air. She could feel the shift in power, as if an earthquake had tilted the floor. A coldness settled within her. / work for this woman; my salary depends on her. Once she followed m^ around like a puppy. But she's learned a lot in all the years since college, all the years 1 was playing. "No," she said evenly. "It's not unreasonable. I'll be at my desk if you need me."

Finally, slowly, she sat at her desk, thus admitting, by taking possession of it, that it was hers. I'll have a place for you, Sybille had said; it will be where you belong. Valerie swallowed the bitterness of that and sat with her back straight, her head high, looking about the room, trying to believe she was reaUy part of it.

It was a large room, low-ceilinged, blue-white with fluorescent lights, divided by low partitions into cubicles for producers and directors. Secretaries and assistants sat in the open. The room was carpeted, the desks were only a few years old, the equipment in the office, the studios and the control room was the best that could be bought, but still it all seemed dull, no different from any other television studio Valerie had seen; in fact, this one struck her as more confining than all the others.

Because I work here. Fm not dashing in like a visiting star to tape a brilliant ninety-second spot and then dash out, back to my horses and my freedom and my most beautiful Sterling Farms.

She closed her eyes against the tears that stung them. Too many changes in too short a time, she thought; she hadn't had a chance to get used to any of them.

The day after she reftised Edgar's proposal, when she had to stop pretending her life was the same money-lined cocoon she had always known, she had felt the ftill weight of what Carlton had done. Then Sybille had appeared, with a job, and two days later Valerie moved back to Virginia, not to her spacious farm in Middleburg, but to a small apartment in Fairfax, with two small rooms and a tiny kitchen, sparely ftimished with straight-legged ftimiture, a bed that sloped to one side, and a few aluminum pots and pans. It's only temporary, she told herself every morning and every evening. It's like a bad hotel. I