Facets (50 page)

“Oh, Cutter.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Have you talked with her?” he asked.

“Last week. She sounded okay.”

“Just okay? Not ecstatic? Not radiant? Isn’t that what new brides are supposed to be?”

“Come on, Cutter. Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Well, how am I supposed to be?” he barked, and then it all poured out. “She’s the love of my life—I’m supposedly the love of hers—but when I won’t go along with her schemes, she runs off and marries someone else. After fourteen years.
Fourteen years.
”

“Cutter, fourteen years ago she was only nine.”

“That was when we first saw each other, and it’s been special ever since. So what happened? How could she have considered marrying someone else? How could she have done it? And him. He’s as old as the hills, for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Tell me she loves him. Can you do that?”

“No. But she likes him. And he’s good to her.”

“I would have been good to her.”

“But you wouldn’t marry her.”

“Because the time wasn’t right, and her arguments were dumb. I’ve been proven right, haven’t I?” He gloated. “She couldn’t get control of Patricia’s stock. The court wouldn’t give an inch.”

“She got hers.”

“It’s friggin’ little of the whole, so what good does it do?”

“It gives her a seat on the board, and exposure. She’s determined to be a vocal presence at meetings. She’s also determined to be the best designer
Facets
has.”

“Will he give her time for that—the guy she married?”

“His name is Brendan. And yes, he’ll let her work. He wants her to. He knows it means a lot to her.”

“What about kids? Are they gonna have ’em?” His voice broke up, which was exactly what happened to him inside every time he thought of the baby that wasn’t. He grimaced at the pain.

Hillary’s voice was quiet. “Let me come over, Cutter.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “No. I’m not dressed.” He looked down at himself. It was half-true. He was bare-chested and bare-footed. He wore pants, but they were open. There didn’t seem much point in doing up the zipper when the only practical thing he’d done in the last twelve hours was pee.

“I’d really like to be there. I think you’re upset.”

He might have known she would offer; she was giving that way. But he didn’t want sympathy. Sympathy wouldn’t move him ahead. “Sure, I’m upset, but I’ll live. I have a great new contract. I’ll have more time to do the things I want.”

“If it’s any consolation, John isn’t—”

“Don’t mention that man’s name to me! I’m apt to get violent.” He fought the pain. “Hillary, did you know about the abortion?”

She was a minute in answering. “Not for a long time.”

“But you did find out. Why didn’t you tell me.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“Someone should have. I had a right to know.”

“So you could do what? The baby was gone.”

Hearing her say it only added to his bitterness. “It was probably just as well. Having a kid at that age would have messed up her life.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“What else am I supposed to believe? She pops this bit about an abortion on me, then walks out the door. How the hell should I know what she was feeling?”

“You could have asked. You could have called her afterward. You could have gone to Boston to see her.”

He told himself the same things time and again, and each time he wondered whether it would have made a difference. He guessed it might have. But he had never dreamed she would suddenly marry someone else just two weeks later. He’d been shortsighted. And bullheaded. “I was angry,” was the only excuse he could give.

“You still are. But ease up on Pam, at least about the abortion. She wanted that baby. She wanted it more than anything. I’m not sure she’s completely over the loss even now.”

“How could he have done that to her?” Cutter exclaimed, then said, “Forget I asked that. It was fully in character. What I don’t understand is you. How can you keep seeing a man like that?”

Her voice chilled. “Off limits, Cutter. I tell you what I know about Pam. I even tell you a little about John. But don’t criticize me. We all have our quirks. John’s mine. Pam’s yours.”

“Pam isn’t a quirk. She isn’t evil or cruel. Loving her is as easy as breathing.”

“As
easy?
My God, if breathing hurt me as much as loving Pam hurts you, I’d be tempted to turn in my lungs. And you keep going back for more. Fourteen years is a long time. What you feel for her has to be an obsession by now.”

“Maybe,” Cutter admitted, then his resolve hardened. “But I’ll have her someday.”

“She’s married. You’d better accept that.”

“For now. But someday I’ll have her. Someday I’ll have it all. You watch, Hillary. I’ll do it.”

That thought, more than any other, kept him going over the months that followed. Leaving Jondier was a good move. By minimizing his work hours and maximizing his income, he was able to deepen his involvement in business. That was his future. Modeling had always been, and still was, simply the means to an end.

Working with the diamond industry opened more doors. He met new people, made new contacts. With some of the top businessmen in the country as his teachers, he took an increasingly active role in his own affairs, and, in so doing, earned their respect. More and more, he was viewed as a professionally shrewd and socially savvy man.

Inevitably, his path crossed Pam’s. Although they approached it from different angles, they were in the same field, and when he wasn’t modeling he was doing business. They came to know many of the same people. Their stomping grounds overlapped.

The first time they saw each other was in September in San Francisco. Pam had been married for ten months. Cutter hadn’t seen her since the day she had run out of his apartment, and although his initial anger had faded, he was a long way from forgiving her for what she’d done. Then, suddenly, she was there across the room, looking more stunning than ever.

Seeing her was like taking a physical blow. Once he recovered his breath, he felt raw, hurt, and lonely. Mostly, though, he felt hungry. He couldn’t look at her enough. She fed his mind and his senses, bringing him alive in ways he hadn’t been for ten and a half months.

Then she saw him, and right before his eyes she suffered the same shock as he had, the same rawness, the same loneliness, the same hunger. Unable to deal with it, he turned and left in a fit of fury. She was married; she had no right to look at him that way. But he couldn’t forget that she had, which was why, when he saw her at a restaurant in Gstaad the following February, rather than turn away, he excused himself from his friends and approached her table.

“Pam.” He tipped his head in greeting. His heart was thudding wildly, but professional training and the heavy knit sweater he wore hid it. “How are you?”

She was paler than she had been moments before. “Fine. And you?”

He nodded his answer. “Are you here skiing?”

“Uh, no. On business.” She held his gaze several seconds longer before introducing the four others she was with. Her husband wasn’t among them, but Cutter already knew that. He had seen a picture of Pam and Brendan after the wedding and in his mind carried a vivid image of the man.

Pam’s eyes were on him again well before the introductions were finished. “How about you?” she asked as soon as she could. Pale pink color had crept in her cheeks. “Business or pleasure?”

“A little of each. It’s a great place.” But he didn’t spare even the briefest glance around. No ski resort could hold a candle to Pam’s face. It was a rare sight, too good to waste for even a second. “This is my first time here.”

She nodded and gave a quick once-over to his clothing, but her eyes were drawn right back to his. “You’ve been skiing.” When he confirmed it with a nod, she said, “I’ll bet you’re good.”

He shrugged.

“You were always so physically, uh, so coordinated.”

He was having trouble remaining nonchalant. Pam’s eyes were rapt with a curiosity that fell just short of longing. It didn’t matter that the feelings were forbidden. They reflected everything he felt himself and did nothing to quell his urge to touch her.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Finally, quietly, he said, “I always tried.” Raising his head, he tossed a farewell to her friends. To her, with a lingering look, he said, “Take care.”

He returned to his own friends, but he kept glancing across the room. Several times he caught her looking back; each time she averted her gaze. He wasn’t sure whether she didn’t want him to know she was looking, or whether she simply found the meeting of their eyes too painful. If it was the latter, he knew what she was feeling. Just looking at her reminded him of all he should have had, but didn’t. It heightened his determination in ways that might have frightened her if she’d known.

In October, when he saw her at a party at a private country club on the outskirts of Atlanta, he held back. She was with Brendan, and even he had to admit that they made a handsome pair. Silver-haired and trim of build, Brendan was a pleasant-looking man who took an elegance from her. In return, he gave her support in the form of a look, a touch, a smile. Cutter suffered through those until Pam spotted him, when the suffering grew even more intense. After a time, Brendan moved her on through the crowd. Cutter moved in the opposite direction, but the suffering went on.

Needing a break, he wandered onto the veranda. She found him there. “Cutter?”

He looked down at his polished shoes.

She came close and softly repeated his name.

Eyes still low, he said, “Go back inside, Pam.”

“Why?”

“This is dangerous.”

“John’s not here.”

“John isn’t the danger.”

She was silent for a minute, but she didn’t leave. Her voice was cautious. “I just wanted to say hello. It’s been a long time.”

“Eight months.”

“Plus one week.”

A fractured sound slipped from the back of his throat. He did raise his head then, and what he saw was enough to make him wish he hadn’t. Pam’s eyes were large, a little frightened, a little desperate. Her skin was smooth and glowing, her lips moist. With her hair draped gracefully behind an ear, her satin dress draped as gracefully around her body, and stunning pieces of tourmaline-spangled gold gracing her ears and her neck, she looked exquisite.

For the longest time he just stood there drinking her in. Finally, in a rusty voice he said, “Married life must be agreeing with you. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“So are you.”

“And successful.”

“You too. The diamond campaign is impressive.” She was staring up at him with that same half-frightened, half-desperate look. “I miss you,” she whispered.

Something tightened around his heart. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“But it hurts to hear. And it doesn’t help to know.”

“It helps me to air it. You were my best friend, Cutter, and I hurt you. If I were to do it again—”

He put two fingers to her lips and shook his head. “Don’t say it,” he whispered.

Her heart was in her eyes, reaching out with the same longing he’d seen there before, but she heeded his warning this time. Rather than speak, she formed her lips into a kiss against his fingers, then backed away, turned, and hurried from the veranda.

Cutter left the party soon after, but out of sight wasn’t out of mind. He thought about what Pam had said and the way she’d said it, and while he cursed her in one breath, in the next he acknowledged that she’d been more honest than he. He missed her, too, missed her with a soul-deep ache. He should have told her.

Not that it would have made any difference. She was still a married woman.

Somehow, though, when he saw her the following June at a movie premiere in L.A., he had trouble remembering that. Brendan wasn’t there. She was with friends. Cutter was with a date, but that didn’t stop him from staring at her.

“A friend?” his date asked.

“Uh-huh.” He tore his eyes away, but they drifted back after a minute. Pam had seen him by then. She looked stricken. He actually felt guilty at being caught with another woman until he realized the absurdity of that. But the feeling lingered, and when he saw her leave her friends and head for the restroom, he followed. He was waiting, leaning against a nearby wall, out of the line of traffic, when she came out. She didn’t pretend that his presence was coincidental. Albeit hesitantly, she came close.

Neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other. When he couldn’t bear going without any longer, he raised a hand to her cheek, but it hovered, finally stealing to a more private spot at the back of her neck under her hair. She made a small sound. Seconds later, he felt her hand slip into the one that hung by his side.

Taking a shaky breath, he threw common sense to the winds and whispered, “Meet me later?”

She wanted to. He could see it in her eyes, could feel it in the tightening of her hand. But she resisted. “You were right. It’s dangerous.”