Fancy Pants (33 page)
His sister walked past him, and he once again leaned over to address
her stomach. "This is Uncle Gerry speaking. If you're a male child in
there, guard your balls because there are about a million women out
here waiting to cut them off."
"Don't joke about it, Gerry," Naomi said, dropping down into one of the
armchairs.
His mouth twisted. "Why not? You've got to admit this whole thing with
Holly Grace is pretty goddamn funny."
"You're really screwing up," she said.
"It's impossible to argue with someone who doesn't make sense," he
retorted belligerently. "She knows
I love her, and she goddamn well
knows it's not just for her famous name."
"She wants a baby, Gerry," Naomi said quietly.
He stiffened. "She just thinks she wants a baby."
"You're such a jerk. Every time the two of you get together, both of
you go on and on about your political differences and who's using who.
Just once, I'd like to hear one of you
admit that most of the reason the two of you can't get it together is
because she desperately wants to have a baby and you still haven't
grown up enough to be a father."
He turned on his sister. "It doesn't have anything to do with not being
grown up. I refuse to bring a kid into a world that has a mushroom
cloud hanging over it."
She regarded him sadly, one hand clasped over her rounded stomach. "Who
do you think you're kidding, Gerry? You're afraid to be a father.
You're afraid you'll screw up as badly with your own kid as Dad did
with you—God rest his soul."
Gerry didn't say anything, and he damn well wasn't going to let Naomi
see him with tears in his eyes, so he just turned his back on her and
stalked right out the door.
theme music faded and the show began. "Hello, everybody. I hope all of
you have your television snacks nearby and that you've finished any
urgent bathroom business, because I absolutely guarantee that you're
not going to want to move from your seats once you meet our four young
guests this evening."
She tilted her head toward the red light that had come on next to
camera two. "Tonight we're broadcasting the last show in our series on
the British nobility. As you know, we've had our high points and our
low points since we've come to Great Britain—even I won't try to
pretend that our last program was anything short of a giant bore—but
we're back on track tonight."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her producer, Nathan Hurd,
had planted his hands on his hips, a sure sign that he was displeased.
He hated it when she admitted on the air that one of their shows wasn't
wonderful, but her famous royai guest on the last program had been
incredibly long-winded and even her most impertinent questions hadn't
livened him up. Unfortunately, that program, unlike the one they were
now taping, had been broadcast live, so they hadn't been able to redo
it.
"With me this evening are four attractive young people, all of them
children of famous peers of the British realm. Have you
ever wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing that your life
has already been mapped out for you? Do young royals ever feel like
rebelling? Let's ask."
Francesca introduced her four guests, who were comfortably seated in
the attractive living room arrangement that approximated the New York
studio set where "Francesca Today" was normally taped. Then she turned
her attention to the only child of one of Great Britain's most renowned
dukes. "Lady Jane, have you ever thought about chucking family
tradition and running off with the chauffeur?"
Lady Jane laughed, then blushed, and Francesca knew she had the
beginnings of an entertaining show.
Two hours later, with the taping finished and her young guests'
responses lively enough to keep the ratings up, Francesca stepped out
of her taxi and entered the Con-naught. Most Americans regarded
Claridge's as the ultimate London hotel, but as someone who didn't want
to be away from home in the first place, Francesca felt that the better
choice was the tiny Connaught, which had only ninety rooms,
the best
service in the world, and a minimal chance of running into a rock star
in the corridor.
Her tiny frame was swathed from chin to midcalf in an elegant black
Russian sable, which was set off
by a pair of perfect pear-shaped
four-carat diamond stud earrings that sparkled through the windblown
chestnut of her hair. The lobby, with its Oriental rugs and
dark-paneled walls, was warm and inviting
after the damp December
streets of Mayfair. A magnificent staircase covered by a brass-bordered
carpet circled upward six stories, its mahogany banisters gleaming with
polish. Although she was exhausted from a hectic week, she managed a
smile for the hall porter. The head of every man in the lobby turned as
she made her way to the small elevator located near the desk, but she
didn't notice.
Beneath the elegance of the sable and the expensive dazzle of the
pear-shaped studs, Francesca's clothing was frankly funky. She had
changed from her more conservative on-camera outfit into the clothes
she had worn to the studio that morning—cropped, tight-fitting black
leather pants accompanied by an oversize raspberry sweater appliqued
with a taupe teddy bear. Matching raspberry socks, neatly folded over
at the tops, set off a pair of Susan Bennis flats. It was an outfit
that Teddy especially liked, since cuddly-looking bears and
leather-clad motorcycle gangs were among his favorite things. She
frequently wore it when they went out for the day, whether to raid
F.A.O. Schwarz for a chemistry set, to visit the Temple of Dendur at
the Metropolitan, or to pay a call on a slimy-looking pretzel vendor in
Times Square whose wares, Teddy insisted, were the best in Manhattan.
Despite her exhaustion, the thought of Teddy made Francesca smile. She
missed him so much. It was awful being separated from her child, so
awful that she had been seriously thinking about cutting down on her
work schedule when her contract came up for renewal in the spring. What
good was it to have a child if she couldn't spend time with him? The
veil of depression that had been hanging over her for months settled
lower. She had been so short-tempered lately, a sure sign that she was
working too hard. But she hated to slow down when everything was going
so well.
Stepping out of the elevator, she glanced at her watch and made a quick
calculation. Yesterday Holly Grace had taken Teddy to Naomi's house,
and today they were supposed to go to the South Street Seaport Museum.
Maybe she could catch him before he left. She frowned as she remembered
that Holly Grace had told her Dallas Beaudine was coming to New York.
After all these years, the idea of Teddy and Dallie in the same town
still made her nervous. It wasn't that she feared recognition; God knew
there wasn't anything about Teddy that would remind Dallie of himself.
It was simply that she disliked the thought of Dallie having anything
to do with her son.
She slipped her sable over a satin-covered hanger and hung it in the
closet. Then she placed a call to
New York. To her delight, Teddy
answered the phone.
"Day residence. Theodore speaking."
Just the sound of his voice made Francesca's eyes mist. "Hello, baby."
"Mom! Guess what, Mom? I went to Naomi's yesterday and Gerry showed up,
and him and Holly
Grace had another fight. Today she's taking me to the
South Street Seaport, and then we're going to her apartment and order
Chinese. And
you know my friend Jason . . ."
Francesca smiled as she listened to Teddy rattle on. When he finally
paused for breath, she said, "I miss you, honey. Remember, I'll be home
in a few days, and then we'll have two whole weeks of vacation together
in Mexico. We're going to have such a good time." It was to be her
first real vacation since she had signed her contract with the network,
and the two of them had been looking forward to it for months.
"Will you swim in the ocean this time?"
"I'll wade," she conceded.
He gave a scornful masculine snort. "At least go up to your waist."
"I'll compromise on my knees, but no farther."
"You're really a chicken, Mom," he said solemnly. "A lot more chicken
than me."
"You're absolutely right about that."
"Are you studying for your citizenship exam?" he said. "The last time I
asked you the test questions,
you messed up the whole part about bills
getting passed into law."
"I'll study on the plane," she promised. Applying for American
citizenship was something she had postponed far too long. She had
always been too busy, too tightly scheduled, until one day she realized
that she had lived in the country for ten years and had never cast a
ballot. She had been ashamed of herself and, with Teddy helping her,
had begun the lengthy application process that same week.
"I love you big heaps, honey," she said.
"Me, too."
"And will you be especially nice to Holly Grace tonight? I don't expect
you to understand, but it upsets her when she sees Gerry."
"I don't know why. Gerry's cool."
Francesca was too wise to try to explain the subtleties of male-female
relationships to a nine-year-old
boy, especially one who thought all
girls were jerks. "Just be extra nice to her, sweetie," she said.
When she had finished her phone call, she undressed and began getting
ready for her evening with
Prince Stefan Marko Brancuzi. Wrapping herself in a silk robe, she
walked into the
tiled bathroom where plump cakes of her favorite soap sat by the roomy
tub, along with her customary brand of American shampoo. The Connaught
made it their business to know their guests' grooming preferences,
along with the papers they read, how they wanted their coffee in the
morning, and, in Francesca's case, the fact that Teddy collected bottle
caps. A supply of unusual European beer caps always awaited her in a
neatly tied parcel when she checked out. She'd never quite had the
heart to tell them that Teddy's idea of collecting bottle caps was
based more on quantity than on quality, with Pepsi currently beating
out Coke by 394.
She eased herself into the hot bathwater and when her skin had adjusted
to the temperature, settled back and shut her eyes. God, she was tired.
She needed a vacation so badly. A small voice nagged at her, asking how
much longer she was going to go on like this—leaving her child to fly
all over the world at the drop of a hat, attending endless production
meetings, skimming stacks of books every night before she went to
sleep? Lately Holly Grace and Naomi had been with Teddy more than she
had.
Thoughts of Holly Grace pushed her mind in a slow circle back to Dallas
Beaudine.
Her encounter with him had taken place so long ago that it no longer
seemed anything more than an accident of biology that he'd fathered
Teddy. He wasn't the one who had given birth, or gone without nylons in
those early years to pay for corrective baby shoes, or lost sleep
worrying about raising a child whose I.Q. was a good forty points
higher than her own. Francesca, not Dallie Beaudine, was responsible
for the person Teddy had become. No matter how hard Holly Grace pushed,
Francesca refused to let him back into even the smallest corner of her
life.
"Aw, come on, Francie, it's been ten years," Holly Grace had complained
the last time they'd talked about it. They had been lunching at the
newly opened Aurora on East Forty-ninth, sitting on a leather banquette
off to one side of the granite horseshoe bar. "In a few weeks Dallie's
going to be in the city talking to the network about doing color
commentary for their golf tournaments this spring. How about you relax
your rules for a change and let me take Teddy to meet him? Teddy's
heard stories about Dallie for years, and Dallie's curious about Teddy
after listening to me ramble on about him so much."
"Absolutely not!" Francesca speared a morsel of duck confit lightly
coated in hazelnut oil from her salad and made the excuse she always
made when the topic came up, the only one Holly Grace seemed to accept.
"That time with Dallie was the most humiliating period of my entire
life, and I refuse to bring back even the smallest memory of it. I
won't have any contact with him ever again—and that means keeping Teddy
away, too. You know how I feel about this, Holly Grace, and you
promised you wouldn't push me again."
Holly Grace was clearly exasperated. "Francie, that boy is going to
grow up queer if you don't let him associate with more members of the
male sex."
"You're all the father a boy needs," Francesca replied dryly, feeling
both exasperation and deep affection for the woman who had stood by her
through so much.
Holly Grace chose to take Francesca's remark seriously. "I sure haven't
been able to make a success of his athletic career." She stared glumly
toward the frosted globes hanging over the bar. "Honest to God,
Francie, he's got more left feet than you do."
Francesca knew she was too defensive about Teddy's lack of a father,
but she couldn't help herself. "I tried, didn't I? You made me pitch
balls to him when he was four years old."
"And wasn't that a great moment in baseball history," Holly Grace
replied with withering sarcasm. "Helen Keller pitching and Little
Stevie Wonder catching. The two of you are the most uncoordinated—"
"You didn't do any better with him. He fell off that awful horse when
you took him riding, and he broke his finger the first time you threw a
football at him."
"That's one of the reasons I want him to meet Dallie. Now that Teddy's
getting a little older, Dallie might have some ideas about what to do
with him." Holly Grace extracted a sprig of watercress from beneath a
flaky piece of smoked
sea bass and munched on it contemplatively. "I don't know—it must be
all that foreign blood Teddy's got. Damn, if Dallie really had been his
father, we wouldn't have this problem. Athletic coordination is
programmed in all the Beaudine genes."
A lot you know, Francesca thought with a wry smile, as she lathered her
arms and then moved the soapy loofah over her legs. Sometimes she found
herself wondering what wonderful, wayward chromosome had produced her
son. She knew that Holly Grace was disappointed that Teddy wasn't
better looking, but Francesca had always regarded Teddy's sweet, homely
face as a gift. It would never occur to Teddy to rely on good looks to
get through life. He would use his brain, his courage, and his sweet,
sentimental heart.
The water in the tub was growing tepid, and she realized she had barely
twenty minutes before the driver arrived to take her to Stefan's yacht
for dinner. Although she was tired, she was looking forward to spending
the night with Stefan. After several months of long-distance phone
calls with only a few rushed face-to-face meetings, she felt that the
time had definitely come to deepen their relationship. Unfortunately,
working fourteen-hour days since she had arrived in London hadn't left
her with any spare time for sexual frolicking. But with the last show
on tape, all she had left to do tomorrow was stand in front of various
British monuments for some tourist shots they planned to use at the end
of the broadcast. She had made up her mind that before she flew back to
New York, she and Stefan were going to spend at least two nights
together.
Despite the pressures of the clock, she picked up the soap and
absentmindedly rubbed it over her breasts. They tingled, reminding her
of how glad she would be to end her year of self-imposed celibacy. It
wasn't that she'd planned to be celibate for so long, it was just that
she seemed psychologically incapable of bed-hopping. Holly Grace might
mourn the passing of the one-night stand, but regardless of how much
Francesca's healthy body nagged at her, she found sex without emotional
attachment an arid, awkward business.
her stomach. "This is Uncle Gerry speaking. If you're a male child in
there, guard your balls because there are about a million women out
here waiting to cut them off."
"Don't joke about it, Gerry," Naomi said, dropping down into one of the
armchairs.
His mouth twisted. "Why not? You've got to admit this whole thing with
Holly Grace is pretty goddamn funny."
"You're really screwing up," she said.
"It's impossible to argue with someone who doesn't make sense," he
retorted belligerently. "She knows
I love her, and she goddamn well
knows it's not just for her famous name."
"She wants a baby, Gerry," Naomi said quietly.
He stiffened. "She just thinks she wants a baby."
"You're such a jerk. Every time the two of you get together, both of
you go on and on about your political differences and who's using who.
Just once, I'd like to hear one of you
admit that most of the reason the two of you can't get it together is
because she desperately wants to have a baby and you still haven't
grown up enough to be a father."
He turned on his sister. "It doesn't have anything to do with not being
grown up. I refuse to bring a kid into a world that has a mushroom
cloud hanging over it."
She regarded him sadly, one hand clasped over her rounded stomach. "Who
do you think you're kidding, Gerry? You're afraid to be a father.
You're afraid you'll screw up as badly with your own kid as Dad did
with you—God rest his soul."
Gerry didn't say anything, and he damn well wasn't going to let Naomi
see him with tears in his eyes, so he just turned his back on her and
stalked right out the door.
Chapter
23
Francesca smiled directly into the camera as the "Frances-ca Today"23
theme music faded and the show began. "Hello, everybody. I hope all of
you have your television snacks nearby and that you've finished any
urgent bathroom business, because I absolutely guarantee that you're
not going to want to move from your seats once you meet our four young
guests this evening."
She tilted her head toward the red light that had come on next to
camera two. "Tonight we're broadcasting the last show in our series on
the British nobility. As you know, we've had our high points and our
low points since we've come to Great Britain—even I won't try to
pretend that our last program was anything short of a giant bore—but
we're back on track tonight."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her producer, Nathan Hurd,
had planted his hands on his hips, a sure sign that he was displeased.
He hated it when she admitted on the air that one of their shows wasn't
wonderful, but her famous royai guest on the last program had been
incredibly long-winded and even her most impertinent questions hadn't
livened him up. Unfortunately, that program, unlike the one they were
now taping, had been broadcast live, so they hadn't been able to redo
it.
"With me this evening are four attractive young people, all of them
children of famous peers of the British realm. Have you
ever wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing that your life
has already been mapped out for you? Do young royals ever feel like
rebelling? Let's ask."
Francesca introduced her four guests, who were comfortably seated in
the attractive living room arrangement that approximated the New York
studio set where "Francesca Today" was normally taped. Then she turned
her attention to the only child of one of Great Britain's most renowned
dukes. "Lady Jane, have you ever thought about chucking family
tradition and running off with the chauffeur?"
Lady Jane laughed, then blushed, and Francesca knew she had the
beginnings of an entertaining show.
Two hours later, with the taping finished and her young guests'
responses lively enough to keep the ratings up, Francesca stepped out
of her taxi and entered the Con-naught. Most Americans regarded
Claridge's as the ultimate London hotel, but as someone who didn't want
to be away from home in the first place, Francesca felt that the better
choice was the tiny Connaught, which had only ninety rooms,
the best
service in the world, and a minimal chance of running into a rock star
in the corridor.
Her tiny frame was swathed from chin to midcalf in an elegant black
Russian sable, which was set off
by a pair of perfect pear-shaped
four-carat diamond stud earrings that sparkled through the windblown
chestnut of her hair. The lobby, with its Oriental rugs and
dark-paneled walls, was warm and inviting
after the damp December
streets of Mayfair. A magnificent staircase covered by a brass-bordered
carpet circled upward six stories, its mahogany banisters gleaming with
polish. Although she was exhausted from a hectic week, she managed a
smile for the hall porter. The head of every man in the lobby turned as
she made her way to the small elevator located near the desk, but she
didn't notice.
Beneath the elegance of the sable and the expensive dazzle of the
pear-shaped studs, Francesca's clothing was frankly funky. She had
changed from her more conservative on-camera outfit into the clothes
she had worn to the studio that morning—cropped, tight-fitting black
leather pants accompanied by an oversize raspberry sweater appliqued
with a taupe teddy bear. Matching raspberry socks, neatly folded over
at the tops, set off a pair of Susan Bennis flats. It was an outfit
that Teddy especially liked, since cuddly-looking bears and
leather-clad motorcycle gangs were among his favorite things. She
frequently wore it when they went out for the day, whether to raid
F.A.O. Schwarz for a chemistry set, to visit the Temple of Dendur at
the Metropolitan, or to pay a call on a slimy-looking pretzel vendor in
Times Square whose wares, Teddy insisted, were the best in Manhattan.
Despite her exhaustion, the thought of Teddy made Francesca smile. She
missed him so much. It was awful being separated from her child, so
awful that she had been seriously thinking about cutting down on her
work schedule when her contract came up for renewal in the spring. What
good was it to have a child if she couldn't spend time with him? The
veil of depression that had been hanging over her for months settled
lower. She had been so short-tempered lately, a sure sign that she was
working too hard. But she hated to slow down when everything was going
so well.
Stepping out of the elevator, she glanced at her watch and made a quick
calculation. Yesterday Holly Grace had taken Teddy to Naomi's house,
and today they were supposed to go to the South Street Seaport Museum.
Maybe she could catch him before he left. She frowned as she remembered
that Holly Grace had told her Dallas Beaudine was coming to New York.
After all these years, the idea of Teddy and Dallie in the same town
still made her nervous. It wasn't that she feared recognition; God knew
there wasn't anything about Teddy that would remind Dallie of himself.
It was simply that she disliked the thought of Dallie having anything
to do with her son.
She slipped her sable over a satin-covered hanger and hung it in the
closet. Then she placed a call to
New York. To her delight, Teddy
answered the phone.
"Day residence. Theodore speaking."
Just the sound of his voice made Francesca's eyes mist. "Hello, baby."
"Mom! Guess what, Mom? I went to Naomi's yesterday and Gerry showed up,
and him and Holly
Grace had another fight. Today she's taking me to the
South Street Seaport, and then we're going to her apartment and order
Chinese. And
you know my friend Jason . . ."
Francesca smiled as she listened to Teddy rattle on. When he finally
paused for breath, she said, "I miss you, honey. Remember, I'll be home
in a few days, and then we'll have two whole weeks of vacation together
in Mexico. We're going to have such a good time." It was to be her
first real vacation since she had signed her contract with the network,
and the two of them had been looking forward to it for months.
"Will you swim in the ocean this time?"
"I'll wade," she conceded.
He gave a scornful masculine snort. "At least go up to your waist."
"I'll compromise on my knees, but no farther."
"You're really a chicken, Mom," he said solemnly. "A lot more chicken
than me."
"You're absolutely right about that."
"Are you studying for your citizenship exam?" he said. "The last time I
asked you the test questions,
you messed up the whole part about bills
getting passed into law."
"I'll study on the plane," she promised. Applying for American
citizenship was something she had postponed far too long. She had
always been too busy, too tightly scheduled, until one day she realized
that she had lived in the country for ten years and had never cast a
ballot. She had been ashamed of herself and, with Teddy helping her,
had begun the lengthy application process that same week.
"I love you big heaps, honey," she said.
"Me, too."
"And will you be especially nice to Holly Grace tonight? I don't expect
you to understand, but it upsets her when she sees Gerry."
"I don't know why. Gerry's cool."
Francesca was too wise to try to explain the subtleties of male-female
relationships to a nine-year-old
boy, especially one who thought all
girls were jerks. "Just be extra nice to her, sweetie," she said.
When she had finished her phone call, she undressed and began getting
ready for her evening with
Prince Stefan Marko Brancuzi. Wrapping herself in a silk robe, she
walked into the
tiled bathroom where plump cakes of her favorite soap sat by the roomy
tub, along with her customary brand of American shampoo. The Connaught
made it their business to know their guests' grooming preferences,
along with the papers they read, how they wanted their coffee in the
morning, and, in Francesca's case, the fact that Teddy collected bottle
caps. A supply of unusual European beer caps always awaited her in a
neatly tied parcel when she checked out. She'd never quite had the
heart to tell them that Teddy's idea of collecting bottle caps was
based more on quantity than on quality, with Pepsi currently beating
out Coke by 394.
She eased herself into the hot bathwater and when her skin had adjusted
to the temperature, settled back and shut her eyes. God, she was tired.
She needed a vacation so badly. A small voice nagged at her, asking how
much longer she was going to go on like this—leaving her child to fly
all over the world at the drop of a hat, attending endless production
meetings, skimming stacks of books every night before she went to
sleep? Lately Holly Grace and Naomi had been with Teddy more than she
had.
Thoughts of Holly Grace pushed her mind in a slow circle back to Dallas
Beaudine.
Her encounter with him had taken place so long ago that it no longer
seemed anything more than an accident of biology that he'd fathered
Teddy. He wasn't the one who had given birth, or gone without nylons in
those early years to pay for corrective baby shoes, or lost sleep
worrying about raising a child whose I.Q. was a good forty points
higher than her own. Francesca, not Dallie Beaudine, was responsible
for the person Teddy had become. No matter how hard Holly Grace pushed,
Francesca refused to let him back into even the smallest corner of her
life.
"Aw, come on, Francie, it's been ten years," Holly Grace had complained
the last time they'd talked about it. They had been lunching at the
newly opened Aurora on East Forty-ninth, sitting on a leather banquette
off to one side of the granite horseshoe bar. "In a few weeks Dallie's
going to be in the city talking to the network about doing color
commentary for their golf tournaments this spring. How about you relax
your rules for a change and let me take Teddy to meet him? Teddy's
heard stories about Dallie for years, and Dallie's curious about Teddy
after listening to me ramble on about him so much."
"Absolutely not!" Francesca speared a morsel of duck confit lightly
coated in hazelnut oil from her salad and made the excuse she always
made when the topic came up, the only one Holly Grace seemed to accept.
"That time with Dallie was the most humiliating period of my entire
life, and I refuse to bring back even the smallest memory of it. I
won't have any contact with him ever again—and that means keeping Teddy
away, too. You know how I feel about this, Holly Grace, and you
promised you wouldn't push me again."
Holly Grace was clearly exasperated. "Francie, that boy is going to
grow up queer if you don't let him associate with more members of the
male sex."
"You're all the father a boy needs," Francesca replied dryly, feeling
both exasperation and deep affection for the woman who had stood by her
through so much.
Holly Grace chose to take Francesca's remark seriously. "I sure haven't
been able to make a success of his athletic career." She stared glumly
toward the frosted globes hanging over the bar. "Honest to God,
Francie, he's got more left feet than you do."
Francesca knew she was too defensive about Teddy's lack of a father,
but she couldn't help herself. "I tried, didn't I? You made me pitch
balls to him when he was four years old."
"And wasn't that a great moment in baseball history," Holly Grace
replied with withering sarcasm. "Helen Keller pitching and Little
Stevie Wonder catching. The two of you are the most uncoordinated—"
"You didn't do any better with him. He fell off that awful horse when
you took him riding, and he broke his finger the first time you threw a
football at him."
"That's one of the reasons I want him to meet Dallie. Now that Teddy's
getting a little older, Dallie might have some ideas about what to do
with him." Holly Grace extracted a sprig of watercress from beneath a
flaky piece of smoked
sea bass and munched on it contemplatively. "I don't know—it must be
all that foreign blood Teddy's got. Damn, if Dallie really had been his
father, we wouldn't have this problem. Athletic coordination is
programmed in all the Beaudine genes."
A lot you know, Francesca thought with a wry smile, as she lathered her
arms and then moved the soapy loofah over her legs. Sometimes she found
herself wondering what wonderful, wayward chromosome had produced her
son. She knew that Holly Grace was disappointed that Teddy wasn't
better looking, but Francesca had always regarded Teddy's sweet, homely
face as a gift. It would never occur to Teddy to rely on good looks to
get through life. He would use his brain, his courage, and his sweet,
sentimental heart.
The water in the tub was growing tepid, and she realized she had barely
twenty minutes before the driver arrived to take her to Stefan's yacht
for dinner. Although she was tired, she was looking forward to spending
the night with Stefan. After several months of long-distance phone
calls with only a few rushed face-to-face meetings, she felt that the
time had definitely come to deepen their relationship. Unfortunately,
working fourteen-hour days since she had arrived in London hadn't left
her with any spare time for sexual frolicking. But with the last show
on tape, all she had left to do tomorrow was stand in front of various
British monuments for some tourist shots they planned to use at the end
of the broadcast. She had made up her mind that before she flew back to
New York, she and Stefan were going to spend at least two nights
together.
Despite the pressures of the clock, she picked up the soap and
absentmindedly rubbed it over her breasts. They tingled, reminding her
of how glad she would be to end her year of self-imposed celibacy. It
wasn't that she'd planned to be celibate for so long, it was just that
she seemed psychologically incapable of bed-hopping. Holly Grace might
mourn the passing of the one-night stand, but regardless of how much
Francesca's healthy body nagged at her, she found sex without emotional
attachment an arid, awkward business.
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