Jack Ryan 7 - The Sum of All Fears (81 page)

“What ever happened to Dr. Brooks?”

“Who?” Liz asked.

Cathy turned to the Holtzmans. Times really were different back in the 70s, weren't they? Dr. Elliot just had her masters, and the PoliSci department was—well, kind of radical. You know, the fashionable kind.“ She turned back. ”Surely you haven't forgotten Dr. Brooks and Dr. Hemmings! Where was that house you shared with them?"

“I don't remember.” Liz told herself to maintain control. This would be all over soon. But she couldn't walk away.

“Wasn't it on that three-way corner, a few blocks from the campus . . . ? We used to call them the Marx Brothers,” Cathy explained with a giggle. “Brooks never wore socks—in Vermont, remember, he must have gotten terrible colds from that—and Hemmings never washed his hair. That was some department. Of course, Dr. Brooks went off to Berkeley, and then you went out there, too, to finish your doctorate. I guess you liked working under him. Tell me, how is
Bennington
now?”

“Just as nice as ever.”

“I never get back there for the alum meetings,” Cathy said.

“I haven't been back there myself in over a year,” Liz replied.

“What ever happened to Dr. Brooks?” Cathy asked again.

“He teaches at Vassar now, I think.”

“Oh, you've kept track of him? Still trying to bed every skirt in sight, too, I bet. Radical-chic. How often do you see him?”

“Not in a couple of years.”

“We never understood what you saw in them,” Cathy observed.

“Come now, Caroline, none of us were virgins back then.”

Cathy sipped at her champagne. “That's true, times were different, and we did lots of very dumb things. But I g0t lucky. Jack made an honest woman of me.”

Zing!
Libby Holtzman thought.

“Some of us haven't had time.”

“I don't know how you manage without a family. I don't think I could handle the loneliness.”

“At least I never have to worry about an unfaithful husband,” Liz observed icily, finding her own weapon, not knowing it wasn't loaded anymore.

Cathy looked amused. “Yes, I suppose some women have to worry about that. But I don't, thank God.”

“How can any woman be sure?”

“Only a fool is unsure. If you know your man,” Cathy explained, “you know what he can and cannot do.”

“And you really feel that secure?” Liz asked.

“Of course.”

“They say the wife is always the last to know.”

Cathy's head cocked to one side. “Is this a philosophical discussion, or are you trying to say something to my face instead of behind my back?”

Jesus!
Holtzman felt that he was a spectator at a prize-fight.

“Did I give you that impression? Oh, I'm so sorry, Caroline.”

“That's okay, Liz.”

“Excuse me, but I prefer—”

“I go by 'professor,' too you know, medical doctor, Johns Hopkins, and all that.”

“I thought you were an associate professor.”

Dr. Ryan nodded. “That's right. I got offered a full professorship at the
University
of
Virginia
, but that meant moving away from the house we like, moving the kids out of school, and, of course, there's the problem with Jack's career. So, I turned it down.”

“I guess you are pretty tied down.”

“I do have responsibilities, and I like working at
Hopkins
. We're doing some pioneer work, and it's good to be where the action is. It must have been much easier for you to come to
Washington
, what with nothing to hold you anywhere and besides, what's new in political science?”

“I'm quite satisfied with my life, thank you.”

“I'm sure you are,” Cathy replied, seeing the chink, and knowing how to exploit it. “You can always tell when a person is happy in their work.”

“And you, Professor?”

“Life couldn't be much better. As a matter of fact, there's only one real difference between us,” Caroline Ryan said.

“And that is?”

“. . . I don't know where my wife wandered off to. There's yours with Liz Elliot and the Holtzmans. I wonder what they're talking about?” Bunker said.

“At home, at night, I sleep with a man,” Cathy said sweetly. “And the nice thing about it is that I never have to change the batteries.”

Jack turned to see his wife and Elizabeth Elliot, whose pearl necklace seemed to turn brown before his eyes, she went so pale. His wife was shorter than the National Security Advisor, and she looked like a pixie next to Libby Holtzman, but whatever the hell had just happened, Cathy was holding her ground like a momma-bear on her kill, her eyes locked on the taller Elliot. He moved over to see what the problem was.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hello, Jack,” Cathy said, her eyes fixed on her target. “Do you know Bob and Libby?”

“Hi.” Ryan shook hands with both, catching looks from them that he could only guess at. Mrs. Holtzman seemed about to explode, but then she took a breath and controlled herself.

“You're the lucky guy who married this woman?” Libby asked. That comment made Elliot turn away first from the confrontation.

“Actually she's the one who married me, I think,” Jack said, after a further moment's confusion.

“If you'll excuse me,” Elliot said, departing from the battlefield as gracefully as she could. Cathy took Jack's arm and steered him towards the corner with the piano.

“What in the hell was that all about?” Libby Holtzman asked her husband. She thought she knew most of it already. Her successful struggle not to laugh aloud had nearly strangled her.

“What it's about, my dear, is that I broke an ethical rule. And you know something?”

“You did the right thing,” Libby announced. “The Marx Brothers? 'Three-way corner.' Liz Elliot, the Queen Radical WASP. My God.”

“Jack, I have a terrible headache, I mean, a really terrible one,” Cathy whispered to her husband.

“That bad?”

She nodded. “Can we get out of here before I get nauseous?”

“Cathy, you don't just walk out of these things . . .” Jack pointed out.

“Sure you do.”

“What were you and Liz talking about?”

“I don't think I like her very much.”

“You're not the only one. Okay.” Jack headed for the door with Cathy on his arm. The Army captain at the stairs was very understanding. Five minutes later, they were outside. Jack helped his wife into the car and headed back up the drive towards
Pennsylvania
.

“Go straight,” Cathy said.

“But—”

“Go straight, Jack.” It was her surgeon's voice. The one that told people what to do. Ryan pulled past Lafayette Park. “Now left.”

“Where are we supposed to be going?”

“Now turn right—and left into the driveway.”

“But—”

“Jack, please?” Cathy said softly.

The doorman of the Hay Adams Hotel helped Caroline from the car. Jack handed the keys to the parking attendant, then followed his wife in. He watched the concierge hand her a key, then she breezed off to the elevators. He followed her onto and off the elevator, and from there to a corner suite.

“What gives, Cathy?”

“Jack, there's been too much work, too much kids, and not enough us. Tonight, my darling, there is time for us.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and there was nothing for her husband to do but kiss her. She put the key in his hand. “Now get the door open before we scare somebody.”

“But what about—”

“Jack, shut up. Please,” she added.

“Yes, dear.” Ryan led his wife into the room.

Cathy was gratified to see that her instructions had been carried out as perfectly as the staff of this most excellent of hotels could arrange. A light dinner was set on the table, along with a chilled bottle of Moët. She draped her coat on the sofa in confidence that everything else was as it should be.

“Could you pour the champagne? I'll be back in a moment. You might want to take your coat off and relax,” she said over her shoulder on the way into the bedroom.

“Sure,” Jack said to himself. He didn't know what was going on, or what Cathy had in mind, but he didn't really care all that much either. After dropping his dinner jacket atop his wife's mink, he peeled the foil off the champagne, then twisted off the wire, and gently worked the cork free. He poured two glasses, and set the bottle back in the silver bucket. He decided to trust the wine untasted, then walked to look out the window at the White House. Jack didn't hear her come back into the room. He felt it, felt the air change somehow. When he turned she was standing there in the doorway.

It was the second time she'd worn it, the floor-length gown of white silk. The first time had been their honeymoon. Cathy walked barefoot across the carpet to her husband, gliding through space like an apparition.

“Your headache must have gone away.”

“I'm still thirsty, though,” Cathy said, smiling up at Jack's face.

“I think I can handle that.” Jack lifted the glass and held it to her lips. She took a single sip, then moved it to his.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

She leaned against him, taking both his hands in hers. “I love you, Jack. Shall we?”

Jack turned her around, and walked behind, his hands at her waist. The bed, he saw, was turned down, and the light out, though the glare from the flood-lit White House washed in through the windows.

“Remember the first time, the first night we were married?”

Jack chuckled. “I remember both, Cathy.”

“This is going to be another first time, Jack.” She reached behind him and flipped off the cummerbund. Her husband took the cue. When he was naked, she embraced him as fiercely as she could manage, and the silk of her nightgown rustled against his skin. “Lie down.”

“You're more beautiful than ever, Cathy.”

“I wouldn't want anyone to steal you from me.” Cathy joined him on the bed. He was ready, and so was she. Caroline pulled the nightgown up to her waist and mounted him, then let it fall down around her. His hands found her breasts. She held them in place, rocking up and down on him, knowing that he couldn't last very long, but neither could she.

No man should be so lucky, Jack told himself, straining, trying to control himself, and though he failed miserably, he was rewarded with a smile that nearly broke his heart.

“Not bad,” Cathy said a minute later, kissing his hands.

“Out of practice.”

“The night is young,” she said, as she lay down beside him, “and that's the best I've had in a while, too. Now, are you hungry?”

Ryan looked around the room. “I, uh . . .”

“Wait.” She left the bed and returned with a bathrobe with the hotel monogram. I want you to stay warm."

Dinner passed in silence. There was nothing that needed to be said, and for the following hour they silently pretended that they were both in their twenties again, young enough to experiment in love, to explore it like a new and wonderful place where every turn in the road revealed something never before seen. It had been far too long, Jack told himself, but he dismissed the thought from a mind that for once was untroubled. Dessert was finished, and he poured the last of the champagne.

“I have to stop drinking.” But not tonight.

Cathy finished off her glass, and set it on the table. “It wouldn't hurt you to stop, but you're not an alcoholic. We proved that last week. You needed rest, and you got your rest. And now, I want more of you.”

“If there's any left.”

Cathy stood and took his hand. “There's plenty more where that came from.”

This time Jack did the leading. Once in the bedroom, he reached down and pulled the nightgown over her head, then tossed his robe on the floor next to it.

The first kiss lasted for some eternal period of time. He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed, joining her a moment later. The urgency had not passed for either of them. Soon he was atop her, feeling her warmth under and around him. He did better this time, controlling himself until her back arched and her face took on the curious look of pain that every man wants to give his wife. At the end, his arms reached under her and lifted her off the bed, up against his chest. Cathy loved it when he did that, loved her man's strength almost as much as his goodness. And then it was over, and he lay at her side. Cathy pulled him against her, his face to her regrettably flat chest.

“There never was anything wrong with you,” she whispered into his ear. She was not surprised by what came next. She knew the man so well, though she'd been foolish enough to forget the fact. She hoped that she'd be able to forgive herself for that. Jack's whole body shook with his sobs. Cathy held him fast to her, feeling his tears on her breasts. Such a fine, strong man.

“I've been a lousy husband, and a lousy father.”

Her cheek came down on the top of his head. “Neither one of us has set any records lately, Jack, but that's over, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her breast. “How did I ever find you?”

“You won me, Jack. In the great lottery of life, you got me. I got you. Do you think that married people always deserve each other? All the ones I see at work who just can't make it. Maybe they just don't try, maybe they just forget.”

“Forget?”

What I almost forgot.
“'For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse; in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.' Remember? I made the promise, too. Jack, I know how good you can be, and that's plenty good enough. I was so bitchy to you last week . . . I'm sorry for all the terrible things I did. But that's all over.”

Presently the weeping stopped. “Thanks, babe.”

“Thank you, Jack.” She ran a finger down his back.

“You mean?” His head moved back to see her face. He got another smile, the gentle kind that a woman saves for her husband.

“I think so. Maybe this one will be another girl.”

“That might be nice.”

“Go to sleep.”

“In a minute.” Jack rose to head for the bathroom, then into the sitting room before coming back. Ten minutes later, he was still. Cathy rose to put her nightie back on, and on her way back from the bathroom she cancelled the wake-up call that Jack had just ordered. It was her turn to stare out the windows at the home of the President. The world had never seemed prettier. Now, if she could just get Jack to quit working for those people . . .